interior ruckus—part one
i had no idea at twenty-nine
an unfamiliar inner voice
so bossy, persuasive
now, right now
hormonal messengers
working overtime
baby, baby, baby
OR so i assumed...
in my 20s, i knew so little about my biology
youth doesn't ask many questions
baby, baby, baby
oh, to possess that blissful ignorance again
i understand now…
my ancient biology didn’t take over,
my private sociology did
interior ruckus of
age & expectations
my societal & familial programming
working overtime
interior ruckus—part two
period late
hopeful & cautious
baby, baby, baby
a September birthday?
NOPE, not this month
my body sighed
moons passed
late again
my body whispered, YES
a winter birthday?
baby, baby, baby
my son arrived
late in February
all giant and squirmy
and mine
three years later
that familiar drumbeat
my personal sociology
our son needs a sibling
my body whispered again
maybe baby?
Saturday—NO
Monday—YES, and...
babies,in my wife?
baby A & baby B
gritty little homesteaders
inhabitants of my territory
overlapping claims
our complex symbiosis
my daughters arrived
in the middle of May
all tiny and squirmy
and mine
interior ruckus—part three
mothering through menopause
hormones tectonic
& not just mine
age and expectations
divergent boundaries
epicenters evershifting
interior ruckus
a lifetime spent studying the waves
vibrations recorded
push and pull
energy released
expected
motherhood's seismic shift
less vigilance now required
when monitoring underground movement
tremors are expected
This morning I remembered a thoughtful quote I heard recently during Vermont Recovery Advocacy Day. I made coffee and started searching. I often think of the children’s book,If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, by Laura Joffe Numeroff.
One thing leads to another and sometimes you don’t know how you got there. This happens frequently to me.
Today, I thought I would follow the trail. If you give me coffee and some time alone…
OK, the author of the quote, I think his last name was hummmm…Chesterfield. There were some real gems from him. I thought I must have the attribution correct..Lord Chesterfield.
“Never seem wiser, nor more learned, than the people you are with. Wear your learning, like your watch, in a private pocket: and do not merely pull it out and strike it; merely to show that you have one.”
“Advice is seldom welcome, and those who need it the most, like it the least.”
I kept reading and then this one popped up:
“Women especially as to be talked to as below men, and above children.”
Lord Chesterfield, you obviously were not the author I was looking for…and maybe kind of a prick, but hey it was the 17th century when you were writing, so I won’t “cancel” you—context is everything.
The sun is up now, it’s snowing and I’ve had my second coffee…I finally found the correct quote.
“I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.”
—G. K. Chesterton
Thanks as the highest form of thought and gratitude doubled by wonder—so beautifully said. What other quotes about gratitude can I find?
I needed to know a bit more about G. K. Chesterton. He was an English author best known for creating the priest-detective, Father Brown.
Then, I next read on his Wikipedia page that his best friend from his St. Paul school days was Edmund Clerihew Bentley, inventor of the clerihew.
I didn’t know what a clerihew was. Should I have?Do you?
A clerihew (/ˈklɛrɪhjuː/) is a whimsical, four-line biographical poem invented by Edmund Clerihew Bentley. The first line is the name of the poem's subject, usually, a famous person put in an absurd light, or revealing something unknown or spurious about them. (Here is a well-known clerihew of his.) Sir Christopher Wren Said, "I am going to dine with some men. If anyone calls Say I am designing St. Paul's."[1]
I wrote my own clerihew after reading Mr. Bentley’s example.
To the courageous people of Ukraine, I humbly offer my thanks, gratitude, and compassion for what you are against-all-odds bravely doing to protect your families and defend democracy around the world.
by Lisa Lillibridge
to treat or consider (a person or a group of people) as alien to oneself
Merriam Webster
I want to blame
I need to blame
someone else
something else
anywhere else
for my inner tornado
alienate
vilify
repeat
easy breezy
automatic, unconscious
our world’s challenges
far too complex
and exhausting
to metabolize
entirely on my own
quell my fears
confirm my programming
please just tell me who, what, and where
I should other today
my team’s constant drumbeat
deliberate, unyeielding
laboring 24/7
to justify
their clouding of my inner knowing
click, forward, like, share, and tweet
fair and balanced
the daily diary of the American dream
all the news that’s fit to print
immutable
and distracting
like a howling airplane baby
poor mum
damn baby
damn mum
poor baby
othering
seductive
like an ice cold beer
hot, salty french fries
or another slice of chocolate cake
how did I other today?
those people are not my people
that problem is not my problem
that place is not my place
alienate
vilify
repeat
conformity is obedient and compliant
far easier
than looking in the mirror
and down into my own heart
I know I should not utter a word
until I’ve walked at least
ten steps in someone else’s
work-boots
sneakers
high heels
wing tips
flip flops
or bare feet
but I do
we all do
and it’s destroying us
I don’t know how this song wasn’t on my radar until yesterday.
I came of age in rural South Dakota in the 70s and 80s. There were a lot of mixed messages around gender roles, religious beliefs regarding women’s place in home and society and male privilege.
Thank goodness for Title IV.
On June 23, 1972, the President signed Title IX of the Education Amendments of 1972, 20 U.S.C. into law. Title IX is a comprehensive federal law that prohibits discrimination on the basis of sex in any federally funded education program or activity.
Without middle & high school athletics, I don’t know exactly where my resilience would’ve come from. I was a creative, slightly above average student—I just didn’t (and still don’t) get any juice from good grades.
I remember how patiently my late father fostered my young girl inner athlete. My Dad used the intelligence most readily available to him to teach what he highly valued; practice to improve, leadership, resilience and team work.
In the 70s and 80s in rural South Dakota, that pretty much makes Dad a feminist. He would find that funny, but I doubt would disagree.
HORIZONTAL MYSTERY SHIP
when you leave at seventeenrarely homemore than two weeks at a time months, years and decades
can be surprisingly unreliable markers of adulthoodonly once
in the summer of ‘88a recent college gradwide-eyed and wanderlust-fueledmy tonsils required moreI stayed a whole monthonce healed, packed, and in possession of necessary visasoff to the southern hemispherea young pioneer in search adventureand different starsnow, when visiting after a lifetime lived elsewheregrey hairs visibleno matter my effortsI find myselfsliding into a peculiar second adolescence of sorts
driving Dad’s truck
windows down, hair blowing
mile after mile of expansive, wild beauty
the prairie
a determined cellular homesteader
forever staking a claim in my blood and bonesI want to sneak out to the barplay Space Invaders
sadly, no longer a standard
unlike 1982drink beer, eat junk foodand avoid the endless expectations of being a grown-upLooking back with midlife sensibilities
I realizethose late nights in high schooltenth grade, I believelaser focused, playing Space Invadersprovided a surprisingly valuable education initials entered, quarters stackedprotect the bunkers, defeat the aliensmonitor the horizontal mystery ship with vigilance my peripheral vision unknowingly trained to notice things beyond immediate scope
bonus points pingedwhile friends waited impatientlytwenty more minutes, pleaseunder a waning August moon
only one lunar phase agoI was still my father’s daughtera middle-aged, South Dakota teenagerpretending time actually plays trickswanting desperately to disregard reality one more visit on the calendarone more phone callcheeseburger or ice cream cone one more evening watchingEverybody Loves RaymondM.A.S.H. or Mayberry RFDtwenty more minutes, pleasequarters stacked no longerSpace Invaders
the nearly forgotten teenage relic
of a heartbrokenfifty-somethingfatherless daughter
once again,
I am protecting my bunkersmonitoring a new horizontal mystery shippaying very close attentionto what's just beyond my immediate scopejust twenty more minutes, please