Renaissance • Mr. Darcy + other things

December 30 • 2020

 I woke thinking it's Saturday - okay, it's Wednesday, close enough - and splashed water on my face with my glasses still on. I was daydreaming about things -mostly my plants and writing and taking the dog for a walk. And the word, renaissance which popped into my head on Monday (2 days ago). It feels good to say ~

renaissance 

After drying my glasses, I dug in the junk drawer for the measuring tape to see how much Big Vivie and Little Vivie have grown from a week ago. Big Vivie is now 22.5 inches tall. Little Vivie is 18.5" They're going to burst open into blossom sooner than I expected. 

                                                         

RENAISSANCE is a French word meaning rebirth. The Merriam-Webster Dictionary offered the word's history and etymology (in brief): French, from Middle French, rebirth from Old French, renaistre to be born again, from Latin renasci, from re + nasci to be born

So, yes, I'm thinking a kind of rebirth would be lovely as we leave this year behind. And it's always funny to me because the whole-end-of-year/new year moment is simply one day to the next, yet it has such a hold on us - I go to sleep, usually before midnight, or maybe bang some pots and pans @ midnight on the porch before crawling into my cozy bed. Sleep, dream, lose track of the days, and then wake up and it's a new day - I'm still me, nothing noticeably miraculous happened at the strike of midnight, yet most of us feel the metaphorical turning of a new page. 

We long for the new-ness. I know I do. (and still, I hold onto the familiar)

Like a good Jane Austen story (Claire and I have been deep into them on these winter nights) -Newness and familiar comforts are a marriage, a dance - take Ms. Austen's characters...the dancers barely touch, gaze into each other's eyes as they pass, hands skimming over hands, a gentle skip up the center of the dance floor, circling back under a canopy of lifted arms and hands. A constant give and take. Oh the sexual tension, dear Jane! The unrequited love, words unspoken until a bursting forth usually on the coastal cliffs, wind blowing loose hair, and someone finally speaks their truth! 

Speak up! Share your heart!

(See The Dashwood sisters, Charlotte Heywood...thank you, PBS/Netflix~ )

                   Is it any wonder I wash my face with glasses on? 

                                                                               Oh what a good laugh I had! 

This wandering mind. So many wonders to think on: plants, birds, pink clouds, dogs, children riding bikes, the lone seal swimming at the beach, love, peanut butter and honey on toast, the world of Jane Austen or James Bond? (we watched one the other night)

and then... there are the horrible things. 2020 has been full of tragic, crushing moments. This global pandemic, George Floyd, Brianna Taylor, so many names/say their names, the final days of Trump, conspiracy theories, daily horror and madness and loss. You may have suffered great loss and unwanted changes this year. 

It's so easy to lose hope. But we mustn't. Ever.

Some comfort, some Mr. Darcy, see Pride and Prejudice, who does come around to love Elizabeth but what a tough, weird nut to crack - (even if it is handsome Colin Firth) - and a glass of red wine is perhaps an answer, at least for an evening.  🍷

Comfort is necessary more than ever these days - offer it up to yourself daily.

_______________________

Here's to a renaissance when the clock strikes 12:00.

                 

                     (tomorrow night, Thursday it is!)

For you, 

for me,

for everyone, 

+ for this sweet beautiful old earth.

love always,

b xo

My Kind of Math

This morning I was writing about growing things and overall how much better it makes me feel when I'm doing it. This reminded me of my life as Ms.J, second grade teacher. It made me think about how I spent five days a week in a room full of seven year olds, no aide, no extra help, sometimes parents would come in for a craft, or party, but for the majority of the time, it was me and my kittens. It was a lot of energy in that room with the big windows and wide sills. The cubbies spilling out with folders and pencil cases and snacks. And other stuff the kids would bring to play with at recess. 

They were the most creative,energizing,and exhausting years of my life. 

I loved those kittens. (still do, wherever you are - xo)

Every Christmas my mother gave me a bag of paper white bulbs (oh I miss her) and from that tradition I gave them to my students in the New Year. Each kid got a bulb - well you can read the scratchings in my journal entry (above), written in a flush of memory this morning. A wonderful memory of that big sunny room with all the window sills filled with pots of paper whites. The scent was overwhelmingly sweet once all of them bloomed. In pre-No-Child-Left-Behind and other craziness put in place, I taught math and science using journals and rulers and crayons and plants and other stuff like that. I'm sure we had math workbooks,  good for straight up computation practice, but getting out our science/math journals and documenting the growth of our paper-white bulbs - that was my kind of math. 

