I started singing with the Distaff Singers in late February. By spring I knew members of the women’s chorus usually told someone if they would miss a rehearsal. So I let my section--the second sopranos--know I would miss our rehearsal on June 1 while visiting New Orleans. As it turned out, I was back home on June 1, but I was busy having surgery to repair the shoulder I had broken while riding a Segway on a tour of the French Quarter. That was the first of two surgeries required to repair my broken humerus. The surgeon installed four pins the size of knitting needles to hold the bone together while it healed. He cheerfully scheduled a second surgery to remove the pins six weeks later. I had no idea what I was in for.
For the first several days I managed to move around the house and even walked around Lake Merritt six days after surgery, my arm immobilized in a sling and swathe. But, as the days passed, the tissue around my pins started to shrink—first as the swelling subsided and later as my arm muscles atrophied with disuse. By the end of the second week I could see the end of one of the pins pressing up under my skin. Climbing the stairs became a painful challenge as the slightest jarring sent jagged bolts of nerve pain down my arm all the way to my fingers. I became increasingly skilled at timing my pain pills to coincide with any necessary movement. Bathing was the worst. Even with a Percoset taken 20 minutes before my shower, I had to use all my La Maze breathing techniques to get through the daily ordeal.
I stopped sleeping in the matrimonial bed and opted instead for the family room couch. My husband insisted on breathing and had the potential to inadvertently touch me if I tried to sleep beside him. Alone and propped against the upholstered cushions worked much better, especially with two Percoset tablets and a glass of water within reach. I tried to sleep through the night. But once wakened by pain I would check the clock and if I was still awake an hour later I’d take a pill. This went on for what seemed like forever, but it was actually six increasingly miserable weeks.
One thing that kept me going through those long, long days and even longer nights was our weekly Distaff rehearsal. The second sopranos made sure I had a ride to the church were we gathered every Tuesday night to learn our music. All I had to do was get in the car. I quickly learned to bring a pill along in case my pain got out of hand, and I was very tired by the time the rehearsal broke up around 9. But singing with all those other women was worth everything it took to be there because I got to experience at least one thing from my normal life still working.
The pins finally came out and my arm is now, four months later, well on its way to a full recovery. I have put the worst of the whole episode behind me now, as I focus on gaining more strength and range of motion. So I was taken by surprise during the Distaff performance on November 1 when tears started streaming down my cheeks. We were singing “Still I Rise”, our big finale. The recurrent image of being lifted on eagle’s wings took me back to those difficult weeks when my voice—weak and uncertain—melded with the strong and confident sound of forty mighty women singing together. Those voices were the eagle’s wings that helped carry me toward wholeness. I am so grateful for that gift.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Sunday, November 9, 2008
The Art of Conversation
Perhaps I should have labeled this entry, "the dying art of conversation." I have no right to complain. I'm not a particularly good conversationalist. But I think laptops, ipods, and smart phones are cutting into our already shrinking opportunities for real, live, face-to-face conversation. And let's face it, carrying your side of a good conversation is a 'use it or lose it' skill.
I'm home alone a lot these days, not engaging in verbal intercourse for many hours at a stretch. Sometimes, when I finally have someone to talk to, I kind of bubble over and overwhelm my poor listener with a long unbroken rant. There is no conversation under these circumstances because the victim with whom I am trying (unsuccessfully) to interact beats a hasty retreat to avoid being trapped by another monologue. By the time I realize what has happened it is too late. I am left with regrets and no one to tell them to.
What is the solution?
I think I need to relearn the skill of conversation the same way I would become proficient at a game; I need to practice. But first I need some ground rules. Below is my attempt at drafting guidelines for promoting good conversation. I hope someone will comment on and perhaps improve on my ground rules. It would be almost like having a conversation.
1. Establish a topic.
It's easier to successfully start a conversation if you begin with a topic of mutual interest. I've thought about inviting people to a party and asking them to wear stickers on which they would write desired topics of conversation. I suppose I could post topics I'd like to talk about on Craig's List and invite people to meet me at a cafe.
2. Take turns.
Even though I suffer from Inappropriate Communication Syndrome (see http://turtletodragonfly.blogspot.com/2007/05/delightfully-inconsistent.html for more on ICS) I really do want to hear what you have to say. It's like I accidentally get on the freeway when I really want to be on a surface road with all the amusing scenery, opportunities to stop for a snack, and potential unexpected side trips. Maybe I could train myself to stop talking after no more than 60 seconds and ask, "So, what do you think about that?"
3. Listen.
This is the really hard one. I'm usually so nervous about thinking up something interesting to say I don't fully listen to the other person. Even if I manage to come up with something witty it has nothing to do with the other person's contribution to the conversation. What I hope will be an interaction quickly becomes a form of parallel play. Wasn't I supposed to leave that behind with my toddlerdom?
