tamarjacobson

Quotes of the day: [From President Barack Obama's speech in Tucson, Arizona last night – italics – mine]

"… it's important for us to pause for a moment and make sure that we are talking with each other in a way that heals, not a way that wounds."

"Rather than pointing fingers or assigning blame, let us use this occasion to expand our moral imaginations, to listen to each other more carefully, to sharpen our instincts for empathy, and remind ourselves of all the ways our hopes and dreams are bound together."

"We recognize our own mortality, and are reminded that in the fleeting time we have on this earth, what matters is not wealth, or status, or power, or fame – but rather, how well we have loved, and what small part we have played in bettering the lives of others."

 "… let's remember that it is not because a simple lack of civility caused this tragedy, but rather because only a more civil and honest public discourse can help us face up to our challenges as a nation, in a way that would make them proud. It should be because we want to live up to the example of public servants like John Roll and Gabby Giffords, who knew first and foremost that we are all Americans, and that we can question each other's ideas without questioning each other's love of country, and that our task, working together, is to constantly widen the circle of our concern so that we bequeath the American dream to future generations."

"We may not be able to stop all evil in the world, but I know that how we treat one another is entirely up to us."

"I want us to live up to her expectations. I want our democracy to be as good as she imagined it. All of us – we should do everything we can to make sure this country lives up to our children's expectations."

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Writing in the dark

Quote of the day:

"It's a holy thing to be a writer. It is why you want to write your memoir: to remember all of it. The good and the bad. To trust your experience, to have confidence that your moments and the moments of others on this earth mattered, not to be forgotten, wiped out with the new decree, the better plan. 

It is a great thing you are doing whatever it is you are remembering. You are saying that life – and its passing – have true value." Natalie Goldberg [Page 265]

Yesterday I started making an inventory of "goodbyes." One of the exercises that I have started writing in a journal I was given for Christmas. It is a small book, with a fabric cover – floral, paisley design in rustic colors and splashes of blue. The paper inside the journal is roughly bound, and a piece of elastic band holds the book together. Its size made it easy to slip into my bag as I walked off, around the corner, to the High Point Cafe yesterday. I took the long way so as to get in a twenty minute walk at the same time, and the morning was crispy cold. By the time I arrived at the cafe, the tip of my nose was rosy red from the wind, and my glasses steamed up as I walked in the front door. The warmth of the place enveloped me with its diverse community of old and young, babies and young children accompanying young parents and grandparents, all talking and some laughing. Others bent in closely over their tables in intense conversations. I carefully pushed my way through the crowds to a small table in the corner and placed my coat, hat and gloves on the chair to book my space while ordering at the counter a cheddar cheese scone and non-fat latte.

As I began eating, drinking and writing, a young man asked if he could sit at my table as there were no more seats in the small room of the cafe. I agreed at once. He pulled out his iPad and began checking out news on CNN. First he gave me a large, warm smile and wished me a "Happy New Year," hoping that my day was going well. It felt perfect. Indeed, the perfect venue to start writing my list of goodbyes. I was not alone as I began to explore "fare-welling" during the past sixty one years of my life. I had been putting off this exercise for a couple of months now. In the feelings department, it had seemed formidable.

In between sips of the milky coffee-latte and soft, cheddar scone perfectly baked with traces of salt and pepper subtly integrated into the warm dough, I began my inventory. As I wrote each memory down, yet another would immediately rise up from somewhere in my brain: "Oh yes, and I remember that time!" – Each goodbye setting off an association with yet another and another.

I named that journal entry, "Last Looks," because I realized that goodbyes have to do with my memories of how people looked at me before they departed – whether through security gates at airports, boarding a bus, waving from a car window, glancing back while walking down a road, or just before they died. Some of those last looks have stayed with me for years, compounded by guilt and regret haunting me at times, at others with yearning for good times gone by.

Eventually I ran out of memories. I laid down my pen, and gazed around the cafe. The young man opposite me was engrossed in reading his iPad and there had been some comings, goings, exchanges and rotations of groups and couples at neighboring tables. I was exhausted. Nostalgic. My throat seemed closed, with an almost choking sensation, and I wanted to weep. As I gathered my empty cup and plate to discard in the buckets next to the counter at the back of the room, the man looked up directly into my eyes. Once again he gave me a large, warm smile, and this time said gently, "Have a wonderful day out there." 

