Living Rootless

Monday, November 2, 2020

Flashback to 2011: Dmanisi, Caucasus Georgia: First Europeans

Oh, what a rich day this was back in 2011! Original post here.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Dmanisi: First Europeans

Zezva and Mzia of Dmanisi. Credit: Multitur

I'm sure that when archaeologists uncovered the hominids in Dmanisi, now called the first Europeans, the Georgians said, "Old news. Of course, we were the first. Everybody knew that."

It was a sunny day, and Sandy, Eberle, and I joined Jennifer in Dmanisi (the town) to visit Dmanisi, the old settlement and home place of these first Europeans, Mzia and Zezva.

The marshrutka to Dmanisi leaves from Samgori each hour. Cost = 5 lari. Like poetry, each of us converged on Samgori, on time (pretty much), from our respective starting points: Rustavi, Gori, and a far-flung Tbilisi neighborhood.

Jennifer had arranged transportation to the archaeological sites for us, with the assistance of her host.

First we checked out the old settlement, circa 8th or 9th century at its founding. The settlement remained active through the 15th century, when it was overwhelmed by the Mongol, Tamerlane (who also decimated Rustavi). The artifacts thus reflect centuries of human activity and occupation.

The stone in this area boasts a tri-color scheme of green, red, and ivory. Beautiful. Ancient human detritus is all over the place in the form of petrified bones, stones, and pottery.

Dmanisi, Georgia

The scientific excavation is very much live.

Here is a beautiful video about the site, produced by Rolex, which honored a Georgian archaeologist with an award for his work. The accompanying article is here.

Some photos from the city below. Some buildings restored, some not.

Dmanisi, Georgia

From the active dig site:

Dmanisi, Georgia

Evidence that Georgians invented bottled water, electricity, and freezers. Dmanisi, Georgia.

No scale on this photo. Hole large enough for several people to climb into. Dmanisi, Georgia.

After visiting the ancient site on this sunny day, we returned to Jennifer's flat, had some munchies, then got on the last marshrutka to Tbilisi (5:00 p.m.). Jennifer decided to join us, where she'd crash at her favorite hostel for the night, Old Town Hostel.

Heard some decent music on the marshrutka on the way back to Tbilisi.

When we arrived in Tbilisi, we stopped at Old Town Hostel so Jennifer could drop her stuff, then Sandy realized she needed to get a move on if she wanted to catch the last ride to Gori, and Eberle, Jennifer, two hostel folks, and I went to dinner at "that place that overlooks the stage where we saw that dancing at that festival and where one of us got that thing with the runny egg that one time." Our usual place.

We saw some other TLGers there, and we chatted for a bit. After dinner, we went to a cafe (the other "place where we had the runny eggs that time, no not that one where we saw the dancing that one time, the other place " or, alternatively "that place where Sandy got that 7 lari pot of tea (or should we say that pot of hot water with the one tea bag), yeah, that one."

One of our party was a really interesting woman - Gabrielle - who is traveling in search of the perfect kebab. No, really. Her blog is KebabQuest [2020 update: Now defunct]. And, dammit, she has also been to Iran and deems it one of the best places on Earth to visit. (The Iranians told her, "We LOVE Americans! Don't pay any attention to our crazy president! He's crazy! We like Israelis, too. And ... well, OK, we're afraid of Pakistan, but we like everyone else!") I must go to Iran.

Glass bridge, Tbilisi

Tbilisi, Georgia

Had a great Americano and nice conversation with Eberle and Gabrielle while Jennifer and Rob hung out on the enclosed terrace. I won't see Eberle again on this Georgian adventure - I leave for my winter vacation in just a few days and she leaves for Turkey, then Ghana next month, not to return to Georgia. I look forward to hearing about her new journeys.

I caught the 11:00 marshrutka back to Rustavi.

Sunday, November 1, 2020

Word of the Year 2020: Build 11: Relationships

Birds in tree. Jefferson City, Missouri. December 2006.

On Build thus far

Word of the Year 2020: Build 12: Rootless Goals I Want to Achieve

Word of the Year 2020 Lagniappe 13: Creative Life

Ravens. Benson Sculpture Garden, Colorado. May 2016.

This month is about building relationships.

My mother has often said to me: "I had a large family so that my children would be friends." Her implicit message has always been: "... and so we won't need outside friends."

Although she presents as an extrovert, even to extended family, my mother is an introvert. As was my father. As were both my maternal and paternal grandparents, I suspect, thinking back.

Growing up, each of my parents had a friend or two or several, at times, but parental gatherings with friends were infrequent, and my recollection is that we children were personae non gratae in the living room on such occasions.

It was perhaps inevitable, then, that not only would I be born hard-wired as an introvert, but also nurtured as such.

