The Wash Woman I Love

I'm not really clear on all the details of where my great-grandmother was born, but I think her mother was already in the US before her birth. I do know that said great-great grandmother (who was named Josie Genta), lost her husband on the ship while traveling to the US from Italy. 

I also don't know how it was that she came to live in Arkansas. It seems like a strange place for a young widow with a small child to go.  Maybe she had friends here or maybe her new husband did. I really don't know how she found her second husband, who's last name was Vardo, but I do know he only lived long enough to get her pregnant and then, like her first husband, died.

It must have been so scary for her. Here she was in a country she didn't understand, with two babies, and no husband.  I think about how much hope she must have had when she and my great-great grandfather boarded that ship. I imagine them holding hands and her so excited about raising her family in America.  All of that excitement was replaced by grief and fear when she lost him. 

And then again, she found a new husband and thought things would get better.  She and her daughter would have someone to help them get through life.  When this second husband died, she must have been so devastated. She probably felt like she was doomed.  All the while, she had herself and her two children to feed.

What I do know, what is legend on my father's side of the family, is that after her second husband died and her second child (a boy she named Johnny) was born, Great-great-grandmother Josie did not marry again.  She moved to a small community called Frogtown, where the Italian immigrants in the area clustered, and she worked by herself to support her children.

Josie didn't speak English, though over time she came to understand it.  My grandfather told me that when he was a boy, he spoke Italian with her, though when he spoke in English, she would answer him in Italian and understand him. She wasn't comfortable with the speaking of it though. There were no English as a Second Language classes in this area back then and her access to English speakers was limited.

In fact, the only time she saw English speaking people was when they came to bring her their laundry.  This is what Josie did to support herself and her children.  Laundry was hard in those days. No washing machines, everything hung on a line to dry, irons solid masses that sat on the stove (that had an actual fire inside, fed, in this area, by wood and coal) and left to get so hot you had to hold it with a towel to keep from scorching yourself.

People would bring their laundry to her and she would beat out the stains, scrub til things were clean, spend hours hanging this stuff out, and then brave the heat of the iron to make it all perfect before folding it into neat piles to be sent back to them.  My grandfather said her hands were so rough to the touch.  My great-grandmother explained that she would sometimes work until her hands were raw. Actually, I'm not even sure about them bringing it to her part. She may have had to fetch the clothes and stuff herself. 

I do know, from what my great-grandmother and my grandfather told me, that the people she worked for were never kind to her.  On more than one occasion, they both heard her called "that dirty Italian wash woman."  Because she was a widow and young, there were always rumors about her.  From what I have been told, she didn't let that phase her.  She used what money she got from her work to make clothes for her kids, have enough food on the table, and see that they stayed warm and secure.

I don't know how old she was when she died. I don't know the circumstances of her death or where she even was. I know it was after my grandfather was at least ten, but no one has even discussed more of the details with me.  I don't know if she was happy much in her life. I don't know how often she smiled or how her laughter sounded.  I don't know what her favorite color was or how much she believed in her faith.

What I do know, is that, while I never met Josie, I love her. I am proud to have come from this woman. I am in awe of how strong she was, how noble she was, in the face of lose and disappointment and so many obstacles.  Josie Genta was a problem solver, a survivor, a provider, a champion.  She took care of her family when no one else was there to do it.  She took care of herself when she lost everything, and did so in a country that was strange to her and where she did not even speak the language.  I admire this woman so much. 

And I hope that time is more fluid than linear. Because then Josie (in those moments when she was too tired to walk, when her hands were too sore to continue, yet she knew she had no other choice but to keep going) somehow, some way, felt this love from me.  I hope that while I'm sitting here in 2011, writing about her and adoring her, back when she needed to feel embraced by someone, she felt it from my love in the future.

I'll Take Your Hand While you Stumble if You'll Laugh with Me When I Fall

My roommate writes a blog about being HIV+.  He realized a couple of days ago that he got the date of his diagnosis wrong on his blog title.  He's been blogging since January.  He corrected the mistake and started things anew with the proper date.  Easily fixed, yes. But I could tell it was somewhat frustrating.

I didn't notice the mistake either. It's funny how two people with high educations and sharp minds can miss things like this.  It doesn't surprise me though.  That sort of thing happens as one ages, when one deals with illness and being draggy and tired.  The whole discussion, when we were younger, probably would have skyrocketed into embarrassment and deep, if good natured, mocking. Instead, it ended up with us chuckling a little and both somewhat in awe of the fact that we didn't catch the mistake.

One of the things I have come to appreciate about being human, and experiencing life with other humans, is accepting, with a kind of grace, the fragility of our existence.

