Monthly Archives: July 2020

So here we are, in the midst of both a pandemic and (long time coming) ongoing racial tension. And our commander in chief tweets this shit out today:

It boggles the mind.

I would love to financially solvent, and healthy too. Not such a burden on society.

Ironic, as I work hard at both (trying to stay healthy and afloat). But, fate has dealt me other cards. I’m super happy to still be in the game.

And–importantly–not the least bit ashamed. Sure, I made some choices that have impacted my ability to amass income. I spent most of my twenties as a single mother, waitressing in smoke filled restaurants. This afforded me as much waking time as possible with my children but the second hand smoke may well have contributed to the fact that I have lung cancer.

As I barely made enough money to get by, I am intimately acquainted with the waiting rooms in welfare offices. Hard chairs, no magazines, a lot of lost and beaten looking people. I was one of them.

While married, I enjoyed a brief period of affluence. It was lovely to not be stressed about money, but not lovely enough to keep me in a relationship that wasn’t working.

My alimony ended in December so I am currently without a regular income. That means I qualify for MASSHealth (thank god), and for the first time in years, I did not max out my deductible in January.

However, my debt is, well, astounding. Ten years of clinical trial participation and I am alive but poorer–far poorer–for it.

As an optimist, I imagine that this is a temporary situation. I will make some art and write my book and, if I keep pushing hard enough, perhaps I can convince industry that clinical trial ‘volunteers’ who are not healthy are every bit as deserving of compensation as those who are.

There is no romance to disease or poverty either one. But there should also be no shame.

And as for that Suburban Lifestyle Dream? Shite. What a bloody nightmare.

My friend Ann sent me a message this morning: ‘In music there is a term “tempo rubato’ which in the 20th century is often translated as robbed or stolen time. You are a “time robber” in the best sense of the words.’

I responded with ‘I live that’, which was a typo as live was meant to be love. However love and live are separated by an o and an i. Two little vowels. Not such a world of difference.

I also enjoy the fact that Alice (Dr. Alice Shaw, my goddess/oncologist) is so very close to alive. As the c and the v hang out next to each other on the keyboard, I often transpose one for the other.

And I must say, it makes perfect sense to me.


xo

I homeschooled each of my kids for a year. Well, except for August, who was expelled halfway through (family joke but also true).

My version of homeschooling was closer to unschooling. I had a blast and for the most part so did my kids. And, best of all, it did not put them at a disadvantage academically.

Were my kids yet young, there is no way in hell they’d be returning to a classroom this fall.

I understand this is complicated. Parents need to work and teachers don’t want to be out of a job either. However, bottom line, I just don’t feel it’s safe.

There is a potential solution. Education has never been equal or even adequate for many. Had I felt that it was, I would not have homeschooled nor would I have sent my youngest to an exceptional boarding school.

What if time and energy went into developing a universal curriculum? And then identifying those who are going to need additional support (whether it is supervision/childcare or access to technology). Teachers would keep their jobs but the way in which they engage with their pupils would necessarily change.

It would be an experiment of sort but just as medicine is having to adapt to the pandemic, I believe education can as well. My own experience would suggest that worst case scenario, less harm is going to be done (educationally speaking) than one might imagine.

In fact, there is the opportunity to better identify and address disparities, while also keeping our children safe. And it likely would not be that difficult to assemble a group of volunteers to work with teachers to meet children’s needs.

There is the very real possibility of reinventing education—not a bad thing. A school itself is secondary in this equation. The focus should be on best (safe) practices and finding ways to keep children interested and engaged. This is a brave new world and helping our youth adjust to this stark reality might just be the best lesson of all.

I am an ADD addled procrastinator. Self diagnosed (the first part) because they didn’t throw that stuff around when I was a kid. However, I found my first two ‘report cards’ from preschool the other day, and they both mention what a difficult time I had paying attention.

Redemption. Of a sort. The problem is documented but it’s still a problem. Self directed activities are an ongoing challenge for me and yet, in a way, the only environment in which I can achieve.

I had to be an artist. Truly–I have always been convinced that I was not fit for most other avocations. But I still have to drag my ass to the studio most days.

Why? What for? And when does it end?

Never, me thinks. This die is cast. The best I can hope for is to either come up with strategies or to ride roughshod over myself. Usually I settle on a mix of the two.

And then there are days like this one. I slept ten plus hours but still woke up tired. I had a two hour nap this morning and then, after lunch, the storms rolled in. Kumo jumped in my lap (he loathes the thunder) and I thought perhaps another lie down was called for.

I am not one of those dog owners who sleeps with their pet and my dog respects this preference. However, Kumo knows that if there is a lightning storm I shall bend the rules. I turned on the fan and the two of us crawled in bed, me spooning the little white dog with the wildly beating heart.

Nothing tangible was accomplished but I reveled in the moment. This too—the in between—is living.

xo