In this most unusual election year, could we navigating these rough waters as a result of nature’s storm, trying to regain a balance of gender power–of which we almost dare not speak? (Shhh..I mean nurturing.)
Parade and Piano
Pasadena, California. The 1963 Parade of Roses. We were staying with distant relatives in their Craftsman-style home, two blocks from Colorado Boulevard. The adults–old and older, had set up chairs in the middle of the night and were on the street hours before the parade started. That was the year I had sworn off dolls, dresses, anything girlish. Blech! All I’d wanted for Christmas was cowboy boots. I was wearing them.
I discovered magic in that house. An old upright piano was tucked into a dark corner. (All rooms seemed dark to me back then.) As the one child amid the old and older, they left me alone (as always). Oh, but the piano. I plunked out the most beautiful melodies (I thought), never having had the chance to touch one before. After that, I could talk about nothing else–except my daily plea for a horse. A horse was a reasonable request. There was room in the barn and an abundant supply of hay and grain. A piano? Excessive. Continue reading “The Day the Music Returned”
My two grown sons are starting to poke fun at me for going back to grab and post my really oooold pictures. It’s all good: laughter is good medicine! This is a rare and important one, though–showing the results of the generous and compassionate risk my father took, trumping my mom’s veto and letting me have a horse. (He even supported me when I wanted to let my dear friend, Fancy, have her own baby!) This was the breakthrough period of my teens–braces and all–that provided my first touchstone: the magical essence of what science now calls attachment.
My mom was-as some people tried to couch for my sake-something else. She was anxiety piled atop anxiety, and I was buried under that heap of muck. (For non-horse people–you muck-out horse stalls every morning and then give them a fresh supply of bedding straw.) To this day, the smell of horse **** is like perfume to me. Weird, eh? Continue reading “Making friends with ADHD/ADD”