More on Blogging

Once again, I have had a burst of writing followed by a long silence. And I realized some things about how I blog.

I like NaPoWriMo and it revs me up for writing. It feels like I could write and write and write everyday forever. And then something, usually depression, happens and I stop. I also stop reading and visiting other blogs, waiting for it to pass. [Although this time, it was a combination of feeling weird after participating in the blog hop (I'm not sure why) and a remarkably nasty, hardy, contagious, and itchy case of ringworm. That thing lasted for over two and a half months. >:-( ]

It's the not visiting my favorite blogs (and to a lesser extent replying to comments to my posts) that seems to get me in the most trouble. I begin to feel like I can't post until I have caught up in visits. And, at that point, blog reading becomes homework, and if I wanted to do homework, I would still be working on my PhD. I turn something I like into a duty, and that's not what I want. If I read and comment on 20  posts from the same blogger like a stalker binge-reading, I would rather it be because I am enjoying the writing and not because I feel obligated.

I may be the only person who blogs who feels compelled  to reciprocate out of duty, but I kind of doubt it. I have read the other occasional, "I-have-to-catch-up-on-reading-blogs" posts. So I have decided to liberate myself and the five of you (A,B,B,B,&B) who read and comment on the lasagna with regularity. Reciprocity is not a requirement here.  That felt good. Let me write that again.

Reciprocity is not a requirement here. 

Even if I am visiting you via a community that encourages reciprocity. If I have been by and commented, please don't feel obligated to return the visit. That feeling of obligation reduces my pleasure in reading blogs and stokes my anxiety to the point where I can't write.  Fuck that shit, this is supposed to be fun y'all.

So, we are starting over with a clean slate. I am going to start profiling writing I like on Mondays via my Twitter and Facebook accounts again. #FridayFartPoems will also return to Twitter and Facebook. I'm ready to get back to writing. (And you may notice more bodies-are-gross poetry popping up.)

Finally, something super exciting happened this summer that I didn't find out about until a month later. I don't want to announce it at the moment, because I want this up for a couple of days to get some views.

Thanks for stopping by

heidi
9/15/14

My Son's Name Is Jack.

#BelieveInJack

Please, please help me. My son’s name is Jack. His name is Jack. He is only five years old. He stands a little over three feet tall and has fair skin and blue eyes and dark curly hair that he likes to hang down in his face. He is smart and he is funny. He loves Captain America and dinosaurs and My Little Ponies. Please think about him; remember him; believe in him. His name is Jack and he is fading away.

It started this summer. He caught a case of ringworm that spread all over him and he wasn't able to go to day camp with his brother and sister. I don't know if it is connected, but that is when I noticed that something was going on. When I went to talk to the day camp about withdrawing Jack until the ringworm cleared, they said that it was okay. He was never registered.  I thought that it was me being flaky, and let it go. Jack and I would spend the day together while Ava and Evan went to camp.

Ava and Evan are my other two children. Ava is six and Evan is four. Jack... Jack is five. Unlike Jack my other two have blonde hair. Jack is also more introverted and quiet than Ava and Evan.  

People often comment on how Ava and Evan look like their dad or each other. They say that Jack looks like me. I think it's the dark hair. I would have never admitted this to anyone before, but I have always felt closer to Jack than to my other children. Now, I don't care if that makes me a bad mom. Jack is mine and I can't lose him. Not my Jack. 

When Ava and Evan would come home from camp, they would eat a snack, excitedly tell me about their day and then run off to play together. From the start, Jack seemed excluded. I would see Jack sitting alone, watching his brother and sister and ask why he wasn't playing with them. 

"They forgot me, Mommy."

I felt nauseated and didn't know why. 

"Sweetheart, they don't forget you. They just get busy. Do you want me to get out Candyland, and we can all play together?"

"No Mommy. I just want to watch them for a while." My son looked sad and old. Babies aren't supposed to look that old.

I went outside to my other two children. 

"Hey! Did y'all forget about Jack?" I was kidding.

They both stopped playing on their swing set  and looked at me for a moment. It was maybe ten seconds, but I could see in their faces that for that ten seconds, they had no idea what I was talking about. 

"Jack, Mommy? Jack is inside."

