tamarjacobson

Looking back and thinking forward

Month: February, 2007

Harsh and exciting (Update)

Wildgoosesleeve_2

Wild Geese

by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things
.

My friend Greg said, "… it ain’t over until it’s over." Always supporting, ever encouraging, he recently told me to read Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese. I wish you could see the beautifully written review of my book that Greg wrote for The Journal of Educational Alternatives out of Lock Haven University. I received copies yesterday. The best gift a gal could wish for on V-Day.

Greg writes:

How racism is embedded within us poses interesting questions for this reviewer/psychologist. How is it that I can know racism is wrong, yet continue to experience its effect deep within myself? Why can’t I confront myself and remove these biases? Haven’t I had sufficient counsel with myself to confront this issue and to resolve my conflicts with other identities? [bold mine]

And,

Jacobson’s book is counsel to us to have the courage to confront our misconception of ourselves. The trick of thinking we’re free of prejudice is the source of our shame when we trip on our subconscious bias and racist assumptions. Using a variety of psychological methods for introspection, Jacobson draws a roadmap for self-discovery.

Update:

On a completely different note: This site just in from a friend. I know that some of you will find this as helpful for preparedness as I did!

Stand in Wisdom (Update # 2)

Quote of the day:

When you know who you are and what you stand for, you stand in wisdom. Oprah Winfrey

Images_1 Images_36 Images_37

I wish us all a Happy Valentine’s Day … and …

Happy Birthday, Jan!

Update:

Complexity of Valentine’s Day at three of my favorite blogger guys’ sites:

Frank, Neil, Richard

Blowing you kisses right here right now …

Slip, sliding … (Update II)

I was checking out my stats counter this morning and realize that my Tamarika blog received a lot more page hits per year than Mining Nuggets. After pondering this for a few moments I decided not to analyze the situation too intensely. After all, am I in this for the money or fame? I think not.

And yet … one does love to be read I suppose.

Otherwise, why am I not just writing a personal journal for no one to see?

I wonder, am I slip-sliding into that old mind-set of why-blog again?

Update:

If I have used this quote before I need to repeat it here, for myself, for you, if you want, because it is one of the best explanations for me about why I blog. Indeed, if only I had the courage to find the right publisher, I would write a whole book, a memoir for this very reason:

I am surprised that more memoirists don’t become serial memoirists, because it is a precious thing to be allowed to talk about yourself in public, not for reasons of simple exhibitionism but because the attempt to describe your experience to an audience pushes you forward into an understanding of it.

Nuala O’Faolain

Update II:

Richard Cohen is back! Not only is it great to have him back in the blogosphere with us again writing his way through it all, but he talks about not using a site-meter. So, joared – this has me thinking about the slippery slope of which you write in my comments and who knows – perhaps I’ll just get rid of mine too! AlwaysQuestion says (in my comments section) that we do not need that extra worry, and I could seriously do without it. So, he has me thinking too.

EVERYONE has me thinking!

Right here, right now

20070208_stream4

OH YES, SENATOR BARACK OBAMA, COUNT ME IN – I AM RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW WITH YOU – DREAMING AND HOPING THIS "IMPROBABLE DREAM."

Mundane

Here’s what I like about Friday…

I:

  • wake up a little later than usual
  • dilly dally as I drink my coffee, check out blogs I haven’t been able to see all week
  • play with Ada
  • make a few fruit shakes for the weekend
  • visit the Chestnut Hill Market for fresh fruit and vegetables
  • feed the birds
  • work out
  • water the plants
  • sometimes write a post
  • clean up around the house
  • prepare my work and writing for the weekend
  • wish I had a friend I could meet for coffee or go shopping with … just once in awhile …

Over twenty years ago as I was washing dishes one evening I remember thinking, "There must be more to life than this." I remember it as if it was today, here and now. And, indeed, I remembered it as I was washing dishes this morning. I have given up using the dish-washer. Somehow, it seems ridiculous to pack up the dish washer with dirty dishes for days and then after running it, spend hours unpacking it again.

There have been moments in my life when the mundane wore me down and I would think, "There must be more to life than this." I remember the feeling and picture those moments. And then afterward I ran all over the world searching for the "more." Only to arrive and find that the mundane would be there to greet me once again.

Today I realized that this is life. The mundane, the every day of it, the moment by moment of it, the over-and-over-again-seemingly-meaningless-repetitive-actions of it. This is IT. These consistent little tasks create the foundation for everything else. They give a solid base, a home-coming, and set down roots for all the creative, spontaneous other parts of life as I develop them during the day.

The daily practice of living.

