The Pain of Others

Moxie Supper:

Talks about “Moxie Supper’s poam “Advice” in this post, Let the Celery Rot s in most,beautiful patterns that still leave me hungry for more…”The Pain of Others“– excerpt of a poem in my book: “Last Chance for the Tarzan Holler” by Thylias Moss (aka Moxie Supper).

 

Important that we can project feelings about pain, suffering of others! –important principle of Limited Fork Theory –that we exchange, connect, bifurcate and are unable to remain the same as we were before the encounters, in this way changing even our destinies! –part of  a point that Carl Sagan makes in Pale Blue Dot

Pale Blue Dot (repeated)

This is how my toy stove, made for me by a Holocaust Survivor, subject of the poem “Advice” written because a professor I had at Oberlin announced that we shouldn’t appropriate experiences; Advice: here are copies I tried to make of the poem:Advice page 3Advice page 2Advice page 1Advice page 5Hope the publisher, Persea Books, doesn’t mind.

Yes; I am a sable lady, and no, I’m not Jewish, but I was raised by a Jewish couple, the Arnsteins, –I was their child; any other was lost in a need to decimate Jews, accused of everything going wrong in Germany.  No redemption for them…. But they raised me and loved me! –in their displacement, I became their child, and learned to love them as much as they loved me.  all led to this post:

 

Here’s how the toy stove looks now:

Toy Stove now 00Toy stove now 03aToy Stove now 03

 

 

An ability to make such things kept Mr. Arnstein alive! I can’t ever forget this…. Really motivated me to visit the Holocaust Memorial Museum 

and because of that couple, my babysitters while both of my parents worked –we lived in their attic; I felt a bond (undeserved) with Anne Frank I told Mrs. Arnstein that Mickey Mouse was my boyfriend; she didn’t question this at all, and allowed me to interact with her precious thins, the little she was able to confiscate from Europe.  All of thoe family was dead –there was only me.  I cooked everything with that toy stove! I learned to love brisket, challah, Babka and chicken soup because of her.  Wehn I worked as a junior executive auditor in downtown Cleveland (summer job before returning to college), I would eat lunch at Alvie’s: corned beef on rye with mustard, something I also ordered from Zingerman’s in Ann Arbor, as often as I could

Contents here:

REMEMBERING

I don’t want to remember, yet I do; I’d rather be asleep –as if I’ve eaten something incompatible with my system.  Something I can’t digest –though I’ve had many years to get used to it.

I’m recalling –though I don’t want to– THE DAY when my deceased ex-father-in-law said I wasn’t a “real mother” because I’d adopted my children, one of whom was his niece –didn’t matter to him (he also didn’t come to my wedding, for which I made all dresses in the wedding party except my wedding gown) ….  Clearly the way he defined “what constituted “real” differed extremely from ways in which I defined “real” / “realities“….  So what was the equivalent of a “real” mother?

 

Evidently, a child had to grow in your own womb –not sure how he felt about implanted embryos or surrogates when a womb was insubstantial or unavailable, sill producing viable eggs despite a hysterectomy, for instance.  And I was “real” enough, standing right in front of him on his porch, beside his son –to whom I was married –and even then we knew, although my then-spouse remained silent; we knew that it wasn’t “my” fault –not that childlessness must endure “blame” –how embarrassing for my spouse at the time, to have to admit that “HE” WAS THE REASON FOR THE CHILDLESSNESS of the marriage! –yet every doctor visited always ASSUMED THAT I WAS THE REASON! –but I wasn’t, having been raped when I was fifteen, and getting pregnant from that rape (I knew I could get pregnant) –didn’t have that baby –just as I shouldn’t have, despite those children of rape who managed to grow up without (visible) scars of their conception (and I shouldn’t have had that baby…. I was much too young, and would have changed my life significantly, I imagine –can’t say for sure since I didn’t take that route of being a teenager (would have been 16 when that child would have been born; was craving popcorn when my pregnancy could no longer be hidden at home… never talked about this! –never said a word!completely altered my behavior at schoolI started sitting in the backs of classrooms, and said nothing! –absolutely nothing! –was pushed through corridors by movements of crowds; grades plummeted  –didn’t matter to me how I performed! –I recalled how I’d done nothing to try to stop this older man, deacon at my mother’s church, from violating me! –he was 25, I was 15!

But there I was, standing beside the man (age 23) who met me when I was still 16, right after a third-trimester abortion in New York State, where it was legal in 1970… Of course, he’s stated that he did nothing wrong, nothing for which he had no permission; I consented to everything, one way or another… developed a dependence on him, similar, perhaps, to those who begin to “love” their jailers, their captors…. Anyway, I was in another situation over which I had no control…. Even married him….

 

After a few years of marriage my ex-spouse was certainly aware that he was the one unable to procreate, despite what doctors seemed to think, as I was consistently the one “blamed” for the childless marriage –so we adopted children and became a family instead of a couple, first his niece (when she was seven, because her mother, [as did her mother's identical twin sister [[reminds me a bit --though an entirely different case-- of the Gibbons sisters of "Silent Twins"]] my ex-spouse’s sister (as did her identical twin),  lost custody of her five children for neglect), then in an attempt to appease me, a son, first baby I ever held and was allowed to bring home as my own!…. We had those two children with us when my ex-father-in-law told me that I wasn’t a “real” mother….. And my ex-spouse could have said something then, but didn’t to his father –who also didn’t come to the wedding…. Allowed me to be the one responsible…. But by then, we knew! –after visits to so many fertility clinics –he was told that he’d unlikely (not “impossible” as he continued to mention) father a biological child… We tried in vitro fertilization three times ($10,000.00 each attempt, to no avail; just a lot of injections I had to take to ripen eggs sooner, and in a quantity large enough for harvesting.  No success.  I, of course, was getting older, and by then we lived in Massachusetts…. But not, according to my ex-spouse, “too old” –I could have waited; “all it took  was one sperm!” he insisted, and he had at least one as I grew older and older by the minute….  But his few million sperm needed to be healthy, motile and not misshapen, needed to be active and able to penetrate the egg…   They couldn’t. Not even in a Pertri dish where the sperm didn’t have to swim very far to get to the egg….

But how could he know this until a partner failed to conceive, failed to become pregnant?