And I stopped there. I didn't push it. I should have.

"Alright my sweetie-pies. We're going to eat supper in about a half an hour. Y'all are coming in then and I don't want any fussing."

"Yes Mommy!" in unison.

I don't remember seeing the three of them play together since then. 

A week later, the ringworm cream wasn't working and so I tried to make an appointment for Jack to see the doctor to get a prescription. Our doctor's office has this website where you can just send in a request for an appointment. I had spent an hour inputting us all into the system and setting up passwords a year ago. When I went to request an appointment, Jack's name was not listed on our page. I sent an email. I even remember the exact wording. I wrote:

"Good morning! I would like to request an appointment with Dr. Harrison for my son, Jack. He has had ringworm for a week and it is not responding to the cream I bought at the pharmacy. When I went to request the appointment in his name, it had been removed. I would also like to request a code key for him, so that I may reenter him into the system. His name is Jack Graves."

The reply they sent me was:

"Good morning Ms. Helmer. We have processed your request for a new blue card for your son, Evan Graves. You may pick it up at any time. If you would rather, we can also mail it directly to the school, since you have already signed the release."

I reread their reply and then my original email. Evan needed a new blue card, but I had not submitted a request. I couldn't make sense of it. I felt a chill on my right arm. 

"They forgot me, Mommy." 

I jumped. His hand was the cold spot on my arm. I didn't even hear him. His hand seemed to have no weight at all.

"What baby?"

"The doctor's office. They forgot me. Everyone is forgetting me."

"Sweetie! I'm not forgetting you." I picked him up and almost sent him over my head. He was lighter. He looked the same, but he wasn't as heavy. I squeezed him as tight to me as I could. I could tell by the way that he moved, that he was hugging me back just at tightly, but I barely felt any pressure. 

"Jack. Sweet boy. You stay with me. I love you. I am not forgetting you. You stay here with me, okay?"

The slight pressure relaxed and he looked at me.

old.

sad.

"You'll forget me too, Mommy."

"Never! I promise. You are my boy and I am never going to forget you. And I'll make everyone else remember too!" 

I called my husband and asked him to leave work and come home so that I could talk to him. 

He looked worried as he walked in the back door 20 minutes later. 

"Devon, something is wrong with Jack. He's cold and he feels lighter, and as crazy as it sounds, people are forgetting that he's here. That he exists. They aren't even responding to me when I talk about him. No one even seems to see him."

"Heidi, it's okay. We can work it out. Once both Ava and Evan are in school, you should be able to pick up your hours. But it's also no rush. We'll be okay with you easing your way back in. Don't trigger a panic attack worrying about that job."

"Devon, what the fuck are you talking about? I am telling you that no one seems to be able to remember our son! There is some crazy shit going on, but it's not me having another panic attack. Jack. Jack is....disappearing. He seems to be losing substance. No one remembers him. You have to help him. Help me!" A cold draft on my leg and a small voice.

"Daddy forgot me, Mommy. He doesn't even hear what you are saying. He thinks you are talking about something else. You are the only one who knows me now."

I looked down, at my small, beautiful son. He seemed almost translucent.  I noticed the rug underneath him. I had bought it with my first paycheck. I started to worry. How was I ever going to get back into the swing of things at work full time? Part time was overwhelming as it was. Was I cheating my children by picking up hours? They are only four and six once...

And there he was. Jack! My sweet boy. I had forgotten. That quick. He was gone because I had forgotten. I don't know how I remembered, but it brought him back. 

I sat on the floor and pulled him into my lap. I wrapped my arms around him and felt them go almost through. 

No, he's my son. He's my Jack.

Devon thought I was going to throw up and brought me an anti-emetic. He sat with me on the floor while I cried and apologized to Jack.

"Devon, just say his name for me. Say Jack"

"It will be okay. I love you, too. We'll get through this."

Jack just sat cradled in my arms with his head on my chest. 

"I'm tired, Mommy."

"I'm sorry baby, please hang on."

"You forgot me for a minute."

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I won't forget you again. I promise. Never. Never ever. Mommy loves her Jackie."

"It's okay, Mommy. And it will be okay when you forget."

I just sat there and cried. I won't forget. It won't be okay.

