Steps

He stood, as the sun hit his day after funeral shoeshine and the doll’s hand. Stunned, as his aunt’s voice pitched then twisted to turn, like tractor wheels pushing blades of a combine, now heading his way. Neither his faint tremble, nor burning hot ears could shield her words. He might as well have been a cowering rabbit pretending the machine of a mouth would go away. The thatching sickle cut: “She kept quoting verses about forgiveness, when she was the one who pushed him away! I’m sorry speaking of your mother, may she rest in peace, but she broke your uncle’s heart. He was never the same after. Unless, he was spending time with you, Casey.”

Sweet grey church curls framed Aunt Halina’s face and silver horn rimmed glasses. Halina remained anything but the meaning of her name; ‘calm, tranquil’. Casey cowered queasy as he mentally tucked for cover, the combine blades nearly chopping overhead.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you can always rely on family?” Sensing rhetoric, Casey kept quiet in his suit coat. “Don’t count on it because . . . “, Halina surged ready to deliver the fatal blow, but silence seeped in with a sunbeam; she sucked in air. The blades of the thatcher’s mouth retracted. Halina walked to a garden door and then outside. Casey stood alone with the stairs before him.

Sensible wooden steps reminded Casey of near slips with woolen socks on Christmas Eves.  White banisters, intertwined with glittering lights and evergreen garlands, led Casey to his favorite cache in the house. The treasures of uncle’s travels drew Casey to sit patiently on the window seat, at the top of the landing, until Mikal clambered the farmhouse stairwell to join his nephew. Within minutes, the two would be lost in times past of the Merchant Marines. Mikal’s tales usurped any party below. Casey donned a seaman’s cap and medals suspended by stiffened striped ribbons. Mikal attached honorary pins to the boy’s Christmas jumper while enhancing seafaring tales.

Soon, Casey would be at sea. Christmas seemed left far behind on a shore. The little sailor stood spine straight, feet shoulder width apart, securing the helm. With Mikal’s lilting voice, and the eagle crowned, tan woolen hat, the boy could tip the black visor against the spray of an imaginary salty sea.

The garden glass door tattled a turn as Halina, sniffling walked in. Casey felt himself return to the older cast of a grown man, in cold reaffirmation that Mikal was gone. Halina crossed the room to bury herself in Casey’s shoulder. He uncomfortably embraced the old aunt.

“You never disappointed him, not once,” Halina intoned. She stepped back to hold out his lapels. “Every day you wear a suit like uncle told you. He was right. It made you go far.” Casey looked down at a step to Mikal’s milky glass vase, now empty, and felt quite the same. He would trade every bit of success just to be with the old man again.

“Well, here! It’s yours now,” Halina denounced pushing off his chest to swivel and snatch up the doll haphazardly. Casey deftly righted the white vase before it toppled down the bottom stair.

“Here.” Halina stood, huffed, then stiffened. Her cold resolute had returned. “I am keeping my word. Mikal said, ‘It’s Casey’s doll now.’” Halina thrust the heirloom forward and released her hold, as if she were done with it. Casey scrambled once more, but now to capture the falling form. The weight of the ocean blue dressed doll surprised him. Its eyelashes fluttered when caught. Chestnut hair plumed to settle beneath the sturdy ruffled bonnet. The doll’s china lower legs clinked, below white bloomers, rebounding little laced boots of the same deep sea blue as the paisley dress. Casey recalled the figure being shelved in the corner of Mikal’s room.

Turning, Halina grumbled beneath her breath, “She came, just a girl herself, toting that doll.” Casey’s eyes widened then glared, first at the toy then Halina. The doll’s cheeks still held a blush; tiny lips pursed, to pout. Halina strolled discordantly towards the kitchen, until she caught her balance on the countertop, her hand sliding, guiding to open the refrigerator door.

“Jello mold, Casey? It’s all we have left from the funeral. Uncle would keep you busy each Christmas with his stories until only the Jello molds were left.” Halina managed a snicker. “You never minded then. Do you still like red?” Halina sighed opening the refrigerator door, her back still to Casey.

“Who toted the doll?” Casey barely managed a dry cracking voice. “What girl?”

Halina slid the red Jello from a refrigerator shelf and headed towards a counter loaded with pill bottles. “There is no one left to care but me, Casey,” Halina crooned. She tiptoe reached for two small white bowls in a cupboard, spoons from a drawer, and began to scoop. “I said you should have known all along.” Halina reached for a pill bottle and counted out two.

“What should I have known? Please, Aunt Halina!” Casey’s voice timbered; his hands sweat clenching the doll. Halina threw pills past thin lips, drank cold coffee, and wiped white hairs along her mouth with a tea towel.

“Your mother was adopted, Casey. Mikal made me swear . . .  afraid to lose you too. He loved that little sister, more than me, even after she was gone!”

Casey’s heart imploded. Grandparents had told him his mother died shortly after his birth, nothing more. The grandparents that raised him had passed many years ago.

The room spun. Casey held the doll tight to right himself. He felt, as Mikal had retold, what a rough day at sea would be like. “Rough seas make good sailors, Casey!”  He decided, then and there ~ resolute, that love not blood makes a family and dismissed the news as marginal compared to the loss of Mikal.

Halina hastily ate two bites of Jello, choking down pills. Casey held the doll, deeply inhaling. “I will always love Uncle Mikal!” he announced.

