October 29, 2010
“Pixie, kobold, elf,
and sprite,
All are on their rounds tonight;
In the wan moon's silver ray,
Thrives their helter-skelter play.”
~Joel Benton
Another day already!
Where do the days go?
Good morning.
We’re preparing to step out tonight in our full costumes
and head out to a friend’s party. I’m very excited because I’m not much of a
costume person but if I think of an idea, then it’s funny to me and I’ll run
with it. I’ve always loved Halloween and the much favored Mexican celebration
“Dia de los Muertos” “Day of the dead.”
What is there not to like? It’s not really a Holiday in the American
traditional sense of the word. It’s not a Holiday that you get to drag your
butt home and sit around a table full of your family, stuffing your face on
stuffing, answering questions you have no idea about what and hoping that no
one notices too much that you’re preoccupied with the score. No, not that type
of Holiday, but a holiday, nevertheless.
Consider it - something, at least in the United States
it’s not most families affair to go down to the cemetery and layout a fresh
lunch on top of your ancestors’ tomb stones – don’t forget to bring enough to
leave behind as an offering to the dead. It’s the most endearing thing to see
grandmothers, children, men and women talking, walking, eating and celebrating
their dead in a day of recognition of life. I liked the look of the sugar
skulls and decorations and all the pretty pink, green and blue lanterns and
lights in the cemeteries. It was so magical. I remember it well all those
fifteen years ago visiting with people and getting to know their ancestral ways
of the proud and beautiful Mexican heritage although please do not be confused
with Halloween and Day of the Dead because they do not fall on the same day.
Halloween is October 31th and Day of the Dead is November 2nd
– Although, they are close but have different traditions, significances and
cultural approaches.
I love that I get to eat all the candy I want, I get to
greet kids at the door and try to guess what some costumes might be – (although
it’s rare now days that kids make their own costumes.) I get to warm up with
apple cider, pumpkin spice, apple strudel, apple anything, pumpkin carving, and
first and foremost and above all we get to watch the Charlie Brown Halloween
Special. I love, that and the Thanksgiving Special, too.
My husband and I met four years ago on August of 2006. We
were first co-workers as broadcast engineers and then a friendship flourished.
That, first Halloween I would have never thought that we’d be in love and
married four years later. I never much gave Halloween a second thought until I
met my husband and saw him react more excited than most little kids. The hubby
showed me many different episodes of many different shows ranging wide from many
time periods. I was fascinated to re-discover the Addams Family amongst many
others.
“That’s, Eric’s favorite holiday.” His mother reassured
me.
‘I’ll do my best,’ I thought. ‘Not to disappoint.’
One, week before Halloween, usually my hubby starts preparing
for the Halloween season by bringing out a plastic container full of “Haunted
Mansion” four inch figures, a black light, and sets to work on creating a scene
for them against the backdrop of whitewall that looks purple when it’s all lit
up. The first time I saw these figures, I had no idea what to make of them. I
didn’t know what they represented and why they were set up but I knew one thing
was certain, it was important to have hubby bring in a new season with a little
bit of a celebration so why not? Right? Right. While, Eric takes great care
with setting up the scene just right I take great care to make a wickedly great
combo of sweet and spice apple cider. I like my apple cider with whip cream and
a little bit of butter. It gives it a fuller flavor. I like to walk around and
change in and out light bulbs from the white to the colored LED’s. It just
seems appropriate and right to do so.
That first Halloween I had just flown back in-from Costa Rica.
I was chilled to the bone to have found myself back in a land one-inch full of
snow. I had spent Halloween eve partying it up Central American style bringing
in the celebrations on the beach with close friends and my sister. We had
danced hard all night, had birthday cake for my sister, met new interesting
locals and looked-up at an amphitheater of stars. My heart didn’t know where it
belonged at that time. I thought about returning to Costa Rica and raising
surfer-babies by myself along the seashores of the Pacific.
I thought many things. I didn’t know it at that time that
my life would change forever. That, the man I had become so closely acquainted
would become my future husband. My heart tugged at my sleeve and I got myself
on that plane that day with great difficulty and effort. I did not want to
return to America. I had friends, land, and a community of friends that I could
laugh with back on jungle shore. So, why was I coming back here? Simply,
because I kept hearing a whisper in my dreams. I saw a northern tundra black
bear, moose and deer in my dreams. I thought about it and I, thought I could
hear these animals whispering to me by name. So, I did the most logical thing a
girl knows how to do, but to get on the goddamn plane.
I returned to the United States, like I already said;
with a heavy heart at the age of twenty-eight but changed and different
somehow. I returned truly sad but ready for a new intrinsic start. I returned
with foreign candy wrappers in my pockets, one year’s worth of Costa Rican
coffee and sea shells full of sand and foreign currency. I was going to have to
make up my mind; Here or There.
Eric met me at the light rail that day and the moment I
looked up and saw his face I knew that the Finn ancestor’s whispers had reached
me in Central America. I knew then that this man sleeping one room over would
love me, adore me and give me children. I knew that I could be happy with
simple, simple, simple gestures and grandiose compassion. I knew that I loved
him more than any other man and that I wanted to exclusively be his with
everything I had in my heart, mind and spirit.
The fourteen year difference between us didn’t matter to
me, his previous sixteen year marriage that had gone south before we met and
his grown son from his previous marriage which Eric had brought up as his own
were not anything major to me, ultimately. I was willing to give it a try
because to pass up on someone as kind, gentle and thoughtful as my husband
would have been an incredible mistake of my life.
