Precious cherubs:
Do you think you can't accomplish what you set out to accomplish? Do you think you feel abused, down trodden, overlooked, underappreciated, unloved, ignored, wiped out?
Just start.
Do you think you can't get the thing done? Do you think there's nobody to support you? Do you think you are being handed a recipe for failure? Do you think there's somebody out to get you?
Just start.
Do you think that government sucks? Do you think that you are entitled to what you aren't getting? Do you think that the two-party systems is dysfunctional?
Just start.
I am now just in the most negative, fearful, frightening, and overwhelming part of my life that I have ever experienced in my 54 years. But here's the problem. I haven't started. This is MY fault, this is nobody else's fault. I am completely fearful and I have been giving into my fear.
Just start everybody. Just take one step, like the one I took in the doctor's office the other day. That's when I found out that I would be able to walk again, not soon, but not so very far away either.
Just start. How bad could it be? Could it be worse than what's going on now? I repeat this to myself often. I hope soon, I can find the courage to start.
Just start.
Warmly, Margaret
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Oy, another broken ankle post
Ok you dearest cherubs:
One of the things that happens when you damage part of your body, is that you spend time thinking about the time when your body wasn't damaged. I have been thinking about that time.
I was in ballet class every day. I was in class every day when I was training (sometimes twice or three times) and I was in class every day when I was dancing professionally.
For those of you who may not understand, when you are a professional dancer, daily class is a must. As Rudolf Nureyev said "it's boring", but it's necessary. If you don't keep the muscles in shape they won't be in shape.
So when I began my physical therapy for this broken ankle, they put me on the exercise bike. It was unbelieveably painful. I mean, you guys, it was really ummm painful. But I pedaled. I kept pedaling. I'm no hero, not like any of the Olympic athletes you are seeng on TV. But I pedaled. The therapist would stop by every so often while I pedaled and see the tears on my cheeks, but I pedaled. And at one point, she said, you don't have to cry. And I told her yes, yes I do have to cry. This hurts but this is what is necessary at this time. She smiled at me. I could not pedal without crying. And so crying was necessary.
So, this short post is to tell you all, sometimes, crying is ok. And you never know how much what you have already undergone in your life prepares you for what you must face. How much pain ballet causes is how much pain must be undergone from time to time.
I am no hero or heroine. But I will pedal the bike until my foot is well, and then, I hope to walk again.
I appreciate all your good thoughts. Warmly, and with love.
Margaret
One of the things that happens when you damage part of your body, is that you spend time thinking about the time when your body wasn't damaged. I have been thinking about that time.
I was in ballet class every day. I was in class every day when I was training (sometimes twice or three times) and I was in class every day when I was dancing professionally.
For those of you who may not understand, when you are a professional dancer, daily class is a must. As Rudolf Nureyev said "it's boring", but it's necessary. If you don't keep the muscles in shape they won't be in shape.
So when I began my physical therapy for this broken ankle, they put me on the exercise bike. It was unbelieveably painful. I mean, you guys, it was really ummm painful. But I pedaled. I kept pedaling. I'm no hero, not like any of the Olympic athletes you are seeng on TV. But I pedaled. The therapist would stop by every so often while I pedaled and see the tears on my cheeks, but I pedaled. And at one point, she said, you don't have to cry. And I told her yes, yes I do have to cry. This hurts but this is what is necessary at this time. She smiled at me. I could not pedal without crying. And so crying was necessary.
So, this short post is to tell you all, sometimes, crying is ok. And you never know how much what you have already undergone in your life prepares you for what you must face. How much pain ballet causes is how much pain must be undergone from time to time.
I am no hero or heroine. But I will pedal the bike until my foot is well, and then, I hope to walk again.
I appreciate all your good thoughts. Warmly, and with love.
Margaret
Thursday, February 11, 2010
What the heck is up?
Dearest, dearest cherubs:
Yes, there are two dearests in there. I have been thinking of you all.
I have been thinking about my life which seems to have taken up an interesting challenge. How to get around with one foot incapacitated?
But you know it's not so much the foot that is bothering me. It's the state of the world that's bothering me. I just picked up my yellowed newspaper which I carefully saved after President Obama's election. What in the world is everybody so danged unhappy about I wonder?
Ok, I usually do not care for one sided opinions. Opinions should be fueled by fact and careful research into both sides etc.
