That Familiar Thing.

How easy it is to choose the wrong bedfellow!

Our past, it is said, shapes and dictates our present.

You’d think that should teach us to see a lot better,

To hear a lot clearer

To feel a lot more sensitively

That familiar thing

That cuts right through the gut of our very being!

It is sad to admit, the heat from past hurts

Has set the heart to a rigidness to demand a right,

It is sadder still to realize

That in the very core of who we draw to us

Is that familiar thing

Needing to conform and possess us.

It beggars the question

“What heals the past?”

Do we have the courage to break or be broken?

Do we have the sensitivity to not break or be broken?

Are we capable of compassion?

Do we even know what it means?

Now lines have been crossed and boarders invaded.

This is simply the start of wounds to avoid.

The trick is to decide if a new line is required

While trust is rebuilt

Or if broken walls are best left undone.

We choose wrong bed fellows; yet it’s hard to define ‘wrong’.

WATER HAVING ITS WAY WITH ME.

Today I went ‘swimming' for the first time EVER!.....well maybe not ‘ever’. A little background info here will be in place I assume. When I was little, I was never allowed in water, the reason was because every freaking time I went in, a few minutes afterward, my blood would clot and I would be in excruciating pain until I would end up in hospital on drips and morphine. I have a medical condition called Sickle cells anemia, and for those of you who don’t know what that it, it is a birth defect (blood defect) where you are born with red blood cells the shapes of sickles.

What that means is that your blood cells do not perform the way (or with the same strength) the blood cells of a healthy person would perform. And because of this condition, your white blood cells have a shorter life span and a longer reproductiveness (if that is a word), so you end up with less white blood cells than you should have, and the few you have are always over tasked to protect your body and on top of that, the shape of your red blood cells causes them to stick together and flow less fluidly, which means that they easily clot and easily block passages and cause organ damage in the process.

OK, that sounds grave! It is.

But of course if you learn to take the proper precautions you can live as normal a life as the next person. I do.....but I am digressing.

It doesn’t take much to cause the blood cells to misbehave and clot and send you into excruciating pain. One of the causes of clotting is drastic change in temperature (cold to hot/ hot to cold). This was the reason why I always had clots whenever I got into a pool as a child. We didn’t understand about the need to dip in the ‘right’ temperature so as to avoid shocking the body, which was why my body tried to balance the water temperature with my body temperature and that alone was tasking and it was always a sure way to end up with a clot; which I always did. So while my sisters were learning to swim, I was forbidden to get into ANY pool so I NEVER learned to swim.

As a result of that the brat never swam either.  Well how was a non-swimming parent supposed to teach her child to swim, right? That isn’t even the worse of it. After years of being taught to be ‘afraid of water’ I guess I passed that unto her, so it took A LOT literally, to get her to get into any pool, let alone relax and have fun in it.

Well the hubster decided we will both learn to swim AND ENJOY IT, and I do recall telling him it will be a cold day in hell before that happens. Anyway, he brought us to the lake to to visit the in-laws and to get us swimming.Yesterday the brat got into the lake but only up to her knees and got upset about it, today, just after lunch, I looked out the window and what do you know? She was boldly heading towards a raft with water up to her waist. I was surprised. No! That isn’t the right expression: I WAS SHOCKED!!!

OK, my BIL was holding the raft waiting for her, so yes, she knew she was safe, but yesterday, the hubster and my other BIL were in the water with her, coaxing her and she simply refused to go further than knee deep! What changed? I have no idea, but when I saw how bold she was, walking toward that raft, I told my MIL “maybe it is about time I ventured into water too”. She was gracious enough to lend me her bathing suit since I didn’t have one, and we headed out into the lake.

The moment I let my body relax in the water (It was shallow enough, so I figured I should sit it in) I discovered something interesting; my lower body floated easily and effortlessly while my upper body simply sank. That freaked me out and I started involuntarily hyperventilating (thinking of it now, that must have been annoying to witness). So the first few minutes was of me making a total idiot of myself trying to figure out WHY my body was behaving this way. I mean, aren’t I supposed to sink? Isn't that what happens to people that can't swim? And shouldn’t I be the one in control of MY body movements, regarding balance? Apparently not. Water has its ways and it obviously had its way with me at first contact.

That didn’t put me off. My MIL said to focus on understanding what movements made me float or sink and within minutes I was able to get my lower body to remain sunk with the rest of me; that helped with my balance. Of course that meant the nervous annoying shrieks and idiocy was greatly reduced enough for the rest of the gang to enjoy the water with me.

The hubster was proud of me, enough for him to come teach me a trick or two. We ended up taking the sail boat and headed to the other side of the lake. I learned what turning the sail a certain way does to the navigation and speed of the boat. What the funny coloured metal poles sticking out of the water were for. We even saw a loon!

