People Who Need People

Anyone who knows me will tell you I’m just not a people person. Oh, I like to say that when applying for a job, or in attempting to explain why I love facilitating writing workshops, but the truth is I really don’t like people very much. That is easily recognizable, I think, by my demeanor when I’m in a crowd of folks, which is usually silence. I despise small talk. I’m not very good at it and I don’t even try. This probably accounts for why I have a very tiny circle of friends, all of whom know this about me and accept it, whether they like it or not. I just don’t have much of a personality. Oh, when I was young, I tried by outside help to acquire a personality, and if I have a few drinks even now, I can be downright amenable. But, straight, singular me is not the one people generally think is going to be the life of the party. I’d much rather spend hours of my life in the pages of a book, toiling in a garden, creating things with my hands, or watching classic black and white movies with a plate of brownies for company. It’s the god’s honest truth.

I’ve been back to the Chicagoland area from Georgia over a month now. I’ve gone to one social event, - Neighborhood Writing Alliances's "Open Gate" Release Reading to see those people who know who I am. I meant to get to another - "Photo Requests from Solitary" - and I really tried, but when the time came around, the thought of mingling, networking, and schmoozing just made me ill. So, I didn’t go. Instead, I helped my 7-year-old grandson with his homework and cooked dinner. Here’s the thing though, I could’ve went and I would’ve been known and welcomed. This is just one of the things I’ve learned about myself in the last year: I need people when I need people.

I miss my chickens and Foghorn crowing at dawn. I miss the mountain mist hanging low in the trees reminding me so of an English moor out of a Bronte novel. I miss the rushing, white water Toccoa River. I miss towering mountains, lush woods, and the “silence” of nature surrounding me. Although there is beauty in Kenosha, primarily the eyes, the arms, and the boundless energy of my grandsons, as well as the exasperating lifestyles of my adult children, I dream of a way to have it all. 











Because I need them, and I need those few folks on earth who truly know Donna. I need to be able to say, “Come look at what I built, baked, cooked, come look I what I did,” and to have them share my joy, my hard work, my frustrations, my dreams. And, I need to celebrate or suffer theirs - on my terms, with those who accept and cherish my terms, knowing that I accept and cherish theirs when I’m able, and we’re all perfectly fine with that.

So, yeah, I’m not a people person but I am a person who needs people, and so, I am one of the luckiest people in the world. 

Another Self Emerges

Self-discovery never seems to end, especially when you’re open to the possibilities. The past two years were chock full of challenges. From putting all my “stuff” in storage to living in my daughters basement, to leaving my cherished cats and striking out on the road of unknown, to staying with total strangers in strange cities, to pulling a 6’ trailer through mountain passes at midnight, then getting lost on an old logging road at 4000’ elevation. Through it all, I learned new things about my strengths, discarded myths about my weaknesses, and grew spiritually with each discovery.

Today, another self emerged through disappointment. In the seven years I facilitated workshops for the Neighborhood Writing Alliance, I thrilled at leading folks into the realization that they had voices, that their words were important and powerful, and that people wanted to read their stories. Those years brought me to the idea that I loved teaching. What I learned today was that it isn’t teaching. I didn’t teach them how to write. I didn’t edit their pieces before publishing. In fact, many of my edits were edited. The joy was in the leading, the guidance, the conversation and dialogue that got them to the point of writing publishable work.

Three weeks of teaching GED reminded me that I am at complete odds with state rules, regulations, and requirements, all which make no sense. The process leaves students, and caring teachers, empty. It’s about meeting mandatory hours, and using books that have no correlation with needs, only scores. There’s no true rapport building with the individual, only process and procedure.

However, spending an hour with a student discussing how to learn their own process, for writing or math or reading, was exhilarating as the student asked deeper and richer questions. Discussing career goals and passions, suggesting possibilities, actually relating to the human, this is what inspires and fulfills me. So, in losing my job due to illness, I've found another self. Now, to follow this new path and carve out some type of living is a new challenge. 