“Jello, Casey? What’s on the stairs is yours, photos of you two, mementos . . .” She was still speaking when she heard steps creak. Casey collected the filled white wicker basket and vase.

“I would check that doll for vermin, Casey!” Halina called after his departing sounds. “Her body made a ‘crunchy’ sound when I carried her downstairs, probably a nest!” The front door slammed.

Casey balanced the items safely to his car. Once inside, he sat paralyzed, still in grief, in disbelief over the news, and relief from getting away from Halina. He stared at the odd collection of items Halina had chosen. Where were the maritime treasures she knew meant so much to him? Halina and Mikal had no children. Why had she withheld the keepsakes she knew he truly desired? Casey’s left foot stepped outside the still open car door, ready to stand up, return, and face Halina for what Mikal would have wanted his nephew to have. A fall gust ruffled the doll’s dress as it lay on the passenger seat.

Casey remembered Halina’s warning and carefully lifted the doll’s lace frocked dress. The core of the manikin did feel “crunchy”. Casey’s left leg relaxed to join the right, back in the car. It did not seem as if the cotton torso had been torn or ripped. Casey then found a seam along the spine of the doll secured with sewn on snaps. Carefully, he opened the snaps, one by one.

Casey peered inside the doll, like a surgeon, to find she was a very clever receptacle. The doll’s body was filled with posted letters. Casey dismissed his earlier plan to battle for maritime treasures with Halina and closed the car door. The last thing he needed was her peering eyes and raucous voice. Casey started the car and headed for a quiet park just down the road. The ride filled him with layers of emotion, pushed down at the funeral. Layers now ripped open like the doll’s spine. He accidentally turned on the car wipers to clear his tears. Overwhelmed and somewhat dazed at his state, Casey parked the car and deadened the engine with a turn of the key.

In dimming autumn light, Casey carefully lifted a letter from the doll’s core. He speed read through tears, perfumed pages, and pressed flowers to learn of a love between Mikal and his mom. Their love had fused and bloomed into himself, a child from true hearts. Casey, now reading his mother’s words of devotion for her child to be, cried out in pain. Birds flew startled. Casey, scattered, looked past letters to carefully pick up the doll. He held it tight to his chest and slowly rocked. The doll brought him peace. Had it done so for Mikal? His orphan mother too? The questions denied consolation as did the meaning of his uncle’s name: ‘Who is like God?’

© ruth follmann

creating homeostasis despite rogue waves

which one of us hasn't encountered a 'rogue wave', an unexpected experience, threatening to overpower our smooth sail in life, our level of homeostasis? the hairs on the back of one's neck stand just at the thought of such to most.

to divert you momentarily from the power of the sea, to that of your own body, the medical world has coined a phrase specific to your own operating system, made of flesh and blood, working daily to counter life's stressors. The clinical term is homeostasis, and it is defined as follows:

"the tendency of biological systems to maintain relatively constant conditions in the internal environment while continuously interacting with and adjusting to changes originating within or outside the system." (1).

our container, equipped with these "biological systems", is an amazing regulator to the unexpected events that face us from the outside world. Our racing heartbeats, rapid breaths, rush of adrenaline, and fight or flight mechanisms are all accounted for, dealt with, and steered toward a level of homeostasis once the stressor is addressed and hopefully resolved.

what is our balanced equilibrium to do when it encounters an unexpected life challenge, a 'rogue wave'? first lets explain what this not yet completely understood phenomenon is. rogue waves have long been acclaimed by sailors and surfers alike. many age old sea stories of these encounters were dismissed as exaggerations. scientists have now documented, with detailed and elaborate weather reporting equipment, the reality of rogue waves as retold by author, Susan Casey, in a harrowing account of scientists at sea in the north Atlantic (2).

rogue waves, these out of nowhere sudden giants, manifest themselves from calm seas, threatening to dash boats to bits or provide a surfer's high of a lifetime and/or legacy of survival!  Their modis operandi has been documented: ". . . as high as 100 feet have been reported in 30-foot seas, with one wave behaving in a manner unlike those that surround it." (3). many contributing factors create rogue waves. the research of such is continuous and tales of these entities are spine tingling. how though can a likeness of rogue waves be a sudden appearance in our land lubber personal lives?

first, let's consider some of the theories as to the possible causes of rogue waves. one manner in which these monsters encroach on us is described as: ". .  . ocean currents can cause waves to "pile up" when waves run into currents head on. when big waves hit a strong current, it's like a car running into a brick wall, and they can grow unexpectedly and even break." (3). we have all had life experiences that have this "pile up" effect to rise and hit us like a "brick wall". when peacefully going along our own way with life, something or someone moving along with us hits this strong counter current, and then comes back at us like a son of a bitch. we are faced with a rogue wave.

another theory as to the rogue waves phenomenon is it : ". . . involves wave reinforcement, where multiple waves essentially combine their size. Once in awhile, several waves can come together and create a huge wave in relatively calm seas." (3). have you ever felt as if several people in your life have "combined" forces bent on your downfall? you have encountered a rogue wave.

additional theories regarding rogue waves include global warming, a scientific fact for all those creationists out there (5). Love Bill Nye the Science Guy! Changing weather patterns and rising ocean levels, scientists warn, will further create the incidents of rogue waves (3). haven't we all been in situations, that we have successfully dealt with before, that now suddenly seem to "heat up" or threaten to drown? we have encountered rogue waves, compliments of our deteriorating environment.

