Linda Robinson's Blog, page 18

These Are My Heroes

Here are their faces. I admire many women of conscience and courage. Dr. Wangari Maathai. An San Suu Kyi. Hatshepsut.  These women are mighty. And globally known. But each began taking steps at home. In communities. I live in this house. In this community, in this town, in this state, in this country, on this planet. Change and growth seem daunting to me when the enormity of the world's problems swell my brain. I feel overwhelmed, helpless. Will we live soon on a planet where violence against women has ended? Can we escape the privatization of prisons and the incarceration of our poor brothers and sisters? Can we feed all the children? To take action feels too hard when viewed through a mighty global lens. Today my hero is my great grandmother. She came to America from Finland with four children. Her husband had gone ahead to work in the Canadian silver mines. He died young. My great-grandmother did what all women did in the early 20th century. She worked. Her children worked. She grew food, milked her cow, fought off male predators, taught her children to live in nature. She carried water home, cooked the food she grew and the food her men caught. She chopped wood, did laundry in community over a fire with other women. She concocted medicines, baked bread to barter for other food, and laughed. She told stories, and listened to other storytellers. She cried and raged. She danced. She loved her extended family, and threw out her man when he came home too drunk. Let him back in when he was contrite. She lived. Completely. And she is a hero to me.

International Day of The Girl

We need The International Millennium of the Girl. We must make this start today. As we all pray for the health of a young girl in Pakistan, we each can use our voices to end violence against girls and women on this planet. I can't do much to change the minds of Taliban monsters. I used my voice today in a way I can. I wrote a comment on a care2 article with the headline "3 Cherry Popping Myths." I wrote: "Really? On the International Day of The Girl, to use that unfortunate headline is inexcusable. On any day it exacerbates the misogynistic treatment of women and girls. Please give some thought to not promoting this offhand language in any discussion of female bodies." And the offensive headline was removed. care2 and its authors have responsibility to respect its readers. We have responsibility to end the hatred. There is nothing cute about using women and girls to promote readership. There is no excuse to encourage language or behavior that denigrates and violates females. Throughout history we have seen the casual aside slide downward into the abuse and murder of women. Let's stop this now and continually. Let's begin today. You can use your voice to end violence against women and girls.

A Three Story Life: Bared

Feeling slightly crazy, I have to, as my sister claims I do, find something or someone to blame. Maybe I'm not eating well. Check. Maybe I'm not sleeping. Check. Maybe I've been quite busy, and cannot find spaces and places to chill. Check. Maybe I'm not exercising enough. Or at all. My brain has stopped functioning at its usual high level of adaptation. Cannot make a decision about anything, including what to make for dinner. I just finished illustrating a book, sent it to the printer, got the proofs and it was laid out wrong. Just wrong. And I couldn't figure out either how that happened, or what I could do about it. For days. And I lost my nightgown. Seems like a simple hunt: it never left the dungeon. But it was gone. For days. Until I thought to check under the bed. I'm counting how many times I do dishes in a day, how many undershirts I fold. I left the oven on for half a day on Friday. Just now the Serial Yapper Dog was doing what he does, and Dad was screaming "shut up!" I listened to this, and had no reaction at all. Is this what burnout feels like? My brother and sister-in-law stopped by on Sunday, and while we were talking, Dad got up to go to the bathroom and he was in his underwear. He had his hearing aids in, but he had them on mute. His teeth were on the coffee table. And I had no reaction at all, which is probably for the best, but I wonder. Saw my beautiful friend Carol the other day and we enjoyed a wonderful afternoon. I told her about the brain power save, and she furrowed her brow. For a professional in the field of coping, this furrow was as significant as a doctor saying "hmm." She thinks I may be overwhelmed. I think so too.