This has gone on for weeks now. Everyone interacts with me like I am not screaming "Look at Jack! He's right here! Believe in him!"

So now, I am alone in my room with Jack. He sits in my lap dozing as I type this. I don't know what else to do. None of my friends, family, or casual acquaintances remember Jack. I can't even get them to hear his name. 

So here I am. 

On the internet.

This is the only place on Earth that I think may be able to understand what is going on. The only place that will comprehend what I am writing and believe. Because I need you to believe. 

Please.

Please.

I know I sound like some stupid speech from Peter Pan, I don’t care. Please believe in my boy Jack. I have a son named Jack. Please think about my boy, Jack. Picture him with his dark curls and serious face.  Please. Help him. Help me. I need Jack. He is my little fella and I love him. Mommy loves you Jack. Mommy loves you. I won’t forget you Jack. I won’t forget you Jack. I won’t forget you. I won’t forget. I won’t forget. I won’t forget. I won't.

My son is Jack.

Jack.

Please, Jack.

 Jack.

heidi
written 8/17/14

#BelieveInJack

Confessions

This post is a bit different from my other posts. I am overwhelmed with recent violent events, and, as I sit in my Mother-In-Law's hospice room listening to her sleep, I have a need to talk about what has happened in Ferguson. I have a need to confess. (Thus, as a confession, I am not going to do any editing or rewriting. You are getting my first draft here. )

If you have read this blog before, then you probably know my writing is very confessional. I have a need to get what is in my head out of  me.  Today I want to talk about  racism and rioting and privilege.

I like to think that I am a pacifist. The reality is probably that I am not, but it is an ideal that I aspire to. And so, for more years than I am okay with, I was very judgmental about rioting. After the L.A. riots, I focused not on what lead up to the riots, but the stories of the bystanders who were hurt during the riots.

And then, a few years ago, I read about the Stonewall riots. And it clicked. I understood why people riot. Why it is ridiculous to expect the people who are being oppressed to behave "better" than their oppressors.  We have limits. What else is there to do when you are continuously being attacked? At that moment, I thought about what Thomas Jefferson wrote to James Madison, "I hold it that a little rebellion now and then is a good thing, and as necessary in the political world as storms in the physical."  I have to admit (since I'm confessing) that I felt a little smug and wise when I finally "got" rioting. Then came my second epiphany. With Stonewall, there was a raid and an arrest and that lead to a riot. Why was I okay with the Stonewall event and not the L.A. one? The attack on Rodney King was more violent, and the jury's verdict acquitting the officers who attacked him supported the idea that you could beat a man and put him in the hospital if you thought he was high and you were an authority figure. But wait...it was more than that. It supported the idea that you could beat a black man and put him in the hospital if you thought he was high and you were a white authority figure.

That's when I understood that I'm racist. I don't like it. I don't actively support it. But it is ingrained in me. And, as a racist and Guilty Liberal, I felt awful. And I tried to deny it. And I realized that denying it doesn't make it not true. And I had to face my privilege. 

Privilege has been a hard concept for me to understand. In part, because I think the word is one that triggers defensiveness. I embraced that defensiveness. The way I understand it now, is that it means there are adjectives about me that I never have to think about. I can ask "why does race matter?" because I almost never have an adverse interaction due to my race. And the ones I have are insulated because I have all sorts of proof around me that the color of my skin is Normal. Almost all the faces I see on TV and Magazines and Movies look like mine. And the few that are different are, just that, Different. Race matters in America because I don't have to think about mine, but other people have to think about theirs. More than that, they have to think about their race within the cultural lens of my race. Where I live, that's the way it is. I think the idea of being "colorblind" fits in here. It is a tool of assimilation. If we are all the same, and the Normal is white, what happens to culture that is not white.  If you are colorblind, can you not see it? Can you not see what is cool in the many ways that people can be? Must all Different conform to Normal? Or is it to be set to the side and used for amusement, or titillation, or a bad excuse for art? Is the main benefit of Different the chance for Normal to appropriate what it wants and discard the rest?

(Okay, so I think I may have gone a little confusing tangent there, but I know what I'm writing about and privilege is slippery for me.)