in hindsight, it is easy to dissect these situations and say to ourselves, 'i should have foreseen this or that dilemma and have done this or that'. remember friend, the fight or flight response is as follows:

 ". . .  a physiological reaction that occurs in response to a perceived harmful event, attack, or threat to survival." (4).

that "perceived harmful event" is most times ascertained in seconds initiating our body's protective flight or fight response. it is our body's immediate response to what is happening without prior warning to us! this response remains one that originates as a "physiological" response for survival! the body's defense kicks in, critical thought comes into play as an aftereffect, later fine tuning us in preparation for life's future unexpected events. author, Kurt Vonnegut, tells us:

“History is merely a list of surprises,' I said. 'It can only prepare us to be surprised yet again.   Please write that down.”

yes, we can try to set out possible outcomes to prospective foreseeable events with analytical thought and planning. this can prove very helpful to situations we may feel we have to safely maneuver through in our future course, like a ship through icebergs. to differentiate, such situations are foreseeable. a rogue wave is not. life's unexpected giant crashing interruptions arrive upon us unexpected all the time. so now, how do we respond?

first and foremost, we need to be seaworthy. an 'old salt' of a seaman knows the fickle nature of the livelihood on which he relies. German film great, Werner Herzog, said: "What would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark? It would be like sleep without dreams."

So before all else, we must equip ourselves with the awareness of our surroundings and the power of perception by being in the now. this important tool has recently been heralded as 'mindfulness'. a present state of mind can help remove bias, see change as it is happening, and stall self pity to initiate our protective fight or flight response. does this take training and effort? absolutely!

authorities, as studied by law experts at Stanford, rarely rely upon first hand accounts of eye witnesses to an auto accident due to everyone's differing perception originating from whom we are and where we come from (6). mindfulness is an ongoing choice, a life long training commitment to remain present, equipping us to be in tune to ourselves and remain alert with our surroundings.

in view of the dilemma that the unreliable witness bias creates in others, it is important not to dismiss what we know to be happening to ourselves in an acute, unsafe situation. historically, many sailors died from rogue waves. the few survivors of these shipwrecks detailed how the monster waves came out of nowhere to leave their ships in splinters (2). these occurrences are now known to be true, when they were earlier dismissed as exaggerations. we must trust our judgement and react accordingly if we are faced with one of life's 'rogue waves'.

renowned author, Malcolm Gladwell, detailed this very fact in his mind blowing book: 'Blink'. Gladwell's documentation shows most of our truest perceptions, statistically, are ones gleaned in the first few seconds of consideration. he reminds us to 'trust our gut' and act with 'grit'.

now that we are mindful and know statistically we can trust our first impression made within seconds, how can we master a rogue wave? how did the legendary surfer, Laird Hamilton, "tackle these mega waves"? (6). Mr. Hamilton and friends created a system using jet skis and tow ropes to approach these mega giants and allow the surfer to 'catch a wave'. Laird describes the victory of a successful surf on a rogue wave as:

  "It's something all-consuming. It's an experience that changes who you are. I just feel so alive from doing it. I feel like I get such great power,"

interviewer, Scott Simon asks Laird, "And to wipe out?" (6)  Laird replies:

 "It's the moment where you totally relinquish any true control over what you're doing . . . when you do fall and you do get hit by [the water], you're just at the mercy of the wave and it dictates."

Laird describes the rush a surfer obtains as "the most thrilling ride of all" (6). this description may fit for conquering a rogue wave in the sport of surfing, but not so much when encountering a life problem of similar surprise and insurmountable size. But maybe, try to think otherwise.

if your reaction, dueled with mindfulness and your body's own fight or flight instinct levies you to 'ride' a rogue wave/life challenge instead of being crushed by the weight of its dividing waters, couldn't that be considered as Laird says, ". . . an experience that changes you"? (6). Yes!

despite the many times we have been 'wiped out' by life's rogue waves, why not take heart in the example of this historic surfer, Laird Hamilton, and his friends? rally your buddies, in your support circles, your figurative garage. throw down some ideas and tools for fabricating what device or idea you need to speed up on the next rogue wave, life challenge. with practice, stealth of heart, and the support of your family and friends, you can know the power of conquering a rogue wave, and glide safely to shore.

there is not one among us who knows the future. we can not postpone it or wish it away. we can, however, prepare ourselves with the tools others have shown to be successful, to paddle out to life's smaller inconveniences. equipped with mindfulness, a strong sense of self worth, and a network of support, we can successfully top these little waves: life's daily surmountable obstacles.

these skills, honed daily, can without question, later equip us to be towed toward, with the help of our family and friends, and steer our resolve to now actually ride along the crest of a previously thought insurmountable obstacle until is descends into a safe shoreline, resolved.

life's challenges are non-negotiable. what a feeling of "great power" we will experience, in our precarious yet beautiful lives, knowing we have faced and conquered yet another unanticipated rogue wave.




author's note:

Thank you, Lucas, for sharing your surfing biography of triumph, reality, and recovery after injury. Your continued will to face life with adaptation of sport and in livelihood, along with humor, is inspiring! A Salt Life Salute to you!