Voice

Voice is larynx vibration. The etymology of the noun voice could be from the Old French voiz, Sanskrit vakti, Greek eipon, Prussian wackis, Olde English stefn. Utterance, cry, speech, say, call, word. Voice is speaking an opinion out loud. Voice is an author's style, a writer's unique storytelling, a storyteller's gift to the world. I have an issue with voice. On many levels, during what may be many lifetimes. And I'm being shoved into solving this, beginning in intense therapy over years, and now by the universe. This morning, as I composed myself to write, I looked at npr's site and found a First Listen from Sean Rowe's The Salesman and the Shark. He was self-conscious about voice and would erase tapes with his voice on them, leaving only the music. He has a new album with his gorgeous voice all through. Researching background for the novella I'm writing, this morning I googled at-risk children. Link to link traveling, I found a reference to adult children of narcissistic parents (I am one) and read that a daughter who hasn't sorted this stuff out will go from bad relationship to bad relationship looking for a powerful person to grant her voice. I have to grant myself voice. I have to be the powerful person who gives me what I need. That's what I'm mulling, battling and stumbling through. It is a compelling journey. An old soul can be just a slow learner. A woman once read a brooch I have. She said she saw an old woman on the ice, a tribal leader, but she could not tell her whole truth. She said this while holding her own throat tightly. I had written a story about a shaman on the ice, a tribal leader. I thought it was a made-up story. The woman who saw the elder on the ice said it was me. What strikes me now is not the idea of past lives, but a tribal leader not being able to tell her whole truth. If it was a past life, then I've been stifling my truth for lifetimes. I guided a Share Circle in June about using voice. It was scary, but I did it. Since June, I receive at least one message about using voice per day. I don't think I've got the lesson learned yet. And I don't know what the Source wants me to do. But I'm observing, and trying, and that's the best I can offer just now. The change from then to now is that I am excited about what I'll find, what depth of me I'll discover, what I have to say that may be needed in the world. That is awesome. Perhaps that is the lesson. We have choice. We have free will. We can grant ourselves voice, and then use our voices to make our world more loving, more truthful.

The Puppet Candidate

Nature vs Cars

Writing Books Written by Women

Natalie Goldberg. How could I have forgotten Natalie Goldberg? Wild Mind. Writing Down the Bones. And I found on my goodreads list, If You Want to Write: A Book about Art, Independence and Spirit, by Brenda Ueland. I need to read it again, because although I raved about it, I do not remember it. Brain fade. Power save. I'm going to find it right now, and buy one. And if I forget I own it, I'll buy it again.

Books on Writing Written by Women

A screenwriter shared with another screenwriter a list of writing books. All were written by men. Since I was cranky about this sort of thing at the time, I tried to find more books about writing written by women; more than those I know and own and appreciate. Until I find more, here we begin. Julia Cameron, The Artist's Way. Francine Prose, Reading Like a Writer. Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird. Carolyn Heilbrun, Writing a Woman's Life. I looked up Frances Marion, a woman who made a fabulous living screenwriting in 1920s' Hollywood. She published a book in 1937 How to Write and Sell Film Stories, and I just put a hold on it from Hope College. I LOVE Michigan's library system. Web wandering, I found Leigh Brackett, a woman writer with a long career in many writing genres, including screenwriting. Unknown yet if she wrote anything about the writing process. Stay tuned. Keep writing!

Deaf C.A.N. Interpreters Sign Wicked at Wharton

We three sisters saw Wicked at the Wharton Center in East Lansing yesterday. It was a beautiful day, wonderful performance and a marvelous experience altogether. The musical had two sign language interpreters: Henry Lowe and Tracey Romano. The two were lyrical, expressive, wondrous, and my eyes were riveted on center stage, and on Henry and Tracey performing as well. I called Wharton today to discover if the two men were with the Wicked 2nd national tour, or Michigan interpreters. Nina Silbergleit, Director of Patron Services, returned my call, and said the interpreters are with Michigan's Deaf Community Action Network. After hiring Deaf C.A.N. interpreters for a previous Broadway tour performance, she retains their services for all shows so interpreted. Wicked won 3 of the 11 Tony Awards it was nominated for in 2003/4, and I think the American Theatre Wing needs to honor also those who interpret performances for the hearing impaired with heart, skill and empathy as rich as we saw yesterday. Bravo! Wharton Center and Nina Silbergleit for accessibility options, Bravo! Wicked, and Bravo! Henry and Tracey.

Using Your Voice for a Change

Leah Lambaria started selfworks.org. You can read about her mission on the site, and get a glimpse of the energy uplifting Leah is engaged in, and while you're there, sign on to get invitations to Share Circles. Believing that our stories are inspirational to other people- and that what we need to learn, we teach- Leah asked friends, colleagues, women's circle participants to share a personal story. It was a privilege for me to guide the first share circle. I have difficulty using my voice. My true voice, with authentic expression of who I really am. I write, blog, talk, mostly armored with the protective devices I have picked up since birth. Many of us speak to improve our lie (in the golf sense-about moving the ball), impress, obfuscate. The noble reason is to view ourselves in the best possible light. The hidden reason is to hide our perceived flaws, our subordinate position to the audience, whatever other ego stuff we've donned, or cannot see. In the spirit of authenticity, I did not prepare. What was going to come out would come out. I was among friends, in a safe and loving environment. Nothing bad could happen; only good would result for all of us. I would feel what being true to me felt like. And that's what happened. It was a beautiful experience. I encourage you to tell your story, in whatever way, and however loudly you are able. Do this among friends, and feel the joy.