 

I hesitate to mention it, but that adoption of the niece was disastrous; she was seven when we adopted her –to keep her in the family; –we were asked if we would take a child, and I said the youngest, knowing the role of age of the child in which interventions are attempted; I thought that we might have a chance with only the youngest; she was seven, beyond the age when influence in our Massachusetts home, wealthy pocket some 23 miles north of Boston could exert significant changes in her and her life, after she accompanied me in my second year of graduate study to Durham New Hampshire, right after she came to live with us, and when she was eight, stole money from the teacher’s purse. January.

It was winter, and NEW HAMPSHIRE SNOW fell prodigiously.  Here and there were animal tracks like forks, and hoarfrost patterns on windows that my cheeks tried to pilfer, pressed against these panes. Loved the spray when wind stirred up the powdery snow, twirled it and released it so that it fell again rather lacy.  I couldn’t wait to make bootprints. NEW HAMPSHIRE SNOW.

 

 

Durham was a wonderful small town, and our niece (so that she’d remain in the family when her mother –whose identical twin also lost custody of her children, for similar reasons of neglect– lost custody and the children were removed from the home) was there stealing money.  I read to her daily, and she performed okay in the Oyster River Schools (other than stealing the money)… What a change this way of life was for her; I’ll have to ask her how it felt to live in New Hampshire…. What did she think of the mountains? of Franconia Notch, and the Old Man of the Mountain?  Did this environment have the effect on her life that I’d hoped it would? What was it like for her to live on a college campus? –to eat in the dining hall? –to watch me study and also teach? (I was a TA). She moved with us, of course to Andover Massachusetts where I worked at Phillips Academy right after grad school –that’s when problems really escalated…. she discovered boys –started staying out all night with them –but couldn’t take advantage of the tuition reduction! –we would only have had to pay 10% of tuition [10% of about $20,000.00] had she been able scholastically, intellectually, and emotionally to attend PA –however, having missed those first eight (including nine month of pregnancy, so roughly another year), meant that any influence of these new –and wealthy!– in the space of PA environments didn’t change her enough to allow her to take advantage of all that the northern Massachusetts setting had to offer….

She was twelve when she started running away…. and twelve when police brought her back.  She began running away every weekend, and I resorted to locking the door to her room to try to keep her there, but that proved ineffective as she climbed out the window in order to run away! –initially from Andover, Massachusetts to Lawrence, Massachusetts; this occurred for years! –until she was 17, when she ran away for the last time, back to the state in which she’d lived before the attempted rescue via adoption! –I grew weary of all this running away! –quite a paper trail evolved! –a each time the police became involved, a record was kept! –I’d never been involved with the police! –they became like members of the family! –when she ran away for what was the last time, she told authorities in that mid-western state that we’d put her out, but this wasn’t true, of course (she was also a pathological liar, and had been for years); by then; had to hire a lawyer in the state to which she ran, but we had extensive documentation, from the police, and this lawyer said that he’s never seen documentation as extensive as what I had, so when he presented this evidence in court, the judge was impressed, and rescinded the adoption!  I couldn’t travel because I was pregnant –after my ex-spouse announced that if he couldn’t have children, then neither could I! –I was almost  thirty-seven and nearing an age when it wouldn’t be optimal for my body to try to sustain a pregnancy; fertility would decline, and I also knew that I could get pregnant, so for a full year before executing my plan I prepared my body for a new life! –I was ready, no longer a teenager, and quite accomplished, having published several volumes of poetry and having won several awards, which PA didn’t require, but the private high school had only minors attending, including the son of Dick Gregory (Yohance Gregory), Patrick Kennedy, younger half-brother of SadeSoji Adu, and a Kuwaiti Princess (Sharifa Al-Homaizi) whose parents sent her to PA to escape the war in Kuwait, and the age of these minors, meant that they required 24/7 care, and the “best” housing –all provided by PA was in dormitories, so taking a dorm was advised! –if you wanted prime housing, huge houses –head “master” resided in a while mansion in the center of campus –and we slaves resided in lesser accommodations

–while I was at PA, my final year there, I had six job offers to six different universities, including the University of New Hampshire where I’d been a graduate student… This seemed extraordinary to me! One job offer came from the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor, an offer I accepted, after the contract was re-written to give my then spouse a job, as I refused to come unless he was also employed, so a job was “created” for him! –I spoke up, although he didn’t as we stood on that porch….

I had to delay my start at the University of Michigan because I was pregnant, and there was no problem with the delay… As I said earlier, I became concerned when my then-spouse announced that if he couldn’t have children, then neither could I! As I lived only about 23 miles north of Boston/Cambridge, and as I’d prepared my body for a pregnancy, I realized I was in an ideal location for a sperm donor.  To appease me, my then spouse agreed that adopting another child, a baby would be fine, and made us equal, as neither one of us would be related to that infant; so that’s what happened…. We adopted a baby, a healthy baby from Massachusetts, the other child that my ex-spouse’s father referred to when he announced that I wasn’t a “real” mother

–If other players here tell this story, they can’t possibly offer MY point of view! –only their own! –which can’t be like mine. This healthy boy has grown into a man, and he’s innocent of all of this! –he was just a baby, and had no input into what was happening…. He didn’t know until he was an adult that he was adopted at all… But this was information he needed to have.  He was born to a teenage girl in Boston; she was the age I would have been had I actually had the baby from my first pregnancy from the rape.  Perhaps the way I told him he was adopted wasn’t the best way, but he did need to be told, since he hadn’t figured it out.  So much deception in this small family… I’m sorry for everything I did wrong… Except for getting pregnant a second time and actually having that baby! –something I had to do, and time was running out.  I hope that he understands my situation also… Point of view is about all we have, and this is mine; presented from my perspective –just as valid as any other.  I mean no hard feelings for anyone.

But I was as real as anyone!