I stumbled out onto the sidewalk and as I almost jogged down the hill towards my house, tears streamed down my cheeks.

This month is the sixth anniversary of blogging for me. It also means that we have been living in Philadelphia these past six years, for, originally, I used my blog to help the transition from New York to Pennsylvania, one job to another, old friends to new ones, and our Buffalo house to our new Philadelphia home.

So, not only is it 2011 – ahead is a new blogging year as well. I have been thinking about how blogging has changed since I started six years ago. I had more readers then, and my posts were a lot longer than they are now. And, talking of focus, I seemed focused on self-alteration, or at the very least, trying to understand my Self more and more through writing publicly about that.

In August this year, I have signed up for, and plan to participate in a workshop with Natalie Goldberg in Taos, New Mexico. My hope is to figure out a way to to write a memoir – find a focus, and tell my life story. My brain constantly shoots out thoughts, ideas and angles of my life, but I feel overwhelmed with information and memories to choose from. I like the idea of a silent retreat and daily writing exercises, and am hoping Goldberg's expertise will guide me to my memoir path. 

I asked Santa for journals on my Christmas list, and indeed received a few of those [Thanks, S., J., & T.]. Natalie Goldberg requires us to hand-write our pieces. Those I will certainly do. For I try to be a good student! However, I have been thinking that this year I will also use my blog for writing exercises. No doubt about it, blogging has been invaluable in exercising and improving my writing skills these past six years. As I type away, I consider the readers out there, and at times even receive comments from the few remaining visitors to my posts. 

Today, I hail the sixth anniversary, and tilt my blog slightly in a different direction, with a slightly changed focus: writing skills. 

However, understanding my Self through writing will most certainly still be included. For most of the writing exercises Natalie Goldberg suggests, come from places deep within our emotional memory banks. 

It seems like I have lost my focus. Or did I ever have it?

I mean I must have. For, how did I complete a doctoral dissertation, and write or edit three books? How do I organize syllabus's and teach two courses a semester? How do I Chair a department? Make presentations.

Without focus.

And yet, I feel as if I have lost my focus, and, indeed, that I have never had it! 

In fact, it seems as if I have always juggled a number of things at once. For example, as I wrote the dissertation, I was also directing a university child care center, being president of the local, and a member of the State early childhood organization, while teaching courses at three colleges as an adjunct instructor. 

So, is juggling a way for me to focus?

For, as I start one thing I immediately find myself doing a couple of others simultaneously – blogging while paying taxes; drinking coffee as I water the plants, clean the cat litter, do the laundry, and wash dishes; write, and organize my photo albums; organize courses and talk on the phone – on and on …

Last year this time I wrote about wasting time. So, perhaps I feel out of focus right after the holiday season.

Therefore, has focusing something to do with being in or out of routine?

Or with brain-space?

So many ways to think about it.

It makes it harder to focus.

And then …

… why do I care about being focused?

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Time and the wasting

… just busy with Christmas guests:

and travel here and there.

Be back soon

Hopefully before 2011

who knows

perhaps before that.

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Who knows; & Quote of the day

My Christmas wish for all of us (via Annie Lennox). Heard this today on the way to work (bought the CD at Starbucks):

How many mountains must you face before you learn to climb.
I'm gonna give you what it takes, My Universal Child.

I'm gonna try to find a way to keep you safe from harm.
I'm gonna be a special place, a shelter from the storm.
And I can see you, you're everywhere, your portrait fills the sky.
I'm gonna wrap my arms around you, My Universal Child.

And when I look into your eyes, so innocent and pure.
I see the shadow of the things, that you've had to endure.
I see the tracks of every tear that ran ran down your face.
I see the hurt, I see the pain, I see the human race.
I can feel you, you're everywhere, shining like the sun.
And I wished to god that kids like you could be like everyone.

How many tumbles must it take before you learn to fly.
I'm going to help you spread your wings, My Universal Child.
I'm gonna help you find a way to keep you safe from harm

We're gonna build a special place a shelter from the storm

I can feel you you're everywhere shining like the sun.
And I wished to god that kids like you could be like everyone.

I think I am getting the hang of it.

