Jessicarrot

Eleven years ago today, BJay and I got married. What I remember from that morning are

1. I didn’t want to wash my hair the day before because I didn’t want my hair to be too curly.
2. I didn’t have any white shoes so I wore slippers with my wedding dress (even outside in November).
3. I didn’t want to fuss with my appearance. I think about that decision all the time. In the temple where we were married there is a beautiful bride’s room. Its like some fairytale dressing room with lighted mirrors and everything you could need to freshen up. I refused to go in. The temple matron insisted I at least look at the place so I did. I checked my appearance in the mirror and decided I was fine. I wore my hair down in loose curls, lipstick, eyeliner and mascara. That was it.
4. When it was time for me to say the most important word of my life during the actual ceremony… you know the “I do” except in ours it is “yes” my voice failed. I said the word and no sound came out. Somewhere, deep down I guess I was nervous. I don’t remember feeling nervous at all.
5. My friends were there, my family was there… my dad was there.
6. Smiling hurt after a while.

I don’t know why nothing I remember was directly about BJay. I’m guessing that is because we are old married people now. Our relationship is comfortable. Its like we’ve always been together. Last year on our anniversary we went to Chapel Hill to get the pathology results from my 2nd thyroid surgery. Now that cancer is mostly behind me I thought this year we could celebrate without thinking about it. This morning I woke up with a super-swollen jaw. One of my salivary glands has decided to get backed up 5 months after my RAI. It only hurts if I eat, but I look like a lop-sided chipmunk. This morning BJay wished me a happy anniversary in bed and I felt my jaw and asked him if he could see the swelling and he said something that made me feel like I had grown a second head. LOL. I emailed my Dr. and he said its normal. I guess this is just a friendly reminder that our love can overcome everything. Even mutant faces. A year or two after we were married, I made BJay this little scrapbook with all our sappy emails and all my love poetry. I’m going to torture everyone with some things from that book today. To start, my first love letter… a declaration really:

B.J. (That was before I knew he spelled his name BJay, the letter came with the gift of a sling-shot)

I bought this sling shot in Pakistan at Friday market in Islamabad. Later that day we drove to Taxila, which is about an hour’s drive from Islamabad. Taxila is in the foothills of Pakistan near Afghanistan. I don’t remember why I bought the sling shot, I think it was just cool or something. But later, in Taxila, I was walking with Ann up to some old Buddhist ruins. On the way we passed some children bathing in a stream. There were rolling green pastures and the sun was just setting. On the way back I saw a shepherd boy with his dog. he was moving his sheep toward home by throwing rocks at them. I remembered the sling shot from Friday market and I took it out of my bag to give to him but for some reason I didn’t. Either I got really shy, or I thought Ann would get mad at me or maybe I just though it was a stupid idea. Anyway, I passed by the boy and his dog and just as I was out of earshot I snapped a picture. So I have this memory of that strange, slow time and a silhouette of a boy and his dog standing at the top of a hill at sunset.

Every time I see that sling shot I think of something unfinished. So many times I come to a perfect moment with something to give or say and the courage or words just get choked up in me. And then the moment passes and whatever it was is just a frustrated memory. How many times have I wondered, “why am I awkward, why am I graceless” (This was a quote from Dostoyevsky’s Notes from the Underground, a book I later tried to give BJay to read). But time will prove this to be my alibi some day. I think that admiration is the focus of joy, so whatever I have admired in you has been pleasant. I wanted you to have this sling shot to remind you to (this is where I misspelled “seize” as “cease” a mistake that I realized as soon as I gave the letter and as soon as I was in possession of the letter again I inked in the correct spelling) the day. I feel so fearless sometimes, as if the whole world is open to me and I can touch the heart of it’s mystery. And at the same time I can get to such heights and let some idle fear stop me from finding something new. i have always wanted to know you, dear Bridger, and I can’t even talk to you. Perfect excuses have always found me. My awkwardness and gracelessness seem to have swallowed me. I don’t know why. Probably because I think so much of you.

Its funny how comfortable it is to write this. Please don’t think I’m strange for writing this letter. I hope you have a Merry Christmas.

(I didn’t even sign it.)

BTW, I was 19 and fairly… young. So please don’t point out to me that a shepherd might not want to use a sling shot to herd his own sheep… I get that now.

Oh, later I found this note in my car (from BJay)

Behold, thou art fair, my love;
behold, thou are fair; thou hast
dove’s eyes within thy locks: thy
hair is a flock of goats, that appear
from Mt. Gilead.
(Song of Soloman 4:1)

and two more short poems…

Attraction

Predatory glances
fill me–
caught
by your gaze
I swallow the
helium welling up in me
and look
past you
to the wall.

The air is a fever–
(we are) magnets
not touching
but
overwhelmingly
drawn…

muse
If i took your words
and laid them at your feet
could you feel them the
way I do?
Each syllable precise
Each phrase, lisping,
stammering,
dripping constant.
I lean on them through
the hours of the day
I hear your voice
softly distant.

I am fastened to you
by the sounds you press on me–
they are trophies for my ears,
kisses on my heart.