 I guess I needed to write this down and get it out of me. In Ferguson, a child was murdered. The events after that murder, by the people who are supposed to make it right, have been incompetent (if I'm generous) and horrifying (if I'm truthful). In the same letter to James Madion, Thomas Jefferson wrote (without any seeming ironic self-awarenss) "Malo periculosam, libertatem quam quietam servitutem." My white privilege allows me to add that quote to this post, without having to consider if my approval or opinion of any of the events going on in Ferguson is even wanted.

The reality is that I don't have to think that someday someone may be afraid of my son or want to harm him because of his skin color. I don't have to think about his race in relation to how to keep him safe. I can not remember reading a white kid gunned down article in the news. And I am very (guiltily) grateful for it. Privilege, allows me the luxury of not even considering the question of how do I raise my white son? Some things seem obvious. Teach him that it is wrong to murder kids. Teach him that it is obscene to use someone's clothes or childhood mistakes as justification of brutality against them. But I also have to teach him (and my daughter) that, even at our best, we may have ideas that we are unaware of that influence our decisions. We have to make ourselves aware. We also have to be aware that not everyone has the same reality and you can't judge other people on your reality. Maybe, despite the popular saying, not everyone has a right to their own opinion.

I am a middle-aged, middle income, educated, white, married, heterosexual cis-gendered woman living in the deep south. I have privilege out the ass. Racism, sexism, classism, trans-and homophobia have been in the very air I breathe since I was born. They are a part of me whether I want them to be or not. The best I can do is be aware of what influences my thoughts and actions. And when I discover that I am not living up to my ideals, then I try to do better.

heidi

Housekeeping: Let's Catch Up

Hey y'all.

Happy February!

I have been away for a while. I am not a multitasker, so sometimes I have to live one thing at  a time. I have some plans this year for the Lasagna, and I am a little behind, but I am late for everything. So, here's what I have planned.

First of all, I have met some amazing people through their blogs and I want to share their work. I am going to add a post where I feature on of my favorite blogs/bloggers. I have decided to just put all the names in a hat and draw at random. I will contact the blogger before I post to get permission and let you read the blog post before I publish it.

Secondly, I am going to try to expand on my writing. I really enjoyed my short stories that I wrote for reddit and want to write more horror stories. I also received some nice feedback from my memoir piece about mayonnaise, so I want to try some more of that.

I also plan to participate with dVerse and other prompts, and I can't wait to try NaPoWriMo again. I have also liked the Word Porn page on Facebook, and it post a new word a day that I want to use as a poetry prompt. I am also going to get #FridayFartPoem to gain some popularity on Twitter.

Finally, if I meet about 70% of these goals, I will be ecstatic. I am so okay with average.

Thanks again for reading and your continuing support!

heidi

Update: I need to add one more video

This video has been playing on my screen or in my head for a couple of days now. 

You are so very welcome.

heidi

Another Huge Obsession

In my last post, I shared some of the wonderful videos that I can't stop watching. In this post, I am going to share what has overtaken my iTunes and reading. It is No Sleep.



Some of you may know that I adore old time radio horror and mysteries. One of my favorite websites to listen  to is Horror-Theater. (I couldn't copy a good picture for them.) You can find it online at http://www.horror-theatre.com/. They play a nice variety of shows. Lately, they have been playing the No Sleep Podcast. The first night I listened to these stories, I had to sleep with the lights on. It was awesome. You can listen to the podcast yourself on iTunes or off of their website at http://www.thenosleeppodcast.com/. If you go to their website, check out the page they made for new listeners. There are some excellent selections on that page as well as a link to their archives. Beginning with Season Three, you can also get bonus episodes by subscribing. Otherwise, you can listen to episodes free-of-charge (although I recommend subscribing.) I was not able to download directly from the webpage, but I could through iTunes.

The stories read on this podcast are from the Reddit No Sleep Forum, which can be found at http://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/.  (I also couldn't get a good graphic for this site.) Readers of the forum post their "true" horror stories and I am hooked. I am also working on something to post there myself.

So that is something else that has been consuming me.

Also, I am writing this solely because I want to. The No Sleep and Horror Theater folks don't even know that this post exists.