I think back to the grief counseling course I took many years ago. One of the exercises was to imagine that everything we did for that one day would be the last thing we would ever do. The last dish we would ever wash, the last goodnight kiss to our child or life-partner, the last tree rushing by our car window, the last greeting to the mail deliverer. It was a powerful exercise. Sometimes, as I am gathering soiled cat litter into the plastic bag, sighing wearily as I do so, I wonder what it would be like not to take care of Ada any longer, just as I remember the last look Molly gave me as they carried her off to the operating room. Tears fill my eyes and I find myself grateful for each chore I carry out for Ada. Energy is renewed for the mundane, again.

Well, Nora, I thought about what you said, and reply to you here:

I splurge; live each day as if it were my last; life is too short; and I am learning to slow down and smell the roses. Oh yes, I certainly allow myself delicious bread, and chocolate when desired. Oh yes indeed! And all the while I cherish every single, faithful, solid, mundane task and chore that nurture and cares for me and those I care for and about.

A year ago at Tamarika: Intergenerational

Living twice (Update)

My friend Huw, a fellow spirit, wrote to me yesterday and reminded me about Natalie Goldberg:

Natalie Goldberg says that writers live twice. Once when it happens and once while they figure out exactly what it was all about; how that colour was put together; what was it that filled the palm of your hand; what was it that went through your mind when you began to weep.

That’s what Huw wrote to me.

Update:

Huw says:

"Just a quick correction about the Natalie Goldberg quote: the idea is hers. This particular way of putting it is mine."

I have a dream

Sitting in my bed in the little hotel room I come to stay at on Monday nights. I was given a larger room this time. A friendly aroma of coffee brewing wafts over to me from the night table. I bring my own coffee machine, and the milk-for-one fits quite nicely into the fridge in the corner of the room. The commute after my late night class is becoming a strain for these older eyes of mine. I found a good place to stay, just five minutes from the work place, and was given a good rate.

A tiny, temporary home away from home once a week.

Decor is simple, one comfortably abstract print and gentle creams and tan colors on the walls. A small sink outside of the bathroom and a television just in case I need it. Usually I am too tired to watch anything and enjoy lying in the silent dark after a long three hour night class with graduate students discussing emergent literacy. And in the morning I enjoy the quiet. Time to think about the day ahead, prepare myself for a brief early morning commute back to my office before teaching again.

This group is new to teaching. Young, fresh, optimistic and eager to learn. They love to discuss all sorts of things and even laugh at my jokes. There is an education energy about this class. This morning I plan to start with a short, inspirational power point presentation set to Abba‘s I Have a Dream. That should get the juices flowing in preparation for their first internship as volunteers in a school down the road this semester.

How do I prepare anyone to hold young children’s futures in their hands? What a challenge!

This morning, though, sitting up in my bed, alone in the little (larger) hotel room, drinking my coffee, I feel hopeful, energetic, and, even, excited about the task ahead.

Hello in there

At work I have a number of photographs on my desk: My son, Tom, my mother with one of her great grandchildren, and Charlie, just a month before he died. Sometimes, when I am feeling a little lost, lonely or even bored I stare at the faces of those people who mean so much to me. I love the picture of my mother talking to her great grandson. I can tell by the shape of her mouth that she is saying something and the little fellow, just a baby, seems to be looking at her. And so I assume she was talking to him as the picture was taken. That photo reminds me where I acquired my love of children. My mother has always been so excellent in her care of small infants. The photograph of Tom is from our wedding day. He was standing with the magistrate waiting to receive me, and had such a welcoming smile on his face.

I think I have always loved photographs. Perhaps they are reminders that I am not alone. In each picture there are cherished memories, long stories, and interesting tales. In another frame on my office wall I have created a collage of pictures taken of all sorts of staff and children from the Child Care Center where I was once Director. There is a photograph of me holding a small child. Today, the Chair of our Department stopped by and asked about the child in the picture. All of a sudden I was telling a long story about the little girl and her father. He smiled. "Oh dear," I apologized, "Just from one photo!" "Oh, I love your stories," he said, and was about to ask about another photograph when another colleague stopped by.

I wonder if I ramble on and on lately about past stories. If someone expresses an interest I tell every detail. At times I notice their eyes glazing over. I think it has something to do with getting older. Each time I tell a tale of times gone by, I seem to reinforce the memory for myself. We can always take out photographs to stare at. I just do not want to lose sight of any one of my memories, good or bad.

For each and every one of them makes up the emotional collage that is me.

I wonder if hearing John Prine‘s song, Hello in There, on the way to work today, had me thinking about these things …

Hello In There
©John Prine

We had an apartment in the city,
Me and Loretta liked living there.
Well, it’d been years since the kids had grown,
A life of their own left us alone.
John and Linda live in Omaha,
And Joe is somewhere on the road.
We lost Davy in the Korean war,
And I still don’t know what for, don’t matter anymore.

Chorus:
Ya’ know that old trees just grow stronger,
And old rivers grow wilder ev’ry day.
Old people just grow lonesome
Waiting for someone to say, "Hello in there, hello."