My life would not be the same full, sweet and calm life
as it is if it weren’t for this man who took me to Disney World and personally
explained to me what “Haunted Mansion” was exactly. It wasn’t until I saw the
ride for myself that I understood that it was a somewhat of an alternative
cultural phenomenon. I understood that this “Haunted Mansion” meant many things
to many people from across the world and I asked the hubby to please stand to
the side as I watched and gawked at all the demographics that walked by and
stood in line ready to go into Disney’s World. I thought, “Brilliant, just
brilliant.” I fell in love with two men that day – Disney and Eric.
May you have an amazing and safe Halloween.
We’re partying on Saturday night and into Sunday morning.
We’ll see how my Northern Tundra friends weather it out.
Most people go to bed by two at the latest but I’m going
forth till six in the morning with breakfast at five and then I’m going to
sleep the day away.
Ah, Sunday should be sweet as hell.
See you back here Monday morning.
Now, I have some morning café French press style to make,
get bundled up, head out to a facility and do a little sweeping, cleaning and
organizing before the class comes in at noon. I so look forward to this part of
my Friday early mornings. I know it makes a difference, because I feel
different.
Wishing you love, respect and adoration from loved ones.
Much Love,
Gabriela
October 28, 2010
“If
your sister is in a tearing hurry to go out and cannot catch your eye, she's wearing
your best sweater.” - Pam Brown
“Big
sisters are the crab grass in the lawn of life.” - Charles M Schulz
I can see it clearly in my mind’s eye.
It was like it was yesterday.
I heard my sister’s hungry cries and my stomach had
rumbled.
I was six years old and she had been a new born.
The sun had set and risen three times, I had noticed that
much.
Our birth mother had a tendency of leaving for days at a
time, so I wasn’t nervous or worried for her, but I do remember running out of
milk and worried about what to feed my sister. The women in the barrio had made
it a point to leave milk outside the door and I would fit my tiny little arm
out and reach for it and bring it inside without ever being seen by anyone.
I had locked us in and decided to wait it out. At night,
the darkness was overbearing and in the day the heat was sweltering in the tin
shack, but I made it a point to play little games with my sister’s tiny little
hands and fingers. I kept her from crying as much as I could. When she slept she
slept deeply on those dark nights but when she was hungry oh, Gods she was
truly hungry and so was I. I was smart enough to climb any tree and retrieve
food from its branches. Wisperos and bananas are still a favorite of mine to
this day because those fruits kept me alive in those desperate days of hunger.
On the afternoon of the fourth day, before it got
completely dark around five near the equator a strange woman drove up to the
four walls made of tin with a makeshift door. She knocked and informed me to
gather all of our belongings. I gathered what little clothing my sister had and
bundled her up and carried her out of the tin shack and placed her in the back
seat of a taxi. I held her in position with my hands. She didn’t struggle. As
we drove away and forever from my home on the mountains – I could not
physically turn my head to the left and look out the window for what I knew
would be the last time I’d be there only because I realized that I wouldn’t
know how to find my way back to that jungle.
Silently, the women with the long braids stood outside on
their tiny little patches of cement just outside their tin houses. I wasn’t
sure what role they had played out on that night but they had played a
significant one in the past. I had always known that every little girl has many
mothers in one lifetime and these women had been several of many good mothers
I’ve had on this journey. They possibly saved my life even if they could not
have taken us in and cared for us as their own.
We drove for what seemed like forever out of the mountain
range and into another mountain range. We arrived at a place I vaguely remember
getting to. I was left standing by a cot in a far off corner of a room with my
sister in my arms. She cried again and again. When she cried, she often cried
from hunger. I placed her on the cot and changed her diaper for the first time
in what seemed like hours since the taxi ride. I patiently took out a cloth
diaper and gently pinned a new and secure one to her bottom. Another woman of
authority had come in with a bottle and handed it to me and I fed it to my
sister.
I brought my sister to my shoulder and looked around at a
room full of only women and children. The rows of cots held a body in each one.
It was a refugee camp for lost humans. This is one of the earliest paper
records we have on hand. We spent a week in this camp before being placed in an
orphanage for four long years. I will remember this week of my sister’s life
more than any other week because it was a week that we spent each and every day
together. I intimately got to know her smell, her skin and her breath of life.
I know when my sister has entered any room in the world because I know her
smell as intimately as I have never known another.
In that week, I was left alone and in charge of my
sister. I changed her, fed her and slept neatly tucked next to her on that cot.
I went to a water hole and washed her diapers out, set them to dry and returned
to her side each and every possible minute. Otherwise, I’d carry her outside
and place her on the ground next to me while I washed. I understood at six
years of age that nothing and I meant nothing should have ever happen to her
tiny little life and I made damn sure of it. Even at six I was already in
fighting mode. I understood the very delicacies of life and the fragility that
came with it.
There was one grown adult woman there with her three
small children. She stared at me fiercely and any chance she had she yelled at
me. I did not know this strange woman and I did not trust her with my life even
though she was a mother herself. She was a complete stranger to me. It was the
first time I’d ever seen a black human in my life, also. I could not look away,
either. I didn’t have to I was a tiny little human of six myself.
In this refugee camp, there, it was the first place I
ever saw from the barred windows a masquerade.
I mean to explain, a progression of pale ghostly
porcelain ladies being carried on grown men’s shoulders.
Religious statues.
A porcelain white faced mother with a child in her arms.
I was scared stiff. I didn’t move a muscle. I couldn’t figure out what anybody
else was doing and why. People did a funny gesture in front of their faces and
chests. I thought they were all crazy. Some people bled from their knees while
they walked on them on this pilgrimage. Humans wailed and chanted in public and
I thought, “They’re all a little bit crazy.”