There are no easy answers to anything, there are no easy fixes. When, oh when will Americans figure this out?
Do you expect a president to cure your economic ills? I have some advice for you. Go back to school! I suggest you aquire a credential. I suggest you learn some stuff. I suggest you face the fact that manufacturing in America is done and get on with your life. We are making the transition to a global economy. It's not done yet. It will hurt for a long time. It will hurt and it will stink and you will get angry. But think about this -- the solution is up to YOU.
It's often what I say to women who come to me with problems about men. There are no white knights on horses. Get over it. Your happiness is up to you.
I don't know if I will lose my job. But if I do, getting a new job will be up to me and it will be nobody elses problem. I will be frightened I'm sure. I will be emotional, I'm sure.
I am emotional now. I am a former ballet dancer with a foot that no longer will ever, I mean ever, function as it did. But for heaven's sake it's not President Obama's fault. It's not the fault of the MBTA who had black ice on the curb at the Franklin/Dean station. It was just an ACCIDENT. We use that word because stuff happens that we can't predict. Stuff just happens.
We must have a sense of history. For quite a few years, we allowed excesses to happen in the financial markets. We allowed it (and you can't blame the government, because they are us, and we are them) and why did we allow it? Because people were making money hand over fist, that's why we allowed it.
You all know it. You all used your houses like banks. We all did it. We need to get over it and do the learning that must be done.
My friend Lou Longo speaks often of responsibility. You may not like the consequences of what has happened. But if we all take responsibility, then we can be like the great generation after World War II that Tom Brokaw writes about. We will recover and we can teach our children how to recover.
I'm just thinking out loud as usual my dearest cherubs. Thanks so much for listening.
All my love to all of you.
Yes, there are two dearests in there. I have been thinking of you all.
I have been thinking about my life which seems to have taken up an interesting challenge. How to get around with one foot incapacitated?
But you know it's not so much the foot that is bothering me. It's the state of the world that's bothering me. I just picked up my yellowed newspaper which I carefully saved after President Obama's election. What in the world is everybody so danged unhappy about I wonder?
Ok, I usually do not care for one sided opinions. Opinions should be fueled by fact and careful research into both sides etc.
There are no easy answers to anything, there are no easy fixes. When, oh when will Americans figure this out?
Do you expect a president to cure your economic ills? I have some advice for you. Go back to school! I suggest you aquire a credential. I suggest you learn some stuff. I suggest you face the fact that manufacturing in America is done and get on with your life. We are making the transition to a global economy. It's not done yet. It will hurt for a long time. It will hurt and it will stink and you will get angry. But think about this -- the solution is up to YOU.
It's often what I say to women who come to me with problems about men. There are no white knights on horses. Get over it. Your happiness is up to you.
I don't know if I will lose my job. But if I do, getting a new job will be up to me and it will be nobody elses problem. I will be frightened I'm sure. I will be emotional, I'm sure.
I am emotional now. I am a former ballet dancer with a foot that no longer will ever, I mean ever, function as it did. But for heaven's sake it's not President Obama's fault. It's not the fault of the MBTA who had black ice on the curb at the Franklin/Dean station. It was just an ACCIDENT. We use that word because stuff happens that we can't predict. Stuff just happens.
We must have a sense of history. For quite a few years, we allowed excesses to happen in the financial markets. We allowed it (and you can't blame the government, because they are us, and we are them) and why did we allow it? Because people were making money hand over fist, that's why we allowed it.
You all know it. You all used your houses like banks. We all did it. We need to get over it and do the learning that must be done.
My friend Lou Longo speaks often of responsibility. You may not like the consequences of what has happened. But if we all take responsibility, then we can be like the great generation after World War II that Tom Brokaw writes about. We will recover and we can teach our children how to recover.
I'm just thinking out loud as usual my dearest cherubs. Thanks so much for listening.
All my love to all of you.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Latest Poems
Hello dear cherubs:
Some of you have inquired about my latest poems, so here are a couple of them. Enjoy!
Frozen
The somnambulists walking through the maze and it was just like every other morning except
This time there was an ambulance picking and tearing its way through and so we waited on a small piece of cement.
We stood there and watched the gentle edging of cars and cell phones barely hearing. The ear buds clearing out the gloom.
I fixed my eys on the bus.
The ambulance was gone.
The woman walked.
She walked as if there was nothing in the world to protect her, as if there was nothing in her way or worries or life or lights.
