Monthly Archives: November 2018

A Walk In The Woods

Posted by Nov 25, 2018 Nature Leave a Comment

Autumn has been my favorite time of year for as long as I can remember.  It seems like when I was little Dallas had more (actual) four seasons.  Now it feels like it goes from nine months of unrelenting pizza oven heat to three months of slightly below freezing cold mixed with bitter winds and, even more dreaded, ice.  This year we got a torrential downpouring of rain for almost the entire month of October.  Oddly, I didn’t mind it.  The prospect of flooding was concerning, particularly for folks who live farther south in Texas, but for me that was tempered with the hope of no winter wildfires which seem to rage worse every year people deny human culpability in climate change.  I love all of nature but the woods have always spoken to me the most.  While Dallas, Texas is not the Deep South, it does remain wooded and, blessedly, hidden pockets still exist untouched.  We took our wolfies for a walk in the woods by us and watching them was such a joy.  Wolves have a smell about 100 times greater than humans.  I told my husband and my child I could only imagine what all they were experiencing.  Our little girl experienced her first smell of a skunk and shrieked.  I explained to her that skunk had made its way through probably over a week ago, as its odor had mostly faded away.  Feeling the soft earth underneath my feet and listening to the sounds of the water rolling its way down the limestone in the creek was like a balm to my soul.  Sunlight dappled through the trees and it truly felt as if we were the only ones in the world.  From our little path nothing was to be seen or heard except Mother Nature.  Because of all the rain the trees have been particularly glorious … some only just now starting to turn.  Usually by this time they’ve already been blown off, quickly going from green to brown.  This month we have enjoyed a rich palette of bright yellows, deep oranges, and striking reds.  The best part is they have been kind enough to hang around.  The Austrian poet Georg Trakl once said, “I drank the silence of God from a spring in the woods.”  It may be my favorite quote of all time.  My heart always longs to go for a walk in the woods.

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Hair

Posted by Nov 18, 2018 Family Leave a Comment

Hair:  In the King James version of the Holy Bible, 1 Corinthians 11:15, it says, “But if a woman have long hair, it is a glory to her:  for her hair is given for her as a covering.”  While many may not believe it, major accredited studies have revealed that Native Americans recruited for war had superlative skills only if allowed to keep their hair.  Anglo culture has been forcibly removing native peoples’ hair, particularly males’, for centuries — even in our time.  Hair is an extension of the nervous system, and can be seen as exteriorized nerves; a type of highly evolved “antennea” that transmit vast amounts of important information to the brain stem, the limbic system, and the neocortex.  I waited 41 years to have a child.  And, by the grace of God, He gave me one.  She came out of my body with strawberry blonde, straight hair just like mine.  I have watched it evolve from peach fuzz, to straight, short “boy hair”, to curls like Shirley Temple, to a glorious mane like that of a horse — lush and thick and full of life.  Recently my only child had eye surgery.  The doctor actually cut two muscles in each of her eyes.  I had been terribly worried about her and the outcome.  Surprisingly, my tears only flowed when she got three inches cut off her virgin hair.  For seven years it remained untouched.  Seven is a sacred number both in Biblical terms and also in indigenous ones.  The Constitution of the Iroquois Nation, the confederation of which the U.S. original thirteen colonies’ political system was influenced, was based on the philosophy that in their every deliberation, they must consider the impact of their decisions on the next seven generations.  Recently, some of Marie Antoinette’s jewels were given to Sotheby’s auction house.  I believe a huge, natural pearl went for the most money but, if I could have, I would have chosen to buy the locket which contained her hair.  I recall as a child seeing my mother’s red hair in her baby book which my grandmother had cut and my own reddish blonde hair in my baby book which my mother had cut and preserved.  Now my little one’s hair will go in her baby book, and someday I hope to see her place her own daughter’s hair in it.  The story of Sampson and Delilah in the Bible, in my opinion, has a lot of truth encoded in it.  When she cut his hair, the once undefeatable Sampson fell.  Some cultures still feel a woman’s hair must not be seen, unless it is by immediate family.  I personally do not believe one’s hair is something to remain hidden; rather I believe it must be allowed to be free.  In centuries past it was customary for a young girl to wear her hair down; wearing it up was a sign she was married.  Whatever your beliefs, I hope and pray we all respect one another’s cultural and spiritual beliefs about hair.