And I did want to pass on some of the genetic bounty I’d received, in classes for the for the gifted since first grade, the enrichment program, initially, then major work for the “super-gifted” (4th grade – 12th grade; for which I had to be sent for testing by staff psychologists), –the only way to pass along these intellectual gifts was to have a biological child! –and my father was a mixed race man, mostly Cherokee (as I’ve been told) –I wanted to pass on that heritage also! he died in 1980, the year before I graduated first in my class and Phi Beta Kappa from Oberlin! –graduated with a 4.11 GPA, lowest grade was in an English class, an “A-”, so I took English to be my relative weakness; only class in which I didn’t attain a ceiling; in every other class, I met expectations, so I focused in English in graduate school…. and filled the space that the “-” created with “limited fork theory”! –how I made “senses” of existences! and (ultimately) movie poams –including: Particle Popping and  Digging on the Muon Blues

 

And I was getting older; I didn’t have much time left! –I was 36, and my eggs were getting older by the minute, and I didn’t want to risk having a child that suffered because of advanced maternal age… I had to act quickly, despite the edit from my ex-spouse that: “IF I CAN’T HAVE A CHILD, THEN NEITHER CAN YOU!” –I had to act or pregnancy never would have happened; would have been an extinction (there will be anyway; humans won’t always be around –and the world keeps changing, pollution and so forth  –human aggression, and perhaps another mass extinction via comet?–unless we destroy ourselves)

 

Egg quality matters!

 

 

But first, I had to be raped, and I had to have a third-trimester abortion, and I had to get married, and I had to adopt children, and I had to become pregnant by choice, going to a fertility clinic in Cambridge, Massachusetts, after being told that if my then-spouse couldn’t have children, then neither could I, but I also had a need to pass on some of what I considered genetic bounty, and my father (source) was already dead! –I could only pass on some of what I’d received if I had a baby myself! –and I was ready! — my body was optimized for pregnancy! –and most sperm donors are college students, and being near –23 miles!– Harvard Square put me right by Harvard university and MIT! (most sperm donors are college students, so my location was ideal! –for this indiscretion, that gave me what I almost didn’t get to have)–how ideal! –I left the clinic in Cambridge pregnant! –one visit! –I was told that a “good” sample made an enormous difference! –I was there only about a half hour; in my mind, I think that conception happened as I drove home and began a routine of talking to my baby, singing to my baby, reading everything, in multiple languages to my baby! –English, Spanish, and French! –eating mostly fish and uncooked vegetables  from Bread and Circus! –playing a variety of music for my baby!

 

how different this was from when I was fifteen!

 

 

Image

Everything was fine! –pregnancy was going smoothly! –I loved every minute!

 

Then I started having preterm labor! (for which I was given Brethine, form of Terbutaline –so successful that my baby was born two weeks late; two nights before his birth, I ate at Legal Seafoods, Arctic char, and plenty of vegetables, large salad –undressed–so was put on complete bed rest, and a bill form the fertility clinic came to our Andover, Massachusetts home, a bill they my then spouse brought in and discovered that he wasn’t the biological father of my unborn child…. All he said to me was: “Didn’t I consider AIDS?” –I had more chance of contracting AIDS from him (just a bit of a philanderer) than I had from the fertility clinic, as donors are very well screened! –certified free of disease and genetic disorder! –well-scrutinized! –so my ex-spouse always knew that he wasn’t the biological father, and I had the baby I wanted to have….

A tasty meal indeed!

 

_____

 

Of course I was in love (eventually; fluctuated 
between love of my captor 
and, 
guess I really don't know what "true love" is like. 
Maybe I'll find out now; 
first time that I'll really choose a man 
instead of a man choosing himself for me.... 
--I'd never been with a man --other than the rapist
(and now --then-- I was with a statutory rapist, 
from the fire into the frying pan). 
Everything was new to me, especially touching. 
I did like that, 
liked to touch my then husband and to be touched back... 

Took me a long time, to reach that point, but I did reach it. 
My ex-spouse was quite popular 
when he was in the military and had at least 50 girlfriends. 
When I was 17, still a baby, and a "victim" of statutory rape, 
I tore up all their pictures 
(I wouldn't do that now --it's just that he seemed so proud of them, 
but since he had me, 
I reasoned that he didn't need them, 
a childish thing to do --he was even engaged to one of them). 
He seemed to prefer lighter complexioned mixed women, 
and women seemed to like him also... 
quite a bit. 
That's what made it so puzzling when I found out two weeks 
after the wedding 
--we were already "legally" married, had been so 
for almost two months --so technically, this was adultery; 
but two weeks after the wedding, 
I discovered he'd been having an affair for nearly two years, 
with someone much more dark-complexioned than me, 
someone I didn't think he'd ever marry 
--of course not, he married me! 
--someone not his type, based on appearance, just someone to f**k, 
and not bring home, 
exclusively in the dark --I guess so they'd both blend in! 
(how cruel of me to say, as if this still bothers me)
--I discovered this affair quite innocently; 
I'd called him to invite him home for lunch, 
and he wasn't there....

He'd gone to see her, meeting her at the door, 
where she was dressed only in birth control 
--that she didn't know she didn't need-- lunch of sex! 
--that's also why I was inviting him home for lunch!
 
--I really had prepared some food, 
then I was going to feed him something else, 
even more substantial, lasting on all of his palettes...
(except the one for paramours...)

--but I was ready when he came home with his grandfather! 
--I confronted him with evidence, letters from this Island girl
--her promises of undying love! 
That Island Girl.. That Island Girl also... 
mistress from the West Indies, but quite Africanized)
--as typically used, even if incorrectly 
--I'm guilty of incorrect (popular) usage also.
And her signed photo, with messages of undying love 
written on the back, 
her promise that she'd always be available (not true; 
she's moved on with her life, and is no longer available to him 
--not that he's looking for her or for anyone
would always love him [recently found her on Facebook, 
and didn't friend her, 
but told her--in a private message-- I had no hard feelings..]).

(guess I was just wondering how she looked now, 
and what a confirmation I received.... 
[ouch! --of my own looks] --she's even less his type now....
--well, he didn't frame her picture [I didn't tear up this one] 
or leave it sitting out in the open --I really had to dig 
to find it!)
She was more than willing to offer herself exclusively for sex... 
(not really trying to rationalize all this; just want some perspective
as I move on, and I am moving on... 
Post-menopausal, so no more biological babies for me.
I mean no harm to my adopted children, both now adults 
and as happy as they can be
Under these strained circumstances

--whether or not I'm an active part of their lives  

Truth, from my perspective, isn't necessarily pretty, 
but it is some truth! 
--I owe all of us some truth!

More truth:
Pity that I couldn't give my biological son a sibling; 
no way could I repeat 
what I did in order to have him...
No idea how many siblings he might have from the donor.... 
Sure that all of this has wrecked his sense of family....