Me and Loretta, we don’t talk much more,
She sits and stares through the back door screen.
And all the news just repeats itself
Like some forgotten dream that we’ve both seen.
Someday I’ll go and call up Rudy,
We worked together at the factory.
But what could I say if asks "What’s new?"
"Nothing, what’s with you? Nothing much to do."

A year ago at Tamarika: Moving from place to place

Number 19, Number 19, Number 19 …

Quote of the day:

Fascinating that an atheist would have such a strong connection to the number 19:

–19 is the number of years in each cycle of the Hebrew calendar.

–19 is the number of angels guarding Hell.

–The Bahá’í calendar is structured so that a year contains 19 months of 19 days each, as well as a 19-year cycle and a 361-year (19×19) supercycle.

–19 is considered significant in astrology because it is the sum of the number of the constellations of the zodiac (12) and the number of the classically-known "planets" (7, including the sun and moon).

–The first verse in the Quran, `In the name of God, most gracious, most merciful’ consists of 19 letters and every word of this verse is repeated as a multiple of nineteen. The Quran consist of 114 chapter’s (19×6). The first chapter revealed, sura 96 consists of 19 verses. The last Quranic revelation, sura 110 consists of exactly 19 words.

Hmmm…

Danny Miller from comments

Danny what can I say?

I am impressed, overwhelmed, chagrined, dumbfounded, and overall … speechless …

Last year at Tamarika: Sick and tired

The nature of change

As I was taking my shower this morning it occurred to me that change happens in the tiniest of increments and with unexpected outcomes. I am coming up for the 19th anniversary of my emigration to America. Yes indeed. In June of this year I will have been away from Israel for nineteen years. This rounds out the figures for me: 19 years in Africa, 19 years in Israel and now, 19 here. Naturally I have been thinking about this quite a bit. For example, I wonder if I should be thinking of where to go next. And then I think about how there really is not anywhere I would rather be right now. I thought back to where I was socially,emotionally and psychically two years before I decided to emigrate from Israel. Twenty one years ago. My son’s Bar Mitzvah. I remembered what drove me away and how Bob-the-therapist helped me explore and understand that story over the years since arriving in Buffalo.

All connected to family of origin stuff.

I completed the shower, dried myself off and sat on the edge of my bed thinking back to how I was perceived, treated, and how I saw myself within the family system. And then it struck me. Now, twenty one years later, absolutely nothing has changed between family members and me. The priorities and perceptions of me are the same, exclusion identical, and validation and acknowledgment of my feelings non existent. I was shocked. I thought that going away had changed me and my relationships.

And then I realized, that facts and external circumstances might be exactly the same without any change whatsoever. However, how I perceive myself within that system and how I see myself in general, has changed quite a bit.

For example, I do not take things so personally any longer. I understand that most of the family behaviors and paradigms of denial have nothing to do with me. Indeed, they are just plodding along their unchanged paths without much regard for who I am, what I am about and what I have gone through, or go through in the present. They really hardly know who I am! I no longer agree with their perceptions that I am a trouble maker, liar or disloyal.

I sighed deeply. Relief was palpable. It almost felt peaceful. Naturally I would be ecstatic if things were different. Everyone wants a warm, loving family. But I have that within me, with Tom and his family, Gilad, and with close, adult friends. There are times I actually acknowledge my self-worth, what I have achieved professionally, and understand why I have done what I have done and do what I do. I know myself to be a kind and caring friend, compassionate teacher and supportive spouse and mother. I have many flaws and faults. Striving for perfection I set high standards for myself and others. I am liable to slip into purist ways of thinking until I talk myself out of it and realize the complexities of the human condition. And I do have a way of coming out with statements that sometimes shock people, almost as if I am socially incompetent, or culturally confused.

I have learned to make all kinds of mini-stands for myself and no longer expect others to do that for me. By accepting the fact that I am aging, and choosing to become an adult, I am more able than ever before, to make choices that allow me to take care of myself. And I am ridding myself of self-destructive behaviors slowly but surely.

There have been many moments during the past year when I considered packing it all in with the old family of origin. Bidding them all farewell and breaking off contact altogether. After all, what is in it for me? So much of the interaction is painful and inconsiderate of me if I allow it to affect me, and takes much work not to allow it to do so. But I am who I am because of each and every one of them. From my genes, to strengths and weaknesses, and even to how I cook my eggs. They will alway be a part of me whether I am in touch or not. And, in a strange sort of paradoxical way I have discovered a kind of security of feeling about the consistency within the system. Indeed, nothing I can ever do or say will make a dent or any difference in the shield they have created to defend themselves.

Systems and family dynamics may have remained static and unyielding. But within me there is much movement. I am not sure if a decision is formulating but I think there is another paradigm to break. Moving on again. I think I might hang around where I am, hold still with what I have, and continue the self awareness journey that has served me so well thus far. Am not promising anything because I know life is fluid, dynamic and that other circumstances, beyond my control will certainly change.