When I say to myself, "Get rid of desire," or "Just let it go …" it means that I am steering my Self away from uncomfortable feelings. Indeed, since Friday, I must say that this weekend has seemed like an experiment in holding still with some of the most uncomfortable feelings I have ever had to deal with.

And this time, I did not allow excuses to hold me back. 

Sitting in the dark in the wee hours of the morning, or out in the brilliant winter sunshine on my porch, at times even in the middle of cooking dinner, driving down the road to the neighborhood store, or setting out Christmas tree decorations, I experienced feelings of anger and sadness, and stayed with them until they were gone. 

This morning, as I stare at the computer screen, I try to sum up the findings of my experiment this weekend. After all, I have been working at understanding my fear of anger and sadness all year. So, in a way I am thankful for an incident on Friday, which set off a cascade of emotion that, for the next few days, poured through me like the force of a gushing waterfall. And, believe me, it hurt! When I held still and allowed myself to experience the emotions, I discovered that it became physical. I felt pain in my back, chest, neck and legs, including a type of throbbing in the front of my brain. At times I thought I could not breathe, I felt nauseous, and when I cried tears flowed like rain without any control. A veritable storm of emotion. Mostly I was alone when I allowed this to happen. In fact, I did not want anyone around me. I just wanted to know what would happen to me if I simply allowed myself to feel the feelings. At times it felt dark and scary, but mostly it was simply sore and achey … and … even as vibrant images roared and swirled around my brain … it was silent on the outside. 

And I survived. No one got hurt. And I did not even need a pill!

This morning I sigh with clarity and relief. For, I don't feel any need to share those feelings with any of the past or present people to whom they might have been directed. I begin to understand that allowing myself to experience rage need not feel as enormous as it did this weekend. Indeed, it is just a feeling like any other. It is not dangerous or frightening – even bad. It is just part of being human. If someone steps on my toes or bruises my feelings, I can feel angry, hurt, and then move on. At times, I might even be able to say, "Hey! Look out! That hurts me. I don't like it when you do or say that."

Now, I understand that for some of my readers out there what I write here might seem ridiculous. You have probably known this forever – were taught that it is all right to feel your feelings – and were even encouraged to express them. But, for me, this is a revelation. For as a young child, I was taught that my feelings were dangerous and destructive – even crazy and cultural (the wrong culture, that is!). And emotional memory clutters the brain for a life-time.

Back in September, on a trip to Idaho with my darling Jacobson family, I took a ride high up Bald Mountain in a gondola. It was sheer and steep as the ground fell beneath us in a terrifying way for a person like me who has a fear of heights! I was determined to try it though, and held tight to Tom's hand as we set off. Dick and Nelle smiled lovingly at me as we continued up the mountain. Slowly my fear dissipated as the glass encased car glided up the mountain, shaking and trembling gently now and again with the wind whistling through the trees, and gusting by, My family sat closely by understanding and validating the meaning of those moments for me. I cannot describe the feeling of accomplishment I experienced when I arrived at the top of Bald Mountain to share with everyone in the exquisite view.

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This weekend felt quite a bit like riding that gondola up a very steep mountain. And as Christmas draws near, I pull my Jacobson family closer than ever to my heart. For, I realize these past 16 years they have enveloped me with love, acknowledgement, acceptance, and validation that has, bit by bit, given me the courage to be my most open and vulnerable self.

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: All I want

Thanksgiving rolling in tomorrow, and this one will be a quiet day for us. Just life partner and me sharing our turkey and pumpkin pie.

I am looking forward to unpacking the Christmas decorations this weekend and seeing how they look in our new house.

The family arrived yesterday from UNICEF. I must say, the African wooden figurines fit perfectly with our mission style house and decor.

The cactuses on my window sill are starting to bloom …

some …

… more than others …

Ada is always right here …

… and Son … in my thoughts …

Gratitude is in abundance this year. My thankful for … list seems endless … including life partner, our new home, family and friends, and a wonderful place to work, with smart, compassionate, and intriguing students, as well as collegial and supportive faculty and administration …

… but I must say that the list begins with my therapist.

No doubt about it! 