None of us are perfect! Well, 
all of us are are "perfectly" what we are...
--I'm sure that my biological and adopted children 
have things they'd change about themselves if they could....
when they can: we're all in progress, 
not finished as long as we live, and even then, disintegrate, decompose
becoming feasts for microbes that are making their living, 
doing what microbes do... (Yes; I enjoyed CSI, among other things, 
and various books about anatomical fodder --after all, 
humans are part of animal systems 
on this planet 
and are as edible as anything else that is or becomes edible 
--there's much that can be ingested 
whether or not it's nutritious, or even designated as food).

My point here is to talk only about what I'm remembering 
and connecting to --temporarily-- none of this is permanent 
via, quite fallible, systems of memory....
Mentioning others only as I must.
Just dressing some of my open wounds.... Just being myself, 
less restricted than I've ever been.... 
but still within (my) limits which keep shifting 
--especially with the MS.

______

Getting back to a remembering marriage track:
What a fantastic brouhaha! when I confronted my ex-spouse! 
How dare he do this! --two years of this! 
--two years (at least) with the Island Girl
--didn't matter how "pretty" 
I might have been at nineteen! --beautiful bride!

Bride Thylias

--I had the ammunition of letters and photo; 
she even gave us a wedding present --don't remember what it was, 
sure my ex-spouse wanted to keep it, a special memento... 
Not to mention tastes of the paramour.... Well, this is what 
a real housewife (at the time) had to say!
--I was livid! How dare he do this! two years of this! 
Oh, I'm told of how they got together: she needed a study group; 
she required a tutor, 
and my then-spouse was so willing to volunteer, 
so needful of casting himself as an educator
--as he was for me: gave me a carnal education that my parents 
--I was in high school!-- knew nothing about!  
--Ostensibly, my ex-spouse and his paramour 
got together to help her in school; 

he could never be of help to me in school; 
I needed no assistance with my studies! 
--think this bothered him just a bit.... Maybe more..
 
--he was sexual tutor many years ago, 
but never my intellectual tutor or suitor. Never!


--but would I accept this now? No; Hell no!

Then I asked him to leave, 
and he met me at the Rapid Transit station in Higbee's 
every day for two weeks with roses, roses! 
--What exceptional roses they had to be! 
--olfactory stimulation persuaded me to relent.... 

I want that perfume now!

and then I relented, welcomed him back home, 
and remained married for 40 years.

Win some, lose some, and keep on going!

Originally posted on Let the celery rot:

Bib-shoes

Some of you may have heard about or even watched a recent video by Yasiin Bay (known more popularly as Mos Def) that involves submitting himself to the force feeding procedure that is currently used in Gitmo to keep hunger striking prisoners alive.  On the lighter side, perhaps you’ve seen the interview with Dustin Hoffman about Tootsie and if you haven’t you should.  (I haven’t been able to make myself watch the Mos Def video personally.)  Both bring up an compelling conversation, to me at least, centered around this idea of bringing awareness by taking on pain that isn’t “yours.”

That conversation has resonance for me as someone in the midst of fundraising for organizations that work in areas that I have no personal connection to.  I’ve never been sold or held against my will.  I’ve never had Cystic Fibrosis or even known someone with the disease.  And while I have…

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Michigan Woman Arrested After Bragging On Facebook That She Passed Breathalyzer

Moxie Supper:

So the police are connected also! –such “social awareness” and participation… Be careful what you post! –what you serve on the plate! –not taking sides, but some things perhaps shouldn’t go on the menu…

Originally posted on Black America Web:

A Michigan woman is on probation for a drunken-driving conviction and nearly got away with having a few drinks on St. Patrick’s Day — until she bragged about passing a breath test on Facebook.

Colleen Cudney, 22 — who has been under strict orders to not drink since her 2012 conviction — was apparently so pleased with beating the Breathalyzer at a Westland probation office that she had to brag on the social media site on March 18.

According to WDIV-TV.

“Buzz killer for me, I had to breathalyze (sic) this morning and I drank yesterday but I passed thank god lol my dumba@@,” she wrote.

But a local police officer spotted the status update soon after Cudney posted it and alerted the probation office.

A probation officer called Cudney in order to schedule an immediate urine test — which could detect any alcohol consumed within an 80-hour period —…

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SA flavoured condoms to fight HIV

Moxie Supper:

Hope this succeeds in reversing fallen usage –meant to be tasty “gentlemen sausage” snacks, treats –still fighting HIV –in “tasty” ways…

Originally posted on someone somewhere:

SA flavoured condoms to fight HIV http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-26853788

From the desk of Zedie.

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Cheeteau

Tasty treat! ! –on April Fool’s Day (or any day)

REMEMBERING

Moxie Supper:

Thanks so much for this difficult and delectable post… Hard to eat it, but I feel I must! –can’t call all if it “yummy”, but some if it is’

Originally posted on moxie supper:

REMEMBERING

I don’t want to remember, yet I do; I’d rather be asleep –as if I’ve eaten something incompatible with my system.  Something I can’t digest –though I’ve had many years to get used to it.

I’m recalling –though I don’t want to– THE DAY when my deceased ex-father-in-law said I wasn’t a “real mother” because I’d adopted my children, one of whom was his niece –didn’t matter to him (he also didn’t come to my wedding, for which I made all dresses in the wedding party except my wedding gown) ….  Clearly the way he defined “what constituted “real” differed extremely from ways in which I defined “real” / “realities“….  So what was the equivalent of a “real” mother?

Evidently, a child had to grow in your own womb –not sure how he felt about implanted embryos or surrogates when…

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MARCH 28, 2014 – NATIONAL WEED APPRECIATION DAY – NATIONAL SOMETHING ON A STICK DAY – NATIONAL BLACK FOREST CAKE DAY

Moxie Supper:

Hungry for this! Many so-called weeds are edible, and nutritious!’ Dig in!

Originally posted on National Day Calendar:

002x

NATIONAL WEED APPRECIATION DAY

Did you know that some weeds are actually beneficial to us and our ecosystem?  National Weed Appreciation Day is celebrated today and on March 28th of each year and it is a good day to learn more about weeds and their benefits.

Weeds have been used by humans for food and as a herb for much of recorded history.  There are the weeds that are edible and nutritious while other weeds have medicinal value.

Do you remember as a small child the fun you had with dandelions?  They actually serve many useful purposes.  Dandelions are a food source for insects and certain birds.  Humans eat young dandelion leaves and enjoy dandelion tea and dandelion wine.  The Native Americans used dandelions to treat certain ailments.      Nutritionally, dandelions contain a source of vitamin A and  C, calcium, iron, and fiber.