Ⓒ ruth follmann

 Citations

1. "Homeostasis." Miller-Keane Encyclopedia and Dictionary of Medicine, Nursing, and Allied Health, Seventh Edition. 2003. Saunders, an imprint of Elsevier, Inc 23 Aug. 2015http://medical-dictionary.thefreedictionary.com/Homostasis

2. Davies, Dave, and Casey, Susan. “Exploring the 'Wild And Haunting World Of Dolphins'” NPR. NPR, 4 Aug. 2015. Web. 23 Aug 2015. <http://www.npr.org/2015/08/04/428986235/exploring-the-wild-and-haunting-world-of-dolphins>

3. Casey, Susan, contributor. “Unpredictable – Sea Monsters: Giant Rogue Waves Are Out There.” SurfspotsGPS RSS. Globe and Mail, 14 Sept. 2010. Web. 23 Aug. 2015. <http://surfspots-gps.com/giant-rogue-waves-extreme-weather-is-getting-more-extreme/>

4. “Fight-or-flight-response.” Wikipedia. Wikipedia, 20, Aug. 2015. Web. 23 Aug. 2015. <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fight-or-flight_response>

Dark Igloo, director. Nye, Bill, narrator. “History, Travel, Arts, Science, People, Places | Smithsonian.” History, Travel, Arts, Science, People, Places | Smithsonian. Climate Reality Project, 21 Sept. 2011. Web. 23 Aug. 2015. <http://www.smithsonianmag.com/videos/category/3play_1/climate-change-101-with-bill-nye-the-science/>

5. Engelhardt, Laura. “The Problem with Eyewitness Testimony a Talk by Barbara Tversky, Professor of Psychology and George Fisher, Professor of Law.” Stanford Journal of Legal Studies. Stanford Journal of Legal Studies, 1 Dec. 1999. Web. 23 Aug. 2015. <http://agora.stanford.edu/sjls/Issue%20One/fisher&tversky.htm>

6. Simon, Scott, and Laird Hamilton. “Studying And Surfing The Ocean's Monster Waves.” NPR. NPR, 11 Sept. 2010. Web. 23 Aug. 2015. <http://www.npr.org/2010/09/11/129774578/studying-and-surfing-the-oceans-monster-waves>

Gale's Garden

fickle scenes stream to recall hinted grey days and the shovel blade’s scrape, slap into earthy layers beneath crabgrass

i  now follow the intermittent shine of spider web twine to a more southern bred aloe, refuting sunbeams in my old woman reality to remember that misty day when

my heart twisted and broken indoors, took to tear at the earth outside your window

monochrome world’s indifference made you wash dishes in the dark as I dug up lawn in the rain

the only color was your hair, willing life by its hopeful amber hues, but your womb would not consent

mine own, finally silent after an onslaught of drugs and surgeries,  two children enough  {white girl sigh} safely inside watching tv

your desolation left the sink full to turn away from this connection with me, intolerable even through windowed glass, as in solace you grieved, your husband working far away

i remained. busied by clearing sections of sod, back burning, and the whole world’s tear drops of rain for your lost child to dampen my clothes  

days ended and began with bared soil, thankful to be covered in layers of mulch,  grassy gowns having been torn away, dampened newspapers  sphagnum moss  mushroom compost  cow manure grass clippings and autumn's painted leaves a new decor

you didn't flee from your kitchen window now   i didn't  glance your way

flea market finds and field rocks bordered the polygon, a quadrilateral, with a happenstance of bricks broken and butting edges to snows’ first crime

the ground froze, i shoveled your walk in morning darkness, we passed each other as neighbors do in silence   until spring

pawing at the earth like a centaur, i sunk over one hundred and fifty bulbs

it was meant to be stunning, an antique art nouveau  costume jewelry bouquet, but the pieces I dug and placed  were pre-adolescent to bloom as gems not yet

beckoning birds with baths and feeders, tea cups and saucers suspended above the tiger lilies’ fan, i built

then I waited  waited and watered  placed bird seed  and it happened  it filled your view, you came out to speak with me 

I could never remove the loss from your heart, but I could fill your eyes with beauty  with the softness of nature  with the hope of flowers for new life

the garden grew as did your rounding belly. you carried a child as the seasons changed

red haired, hopeful as mom, she was born and as she grew.  i planted a Hogwarts garden for this little one and mine as well, complete with chocolate frogs and contorted hazelnut, warlock twisted finger branches, wilting leaved tree

when we parted, each selling our homes, you told me how you would miss the gardens, the spring blooms, but confided, almost thinking out loud, how you couldn't understand why such beauty I hid from my own eyes, far from any window from which my haunted home would breathe

i smiled, and bent to pull a weed   we hugged and shared well wishes  i had no words   only flowers

it was for you

                                  a garden, your garden~

                                                                healing petals to touch   reflect life’s beauty

                     to impress the strength of your name: one who never, never  gives up

                          






 © ruth follmann

Wabi-sabi & Brooke Shields' Eyebrows

Bicentennial middle school celebrated 200 years of our country’s birth and my green light to enter into the chasm of feminine preening. My lips were cherry gloss red, my skin stayed white, and my eye shadow was metallic aqua blue.

One weeknight evening, I found the tweezers. Having watched my brothers’ eyebrows fantasmically transform, I decided to leave the Boys 2 Men Club of the supraorbital arch. Time to pluck that hair!