4. Disagree respectfully.
I would like to be able to share and hear different points of view, but I'm afraid someone will not agree with me. I'm 54 years old. I should be beyond worrying someone won't like me, but that sort of thing just does not go away. How about if I always say, "I respectfully disagree," and use the person's name? I would then explain my reasons for feeling differently without belittling the other person and with genuine interest in how we each came to different conclusions. I would just have to hope everyone I talk with would do the same if they disagree with me.
Please comment if you have any ideas or thoughts about my groundrules. I'd like to do something to promote conversation. This is the first step.
I'm home alone a lot these days, not engaging in verbal intercourse for many hours at a stretch. Sometimes, when I finally have someone to talk to, I kind of bubble over and overwhelm my poor listener with a long unbroken rant. There is no conversation under these circumstances because the victim with whom I am trying (unsuccessfully) to interact beats a hasty retreat to avoid being trapped by another monologue. By the time I realize what has happened it is too late. I am left with regrets and no one to tell them to.
What is the solution?
I think I need to relearn the skill of conversation the same way I would become proficient at a game; I need to practice. But first I need some ground rules. Below is my attempt at drafting guidelines for promoting good conversation. I hope someone will comment on and perhaps improve on my ground rules. It would be almost like having a conversation.
1. Establish a topic.
It's easier to successfully start a conversation if you begin with a topic of mutual interest. I've thought about inviting people to a party and asking them to wear stickers on which they would write desired topics of conversation. I suppose I could post topics I'd like to talk about on Craig's List and invite people to meet me at a cafe.
2. Take turns.
Even though I suffer from Inappropriate Communication Syndrome (see http://turtletodragonfly.blogspot.com/2007/05/delightfully-inconsistent.html for more on ICS) I really do want to hear what you have to say. It's like I accidentally get on the freeway when I really want to be on a surface road with all the amusing scenery, opportunities to stop for a snack, and potential unexpected side trips. Maybe I could train myself to stop talking after no more than 60 seconds and ask, "So, what do you think about that?"
3. Listen.
This is the really hard one. I'm usually so nervous about thinking up something interesting to say I don't fully listen to the other person. Even if I manage to come up with something witty it has nothing to do with the other person's contribution to the conversation. What I hope will be an interaction quickly becomes a form of parallel play. Wasn't I supposed to leave that behind with my toddlerdom?
4. Disagree respectfully.
I would like to be able to share and hear different points of view, but I'm afraid someone will not agree with me. I'm 54 years old. I should be beyond worrying someone won't like me, but that sort of thing just does not go away. How about if I always say, "I respectfully disagree," and use the person's name? I would then explain my reasons for feeling differently without belittling the other person and with genuine interest in how we each came to different conclusions. I would just have to hope everyone I talk with would do the same if they disagree with me.
Please comment if you have any ideas or thoughts about my groundrules. I'd like to do something to promote conversation. This is the first step.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Just because you have a hammer doesn't mean everything is a nail
Another initiative on California's ballot would require parental notification if an underage women wants to end her pregnancy with an abortion. A local rabbi opposes the measure but has suggested mandatory counseling in place of parental notification for underage women seeking an abortion.
I think the rabbi (who trained initially as a psychologist) is putting the therapist before the cart. He seems to think counseling a young woman after she is already pregnant is a meaningful intervention. But the reality of access to abortion for many women--even here in California where it is legal--can be difficult at best. In many parts of the state women already have to travel away from their home towns to acquire an abortion. They have the expense of travel, overnight accommodations, meals etc. in addition to the cost of the procedure. They have to take time away from work or school and make excuses in order to protect their privacy. Requiring another step, another appointment, another hurdle, could result in removing the option altogether.
I agree with the rabbi that young women may be more likely to keep their babies if we as a society can demonstrate our commitment to supporting their dreams for themselves and their offspring. But we won't have to counsel them against the fear of losing their jobs, ending their education, being in poverty, etc. if that is no longer the reality for many young mothers. Unfortunately, we are a very long way from being able to assure a young woman that she will not end up struggling for herself and her child given the lack of services and support available.
It is too bad some people don't make the same choices that Rabbi L. would make for them. But I am much too concerned about protecting the privacy and choices of all young women to risk placing another impediment in their path to belatedly correct the behavior of a minority.
I think the rabbi (who trained initially as a psychologist) is putting the therapist before the cart. He seems to think counseling a young woman after she is already pregnant is a meaningful intervention. But the reality of access to abortion for many women--even here in California where it is legal--can be difficult at best. In many parts of the state women already have to travel away from their home towns to acquire an abortion. They have the expense of travel, overnight accommodations, meals etc. in addition to the cost of the procedure. They have to take time away from work or school and make excuses in order to protect their privacy. Requiring another step, another appointment, another hurdle, could result in removing the option altogether.