I was scared to the marrow of my bone and I knew
immediately that I was not like them but that I might have to become like them
in order to survive. The thought ran like a wild stallion through my body and I
thought I might puke. They made me nervous very nervous and I knew in that
moment looking out to a dirt street and a jungle backdrop that nothing would
ever be the same again. My heart sank and I was too stubborn to let go of my
past with kind Gods, women and other children I had known before that moment at
that window. I refused to grow up and become like every insane praying adult
near me in those years. I knew secretes that they did not know. Secretes of the
human condition. Things of the human spirit, subtleties in the fragility of
human development and consideration for all living organisms.
I understood the wonders of the world in my tiny little
fist as I stood by that window like a little monkey staring out at all of the
wailing and chanting adults with their dancing candles as they climbed the
mountain top and got lost in a cloud-fog. I knew that the world would be a
difficult place. I knew I’d meet many lonely people on their quest to
redemption and forgiveness. I also understood that people were not their own –
not capable of thinking for themselves. People were not true to themselves and
that was something that I’d have to run and run like an Indian each and every
time no matter how enticing they may become.
I went back to the cot. Held my sister tightly to my
chest and silently-violently cried internally for her future. I prayed to the
Gods that night to let her live. I prayed to the Gods to let her see a new
life. I prayed to the Gods that even if they took me to let her live. I cried
in a way that only happens in a lifetime when all culture has seized to exit
and survival depends on others way of life, religion and authority. I was
terrified and I had cause to be because I knew that nothing and I meant nothing
would ever be the same again and a lost culture would only be found if she had
the will to look to herself to find it.
I knew all of these things at six years old and now I
know more.
I’m grateful that my sister is alive to this day.
I’m grateful…
Today is my sister’s birthday and I celebrate this day
with more excitement than I do my own birthday scratched out on some piece of
paper. I’ve done much research in Costa Rica about our birth parents and such.
It’s taken me a decade but it’s been worth the discovery. We have three older
brothers in El Salvador and one younger brother in Costa Rica. Another story
for another time.
It’s going on seven in the morning and I have many
responsibilities yet to fulfill today.
May you be happy in your quest of today.
With Love,
Gabriela
October 27, 2010
“Life's too short for
chess.” - Henry James Byron, Our Boys, 1874
My acquaintance of three winters woke up in a strange
place.
My entire body and face reassured her not to be afraid or
worried.
I secured her safety by having her trust me to take her
into foreign land.
She had no choice but to accept that’s how it was going
to be early that morning because I had-had enough of her lack of consideration
for anybody else but herself. I’d been trying to get her to come with me for
over a year, but she kept making lame excuses and falling asleep in the car
every time I’d make even the slightest show of heading South on the freeway to
meet some of mis amigos. I’ve met her people many times, or so I thought I had.
I’ve met people that called themselves her people only to discover later that
they weren’t even remotely her people. She calls me her people, but I never
feel like that’s a truth because she says that about acquaintances outside of
clubs and leaves with strangers while I’ve been left to babysit her friend’s
friend from Iowa out on a curb on a sidewalk along with a young woman without
shoes.
I carry gear around with me so I don’t understand a woman
in a tiny little dress and without shoes in the middle of any downtown
metropolis. It’s kind of funny when I think about it but a little boring, too.
I’ve decided not to drive - together, anymore, because
I’m an adult. Period. I like to take off when things get dicey and head out
wherever I’d like to. I like to head out and find safety, culture and humanity.
I like to be surrounded by a peaceful and considerate community, although this
is very rare and difficult for some communities to accomplish. I hate getting
stuck babysitting adults and chauffeuring them around. I want to learn, grow,
adventure, and have conversation not have to take care of her people – (if
they’re even her people.)
There is really no problem when I’m alone and on a
skateboard because I’m a smart adult; I can get in and out of any situation,
neighborhood and environment. It’s easier when I don’t drive or when people
have to walk five miles to get to my car. Nobody likes to do that - I like to
skateboard back weaving in and out of a crowd but never having to stop and get
entirely consumed by a night culture that thrives on the streets.
On that nice-clear fall night, I played one nice and slow
game of billiards by myself and headed out with a vengeance back to the city
and South bound but the time I got back to the city I’d cooled off and was yet
once again level headed and kind. It took me an hour to get out of that trapped
maze of a suburb. I don’t mind the suburbs it’s just that everything closes at
twelve midnight and trying to get directions is like finding a needle in a hay
stack – it makes life very difficult out in a suburb.
I have developed the gift of meeting people and
connecting with them but I was tired on that night and not in the mood to meet
people who barely had the finesse so much as to introduce themselves when
supposedly they were in business. I thought, “Oh, boy, you really need to go
back to business school.” Her co-workers had stood around stupidly staring at
the floor and at me, back to the floor and back at me again. I didn’t move a
muscle. It was painful to watch this awkward dance.
That night, I’d had it. I was annoyed beyond my human
capacity.
She left me in some God forsaken place and that wasn’t my
point of frustration because I’m the one who’s always taking off, anyway – so I
can’t complain about that specific point.
My point of frustration was that I realized that she was
a poor friend and I was annoyed that I was beginning to like her less and less by
the minute. My people are independent but also my people don’t put each other
in uncompromising situations because that’s the beauty of consideration.
My cell phone was about to die, the GPS system died. I
drove myself out of that God-forsaken suburb by default. It took me an hour to
find my way home. I found 494N to 94something to 694East through Brookline
Center and back into the heart of Minneapolis. I was so goddamn furious I did
spit. I drove all the way back, parked and went in rolled up my sleeves at
around two in the morning and began to wash dishes. I was completely alone in
the entire facility. I closed the garage door behind me, made some coffee and
went to work.