Keep in mind that 1976 stood as a proud antecedent of the renowned Brooke Shields' Eyebrows. Young Shields hit the screen in the 1978 Lois Malle’s film, Pretty Baby, and mixed it all up in the 80's.


By then, I had already pruned my eyebrows. As any gardener knows, pruning delegates itself to be an ongoing chore. My tweezers didn't mind. Stop the horror! I do not presently ‘draw’ my brows in. Nor are they tattooed; but, I did create a left brow shape described by a blurting classmate as a constant “state of surprise”.

As forewarned by those many wives’ tales: arthritis sets in from skirted bare winter legs, horses spook when you have your period (still don’t believe that one), & eyebrow hair does not respond well to growing back in; I acquiesce. “That’s never going to grow back you know!” loudspeakered my degrading school chum. “Check it out! Ruth always looks like she’s surprised!”

Feigning fate, I have been.

I am surprised that women still earn less than men.

I am surprised most people do not know we are all racist.

I am giddy when young people go through, survive, and teach us oldsters what we should have learned on our own long ago.

I am surprised at how much work marriage requires, every day.

I am slapped with disbelief that the world is tolerating an election for a mass murderer in Syria.

I am seedling peeking through soil, fragile heart of foil, surprised calls still matter on Mother’s Day.

I am surprised by the wit and sharp reprimand to stay strong from my own dearest Mom.

Lastly, I am surprised, after what seems to be eons as a dedicated health care worker, that I forgot the rule of entropy, the constant of age, & Wabi-sabi.

I have decided that the 'vase' has fallen. It is somewhere in the vicinity of my knees now. Although the vase has not yet hit the floor, I can unreservedly say it will. I have been struggling to catch it midair with the slippery hands of life and circumstance. I have been casting curses that if the floor I had been standing on was in another state, the vase would not have fallen. Silly. Outrageous. Vases fall. Life happens. Health deteriorates. Age onsets. Accept it with grace. Once the pieces have hit the floor, safely access the situation, gather the proper tools and or assistance needed to 'pick up the pieces', regroup. Find the best kind of glue.

So I am breathing easier, knowing what I should have realized all along: I cannot control everything.

Of this obvious fact: known, held, crumpled and thrown away, retrieved, smoothed and reviewed, I am surprised ~

that it is so  very hard  ‘to do’.

 © ruth follmann

                                                                                                           

                                                                                               

Writers and Ribbons: Cross Cut from Hair

Annie Dillard describes in her essay: “Holy the Firm”, that a writer’s approach to life should be as with a “broadax” (7). Yet many times the “broadax” of life cuts us, sometimes, to ribbons.  I sat in quiet mediation of an assigned reading in an entry way and asked myself a question. What is a writer to do with the ribbons, these shreds of our lives? The scene that quickly unfolded before my eyes supplied the answer.

A thin mother stopped short outside the clinic waiting room’s exterior door.  Her sharp tongue cut her tan daughter like a paper’s edge.  Voiceless, the girl stood rooted beneath her mother’s gnarled haunch and pointy twig finger. I sat exposed inside the aseptic entry way on a grainy plastic upholstered oversized bench. The seat fit smartly between three clinic doors, the lab, and a sanitized bathroom.  One of my allergy shots still bit at the back of my left arm. My wait stretched longer in the entry way in the face of possible reaction.  The woman screamed out matriarchal words. They riveted past dodgy noises of late afternoon rush hour traffic. The feral tone alarmed me through the thick tinted window panels.  Almost baked savors twirled down from a sub shop to the medical no nonsense air below. The manic woman chewed at the girl without mercy, and demanded to know: who cut her hair.

This child’s face arched her mother’s voltage, even though the attack remained verbal. Cockeyed, the parent did not strike. Shrill questions continued. The woman blocked the only entry to the medical offices, and in my case, the exit.  The girl froze. Her gaze, level with mine, pulled me to her marrow through the heavy sun heated jaundiced glass. Old cuts from my childhood opened.  A family pew held me vulnerable to the way sharp tongues can make us bleed.  Recollection dumped me to her side as if I were a child again.  Ruthless, I turned away, sifting my creative force from elders’ milled words steeped in shame. My insides mimed a contortion: the girl’s panicky downward turned face.  I followed her gaze, a cue to her shoe. A left foot drilled ineffectively at concrete. Her toes pressed with random departure plans, devised for anywhere, maybe even nearby traffic. The fiery interrogation continued. The queries flew like a hard ball that smacked straight into a mitt behind the girl’s ribcage. She felt that one. My singed eyes did too.  Anger pulled my sinews up from a hapless inner child and stretched for adult skin again.  This maneuver forfeited honor.  Memory fought past fog horns of sinking ships and cleared to times past I had spoken with harsh tones to my daughters. Life cast me now, the mother, having imposed low self-esteem on my own children with piously shorn parenting techniques.  I cringed. The woman picked at her bangs like a crow, pecking out spots that were shorter than others. The girl must have mumbled a confession for the carrion bird screeched:  “Who doled out the scissors? Had the teacher known?”  The door opened with the tap of an oversized automatic handicap button.  My exhale finished, grateful this lady’s mouth snapped shut. The matron’s stockpiled confidence stepped past, confirming her methodology had broken the kid again. The girl slumped in faded musty clothes to push skeins of hair over shorter bangs. She must have simply been trying to keep hair from her eyes. The woman loomed wary and herded the child, like an overzealous sheep dog against a disabled lamb to a lettered glass office door.