My best friends for much of my childhood were books, especially fairy tales about valiant princesses undertaking arduous journeys to overcome tragic circumstances. My role models were perseverent lone women such as Jane Goodall or Dian Fossey, who surrendered herself to elective surgery to remove her appendix in order to gain Louis Leakey's blessing to study gorillas in the wild. I admired writers known for their vocational wanderings, such as Louis L'Amour and Jack London. Solo adventures and bravery figured large in my models - not relationships.

Birds, Kansas City Zoo, Missouri. September 2018.

There is an original Star Trek episode that left a mark on me. Called The Empath, it centered on a woman from an empath culture. She was afraid to alleviate pain for the welfare of others because it would inflict pain on herself. My real-life interpretation was of someone who lacked the knowledge or skill to maintain a relationship, who needed to be taught how to do so.

I was much older than I should have been before I began to learn some of the intricacies of good relationships.

Relatively late in life, I've had some good teachers.

I've got some good teachers now, too.

I hope I can enrich their lives as much as they have done mine.

Friday, October 30, 2020

Birmingham, AL: Mushrooms to Mush.rooms

Honey mushrooms, Birmingham, Alabama. October 2020.

I glanced out my kitchen window, which opens to the back yard.

Wa! What happened there?!

Clutches of golden mushrooms seemed to have blossomed overnight. I walked out to investigate.

Soft, golden mushrooms stood close together, like giggling girls on the playground during recess, talking deliciously about those cute boys over there.

Honey mushrooms, Birmingham, Alabama. October 2020.

And "over there," squads of flat butterscotch boys with curled-up edges.

Honey mushrooms, Birmingham, Alabama. October 2020.

A new friend identified them for me as honey mushrooms. "Them" being all of them, even though, to my untrained eyes, they looked like entirely distinct varieties due to their different colors, shapes, and sizes.

But apparently the butterscotch boys are mature golden girls.

The above photos are from the first day I saw them.

Oi. How things changed in just two days.

Maggots on honey mushrooms, Birmingham, Alabama. October 2020.

From mushrooms to mush. Made so by the little white maggots? Or did someone go by and zap them with a fungicide?

Ewwww.

Regardless of the cause, maybe this mushifying is karma, as apparently, honey mushrooms prey on tree roots, living or dead.

Honey mushrooms, Birmingham, Alabama. October 2020.

Friday, October 23, 2020

Back to Texas: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 888: My Site Mates

Notwithstanding COVID, I was not alone in my campsite. Strangers pushed into my corona bubble.

The night before my departure from Lake Livingston State Park, as I sat outside in the gloaming, I felt-heard a small rustling beneath my chair. Discounted it. Then I heard it again. Pulled out my phone and hit the flashlight feature. Who - what - goes there? I panned the leafy floor.

A frog.

The next morning, as I broke camp, other site mates revealed themselves.

Tucked into the space between my tent roof and the rain fly, a walking stick.

Gripping the side of my colorful tablecloth - a sentimental artifact from the road trip my daughter and I took to Alaska when she was 16 - a green lizard.

Neither the walking stick nor the lizard gave me any mind.

Tuesday, October 20, 2020

Back to Texas: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 888: A Wee Walk

Pineywoods Boardwalk Trail, Lake Livingston State Park, Texas. October 2020.

On my Voting Pilgrimage to Deep East Texas, I camped at Lake Livingston State Park for several nights.

On Sunday, I took a wee walk on the park's Pineywoods Boardwalk trail.

A bit drizzly, but I'd brought my umbrella with me in the event of an actual rain.

A lizard on a trash receptacle cheered me, as the sight of lizards always does.

Lizard, Pineywoods Boardwalk Trail, Lake Livingston State Park, Texas. October 2020.

Ooooh, and a mushroom that looks like a golf ball on a tee!

Mushroom, Pineywoods Boardwalk Trail, Lake Livingston State Park, Texas. October 2020.

My online research does not culminate in an ID consensus, but the closest description seems to belong to amanita subcokeri.

Monday, October 19, 2020

Back to Texas: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 888: A Toast to Dan

A toast for Dan, Lake Livingston State Park, Texas. October 2020.

Yesterday afternoon, when I neared Livingston, Texas, I pulled into a Walmart to select a sparking white wine.

I prefer reds such as a pinot noir or cabernet sauvignon, but the wine wasn't for me.

It was for my best Tucson buddy, Dan. He liked good sparkling whites. I bought a prosecco that he would have likely sniffed his nose at (both literally and figuratively), good-naturedly, but, well, he wasn't there, so ...

Dan wasn't there because two weeks ago, he died.

Last night, in the dark, beneath the lacy lingerie of treetops and a deep blue sky, I lifted a toast to Dan, and thanked him for enriching my Tucson year.