There are also other edible and medicinal weeds…

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REMEMBERING

REMEMBERING

I don’t want to remember, yet I do; I’d rather be asleep –as if I’ve eaten something incompatible with my system.  Something I can’t digest –though I’ve had many years to get used to it.

I’m recalling –though I don’t want to– THE DAY when my deceased ex-father-in-law said I wasn’t a “real mother” because I’d adopted my children, one of whom was his niece –didn’t matter to him (he also didn’t come to my wedding, for which I made all dresses in the wedding party except my wedding gown) ….  Clearly the way he defined “what constituted “real” differed extremely from ways in which I defined “real” / “realities“….  So what was the equivalent of a “real” mother?

 

Evidently, a child had to grow in your own womb –not sure how he felt about implanted embryos or surrogates when a womb was insubstantial or unavailable, sill producing viable eggs despite a hysterectomy, for instance.  And I was “real” enough, standing right in front of him on his porch, beside his son –to whom I was married –and even then we knew, although my then-spouse remained silent; we knew that it wasn’t “my” fault –not that childlessness must endure “blame” –how embarrassing for my spouse at the time, to have to admit that “HE” WAS THE REASON FOR THE CHILDLESSNESS of the marriage! –yet every doctor visited always ASSUMED THAT I WAS THE REASON! –but I wasn’t, having been raped when I was fifteen, and getting pregnant from that rape (I knew I could get pregnant) –didn’t have that baby –just as I shouldn’t have, despite those children of rape who managed to grow up without (visible) scars of their conception (and I shouldn’t have had that baby…. I was much too young, and would have changed my life significantly, I imagine –can’t say for sure since I didn’t take that route of being a teenager (would have been 16 when that child would have been born; was craving popcorn when my pregnancy could no longer be hidden at home… never talked about this! –never said a word!completely altered my behavior at schoolI started sitting in the backs of classrooms, and said nothing! –absolutely nothing! –was pushed through corridors by movements of crowds; grades plummeted  –didn’t matter to me how I performed! –I recalled how I’d done nothing to try to stop this older man, deacon at my mother’s church, from violating me! –he was 25, I was 15!

But there I was, standing beside the man (age 23) who met me when I was still 16, right after a third-trimester abortion in New York State, where it was legal in 1970… Of course, he’s stated that he did nothing wrong, nothing for which he had no permission; I consented to everything, one way or another… developed a dependence on him, similar, perhaps, to those who begin to “love” their jailers, their captors…. Anyway, I was in another situation over which I had no control…. Even married him….

 

After a few years of marriage my ex-spouse was certainly aware that he was the one unable to procreate, despite what doctors seemed to think, as I was consistently the one “blamed” for the childless marriage –so we adopted children and became a family instead of a couple, first his niece (when she was seven, because her mother, [as did her mother's identical twin sister [[reminds me a bit --though an entirely different case-- of the Gibbons sisters of "Silent Twins"]] my ex-spouse’s sister (as did her identical twin),  lost custody of her five children for neglect), then in an attempt to appease me, a son, first baby I ever held and was allowed to bring home as my own!…. We had those two children with us when my ex-father-in-law told me that I wasn’t a “real” mother….. And my ex-spouse could have said something then, but didn’t to his father –who also didn’t come to the wedding…. Allowed me to be the one responsible…. But by then, we knew! –after visits to so many fertility clinics –he was told that he’d unlikely (not “impossible” as he continued to mention) father a biological child… We tried in vitro fertilization three times ($10,000.00 each attempt, to no avail; just a lot of injections I had to take to ripen eggs sooner, and in a quantity large enough for harvesting.  No success.  I, of course, was getting older, and by then we lived in Massachusetts…. But not, according to my ex-spouse, “too old” –I could have waited; “all it took  was one sperm!” he insisted, and he had at least one as I grew older and older by the minute….  But his few million sperm needed to be healthy, motile and not misshapen, needed to be active and able to penetrate the egg…   They couldn’t. Not even in a Pertri dish where the sperm didn’t have to swim very far to get to the egg….

But how could he know this until a partner failed to conceive, failed to become pregnant?

 

I hesitate to mention it, but that adoption of the niece was disastrous; she was seven when we adopted her –to keep her in the family; –we were asked if we would take a child, and I said the youngest, knowing the role of age of the child in which interventions are attempted; I thought that we might have a chance with only the youngest; she was seven, beyond the age when influence in our Massachusetts home, wealthy pocket some 23 miles north of Boston could exert significant changes in her and her life, after she accompanied me in my second year of graduate study to Durham New Hampshire, right after she came to live with us, and when she was eight, stole money from the teacher’s purse. January.

It was winter, and NEW HAMPSHIRE SNOW fell prodigiously.  Here and there were animal tracks like forks, and hoarfrost patterns on windows that my cheeks tried to pilfer, pressed against these panes. Loved the spray when wind stirred up the powdery snow, twirled it and released it so that it fell again rather lacy.  I couldn’t wait to make bootprints. NEW HAMPSHIRE SNOW.

 

Durham was a wonderful small town, and our niece (so that she’d remain in the family when her mother –whose identical twin also lost custody of her children, for similar reasons of neglect– lost custody and the children were removed from the home) was there stealing money.  I read to her daily, and she performed okay in the Oyster River Schools (other than stealing the money)… What a change this way of life was for her; I’ll have to ask her how it felt to live in New Hampshire…. What did she think of the mountains? of Franconia Notch, and the Old Man of the Mountain?  Did this environment have the effect on her life that I’d hoped it would? What was it like for her to live on a college campus? –to eat in the dining hall? –to watch me study and also teach? (I was a TA). She moved with us, of course to Andover Massachusetts where I worked at Phillips Academy right after grad school –that’s when problems really escalated…. she discovered boys –started staying out all night with them –but couldn’t take advantage of the tuition reduction! –we would only have had to pay 10% of tuition [10% of about $20,000.00] had she been able scholastically, intellectually, and emotionally to attend PA –however, having missed those first eight (including nine month of pregnancy, so roughly another year), meant that any influence of these new –and wealthy!– in the space of PA environments didn’t change her enough to allow her to take advantage of all that the northern Massachusetts setting had to offer….