I agree with the rabbi that young women may be more likely to keep their babies if we as a society can demonstrate our commitment to supporting their dreams for themselves and their offspring. But we won't have to counsel them against the fear of losing their jobs, ending their education, being in poverty, etc. if that is no longer the reality for many young mothers. Unfortunately, we are a very long way from being able to assure a young woman that she will not end up struggling for herself and her child given the lack of services and support available.
It is too bad some people don't make the same choices that Rabbi L. would make for them. But I am much too concerned about protecting the privacy and choices of all young women to risk placing another impediment in their path to belatedly correct the behavior of a minority.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Is it really us and them?
I live in California. We have a measure on the upcoming ballot that would eliminate the right to marry for same-sex couples. I oppose Proposition 8. I have compared it to the infamous Nazi Nuremberg Laws. Did you know Section 1 of the Nuremberg Laws also applied to marriage? Outlawing marriage between certain Germans was just one of many steps taken to legally dehumanize Jews. I wonder if the people who support Proposition 8 realize how closely their constitutional amendment to “preserve marriage” from the nonexistent threat of marriage equality echoes Nazi laws designed to “safeguard the future of the German nation”? I pray that, like some good Germans, these folks will stop listening to their leaders and listen instead to their hearts.
Proposition 8 is wrong. It seeks to institutionalize prejudice. I really hope I don't have to decide what to do about living in a society that would do something so backward as denying gay couples the right to marry.
P.S. I had a No on 8 sign in my front yard for the past several weeks. Yesterday I noticed it was gone. Someone removed my sign. Apparently some of the people who want to amend our State Constitution to deny the right for some citizens to marry are also willing to trample on the U.S. Constitution--denying me my freedom of speech. I am afraid "America land of the free" has been replaced by America the intolerant.
Proposition 8 is wrong. It seeks to institutionalize prejudice. I really hope I don't have to decide what to do about living in a society that would do something so backward as denying gay couples the right to marry.
P.S. I had a No on 8 sign in my front yard for the past several weeks. Yesterday I noticed it was gone. Someone removed my sign. Apparently some of the people who want to amend our State Constitution to deny the right for some citizens to marry are also willing to trample on the U.S. Constitution--denying me my freedom of speech. I am afraid "America land of the free" has been replaced by America the intolerant.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
A New Year
Rosh Hashanah usually sneaks up on me. It is supposed to be a time of reflection. But it comes at a time of year that is so full of activities I'm generally unprepared when the holiday actually hits.
Not this year. I was ready to reflect and consider, regroup and assess. It has been a very long, painful Summer and getting a New Year seemed like a really good idea. I have plans for getting my body back into condition, my house back in order, and my business...well, just back.
Rosh Hashanah is an opportunity to put everything back on track. And boy do I need that. For starters I need to feel more centered in my own being. So there will be more breathing. And maybe, just maybe, I will take my own advice and think long and hard before I say "Yes" to another committment.
We'll see.
Happy New Year!
Not this year. I was ready to reflect and consider, regroup and assess. It has been a very long, painful Summer and getting a New Year seemed like a really good idea. I have plans for getting my body back into condition, my house back in order, and my business...well, just back.
Rosh Hashanah is an opportunity to put everything back on track. And boy do I need that. For starters I need to feel more centered in my own being. So there will be more breathing. And maybe, just maybe, I will take my own advice and think long and hard before I say "Yes" to another committment.
We'll see.
Happy New Year!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Oh yeah, the plays!
Our trip to Ashland was in honor of our 21st anniversary. Our one and only previous experience at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival was a fifth grade field trip with our youngest child. We were chaperons. It was not romantic.
This trip was different. The plays were a reason for our particular destination, but the real purpose of the trip had more to do with our relationship than any drama on the stage. I mention this because we did not plan the trip with meticulous attention to which plays we would see, who would take the lead roles, or even what the subject matter might happen to be. It was mostly a matter of two from column A and two from column B. If you know what I mean.
That said, we did indeed enjoy the plays. The first was A View from the Bridge, by Arthur Miller. The tension built steadily from when the action began in the first scene until just before the intermission. As it reached its crescendo--in scene that involved lifting an ordinary chair with one hand--I gasped out loud. I would have been embarrassed, but I was far from the only member of the audience who had become so caught up in the play.
That evening we saw The Comedy of Errors, by William Shakespeare in the open air Elizabethan Theater. Set in the Wild West, Will's hilarious story fairly bubbled along with several songs that borrowed language from the Bard so skillfully they did not feel like additions. I did not care for the characterization employed by one of the female leads, but she didn't ruin it for me. I was intrigued by role played by the male lead from A View from the Bridge. The same actor who had played the tortured, tragic father now appeared as a comedic snake oil salesman. I was virtually certain it was the same man, but I still had to check my program to be sure because his performance had nothing in common with the earlier role.