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Veteran’s Day

Posted by Nov 11, 2018 History Leave a Comment

November 11 is a day in which the United States designates to honor military veterans.  It is a happier holiday for me than Memorial Day, as that is a time for recognizing all who were killed in the line of defense since the “founding” of this nation.  Today however is a day which honors all persons who have served in the U.S. Armed Forces.  It coincides with Armistice Day, commemorated every year on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, marking the end of World War I.  Armistice Day is celebrated by countries all over the world.  My father was proud to be an American, and he was deeply patriotic.  This picture here is of one of the little flag pins he always wore on his lapel — far before it became fashionable.  I can remember seeing him proudly don it every day ever since I was little.  My father joined the military right out of high school in order to pay for his college education.  He and Mama were high school sweethearts:  she, the prettiest girl in school who shopped at Neiman’s, and he the dark boy from (literally) the “wrong” side of the tracks.  My father fought for eight years in the Korean War.  During all that time he wrote my mother faithfully and sent her back beautiful gifts “from the Orient.”  He got her porcelain china for when they would marry, ivory (before everyone realized how cruel the elephant trade is), semi-precious jewel sets with tanzanite and tourmaline, and pearls.  What my mother really wanted was my father.  He signed up for his second term without even asking her and she had been waiting for him for four years already.  My mother’s family took it as an opportunity to send her to Florida during the summers, where she stayed with her very wealthy aunt and uncle as they threw party after party to introduce her to “society” boys.  Her Aunt was invited to Grace Kelly’s wedding and when their first child was born Aunt Phil sent a mobile she’d made from the rare shells of Sanibel Island.  They were held together with fishing wire and hung gracefully in varying degrees from driftwood she’d found.  Princess Grace was so enchanted by her thoughtful gift she’d handwritten her a thank you note, which her aunt framed and, Mama said, kept in her guest bathroom.  Meanwhile, my father was working his way up from the lowest level soldier in the army, a Private, to what I believe is called a Specialist.  I am embarrassed to admit I know very little for two reasons.  One:  my father did not brag.  And two:  any discussion of his time at war upset my mother terribly.  Here is what I do know … he was, at some point, stationed out of Fort Sill Oklahoma and became blood brothers with a Comanche in a very elaborate ceremony by the man’s father before they were shipped out.  I know my father was captured and had his feet frozen.  He and two other low-ranking men (they had already killed their Commanding Officers) escaped into the snow in the dead of night wearing only their Long Johns … each going a different direction.  My father was able to piece together he was wandering for three days before the Greeks (and our allies) picked him up.  He told me he was so grateful they took him to a Norwegian hospital.  There they plunged his feet in ice cold water and he said they slowly warmed them up over the course of two days.  Daddy said an American hospital at that time would have amputated them both right away.  For the record, my father’s feet always turned a bit bluish in the winter … but he had all of his toes and his feet.  Daddy died next to my mother out of the blue of a heart attack at only 66 years of age.  At aged 28 I found myself without my greatest mentor and was left with the responsibility of caring for my widowed mother, who was lost without my father.  I made sure he received a full military burial complete with a 21 gun salute.  I was so very proud he had a Seminole pallbearer, as well a black one, a Jewish one, and white ones.  Men from all over came up to me and told me of my father’s bravery, and of how he never lost a man on night patrol.  He became a sharp shooter (sniper) I believe thanks to him growing up with his full-blood Choctaw grandparents.  Sometimes he had terrible nightmares and once I saw a wicked looking scar on his chest which he said came from a bayonet; meaning he was in hand-to-hand combat.  I was told he was the first man to become an honorary citizen of two countries and he simply sent his Greek Medal of Honor home to my mother.  The only way he ever told me about his time at war was when I asked why he didn’t like certain things.  He said he could not stand the sight or smell of barbecued chicken because he had so much of it in their MREs (Meal, Ready-to-Eat) and he also had to have his back against the wall whenever we went to a restaurant.  He said he just didn’t feel safe if he could not survey the room.  The American politician Charles B. Rangel said, “To honor the legacy of veterans and the democratic principles they fought for, I am glad that I introduced the Korean War Veterans Recognition Act which was enacted in 2009.”  My father always said it was “The Forgotten War.”  I believe that anyone who has endured the horrors of war, whether it was during the Holocaust or Vietnam, can never forget.  Let us always remember and honor both the known and unknown, all of whom have their own stories which may have tragically become lost over time.  God bless and keep all of our soldiers this and every Veteran’s Day.