She was twelve when she started running away…. and twelve when police brought her back.  She began running away every weekend, and I resorted to locking the door to her room to try to keep her there, but that proved ineffective as she climbed out the window in order to run away! –initially from Andover, Massachusetts to Lawrence, Massachusetts; this occurred for years! –until she was 17, when she ran away for the last time, back to the state in which she’d lived before the attempted rescue via adoption! –I grew weary of all this running away! –quite a paper trail evolved! –a each time the police became involved, a record was kept! –I’d never been involved with the police! –they became like members of the family! –when she ran away for what was the last time, she told authorities in that mid-western state that we’d put her out, but this wasn’t true, of course (she was also a pathological liar, and had been for years); by then; had to hire a lawyer in the state to which she ran, but we had extensive documentation, from the police, and this lawyer said that he’s never seen documentation as extensive as what I had, so when he presented this evidence in court, the judge was impressed, and rescinded the adoption!  I couldn’t travel because I was pregnant –after my ex-spouse announced that if he couldn’t have children, then neither could I! –I was almost  thirty-seven and nearing an age when it wouldn’t be optimal for my body to try to sustain a pregnancy; fertility would decline, and I also knew that I could get pregnant, so for a full year before executing my plan I prepared my body for a new life! –I was ready, no longer a teenager, and quite accomplished, having published several volumes of poetry and having won several awards, which PA didn’t require, but the private high school had only minors attending, including the son of Dick Gregory (Yohance Gregory), Patrick Kennedy, younger half-brother of SadeSoji Adu, and a Kuwaiti Princess (Sharifa Al-Homaizi) whose parents sent her to PA to escape the war in Kuwait, and the age of these minors, meant that they required 24/7 care, and the “best” housing –all provided by PA was in dormitories, so taking a dorm was advised! –if you wanted prime housing, huge houses –head “master” resided in a while mansion in the center of campus –and we slaves resided in lesser accommodations

–while I was at PA, my final year there, I had six job offers to six different universities, including the University of New Hampshire where I’d been a graduate student… This seemed extraordinary to me! One job offer came from the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor, an offer I accepted, after the contract was re-written to give my then spouse a job, as I refused to come unless he was also employed, so a job was “created” for him! –I spoke up, although he didn’t as we stood on that porch….

I had to delay my start at the University of Michigan because I was pregnant, and there was no problem with the delay… As I said earlier, I became concerned when my then-spouse announced that if he couldn’t have children, then neither could I! As I lived only about 23 miles north of Boston/Cambridge, and as I’d prepared my body for a pregnancy, I realized I was in an ideal location for a sperm donor.  To appease me, my then spouse agreed that adopting another child, a baby would be fine, and made us equal, as neither one of us would be related to that infant; so that’s what happened…. We adopted a baby, a healthy baby from Massachusetts, the other child that my ex-spouse’s father referred to when he announced that I wasn’t a “real” mother

–If other players here tell this story, they can’t possibly offer MY point of view! –only their own! –which can’t be like mine. This healthy boy has grown into a man, and he’s innocent of all of this! –he was just a baby, and had no input into what was happening…. He didn’t know until he was an adult that he was adopted at all… But this was information he needed to have.  He was born to a teenage girl in Boston; she was the age I would have been had I actually had the baby from my first pregnancy from the rape.  Perhaps the way I told him he was adopted wasn’t the best way, but he did need to be told, since he hadn’t figured it out.  So much deception in this small family… I’m sorry for everything I did wrong… Except for getting pregnant a second time and actually having that baby! –something I had to do, and time was running out.  I hope that he understands my situation also… Point of view is about all we have, and this is mine; presented from my perspective –just as valid as any other.  I mean no hard feelings for anyone.

But I was as real as anyone!

And I did want to pass on some of the genetic bounty I’d received, in classes for the for the gifted since first grade, the enrichment program, initially, then major work for the “super-gifted” (4th grade – 12th grade; for which I had to be sent for testing by staff psychologists), –the only way to pass along these intellectual gifts was to have a biological child! –and my father was a mixed race man, mostly Cherokee (as I’ve been told) –I wanted to pass on that heritage also! he died in 1980, the year before I graduated first in my class and Phi Beta Kappa from Oberlin! –graduated with a 4.11 GPA, lowest grade was in an English class, an “A-”, so I took English to be my relative weakness; only class in which I didn’t attain a ceiling; in every other class, I met expectations, so I focused in English in graduate school…. and filled the space that the “-” created with “limited fork theory”! –how I made “senses” of existences! and (ultimately) movie poams –including: Particle Popping and  Digging on the Muon Blues

 

And I was getting older; I didn’t have much time left! –I was 36, and my eggs were getting older by the minute, and I didn’t want to risk having a child that suffered because of advanced maternal age… I had to act quickly, despite the edit from my ex-spouse that: “IF I CAN’T HAVE A CHILD, THEN NEITHER CAN YOU!” –I had to act or pregnancy never would have happened; would have been an extinction (there will be anyway; humans won’t always be around –and the world keeps changing, pollution and so forth  –human aggression, and perhaps another mass extinction via comet?–unless we destroy ourselves)

 

Egg quality matters!

 

 

But first, I had to be raped, and I had to have a third-trimester abortion, and I had to get married, and I had to adopt children, and I had to become pregnant by choice, going to a fertility clinic in Cambridge, Massachusetts, after being told that if my then-spouse couldn’t have children, then neither could I, but I also had a need to pass on some of what I considered genetic bounty, and my father (source) was already dead! –I could only pass on some of what I’d received if I had a baby myself! –and I was ready! — my body was optimized for pregnancy! –and most sperm donors are college students, and being near –23 miles!– Harvard Square put me right by Harvard university and MIT! (most sperm donors are college students, so my location was ideal! –for this indiscretion, that gave me what I almost didn’t get to have)–how ideal! –I left the clinic in Cambridge pregnant! –one visit! –I was told that a “good” sample made an enormous difference! –I was there only about a half hour; in my mind, I think that conception happened as I drove home and began a routine of talking to my baby, singing to my baby, reading everything, in multiple languages to my baby! –English, Spanish, and French! –eating mostly fish and uncooked vegetables  from Bread and Circus! –playing a variety of music for my baby!

 

how different this was from when I was fifteen!

 

 

Image

Everything was fine! –pregnancy was going smoothly! –I loved every minute!