I cried out.
I might have said "stop, or wait, or watch out". I don't remember.
I remember crying out and then my eyes fixed on the bus driver whose window was open.
His face ashen beneath his black face. Our eyes locked.
The woman walked on. And so did I.
___________________
This is an older poem. But I like it, so here it is.
Random
A night worth waking with questions.
I float you see.
I wander and touch things -- the diamond eyeball TV stares back at me, it's 3 AM.
Not worried, not aching, not tense but there are so many ideas.
One hopes one is halfway through but you never know it could be near the end.
I wander and touch things -- I hear regular breathing and every so often a car goes by.
A night worth waking with questions.
I sift you see.
I wander and things things -- my questions are unanswered but that's okay.
Not super human, no frightened but there is so much to comprehend.
One hopes one's children might find teh center, but one is never sure, it could never happen or it could.
I wander and touch things -- there is a lovely aroma from the flowers on the table.
A night worth waking with questions.
I feel you see.
I wander and touch things -- I hear my heart, my heart which I have tried for so long not to hear.
I live entirely within this husk that is changing so rapidly I cannot even define it.
I hope there will be definition soon.
I wander and touch things -- the light filters through my window like dust.
_________________l
Untitled
As I strode toward the station the moon, earthlit, rose above me.
The sun behind me did not warm my neck.
In the sky with unequal love.
The deer frozen in the capsule of a moment, I hurtled toward her.
Her eyes luminescent like the moon, there was no time to live my life again.
At the last moment she moved and yet it feels just like I hit her broad on, the way she was standing, burying her hooves inside my heart, inside the celestial beings who shone down and did not care.
___________________
Happy New Year dearest cherubs.
Margaret
Some of you have inquired about my latest poems, so here are a couple of them. Enjoy!
Frozen
The somnambulists walking through the maze and it was just like every other morning except
This time there was an ambulance picking and tearing its way through and so we waited on a small piece of cement.
We stood there and watched the gentle edging of cars and cell phones barely hearing. The ear buds clearing out the gloom.
I fixed my eys on the bus.
The ambulance was gone.
The woman walked.
She walked as if there was nothing in the world to protect her, as if there was nothing in her way or worries or life or lights.
I cried out.
I might have said "stop, or wait, or watch out". I don't remember.
I remember crying out and then my eyes fixed on the bus driver whose window was open.
His face ashen beneath his black face. Our eyes locked.
The woman walked on. And so did I.
___________________
This is an older poem. But I like it, so here it is.
Random
A night worth waking with questions.
I float you see.
I wander and touch things -- the diamond eyeball TV stares back at me, it's 3 AM.
Not worried, not aching, not tense but there are so many ideas.
One hopes one is halfway through but you never know it could be near the end.
I wander and touch things -- I hear regular breathing and every so often a car goes by.
A night worth waking with questions.
I sift you see.
I wander and things things -- my questions are unanswered but that's okay.
Not super human, no frightened but there is so much to comprehend.
One hopes one's children might find teh center, but one is never sure, it could never happen or it could.
I wander and touch things -- there is a lovely aroma from the flowers on the table.
A night worth waking with questions.
I feel you see.
I wander and touch things -- I hear my heart, my heart which I have tried for so long not to hear.
I live entirely within this husk that is changing so rapidly I cannot even define it.
I hope there will be definition soon.
I wander and touch things -- the light filters through my window like dust.
_________________l
Untitled
As I strode toward the station the moon, earthlit, rose above me.
The sun behind me did not warm my neck.
In the sky with unequal love.
The deer frozen in the capsule of a moment, I hurtled toward her.
Her eyes luminescent like the moon, there was no time to live my life again.
At the last moment she moved and yet it feels just like I hit her broad on, the way she was standing, burying her hooves inside my heart, inside the celestial beings who shone down and did not care.
___________________
Happy New Year dearest cherubs.
Margaret
Monday, January 4, 2010
The obligatory physically challenged post -- coping with a broken ankle
Precious Cherubs:
Ok, so most of you know by now that I am the victim of black ice, which is not as nice as being the "victim" of black gold, "oil that is, black gold, Texas tea". Fifteen points to all who can sing the complete Beverly Hillbillies song. Nevermind, I win.
So I am past the surgery which involved plates and screws. And I am rediscovering my life. I have temporarily lost my independence. It occurs to me that I never really had it, that it was, perhaps, an illusion -- not my life, but my independence.