I didn’t go home because I was too mad to bring it home,
plus my friend was stuck out in the suburbs. I figured I was so mad that I’d
wait to let it blow over and I’d check my messages around four in the morning
to see where she was at. I had turned off my phone after leaving the bowling
alley to conserve whatever little bit of battery life I had left.
So funny how quickly things happen, turn and change; I’d
turned to ask the bartender a question, when I turned to look back my friend
and her business people from work were all walking out the door and gone. That
only happens in Junior High not amongst adults. I knew immediately that I never
wanted anything to do with any of them and I had to reconsider my bad
friendship for the last three years.
I walked around a bowling alley and stared at the people
with their funny little shoes on; found an arcade and did a walk-through of all
of their funny little games with their lights and designs. The only game I
remotely cared to play was the one with the sliding table and the puck that
goes back and forth but to my surprise not a single young person was in the
arcade and all those games went on blinking and calling out to anyone to play
them. I felt sorry for them stuck in some corner and not a single soul to play
them. They looked more like sad pathetic stuffed bears than game machines.
I brought her back to my people around 6:00 A.M that
morning after driving back to the goddamn suburbs, dishing out a lecture and
challenging her. “I could’ve gotten a ride back to the city.” She said to me
and I challenged her “Then, why didn’t you?” I asked. Complete silence between
us for the rest of the ride back into Minneapolis. When we arrived she fell
asleep on a strange couch (to her) while I continued to volunteer to wash
dishes, break down cardboard boxes and sweep the kitchen floor.
I like to go there before Friday at noon, because I know
that classes come in to study organic farming, organic cooking and anything
organic with a solution. So, I’ve taken a personal interest in preparing the
kitchen and cleaning up after the staff so that the youngsters can have a space
in which they can truly work and throw themselves into whatever it is that they
are learning. It took me four hours to clean the kitchen that night and morning
and it was worth every second of my time. The most valuable object is my time.
Not to say that I see it as an object but I do have a sense of how much and how
little of it I have depending on what projects I’m working on.
The expression on her face was that of what I’d imagined
the “Alice in Wonderland” books to convey.
I imagined as a girl that Alice had scraped her knees
falling through the rabbit hole, torn her lovely Victorian dress and messed up
her hair-do. I worried about Alice and her clumsiness. I didn’t like, that in
order for her to learn wisdom, knowledge and adult insight into a world that
she had fallen into, that she had to suffer for the knowledge, but how true to
life.
I didn’t like it one bit.
Like, I said it bothered me, but what did intrigue me was
while sitting on a city bus to and from school, being driven by my dad on cold
winter mornings, or changing for gym and looking out any window of any
classroom; I loved thinking about the expression on Alice’s face as she came to
and realized that she was no longer wandering about in a Victorian garden.
I could just see it in my mind’s eye.
I could imagine that element of surprise and her entire
reality being just that much more warped but her senses sharp and her inner
animal ready for anything, most importantly survival. Oh, I never understood
anything that was happening to Alice but I got stuck in that one moment in-time
in the story. In that moment when she comes to and realizes that there is
nothing to do but to go forward with her adventure and at that point it was her
choice to be pleasant and polite or to have a rotten time.
This was my friend on that morning. Her hair was
disheveled, she had bad breath, sleep around her eyes and her clothes were
wrinkled. She woke up and I lead her by way of the kitchen and through the
garage door. We went into my friend’s broken down beat up old truck. We sat in
it as the eight o’clock morning sunlight made an appearance.
On the way to the truck she stopped and made a face I had
never seen before on her. She wore a look of true surprise. What she saw were giant
puppets. Her view in front of her held a lot of puppets and all of the paints,
tools and wire to make them. The puppets were all over the place, all over the
grounds outside and by the side garden. She stared in full and complete
amazement.
I’m sure the look on my face said, “I told you so.”
In that moment she understood that she had fallen into
the rabbit hole and because of that reaction I’ve decided to continue on with
this friendship, even though it often hangs by a thread.
Sincerely,
Gabriela
October 26, 2010
“It's not that I'm so smart, it's just that I
stay with problems longer.”
- Albert Einstein
We
watched “Knowing” and I was scared silly for two hours.
Muy
intencico – (not exactly real Spanish, but we say it, anyway).
Just
came in from the cold and wind.
Wow,
is it howling out there or what?
Fierce
and amazing!
Today,
in the mail I received a postcard from an old friend of twenty-three years and
my heart melted at her friendship. Tonight, I got myself locked out of the
house and walked the two miles to the hubby’s work place. I was stopped by
three strange men who all approached me and needed something from me.
The
first stranger put his arms around me while crossing the cross walk towards the
Wedge Co-op and told me his name was “Flaco”. I said, “Flaco, I’m a stranger
and you need to keep your hands to yourself.” I looked him straight in the eye
and smiled. “I want to tell you something.” He said. “What, what is it that you
want to tell me.” I stood my ground, turned my entire body towards him and
faced him. I looked up at him and in the eye. He mumbled something. He was
six-three with white hair and black skin.
“I
want to tell you…” he stopped to check out the expression on my face. I waited
without taking my eyes away from him for one moment. “I want to tell you that I
know nada.” I didn’t skip a beat, “Yo te quiero decirte que Yo no se nada
tambien.” He looked me deeper in the eye. “I want to tell you that I know
nothing, also.” I translated for him. He stared at me I stare back with the
same intensity. “I just want to tell you…” He trailed off. “What, what’s so
important that you need to say to me and why did you touch me, again?” He takes
his hand away from my elbow. “No, no Flaco. Keep your hands to your body. Have
a nice night. I have responsibilities elsewhere.” He smiled a shy and
embarrassed smile. I walked away calmly without making a fuss.