 

Then I started having preterm labor! (for which I was given Brethine, form of Terbutaline –so successful that my baby was born two weeks late; two nights before his birth, I ate at Legal Seafoods, Arctic char, and plenty of vegetables, large salad –undressed–so was put on complete bed rest, and a bill form the fertility clinic came to our Andover, Massachusetts home, a bill they my then spouse brought in and discovered that he wasn’t the biological father of my unborn child…. All he said to me was: “Didn’t I consider AIDS?” –I had more chance of contracting AIDS from him (just a bit of a philanderer) than I had from the fertility clinic, as donors are very well screened! –certified free of disease and genetic disorder! –well-scrutinized! –so my ex-spouse always knew that he wasn’t the biological father, and I had the baby I wanted to have….

A tasty meal indeed!

 

_____

 

Of course I was in love (eventually; fluctuated 
between love of my captor 
and, 
guess I really don't know what "true love" is like. 
Maybe I'll find out now; 
first time that I'll really choose a man 
instead of a man choosing himself for me.... 
--I'd never been with a man --other than the rapist
(and now --then-- I was with a statutory rapist, 
from the fire into the frying pan). 
Everything was new to me, especially touching. 
I did like that, 
liked to touch my then husband and to be touched back... 

Took me a long time, to reach that point, but I did reach it. 
My ex-spouse was quite popular 
when he was in the military and had at least 50 girlfriends. 
When I was 17, still a baby, and a "victim" of statutory rape, 
I tore up all their pictures 
(I wouldn't do that now --it's just that he seemed so proud of them, 
but since he had me, 
I reasoned that he didn't need them, 
a childish thing to do --he was even engaged to one of them). 
He seemed to prefer lighter complexioned mixed women, 
and women seemed to like him also... 
quite a bit. 
That's what made it so puzzling when I found out two weeks 
after the wedding 
--we were already "legally" married, had been so 
for almost two months --so technically, this was adultery; 
but two weeks after the wedding, 
I discovered he'd been having an affair for nearly two years, 
with someone much more dark-complexioned than me, 
someone I didn't think he'd ever marry 
--of course not, he married me! 
--someone not his type, based on appearance, just someone to f**k, 
and not bring home, 
exclusively in the dark --I guess so they'd both blend in! 
(how cruel of me to say, as if this still bothers me)
--I discovered this affair quite innocently; 
I'd called him to invite him home for lunch, 
and he wasn't there....

He'd gone to see her, meeting her at the door, 
where she was dressed only in birth control 
--that she didn't know she didn't need-- lunch of sex! 
--that's also why I was inviting him home for lunch!
 
--I really had prepared some food, 
then I was going to feed him something else, 
even more substantial, lasting on all of his palettes...
(except the one for paramours...)

--but I was ready when he came home with his grandfather! 
--I confronted him with evidence, letters from this Island girl
--her promises of undying love! 
That Island Girl.. That Island Girl also... 
mistress from the West Indies, but quite Africanized)
--as typically used, even if incorrectly 
--I'm guilty of incorrect (popular) usage also.
And her signed photo, with messages of undying love 
written on the back, 
her promise that she'd always be available (not true; 
she's moved on with her life, and is no longer available to him 
--not that he's looking for her or for anyone
would always love him [recently found her on Facebook, 
and didn't friend her, 
but told her--in a private message-- I had no hard feelings..]).

(guess I was just wondering how she looked now, 
and what a confirmation I received.... 
[ouch! --of my own looks] --she's even less his type now....
--well, he didn't frame her picture [I didn't tear up this one] 
or leave it sitting out in the open --I really had to dig 
to find it!)
She was more than willing to offer herself exclusively for sex... 
(not really trying to rationalize all this; just want some perspective
as I move on, and I am moving on... 
Post-menopausal, so no more biological babies for me.
I mean no harm to my adopted children, both now adults 
and as happy as they can be
Under these strained circumstances

--whether or not I'm an active part of their lives  

Truth, from my perspective, isn't necessarily pretty, 
but it is some truth! 
--I owe all of us some truth!

More truth:
Pity that I couldn't give my biological son a sibling; 
no way could I repeat 
what I did in order to have him...
No idea how many siblings he might have from the donor.... 
Sure that all of this has wrecked his sense of family....

None of us are perfect! Well, 
all of us are are "perfectly" what we are...
--I'm sure that my biological and adopted children 
have things they'd change about themselves if they could....
when they can: we're all in progress, 
not finished as long as we live, and even then, disintegrate, decompose
becoming feasts for microbes that are making their living, 
doing what microbes do... (Yes; I enjoyed CSI, among other things, 
and various books about anatomical fodder --after all, 
humans are part of animal systems 
on this planet 
and are as edible as anything else that is or becomes edible 
--there's much that can be ingested 
whether or not it's nutritious, or even designated as food).

My point here is to talk only about what I'm remembering 
and connecting to --temporarily-- none of this is permanent 
via, quite fallible, systems of memory....
Mentioning others only as I must.
Just dressing some of my open wounds.... Just being myself, 
less restricted than I've ever been.... 
but still within (my) limits which keep shifting 
--especially with the MS.

______

Getting back to a remembering marriage track:
What a fantastic brouhaha! when I confronted my ex-spouse! 
How dare he do this! --two years of this! 
--two years (at least) with the Island Girl
--didn't matter how "pretty" 
I might have been at nineteen! --beautiful bride!

Bride Thylias

Bride Moxie Supper

--I had the ammunition of letters and photo; 
she even gave us a wedding present --don't remember what it was, 
sure my ex-spouse wanted to keep it, a special memento... 
Not to mention tastes of the paramour.... Well, this is what 
a real housewife (at the time) had to say!
--I was livid! How dare he do this! two years of this! 
Oh, I'm told of how they got together: she needed a study group; 
she required a tutor, 
and my then-spouse was so willing to volunteer, 
so needful of casting himself as an educator
--as he was for me: gave me a carnal education that my parents 
--I was in high school!-- knew nothing about!  
--Ostensibly, my ex-spouse and his paramour 
got together to help her in school; 

he could never be of help to me in school; 
I needed no assistance with my studies! 
--think this bothered him just a bit.... Maybe more..
 
--he was sexual tutor many years ago, 
but never my intellectual tutor or suitor. Never!


--but would I accept this now? No; Hell no!

Then I asked him to leave, 
and he met me at the Rapid Transit station in Higbee's 
every day for two weeks with roses, roses! 
--What exceptional roses they had to be! 
--olfactory stimulation persuaded me to relent.... 