You have to figure out the following:
How to move (back and forth and up and down)
How to bathe
How to eat
How to drink
How to keep your clothes clean
There are many more sub-catigories that fall under those larger catigories. And all of them have to be rediscovered.
I have become grateful to many people, namely, my roommate, my daughter, my brother, and my friends, yes, in that order.
My roommate was a "first responder". He picked me up at the ER. He made the most profound statement of my life. He said the following: "Margaret, I can clean the house, cook the meals, wash the clothes and take care of you. In return, I ask only that you don't cry". I love you Tom DiFrancia.
My daughter was the "immediate care giver". She said the following: "Mum, you took care of me for many years, including the time that both my wrists were broken. Think of this as payback time". And she drove the car and took me to the doctors, to my testing, to the hospital at that ungodly hour, and she waited while I had my surgery. Then, and only then, did she venture home to her New Year's eve party. I love you Lydia.
My brother John was what he has always been, the "guy who picks up the pieces". He showed up at the hospital after I had my surgery and I opened my drug laden eyes to his smiling face. He looked like an angel to me. He offered to bring me home from the hospital on Thursday, after he had worked many long hours. Lucky for him and for me, my roommate's work schedule was changed and he was able to pick me up earlier. I love you John.
My friend Margaret came to make my bed at home and brought me books and stayed to discuss poetry with me. My friend Marcia brought me goodies from the grocery store and trashy magazines and stayed to talk with me in the middle of a busy day. My Facebook, Tagged and Yahoo friends left encouraging messages. My friends Patt, Jan, and Molly and my brother Tony, all called. I am one lucky woman.
I am not a believer in fate. I am not a believer in love. I am not a believer in God. But somehow it would seem many things wound themselves together during these last couple of weeks to make one accident that might have been unbearable, bearable.
I often tell people that what they deposit in the karma bank, comes back to them. Now I know, it's true.
Happy New Year, dearest cherubs.
Ok, so most of you know by now that I am the victim of black ice, which is not as nice as being the "victim" of black gold, "oil that is, black gold, Texas tea". Fifteen points to all who can sing the complete Beverly Hillbillies song. Nevermind, I win.
So I am past the surgery which involved plates and screws. And I am rediscovering my life. I have temporarily lost my independence. It occurs to me that I never really had it, that it was, perhaps, an illusion -- not my life, but my independence.
You have to figure out the following:
How to move (back and forth and up and down)
How to bathe
How to eat
How to drink
How to keep your clothes clean
There are many more sub-catigories that fall under those larger catigories. And all of them have to be rediscovered.
I have become grateful to many people, namely, my roommate, my daughter, my brother, and my friends, yes, in that order.
My roommate was a "first responder". He picked me up at the ER. He made the most profound statement of my life. He said the following: "Margaret, I can clean the house, cook the meals, wash the clothes and take care of you. In return, I ask only that you don't cry". I love you Tom DiFrancia.
My daughter was the "immediate care giver". She said the following: "Mum, you took care of me for many years, including the time that both my wrists were broken. Think of this as payback time". And she drove the car and took me to the doctors, to my testing, to the hospital at that ungodly hour, and she waited while I had my surgery. Then, and only then, did she venture home to her New Year's eve party. I love you Lydia.
My brother John was what he has always been, the "guy who picks up the pieces". He showed up at the hospital after I had my surgery and I opened my drug laden eyes to his smiling face. He looked like an angel to me. He offered to bring me home from the hospital on Thursday, after he had worked many long hours. Lucky for him and for me, my roommate's work schedule was changed and he was able to pick me up earlier. I love you John.
My friend Margaret came to make my bed at home and brought me books and stayed to discuss poetry with me. My friend Marcia brought me goodies from the grocery store and trashy magazines and stayed to talk with me in the middle of a busy day. My Facebook, Tagged and Yahoo friends left encouraging messages. My friends Patt, Jan, and Molly and my brother Tony, all called. I am one lucky woman.
I am not a believer in fate. I am not a believer in love. I am not a believer in God. But somehow it would seem many things wound themselves together during these last couple of weeks to make one accident that might have been unbearable, bearable.
I often tell people that what they deposit in the karma bank, comes back to them. Now I know, it's true.
Happy New Year, dearest cherubs.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Boys of Summer
The radio rustles with their return every year and somehow
No other team will suffice and no other worldly honor will be lauded.