When we got back to shore, I learned to move my bingo wings to float (The hubster showed me how to). Can’t say it was a success because I still have problems with my upper body refusing to stay afloat regardless of how much I flapped my bingo wings. Nonetheless, I learned to move my whole body by flapping my legs, having watchied the kids do it. I even dared going under water head and all and I learned something interestingly useful; you DO NOT want to inhale water through your nose!!! I had water running into any and all holes, I came of spitting, coughing and spluttering like mad; blowing my nose trying to get the water out of my ears!!

I eventually came out of the water when I noticed my fingers and toes turning prune-like and ashy – not a pleasant sight to behold. All in all it was a surreal experience. I never thought my first ‘water experience’ would be at 41. Interestingly still, I never expected I would enjoy it as much as I did. I feel like a child. Can I say I am looking forward to tomorrow so that I can do it again?

There is something rather inviting about water (I always knew that). Yesterday my BIL and his wife were sitting with me by the lake with our legs in water when I almost tripled over them in my hurry to get out of the water because a 2 inched size fish was heading toward my foot,! And today, I was in the same lake for a good three hours without even the slightest memory that there could be fishes in it! Talk about selective memory!!

We have roughly a week until we go back home, I do not know if I will learn to swim in this time; I do know though that I shall have more to share about water and its ways with me.

BYE GOOGLE READER

I am still trying to figure this one out, apparently there are going to be some changes with Google Reader.  So I am moving with the change and have been trying out Feedly '.  I like Feedly for my laptop and I hear Bloglovin works well with Android phones.  So I guess I will be using both of them!

You can follow Life Begins at 40 on either one and if it is Bloglovin, there is a link on the top left column.

Happy reading on our new formats.

Touching base with GAIA.

On our wedding day, right after the ceremony (which by the way was small; as in the brat, the dude and I, plus the Rev and the Photographer), the Hubster decided to domesticate me now that I am his wife; so he set up the studio and let us play with his clay supply. The brat produced a lovely bowl which the Hubster has kept aside to fire it for her at the Kiln. Me? I came away looking like this

With nothing to show for it!!!! Obviously domesticating me this way means we will never have any wares to eat out of.

So the next day, we spent a good chunk of the day preparing our flower beds because I wanted to get down to some gardening, partly because I need something to keep me busy while I await my EAD (empolyment authorization document) - that's what I need as an immigrant to allow me to work here in the USA.....and partly because it was what my dad (who I miss dearly) did with his free time - gardening.

This is right by the front porch which hasn't been in use and I intend to change that....

And this is right outside my studio so I get to decide what gets planted there (yay!!) I have already planted some Zinnia I got from my friend Kelly Lee at the left of it.....Kelly Lee, sent us a pack of seeds to plant. 

We have been able to germinate some tomatoes

I am so proud of myself for this.....

and some purple okra.....I can't wait to eat these!!! I am waiting till they look sturdy enough to stand transplantation. I did however plant some beans this morning

....and managed to transplant

The Basil

and Morning Glory my MIL brought us over the weekend.

 Don't ask me why the plastic containers are in the ground with the plant. The Hubster said to do it this way; he is the farming expert not me.

The Hubster should have instructed me on HOW to transplant fragile looking plants

can you tell by these photos

what I did? Hmmmmm....I swear all 6 basil plants are lying there somewhere.....

So in a nutshell, here is what I did this morning; Huster asked me not to move that glass so I decided to work from where the garden starts and stop right where the glass begins (I have always wondered why the hubster refferred to a random looking small patch of greens the 'salad garden' (??) If that patch were not next to a wall I would very easily walk over it without thinking it was meant to be a garden, so I gave it some body and it went....

from this

to this. Impressive huh? (Pat on the back Naan).

After tilling the soil, which I must mention was very rocky and loamy (not fun to work in), I added

some top soil, 

Top soil.

I worked it into the soil, then added on top of that, some Peat Moss

Peat Moss

I worked that also into the soil, then finished it with some cow manure

.....as instructed by the Hubster of course. Boy does that manure stink!!! And it was heavy so I used ....

the "shit-mobile"

 to move it from where it was laying in storage. I left in laying underneath the brats bedroom window. It will save me the trouble of moving it tomorrow when I do the patch by the glass (Hubster will move the glass for me when he gets home). So that's enough gardening for the day, I washed....

 my tools

 and gloves, am I a professional or what?!?!! ( I did wonder if washing my tools, knowing well I will use them again tomorrow shows I am a novice or if that makes me a pro......hmmm.)

With all said and done, I came away with....

almost clean and almost dry feet. I think I did pretty well! Pat on the back Naan. Now unto indoors playing.