I
continued to walk another mile. The second man asked me for a light while I
stood waiting for a light to change. The third man asked me for the time and I
told him there was a clock less than fifty feet away from him. “I know,” He
said. “But the Christmas tree is in the way.” I shrugged my shoulders, walked
to the clock, read it and turned my back to the man. I continued to walk through
downtown Minneapolis and turned the corner where the wind got fierce and I knew
my way like it was the back of my hand.
I
tucked into a porch across the street where my hubby works on the thirty-sixth floor
and stayed out of the wind for half an hour. The building was already locked by
the time I had arrived there. The hubby tells me I could have gotten in by way
of the skyway but the idea did not occur to me so I watched a glorious night
develop into a haze of city lights and bellowing leaves. It was amazing. We
took a quiet bus ride home and celebrated being home with pizza, cider and
local Imported Baklava that I had walked to get earlier in the afternoon. The
wind was so fierce that my umbrella refused to stay open. My scarf danced all
over my face and my hair wouldn’t stay put inside my rubber band. It was an
adventure to walk to coffee this afternoon. I’m getting ready for the winter
months ahead and I’m excited to be so close to home on windy days like today.
Work
is getting done and we’re so excited for what is yet to unfold in the spring.
We
do what we do because we believe in it.
I
hope you’re having an amazing night.
We
are so blessed to be out of the elements and inside a sanctuary of shelter in
our lovely home.
Cheers.
Gabriela
October 25, 2010
"If they try to rush me, I
always say, 'I've only got one other speed and it's slower." — Glenn
Ford
"I'm
sorry...I wasn't paying attention to what I was thinking" - Shelley Curtiss
"Sometimes
a person with ADD feels as if their mind is moving as fast as a speeding
train." - Frank Coppola
"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away." — Henry David Thoreau
Last
week seems like a year ago.
Yesterday,
I spent the entire day in bed.
I
slept and slept some more.
The
hubby and I decided it was time for a pajama day.
Oh,
how I yearn for pajama days, sometimes.
My
bones felt aged and my skin felt stretched to the limit by experiences of last
week.
There
are times in our lives in which, time, just seems to fly by and no matter how
much we try to slow it down;
Well,
life has a way of moving forward whether we’re prepared for it or not.
There
are many reasons why I hate going without sleep.
One,
I had severe insomnia for fifteen years in my youth.
I’d
spent time at sleep clinics, with nutrition experts and physicians.
As
far as they could gather there was nothing wrong with me.
I
didn’t think there was anything wrong with me either.
Two,
when I’m sleep deprived, the whole world turns into a liquid substance.
I
mean to imply, that I feel as though I’m walking on the ocean floor.
Everything
seems to have a delayed reaction, somehow.
Even
my brain becomes a delayed reaction.
Three,
I can make small and insignificant yet rather significantly difficult judgments
– sometimes with severe outcomes, but very rarely – My closest friends of
twenty-three years know that it’s simply stupidity at that point.
Four,
I think - three times as slow on my feet then I normally do (when on my feet).
Five,
I don’t take into consideration the many consequences because I can’t think
that far ahead so I go quiet and still.
Seven,
it’s simply plain annoying to process anything of value at such a slow rate of
mental navigation.
Eight,
I have to write everything down or I will forget it. I mean EVERYTHING!
Nine,
I get nervous and start dropping objects all over the floor and my clothes feel
uncomfortable.
(It’s
a different type of clumsiness than nervousness, alone. Nervousness and sleep
deprivation – holy, I need to just gather my things and go home. That’s what I
did on Friday because I hit a mental pothole and I knew that it was time to be
somewhere safe rather than in the company of acquaintances.)
My
favorite aspects of being alert and awake with more than sufficient sleep are
the following;
One,
I feel nice. I mean to imply: I know how I feel about people, places and things
with strong boundaries.
Two,
my skin and bones don’t hurt.
Three,
I process my thoughts at the speed of light.
Four,
I can smell really well.
Five,
I make great judgments – in other words I don’t ask stupid questions or take
uncalculated risks.
Six,
I will take my time because I know the aspects of life that require time and
study.
Seven,
I can see clearly through people’s motives.
Eight,
I don’t get pressured into other people’s worlds.
Nine,
I take leave, quickly. I don’t feel that I have to stick around and entertain
anybody nor do I need to be entertained either. I’ll go find a quiet place to
sit and just relax. I like that the best.
I’m
not an expert, a critic, a judge and much less any type of medical advisor.
I’m
a human whose lived with the outcome of what is commonly known in the West as
A.D.H.D.
Although
and aside from the A.D.H.D. which creates a grandiose amount of energy
throughout by body in one day - it’s not so much a physical energy as it is a
mental one. I can go for sixteen hours a day but I go at turtle pace because
that’s the only real great way to conserve my energy for longer lengths of time
– so that my body doesn’t deteriorate any faster than it needs to. I don’t want
to add too many unnecessary miles to it if I don’t have to. I’m not a child
bouncing off the walls and anyway most little girls with A.D.H.D. don’t tend to
bounce off walls - that’s little boys and if you give them sugar it will calm
them down but not just any sugar – unprocessed sugars are the best – raw sugar
cane comes to mind. Most little girls that I’ve met with A.D.H.D. are extremely
quiet and live in a fast and furious world of their deepest inner thoughts.
Believe
it or not these folks at times are some of the most obedient humans I’ve encountered
but they have to understand the reasons as to why it’s good to be obedient
otherwise, watch out. You will be challenged to the core even by a five year
old. A.D.H.D. folks tend to need to understand the reasons as to why things are
as they are and their place in it otherwise they don’t belong and by the time
it’s too late then they really don’t want anything to do with you.