It was only 7:30 am

Life is so much more charming and simpler than we humans make it. Especially in the world of education. It's not that f*cking complicated to engage little kids (and ourselves) in life-long learning. For the paper-white project, all we needed was our notebooks and simple tools: 

Kids could be out of their seats at the window measuring, comparing their bulb's growth to a friend's, or going down the row sniffing each one while looking out the window. I was big on bar graphs because visually they're the easiest to understand and you can have a lot of fun doing it in different ways. I'm not sure where I was headed this morning with this one, see below attempting to illustrate my amaryllis, now split into two - Big Vivie + Little Vivie. The proportions are way off, I mean, the pot isn't that big compared to the flowering bulb, and honestly, I shouldn't point this out since I'm writing about second graders, but amaryllis's, at least until the flower blooms, bring to mind a penis, or two - come on, they're totally phallic! Plus I grew up in a house full of naked brothers and to this day, I see us squished in the bath tub together, laughing and carrying on, bubbles for beards and big white hair, plastic soldier's bayonets poking me in my chubby thigh.

not sure what happened with this graph?

You don't need to be a green thumb to grow a bulb. This amaryllis came in a pot with the disk of compacted soil - all I had to do was add water, fluff up the soil, and plant the bulb. Then, find a lovely spot, not too hot, not too cold, for your bulb to follow the light. 

                                                        I measured the two Vivies this morning. 

As illustrated from my scientific, mathematical calculations and life-like drawing - Big Vivie is ten inches + Little Vivie is seven. How many inches taller is Big Vivie to Little Vivie? 

Do the math, people.

As we enter the final week of this year, may your holidays be blessed + safe + healthy. Scott Peck opened his book, "The Road Less Traveled" with this sentence: Life is difficult. We all get that. Yet, we don't have to add (+) to the difficulties. Why not grow something instead?

An idea

A deeper love

(A deeper love for)Yourself

Gratitude

...or a simple bulb in a pot of soil. Maybe start there. 

It's too tiring at this time of year (especially this year) to take on more, don't you think? 

                           

Grow something.

  love b

  XO

 

Tiny Bells 🌠

 

Last week I shared how each semester concludes with students writing letters to me. This is their final. I ask them to include the quote de jour as a touchstone to write about. This year's quote was by Ralph Waldo Emerson (see 12/9/20). I invited them to reflect on all life as an experiment, timidity, getting fairly rolled in the dirt once or twice, and Up again, you shall never be so afraid of a tumble? 

What do you think of this? How does it relate to your own life? Letter writing for me has always been personal, revelatory, and inspiring for writer and reader. 

Tell me what you think.I'll write back. 

I do, to each and every student - with pleasure. 

_______________________________

It's our final exchange of ideas. 

Here's a few gems among many:

My attitude about life is I do not take life seriously; I take serious moments in life seriously. I try things, I make mistakes, and I take action because I feel life truly is an experiment and I want it to be the biggest, fun, and exciting experiment I could have ever lived so that later in life I can look back and say I am glad I did. Emerson is right because you cannot know in advance what will happen through your actions. You can only plan and then take action. - Meghan 

🌀

Failure has never been part of the plan...That being said, I am working on seeing life as an “experiment”. I am trying each day to come to terms with the fact that I may have to be a little lenient with the paths I take to have this dream life of mine. Failure was a negative thing in my household, when in reality, failure just means you have tried. - Morgan 

🌀

And this, from Ann. Returning student, thirty-nine year old mother of four children, a woman who as a first-grader had to translate at parent-teacher conferences for her Spanish-speaking mother. "I always translated the truth," she said. This semester Ann was inducted into the Honor Society on campus:

I failed. I failed. I failed. I failed. I failed and I kept failing until I got tired of failing; then I wanted to win, win for my children, win for my husband, win to glorify God and win for the first-grade kid who had to figure it out on her own. This is my academic redemption story. 

So now, after years of giving up on myself, I decided to wear my F with pride because it was how I started and I can’t forget it. I won’t forget it and I definitely wear my children down with my story. I lived it; they don’t have to. I failed at it, they cannot. I know English. I know how sweet success is and I’m hooked. The old mindset is gone, it was toxic. I’m healed. I’m ready. - Ann 

🌀

Morgan concluded that Failure just means you have tried. 

                                                                                        

And with that, I heard tiny bells ringing in my head.

xo b

Moon and Sun by Claire Collins

Up Again!

Do not be too timid and squeamish about your actions. 

All life is an experiment.

The more experiments you make, the better. 

What if they are a little coarse, and you may get your coat

soiled or torn? What if you do fail, or get fairly rolled in the dirt once or twice?