We're not perfect.  It's clichéd to even say so. And all too often, when we do say this, there is behind it this implication that we should be perfect. That our imperfection as humans is an lousy excuse because we should be perfect.  The irony is, if we were perfect, imperfection wouldn't bother us so much. We would accept it as part of the grand design of things. As perfect beings, how could we not? Alas, as Joseph Addison said, "It is only imperfection that complains of what is imperfect."

Moreover, we seem to expect perfection in others. People make lists of all the qualities someone has to have before they will love them.  People wind themselves up into a state of constant misery because others aren't living up to their expectations.  Some people even put clauses in their marriage contracts that the other party can't fart around them. Or look old. Or gain weight. Or have bad breath.

Or really, be human.

I've known my roommate since I was 21.  We've lived together for almost ten years.  In this time, we've seen each other get degrees, find jobs, lose jobs, get ill, get better, lose family members, lose friends, find hobbies, win at life, fail hard at life, and make new discoveries about ourselves.  Through all of this, we have been there to help each other.  We've made a home.

And most importantly, we have learned to accept each other as humans.  We know that we can screw up and say the wrong thing, or do the wrong thing. We know we both have personality flaws and idiosyncrasies  and moments of odd behavior.  Sometimes our bodies do grow things.  Sometimes our bodies cause us a lot of pain and we have to be in pain while someone else watches us.

But through all of this, we are human. We not only accept each other as humans, but value that humanity.  To me, to have someone who accepts me so much is a great gift.  More importantly, to have someone who I care so much about that I can move past my petty whims and accept and adore them for their human fragility is an even greater gift.

Joseph Addison went on, in his discussion of imperfection, to say that, "The more perfect we are, the more gentle and quiet we become of the defects of others." I believe this to be true. I also believe the reason for it has to do with how we become more perfect as we find that gentleness.  And we find that gentleness when we are accepted and loved, despite our own imperfections.

Friday List: Blessing Addition

Two years ago, I got on Facebook. It was a big step for me because I'd not been very social, even on a cyberspace basis, for a long time. When you first get on a social media thingymabob, you often find yourself at a loss with what to write.  I, fortunately, was in good headspace at that point, and decided I would not fill the Wall of others with angst and other stuff I should have been past by like 12.

 I decided I would do a Thankful Thursday post every week. Just type out one or two things I was grateful to have in my life.  I have to say, it's been good for me.  Talking about the places where you are blessed in your life gives you a nice re-centering. I think I've talked about that before.

I forgot to do my Thankful Thursday this week.  My mind was elsewhere because I wasn't at home and because of the stuff I blogged about on Wednesday. So for this list, I decided to blog about my blessings, the big ones I am so, so thankful to have.

1. As an adult, I have never been in a relationship that was physically violent.
   
   When I was a child, this was a different matter.  But as an adult, I've been very lucky to have avoided the people who feel it is their duty to abuse others.  Some people might say that being a fat girl who is rather mentally unstable might have something to do with that, but if I had been in an abusive relationship, they'd say being a fat girl who is mentally unstable was the reason for that as well. There's never any winning with that crap.
   
2. I share my life with someone I trust.
   
   My roommate and I were talking tonight about how so many people have to deal with others who will rifle through their belongings, read their emails, creep through their texts and files. I don't have to worry about that with him. He can use my computer all day and I know he'd never dig through my personal files.  He won't go through my purse and I never have to worry about finding him in my room looking for stuff to use against me.  I jokingly tell him it's because he knows he'd be freaked out by what he would find, but that isn't really the case. He respects my privacy.  Trust me, if the people around you don't respect your privacy, you need to get away from them.  They don't respect you.
   
3. I have a good therapist.
   
   A lot of people have to go through HELL to find a good therapist.  Bad therapists tend to either be lazy, useless, crazy, working some agenda, or dogmatic.  Mine is none of these things.   She is diligent in her work, she's sane, neutral, and works with me on ways to address my issues. Finding mental stability is like trying to carve up a glacier. There is the jagged part sticking out of the water that you have to bang out waaaay before you hit all the massive stuff under the surface.  She has been instrumental in helping me find my way into the murkier depths.
   
4. I know I am loved.
   
   For many years, I wasn't sure of this.  I felt like most people were just going through the motions of loving me . . . or in some cases, not even bothering to do that.  My life is so different now.  I know I am loved.  I have a nephew who, after being told I was coming over, spent the whole day drawing pictures for me and taping them to his living room wall so I could see them when I came over.  I have extended family who drove from Colorado to come get me just so I could spend Thanksgiving with them.  I have best friends I get to talk to every day.  I am not just loved, I am very loved.
   
