Book Worm

I am bowled over. I am absolutely hooked on Pose. Episode six with Billy Porter’s character Pray Tell, going through such an arc in range of emotion was compelling. The cast overflows with talent. OMG, Billy Porter singing. Mj Rodriguez as Blanca has amazing chops.

Amazing the things you find out at what should be a calm social occasion that is also a fundraiser for a school where I work.  I sat next to a woman at a luncheon who calmly indicated how her father made her drop out in her junior year of high school.  “I had to. He wasn’t going to help the family. I was the oldest. When I told my teachers they begged me not to leave. They said, “You’re doing so well. Getting such good marks.” I left the next day. If I hadn’t left, my younger brothers and sister would not have survived. My mother couldn’t do it. My father wouldn’t do it.” 

I was stunned and said, “What year was this?” She replied, “1958.” I couldn’t help myself and asked, “What did you do?” She said, “I went looking for a job. I spent days, working odd jobs in the neighborhood. I would alternate finding jobs in the city. I’d walk into different offices and they used to have next to their wooden name plaque on their desk, another plaque that said, “No diploma, no job” I’d see the plaque in the hiring office and walk right back out. I started out filing, in the back offices, in so many offices in the financial district. I said, Did you know how to type?” She said, “No. I answered phones. Worked my way up to being a receptionist at the fancier offices.”

In 1958 I was just moving into my 4th year of life on earth. In 1958, I had no clue about the world other than my home, my mother who was obsessed with painting, and my father, who always had change in his pocket that he counted when he came home from work. I saw my larger than life brother and his friends tearing down the sidewalk on their bicycles, the salted air of the beach, the aromas of pungent seafood, rice and beans from the kitchen, and cornbread. 

That woman, and millions like her, faced choices, that offered no choice but to survive - and wear that smile. 

This post will sound vague.As it turns out the thoughts won’t go away. I need to release the words into the internet void. 

About three weeks ago I saw an article in the newspaper about how the opioid epidemic has dropped in Staten Island. Check it out:: http://tinyurl.com/y6vom7bu The Big Kahuna in the universe decided, once again, to pull back the curtain.

In the past two weeks, I have come across two colleagues from the same workplace, who have been taken opioids. Two 20-something year olds are discovered, deceased, in different locations, at different parts in the relatively same geographical section of a large metropolis, due to their bodies and minds unbridled thirst for opioids. 

One 20-something felt that life had kicked his family, his brother and him in the teeth. He lost one parent on 9-11. He lost the 2nd parent within 6 months to cancer. He was 6  and his brother was 4 at the time. On the older brother’s part there were layers of anger and rage, covered by a smile and personable nature. Way too early he found ways to self-medicate against the dark rages. His fingers curled around the opioid and never let go although he swore the next time he would change. In fact on Monday, he called his uncle to relay he had finally landed a job in construction, with a family friend. On Tuesday, he was found - dead. The uncle kept this incident very quiet, numbed by the grief, and not wanting to see any of the so called friends, would not attend the wake nor the funeral. Only a few people from the workplace knew the details to pay their respects.

Barely two weeks go by and another twenty something is discovered, deceased, in his bedroom. I happen to know the co-worker and her brother. The brother struggled and wrestled with the chemical disease for approximately a decade. I attended the wake. Expensive floral decorations. There was an honor guard at the funeral. Everyone avoids talking about the young man’s "disease.” 

In part I am blown away by the resolve and wherewithal of the two families. I also felt it was a surreal experience to see close family and friends of the grieving family to not talk about the details surrounding the young man’s passing. In fact as I sat as still as possible, listening to the side chatter occurring in the different cliques, there was no mention at all of the young man’s name or circumstances. 