Otherwise,
things are arbitrary and stupid and that is reason for getting mad and I have
to agree. I don’t want to do anything without a cause or reason. I don’t.
Otherwise, it’s plain stupid to me and I get bored with the arbitrary nature of
nothingness because it’s a waste of my precious time. Ask, just about any
A.D.H.D. human what is on their top five list of importance and most likely;
Time, is the most valuable component to their human element. They need a lot of
it to transition in and out of practices. Nothing of value is ever rushed
because well, anything of significance can be discovered at anytime but the
development of a thought can take years to uncover. That’s where the hyper
nature plays a major role; Development and discovery take time and in order to
learn anything of value, one, does become overly consumed with the study of
anything – that’s why little girls with A.D.H.D. are so terribly quiet – not nice, but quiet and removed completely
from a world that doesn’t have much significance. Understand?
All
of the A.D.H.D. folks I have ever met have been some of the most exceptional
dreamers and I will always hold a tender place in my heart for them for that
reason alone. Cheers!
Plus,
by the time any A.D.H.D. child reaches my age of thirty-three by then they have
begun to learn one of the most essential aspects of themselves; never forget to
breathe and to give yourself the time to do so. When you stop breathing then
you die because the impulsive nature of any mental block will take over the
calmness and it will wreak havoc on the A.D.H.D. mind.
We
get impulsive when things are confusing and we just want an end to a means.
Whatever it is that is annoying and bothersome – we just want it gone so we
rush through things to get to the end and never have to see it again because
truly it brought more effort and pain than we like to realize and admit even
though we know full well that we were being pushed into making quick decisions
even though we don’t want to make quick decisions.
Time
is required in any communication, learning process and information gathering.
By the time, you’re my age you realize that the world is not equipped to handle
thinkers and workers like myself, you realize there is only one alternative and
that is why I work for myself because what else is there when I need so much
time to consider everything from every angle? It’s not that I’m not smart it’s
that I’m part of a society that requires quick answers instead of well
developed ones; And I can’t compete with that.
I
wonder, sometimes if by the end of my life there will be some medicinal help in
which I won’t walk around like a zombie and my guts won’t feel like puking
everything up every five minutes – I hate A.D.H.D. capsules. A.D.H.D. is real
like dyslexia is but I see it very rarely amongst people and children. Studies
show that A.D.H.D is everywhere in the school systems but the subtlety in
people’s behavior and movements very rarely indicates to me that they do have
it. I understand that A.D.H.D. has become the prognoses for unruly children and
aggressive adults, but that’s not A.D.H.D. that’s just a lame excuse for
parents who don’t discipline children and spoilt adults who can’t get their way
with others.
I’ve
come across others who have been clinically diagnosed with A.D.H.D. and whom
also attended sleep clinics, they were the most emotionally connected and
simply kindest individuals I’d ever encountered and not to mention some of the
most creative and intellectually forward thinking individuals. They left me
breathless and in deep thoughts long afterwards because some of them had enough
ability to think through cancer research and possible cures, complex music
writing, the engineering in the layout of American streets, buildings and
green-car manufacturing (This was fifteen years ago now) – anything that dealt
with a process they had gone through with a fine tooth comb and great lengths to
make adjustments. They had admitted to me that it had taken them at least a
decade of their youths to arrive at many of their creative and intellectual
conclusions.
They
needed time, money and space to make it all happen. I understood this from a
young age. I understood it all, too, well. That, thought used to be painful to
me because even though we live in a wealthy nation, well, the most essential
things are not always essential because the culture can’t seem to see the
importance in slowing down.
I
was eighteen by the end of sleep clinic diagnoses and instead of sleeping I’d
spent those entire nights talking to other A.D.H.D. victims of sleep
deprivation. By the time we were eighteen we gathered our belongings and hit
the nearest all night café and spoke late into the night about engineering and
constructing better ways for humans to interact with machines, illnesses and
the educational structure at large.
I
was fascinated. I’d felt stupid at that time because I was still innocently
reading Jane Austin while they had moved into other fields of study with what
seemed like great importance in space and science engineering development. They
were geniuses not because they were smart but because they could consider every
outcome, problem and success before ever creating anything.
We
were not special by any stretch of the imagination but we were the essence of
imagination itself on those long glorious nights sitting around a table with
pie, cake, cookies and decaf coffee as well as journals everywhere with funny
little doodles and notes. I was in my glory in those late teenage days. If only
I could live inside such a magnificent structure of thinkers. A place where
anything can be proposed and someone else will run with the ideas to implement
something smarter than the original thought. Amazing. Amazing!
I
got a lot of sleep.
I’m
ready to go.
Wishing
you an amazing week ahead. May you be understood as you work at your pace and
your nature.
May
you come across many discoveries internal and external.
The
hubby is home for the day today and I am so very grateful.
He’s
still in bed and I love listening to his breathing; the rise and fall of his
chest - one room over.
I
can truly understand that more than anything else in the world.
Much
respect.
Gabriela
October 22, 2010
“Don't
write so that you can be understood, write so that you can't be misunderstood.” - William Howard Taft
It
was a long two days.
I walked around the corner to my friend’s workshop
and I pulled to the side, I climbed into my friend’s old beat up truck and
pulled out my cell phone and journal. I send a text to a friend, “I’m so sorry.
