Thursday, December 14, 2017

Instinct versus Choice

Animals are instinctual. A dog does not look at a squirrel and think...should I chase it? Should I stay on the leash with my owner? Or a cat doesn't think...I shouldn't hiss, that wouldn't be nice.  He can be trained to stay next to his owner, but that is training. Animals DO  NOT deliberate in their mind what they are going to do.  This is something only humans can do.



We, humans, have choices. We can use our minds to make up something in our head. We can believe that something exist that isn't there, for example, God. However, even that sentence would be offensive to those that believe in God because in their mind, GOD DOES EXIST.  Or, vise verse, we can believe something didn't happen when it did. We can make up our own mind.

Protestors, for example, like to change peoples minds.  They think ALL people should think they they do. OR they believe that they can change peoples minds. OR for people that haven't made up their minds, they persuade them to believe the same as they do.

Others that try to change your mind and do not value your opinion, thoughts, or perceptions are abusing your mind. Your mind is yours. If you talk about something that isn't there, people can have empathy for you, but they should not devalue your mind. They do not convince you're wrong. This would be a form of abuse. They are attempting to control what you think.
We can change our mind. We are never forced to do drugs. It is not instinctual to be addicted. Addiction is an illness, but we still have a choice if we want help.

The MIND is fascinating. We change it when ever we want. We believe what we want or We believe what we don't want. 

The most WONDERFUL thing about being human is that WE CAN CHANGE OUR MIND!
Why feel bad about canceling the wedding the day before, it is the most inherited right from above, to CHANGE OUR MIND. 

Some people get upset when people change their mind! IT IS OKAY TO CHANGE YOUR MIND. If humans decide they don't want to do something they just change their mind. Some people do this frequently. But I have never met anyone that likes to change their mind. It is seen as a negative thing. As if, the person didn't know better. They were ignorant. Changing your mind may mean you were enlightened or deceived. If it is the latter, change your mind again. DON'T FEEL OBLIGATED!
And children will hold you to your word if you said you would take them to the park. But, explain this: I can change my mind. Because children need to understand that it is OKAY TO CHANGE YOUR MIND. 

The mind can also block unwanted memories. This a protection for humans. The mind can exaggerate       things. This is fascinating. Just as in the Movie "A Beautiful Mind". He believed things were happening and no body could just say to him, this isn't real. He believed it. It was an illness, but his mind saw and heard things that were not real. A child can believe what they want. 

No body can make you believe something that you don't want to. No one can take away your beliefs as true or false as the may be. People can talk to you for hours, and try to change your mind, but it won't happen unless you choose. I can decide to like someone or not. You can't change my mind. It is wonderful to have control over this.  

This is why I love our minds. People can try to control your mind. But, people ultimately have control over their minds. Someone can talk to you until they are blue in the face. Someone can make you repeat phrases or say things you don't mean....But you still believe what you want to believe.  They can't see your mind. You and only you can know what you believe. The MIND is fascinating. 

So, if you are ever worried about changing your mind....don't be. It is your inherent right to change your mind. You are not an instinctual animal. 

Skipping Stones- A Multicultural Magazine and the Disappearing Language

Here is a link to the April- June 2014 Issue of Skipping Stones- A Multicultural Literary Magazine.
Erman was a proud contributor (his Apache words) on the story that I wrote about the Disappearing Language of the Apache People on the reservation. They are slowly losing their language as the newer generations do not teach it to their children.

Skipping Stones Issue April-June 2014


And this is food for thought. My niece was in a store and over heard to white woman discussing the Natives in Arizona. This is what she heard them saying. Although it was true, I feel it was said with the utmost disrespect.


Something that was being discussed right in front of me 😒.
"Of all the adversities the Natives went through, they are still here and that was their main goal right? just to exist and show the government they can't kill them off that easy? and wasn't the governments main purpose to kill the culture, keep the individual? that my friend is happening now. How many Native Americans still practice their tradition on a daily basis? How many speak the language that makes them who they are? Not many. The traditions that were once sacred are now being treated as events or festivities and money has to be present in order for people to show up or host. That is not what those practices were intended for. Their language is basically history and no one follows old traditions. Times are changing and so are the people. Many natives think their own culture is wrong and many don't want to learn their language or keep it alive. This new generation of natives will be the proof that the government won. Their language is dying along side the traditions not many practice. Soon they will be a bunch of English speaking, treating their traditions as history, fully transitioned Americans, and that my friend was calvary and the governments goal."