Up again, you shall never be so afraid of a tumble.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

__________________________________________________

At the end of each semester, I ask my college students to write me a letter. This is their final. The lost art of letter writing. In the letter, among other things, I ask them to share what they think about Ralph's questions ~ Are you timid about your actions? How do you feel about getting fairly rolled in the dirt once or twice? Do you agree with the idea that life is a series of experiments? The more, the better? What about tumbling? Their letters always amaze and surprise. I know the students surprise themselves.

                                                                                🌀

When I'm holding back, fretting about outcomes, or what people will think (even about this blog) I say out loud: ALL LIFE IS AN EXPERIMENT. Period. 🌠

There is much fear these days, and rightfully so. It's easy to scare yourself into a corner. It's easy to Not try new things. It's a global pandemic, for goodness sake, and the crazy man has yet to leave office and...it does seems best to hunker down. A good book, warm, soft blanket, a cup of hot tea or good glass of Cabernet - I'm happily hunkered. But as this year kinda sorta winds down, and some hope is in the air in spite of all the nuttiness and real frightful things, I want to play, dream of new things, take action.

                     We may be down, but we are still here. 

                      Experimenting can be tiny, a simple-stay-at-home thing. 

                            I started with my used to be white front door. 

                                                                      Up again!

                                                 xo b

These Days

December 2. 2020

Two men in the car next to me, struck me as grumpy, not-smiling people when I rolled my window down (wearing my mask) to ask if I needed to call the front desk to let them know I was in the parking lot with my dog. I think the man in the driver's seat nodded, but I thought, what a gloom-ster. 

John-the-hippy-tech-vet with his long pony tail, smiling eyes behind his glasses and mask, came to my window with a clip board and asked for a bit of patience as they had a tough case that morning. He looked towards the car next to me and said a dog needs to be put to sleep. It's been sick for quite a while. I asked, Oh no, how old is the dog and is it the people next to me here? 

John said, Seventeen and yes. 

He explained that due to Covid, they had to bring the dog out to the family, give her a sedation shot, and give them time to say goodbye before taking her in, without the family. 

 In a little strip mall off of Fallbrook Avenue, Chewy and I (who was there for a painful limp but thought we were going for a car ride) 

watched as a small roly-poly dog wrapped in a blanket was carried out, given a shot curb-side by the vet, and handed to the man in the driver's seat. I concluded the two men were father and son, heads pressed into the dog's fur, mouths moving, both of them wet-faced, crying.

This moment brought back another when Claire and I were driving somewhere in Los Angeles and saw a woman sobbing in the car next to us at a red light. Through the glass and street activity, it was a freeze-frame moment of pain. We were silenced and deeply shook when the light turned green and we drove on to a plant nursery for one of our "field trips" out of the house.

Finally, a young woman came out of the vet's office, mask on, to gather up the little dog. She waited patiently by the door as father and son leaned into the dog, holding her close, stalling the moment. The door opened, the son handed the dog off, and she walked very slowly, a kind of funeral march to the office door. The little dog relaxed in her arms, looking over her shoulder. I was watching the dog, then the men in their car, and silently praying for everyone. Father and son sat for a beat, then started the car and were gone.

These days we are witnessing waves of loss as a country, and global community. It is understandable to want to shut it off, let me live my life, this is all too much. Like the woman crying at the light, I was deeply shook by the goodbye and loss happening in the parking lot on a sunny Thursday morning. Yet I also felt oddly honored to be witnessing this, sitting quietly in my car with my dog, sending love to the men in the jeep, who I had thought of as gloomy upon first sight. 

They were grieving.

🍂

Send peace, to your cashier at the market, the mask-less asshole at the gas pump next to you, the homeless person with a shopping cart, the dog walker, the woman with her baby in a stroller, the doctors and nurses and people who clean the hospitals, people who pack the boxes in the Amazon warehouses, your mail carrier, people in nursing homes you've never met, birds, dogs, fat squirrels, the full moon, the person in the car next to you, your neighbors, your family, friends, yourself ~ and on and on and on.

So many stories unraveling before us, our own and others. 

Love them all. 

                                                                             xo  b

 

Feeling Like A Leaf

November 25.2020 

It's the day before Thanksgiving. I haven't been here in a hundred years. So much has happened to our country in the past few months (longer, four years, four hundred years!) - between the overwhelming noise and my own quietness, I've been at my smooth black desk teaching my college students online, with a clutter of pens and notepads, Frida Kahlo with her unwavering stare, the view out my window to the small, lovely front porch. I see red chairs and plants and always fat squirrels tearing at my Tibetan prayer flags. They succeeded in getting a long stretch of flags off the tacks and pulled them, like a kite tail, up a nearby pine tree.

