On Senior Moments

This morning, I had another senior moment.  Or perhaps it was just a Jaki Jean moment.

My eldest son possesses an obsessive, dedicated approach to a problem when he faces it.  It drives those of us who love him a bit crazy.  He is so focused that he does not stop until he has conquered.  But, over the years, we have come to just let him be & become the conqueror.

My approach is both different & similar. Like my Alpha Son, I cannot let go of something until I work it out.  Especially a mystery.  I obsess over it

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The difference is that I concentrate so deeply that I lose focus & find myself walking into a room, intending to do one thing & find that once in the room, I am doing something entirely unrelated to my original intention.

My sister says I have Adult Attention Deficit Disorder.  If that is true, I believe I have had it long before the decades of adulthood behind me.

This morning, I went to take my morning medication:  two blood pressure meds, Metanx to repair the damage inflicted by my diabetic peripheral neuropathy, a ferrous gluconate tablet, a probiotic, 200 mg of CoQ-10 & a muti-vitamin.

My sister picked up a refill for one of my blood pressure meds yesterday.

This morning, I could not find that bottle.

I found the bag it was in when I went through the trash.  I found the pharmacist’s instructions about the medication & the receipt.  (My sister now has three gas rewards).

Because I could envision walking into a room with the bottle of Ibersartan, concentrating on something else & putting it in a bizarre place, I checked the fridge & freezer & pantry, every cabinet, the bathroom, the floor, the dining room, every drawer.

Finally, I sent an email to my sister, asking if she remembered where I opened the bag.  She said I opened it in the dining room & then asked if I checked the mantle.

We don’t have a mantle in the dining room. 

We do have a mantle over the fire place in the den – but it was void of any medicine bottles.  Just two photos of my sons, four candles courtesy of my mother’s church & our next-door neighbor (all of which require three AAA batteries – thank the Lord for the Dollar Tree), a rolling pin from grandmother Sims & an ice cream scoop from my grandmother Ettinger.

As my obsessive search continued, distracting me from everything I needed to do, I knew it was not good for my blood pressure. 

Adding to the stress of the missing or mislaid bottle is the fact that my doctor has a strict policy about replacing “lost” medication.  Of course, all the signs on the walls on his office & examining rooms have to do with controlled substances, not blood pressure meds.  But I still obsessed.

Even after enlisting my brother’s help, I did not find the meds.

Finally, after my mother Jean’s breakfast, I went through my pink medicine bin convinced that there were only three bottles from our pharmacy. There should have been four.

But I was desperate.  Wondering if I should take my blood pressure. 

Finally, in my desperation, I went through my pink medicine bin yet again.

Still three bottles from the pharmacy.

In desperation, I picked up every bottle that did not have the same “Hold Tab Down Turn” label on the lid in green.

Then I picked up every bottle resembling my over the counter supplements.

And there it was.  The Irbesartan, with a different lid & bottle shape & color.

That was my senior moment this morning.  Realizing I was looking for the familiar but needing to find something new & different.

One of the best things about this morning’s senior moment & my obsessive search for the missing bottle was that I ignored most of the drama & travesty coming out of the White House.

The very best thing is that I remembered to reach beyond the familiar & known & look for new & different moments.

About That Mother of All Bombs

Perhaps it is just me.  Perhaps no one else is bothered by the label assigned by the military & adopted by the media to describe the most powerful non-nuclear bomb in our nation’s arsenal.

I am not going to write about my reaction to this latest display of military might, no doubt designed to assure us that our President is taking credit (once again) for keeping us safe with his military.

Not our military.  His.

My agenda tonight is a bit different

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I want to know why the most powerful non-nuclear bomb in our nation’s arsenal is called “the MOTHER of all bombs.”

As powerful as I know the maternal voice, the maternal body, the maternal text & threads are, why is that power associated with a weapon of destruction?

Because I don’t find the association a compliment or an honor.

Truth be told, in my maternal gut, I know it is part of a pattern to demean women, to demean their voices, to demean their texts & the weaving of those texts. 

It is about making the female’s reproductive body (as if that is all that defines us) Other.  Other is different, Other is dangerous, Other is destructive.  Other is the ultimate threat to what is Us.

It is about reducing females who are Mothers or Others to a cliché.

A cliché to be feared & respected only when the generals masterminding wars decide to use it to describe annihilation.

Why does this label bother me? 

Because words have power.  Words have meaning.  Words matter.  Words influence perspective & understanding.

On behalf of all Mothers, past, present & future, I take exception to this label.

Our voices & texts are so much more powerful than a label.

On Coconut Oil, Age Spots & Glowing

Earlier this week, my lovely & well preserved younger sister Janet texted me & asked if her dog Zoe could stay for the weekend.  As always, my answer was affirmative. 