The Last Hurrah

While I mentioned previously that nothing went right when I was in Chicago, I did have some good times, with some terrific people. I got to ride the Metra and CTA again, which is always an experience. One of the experiences that is bittersweet. Long lines and long waits to board late, often dirty transports with hundreds of people will not be missed. Boarding transports of multi-ethnicities to arrive within mere steps of your destination anywhere in the metro area for pennies in comparison to gallons of gas, will be sorely missed.

Vanessa, the daughter I stayed with, lives in Kenosha, WI. just over the northern state line from Illinois. My son lives there as well, but he’s not much for pictures. Oftentimes, the state of my memory saddens me. I’d wanted to get pics of him and my two grandsons, Andre and Lenny, loading the truck, but the memory was napping during the work. The snapshots are in my brain though and hopefully I won’t lose them in some dusty back room of old age. They were a riot.  Together, they played an excellent game of Tetris packing the trailer. One of my unloading helpers said, “Tell your son there may have been a bit of room to spray in some insulation, but nothing more.” It was a perfect score!

My oldest daughter, Kim lives in Chicago proper, in the Logan Square neighborhood. Us girls planned a day together with all the cousins in the city. We meant to take the Metra in, but there was no easy stop to disembark and purchase CTA passes, so we drove in and parked in a Dominick’s parking lot for the day, which is illegal, but if you don’t tell, I won’t tell. We caught the Clark St. bus, which is one of those streets that go from one end of Chicago to the other. We met up with Kim, her cousin, Ulisa at Lincoln Park Zoo. Her son Andre is 16 and far too old for the zoo with his 'little' cousins.

                                                                           The kids had a blast running around, picnicking, and finding pictures of monkeys with Nana’s name. The sisters enjoyed being together and I was grins from ear to ear with the whole family, except my son. Even as adults, it’s always one or the other of the three who are not talking. This summer it’s Vanessa and Lenny. Last summer it was Kim and everyone. Before that, it was Kim and Vanessa. Hopefully, as they get older, they’ll come together—or get further apart. but, for this one day, I had mostly all.  

 

After the zoo, we all got back on the bus and headed downtown to Chicago’s Millennium Park, a gorgeous area between the lake and Michigan Avenue. The attraction for the kids is Crown Fountain Waterfall. Water pours from gigantic transparent brick towers on either end of a reflecting pool. Digital video photography is displayed on each tower and every five minutes, the person videoed puckers his lips and the water spouts, then returns to a flowing waterfall. I’ve been taking the grandsons since it opened and they always have cool summertime fun in the hot city. We sat beside one waterfall and got a constant cool mist on the sunny, 90 degree day.

My next excursion was to the Printers’ Ball at Columbia College Chicago. This is an absolutely must do for book lovers, writers, and creative folks of all types. The theme this year was “It’s Alive!” There were zombies, face paintings, Ouija boards, beer, wine, food, and of course books, books and more books. All FREE!! My first year I left with a shopping cart full. I’m a bit more discerning now because you can definitely give yourself a hernia hauling away books. I saw friends from school since Columbia is my alma mater, and friends from the Neighborhood Writing Alliance who are also published writers in NWA’s Journal of Ordinary Thought, and friends from Chicago’s extensive poetry and literary scene. In three weeks, this was the only time I was inspired to write. I sat across the street in a little park and jotted a few lines: My Last Dance With Chaos. I think that says it all. 

And then, of course, there was the great ice cream eating expedition to Scoops in Kenosha. I had a craving for a banana split for weeks and the one I got in Blue Ridge was more of a sundae. This, as you can see, was the real deal. Something else I'll miss, but not enough to stay. All in all, it was a good farewell.