5. I have rediscovered my Voice.
   
   Of course, I don't mean my speaking voice. I never lost that.  I did lose my writing voice though.  When I was younger, I wrote all the time. During the worst of my mental and emotional decline, I stopped writing. I lost my Voice and began to think it was gone for good.  I've been blogging over two months now. My Voice has returned and I'm so, so thankful for that. I had not realized how much I missed it.

It was a rough winter, a rough start to this year, but in all the craptasticness that has happened, I can't help but be happy right now.  I'm writing again and I really needed to be writing.

Even if it is a blog only two people read. Hi, guys! *waves*

Friday List: Baffling Human Things

Oh look! It's time for another Friday List!

THINGS I ABSOLUTELY DO NOT UNDERSTAND ABOUT OTHER HUMANS

1. WHY DO WOMEN WANT TO DATE MEN IN PRISON?
   
   It seems that menz in prison get tons of letters from women who are their fans. Not just a few letters, TONS of them. Women who fall in love with these guys. And I'm not talking about the ones who just shoplifted or whatever. I'm talking about hardcore-killed-lots-of-people-usually-other-women-and-left-them-in-bloody-messes.
   
   Why? What could possibly be the appeal of someone who A. Will never have a job because he'll always be in prison (hopefully) and B. IS KILLYPANTS?
   
2. WHY DO MEN IN PRISON WANT TO BE INTERESTED IN WOMEN WHO WANT TO DATE THEM?
   
   Okay, sure there is the angle of "ohh, I can manipulate these women" and the idea of "hey, I'm in prison and bored." However, when you think about this for more than, oh, three minutes, it gets creepy as hell.
   
   Think about it, if you were a fairly scary and socially undesirable person, wouldn't you be somewhat concerned that people were seeing you as HOT?  What kind of people, what level of mental and emotional damage are they drinking to do that?  Scary.
   
3. WHY DO ALL HUMANS THINK THEY ARE THE ENLIGHTENED ONES?
   
   If you listen to liberal people, they will tell you how enlightened their world view is and how the other people are just being manipulated by their upbringing and the media. If you talk to conservatives, they will tell you they are the enlightened ones and everyone else is just being manipulated by the educational system and the media.
   
   Any given group of religious people think they know the Truth, that everyone else should "wake up" to the Truth. I've seen religious people believe that not just about their religion versus others, but their specific branch of it versus others, down to their own PERSON versus others. Specifically, they are the one enlightened, there to tell everyone else the Truth.
   
   And before you think I'm just picking on religious people, take that last paragraph and sub anything else into it. Philosophy, political perspective, intellectual reasoning, knowledge of music, belief in magic, science, medicine. ANYTHING. They know best. Because they DO. They read books and watched shows and have tons of articles and went to the secret meetings and have the decoder rings and THOUGHT about this more and all that stuff.
   
   Yup, everyone of them.

Okay, so that list was only three things. But you got some good rant along with it. I'm working on a larger, medical related post, but it's cumbersome and I need refs for it. Might end up being a two parter.  

New Project start

It's been a week since the whole "I get flowers YAY! and the pipe breaks BOO!" thing. I've been somewhat illish and not able to focus on much.  Weird week, all the way around.

This was a sucky week to be a woman. Lots of rapes and loss of funds for poor women to get access to health care stuff. More threats on congresswomen and in general enough crap to where I wonder why sometimes we even bother. Well, I guess we shouldn't say "we." As a woman, I tend NOT to bother with everyone else. It's one of the places where I get very into Ayn Rand's Objectivism because I see culture trying so hard to make women live FOR others instead of living for themselves.

Anyway, I'm rambling. Back to the point.  The Friday post....okay, technically, it's Saturday, but you get the idea, will now (mostly) consist of a small summary of the week and then a list.  The list will change depending on what I want to focus on.  As today is my niece's birthday, this list will be about her.

Five Things I Want for My Niece's Future

1. I want my niece to be independent. I don't want her to feel she has to rely on others, either for her safety, comfort, shelter, or ego-stroking.  I want the main person she finds security in to be herself.

2. I want my niece to be a critical thinker.  I hope she never takes things at face value, never believes something just because she's told she should. I hope she questions, rationalizes, analyzes, and comes to her own conclusions.

3. I want her to hold her safety in the highest regard.  I want her to always remember that her number one priority is her own survival and that this keeps her from making decisions that threaten her life, her liberty, or her future.

4. I want her to have self-esteem.  I want her to know who she is, have a strong hold on her own self-worth, so that when someone tries to threaten that, instead of feeling that threat, she simply laughs the situation off because she knows the truth of herself.