Different cloth masks hang along with car keys on the hooks by the front door. A photo of my mother in her pink coat, standing in front of pink azaleas, taped to the window frame. The wooden star that reads, Simplify. 

The index card with: Trust yourself. Then you will know how to live. - Goethe. 

In my absence, Blogger has made changes which is part of why I've been absent. I'm rattled by technology and updates. It's not what I've known and I don't know how to navigate it as easily. I've been thinking about changing this whole thing, doing something different, after so many years of Scratching on Paper, formally, This Being Alive. 

I do know that I will continue to write, speak, connect. 

These last few lines from Naomi Shihab Nye's gorgeous poem have become a mantra:

 Walk around feeling like a leaf. 

 Know you could tumble at any second. 

 Then decide what to do with your time. 

 -Naomi Shihab Nye (from The Art of Disappearing)

And this poem by Jared, a seven year old I wrote with years ago.

I am a leaf and I see a big sun.

I see a leaf next to a small cat.

I love the sky.

I love the blue water.

When someone picks me up,

I grow somewhere else.

          - Jared

I am back, and sending you much peace and love. I've missed YOU. 

May you be happy.

May you be healthy.

May you be peaceful.

May you live with ease.

Peace and blessings to you and your family, 

and this sweet beautiful old world.

always.

xo b

morning glories on wood fence with lots of twine

morning glories on wood fence with lots of twine

July 16. 2020

While some people have taken the time to lose thirty pounds on the Keto diet these past few months, and I applaud them, that has not been my path. Nope.

I'm more like my friend who will remain anonymous...Um, Pearly. 

Who shared recently,"What the fuck, my underwear is getting tight.

Tight underwear. ☑️ Double☑️

While some people may be experiencing this pandemic pause as time for inner work + reflection, I walk the dog under the cover of dark, snapping off pieces of jade from giant jade plants along Topanga Canyon Boulevard adding to my burgeoning potted Jade plant collection.

 I'm obsessed.

Most days I walk. Up and down the streets of my neighborhood, up hills, some days very hot, over 90 degrees. I pass by homes I'd like to see inside, notice clusters of succulents growing on a stone wall, sweaty armpits, legs straining,

Yes, Queen! 

Pushing up a hill is my salvation.

And keeping the tight underwear thing at bay.

Somewhat.

Claire and I went to the coast to cool off. We're so blessed it's just over the canyon. We know this. There was a guy on a chair in the water with all his clothes on. Two other men were taking his picture. The thing is, it made sense. 

🌀

As noted by the top photo

morning glories on wood fence with lots of twine

I'm deep into twine. More than ever.

The vine doesn't know what I want from it.

go this way. 
go that way.
up
down
across

And this is true. I'm trying to fill in the space with green and flowers. I'm thinking it might help with the inner peace eluding me as the White House shuts down the CDC and Trump talks about how white people get shot too and the Confederate flag is about freedom of speech.

That stuff seeps in.

Sorry. I really wasn't going to mention any of that, especially his name. 

And yet, it seeps.

Alyssa, a student of mine wrote this in her recent memoir piece: 

We often don't appreciate the simplicity of our lives.

Simplicity is the essence of this time for me. 

Twine
Chatting with my neighbor from our driveways
The daily walk
The blessing of a home
Asparagus
A good book
An empty beach early in the morning
A walk with the dog
The sound of my daughter's voice over the phone
A jar of water filled with Jade cuttings
Connection through my teaching life (online xo)
A glass of red wine on the front porch
A snail mail card from a friend on the east coast
Watching Homeland with Michael 
Charlie, the five year old neighbor knocking on the door with a painted gift

Thank you, Charlie.

Alyssa also wrote this: 

Sometimes the biggest challenges lead to amazing revelations.

The more I simplify, the less freaked out I feel. 

The challenges shrink.

Revelations don't have to be sonic booms.

A small painted stone in the palm of your hand will do.

Keep it simple, lovelies.

Hearts + arms wide open. 

xo b

Fight Peacefully

Juneteenth 2020

This is my friend, Dora.

When I asked if she'd consider being a guest writer for Scratching on Paper - she said yes!

As a white woman, there's nothing in my life to compare to what Dora shares in this short piece which she originally posted on her Facebook page.

I am so very grateful, saddened, and deeply humbled to share her words.

As Dora writes, Let's keep fighting this fight peacefully and we will make a difference.  

Love you, Dora.

xo b

_____________________________________________________________________

Hey, for all those who have a problem with #blacklivesmatter and/or feel uncomfortable, it's time to educate yourself on racism and the privilege you have. Remember, it's a privilege to educate yourself about racism, instead of actually experiencing it. Just wanna give some examples that I and many black people have experienced and experience everyday. 