 

Rantings, Ravings, and Good energy

In the last two days, I’ve been insulted and slandered more than I can remember. In both instances, I say it was because people assumed something without clarifying, but then maybe, they didn’t want to clarify. What the incidents have verified for me is that I am on the right path. These weren’t roadblocks, merely stumbling stones—the universe inquiring if I am certain about where I am and where I’m going.

The first was over our late, great Governor of Illinois, Rod Blagojevich. I’ll readily admit that my opinion on his issue is not the popular one. I don’t believe Hot Rod was guilty of anything other than “talking shit.” He paid no money or favors, and no one took money or favors for Obama’s Senate seat. He talked a good game, but that was it. I liken the whole scenario to “MinorityReport” with Tom Cruise where people are arrested, charged, and sentenced for their thoughts. Blago went one step further and put his thoughts into words, hence conspiracy. A charge which carries a long sentence that can be applied to anything and everything, and in our justice system, is used frequently.

I suppose that was where my first problem arose—speaking an opinion that is not the popular one. Then, when I trounced on the theory of “a jury of my peers”, it turned ugly. In stating that many people were imprisoned, some executed, because the prosecution presented and persuaded better than the defense; also that the justice system is broken and corrupt I was met with “only x amount of people have been wrongly convicted over x number of years.” I was met with “it’s better for one innocent person to go down than for one guilty to go loose.” When I addressed all of these issues, I was likened to a FoxNews Pundit and Glenn Beck—arguing in circles. The statements were made and I responded. All of the issues, as most, are interconnected, leading one to another. The justice system has no justice in it; it is broken and unfair; and how dare someone who has never had a family member or loved one wrongfully convicted and/or executed say “only”?

So you see here, we started with Hot Rod in a broken justice system and we ended in a broken justice system. How is this circular? Ahh, I was then asked for my alternative “wisdom lost to our forefathers.” I responded with the question: “Do you really think the system, as it is today, is what our forefathers created or had in mind?” Of course, my alternative is to not waste my tax dollars on trumped up charges of BS on telephones or getting a blow job in your office. Of having fair and distinct laws so a Metra cop who shoots and kills a young, unarmed man in LA doesn’t get 6 months, while lost and confused young men on the streets are sentenced to life or executed. My alternative is that we should have mental health and addiction treatments instead of incarceration. THAT, was not an answer I was readily informed. Also, the system is different now than from our founders because we evolve. OK, so what lost wisdom from our forefathers were they looking for?  I pose the question to the universe because I am at a loss. Was that not a circular question? Could I have ever gotten an “A” and that one? 

I have to explain that the grit of this argument was not even with the original poster of “Yay, Blaga got convicted.” This was a friend of that friend. Seems the original felt I dismissed her opinion when I gave mine. Why is this such an issue today, everywhere? People can have differences of opinions. People SHOULD be able to debate those differences of opinions. If you can speak your opinion, I can as well. One doesn’t automatically negate the other. Oh, but it gets better for this “armchair politico”, a phrase coupled with the FoxNews Pundit.

Oh, it's a busy day being the armchair politico I've been labeled. Out to the meeting of community gardeners who feed the county to propose a garden poetry workshop with the kids who just planted their first garden at school. So not involved am I!! Peace out!

My Facebook post for the morning. Cool, right? I was so very excited to be a part of such a worthy organization as Feed Fannin that contributes not only food, but education on how to feed yourself. Isn’t that a Christian proverb or something? I will explain here that I am being sarcastic. Sarcasm seems to fall heavy on some ears, so I just wanted to put it out there—it’s sarcasm! As was my post. Sarcastic. I am very involved, have been very involved, try hard to get out of my armchair. Unfortunately, that was not the complaint this time.

I was asked why I would move to an area where I found such humor in the inhabitants; where I felt it necessary to be condescending and a blowhard; where I belittled the folks in that area and acted as though they were stupid because they had an accent.

W.T.F.