Feeling my thighs strengthen to stand, my tongue ready to defend . . .  my mute voice could not escape.  The mother and child slipped away.  An epoch named me Coward then cast me as both players in the entryway opening scene. The seated perspective submerged my stasis to that of progeny.  Memory dismantled confidence to bare a child’s wounds.  Horror rebuilt bias to recite arbitrary parental lines.  Desolation reminded escape from abuse is not an easy path, whenever one walks away. 

Although in an era past, still “broadax” deep, these pangs cut me bare and keep my daughter estranged in a real time infection of generational disease. Abusive parents were abused. They hurt others. The ‘others’ are their children, who from pain, eventually ~ cut themselves free. These cut ribbons twist around the inevitable evening air and become a reflective fabric, the iridescence one sees before a shock state, dazed. As a therapeutic bandage, I net our shredded lives to paper before they fade away. Musings of my childhood, my parenting, and my child control my pen.  A salt tear and spit wet finger turns each filling page.  Writing heals.  Love letters tie these life ribbons, ours and others, like a tourniquet or a tea rose, but they tie.  Vessels and variables mend as we all shove aside another day. Words burst out of me, from writers too.  We scribble on receipts or the back of unopened mail just to get it out, put it down.  When it is down on paper, we feel lighter. We still carry it, but not the whole load. We ask half forgiveness and grant the same self-amnesty.  We remove the razor sharp voices finally from our heads, maybe to reach up with literary defiance - a shining blade in glory to cut our ties: to cut our hair.


for Deirdre~

© ruth follmann

                                                         Works cited

     Dillard, Annie. “Holy the Firm.” The Norton Sampler: Short Essays for Composition.

               Ed. Marilyn Moller. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc, 2013. 7.  Print.

                                      

Spinning In Control: a checklist for surviving domestic abuse, defined by a jump ~ from out of this world

On October 14, 2012, Austrian skydiver, Felix Baumgartner, jumped from outer space. He traveled 24 miles at  Mach 1.25 speed (843.6 mph), and landed safely on earth.   That smile seen worldwide, behind his helmet dome, was one that triumphs human spirit, with achievement of life goals.

He stands here above, on his own two feet, after an episode of spinning out of control.

'In that situation, when you spin around, it's like hell and you don't know if you can get out of that spin or not,' he said. 

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-2217915/Felix-Baumgartner-headcam-video-It-like-Hell-terrifying.html#ixzz2b6vv8IZr 
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Yet, he did!  News commentators noted small angle changes his body was making to counter that spin, to regain control.  The collective heart of the world skipped a beat; we held our breath, as this skilled skydiver piloted his body to the safety of our atmosphere and solid ground. 

What did Mr. Baumgartner have at his side to help him counter that ‘death spin’?  What was he able to manipulate or change to redirect his course, to save his life?  What did he consistently have control of throughout the experience?

The answers to these questions could be lifesaving to yourself or a loved one if you ever found yourself: ‘spinning out of control’. 

Let me preface these words with the assurance, that I am not a professional, in any advising capacity, but I have faced the earth, and all it holds, at what seemed to be a Mach 1.25 speed of spinning decent.  The same questions could have been applied to me.  What did I have at my side to counter a ‘death spin’?  What was I able to manipulate or change to redirect a course, to save my life?  What did I consistently have control of throughout the experience?

A wedding day, or relationship entwined, may be followed by the constricting slow changes of an abusive mate.  Unfortunately, this type of connection is not limited to the heterosexual home life. Many LBGT couples have encountered the same dangerous outcomes of abusive behaviors.  Regardless of who is being faced with this threat, what does one do, mirroring Mr. Baumgartner’s expertise, to stop the ‘death spin’?

First let’s answer the last question.

What does one consistently have control of throughout the experience?

The answer was given to me by my Yoga instructor, Nick Montoya, creator of Ageless Yoga:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G6hBIE7QCHs  ( Nick Montoya’s story) 

your breath  

It is yours to hold, take in deep, blow out a candle or make a sea sound.  It is a center, a core strengthener, a spine solidifier as you stand up, a little taller.  Many times in the plummet of an overly controlling and abusive relationship, your breath may be all you have.  Abusive mates in their cycle of abuse, will keep you, (they feel), powerless by restricting possessions or contacts, and then spin you with honeymoon attention. 

(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cycle_of_abuse) 

My breath was all I had at times when a yelling, spitting in my face scream owned all I knew, and cut off those I loved.  Or, so I thought.  In a downward spin, it is hard to take the time to access direction, for it feels as if you have none.

What you do not have is: control over another person.  You cannot change them.  You can only change yourself.  Do not waste precious breath trying to argue a won point.  You will need your breath. Breathe it in deeper for strength, the strength you will need to get out of this ‘death spin’.

Here is where we go to the second question.

What do I have at my side to counter a ‘death spin’?   What did Felix Baumgartner have?