The Reindeer Shop project I signed up for is at mission critical. We have less than 2 weeks to go and we’re at just over 1/2 of our completed inventory. I’m in the midst of a sewing nightmare/frenzy. I will be finished with this just in time to get my own Christmas projects going… Somehow I feel like this Holiday season is going to be over in a blink! I’m not going to be a terrific blogger for the next few weeks, but I do have a goal to get up photos from Halloween and some updated photos of the kids sometime soon. I hope ya’ll are having fun.

*Oh and I did get my Tg # back from my endocrinologist and its down to .01, so very close to the undetectable we’re looking for. Even still at .01 its awesome! I have a follow-up with my surgeon today…maybe he’ll refer me to someone about the keloid that developed on my scar… or not. Scars are cool I guess.

I wrote this in college during my Anthropology of War class. The subject was obviously Bikini Atoll, site of nuclear testing in the Pacific.

I am amazed what this world has done to itself
The flash and terrible roar of might
Scorching everything in its path
We are left weak and ignorant
Our skin flapping about like goat’s ears
pierced and punctured with an ascetic silence
We are emptied, closed, muted to it.
Our hands and bellies are loud with the evidence
Invisibly conquering, compromising our senses
Mutilating our limbs
There is no cure.
On our bodies is written volumes of injustice,
And we die quietly, anonymous and forgotten.

I’ve been searching through old files remembering people I’ve forgotten, reading letters.  Do you remember letters?  Its been a decade since I got a letter.  I’m amazed that hand-written letters ever even existed.  Anyway, I was amused by some of my old poetry.  I’m not sharing the horrible stuff.  Re-reading that was punishment enough.  I thought these were sweet though.  They were written while I was engaged to my husband.  Since we’re coming up on our 11th anniversary, it feels appropriate.

Summer evening
Several brackish pears dangled from your face
As if a fruit could bend and drip so languidly
I feel myself as a part of you
Sometimes–its like
a quandary between sleeping and consciousness.
The night is hot and a breeze
cools my dangling feet.
You throw me an alkaline kiss and it shocks me to
Oblivion.

Love
You leave me
with litanies of sapid kisses
Love lorn and bruised
by affection
In the retroversion of time
Seismic shuddering
would accompany
your absence.
The sanguine quality
of your sigh
would fall flatly
with a thud, heavy
and vacant.
The echoes would call out
for the sound of your breath
and hear only silence
careen leisurely by…

* I just had to add this one

Forever
He is like a pallid leaf
More green and pure and real
than any other
He can see from right to left
left to right–everything
he is curled around my heart
with cursive glances
Poured through my blood with long silence
Captured all my senses in
the the abyss of adoration
With him, I remember how to
feel the world as children do.
Everything is now.
Colors have flavors and smells
And life is distant.
I am immortal, with him.

My dad took me and my sisters to see a Beatles tribute band in Raleigh last week.  There is something beautifully sad about this song.  It speaks to me.  If the world was in turmoil when this song was written, it can’t be anything compared to what it is now.  The tribute band was very talented and executed the music beautifully.  It seemed like they nailed the mannerisms and tone and quality of voice, but there was no magic.  Still, it was good enough.  Music is lovely and powerful and it sinks down deep into the marrow of your soul.  It heals, it lifts, it protects.  I think it speaks to our eternal selves.  I would do anything to be able to give the world a gift like this.

In college I fell in love with India.  There was some unexplained connection for me.  All it took was one slide show of the busy, chaotic streets of Bombay and I was hooked.  I was transformed.  I was 19 and living at home and I knew that had to go to India.

When I made it to India (a few months later) I had the opportunity to have a religious tour from one of my traveling companion’s friends.  He was a Sikh by birth but fancied himself a religious scholar. When he was explaining the pantheon of Hindu Gods he said something I still find quite remarkable.  He compared the entire pantheon of Gods and Goddesses to the Christian concept of the Trinity. (Something that strengthened my belief that God, Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit are separate beings.)  If three beings can be one, why not a thousand?  Why not a hundred thousand?  There are all these ways of approaching God, all these different aspects of God but really they are all One God.  I love the artwork and imagery of the Hindu Gods.  One Goddess that I think westerners find particularly interesting is Kali.  The mother Goddess.