1. Being the only black Registered Nurse in your unit. Or even as a student in your courses. Representation matters people. And I don't understand how they can hire like 5 additional nurses after me and none of them happen to be black. SMH, I've experienced this at multiple organizations and let me tell you: we feel it and notice it, alright. 

2. Being called "nigger" or "coloured nurse" by patients.

3. I literally requested a Lyft one night, the driver took 1 look at my face and drove off. Two white men behind me saw it and were like "wow that ain't right". I was like stuff like this happens all the time here. And it wasnt like I had any communication with the driver before. I was waiting outside for him for a while and he arrived, looked at my face and sped off😕. Little did that driver know, I had just worked a 13hr shift, saving the lives of people who looked just like him. Except, I was able to do it without bias. 

4. Everytime I go to a parking lot in an affluent residential area (where my car is usually parked), I can see and hear the residents locking their cars 10 times to insure that I don't steal from them.

5. Getting followed around in stores CONSTANTLY. I remember being a kid and feeling like I straight up had to show my hands wherever I shopped just to get the managers off my back. I'll never forget the day I went to the shoe department in the mall, with my white friend. The manager greeted us as we walked in. We separated and she went to the aisle next to me. I kept feeling like I was being followed but whenever I turned around, there was no one immediately behind me. Uncomfortable, I left the store with her. Immediately following, she said " I can't believe that store manager was following you around and on your back like that. He was basically breathing down your neck". I said girl,  this is the life of black people everyday here in America. 

6. Oh and being told (as black women often hear) that I have an "attitude" whenever I advocate for myself and/or my patients & others.

Listen, if you made it this far, I appreciate you. I've been reading the responses to the murder of #GeorgeFloyd and #blacklivesmatter over the last few days and I see that many non-POCs don't believe that racism or white privilege exists. I felt the need to share to bring some awareness on these issues. Let's keep fighting this fight peacefully and we will make a difference.  Remember, silence is violence.✊🏿

Be Like Carol

May 18. 2020

I'm thinking of a particular day when Claire and I visited Dad at the memory care place where he lived the last year of his beautiful life. It was always hard to go, I had to buck myself up. But I loved being with my Dad.

And then there was Carol.

Carol greeted me every single time like we'd been friends since the eighth grade, or like I was her daughter, or maybe we'd worked together in the office back in the day. It didn't really matter which story she was going with that day because I always went with her. If you met Carol, you'd never know she was losing her marbles. She always wore a vest. She acted like she worked there, helping to set the table, welcoming visitors, keeping an eye on the other lovely, loony people.

Where have you been + I'd say, You know, busy, working, kids, and she'd smile and hug me. I get it, she'd nod. Me too.

So, there was Carol.

That particular day, Claire came with me for the visit, as she often did. We'd gone into the outer room to sit with Dad. The three of us parked ourselves in front of a window looking out onto the green lawn and a large weeping willow tree. (Was there a willow tree?)

Dad asked about my car which he did pretty much every time I saw him. How's your car + I said the car was good and reminded him how he'd had a Subaru too, except his had been silver. We talked about how much we loved our cars and the clouds out the window. Claire told her Pop Pop a funny school story and he reached over to pat her hand.

Dad's hands were always warm.

We sat in a peaceful silence for a minute or so, then Dad chuckled, maybe a sigh, then ~

Well hon, what to say? 

What to say is kind of how I've been feeling. 

I want to write, to reach out, connect but I think:

What to say? And I know we're all kinda feeling like this. I mean, there are good days where you don't feel the weirdness of a global pandemic and try to blot out the very existence of Trump. Maybe you work, take a walk, talk to a friend, draw a picture of succulents because you're obsessed with them now. Count your multiple blessings 🌀

And then, you sink. And don't know what to say about anything. The best thing to do is curl up with your kid and watch The Great British Baking Show. 

Totally soothing, trust me.

What to say?

Some days, I honestly don't know. 

But, write anyway. 
Call anyway. 
ZOOM anyway. 
Blog anyway. 
Send love always.

Shake off the Covid/Trump-itis for a little while.

Hmmmm...

The fuss pot in me doesn't think I should post this. It's not quite right, not ready. It's not exactly what I want to say. It's too sad or lost sounding, with a little glimmer thrown in about succulents and baking shows. But the fussy one, I see, keeps me shut down, dis-connected, cut-off. How absurd to be fussy at a time like this. Fuck the fussiness. 

Be like Carol. 
Wear a vest if you want.
Make everyone a friend. 
Hug (even virtually).
Love, always.

xo b