tamarjacobson

This morning I woke up thinking that my mourning days are over. Just like that! Am not quite sure just how long it is that I have been in mourning. Definitely a few years. There were blatantly obvious reasons for grief, like losing friends to cancer or my darling Molly over the summer, and giving up my job in Buffalo and moving to Philadelphia.

On a more psychological level, though, I have been bidding farewell to the old me, letting go of ancient pains, of the ties that bind. Realizing that holding onto my youth, old paradigms and especially grudges, I have been bound to the past, weighed down, wrapped up like a cocoon inside the inner child repeating familiar patterns over and over again.

This morning I woke up lighter somehow. Now I know you might be thinking that it is just something hormonal, a mood swing, or that I just had a good night’s rest, a happy dream or something like that … I thought that too for a moment … but, no. I have noticed that this lightness of being has accompanied me for a few weeks now.

For instance, I love going to work lately. I look forward to the drive, enjoy talking with colleagues and love teaching. I am excited to be out on the circuit presenting, traveling, consulting once more. Have become passionate about critical thinking and education again as I collaborate on a new book project with a colleague of like mind. T and I seem to be talking a lot, working out differences in a lighter, more loving … mature? … way. And more than all that, I am sensing a feeling of joy threading softly, gently through it all.

My poor, old, sick, abused mind often sends signals of danger and sorrow to remind me where I come from. It makes me pay the price, niggles and teases me back down towards the abyss of victimization and shadowy pain. But just as I verge on falling in, something happens and I pull myself back and away, stepping out into the light, breathing a sigh of relief and, sometimes, even, smiling to myself.

I recall how Patti, our receptionist at the University at Buffalo Child Care Center would smile and say quietly, "It is going to be a good day," whenever she would hear me humming as I watered the plants. I have found myself humming a lot lately and, at times, even laugh out loud from a humorous thought.

If I would be seeing Bob the therapist today I might say, "Hey, Bob! I’m getting there. I’m being the most me I can be. Am shedding the fear, breaking away, letting go …" I look over at the framed Martha Graham poem he gave me before I left Buffalo almost two years ago:

… You have to keep open and aware of urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open …

"Hey Bob," I whisper to myself, "I’m getting there …"

A year ago at Tamarika: The Good Body & Needy Meme

Just after I had pulled a muscle in my upper left thigh the pain was excruciating. The thing is, I do not recall pulling the muscle. Indeed, I am not even sure when it occurred. It might have been when I folded my legs into a lotus position so that I could eat my dinner on the couch. Or perhaps it was the way I twisted it walking back into the kitchen. Who knows! Two Advil and a rather painful night later I hobbled to my computer and read: "Slow down, you’re exercising too much," over at The Boomer Chronicles.

In fact, I have been exercising rather a lot lately and then off I went flying in planes and sitting for long stretches driving in cars all over North Western PA. I guess my leg just did not know what to do with itself last night. Hence the pulling, tightening, squeezing, twisting, turning, writhing of muscle in its upper left thigh. Nothing a strong work-out and soak in a very hot bath did not almost fix later today.

Each sign of mortality shocks me. Not dramatically. No, not even passionately. It is like a little nudge, a niggle, teasing my brain and reminding me that life is short. It has taken me 57 years to get to this point, that is true. And in a way that feels like a long time. But, honestly … at times it is just a snap of my fingers. Am not quite done with ages thirties and forties in my brain, and yet the body squeaks and rattles, hobbles and twists and reminds me that yes indeed, one of these days I will be no longer. I will not last forever.

I have noticed that all kinds of people express mortality shock in very different ways. Some are adamant that they are flowing along, controlled, supported by the universe while everything happens for a reason. They are ready, willing and able to move onto the next stage, even excited to see what that stage might bring. Others do everything they possibly can to postpone the event: exercising, dyeing their hair, eating right, taking keep-me-young-forever pills, or even doing surgery to cover up the inevitable deterioration. Mortality shock has an affect on me, I have to admit. Over and over again I am reminded that I am older, aging, moving towards a world without me. I wonder what that world might look like. Will it exist if I am not there? Like a toddler peering through her fingers playing peek-a-boo, experimenting with her own being-ness, wondering egocentrically if she exists at all when her hands block out the light. Does darkness mean that the world will spin no longer?

Mortality shock helps me take those old grudges I have harbored for so long, and release them. For example, I used to feel so sad and forlorn that not one member of my family was present at my doctoral graduation. After ten years of struggle, long hours of work and study, I completed three degrees and graduated with my Ph.D. at age 49. The only woman in my family to have done so! And yet, no one came to celebrate my graduation with me.