The next day we saw Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner, by Luis Alfaro. I had high expectations because I thought it was about food. I'm way into food. It wasn't about food. We weren't really sure what it was about. Still, bumkin that I am, I love to see a live show and thoroughly enjoyed the novel staging, costumes, and acting. Once again it was fun to compare the performance of an actor from the previous evening who had a very different role in this contemporary play.
Our last play was The Clay Cart, a 2ooo year-old play from India by Sudraka. The romantic comedy has aged well. The female actor I had not liked much from Comedy of Errors had the female lead again. Fortunately, her odd body language and incessant head-whipping did not recur. She was lovely as the courtesan who falls in love with an impoverished Brahmin with a heart of gold, although I could not buy her rendition of classical India dance. It looked a little to Hip Hop to me.
I'm sure the critics have found flaws in all these efforts. But I don't go to the theater to look for mistakes. I go to be transported. OSF does a great job of finding people willing to work very hard at making theatrical magic happen and I am a willing participant.
This trip was different. The plays were a reason for our particular destination, but the real purpose of the trip had more to do with our relationship than any drama on the stage. I mention this because we did not plan the trip with meticulous attention to which plays we would see, who would take the lead roles, or even what the subject matter might happen to be. It was mostly a matter of two from column A and two from column B. If you know what I mean.
That said, we did indeed enjoy the plays. The first was A View from the Bridge, by Arthur Miller. The tension built steadily from when the action began in the first scene until just before the intermission. As it reached its crescendo--in scene that involved lifting an ordinary chair with one hand--I gasped out loud. I would have been embarrassed, but I was far from the only member of the audience who had become so caught up in the play.
That evening we saw The Comedy of Errors, by William Shakespeare in the open air Elizabethan Theater. Set in the Wild West, Will's hilarious story fairly bubbled along with several songs that borrowed language from the Bard so skillfully they did not feel like additions. I did not care for the characterization employed by one of the female leads, but she didn't ruin it for me. I was intrigued by role played by the male lead from A View from the Bridge. The same actor who had played the tortured, tragic father now appeared as a comedic snake oil salesman. I was virtually certain it was the same man, but I still had to check my program to be sure because his performance had nothing in common with the earlier role.
The next day we saw Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner, by Luis Alfaro. I had high expectations because I thought it was about food. I'm way into food. It wasn't about food. We weren't really sure what it was about. Still, bumkin that I am, I love to see a live show and thoroughly enjoyed the novel staging, costumes, and acting. Once again it was fun to compare the performance of an actor from the previous evening who had a very different role in this contemporary play.
Our last play was The Clay Cart, a 2ooo year-old play from India by Sudraka. The romantic comedy has aged well. The female actor I had not liked much from Comedy of Errors had the female lead again. Fortunately, her odd body language and incessant head-whipping did not recur. She was lovely as the courtesan who falls in love with an impoverished Brahmin with a heart of gold, although I could not buy her rendition of classical India dance. It looked a little to Hip Hop to me.
I'm sure the critics have found flaws in all these efforts. But I don't go to the theater to look for mistakes. I go to be transported. OSF does a great job of finding people willing to work very hard at making theatrical magic happen and I am a willing participant.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Before I Segue For Good
My Physical Terrorist--I mean Therapist--let's call him Wayne (again), says I'm likely to regain most if not all of my range of motion. The pain isn't gone yet but it's manageable and I'm completely free of narcotics and the lovely withdrawal symptoms that followed physical dependence. So I'm ready to move on from the whole incident. But, before I do, I feel compelled to list a few of the things you should consider before you decide to take a ride on a Segway:
How long do you think you could function without the use of one of your arms? Try wiping your bottom, zipping your sweatshirt, hooking or unhooking your bra, tying on your apron (never mind, you can't do any cooking), washing dishes (really, try washing dishes with one hand, even your dominant hand), driving, styling your hair, or putting on socks. I could go on. I could add other intimate activities that might prove embarrassing. But you get the idea. I want you to think long and hard. And if you decide to go ahead, that's cool, just be prepared to assume the risk. I did and it sucked.
How long do you think you could function without the use of one of your arms? Try wiping your bottom, zipping your sweatshirt, hooking or unhooking your bra, tying on your apron (never mind, you can't do any cooking), washing dishes (really, try washing dishes with one hand, even your dominant hand), driving, styling your hair, or putting on socks. I could go on. I could add other intimate activities that might prove embarrassing. But you get the idea. I want you to think long and hard. And if you decide to go ahead, that's cool, just be prepared to assume the risk. I did and it sucked.
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