I have been binge reading during Spring Break and I love it - 3 autobiographies; and The Patrick Melrose Novels: works of fiction heavily based on the life of the author, Edward St. Aubyn

Started reading The Patrick Melrose Novels:  Never Mind, Bad News, Some Hope, Mother’s Milk, At Last, when I heard Benedict Cumberbatch would be starring in a limited 5 part series on Showtime based on the books in early March. I always feel I need to read the books first - so I did. I do believe the author, Edward St. Aubyn, did an autopsy on the upper crust in British society, living on inherited wealth. The world captured on the pages felt like 1 part comedy, 1 part terror, 1 part horror story, 1 part reproachful reflection, and 1 part bemused reflections. It will be fascinating to see how the 5 novels are adapted.

Finished reading the heartbreaking, compelling, captivating, devastatingly detailed abusive interactions between family members in the autobiographies Gypsy Boy, and Gypsy Boy On the Run, by Mikey Walsh. These two autobiographies will be turned into a film adaptation, with Benedict Cumberbatch signed on to play the father. This announcement caused a furor which had to be defended by the author: http://tinyurl.com/y8p4byf3.

Next was Trevor Noah’s Born a Crime, which was bright, witty tales from Mr. Noah’s childhood, laced with astute political commentary and searing insight into complicated family relationships and the impact of post apartheid on the political, social, emotional growth of a young man, a people, and a country.

150 bullets later, all too soon, and this mother and 17 other sets of parents, guardians and caregivers have to deal with incalculable levels of anguish and grief: http://tinyurl.com/ybrqewct

Remember Sandy Hook in 2012. Politicians told us it was too soon to formulate policy after such a tragedy. One could say it seems to be part of a play book response: http://tinyurl.com/yax2wtb3

Coming straight from the words of the most recent friends and families of victims: IT’S TIME TO DO SOMETHING: http://tinyurl.com/y8u9zcgq. There are so many actions to take. How about re-instituting the executive order about background checks for people with mental health disorders being able to have ready access to guns. 

Drove by one of my favorite statues in New York City on Saturday, January 20, 2018 and had to take the picture. Posted the picture on Facebook and Twitter and received a number of anonymous likes and a surprising number of trollish comments, and broad, sweeping narrow-focused pronouncements. 

The thoughts that went through my mind as I took the picture was the following, off the top of my head: enslaved, beaten and flogged, walked 90 miles to freedom; came back 19 times and led 300 slaves to freedom over 10 years; became known as General Tubman during the Civil War. Always strapped financially as she never received equal pay for the work she did as a freed person, or Union army soldier/spy/nurse, she still found ways to assist elderly and infirm former slaves after the Civil War.

It’s January 2nd, 2018 and I finally feel like I am starting to swim up out of the molasses like cloud that seemed to surround me in regards to coping with mourning the passing of my father in 2016 and my mother in 2013. 

Yep - 2017 was my year to just imitate being a functioning member of the human race. Grief takes many forms and mine was in just floating above and viewing the world through a microscope.  Talk about disassociation. I knew I was in some form of depression. I knew I was just shallowly interacting with people, the environment, and the surroundings. My email box filled up. My snail mail filled up. I got up - went to work - came home - read some lovely fan fiction - and went to sleep. That was it.

No - let me not downplay the role of fan fiction and the amazingly talented artists. Holy Hannah The fluffy pieces and detailed, creative metas about BBC Sherlock took me and continue to take me out of my head space. 

One can only go so long down that path before the eating habits of salt, sugar and fat take a toll on one’s health. July was a turning point where I had to take my health in my hands. Also it helped that a doctor gave me a real talk as in change or stroke out. 

So now it’s the 2nd day of the new year. I am actually able to take deep breaths. I am drinking anywhere from 16 to 20 fluid ounces of water a day. I know I have to get up to ideally 32 - 64 ounces of water a day. Still wrestling with the exercise thing. Thank goodness for You Tube as it is great for selecting clips on beginning yoga. I am unbelievably, horribly bad at yoga.  My knees are barking. Me doing the downward dog is not a good thing to see -- or feel -- very much a work in progress. 

As for reducing the sugar, salt, and fat - still a work in progress. I’m now a loose size 18 - which is quite a feat. I will sneak a chocolate here or there and a waffle cookie here or there.