Our vision of mother is a little more…gentle.  The “dark mother” is about female power.  She is an incarnation of the Goddess Durga, formed from the sweat of her brow during a fierce battle.  Durga is companion to Lord Shiva and protects the earth from evil.  In the battle Kali was born into, she was so focused and fierce she actually went a little nuts and started a homicidal rampage. (As evidenced by her belt of human arms and severed heads.)  To stop her from destroying everything, Shiva threw himself at her feet.  Kali was so startled from her rage that she stuck out her tongue and this is how she is depicted in most Hindu images of her.  Why this (sometime) homicidal psychopath resonates with me?  Motherhood is powerful.  When I had my first son I understood Kali.  I described my feelings to other people in a non-Hindu way by explaining that having my newborn son made me feel fierce and primal, like a mother dog.  I finally understood why mother animals growl at you when you want to touch their babies.  There is this primal protective feeling you have for your babies.  I may have got an extra dose because when I have a newborn I never tire of holding them.  I feel physically on edge when someone wants to hold my babies.  Like I might go unhinged or something.  Not everyone can relate to this feeling.  But I feel like I must be some kind of normal because this imagery was picked up over a thousand years ago.  Kali is about the unexplained power of women.  We bleed without being injured or feeling significant pain.  We birth children, an absolute feat of physics.  And most importantly, as mothers we have the power to calm, comfort and sooth our children with touch.  With our hands and arms we solve almost every trouble a child can have.  With my first baby, being inexperienced I let people talk me into making my baby learn how to sooth himself by dumping him in his crib and walking away.  Its a good practice I think, teaching babies to put themselves to sleep.  But I am not cut out for it.  I much prefer rocking my babies to sleep.  I love watching them drift off and I love being the last thing they see before falling to sleep and the first person there in the morning.  They are only babies for such a short time.  When I got cancer I felt my mortality.  I was confident that I would survive, but being mortally flawed just gives you a new sense of time.  Of what you may not have.  What I love about being a mother is that my children run to me when they are upset.  I love that they want to climb up into my lap when I’m blogging.  I love that when they are afraid they want to be near me.  It will not always be so.  There will be a time when they won’t want me.  That is just the natural order of things.  Time is just speeding up faster and faster and I am not afraid.  My magical mothering powers will only last so long.  Then they’ll move on to another deity.  Hopefully the one I’ve taught them about.

I am not a Hindu but I get it.  I’m entertained by the stories and I find the artwork beautiful and moving.  One of my treasures I brought back from India is a soapstone sculpture of Sarasvati, Goddess of learning and wisdom.  I love what it represents.  And I love what Kali represents to me.  The very pit, the deepest darkest stores of love and energy that awaken with motherhood.

We have taught our children that when someone has beat you in a race, it is very important to congratulate them.  I would have preferred a different outcome from this election but I had to put on the big girl pants last night when it was obvious very early on that my candidate was not going to win.  Not only did McCain lose the presidential bid, but Kay Hagan beat Elizabeth Dole for the senate AND Bev Perdue beat out Pat McCrory for the governor’s office.  A triple blow.  My only consolation is that if everything was decided by my county alone, it would have been a huge blowout for republicans.  It is what it is.  I am happy for my friend who campaigned tirelessly for Obama and spent all day yesterday driving people to the polls.  I am happy for this moment in history where America has overwhelmingly put their confidence in an African American candidate.  I am happy that we finally have proof that racism has no power over the general consciousness of the United States.  I am happy for Obama.  He overcame a lot to win this race.  Not his race, but his name.  Barak Hussein Obama.  Can you imagine what people would have thought on 9.12.2002 if someone predicted that our next president after George Bush was going to be Barak Hussein Obama?  I think that also says something good about America.  I wish Obama well, he’s got a mess on his hands and I sincerely hope that he is able to take this on and surprise us all with his leadership ability.  He’s got the congress and the senate on his side, so it shouldn’t be impossible.  The next four years should be interesting….

You should read this article by Wendy Button, speach writer for Obama, Edwards, and Clinton on this election.  Here are some of my favorite lines:

“As the nation slouches toward disaster, the level of political discourse is unworthy of this moment in history. We have Republicans raising Ayers and Democrats fostering ageism with “erratic” and jokes about Depends. Sexism. Racism. Ageism and maybe some Socialism have all made their ugly cameos in election 2008. It’s not inspiring. Perhaps this is why I found the initial mocking of Joe so offensive…”

“…Governor Palin and I don’t agree on a lot of things, mostly social issues. But I have grown to appreciate the Governor. I was one of those initial skeptics and would laugh at the pictures. Not anymore. When someone takes on a corrupt political machine and a sitting governor, that is not done by someone with a low I.Q. or a moral core made of tissue paper. When someone fights her way to get scholarships and work her way through college even in a jagged line, that shows determination and humility you can’t learn from reading Reinhold Niebuhr. When a mother brings her son with special needs onto the national stage with love, honesty, and pride, that gives hope to families like mine as my older brother lives with a mental disability. And when someone can sit on a stage during the Sarah Palin rap on Saturday Night Live, put her hands in the air and watch someone in a moose costume get shot—that’s a sign of both humor and humanity.

Has she made mistakes? Of course, she’s human too. But the attention paid to her mistakes has been unprecedented compared to Senator Obama’s “57 states…”

And here’s to changing your mind! I am a die-hard republican so of course I applaud this article. But honestly the ugly part of politics is just so infuriating. I have always thought the treatment of Joe the plumber way way out of line. And I am just appalled at the treatment of Sarah Palin. So she got a new wardrobe? Why is that news? And I don’t get how in 2008 the level of sexism is tolerated. Women should bail on the democratic candidate in droves. (Setting aside the fact that McCain picked a female running mate.) If you look at the people McCain has on staff for his campaign, the women he’s hired earn $1.04 to Obama’s .83 cents on the dollar compared to male staff.  I am no feminist but I find it insulting that the tactic democrats are using to neutralize Palin’s popularity is to attack her intelligence and fashion sense.  It seems a huge step back to me.