Whol Fhaye A huge topic and platform to cover, it is said also some tribes are consider putting in the agenda that future generations will only be considered enrollment if parents are married bcuz of many kids are born to parents that are unmarried. I wonder how that will play out??? Jus something I heard

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December 1 at 7:28am
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Dain Ahasteen I wish I could share this

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December 1 at 8:22am
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Jessica Dahl Ivins Were they purposely trying to get under your skin or were they that ignorant?

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Paula Ivins What's sad about it is that they introduced Alcohol & Drugs to help in killing the values of our traditions, keep them drunk & incompetent to keep them from thinking straight.. Prayer & Faith is what well help in restoring what we can and know to be True.. A good topic to bring up to a Candidate Atiana A Jay.. ❤️

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Saturday, December 9, 2017

Teenagers...ahahahah!

I love babies! But Teenagers? 

First born girls are more likely succeed [because their mom's didn't give up]. Hence...Beyoncé, Hillary Clinton, Sheryl Sandberg, Oprah, J.K. Rowling, Lena Dunham, Kate Middleton and Angela Merkel were all firstborns.

What about boys...24 out of 44 U.S. Presidents were first borns. 21 out of 23 Astronauts were first born sons.  One reason first borns are so success full....

according to wise geeks...... "because oldest children tend to be given more responsibilities, such as babysitting their siblings, which might translate into the older children becoming comfortable with being leaders. First-born children might also have more confidence because they do not have to share attention with others as much during the first years of their lives, and their milestones are often more celebrated because they are the first in the family."

and this business insider will give you lots of theories....business insider "first born children smarter"

I have watched mothers give up on their teenagers. They sink into their own lives and stop telling their kids what to do. 

Statistically, first children are more successful....because their mothers have not given up on them. 


BUT forget theory....Both Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg have older siblings.
It all comes down to ....
Mom is  TIRED
No automatic alt text available.

Saturday, March 18, 2017

Layers of Getting Back up and Trying Again

I went to the Grand Canyon and Antelope Canyon this month with my beloved husband. He is the one that pesters me, laughs at me, makes fun of me, makes me the pun of his jokes, and believe it or not, loves me. He has taught me to laugh about the small things and I have taught him to laugh at the big things. We each deal with problems in our own way. I could name all my big problems for you, but you have your own to forget about. We move on, past our problems, but we don't forget them.


Antelope Canyon
Page, AZ

Our problems, progression, mistakes, pains, joys, and gifts,  are all engraved on each of us. Each one is like a layer in the Grand Canyon. It took years to get all those beautiful layers of rock, silt, dirt, and minerals. Some layers are thicker than others. Some are thin. Some even have little pebbles embedded in the layer, like the scars we carry with us. And after each layer water would come and wash in a new layer. I would be baptized with rejuvenated hope. And then, the water would dry up again and leave another layer. Each time another problem would come, I would blame my creator. Why? Why me? The layer would dry eventually leaving another bed of dried rock to carry on top of the others. Then the rocks crashed against each other and some were raised and others went deeper into the earth forgotten and out of sight. The ones that raised above the earth reached for the sky and revealed their layers. People would come an look at these rocks and behold their beauty. All those layers revealed her secrets, yet it was beautiful.

Then the sandstone that filled the crevasses, the years of no joy, no learning, no pains, were washed away by the rushing water.  We must have those years of no joy, to see the joy. We must have the years of pain, to enjoy the years of no pain. No layer is more important than another. They all work magnificently to create a breathtaking view. Now thousands of people love to visit these Canyons and see her years of creation. It was the time that created her, and it will be time that creates our beautiful life. We must stick through the tough time and see that there will be beauty to behold.
Grand Canyon
Arizona
South Rim

I think back to my young life at 17. I got pregnant and married. I remember times when I would go pick up my child from kindergarten and some moms would not talk to me because I was so young. I could feel people look at me with pity, "That poor girl is already pregnant. She will never get to enjoy life. Her marriage is doomed. Her poor child." The women that sought out different things in life only pitied me.  "Your not old enough to have a 10 year old! How old are you?" (I still hear this!) Your not old enough to have a son that's married! I have already prepared myself for, "You're not old enough to be a grandma!" I will say, "Oh dear! Enlighten me on the age requirement. And what is the age requirement for having a doltish tongue?"