Did a big screen TV help him, a bank account? How about a brand new car?  Things do not help you when you are trying to re-enter atmosphere, your will does.  Your iron clad will, your stainless steel sense to survive.  It’s genetic.  It’s a code in each cell.  Hold your breath and see.  You use your first tool, your breath, to paddle your will to survive. If it is held long enough, you will gulp more of that lifesaving substance deep.  You have an inherent, built in survival mode.  Do not let depression, or the numbing qualities of substance abuse, slow that down.  Take in the free air no abusive mate can control.  Let your will, even if you are spinning head over heels, fill you. Make each cell and their orbiting electrons inside you, strong.  You can redirect.  You can apply the life skills you have, not a big screen TV or new car, as wing flaps.  These wing flaps control and help land large jetliners.   Push a mental metal button in your mind. Release your wing flaps.  Maybe a set released just under each elbow, and at the side of your knees, redirecting you, stopping the spin. 

Take in a deep breath, and engage your stainless steel will.  Your own atomic centered orbit can be like a gyroscope.

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cquvA_IpEsA  the gyroscope)

Remember the gyroscope?  We all played with one as a child, or in grade school science class. Without your breath and activated atomic will, you will topple like an inert child’s toy.  But if you energize, pull away the string of life’s entanglements, the new strength you see, may even surprise yourself. You will seem to defy gravity, the heaviness of your situation, as you can now logically begin to plan a way out that seems clear. Your force will raise you up to see solutions, you may have overlooked before.  Do not tire.  Keep pulling away the string of entanglement.  Breathe, though all you may own be lost or torn away, your breath is still your own.  Your will is yours to shine.  Strengthen your steel spine as you define your downward decent, re-angling mindsets, exploring life options, to stop the ‘death spin’.  Your possessions are not the focus.  You cannot save your life or that of children, by grabbing a hold of a TV. The precise changes you need to make will not allow such burdens.  Save yourself first.  Your life is more valuable than things.  Things will come later, when you are free and away from the abuse, in a new home, once you have landed on your feet.  Then smiles will congratulate you, and your bravery. 

Mr. Baumgartner also had a well-trained team talking him through tough times.
Create your team too.

Choose team members you can trust, with your life.  You are in a ‘death spin’.  Create your network.  Keep your earpiece communication lines open with honesty.  Don’t lie or cover up malfunctions.  Your team members need to know what exactly what your situation is.  Felix Baumgartner spoke to his team before he left the safety of a balloon capsule, 34 miles above the earth.  He spoke honestly.  It was Air Force Captain Joe Kittinger’s calm voice that gave Felix his life reminding instructions as he prepared to jump. 

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/science/space/9613463/Felix-Baumgartner-Joe-Kittinger-says-it-was-like-deja-vu.html

Let your team members have this clearance too.  Let them guide you to safety, away from abuse, towards a safe home, maybe even to further education and a better employment opportunity for yourself, and your children.  Though you may know which tube is for oxygen, patiently listen to each of your team member’s instructions, follow through.  When you are in an abusive situation, you are not thinking clearly.  It’s as if you are miles away from the rest of humanity, trying to solve it all with less oxygen.  Trust your hand-picked team. 

Utilize your resources.  Felix Baumgartner had the Red Bull Stratos Team expertise at his command. 

http://www.redbullstratos.com/

Build your resources too.   One amazing resource I remember using is a book by
Ginny NiCarthy~Getting Free

Ginny NiCarthy's work is, as described in the first comment under the book’s post, almost a ‘bible’ of reference, without the ‘psycho-babble’. It can be used as a common sense, safe way to heal from domestic abuse, &  GET OUT!

http://books.google.com/books/about/Getting_Free.html?id=V1afAgDDiQ4C

Get the book!  Write in it as she encourages, and feel your will strengthen.  This book is Red Bull Stratos strong for your downward spin.  It will teach you:  the angles you need to adjust in your life, the compensation for the abuse you are enduring, your need to resist your mate and define your every movement, to stop the head over heels feeling, and the loss of life’s control. You can do it! Many of us have, and we wish the same solid, on the ground feeling, for you.  Unlike my lack of professional input, Ms. NiCarthy has countless credentials to help you counter your spin.  Make her part of your Stratos Team!

http://www.ginnynicarthy.org/about.html

There is only one question left.

What was Felix Baumgartner able to manipulate or change to redirect his course, to save his life?  What are you able to change or redirect? 

The answer is: only yourself. 

Mr. Baumgartner was not able at the downward decent speed of 843.6 mph change someone’s opinion of himself, nor should that have been even a fleeting concern.  His focus was on his body’s movements, his choices of direction to ensure a safe landing, to walk again free, with oxygen, on the earth.

Your choices should be the same.  In the downward ‘death spin’, you do not have the option to worry about what others think of you.  Remember the consult of your hand-picked team members, your resources of life experience, and follow your focus, your plan to safety.  Many may think as they will of you. That is their right.  It is your right too, to follow a course you feel best, countering an abusive mate’s flux, that has altered life’s balance, and regain solid footing again.  Despite the tongue wagging you may hear along the way, think of the words as clouds, some are beautiful, others-not so much. But clouds nonetheless, and not harmful. (without lightning, anyway!) They are fluffy side notes as you engage your parachute, following new commands, to control your life, you may have never used.  Pull that rip cord! Soon a huge chasm will separate you and your abusive mate.  It will seem as if you left them miles away in the outer stratosphere.  Now, negativity is drifting off alone.  Off to support the dark places it creates, like black holes in it's supporters wounded hearts and minds. 