When Janet brought Zoe over, she (Janet, not Zoe) asked to look at my hands.
She took one.

I was skeptical as to why she needed to see my hands close up.

While I doubted sincerely that she wished to examine them for gun powder residue or evidence of an assault or struggle (we both watch too much NCIS & Criminal Minds), I asked Why?

Janet’s response was that she wanted to see if I had age spots.

I showed her & told her that I had all kinds of spots on my skin.  Age spots, damage from the sun, horrible dry areas.  I told her I think it may be age spots & psoriasis or eczema or melanoma.  (OK, I am dramatic.)

The facetious part of me wanted to offer to let her see my entire skin surface.

After viewing my hands & arms, Janet said  We are getting old.

I tell her Yes, we are.

And to myself I think, this is what we are born to do.  To grow & develop & age & survive.

Until we leave.

Janet suggested coconut oil.  She has been using it on her hands & she assures me she has seen a difference in a very short time.

She asked me if I have coconut oil.  This amuses me – it is like asking if I have olive oil. Or ginger.  Or turmeric.  Or basil.  But she is my only sister & worried about age spots & I understand her concern.

I assured her I do, indeed, have coconut oil.  I tell her it works on the skin of my face. 

Tomorrow I will buy another jar of organic, unrefined virgin coconut oil & once again use it on my entire body.  Which requires covering a giant wooden spoon with a modified glove, spreading the oil on the glove & using the lathered spoon to coat my back.

I do this because my sister’s hands do look flawless & I really like coconut oil.

And because when I went to lunch with my friends Jo-Ann McCoy & Stephanie Kennedy last Friday, Jo-Ann mentioned that my complexion was glowing.

Maybe the glow was due to the coconut oil.

Or maybe it was due to the fact that I am out of blush & used Burt’s Bees Caramel Lip Shimmer on my cheeks.

Hawks in the Trees Near the House that Jack & Jean Built

In the midst of everything that is going on in our world today, I am intrigued by hawks.

Specifically, the red-tailed hawks that are dwelling nearby & hovering around my house.

At first, I was aware of their presence by what sounded like a raptor from “Jurassic Park.”

Then, one early morning, I heard a fierce swishing sound, the wisp of wings, as I was unlocking my car.

I looked up & saw a magnificent bird land high in one of my next door neighbor Mr. Israel’s tree.  I stood there, watching him.  He spotted me & moved higher.  Then he hit the air & flew to the branches of one of Miss Juta’s pine trees on the other side of our house.

He was glorious to watch. 

I told my brother about the hawk & wondered aloud if I should refill the bird feeder & buy some more suet.

He smiled & said I think it is more likely that the hawk would prefer a mouse or small animal.

After all, a hawk is a bird of prey, not a vegetarian.

The next day, when my brother left to go to work, he came back in & told me – there are two hawks in Juta’s pine tree. One was carrying a mouse or baby squirrel & dropped it when he saw me.  They must have a nest nearby.

I went out & saw the pair move from branch to branch, as high as the branches went. 

They were talking to one another, no doubt discussing which one was going to retrieve the dropped mouse or squirrel.

I wondered if their nest had eggs in it or little hawks.

During the next days, I saw the hawks in various trees & heard their calls even when I could not find them.

Today I went out for the mail & my neighbor Mr. Israel called me over his yard.

Have you seen the hawks?  Their nest is in one of my oak trees.

Mr. Israel showed me where to look – at the top of the tree I could see the bottom of the nest.  It appears to be a little over three feet wide.

In the mornings, around seven o’clock, Mr. Israel hears the female calling for the male.  The other morning,  he heard a tiny tweet.  There is a baby hawk !

Concerned what to do if the baby fell out of the nest, Mr. Israel called the game warden.  The game warden told him to call immediately if that happened & they would come out to rescue the infant. 

Through the game warden, & a little Google searching, we learned that hawks mate for life.  Ordinarily they take a new partner only when one dies.  Females lay one to three eggs at a time, depending on the available food supply.  Usually in March or April.  We should be seeing the baby hawk, called an eyeas, take small flights in a few weeks.

Mr. Israel has been observing the hawk family with his binoculars.  He told me that the male often lands on our roof & the old basketball hoop. 

I look forward to seeing the eyeas fly.  Maybe we should name the hawks, like the most famous & photographed urban red-tailed hawk, Pale Male in New York City.

Singing to My Sister's Dog Zoe

There is a reason that I seldom sing in public.

I cannot sing.  My sister sings.  My sister sings like an angel.  It is one of her many gifts.

Singing is not my gift.