Bad _____ judgement (Yes, I misspelled it on the text). I’m sleep deprived. It
will never happen again between us. Thank you. I’m so embarrassed... Ciao.” I
could only hope that my friend understood that I can sometimes be human and
stupid. I’m grateful. My actions will speak louder than my words between us in
friendship. I will always directly and only ask my own questions and none other
because I am spiritually connected to mis amigos.
My other friend asked; “So how do I win the
game?” I stopped long enough to let her question hang in the air. “It’s been
understood to me that… ‘The best way to win the game is not to play at all.’”
Her face opened up and she said, “I’ve never heard it put that way.” I smiled.
I’m too shy to tell her that I saw it in a movie once when I was twelve. I
don’t tell her this because I couldn’t think of the title of the film. We
hugged earnestly. She left and I watched her go. I got deeply sentimental about
everything that had happened to us in the less than 24 hours. I trusted her
completely in that moment for the first time since our first winter together
three winters ago.
I can admit many things because spiritually,
intellectually as a grown adult I’ve learned through one film, a father, many
teachers and masters that wisdom is not about intelligence or taking a
privilege for granted but rather using wisdom as a tool to ask questions that
pertain to others without ever crossing some serious boundaries instilled for
self-preservation for the good of all.
I’m wishing you adventure, wisdom,
fulfillment and overall relaxation in the weekend ahead.
Over the last four years, slowly I’ve been
getting into baseball and football, because my husband’s family (but not my
hubby) is into the games and they are quite human about it and wonderful at
explaining what on earth is happening in those two games. I can really get into
it with alternative ideals about the world. It’s fun to just relax and chill
with people. It’s not so rare and it happens amongst all clans, villages,
peoples, and environments. People do know how to kick back and relax in their
own ways. Nice. “Minnesota Nice” as I’ve heard it said with a real sentiment.
I’ve got to get caught up.
The last time I watched more than a week ago
Texas was playing the New York Yankees in baseball.
Who knows where the build up to the World
Series is at?
I heard people talk about: Some NFL Player in
his 40’s traded to the Minnesota Vikings and something about his personal life
being revealed - an affair and that was a reason as to why he was getting much
publicity also maybe another reason as to why the opposing athletes were brutal
and trying to injure this older athlete to get him to retire and out of the
game completely. This is what I caught wind of travelling around the city and
in rural Minnesota.
Wow, what drama! Better than a Spanish
Tele-novella, which I laugh wholeheartedly at because they are so absurd and
over the top. I’m always for the underdog. Now, I’m intrigued to get caught up
and read a newspaper. It’s been ages since I’ve picked up the Boston Globe, The
New York Times or the Tico Times. Oh, wow. Time passes quickly.
I’m all for the pumpkin carving.
Just finished watching the Halloween episode
of the Addam’s Family.
Hilarious.
Ciao.
Gabriela
October 21, 2010
‘’I always like to look on the optimistic side of life,
but I am realistic enough to know that life is a complex matter.’’
- Walt Disney
Good night…
Gabriela
October 20, 2010
On the couch with the hubby eating
organic-Fair Trade Chocolate and watching “The Avengers” (The one with Iron
Man, Thor, Hulk, Wasp and Captain America). I’m sold on their characters. I’m
in awe of the animation.
I just made hot chocolate milk for the first
time this season.
Wishing you an amazing cozy night with your
loved ones.
Amazing!
Gabriela
October 19, 2010
"One thing is sure. We have to do something.
We have to do the best we know how at the moment. If it doesn't turn
out right, we can modify it as we go along." – Franklin D. Roosevelt
Much of my work as a filmmaker has nothing to
do with a camera.
I spent ten days amongst a Finn community of
women, many of them in their early to mid eighties. I was not only touched by
their kindness but also honored to be invited to coffee in many of their lovely
homes. Many spoke intelligently about the political and economical affairs of
the country. Their ideas, ideals and notions about what is happening to America
were not only refreshing but also real and very straight forward common sense
intelligence.
These women spoke to me openly, honestly and
directly in the way that many of my generational peers are not able to do so.
Perhaps, because we have lost the art of conversation or perhaps because we
don’t make the time or perhaps we have become so self-centered and selfish that
nothing or no one are as important as our egos so we can’t even return so much
as a simple phone call to our peers.
Speaking with these women was something of
high art combined with grace, good manners and genuine overall respect. I felt
that I had come home all over again to something I understood all too well. I’d
grown up with a one-hundred percent Finn grandfather and he, too, had many of
these values instilled in him along with the twisted fate of marrying a Jew for
a wife in that decade.
“It’s an honor to be invited to somebody’s
home.”She had said to me as we drove out of a farmhouse and back to her own
farm. “Why do you suppose people don’t go over to other people’s homes anymore,
if it’s such an honor?” She looked out of the passenger seat window and thought
for a moment. Her white hair was so beautiful and bright against the darkness
of the night sky.
“Oh, I suppose because everyone is just so
busy. It’s still a great honor to be invited anyway. People just don’t want to
make the time, I suppose.” She continued to look out the window at the
blackness that was the night.
“I’ve struggled with this.” I tell her and
drive through some of the darkest roads I’ve been on since travelling through
Central America. I put on the high beams. “In Central America, when people invite
you over no one ever hesitates because the honor is so great and overwhelming
to have others share resources where there’s almost none in many villages and
small barrios.” I feel shy sharing this much information with her. “Well, then
the Finns have much in common with the Central Americans.” We laugh out loud
after a short moment we both fall deeply silent and look ahead at the road and
think at how time and culture has changed for both of us but for many different
reasons.
I turn left and drive the six blocks through
the middle of town.
My silence and hers had a little bit of
melancholy mixed with fullness of sweet raspberry pie.
