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“I just don’t know what I would say about you. I wouldn’t feel comfortable.” That’s what a clinical supervisor told me recently when I asked whether she would provide me a letter of recommendation. This supervisor went on to explain that after all, we had only worked together for approximately thirty days. I felt as if I had been slapped. Slapped across my face. Events from the past month, clinical, professional, and personal between the two of us, clicked rapidly through my mind’s eye. I responded, “yes, that’s true. We haven’t worked together very long. However, I believe that one can learn a lot about another person in just thirty days.” This supervisor asked if I wanted her to reconsider my request. I responded, “No.” I mean, what kind of letter of recommendation would I receive based on the initial answer. Limited. Limited in thinking, limited in breadth, and certainly limited in depth. Again, “No thank you.”
Since that conversation, the concept of what one can glean in thirty days about another individual has continued to dance around in my consciousness. My initial belief has not changed. I think that we reveal many things about ourselves in every interaction, even when we intend to be a blank slate or in our best attempts at neutrality. We expose our true selves through action, word, and deed, each and every minute of each and every day of our lives. Traits such as kindness, empathy, loyalty are conveyed full force in a single moment. A mean heart bared in a second.
So give me a month with almost any person that I have known thus far, whether at work or play, and I believe I could tell a person a thing or two about that individual.
I am in awe when the wild things, both animals and I suppose humans, dare to make themselves known in a city. Even in Alaska, when bear, moose, porcupines, or skunks saunter through the downtown area, I stand in awe. I mean how different a city is to their country way of life.
This morning I awoke to the sounds of wild turkey calls, lots of them. I drifted in and out of sleep as every time I flipped over, I found another comfy place to slumber. Finally, those turkeys called loud enough and long enough that they actually called me out of my nice warm and cozy bed to peer out the living room window. And there they were, marching two by two up the road. I would say they were a sight for sore eyes or that their beauty was astounding but that would not be truthful. Wild turkeys are not exactly beautiful to my eyes but they are certainly an entity onto themselves. Wild turkeys most definitely seem brave and maybe even a little entitled. When cars don’t give way to them on the road, they call out as if to say, ‘how dare you? move out of our way! don’t you know that we’re Wild Turkeys?”
The day was filled with wild turkey calls and the road in front of our cottage was transformed into Wild Turkey Lane, as they continued to march along at various intervals throughout the day. I am not sure where they were headed ~ perhaps there was a Wild Turkey Wedding taking place nearby, or a funeral, or graduation ceremony. Maybe a Wild Turkey Fair. Whatever the event, I am glad that the wild made themselves known today. This City Woman’s spirit soaked up a little bit of their wildness and that was a good thing.
Learning to like a place takes time. For me, a good deal of time it would seem. Yesterday I took a step toward appreciating where I am, the third or fourth step in this diresction that I have taken in the past almost eight months. Like I said, I take my time.
We have a lemon tree in our drive way. Not smack dab in the middle of the drive way. No. A tree by the silvered-over-time wood fence at the end of the drive way. For some reason the leaves of this lemon tree stay mostly yellow, as if it’s not getting enough nourishment or maybe getting too much. Anemic. But there are lemons. Always. or so it seems to this woman who hails from the north.
Earlier this week, the doorbell rang and when I opened the front door, there stood my partner in crime with his arms and hands laden with lemons. These lemons lounged about on the kitchen counter for two days. Meanwhile, the lemons weren’t exactly just lollygagging around. No. They spent their time calling out to me. Softly at first ~ “come pick us up, inhale our heavenly lemony scent.” But then their calls grew more insistent ~ “come on lady, we came in here to make some lemonade, get the lead out.” Finally, they started talking what amounted to lemon smack talk ~ “so a little squeezing must be too hard for you huh, Lady? Why didn’t you just let us rot on the ground, stay on our tree? We don’t want you coming near us anyway. Keep your paws to yourself. We’re just chillin’ here in your cluttered kitchen.”
So it was that yesterday, I flung down the book I was reading, jumped up from the eggplant colored velvet loveseat on which I’d been stretched out, enjoying the sun pouring through my south facing window, to answer the lemon’s call. It was a first for me, making fresh squeezed lemonade using lemons from my own driveway.
In the middle of making this batch of lemonade, I stopped, and sent up a prayer of gratitude to the heavens above for that moment in time of contentment and appreciation, for the lemon tree, the lemons, my hands, my rented cottage. My life. A lesson learned, again, of place and appreciation.