Then there were the ones that didn't judge me for those social standards the world set. They saw a girl wanting what was best for her child and marriage. They saw a young girl, but one that was determined. I just used my "handicaps" to weed out the women that abhorred me. It was easy to like me or hate me. Those that didn't see my life as pitiful became my friends. I was fortunate to find some wonderful friends. I have never regretted having children young. Infact, in third grade I said I wanted 100 kids. I have since changed my mind. I may have different layers in my life that create a different canyon. That is the beauty of it, we all have different lives. I was fortunate that I couldn't hide my differences (becoming pregnant at 17), but some people try to hide their differences from society. Don't hide it. Use it. Show your layers.

If you suffer from a mental illness, don't be embarrassed.
If you have a medical diagnosis, don't hide it.
If you made a mistake, own it.
If you lost, congratulate the winner.
If you failed, wipe off your knees and try again.


I love myself!
(FICTION)

When I was 5 and learning to ride a bike I would fall. "Get up, get up. Try again." I learned to ride the bike in 3 days.


I NEVER heard, "How come you fell off!? Don't you know you have to keep peddling!"

Then I turned 11 and tried smoking with my friends. "What were you thinking!" I learned to hide my mistakes.

INSTEAD, I needed to hear, "You can try again at this game called life. Get back up and try again. Tomorrow is another day."

Then I was 15 and watched some porn. "You are going to be a sex addict and never understand relationships." I learned to hide my curiosity.

INSTEAD, I needed to hear, "You may have curiosity, but this is addictive. Try again tomorrow and keep peddling through life."

Then I was 17 and became pregnant. Silence. Sadness.  I learned to regret my life.


INSTEAD, I needed to hear, "keep peddling in this game we call life. This will one day make a beautiful layer in your life if you let it."

Now I'm 22 and have 3 kids. I tell them for every mistake they make, to get back up and try again. We all have to keep trying. We make mistakes, we fall down. We don't master being a teenager in a week. We need encouragement to get back up and try again. We don't master motherhood in a year. We must try again. Masters were not created in a month. It takes years. Just as a canyons take years. And we may not ever master it, because we are ALL always learning.

Keep on clogging!





Saturday, February 4, 2017

OBSERVATIONS of LOVE..unedited

Observations of LOVE... unedited

I wonder if people know how to love. If they can't love, where did they learn to not love?
What makes you LOVE? Who taught you to love? Who gave you the security to put you heart out there and love other people?

Love is a decision.

First, we choose not to love when we say we can't love. Love takes effort and continual fighting for.

Falling in Love usually includes a denominator of sexual passion. This is a kind of love, but not the kind that we should continue. (The Road Less Traveled.) But, let's admit it, passion is a plus.
Then there is the love that comes when we have kids. This is the kind most people think comes naturally, but if we haven't learned to love, the kids can really end up screwed up!
Then adopting. Some people know they can't ever adopt because they just wouldn't love the child the same as their own. (not my words). I have heard it said before this way, "if my house was burning I would grab my own kids first, then the others." TERRIBLE.
Then kids learn to love their parents and siblings from watching their parents. Hopefully, parents do not teach their kids to love conditionally.
Then men have to learn to love their mom's and let them go to love their wife. Some boys have a hard time doing this. We can blame the mom's for this.
OR vise versa, every woman is not as mean as their moms. The boys have to learn to let their guard down and love a girl fully.
Then the daughters have to learn that every guy is not as nice as their dads. So they leave the house and are naive.
OR Vise versa, every guy is not as mean as their dad. The daughters keep a guard up and do not love fully.
Then there are the cat people and the dog people. They use their pets to replace a significant other because they will never be rejected.