Earlier in the night, (in her longtime
friend’s kitchen) they spoke of the war and they shared with me WWII memorabilia.
They showed me the postcards sent back and forth between a husband and this
amazing raspberry pie maker.
Her husband had passed away many years ago
yet she spoke of him as though he were sitting in the next room over. She
brought out a silver bracelet that she had-it made for her husband during the
war years. Written on it was his full name and infantry number in case he went
missing in action or could not be identified during the war. I stopped
swallowing and held my breath. I could not imagine what these women had lived
through, felt and endured in those years of World War.
I held my emotions back because it would not
have been appropriate for me to have been overly emotional in that kitchen but
I sensed the importance of their stories and their ability to speak so openly
about that time in our country’s history.
I knew in that moment that I would never ask
them to share it on camera.
I knew that it would not be appropriate.
There are so many films that I will never make because the camera will never do
the stories any justice. Somehow it would seem to cheapen the emotions so
highly valued and regarded amongst these beautiful Finn women.
There are many films that I have chosen not
to make because I know how raw I would feel to be put in that type of
situation. I stay away from these types of films because I know better because
I was brought up better; because I know the value of life and death.
There are many stories that will not be
filmed by me and I will take them with me to the grave. I think that to
construct this type of film it would take a type of filmmaker to tell it and it
won’t be me. I care too much about what happens to these women and their
personal life stories.
I rather make films about processes, tools,
learning, and teaching rather than raw emotions because I’m not a
sensationalist.
I’m deeply emotional but I work logically.
I’m grateful.
I was honored and respected by an entire
community of Northern Minnesota Finns as I have by many other cultures. I have
been lucky and given the power of communication by something greater than
myself.
They know what I do for a living. I don’t
make any pretense about it.
I’m a filmmaker but I never travel with a
camera when I speak to people.
I never travel with pen and paper when I speak
to people.
I travel with my eyes open, my cell phone
off, my skin open to new ideas and my heart quietly on my sleeve.
I don’t shake their hands unless they
approach me first because I’m not a politician and I cannot make promises to
solve their problems but I can feel deeply and I can honor them deeply when I’m
in their presence.
As any other animal can sense they knew that
I wanted nothing from them except their company and smiles.
They knew that just sitting down for coffee
meant the whole world to me.
They knew as they know now, that I have left
their community, that I left them in high regards for their well being. They
know that I fell in love with them.
They knew that I was not there to sell them
anything and I never once spoke about my films unless asked because I’m not a
door sales person. I’m human like them and I, too, have high values and old
fashion ideals about the world even if my peers think them stupid.
I only travel with my heart quietly on my
sleeve and they knew that they were not monkeys in a cage for me to film. They
knew that I was not there to be glamorous and to pretend to be a big time
Hollywood producer. They knew that I had turned off my cell phone for the ten
days duration and that I was present and alert by their side.
They are people that I respect and cherish.
I shall never forget the last ten days of my
life.
Never shall I forget the stories of love,
death and more life told by these women to me – to me.
That was their greatest gift to me for being
so respectful and taking the time to be in their cherished company.
I carry around many thousands of stories told
to me over the years.
I carry them around in little glass cases and
I understand their fragility and grace.
Never once have I thought to make these stories
into films because any respectable artist of any considerable experience knows
that it’s not what you say but what you don’t say that means the most.
I carry these stories around in my heart and
I hold them close to my breast because I am honored as I always have been to be
invited to anybody’s home. It’s truly an honor and almost a lost art in
America.
I have many responsibilities to fulfill still
yet today.
With much grace, love and respect for those
who have come before us.
Gabriela
October 18, 2010
"Woman
are like modern paintings. You can't enjoy them, if you try to understand
them." - Freddie Mercury
It’s so lovely to be back home with the
"hubby".
We’re sitting on the couch watching “The
Queen Story”.
It’s extraordinary.
Wishing you an amazing work week ahead.
Gabriela
October 15, 2010
Aerodynamically,
the bumble bee shouldn't be able to fly, but the bumble bee doesn't know it so
it goes on flying anyway. - Mary Kay Ash
October 14, 2010
“Friendship
is a strong and habitual inclination in two persons to promote the good and
happiness of one another.”
- Eustace Budgell
October 13, 2010
“I
fancy that no good ideas upon that campaign will be mentioned at any time that
did not receive their share of consideration by General Lee.” - James
Longstreet
October 12, 2010
“Beauty:
the adjustment of all parts proportionately so that one cannot add or subtract
or change without impairing the harmony of the whole.” - Leon
Battista Alberti
October 11, 2010
“I am imagination. I
can see what the eyes cannot see. I can hear what the ears cannot hear. I can
feel what the heart cannot feel.” - Peter Nivio Zarlenga
October 8, 2010
“A
faith is a necessity to a man. Woe to him who believes in nothing.” – Victor Hugo
October 7, 2010
“If
a pitcher sees you fiddling with the bat, he'll stall until your arms are tired
before you even get a chance to hit.”
– Paul Waner
October 6, 2010
“Great
art picks up where nature ends.” –Marc
Changall
Wishing you an amazing week; Still – yet, to
appear.
The light is changing into a magnificent
golden-yellow.
I look to the birds for their migratory
patterns or what little I know of it.
I look to nature to find the silent answers -
that cannot, always, be found in humanity.
Some organisms are hibernating while others
freeze into a state of dormancy.
May you be productive, disciplined and
developmental in all of your artistic and intellectual endeavors.
May you make the time to chill and be
tranquillo, as well…I’m grateful.
Cheers.
Ciao.
Gabriela
October 5th, 2010
“I always prefer to
believe the best of everybody, it saves so much trouble.” - Rudyard Kipling