Recently I was reminded of that as I was reading A Hope in the Unseen along with a faculty reading group I joined. The old grudge rose up and caused me some ancient pain. While completely incomparable to Cedric Jennings‘ story of struggle through amazing, seemingly insurmountable odds, my own academic achievement suddenly became apparent to me. Alone, without family models, support or encouragement, without their acknowledgment or pride in me, I left everything behind and plunged myself into a foreign land and the strange culture of academia. Working and studying full-time, while putting my own son through high school and college, I persevered against sometimes seemingly insurmountable odds – financial and emotional obstacles, even including an unimaginable lack of confidence. And yet, in the end, I achieved the degrees, wrote a book, and found a number of fulfilling and rewarding positions where I was able to contribute and work actively towards making a difference in the lives of teachers and children.

Thanks to mortality shock I allowed the grudge against family neglect to melt away and, instead, discovered my own worth. A wave of understanding washed over me. I had bucked our family system so much that, of course, people ignored my achievement. It had nothing to do with me. It was just all too amazingly weird for them to comprehend. The other day, as I described all of this to the group of faculty during our wonderful discussions and revelations about the book I realized just how grateful I am to aging. Yes indeed, I am shocked each time I am faced with my own mortality. I am certainly nowhere ready to leave this life, and have ever so much more I want to try out. But at least these feelings of physical deterioration, or that time is flying by, help me live more fully, present in the now, and let go of old grudges, finally replacing them with badly needed, long overdue, self-acknowledgment.

Oh well, I sigh, and rise up grunting and groaning at my aching thigh muscle, hobble into the kitchen for a cup of tea. Yes, all right. I think I will take two more Advil and go for a long walk in the woods to catch the cold, afternoon light before it goes out, poof, ending yet one more day in the rest of my life.

Ooh, it’s getting closer to the time …

So much to do before that … and after it too … yes indeed. Presenting and even attending Board meetings …

But am so happy to report that my trip to Clarion was as beautiful as Neil’s trees … if only I still lived in Buffalo. I could have participated …

I am sure that the best thing I do lately is connect up to old friends and colleagues. Our talks are deep and meaningful. They cut to the core of our being, life’s complexity, and fill the soul with love.

Greg says good teaching is about love.

My sorrow is that when I visit some early grade classrooms I do not see the love too much. Nor is there joy and laughter. Humor is cautious lest everything fall apart, everyone lose control. Everyone is so serious, preachy, moralizing, sit-up-straight and never talk out of turn or even to each other, devoid of play or playfulness, preparing and preparing for tests and testing, standards and becoming standardized, hushing and shushing, repressed and repressing …

But I arrived home energized and refueled from Sally and Greg, so happy to see my students last night again and into the delightful chill (brr) of fall in South East PA.

Well, am on my way to Clarion PA.

It seems there are a number of students reading my book and their professor and my colleague are going to ask me critical questions about it. Am excited because I heard that I will be addressing 150 students, who will surely challenge and expand my mind.

Sally, my dear old good friend, will pick me up for dinner first and we will explore her new home together.

I’ll be home soon and hopefully will have tales to tell and stories to share.

I just love blogging from the airport. Lost in my own world, all sorts of people talking, passing by and … and now they’re calling me … up, up and awaaaaaay …

It all began with an e-mail:

"Believe it or not but I am staying near Philadelphia. I am here till Thursday 11th. and would love to see you if you feel so inclined. I have no idea what your plans, schedule etc are …"

What a surprise. And, yes it was almost afternoon before I found you again, old friend. Trying to catch up on twenty five years separation within the eight hours at our disposal. Dropping everything. Work, work-out, whatever the day’s plans originally held for me, pushed, shoved, thrown aside ecstatically just to spend the time with you again. What a gift. Talking, exploring, examining, sharing, reflecting, walking, eating, drinking.

  I found myself staring at you, drinking in your presence, realizing just how much I have missed you. Forgiveness, reconciliation, remembering vividly the minutest of details of times, moments in our past, understanding about how complex life is … was … and all that matters is right here, right now.

I was sad to say goodbye. Still so much left to say, to share. But relieved, fulfilled and joyous to have you in my life again.

And, of course, we will meet again. Soon. Long before twenty five years can pass between us again.