Bottom line, don't live in fear. Bust a move. Quit being so selfish and ego-centric. Who cares if you get hurt? Get back up and love again.

I got married when I was 17 years old. I didn't have a clue what I was doing. I came from a "broken home". I lived with my mom and from 6th grade on. I also thought that my dad was a horrible person. I didn't trust people and thought that all boys were 'out for one thing'. I was also told by Donahue and Oprah that I would marry someone just like my dad unconsciously. That was the last thing I wanted. I  had seen Forest Gump, and the only nice man that I saw was handicapped. So, I got pregnant soon after I turned 17. I just plunged into marriage and hoped for the best. I knew he was a nice guy. He supported me in my dreams. He took care of my little family and loved my new baby. He told me every morning as he left for work, "I love you." I would pretend I was asleep sometimes. Other times I said it back. But he kept saying it, every morning. He would get on my nerves sometimes. I would tell him everything he was doing wrong and he never told me anything I did wrong. He worked. I stayed home with the kids and quit school. I just kept truckin'. I thought I wanted to divorce him when we had a rough year.  I made plans and soon the rough patch healed. We made it through the good and the bad. He didn't judge me when I was losing my mind and I let it go when he had a bad day at work. He helped me at home with the kids and I helped him stay on the straight and narrow. When I struggled he held me up, and when he struggled I held him up. Then 20 years passed. I woke up one morning realized, This guy really does love me. He has stayed with me this long, put up with my chaos and always showed his devotion to me. Then guilt swept over me. I hadn't always let him know how much I appreciated everything he had done. Although he wasn't the romantic kind, he had always been there. That was much more than adorning me with riches.
I thought of how every older woman had gotten under my skin by letting me know that a man is one that is romantic, or that he remembers your anniversary. But that wasn't my man. He was simple and unconditional in his love. He loved me with my unshaven legs and feisty mouth. And I loved him when he sat and watched TV for hours. It was hard with little kids. Somedays I felt like I held everyone together. I cleaned up the puke, called the insurance company to appeal unpaid bills, paid the speeding ticket, then made dinner and did the dishes. Some days are like that. But, I do think that finding someone to do all that stuff with matters. When it is all said and done I look back and say, we have made it that far.

Looking at the "adulting" that people hate now, It does suck. I remember thinking that adults had it all. But when I got to that plateau of adulting, I realized that adults can really suck. They can be self absorbed, alcoholics, beating, cheater Sons of Bitches. But Adults can be good. I sometimes look at old people and wonder how they made it through. The same way we have over the last thousands of years, getting back up and trying again. It sucks. My grandma died eating a Snickers everyday, but she had lived and survived. She deserved that Snickers everyday. But I also think that we have to be NICE as we do it. And if we can remember that, it can be GREAT.

Monday, July 27, 2015

Adopting a New Identity for Advantage

Is it okay for someone to decide to be black, or African American? Is it okay for a black person to become white? We don't have a problem with boys becoming girls, so why have a problem with changing our race? I would hope that all people embrace themselves and love who they are, but not all people feel comfortable in their skin. I can't imagine feeling this way. But wait, we have certain rights for blacks, Native American, yellow, red and whites, ei. scholarships for college based on race, and "special" treatment by (some) police officers.

 I wouldn't mind being a black woman sometimes. They have a stereotype of, "I am a strong woman." But if a policeman pulled me over I would definitely want to be white. While shopping I would not want to be brown. White or black is good. In school, it would depend on the geographical region. In NM, being brown would be better. But being black in Utah is not. Being in a jungle fever relationship in the south, not so much. Being a white boy in Tennessee...you get the picture.

Women and men have a set of stereotypical ways they are treated by some in the work. Woman, don't be emotionally driven or else you will be looked at as a .... woman. Heaven forbid. In Interstellar Hathaway was driven emotionally and shot down for it. Brand argues in the film that love is a propulsive force, sending us in the directions we need to go. Sometimes we feel that we are tapping into that force of love; other times, it picks us up and forcibly pushes us toward the right decision or action. This isn’t unique to Interstellar; other sci-fi works ascribe much the same power to love, including the ability to manifest as a weapon and the power to induce self-awareness and evolution.
http://www.tor.com/2014/11/13/love-in-sci-fi-interstellar-speech/

Yet, men still decide to be woman and women decide to be men. Here is a quote from the 1850's.
  