You though, are able to feel sunshine and the love of your team members, ready to congratulate you for such a brave and mind boggling life achievement!  You've torn yourself from the known but painful, and stepped into the unknown, but soon to be safe.  The spin will stop shortly.  You will stand, and not believe your strength and strong spine.  A dear friend once told me the chasm is deep, but it is only, one step across.  Take the step! 

Take it like Felix Baumgartner did on October 14, 2012. Your date will be historic too!  The day you walked off that tiny ledge of the known, to find your freedom again in the unknown. Your freedom from abuse will soon be history. We will smile, with proud tear filled eyes, as you beam back behind your helmet dome, and then raise it to breathe.  The breath you now and will always control. 

You will add to that list of things you control.  Soon it will be:  where you live, who you call on the phone, how to spend your money, and with whom you wish to spend time.  There may be new freedoms like:  how you wish to style your hair, clothes you choose to wear, a kind new loving way to be intimate and share. 

All will be restored, and healed with your electron strong core will.  Direction will be given through hand-picked team advisors.  These will be the tools at your side, your wing flaps to guide you and make you stronger.

Don’t be surprised as you seem to become larger than life strong, that you will meet with resistance from your abusive mate.  This point in your decent can be critically dangerous.  Utilize your team members for safety. 

Mr. Baumgartner knew he only had 10 minutes of Oxygen. 

He said: ”  you cannot think and come up with decisions while you freefall. It’s just too fast and too overwhelming.”

http://www.popsci.com/technology/article/2012-10/felix-baumgartner%E2%80%99s-nail-biting-ascent

Seek out professionals and law enforcement to help guide your way.  Your safety is of the utmost importance.  Don’t worry about a car or a big screen TV.  It will not help guide you out of a ‘death spin’.

Here is part of the common sense- pre-jump -check list I remember, and have used from Ginny NiCarthy’s book, Getting Free.

Keep your car keys and phone with you, even when you sleep.

Keep extra clothes, medication, and personal care items for yourself and children, packed in your car. 

This includes extra work clothes. 

Start a secret bank account in your name only.

Save money when you can, (vinegar and water instead of Windex), and bank your extra cash.

Start attending classes to better yourself and income possibilities.  Choose short term certificate programs that ensure employment availability.  The medical field is great.  Hospitals are open 24/7.

Get a job with tuition reimbursement, to keep your career growing stronger with further education.

Watch what is going on around you.  If you feel your cycle of abuse is turning quickly to one that is violent, GET OUT!  Make an excuse, like going for milk and leave!

Your life is more important than possessions.  Do not stay in an abusive relationship, or go back to one for your stuff.  Things can be recovered.  Family mementos are not as important as your life.  An abusive mate may target these things, by being destructive, to control and keep you.

Share your story.  Tell others what is happening in your life.  Do not live a secret life of abuse.  Add trusted advisors to your team.  Let them know where you are at all times. 

Utilize law enforcement when needed.  Many a person has died, (while a police officer sat in a squad car outside), trying to ‘get their stuff’ from the home of an abusive mate.  Make them do their job and go in with you! Protect yourself!   ~see heartbreaking examples in: Next Time She’ll Be Dead by Ann Jones http://www.annjonesonline.com/NextTime.html 

Obtain an order of protection.

Utilize security officers at work, informing them of your order of protection.

Join abuse survivor support groups.  Attend the meetings. Create change/maintain boundaries. Remember you are in a ‘death spin’.  Take care not to take on someone else’s too!

Watch your surroundings, when you are walking to your car or driving in traffic.  Call 911 immediately, even if you are unsure of your safety. 

Keep all your important documents with you, or with a trusted team member.  Don’t go back into an abusive or life threatening situation for a birth certificate or social security card.  Documents can be replaced.  Your life cannot. 

Give yourself permission to make mistakes.  This is the first time you are leaving an abusive relationship.  You may not do everything according to the book, but your team members will help ensure: you get out alive.

Allow yourself to feel sad for the loss of the relationship.  Many a person has stopped the lifesaving process when fed the fumes of guilt or shame.  Don’t succumb to heart strings being pulled by a mate, or the shame a family may impose for divorce or separation.  If reconciliation is a possibility, it can happen after you are safe, and have landed solidly on the ground, after surviving a ‘death spin’.  If not, then move on. 

Remember YOUR Bill of Rights:

BILL OF RIGHTS

· You have the right to be you.

· You have the right to put yourself first.

· You have the right to be safe.

· You have the right to love and be loved.

· You have the right to be treated with respect.

· You have the right to be human - NOT PERFECT.

· You have the right to be angry and protest if you are treated unfairly or abusively by anyone.

· You have the right to your own privacy.

· You have the right to your own opinions, to express them, and to be taken seriously.

· You have the right to earn and control your own money.

· You have the right to ask questions about anything that affects your life.

· You have the right to make decisions that affect you.

· You have the right to grow and change (and that includes changing your mind).

· You have the right to say NO.

· You have the right to make mistakes.

· You have the right NOT to be responsible for other adults’ problems.

· You have the right not to be liked by everyone.

· YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO CONTROL YOUR OWN LIFE AND TO CHANGE IT IF   YOU ARE NOT HAPPY WITH IT AS IT IS.

And please, above all, know YOU are loved, for who you are, as a member of a world family.

The resources available to you, earned from the hard work and tears of ones before you, yes, ~even loss of life, are invaluable.  Use them! Be safe, and start your life:

                                                SPINNING IN CONTROL!