But I LOVE to sing.  I have always loved to sing.  As a teenager, I used to sing in the Youth Choir at church – but only because it was a small congregation & bodies were necessary.  My friend Donna Pippin was the star of the choir – singing has always one of her many gifts.

Donna Pippin’s mother, Beverly, recommended to my mother that I take Speech & Drama in high school.  Clearly redirecting me from wasting my talents on singing.

Or from butchering every choir performance.

When I was in high school, my friend Colleen Tubbs & I would encounter one another in the walkways along the patios of Coronado High School & burst into song.  Usually something from The Doors or Three Dog Night.  Colleen didn’t seem to care that I cannot sing in the center of the note. 

Actually, I cannot sing anywhere near the center of the note.

Sometimes, even now, at 63, I sing.  In the shower, in the car, listening with my earphones on the laptop or my phone.

Today, I sang to my guest, my sister Janet’s dog Zoe.

Suddenly bursting into a rendition of “Here Comes the Sun.”

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's all right

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's all right

Zoe looked up from her perch & did not laugh.  (Believe me, Zoe laughs.)

She did not tilt her head from side to side in wonder.

Zoe listened & then put her head back down & shut her eyes.

No doubt thinking, when are David & Janet coming back so I can hear music again?

So later in the evening, I tried a different verse:

Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting

Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been clear

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,

And I say, it’s all right

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun

It’s all right, it’s all right

Zoe was more forgiving & generous during this serenade.  She wagged her tail, asked to be petted & waited for a treat.

She has trained me well.The only book I have about dogs is The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time.  Which begins with the death of a dog in the night time.Not a good night time story for a loved & adorable dog.

Perhaps Zoe will settle for a treat & a space at the end of my futon while I read (to myself) a novel about Mr. Darcy’s version of that whole Pride & Prejudice story.

And a promise not to sing.

A response to a friend's request to comment on a Radical Feminist & the Women's Liberation Front

My dear friend,

After a bit of delay, I again revisited the link you shared with me. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ceRPvJVlL1g

After viewing it several times & jotting down notes & thinking, I visited http://womensliberationfront.org/.  Kara Dansky, interviewed in the link above, is on the Board of Directors.

The site intrigued me for a lot of reasons – impressive goals on the part of females - & gave me pause to rethink some things.  More on that later.

First, in response to your request to share my reaction & feedback, & in the interests of transparency, I need to disclose that the issue of biological sex & gender identity was & remains a major part of how I read, how I approach political issues, & how I interpret & navigate with Others in this ever evolving world.

In 1996, I requested to attend a graduate seminar in Modern Literary Theory as an undergraduate.  And was allowed to do it as a Special Project class for my major.  My paper in that seminar was entitled, “Feminism and Foucault:  Pinning & Unpinning Women to Their Sex.

Using the philosophy & writings of the French philosopher Michel Foucault, I set out to find a way to bridge the gap & subsequent divisive discourse between Feminists who insist that gender is defined in terms of biological determination & those who insist that gender is determined by culturally imposed construction.

And to find a way how I, who believe gender is a combination of both biology & culture & time & self-realization & more, fit into the debate.

Dansky, as a representative of WoLF (Womens Liberation Front), argued in the Tucker Carlson interview on Fox News that the group’s objection to using Title IX as justification for a federal decision to allow biologically determined boys & girls & men & women to defy the culturally constructed ideas of male & female & identify with a gender not in sync with their genetic makeup, demeaned women & girls.

Or so it seems to me.  Dansky spoke articulately about several concerns she shares with WoLF members.  For her, including transgenders in the choice to define oneself & write the text of one’s own life, somehow is a threat to biological girls & women.  

Not once did she mention a similar threat to biological boys & men. 

As the mother of two sons, that omission bothered me.

Dansky also voiced the assertion that the Federal mandate under Title IX was a threat to the civil rights protection of girls & women.  No mention of the civil rights protection of biological boys & men or transgender boys & girls or transgender women & men.

That bothered me.  Again.

Over the past decades, when the term “transgender” was first used, women & girls were not the only ones, as Dansky suggested in the Fox News interview, asking What is gender identity?

Her discussion of that question was, once again, limited to females.  This is simply untrue.  Especially now, when both young people & adults born both female & male struggle to find an answer to what defines their gender identification.

As do philosophers, theorists, writers, artists, musicians, doctors & lawyers -  males & females in all walks of life & in all positions.

On WoLF’s website, it defines its “Task  Forces.”  One of the four is:

GENDER ABOLITION

·         Seeks to abolish the gender-caste system.

·         Educates about the harms of gender and its centrality to male domination.

·         Vigorously defends women-only spaces.

·         Defends sex-segregation of domestic violence shelters, bathrooms, locker rooms, and sports teams.

·         Supports detransitioners in their struggle to be healed and heard.