And treatment in the workforce being a woman is not always equal.



Now to the racial identity part: 
And as you will read that one adopts a new identity if it is to their advantage. 


     I couldn’t help but think of Rachel Dolezal as I watched “Yellow Face” at Salt Lake City’s People Production. This winsome small theater supports African-American Theater in Salt Lake City.  “Yellow Face” should have a second run considering the unfolding of events in Spokane and the themes that are brought to light in a laugh out loud comedy directed by Kerry Lee. 
     Henry David Hwang, a Chinese-American playwright, won an Emmy in 1988 for “M. Butterfly”. He went on to write another play called “Yellow Face” in 2007 that grappled with his idea of racial identity. He used satire to reveal his comedic view of racial identity. By the end of the play it turns toward a serious question of “Who We Are”.  
     “Yellow Face” shows us how someone can accidentally take on another identity and use this to his advantage. This mixed up character hasn’t lied, yet hasn’t been truthful about his identity to his lover, friends, and employers. This may sound familiar with the headlines. However, integrity is at the base of revealing Marcus’s true identity in the play.
     Just as the sincere character in “Yellow Face” takes on Asian American rights, so does Rachel Dolezal. Can we blame her for fight for African American rights? She has a son that is half black. Her brother that she adopted is black. She has a vested interest in the NAACP.  Does that make it okay for her to take on a new identity? “Yellow Face” also address the flip side of being a racial minority. Just because Hwang is Asian, does he have to be an activist for Asian American rights?  I can’t go join a Native American Tribe and become a chief just because I identify as an Indian. Or If I was a Native American, do I have to take on an active role in bettering education on the Reservation.
     When we start pointing out who is what we are really only identifying with stereotypes. We have all done it and they have been here from the beginning but they also change.  Chinese Americans were once seen as uneducated and now they are identified as all being smart. White people can’t dance, and black can. Oops, that’s a fact. Stereotypes are funny in “Yellow Face”, but as Terri Lee has said, “They can be confusing.” Beyond the stereotypes is our heritage, we can’t erase that. It’s at our core imbedded in our soul.  
     When someone doesn’t love who they are or where they come from, that raises questions. Is it okay to choose our racial identity? If it isn’t, then why is it okay to choose one’s gender identity? Are interracial adoptions healthy for the child’s identity? If a child is in an interracial adoption, what is his racial identity?
     Cynthia Ann Parker, who was taken captive in 1836 by the Comanche, adopted the Comanche ways, and was essentially an Indian in her eyes. Did Rachel Dolezal take on another identity to survive her internal crisis of not being able to be herself? Where do we draw the line in the sand?  And Marcus G. was fooled into accepting his Asian identity in “Yellow Face”. Does that make it okay?  I thoroughly enjoyed the play and praise David Henry Hwang for being brave enough to tackle some of the themes he has in his plays, even amidst some of the uproar from his own Asian Americans. Let’s have “Yellow Face” back for another run!



Thursday, April 23, 2015

Getting Rid by Jessica F. Ivins


Friends have talked of their own experiences and sister's experiences of abortion in the 50's. I never had an abortion but did become pregnant at seventeen. If I had lived in the 50's I am sure I would have had worse pressure from society. The fifties were a shaming society that let one know of their faults. One woman I spoke to sat in the abortion clinic in the 60's with her mom and got up and walked out the door. Her mother was ashamed of her and had taken her to the clinic.    I was advised by a co-worker to get an abortion and how easy it was. I never would have. To see what he is and has become is evidence that abortion kills. Children have a right to be here. Women hold that right for children. It is their job to protect that right for children.
This is the story of a girl, Carol, that needs an abortion. Little does she know that she is just following in her mother's footsteps.



Short Story: Getting Rid

"Look what I found! A Pete Alexander rookie card!" The boy could hardly contain himself.
"Where’d you get it!"
"It was at a pawn shop my brother works at. He got it for me! Who'd want to get rid of this?"
"Yes, sir-ee, he could pitch in to a tin can. You know he started with the Phillies back in 1911," the other boy kicked the dirt and reached for the card.
"No way, you can't hold it....Good Ol' Pete is mine and I'm not getting rid of him."