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Eyes With Which To See

Posted by Nov 4, 2018 Family Leave a Comment

Perhaps I am partial but I have always marveled at my daughter’s beautiful eyes.  She truly looks as if she could have stepped out of a Renoir painting, perhaps “Girl with pink bow.”  My mother was half-French; half-Irish and she definitely has the Gallic eyes of her ancestors.  Somehow, I see a lot of my husband in her eyes, perhaps it is because they are both so very dark.  I remember my mother telling me they’d calculated the odds of me having light eyes and it was over 1 in 100,000.  My half-Choctaw, half-German father had the deepest, darkest, bluest eyes I have ever seen.  They were framed by impossibly long, thick, jet black eyelashes while my very white mother had light brown eyes that perfectly matched her natural red hair.  She used to say she had no eyelashes or eyebrows.  She actually did, they were just white blonde.  So along I came right in the middle — very tanned skin, reddish blonde hair, and greenish eyes.  My husband has beautiful, thick brown hair and I realize my own gene pool.  Delusionally, I truly somehow thought I would have a blonde-haired, blue eyed child.  She did arrive that way, but her peach fuzz hair turned more auburn and her eyes went so dark it took the eye doctor a special light just to see her pupils.  I started having to wear glasses in the first grade, and I fervently hoped my little one wouldn’t have to so young.  Not that there is anything wrong with it — I just remember trying to keep my glasses pushed up whenever I looked down to read or I got too sweaty.  Looking at her for so long, I have always thought one eye was a little close set.  We’d taken her early on to an eye specialist and they tested her in kindergarten.  Thankfully she was always fine.  And then this year I got a call from the school nurse.  I could tell from her tone it was not good.  At first I feared she’d broken another bone.  Instead she reluctantly informed me that my child was legally blind in her GOOD eye (20/100) and 20/200 in her other.  Everyone at her school seemed shocked, as she had never squinted or exhibited any discernible trouble seeing.  I was assured the tests were correct, as it was measured by some gazillion dollar computer.  Trying not to bawl, I scheduled my first grader with an eye specialist.  It would seem we would be seeing his son; both of whom specialized in strabismus, a misalignment of the eyes.  Upon her initial exam, the doctor informed me our child needed surgery:  not glasses; not eye patches; just a surgical procedure that would entail snipping the insides of her eye muscles close to her nose as well as the ones on bottom.  I was told the surgery had been around for decades and the rate of success was high.  Also, the need for having to repeat the procedure was low.  I thought I was prepared for her surgery.  Although we are blessed to have a very healthy child she has had laser surgery twice on a facial birthmark at around two, endured an endoscopy and colonoscopy at just four to learn she is gluten intolerant, and at five she broke her elbow on the monkey bars at school, resulting in an hour and forty-five minute surgery and stainless steel pins which would be removed only with the aide of pliers sometime later.  This was a twenty minute surgery which felt like forever.  She was extremely sick from the anesthesia and the whites of her eyes filled completely with blood.  We have been stared at a lot in the grocery store but mostly from adults who seemed genuinely concerned.  Like my mother, her namesake is tough as nails!  She rebuffed insults and endured gawks with equal panache.  The school nurse did call me to come get her the first day back because she was worried my girl might fall.  She still has “crooked” vision and sees two of things, but the doctor says her eyes are working for the first time to see in tandem.  And to think we had absolutely no idea.  The great American author Helen Keller, who was the first deaf-blind person to earn a bachelor of arts degree at a time when most women were not deemed worthy of an education, once said this:  “The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision.”  I am so grateful to God that my sensitive, caring child has kind, intelligent eyes with which to see.

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