This little blog has now been in existence for a calendar year. So this one year anniversary seems an appropriate time to reflect on my blogging experience and the what and where-for’s of the future of the little darling (my blog, not me ~ but I guess both). And come to think of it, maybe this is a good time to change up the scenery, the front page so to speak, the face of the blog ~ to go fresh and new.
A year ago I made a different big change. I moved from a very private blog that was only open to a few family members and friends to another blog provider/server and a more open forum. The change was brought on by my growing desire to write about broader topics that might not be as interesting or appealing to the limited readership. The topics included my experiences, curiousities, and continuing identity as a Korean adoptee, issues of race and racism, social class, and the meaning of belonging and mutliple identities that included my membership in the Queer community. I did not envision, nor have I created, a blog that explores these topics in an academic and/or research style of discourse. Instead at the time, I wanted to grow a connection with other Korean adoptees with the ultimate goal in that area to grow in my own personal insights and awareness of what being an adoptee meant/means in my life as well as share my experiences with others whose experiences were similar.
Overall, I made the change to a more open public blog to see what might happen, what would come of the bold move. Thus far, I have enjoyed the process, mostly. There have been days when I felt varying degrees of guilt from not posting daily or regularly enough and/or not having scintilating or even close to interesting to a broader audience posts; blog envy of those other bloggers whom I perceived to be much more dedicated, electronically knowledgeable and interesting; and, occasional why bother to post/who cares anyway thoughts.
Other than the new look to my blog page, I am not planning on altering the course any time soon of content or style. I have some ideas, on the back burner for now, of what I might want to do in the future with either this blog or a different one altogether, but enough awareness to understand that presently I do not have the available time nor the free’ed up mind space or energy to endeavor a more challenging blog. So for now, my little blog and I will continue to post on a semi-regular basis about the everyday life of me and my small universe of curiousities.
I have appreciated, most, the opportunity to meet other bloggers and have benefited greatly from their/your blogs, comments left on mine, and their/your camraderie. I have been comforted, cheered on, and challenged to expand my ways of thinking and I appreciate the readership, the entertainment, and the opportunities to meet and connect with other folks who are consciously living their/your lives.
I am excited to see where the next calendar year will lead us, individually and collectively, and what I/you will bring to the table to discuss, rejoice and commiserate over. Happy New Blogging Year!
I learned something new this week. Sort of. This piece of knowledge was actually returned to me. Kind of. I used the word dovetail and someone asked me what that meant. I said it was when two doves are in flight and they almost collide but instead their sky paths intersect. Later in the day, I recalled the snippet of conversation and my definition. Wood joints appeared in my mind’s eye and I thought, uh-oh, I think dovetail has something to do with holding a dresser drawer together. Sure enough, this is what the American Heritage Dictionary (online) has to say:
dove tail
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A fan-shaped tenon that forms a tight interlocking joint when fitted into a corresponding mortise.
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A joint formed by interlocking one or more such tenons and mortises.
Somehow though, I kind of like my definition better. I mean really, my version has two lovely white doves flying on a possible collision course but diverting just in the nick of time thus avoiding a head on scene. And where their feathered bird bodies would have intersected there is only their wind streams, or dovetails.
If you ask me, that’s way more interesting and fun than a tenon and mortise. Well… Okay, I will admit that maybe on some days the “tight interlocking joint” might hold some interest… *laughs* My bad.
I just realized that I never came back to let you know where I went. Here is the link to my current blog http://junemoon.wordpress.com/ I hope that you will stop by as I like visitors! Also, please feel welcome to leave me comments on the new blog as the spirit moves you – I promise to leave a return comment!
Remember that change is not always bad – conjure up the one door closing means another door is opening – a silver or is it a gold lining to every thunder cloud. Or just take my word for it, stop by the new place http://junemoon.wordpress.com/ – you’ll see what I mean.