5. I hope she revels in her life. I hope she continues to enjoy her moments, laugh, sing, dance, make jokes, make up stories, play dress up, play pirates, play jedis.  I hope she really tastes the sweet of things, loves every kiss, enjoys every secret confession, marvels at something so simple as the color of someone else's eyes. I hope she keeps letters and cards and mementos. I hope she does this until the end of her days.

Ahh, good list.  Happy birthday, kiddo.  Love you.

This one goes out to the one I love

I was inspired by this contest. I hope everyone does this as well. I'm posting this through tears. It's been a beautiful experience. Thank you, Iman.

Dear Lil,

I want to talk about that day. You know the one. Your mother was recently dead. Your grandmother was ill.  You were laying on a broken down, single bed in a cold, nasty trailer.  You were unemployed, so heavy you were perhaps unemployable, hopeless, depressed, and broken.

You couldn't breath.

For three days, you'd been struggling for air. All breathing was shallow, grasping, gasping, and never enough.  Your heart would race in terrifying ways, and then slow to almost nothing.  You were blacking out, fading out, falling into fits of unsatisfying sleep. You were starving for oxygen.

In your hand, you held your phone.  You needed to call for help. You needed medical assistance in the most serious of ways.  It was so easy to dial and you knew you still could.

Before you dialed though, before you reached out to ask for breath, there was a deeper question that you asked yourself.

Did you really wish to continue to live?

You asked yourself this, knowing full well you had total control over the situation.  It was quite clear that if you didn't do something about your lack of oxygen, you would die.  It would be easy to do so. Painful, surely. Scary, certainly. But easy. Perhaps easier than living.

You felt hyper real in that moment. You felt so much control, so much rationality. Life or death. All in your hands. There were so many good reasons to let the phone slide away. So few reasons you could think of to dial.  Only one reason really, the main, most important reason that suddenly grabbed hold of you and shook you with its intensity.

I love you.

I love you and I always have. Even when no one else was there for you, I was.  Even when all the world seemed out of sorts, I was there. Maybe I couldn't always come up with the best way through things. Maybe sometimes my plans were lacking, my motives lazy, my protection shoddy, but even then, I gave you what I could.

I love you, and for that reason, you decided to live.  You dialed your doctor and within 24 hours, you had oxygen, you had tests and results and new plans for making things better.  And all the while you were getting better, I was there, completely loving you, and so happy you would continue.

We've never talked much about that day. It happened and it's always in the back of the mind that it happened, but we don't discuss it.  Maybe we haven't needed to. Maybe the silent, but binding commitment made between us was enough. Sometimes hitting a moment of such deep passion is too hard to put into words.

I hope you're not upset that I decided to talk about it.  It's been almost three years now, and I felt it was time. I wanted you to know how proud I am of you.  When you decided to call your doctor, when you decided to live, it wasn't about continuing to live the life you had. We both knew you deserved better. It was time to take steps, to move forward. Or, at least, it was time to choose a path.

I look at you today and I marvel at what you have become, how your definitions are changing. You are letting go of reactive in favor of reflective, you are letting go of indulgent in favor of independent. You are letting go of defeatist in favor of planner.  You share more of yourself, your life, your thoughts.  You give shelter.  You give smiles to those in need.  You are a bringer of joy, hoping that others can find the love you have found, the love that was always there for you.

You mean everything to me. You amuse me. You entertain me.  You keep me awake at night telling me stories. I wouldn't trade you for the world and I'm so glad I didn't have to. And now every time we take a breath, I am reminded of how precious that is, how deep the fear can be at the thought of it now happening. I'm so thankful for the breathing, even if it involves tubing sometimes.

I'm thankful you choose to live your life with me, every second, every day. It makes me the luckiest person in the world.

Love,
Lil

Eye of the Beholder

Played with the look of the blog some today. I wanted my image in it, just all big and bold and snarky. It somewhat sets the tone for everything that follows.

I'm not sure I like the new colors, but I'm really too lazy tired and cold to take it any farther than I did.  As I said, the important thing was I put the image on it.

This doesn't look like me, not really.  I'm no where near this pretty or even this thinnish, though I allude to not being thin, even in the pic. You'll notice it has not clear chin.

However, I think in my head this is how I look. And, weirdly, I think this is how I look in most people's heads as well.  Hey, this is true. You know how perception goes. Just because you rationally know what someone looks like, that doesn't mean it's how you really see them.

If you love someone, you always concentrate on their better features. If you dislike someone, you focus on flaws.  It's so, so true.

For instance, check out this list that Sid Vicious made about his wife Nancy. Most people probably laughed at this, especially considering he probably killed her.  I didn't though. Even though when most people thought Nancy was fairly nasty, Sid didn't. He loved her. And like I said, when you love someone, you mostly see the good stuff.