Hopefully, I will be back to posting poetry and fiction soon. I need to catch up on all the wonderful prompts over at dVerse Poets Pub (they also, have no idea that I am posting this.)

have a good one!

heidi
written 10/27/13

Happy Birthday Kelly!

What Have You Been Doing Lately?

Because we know it hasn't been posting here, right? I have been obsessed with these You Tube videos.

They are videos of Scott Bradlee and Postmodern Jukebox (ScottBradleeLovesYa). I think I am in love with the tamborine man in the video below.

This one I am dedicating to my soon to be four-year-old because he can sing the all the words to the original "Thrift Shop".

The video that makes me want to actually try a Guiness.

The reason I have a Miley Cyrus song stuck in my head.

I have another obsession that I will share in my next post.

I hope you enjoyed these as much as I have and be sure to check them out on YouTube. You can also feel free to share your latest obsessions.

heidi
written 10/25/13

Edit: I was not paid to write this blog post. I am confident that Scott Bradlee and Postmodern Jukebox have never even heard of the lasagna. I just love these videos!

Thank you!

Hey y'all!

I have my computer and my internet and I am going to start replying to past posts and then reading and commenting on yours. I am also going to try to start posting again tomorrow. Thank you for being so patient and for the kind words of encouragement. I am so excited to be back!

heidi

Returning Soon!

Hi y'all!

It looks like I will have a functioning computer and internet connection in the next couple of weeks. Thank you for being patient and for your kind comments. I can't wait to Reilly to comments here, visit and comment on your posts, and get to writing and posting again!

Hugs!

heidi

Vacation

Hey Y'all!

I found my netbook last week, but since my sweetie-pies may have had a hand in it being misplaced (hidden), I took an unscheduled break last week to spend more time with them.  I am taking them to go build very cold sandcastles at the beach this week for spring break. (It's like a deep south version of playing in the snow, right?)  Thanks for stopping by and I will return comments and visits when I get back.

heidi

Instead of Writing and Reading

So I am a little toasty, i.e. I went on a writing glut and now I don't have any left in me for now, so I did this instead:

1. I took a costume from Halloween that was already getting too small, and had a busted bodice, and a $2 dress from the thrift store, and Princess Aurora had a suitable gown for costume day at school today.

Princess Aurora Eating a Nasty Mayonnaise Sandwich

She accessorized with Hello Kitty sneakers.

2. I played "Turtle Binchons" (Turtle Binchons is Eli speak for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.)

3. I read a blog that has inspired me, but I'm not quite ready to write yet.

4. Written TWO "I don't feel like writing" posts. hhhmmmmmmmm....

Sweet dreams y'all!

heidi
2/28/13

Case of the blahs

I think I overexerted myself already this week. I need to learn to pace my writing and my reading other blogs.  I really want to participate in 3WW today, but I can't think of anything to write. There's not a time limit, so maybe tomorrow. Besides, I need to finish my daughter's Princess Aurora costume for school tomorrow and I should probably clean the kitchen. Blah! It feels like graduate school.

Talk to you later,

heidi

Mag 155 Submission: Untouched

artwork by Joseph Lorusso


Untouched

The woman sits across the cafe from the couple.
They don't see her although the three of them are the only patrons there.
He cannot keep his eyes or hands off the girl.

The woman twists her wedding band around her finger
not touching her tea, not touching anything
except for the gold on her finger that only takes warmth from her.

The boy has started kissing the girl, running his hand up her leg,
under her skirt. She kisses him back and holds him closer.
He pulls out his hand and wraps his arm around her back.

The woman knew this passion and obliviousness in her youth,
but never with her husband. Her husband is a sweet decent man who
never touches her, never embraces her, never initiates...

A tear is born and the woman knows that she is the Mrs. Roper in this
episode of "Three's Company" and she needs to get away from this couple.
She lays down her money and leaves the tea, like so much in her life,
untouched.

heidi
written 2/19/2013 for Magpie Tales

This is a late submission, but I really like this picture. I was torn between this and something erotic and steamy (and maybe a little porny), but this is what I wrote instead. It is my first submission to Magpie Tales, or The Mag, but I plan on coming back. For these prompts, a picture is posted and then you write in response to that picture.