TWO WEEKS EARLIER

It had been another day of answering phones and listening to people request medical records for the returned veterans for Margaret. The repetition of the day carried on as she took the bus home and walked two blocks to her two bedroom house and two daughters. She hadn't gotten her hair done in over two years. She dreamed of the short hair cut with a saucer hat. That was about all she could dream about. Her thoughts were most often about how God had taken her husband and left her with two daughters.

Lucy and Carol worked down the street on a farm. They didn't grasp the idea that they were poor because it was all they knew their sixteen and fifteen years.  Margaret knew Lucy would help buy some groceries when she got paid. Carol, the first-born, not a chance.
Sweeping the floor for Margaret was like watching a somber dance. The same thoughts always came to her.

Lou was gone. I haven't had a man's touch since 1941. Why couldn't Carol or Lucy have been a boy? Her high button shoes and her dull grey dress danced around her selfish sad thoughts. Her shoes were just as ragged as her miserable life.

"I'm pregnant," a voice entered from behind.

Margaret stopped sweeping for a moment. The words were like a cold wind had just crept in and ruined her daily pattern. Margaret started sweeping again, continuing her drab thoughts of how this added to her nadir of life. Carol. Pregnant?

Carol waited for her mom to do something, or show some sort of emotion, None. Margaret stopped sweeping long enough for the words to enter her ears and then slowly started gathering the pile of dirt on the unfinished, worn hard wood floor. She wasn't finished sweeping, but her nightly routine of sweeping was suddenly disturbed by her daughter's cacophony of words.  There wasn't much dirt. But it only takes a little dirt to make the floor dusty. It only takes a word to change the feeling in the house. And it only takes one mistake to change a life. 

Margaret continued sweeping and turned her thoughts from herself to her daughter for a fleeting moment. Hadn't she inculcated the idea that education was important? She was barely seventeen.  How would she go to school and support a child.  The war was over and prices were rising.  Milk was now a quarter a jug. Why hadn't Carol learned from watching her mom struggle making $1.40 a hour. 

A tear slipped down Margaret's cheek.  Her thoughts completed the circle and returned to herself. The tear landed in the little pile of dirt as she stooped down to sweep it into the dust pan. Carol saw the tear hit the floor.  She had never seen her mom cry before. Carol thought her mom was incapable of crying since she never saw a tear when father died. It was as though her mom had wanted him to die. She had seen her mother be turned down at the grocery mart to charge milk, lay in her bed for two days without eating, but she never cried. It was almost a relief to see her mom cry, but she wanted more than a tear. She wanted help. She wanted comfort. Guidance.
Margaret had cried plenty when she was in high school and determined that it didn't do any good. That man she called her husband was nothing more than a paycheck. He was going to be shipped out and took Margaret out on one last date. He had forced himself on her virgin body and she became pregnant. She took hot bathes and hot douches that burned her insides. It was done. She was pregnant and nothing could rid that baby inside her. She waited three months for him to come back and told him. It was all she could do. There were married two weeks later and Margaret hid this secret of 1916 from everyone, especially her daughters. 

Carol tried to be palliative. "Here, let me do that." She bent down to take the dust pan. 
It wasn't going to make the pain any less.  Just the sound of Carols voice was like a dagger in Margaret's heart. She remembered when Lou had taken her to the building in New York after they were married. He said he was goin' to fix things.  It was more acceptable then that a married couple do this sort of thing. Lou had told his buddies he "got'er fixed.  Margaret had tried to not think about it since. The splintered wooden desk with her legs spread for the woman.  Lou told her to lie and say that she didn't feel the baby moving inside of her. She wanted to run, run out the door and never see Lou again. Anna Johnson ended up dead, maybe she would too? She tried to bring void to her mind. Lou always got what he wanted. He didn't even like spending money, but he came up with the forty dollars for the deed. 