So all good things must change and this blog site is not immune to transitions. I am trying out another blog server, WordPress, and although it is not as user friendly as this one, I think my overall needs will be better served. The biggest change that comes with this move is that my blog will now be public, open to everyone. Because of this, I have created a blog name, as to maintain some personal annonymity given my clinical work. Please meet the new junemoon. Pleased to make your acquaintances and I hope that you will join me at my new site – I’ll send you the link in a day or two as I continue to learn the ropes of the new scene.
the calendar month of August named after a Greek God Augusta. Actually I have no idea how the name came about but that myth sounds just as good as any. Whatever the origin or whichever God/dess who inspired the name, the month’s energy remains the same for this blogger. This month holds the anniversary of much loss in my lifetime – my adoptive father’s and mother’s deaths (different years), my beloved dog companion’s death, and I do believe it is the month that my first mother and I were separated. Although the grief over these departures and endings is less intense than in the past, the losses refuse to be denied and I am caught in grief’s web. Not in a vise grip this year though – more like blowing about, up and down, emotions not spiraling or peaking – more muted this go round.
In less than a month I will be returning to my life in Berkeley. I will continue on the educational and career path that I set upon four Augusts ago. As a friend reminded me, I am on the 12-month countdown in earning this degree. Not a minute too soon and maybe a minute or two beyond my tolerance level.
The summer is sweeping along or actually the moments are flying by and it is me that is being swept along on the tide of days and numbers assigned to those days. The disser is coming along, being pushed uphill by my flabby out-of-shape arms. If it weren’t for my increasing body size and girth, the project might be snowballing downhill but so far the typed pages keep increasing. Another writing installment is due to my disser chair by this evening. I am almost there but not quite – I wouldn’t want to do anything early, right?
Spending time with my daughter and her familia has been a balancing act and I have tottered and teetered across this very tight rope – sometimes wishing that I would just allow myself to take the big plunge right off the edge and into a ‘live life to the fullest in the moment and disser be-damned’ pool. What has kept me wobbling across the rope is the distinct intuitive flash of a hard rock landing following the free fall versus a cool refreshing diving pool.
or is it Magical miracles?
The famdamily birth day trek to Homer was blessed by Mother Nature Herself and I do believe a Universal Fairy or two. So much beauty outside our car windows as we whizzed down the highway – lush greens interspersed with white patches of snow on the mountains, gorgeous purple lupine, flowering delicate pink wild roses, wispy wild cotton groupings, various shades of purple wild geraniums, and milky colored glacial rivers tumbling along. Eye candy, for sure.
We basked in sun and blue skies and everyone came back to Anchor Town with killer (hopefully not literally) tans. I came back with enough Homer Spit and Bishop’s Beach stones and a few shells, including two China Hats, to outfit my round honey-toned wooden table desk here at the Compound.
Our accommodations were Great (with the exception of being required to clean our kitchen before departing) with the beach outside our backdoor and a good sized deck to lounge about on. The grandkiddos, along with a few of the adults, thoroughly enjoyed the over-sized jacuzzi tub! The kiddos are still at a young enough age that simple pleasures in life brings them full-on joy and excitement and that in and of itself made me laugh out loud.
Now that we’re back, yours truly is working hard on the old disser. In fact, I am getting ready to send my chair updated versions of the personal statement and statement of the problem later this morning. Cool. Way cool.
about birth days anyway? I mean when it comes right down to it, the truth is I really do not honestly know the ‘right’ date of my birth. It’s true. It’s sort of like what the 900 number psychic asked when I told her I didn’t know my birth date – ‘Are you kidding? What, were you found under a cabbage leaf?’ And the stupidest (I know I know – that is not a real word) part of that little diddy is that I still didn’t make the connection with the Cabbage Patch dolls. For cripes sake!
I’m going to warn any reader of this blog that this is a feel sorry for myself sort of entry so stop reading if you’re not in the mood.
[Music playing and a short intermission.]
The SO and I had a big overblown argument this evening which really shouldn’t take me by surprise. It’s been brewing for a while.
For my part, what most of this boils down to is I’m freakin’ EXHAUSTED. I mean, really. No kidding. No exaggeration. I am NUTS, Crazy, over the deep end exhausted. Chalk it up to my old age that I can’t seem to deal with more than three nights in a row of interrupted nonexistent restorative sleep. Those REMs must really be at a premium when you’re my age. But really all I know is that I feel Crazy. Certifiable. In fact, if I were having to sit with a client tomorrow, I think I would have to reschedule as I do not think I could ethically do my job. And I am not being histrionic or overly dramatic. Only truthful.
And why, might you ask, am I not in bed now? Because I have worked myself up into a lather and need to try and self soothe for a bit before my head hits the old pillow.
I can say that this is NOT what I wanted or envisioned the 11th hour of my 50th year here on Earth. So much for stepping into the wisdom of my years…