They play the games those large men, they fly into each other as if each had a purpose.
The puck will sing, the ball will be kicked, but still part of us waits for the boys.
It is perhaps the inner life of those players -- we watch them wait for the pitch and imagine
inside ourselves what they might be thinking. I have always watched them. Their inner life, like the inner life of a nun, has always spoken to me.
When you stand still and wonder. When you stand still at the barre and wait for instructions. When you stand still and wonder what life will give you at that particular moment.
The moment when a ball will be hurled at you at 90 mph and then you must decide what to do.
And you have no time.
And you have nothing to rely upon but your instincts and your experience.
Ballet dancers, baseball players and nuns, how could you know how much they have in common. And yet, they do.
This I know because I have been all of them, either in reality or in my mind.
I have been all of them.
No other team will suffice and no other worldly honor will be lauded.
They play the games those large men, they fly into each other as if each had a purpose.
The puck will sing, the ball will be kicked, but still part of us waits for the boys.
It is perhaps the inner life of those players -- we watch them wait for the pitch and imagine
inside ourselves what they might be thinking. I have always watched them. Their inner life, like the inner life of a nun, has always spoken to me.
When you stand still and wonder. When you stand still at the barre and wait for instructions. When you stand still and wonder what life will give you at that particular moment.
The moment when a ball will be hurled at you at 90 mph and then you must decide what to do.
And you have no time.
And you have nothing to rely upon but your instincts and your experience.
Ballet dancers, baseball players and nuns, how could you know how much they have in common. And yet, they do.
This I know because I have been all of them, either in reality or in my mind.
I have been all of them.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
My problems with the holidays
Dearest cherubs:
It's not PC what I have to say. But I have a lot of problems with the holidays.
It is extremely difficult for me to just forgive and forget. I find, after much introspection, that I can do neither.
So, this year, I will not participate.
I resign.
I'm packing it in.
So this year, for the holidays I seek solitude. Complete and utter solitude.
What does this mean, you might ask.
This means the bell ringers go unanswered, the carols go unsung, the meals go unattended, the presents go unbought. The life goes on as if the holidays did not even exist.
I am finding some solace in this decision. But I also find that people feel sorry for me. I am wondering what kind of projection allows them to do so. For whom are they feeling sorry? For me? For themselves? For the myths? I am not sure.
But I also have to tell you, that is not a sad thing for me. My aloneness is not the same as lonliness. They are separate. Sometimes I am lonely. Sometimes, people teeming with family, are lonely. Sometimes people wish for the time to be alone, and they can never be. But I can.
I think the time to be alone with myself is something I have fought for all my life. And at no time other than the holidays is that more profound.
We are supposed to be making merry. But making merry means different things to different people. To me, making merry means being alone, quiet, or with one or two people. To me making merry means making merry with myself. I like me. I am a good person. I find, often, that I am the best person to tell myself that.
Best wishes for your own, self actualized, holiday celebrations.
Warmly and with love dear cherubs:
Margaret
It's not PC what I have to say. But I have a lot of problems with the holidays.
It is extremely difficult for me to just forgive and forget. I find, after much introspection, that I can do neither.
So, this year, I will not participate.
I resign.
I'm packing it in.
So this year, for the holidays I seek solitude. Complete and utter solitude.
What does this mean, you might ask.
This means the bell ringers go unanswered, the carols go unsung, the meals go unattended, the presents go unbought. The life goes on as if the holidays did not even exist.
I am finding some solace in this decision. But I also find that people feel sorry for me. I am wondering what kind of projection allows them to do so. For whom are they feeling sorry? For me? For themselves? For the myths? I am not sure.
But I also have to tell you, that is not a sad thing for me. My aloneness is not the same as lonliness. They are separate. Sometimes I am lonely. Sometimes, people teeming with family, are lonely. Sometimes people wish for the time to be alone, and they can never be. But I can.
I think the time to be alone with myself is something I have fought for all my life. And at no time other than the holidays is that more profound.
We are supposed to be making merry. But making merry means different things to different people. To me, making merry means being alone, quiet, or with one or two people. To me making merry means making merry with myself. I like me. I am a good person. I find, often, that I am the best person to tell myself that.
Best wishes for your own, self actualized, holiday celebrations.
Warmly and with love dear cherubs:
Margaret
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