For, this whole year he has slowly, gently, consistently – helped me understand how to acknowledge and, more importantly, experience my emotions – feel my feelings – to the core of my being. Ah yes, it is uncomfortable – even excruciating at times. I cannot deny that. For I thought my defenses and old patterns had kept me safe for sixty years. Indeed, I am getting to know my Self like never before. I seem to be constantly relearning, and realizing realities that are new and different – and there is no turning back.

There are moments when I feel like I am seeing clearly for the first time … coming into the light …

… 'Tis the season, all right – from darkness to the light.

And Hanukah begins next week too.

Hm … so I think I will go down and unpack the Hanukia - clean it up in readiness … 

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Quotes of the day & Lists

I should be …

grading papers

cleaning cat litter

walking

doing yoga

but all I want to do … is write …

about …

… Autumn's wild winds blowing leaves, swirling them up in the air and back down again in piles and rusted colored configurations.

… Ada at the top of the stairs meowing with a loud yowl beckoning me back up to play with her toy mouse – and me meowing back echoing her exact tone, calling her back down to where I am changing the water in her bowls or preparing her food. 

… Dawning light creeping over the christmas cactus on my window sill, whose many white buds are full and bursting to explode open at any moment while I am not looking.

… The necklace sweet Cathie gave me last weekend, which she had made by hand, using beads of olive green-colored howlite, and tiny delicate yellow jade, because before traveling to Philadelphia from Washington, she had read my blog and knew I favor those colors. Dangling in the middle of the precious autumn-colored beads, she had threaded a little Guanyin charm – a Buddha – Goddess of Mercy, whom Cathie told me, "listens to the cries  of the world." Her thoughtfulness could not have come at a more appropriate and poignant time for me. Just on a day when I was feeling weighed down with regret about past mistakes, and overwhelmed with guilt about my worth as a mother. Cathie smiled gently as she handed me my gift she had so tenderly created, telling me that I was like the Guanyin – "listening to the cries of the world." I thought I might break out in deep sobs but, instead, held back the tears and smiled thankfully – stoically. And yet … I have worn the necklace every day since, and from time to time holding the little Buddha, stroking her and healing from the feelings of failure and worthlessness as I do so.

I have a dear friend back in Buffalo who believes that our cries sent out to the Universe, are answered if only we allow ourselves to acknowledge the responses when they arrive.

I have been thinking … I might have to add Cathie and her necklace to my list of Angels … 

[Thanks to JB for the quote]

I confess. I do love receiving my first morning coffee in bed. I think gratefully of Mira back at the conference last week, who not only went downstairs to the lobby to bring me my first cup of coffee for the morning, but also – then – took a photograph of me in bed with it. Now, that's what I call friendship!

When I was young growing up in Africa, I was served a cup of piping hot sweet tea in bed before getting ready for school every single day. What a privileged, spoiled child I was! Curled up in a ball, fast asleep, I would suddenly feel a poke on my arm to wake me up. Opening my eyes I saw our servant woman quietly and carefully placing the tea next to my bed. "Good morning, madam," she would say softly. Did I even reply? I cannot remember. More like grunted some kind of greeting, I imagine. It would be years – decades later, that I realized she would have to wake up very early every morning so that she could prepare our tea in time (Confronting Our Discomfort, 2003 page 10). Always at our beck and call, receiving a pittance of a salary, she had left her own children behind in some rural area to find work in town. It is no wonder I refuse to hire anyone to clean my house nowadays. For how could I ever make it up to all those servant women slaving away early in the morning, sacrificing their own children, so they could provide us white folks with our early morning cup of tea each day? The mind boggles. 

There is shame in being white and privileged on the backs of others with no choice. It is something I never want to forget. Today, I give thanks for all those wonderful black African women who took care of me so warmly, graciously, and kindly.

I walk over to my little coffee pot gurgling and brewing in the corner of my study. A new day has begun. Heating has not quite reached the third floor of the house yet, so I don a long woolen cardigan that my son gave me for Christmas many years ago. I wear it as if I enfold myself with him. The cardigan warms the dull ache of longing, for I miss him so much these days. Wrapped warmly around my neck and atop my head is the scarf and hat my sister Sue knitted for me this year. She took care to use my favorite colors: green, brown and yellow. I pour myself a cup of coffee, and warming my hands on it return to my desk to gaze into the computer screen.