Releasing Roots

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Releasing Roots

I pull out Mama’s earrings

From the tangle of jewelry

In the re-used coconut butter jar,

Gently pressing them 

Into the ears that 

She pierced with an icy potato

And a thin-pained needle

When I was 11 years old. 

They were her favorites

And though she taught me

That earrings don’t have to match,

Which is very handy when you 

Lose one,

These she always wore

As a pair- orangish skinny-carved

Stone ovals, with Chinese coins 

And sweet blue beads,

That jingle gently in the ears

With each less than subtle movement.

 

I pick up the tiny tubes of ashes-

Daddy’s are a charcoal grey, and somehow

Mama’s are so fittingly snow-white,

And wading out into the gentle 

Waves on the beach where she

Had her Aloha, so soon before she died, 

I released Daddy in soft grey clouds 

That quickly churned in to nothing

And felt my heart in my belly, pulse

And pound, as I opened the vial of 

Mama, and part of her is caught by breeze

Wafting back over the flowering trees, 

And some ash floats on the surface, 

While the tiniest of bone fragments

Join the shell shuffle on the sand

At my feet- now tears well and send their salt

Down my cheeks on the way to join the sea,

And I dip down to baptize myself

In the mix of death and life,

Re-birthing myself an orphan

With deep and loving roots. 

My Mama

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For my mama on her 67th Birthday

My Mama taught me

When I was 5 weeks old, my father was killed in a car accident,

my mama tried not to be sad when she nursed me, so I would not be sad,

my mama taught me:

Today is the day-

to laugh, to learn, to say I love you.

Today is the day.

 

When I was a small child, my mama gave me gifts of unending love,

Your father is still with you, and you have another father’s love as well,

My mama taught me:

Love doesn’t end

relationships cha.nge, life shifts, energy moves.

Love doesn’t end

 

As I grew, my mama painted, wove, created,

gave me nostalgic memories of linseed oil and turpentine

My mama taught me:

You are given artistic gifts, give them away

don’t wait for recognition or to be the best.

Do what you love.

 

When I struggled, when I was outraged at the world’s cruelty,

when I was seeking to be as others,

My mama taught me:

You are a precious gift, just as you are

don’t let other’s decide that for you.

You are exactly who you should be, right now.

 

Whenever we went out into the world, or observed creation

in our own backyard or Alaska, or camping,

My mama taught me:

All life is wondrous; all things support each other,

nothing is without meaning or importance.

Revere all living things

 

When I dreamed, or imagined or fell silent-

when I rebelled, held my ground, or stood up

My mama taught me:

Honor your inner life; it is as important as what happens outside

Your heart knows what your mind cannot fathom.

Follow your heart

 

When, as a teenager I was disillusioned with the world,

when I judged others, or in fear avoided differences

My mama taught me:

A light resides in each person, no matter how buried

in pain and experience, in anger or hatred

All human beings are innately worthy of love and respect.

 

When I grew and wanted to make my world better,

when I was overwhelmed with the work needing doing

My mama taught me: 

Give of your overflow, not of your essence

be a pebble in a pond, start your kindness here.

Know each thing you do makes a difference

 

As I had my own children and feared for their well-being,

wanting to protect them, suddenly cautious of every person’s intentions

My mama taught me:

Trust life, nurture love, let them grow as they are meant to-

each sorrow carves out space for the next joy.

All life is this package deal

 

Now as my children are grown, and I strive to be the best me

sometimes discouraged, sometimes jubilant, sometimes peaceful,

My mama taught me:

Those of us, who are less broken, must help those of us who are more so,

each of us has an obligation to let our light shine, and reflect other’s light back to them. Everything is unfolding as it should

 

In the great mystery of life, in the hurried pace of our doing,

there is a being-ness that sustains us, and links us,

My mama taught me:

There are no true endings; there are circles and transitions,

there are movements and stillness.

And there is always, always love

Hillary

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Hillary. Rodham. Clinton

She has been a woman I admire since 1992. There is so much I could say about her, but like the speaker “who needs no introduction” and then gets one anyway, it just doesn’t seem necessary. Everyone knows about her, and all the truths and lies that have been attached to her over the years.

I have recently been watching Gilmore Girls on Netflix. This show aired on network TV from 2000 to 2007, and I never saw a single episode back then, although I was vaguely aware of it. For Rory Gilmore, the daughter, it spans the time from sophomore year in high school through graduation from college (making her the same age as my daughter Sabrina). In season 3, episode 3, which aired in October 2002, Rory is a high school senior applying to college. She tells her boyfriend she has it wired, because she is writing her essay on Hillary Clinton. Then she goes to a seminar at her private school given by a college admissions officer, who says that he hopes he never sees another essay about Hillary Clinton, because she has been done to death. Rory looks dismayed. We never find out whether she changes her essay or not.

So I was imagining coming to Retrospect this morning and seeing a flood of Hillary Clinton stories. But I guess everyone isn’t as taken with her as Rory Gilmore and I are.

I have admired her since she first came to national attention, when Bill was running for President. She seemed brilliant and articulate and together then (although who can forget that hairstyle with the Hillary Headband?).

I always suspected she was the brains of their operation. And I loved it when she insisted on having the press write about her as Hillary Rodham Clinton, not just Hillary Clinton.

When she and Bill got married in 1975, she did not change her name, remaining Hillary Rodham. She later explained that she did this for three reasons: to keep their professional lives separate, to avoid apparent conflicts of interest, and most importantly because “It showed that I was still me.” However in 1982 she began to use the name Clinton when Bill was running for a second term as Arkansas governor after being defeated in 1980. The voters of Arkansas were more comfortable with that. I admire her for keeping her own name when it was not yet so common to do so, but then having the flexibility to take her husband’s name in order to help his political career.

Everything she has done, she has done with style and grace. How she made it through the Monica Lewinsky scandal is hard for me to fathom, but she did. In 2008, when she lost the presidential nomination to Obama, she gave an impassioned speech on his behalf at the Democratic Convention. Then she agreed to serve as his Secretary of State, when she could have just stayed in the Senate and not had to deal with him.

And don’t even get me started on the 2016 election, when she should have become President. She won the popular vote, of course, but got cheated by the ridiculous structure of the Electoral College. Imagine how much better our lives would be today if she were President. When we do finally elect the first woman President, whether it is next year or at some later time, I will be sad that it isn’t Hillary.