To have the same thing happen to her daughter brought anguish. She pictured herself watching the baby and how dreadful it would be for everyone. Just when Margaret thought life couldn't get worse it did. Abortions were at least more acceptable for Margaret's mother, but since Dr. Johnson came around forty plus years ago, he convinced everyone it was murder. 
How much could an abortion be now. She tried to erase the thoughts from her hapless mind. She didn't even have money for butter. 

Swish, Swish

The broom broke the silence. Carol was still standing watching her mom. She stood for a moment holding the dust pan. Nothing. Couldn't Margaret at least shout at her. What have you done? Why? But, nothing. Carol walked to the kitchen in the silence and dropped the dirt from the floor into the tin trash can. The sound trickled as it finally hit the bottom. 
Margaret when to bed early that night. It was Carol's turn to put the dirt in the trash can. She knew what her mother wanted her to do.

Carol had heard of a midwife in Delaware that could, "fix'er." She talked to Steven about driving her down south. He said he couldn't miss any school or his dad would whip 'em. Carol threatened to tell his parents. This quickly changed his childish mind to the more prominent problem. Punishment for skipping school was more desirable than a pregnant girl. It would take nearly four hours to drive to Delaware over the Delaware River Bridge. 

"We need fifty dollars." She looked him in the eyes to be sure he heard. 

"Where do you expect that kind of money?" He put his hand to his sweater vest and shook his head. 

“I can't wait any longer, I'll be quickening." She quietly said and looked down ashamed.

Steven had a quizzical look on his face. "What's quickening?"

"When I can feel the baby move. I have to do it before." She looked behind her to see if anyone was near. She knew nobody was near, but it was a nervous habit. All she could see were the trees crowding in on her and suffocating her every word.

Steven's baby face resolved. "Okay, I'll get the money."

Then he mumbled, "There goes my Pete Alexander rookie card." He kicked the dirt. He thought of his grandpa giving him that card on a Sunday. Grandpa always caught the foul ball from behind home plate. He had went to ever Phillies game and told Steven to never get rid of it.  

Carol didn't wait for him to have a moment of sympathy over a baseball card. She wanted Friday to be here now. She hated the thought of a baby inside of her. Everybody always knew somebody that had had an abortion and now, that someone, was Carol.

One can't wait for spring to come after a long hard winter. Especially a Northeastern winter. Friday seemed to be that spring that Carol was waiting for, but it wouldn't hurry. It was only March. The day began dark and cold as most do in March. A storm had come in during the night and brought howling winds and dark clouds. Carol's mom went to work as she did every day. She walked to the bus stop and waited for the bus to take her to Philly.  She never strayed from her routine of nodding to the bus driver with her melancholy smile- if you could call it a smile.

The 1935 Ford pickup truck finally arrived. It was Steven's dad's, but he let him drive it on some Friday's because he had meetings. Steven had unplugged the mileage so his dad wouldn't notice that he drove to Delaware. If Stevern could take it back he would. He tried to tell himself that he was a man for taking care of business. For some reason, he felt like a little boy trying to hide the broken vase from a mom. His parents were well known in the town and he knew that he'd better take care of business. His mother knew every disciple at Saint Peter's Church and his father was on the township board. His parents would be utterly embarrassed if Steven was not the perfect baby boy they had raised. Steven was their oldest, and the younger sister looked up to Peter for his wonderful singing voice in church.

The midwife that her friend's cousin had went to was more difficult to find than the secret bases the Soviet Union were setting up. The first address Carol was given was a pharmacy. The cashier was a nice man with greased back hair. He was young. 

Carol whispered, "I need to get fixed." 

The young man didn't flinch, he found for the pharmacist and handed him a pencil and paper. They gave a tacit nod and the pharmacist began writing the address. 

401 South Derry Drive Apt B

He wrote it fast and Steven disrupted the exchange like a dull awl, "Are you sure this is the address?" 

The man didn't listen he just turned around and went back to work. She knew it was in Delaware. The only bridge was the Delaware River Bridge. They could take the New Castle Pennsville ferry, but it would take forty-five minutes just to cross the river. The ride was full of nonplussed air.

Mme Bryan- the sign read in the front grass square. They parked across the street and walked to apartment B to find another sign: Please use back door. The words were painted with white paint and the B was washed away. 