If, by “Gender Abolition,” WoLF means abolishing artificial roles assigned to both males & females, I am on board.

While I understand the theory & reality of a “gender-caste system,” I would argue that “gender” itself is not central to male domination.  Rather, it is the interpretation of gender, the language & images used to describe & impose attributes to males & females that contributes & helps fuel patriarchy.

And while I understand the Task Force initiative’s to “vigorously defend women-only spaces,” I think it is a justification for the organization’s exclusion of anything Other than biologically female.

About the final Task Force initiative – to support “detransitioners” in their struggle – because I understand the complexities of the issue of gender, I understand that there are those who struggle & experiment & decided that they are not, after all, transgender.

However, the wording suggests that transitioning is like a condition or a disease & must be healed.  That wording & suggestion is the fault of the writers of the initiative & perhaps, of my reading of the words & my interpretation. 

Dansky spoke about how women can no longer talk of body parts or pregnant women (citing “pregnant people” as the preferred term -  a term I have never encountered).  About the refusal to ignore biological reality.

I would,  not so humbly,  suggest that Dansky revisit her position. To revisit her refusal to acknowledge how the expectations of what defines male or female are determined by more than anatomical equipment or even DNA.

How would Dansky & WoLF deal with a young teenage girl whose birth certificate defines her as a female, who possesses all the necessary female equipment, but whose DNA does not have the second X chromosome that genetically defines her sex as female?  She is one out of every 2,500 live births of female babies who have Turner’s Syndrome.

My young friend, now 14, chose not to allow Turner’s to define or limit her.  She has lived her entire life as a fierce, loving, funny, talented & kind young woman.  She has never doubted that she is a female.

Now that she is in high school & studying DNA, & because she has educated herself about Turner’s Syndrome, she recently asked questions about the implications of missing that X chromosome in defining her sex & gender.

And has been reassured that she is, indeed, a girl.  She chose & claimed that identification as she has done & lived long before her diagnosis. 

  

What would Dansky & WoLF do with other genetic inconsistencies?  With children born with complicated, conflicting body parts?  With children & adults whose original birth certificates defined them as male or female, and undergo sex reassignment surgery?  As both infants & children & adults.

I would also encourage Dansky to open her thought process to the impact of culturally specific expectations & the traits & limits those expectations assign to both males & females, the influence of environment, diverse family history & traditions affect the way we perceive gender identity in ourselves & Others.

Neither Woman nor Man can define identity & claim self-identification based totally on genetics or anatomy.  Humans are more than the sum of our body parts & genetics.  What is written on the text of our bodies & our lives is influenced by so much more – culture, tradition, education, experience, choice & time.

Unfortunately, my visit to the Women’s Liberation Front did nothing to endear me to Dansky’s position or WoLF’s mission.  The page states: 

WoLF is a radical feminist organization. In order to join, you have to agree with basic radical feminist ideas. Please note that we are a women-only organization, intended to serve and include biologically female persons who survived girlhood.

What Kara Dansky & WoLF need to come terms with is the reality that females are not alone on the planet.  We are surrounded, thwarted & supported by both females & males.  And all the different & evolving definitions of gender.  We cannot exist or fight against discrimination, or promote inclusion & understanding or continue as a species without one another.

WoLF membership excludes males & non-biological females. Which begs the question – do they accept biological females who identify as males?

In my own mantra & thought process, I believe in the power of inclusion & its ability to change the world for the better.

Integration without assimilation, union without loss of self, difference without dominance. 

No positive change in the human experience ever emerged from fear of the Other.  Nothing fine or worthy ever came from exclusion & marginalization.  Or from claiming the right to define one’s identity while rejecting the rights of Others to do & make the same claim.

Progress comes only with inclusion – when those who aim toward the same goal look past differences between one another & focus on the common ground needed to achieve the goal.

Women can only change thousands of years of patriarchy & its linear discourse by inclusion of the Other.  Those who do not look like us.  Or always think like us.  Or do not possess a clitoris, vulva or vagina.  Others who are often the perceived enemy of Self.

I have no problem with women only or women centered groups & organizations.  But I do have a problem with limiting the definition of who is or what constitutes “woman.”  It far more complex than biology.

One more thought.

The coverage of Kara Dansky’s position on allowing transgenders to choose which anatomically defined restroom to use – “Feminists & Christians Unite” - implies that Feminists & Christians are mutually exclusive.  

As a self-proclaimed Feminist & as a Christian, I maintain that this implication is fundamentally untrue.  And, in the end, divisive & destructive. 

Pitting Feminists against Women who are Christians.   

My conclusion is this:  I cannot get excited about a self-proclaimed radical Feminist who defines Women as the sum of their body parts & excludes Others.