Where was all that harvested from my post about garden poetry with kids? Of course, I was quickly de-friended before I could respond. Thankfully. I probably would’ve only gotten into another one of those circular, FoxNews Pundit, Glenn Beck arguments, and be blamed for it. I did send an email explaining my post but the response was that most of what she’s read on my blogs and Facebook has been condescending and insulting to Southerners. Hm.

None of it really matters in the grand scheme.

The idea of garden poetry workshops with the elementary school kids was received with excitement, enthusiasm, and gratitude. We’ll combine the poetry with recipes from the old-timers in the area who are being interviewed, and compile all into a cookbook that can be sold at the local farmer’s market to benefit the Feed Fannin organization that helped the kids plant the garden in the first place.  

Another of the members who will work with me on the project is ReLeah Cossent Lent, the author of Adolescents on the Edge with Jimmy Santiago Baca. For me, this is a celebrity. She travels and does workshops with Jimmy and teenagers—creative writing workshops.

Yes, the path is correct. I have left (not really, only physically) the Neighborhood Writing Alliance whose motto is “Every Person Is a Philosopher" to work with a partner of Baca, who says “Literacy is freedom and everyone has something significant to say.”  

This good, vibrant energy dispels all the negative.

The Universal Kick-in-the-Butt Jumpstart, December 15, 2010, Day 167-Nomad Existence

As noted in previous entries, I am purposely homeless to assist forward movement, which was to teach abroad. In 167 days, I purchased my passport, completed TEFL certification, vacationed, and researched teaching abroad job boards. I’ve been stuck, until the universe decided on the kick-in-the-butt-jumpstart.

It’s said, when making dramatic lifestyle changes, for example, quitting smoking, you should tell people for support. I’m not sure the benefit is support. I think it’s accountability. The more people you tell, the more hold you accountable. The actual benefit to accomplishment of your goal is vanity and embarrassment. This only works if many people are involved. As a smoker, I’ve told a few, repeatedly, that I was quitting. When I started again, it was simply an “oh well” when confronted.

I’ve not read The Secret. I don’t believe that merely thinking of something will manifest it in my life. Every season I change my computers wallpaper to a Western North Carolina scene, where I hope to retire (soon), establishing a constant visual reminder of my dream. I’m not any closer to the reality. Action is the key, coupled with a large amount of accountability (read: vanity).

Since June 2010, I’ve told everyone “I will be somewhere” by January. I’m still homeless in Kenosha. Activity has flourished in the past two weeks. I’ve applied for jobs in Taiwan, Costa Rica, Italy, and Germany; housesitting positions in the Smoky Mountains, Wyoming and Australia; installed Skype so I can tutor online. I’m writing daily, and have even submitted. What happened? Vanity!

In July, I relinquished one of my workshop leader positions with the Neighborhood Writing Alliance (NWA), and this month, I relinquished the other. I’ve been with them eight years, starting as a writer. I acquired the first workshop when our facilitator retired, the other after campaigning for an offenders or ex-offenders group, resulting in a unique one at St. Leonard’s House. Additionally, I perform most of NWA’s tech stuff: website maintenance, the monthly newsletter, weekly update to workshop leaders, and most recently, development of Every Person Is a Philosopher Blog. I am fairly well known around the organization. So, when they dedicated the annual holiday party to me on December 15th, day 167 of my nomad existence, sending me off with poems, reminisces, warm wishes and hugs from people all over the city of Chicago, I felt the drop-back-and-punt-type kick in the butt from the universe.

Hence, the flurry of activity to make the future actually happen. When asked what I’d done with all the well wishes from that tearful send off, what will I say? Nothing? I’ve done nothing? I’ve done nothing with several opportunities, but my vanity won’t allow me to be that embarrassed.

Whether I teach abroad, volunteer and live in a National Forest, visit writer’s retreats, or do that North Carolina retirement thing, I’m moving forward thanks to that reliable universal-kick-in-the-butt jumpstart. Thank you!