"Do you want me to wait in the car?" Steven said hoping that Carol would say yes.

"I didn't make this thing by myself, and I won't get rid of it by myself." Carol didn't give him a chance to reply with his talk through his hat.

The door squeaked as they opened it. it was a kitchen without a table and four wooden chairs for a make-shift waiting room. A woman was knitting. Carol peered around the corner and a bedroom door shut in a hurry. A big woman with an apron came out and said, "Have a seat. I'll be out in a minute." 

The knitting woman never looked up. She simply said in a monotone voice, "It's quicker than a hog eatin' brock."

Carol sat on the chair thinking of the other women that had been her. Should she feel guilty? Was this the girl’s mom knitting? Would she feel better if her mom had come? 

It was past the 1800's when everyone knew what an abortion was, a form of birth control. It wasn't until the 1900's it was called infanticide. Carol kept her ear keen to the door opening. She was nervous when it did open.  The heavy woman washed her hands in the kitchen and said to the knitting woman in a warm Irish accent, "She needs a wee bit of rest. It's well if ya' want to stay the night." 

"We will leave. Thank you Ms. Bryan. How much do I owe you? "The knitter said.

"No payment till she's ready to leave."

The Irish woman turned to Carol. "Come on back me lad." She smiled as to offer comfort.

Steven stayed glued to his seat. Carol walked to the room and the door closed. Steven sat thinking of where his Ol' Pete card was by now. The pawn shop probably had sold it by now. 

Carol took a seat in the lone chair in the small bedroom.

"Ya don't need to tell me too much- 'bout how far along are'ya?"

"Probably eight weeks." Carol looked at the wooden brown desk  and then out the window to the pelting rainstorm. The storm in Jersey had caught up to them in Delaware. 

"Britches down and on me desk. Put the wee blanket over your bottom half." 

She turned and got a curette. It looked like a giant silver bobby pin. Carol kept her eyes on the ceiling and feeling every touch, every sensation, every pain. While starring at the ceiling she noticed a water leak. It simply was a dark spot that was obviously from the pounding rain. The water spot slowly grew from a pin tip size to a penny in a matter of seconds. 

Ms. Bryan brought herself back to a standing position. "Rest for a moment dear." Carol laid there waiting for the uncomfortable pain inside of her to go away. The midwife took the wooden bucket out of the room. The flushing toilet sound told Carol it was done.

After fifteen minutes Carol tried to tell herself the pain was better. She held a cloth between her legs.

"The bleeding will stop soon dear." She smiled comfortlessly. 

He held his jacket over her shoulders as she walked carefully to the truck. He took the ferry back. Carol was asleep for the drive home so it didn't matter anyway. When they pulled up to the little ranch house it was only almost four. It was a long drive. The towel between her legs was now heavy and warm. 

"Sorry." Steven said as he opened the truck door for her. 

She dragged her baby-less body to the humble home. Steven watched her until the door closed. The sun had just shown it's face for the first time that day. Carol plopped on the couch and didn't move. She fell fast asleep. Steven quickly drove for the pawn shop.  He hoped he could still get the card. He wondered why the abortion didn't cost a thing, but all he wanted was his Pete Alexander rookie card. 

"Do you still have the my card?" Steven asked as if he was a 10 year old boy again. 

The man chuckled, "That card was gone the day we got it. I bought it for my little brother. Sorry about your bad luck." The pawn shop worker turned, "but we have a DeMaggio guy from the Boston Bees.  It's the only rookie card I have."

"No thanks, it was my grandpa's card. 

"Why'd you get rid of that?" The man said to deaf ears. Steven walked out without saying a word.

Carol lay on the couch as the bleeding became heavier. She woke up once to a thought of relief.  It was done. Her mom came home at 5:15 every evening, but she was late that day due to flooding from the rain. Carol was lying on the couch when she walked in.

"Hi dear. Where is your sister?" She walked to the kitchen to get the broom. 

Margaret began sweeping but there wasn't much dirt on the floor today, the rain had settled the dirt. She started thinking about her Lou, and how he had done the family wrong.  She was so wrapped in her thoughts that she didn't notice that Carol never answered her. 



Instinct versus Choice

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