Last night I dreamed it was raining hard and heavy. I ran around in the mud trying to bring the cats inside to safety. First, I picked up Molly and held her firmly, arms wrapped around her body as she struggled to go free, clawing and biting at me. I was speaking to her, explaining how we had to go indoors, rain dripping down my nose and into my mouth as I tried to calm her. She pushed out of my arms and as she jumped to the ground the rain turned to snow, soft, gentle, white and Molly had become Terry running towards me, tail wagging. Just as he stretched his little black button of a snout towards me, I felt a tap-tapping, little scratch on my face, and I awoke to find Ada Mae sitting on my stomach, paw reaching out to my nose.

As I write this, Ada is calling me to play with her favorite toy: string attached to a straightened wire hanger. She has become my little pal. After waking me early each morning she runs and jumps onto my desk. I laid out a small, soft blanket and she loves to sit close to me as I write. She waits while I open the blinds, take my cup of coffee and visit the bathroom. As I walk into my study she chirps and warbles a greeting, sitting up in excitement because she knows I have a few treats for her. And so, we start our day together. Ada no longer hesitates to enter our bedroom and sleeps on the bed up close to my body all night long. She is coming out of the shadow and into the light. For years, she respected Molly’s dominance and ownership of house and people in it. I suspect she was put in her place a number of times as a reminder of who was boss!

No luck with the string and hanger game, so Ada settles on a rug by my feet. A gentle soul, flirtatious, warm and soft body, she seems to sway her hips as she wanders through the house. Slowly she takes ownership, treading carefully and respectfully as she does so, looking into my eyes as if asking permission, holding my gaze without fear.

There is a calm about her that heals and forgives me of all the pain and guilt I feel about my past pets, taking the struggling dominant Molly of my dream, turning her into a white and fluffy as snow Terry, becoming the waking reality of my new, dear friend, gently tapping my nose with her out-stretched paw.

Ada Mae.

Quote of the day:

Mindfulness. Awareness. Giving. Love. I could put these thoughts together in coherent sentences, but why bother? You know what I mean. Frank Paynter in my comments.

I am shedding:

• Toxic relationships
• Old thought patterns
• Ancient generational paradigms
• Guilt, guilt, guilt
• Sadness
• Honorable suffering
• Heaviness, body and soul
• Fatigue
• Despair
• Feelings of unworthiness, un-deservedness

Oh, and Jean, the migraine blew away … poof … just like that.

I am working on kicking my heels up with joy but I cannot seem to lift off the ground. I simply need to dance more.

A year ago at Tamarika: Shattered Dreams (Update)

I had a good day at work yesterday. The sun was shining, cool breeze in the air for my drive in. Successful meeting and I got things done! As I drove home I felt pleased. Satisfied. I achieved something. Nothing huge. But something. I am learning the ropes. Finding my way. And there is support for me to do just that. Last Tuesday similar doings. The first part of yesterday’s completion.

Last Wednesday I awoke from a fitful, turbulent sleep with a violent migraine. As the day progressed I felt worse and worse about myself. Even feelings like "What’s it all about?" haunted me during the day as I tried to do what needed to be done.

This Wednesday? You guessed it! I awoke from a fitful, turbulent sleep with a violent migraine. As the day progressed I felt worse and worse about myself. Even feelings like "What’s it all about?" haunted me during the day as I tried to do what needed to be done.

And so, as T. was leaving for work with the world’s greatest fruit shake made by yours most truly, I stopped him at the door.

"Is there a pattern here?" I asked as I explained that lately when I have a good day – the next one is a pure downer, physically and emotionally. Rhetorical question I guess because he smiled and smiled.

I waved him off to his car, came inside slowly and closed the door behind me. Reaching for my blog there’s a smile on my face.

Funny how breaking a pattern sometimes comes from just speaking it out loud.

Well, for today at least …

Back in the City on Saturday, meeting up with Buffalo Buddies, we walked about, ate such good food, and wandered into an exhibit, a labyrinth of words, where there was just so much to read … think about. These are but a few of my favorites (scribbled in haste all over the train schedule between Trenton and New York Penn Station):

"If you are killed because you are a writer, that’s the maximum expression of respect, you know." Mario Vargas Llosa

"When you get there, there isn’t any there, there." Gertrude Stein

"I sit with Shakespeare and he winces not." W.E.B. DuBois

"We must have a place where children can have a whole group of adults they can trust." Margaret Mead

"We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; The real tragedy of life is when adults are afraid of the light." Plato

"Freedom is always and exclusively freedom for the one who thinks differently." Rosa Luxemburg

"The hottest places in hell are reserved for those who, in a period of moral crisis maintain their neutrality." Dante Alighieri

And then … home again …

A year ago at Tamarika: Maid of Constant Blogging

I found this at Shorty PJs … "arf! arf!" …