I want that perfume now!

and then I relented, welcomed him back home, 
and remained married for 40 years.

Win some, lose some, and keep on going!


 

Sexual and Emotional Abuse Scar the Brain in Specific Ways

Moxie Supper:

Happened to me…. happening to me…. so much I haven’t told anyone…. but myself… Have to eat this, because it happened, and I remember…. Leaves such a bitter taste in my moth and, even worse, my mind… what’s left of my mind….

Originally posted on Health & Family:

Childhood emotional and sexual abuse mark women’s brains in distinct patterns — with emotional abuse affecting regions involved in self-awareness and sexual abuse affecting areas involved in genital sensation, according to new research. The study links specific types of abuse with symptoms experienced by many survivors later in life.

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HEALING from some scars: part of comments on a post about Beth’s posting of some “nude” photos of herself post-cancer treatment

Eating my fill – SCARS! 

I realize I come to this late, but how persuasive this post is is! (responding to this Huffington Post article  —thank you so much for posting! –my scars (repaired head following a rupture of an aneurysm) wouldn’t photograph nearly as well, but this is absolutely essential! –remnants of what’s left after cancerous consumption! –cancer is very hungry, (hungrier than Moxie Supper, who’s sometimes just “greedy”, but is often finicky –within her greed), and these pictures are a way of also feeding! –eating what’s necessary to survive even better! –I applaud this! -–I guess I too fear some unfriending, for many, many reasons, (some probably deserved, but not all of it; “life” has happened to me also, and I too continue, some form of me continues, only form (my “new normal”) there will ever be –ie: this is the form from which changes will be made! –I’ll not remain just as I am, changing by the minute, going on to “I-can’t-say-what-for-sure”, but traveling nevertheless… and often happy, often grateful that I can still travel at all! –-feeding on whatever becomes available. Having to feed in order to maintain any form of existence!
Blog Woman, I realize that I’m reiterating much of what has been said, but this is just a wonderful post! I suppose that I don’t want to be “unfriended” either, and certainly not for changes in my body! –unavoidable, I feel, just be living to certain ages! –to “change” is a way and “rule” of existence? –I’m nothing like the promise of me when I was born 60 years ago; I’ve changed substantially, and I’m not done; even when I die, my body will continue to change, and will be a feast for microbes, many of which are already with in me, held back by a living status, but when I die (and I will) that status will be invalid, ad those microbes can feat on this tiny body… only about 90 pounds and 4’10″ tall… but still enough for a feast.
I don’t have scars that are as visible as Beth’s; mine are much more invisible (scar from a ruptured aneurysm; indentation on my head [that was bumpy anyway]), and the blindness, legal blindness, in my left eye due to optic neuritis due to MS (diagnosed in 1996, though I’d had MS since graduate school [when symptoms manifested in a first exacerbation in 1981[[face, lower right jaw, attributed to test anxiety, rigors of graduate study; legs next time ~circa 1982/3, swelling [[in my mind]] like incredible loaves of bread]] then dormant until 1996 –scars inside my body; not outside), and also scars from a c-section performed for the birth of my only biological child –old scar still visible from when I fell off a bike, breaking a glass jug of milk –still have scars above my knees from that, and from falling into a barbed wire fence “protecting a small tree lawn in Ohio, –and also emotional scars after a divorce after forty years when I was a teenager, who did a best that she could, becoming pregnant after a rape when I was just fifteen, rapist was an older man, 25 when I was fifteen.  I had a third trimester abortion (in New York State, where the procedure was “legal”) –after that rapist refused to ever speak to me again… I was unable to tell anyone –not even –especially not my parents!– I was left silent and frigid –”symptoms” the man I married vowed to cure –at first, of course, I didn’t want him to touch me, but eventually I overcame that –I was still in high school, and stopped speaking altogether –should I be unfriended for this?
–not that Facebook “friends” are “friends” in any other context, but they’re still called “friends” –and seems to me that carries some responsibilities.  What would it take for me to “unfriend” someone? –Maybe I’d do this to escape more parts of high school, a regrettably tim of my life –the ruptured aneurysm purged my brain of quite a bit of short term memory keeping –I’m not yet as bold as Beth (though I did “like” her page, and am following it) –I can’t yet state what I’m saying and feeling (don’t quite have the “Moxie”, I suppose; but I can’t yet state what I have to say without the protection of (pretty much “rapist-free) physical space –I do indeed remain hungry –perhaps just for a chance to live those years again, and do things I didn’t do, and some things I did differently –your post Blog Woman, has enabled me to say this! –thank you so much…
But friending and unfriending has become so easy –as it is for liking and unliking things –strange that there are no other options…
So many forms of scars! –your post is a form of scab! –healing occurring underneath! –healing occurring!

103 People Unfriended Her, How Many Would Do the Same to Me

Moxie Supper:

I realize I come to this late, but how persuasive this is! —thank you so much for posting! –my scars (repaired head following a rupture of an aneurysm) wouldn’t photograph nearly as well, but this is absolutely essential! –remnants of what’s left after cancerous consumption! –cancer is very hungry, and these pictures are a way of also feeding!, eating what’s necessary to survive even better! –I applaud this! –I guess I too fear some unfriending, for many =, many reasons, (some probably deserved, but not all of it; “life” has happened to me also, and I too continue, some form of me continues, ply form there will ever be –ie: this is the fem from which changes will be made! –I’ll not rein just as I am, changing by the minute, going on to I can’t say what for sure, but traveling nevertheless… and often happy, often grateful that I can still travel at all! –feeding on whatever becomes available. Tanks for posting this Blog Woman!

Originally posted on Blog Woman!!!:

freshly-pressed-rectangleI came across a Huffington post about a woman who posted pictures of herself on her Facebook wall that caused a collapse in her social circle.  The headline said “When Beth Posted These Images on Facebook, 103 People Unfriended Her”.   

The headline effectively grabbed my attention, but what the story really did was zero in on the heart of one of my own deepest fears.  It cut to a deep vulnerability that even I don’t fully understand, but it’s one that has held me back from engaging as fully in life as I possibly could.  I can’t do that until I can somehow get to a place of true peace about it.

Canvas ScarsThe pictures that Beth Whaanga, the woman in the Huffington piece, posted were semi-nude images of herself featuring her scars from a double mastectomy and a hysterectomy.  They were taken by a photographer leading a project called,

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