CRIPPLED

A couple months preceding my 40^th it was all I talked about; almost as though turning 40 will be a defining moment for me. I was talking to my sis (Que) and she said “Oh, you won’t feel any different, I’ve been there” and I had laughed. But it is slowly dawning on me that she is right. Change doesn’t happen from one day to the next. I like the fact that I am 40 though, and I seem to throw it about carelessly of late, almost as though it gives me the right to belong to a prestigious group. Silly.

However, it has been a source of some nagging thoughts about personalities and what forms ours. When do we break away from the silently assigned roles of gender, or culture, or race? When do we see that the defining difference between one being and the next has very little to do with any of that?

When do we begin to take note of our individuality? When, how and why do we built the courage to embrace who we want to be and become that person? Then at what point does it become habitual to the point we become resistant to change?

I have always thought I was an evolving person, and in that sense, I mean I am ready and willing to embrace change; to see from a point of view that isn’t mine, to dare to think outside my box. I am slowly beginning to despair at my lack of breakthrough, lately especially. For some reason I can’t seem to break away from a crippling cycle; I am in a communication warp and it feels like a prison. I don’t seem to communicate effectively to the people that matter, and I don’t seem to process information in the way it is intended.

I have wondered if I have become so locked up in myself that I have become incapable of change. Is there even any such state?

When I was a child, I developed an attraction to dictionaries; I had to. Scrabble happens to be a favourite family game and to stay on top, it helped to know words and meanings……but it was also through playing with words that I had discovered back then how very little I knew of language, which in turn made me aware of how ineffective proper communication was without it.

Today, I have a wider vocabulary but feel like I am less successful with communicating even the simplest ideas, which simply makes me want to lock myself in…..and I find that I am doing just that. It is exhausting trying so hard at something and feeling like a failure for it.

Is my resignation a result of sheer laziness or have I really reached that age where change (evolving) is difficult? I thought life began at 40?

Sigh.

IT'S ONLY HAIR.

What is it about dreadlocks that seem to offend people? Yesterday in a conversation about caring for my daughter’s hair, I mentioned looking forward to when she will worry about it herself, and I got a rather odd retort of it then becoming ‘rasta’ like it would be a bad thing, I had to quickly point out that it’s what I have on my head, so it won’t be a totally bad thing.

It’s amusing. This is the 4th retort being made about ‘rasta’ from people close to me, like it’s a bad thing to have. One was a direct attack on my own locs and the three others were just disapprovals on the general idea of dreadlocks with a quick justification as though it was ok, if it was on my head but not as an acceptable hairstyle (?)

I am not apologetic for having locs and as a matter of fact not even my own father’s disapproval of my hair would make me feel any different about it (and I care what he would think….). But I am beginning to wonder though, in all honesty what you guys really feel about my hair. Can I say I would rather have the disapproval voiced out there and we can all move on? It’s odd suddenly having to wonder who else is putting up with my hairstyle simply to keep the peace. Come on guys!

This is an open invitation for you all to take that long awaited swing at how ‘disgusting’ (or your choice of words) you find locs. Don’t worry, I won’t take offense. If I had asked permission before locking my hair then it could matter what anyone thinks, so let’s have it out, it’s only hair and it is quite OK not to like it, so don’t try to like mine simply because it’s on my head. I am not my hair.

FLAWS

One of my flaws is the ease with which I can withdraw from people and remain ‘hidden’ even when I am there. It takes a lot to make me withdraw but once I am at that point, the withdrawal is quick. And by that I mean, I hate conflict so much that I would rather remove myself from a situation that creates a reason for conflict rather than assert my ‘rights’.

It can come across as cowardice. It isn’t. I don’t just begin withdrawing at the first sight of discomfort. But I don’t have an aggressive manner of voicing my discomfort either. And I suppose the light manner in which I say it makes it come across as something not worth taken seriously, which I think is sad, that we take each other too much for granted and are quick to decide what is important to the next person based on our experiences and ideas rather than really listening to what they say to us and ‘see’ it through their eyes.

Years ago, I wrote a poem titled “Into myself again”. It was written in response to someone suggesting I was shutting myself in for no reason. I had a reason. We talked about it, turned out that I had voiced my discomfort and it was not heeded because I was not ‘aggressive’ or ‘seemed quite bothered’. I didn’t know how to respond to that.

I am not sure what it is about humanity that makes us think it is alright to take people lightly. I don’t mean we should go around as though on egg shells, but isn’t the mere fact that someone voices a concern, reason enough to mind it? Do we really need to get in a ‘mood’ to be taken seriously?

Into myself again was just an echo of what we have become. We are like snails. Little packs of mysteries, carrying our inner demons within our shells and the only glimpse anyone really gets to see of what is inside the shell will either have to be defined by the essence of our operculum or we will have to be crushed and separated from that protection…..or if they heed what we reveal in our delicate ways.

I want to voice my concerns and be heard. It isn’t so for the most part, but I do wonder if it is because I also do not HEAR when concerns are being voiced to me. What goes around comes around after all.