We met in 2019 at the weekly blues fusion dance event, held at CeeCee's Jamaican restaurant on Speedway. Dan was a superb dance partner! He liked a little drama in his dance step, as do I. He was all about both of us enjoying the dance, and he forgave all of my missteps. Dan made me look good and we synced well. He made it easy to be a follow.

Dan took me to my very first hockey game. He took me to my first football game since I was a high schooler. As an alum, he proudly showed me around the UA campus before the football game.

We took a day trip together so that Dan could introduce me to various Arizona points of interest. A man who liked organized planning, I drove, but he carefully plotted all of our stopping points for the day, including a lunch break in Sierra Vista. Dan showed me Tombstone, Bisbee, Naco, Miller Peak, and even Miracle Valley.

Dan loved good wine, especially white sparkling wines. I'd call him a sensualist, with his love for blues fusion and tango dancing, for the flavors of cheeses and meats and olives and sweets, an ear for the instrumentals in music of all genres, for the visual and perhaps tactile adventure of his cactus collection.

I know this sounds like I'm stating the obvious, but: death wasn't in Dan's plan for this year.

However, even before COVID's heavy blanket descended, 2019-2020 was different for Dan.

There were unsettling, seemingly discrete, medical things that cropped up. Not trivial, but not un-fixable. A treatable this. A treatable that. An elevated this. An ophthalmological issue that popped up, and which required prompt treatment and slow recovery. Then a scarier thing presented itself, for which he underwent a course of treatment of some months, which resulted, he was told (at least at first?) in a clear report.

There were disconcerting and unexpected changes, too, in some social and cultural activities that he'd lovingly participated in for decades, which became suddenly, somehow elusive, for a variety of reasons.

The cloud of COVID settled in, and Dan sometimes struggled with the isolation.

Dan suffered a grief, as well, for someone close to him, who was gravely ill.

Twelve months, being worn down, bit by bit.

There is a gap in the universe where he once stood. Where he danced.

Goodbye, Dan.

Sunday, October 18, 2020

Back to Texas: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 888: The Caesar's Pilgrimage

NOTE: My COVID-19 posts are all over the chronological map for now; I'll number them down the road.

On Saturday morning, I set off for my legal home: Livingston, Texas.

This trip to Livingston – the planning, the doing, the arriving, the voting – I am one of a million or more on a pilgrimage to cast out the current, corrupt president who has subjected all of us to his verbal, emotional, physical-by-proxy, financial, and sexual abuse for the last four years.

But why not a mail-in vote, like I did for the primaries?

I dare say that the majority of my fellow pilgrims, like me, lost trust in the integrity of the mail-in voting process, thanks to the imperial ravings of Caesar Trumperius.

It was worth the 1000+ miles round trip for me to personally push some buttons on a machine.

At a rest stop along the way, I saw evidence that suggested a Caucasus Georgian family had also stopped there:

I consumed a picnic lunch at a Love's at that high-priced gas junction that is bookended by exits with more reasonable gas.

To slice my roast chicken breast and sweet potato, I employed the brand-new folding knife that my New Mexico friend sent me:

On Saturday night, I passed the night at a Flying J / Pilot truck stop near Shreveport, Louisiana. As with my maiden overnight earlier this year at another truck stop, it went seamlessly! To remind me that I was in Louisiana, there was this welcome sign:

On Sunday morning, a Louisiana friend visited me at the Flying J, and we gabbed for more than two hours on a grassy space at the truck stop, exchanging a careful but heartful masked hug at our parting. Gosh, it was good to see her! I think it had been five years since we saw each other in person, as we typically communicate via text.

Note: Speaking of Livingstons, let's take a commemorative visit to Livingston, Louisiana.

Sunday, October 11, 2020

Birmingham, AL: Stuff

Living room ensemble. October 2020.

Since 2010, I've lived as a tourist-in-residence in seven places:

Caucasus Georgia
Alamogordo, New Mexico
Lafayette, Louisiana
Opelousas, Louisiana
El Paso, Texas
Ferguson, Missouri
Tucson, Arizona

Until this year, it was my tradition to haunt the thrift stores for furniture in the first months of a new locale. The furniture typically included:

Floor lamp + desk lamp
Living room chair
Side table(s)
File drawers

But this year, after a severe edit of stuff when I left Tucson, I had two new goals:

Add as little furniture as possible to my Birmingham nest without feeling deprived in tangible comfort or intangible vibe
See how well I can incorporate my Chez Prius 'furnishings' into the apartment so that the stuff I do have serves me in both venues

Now, about two months in, I've had mixed results.

The good: furniture

Cut considerable time and energy visiting thrift stores in the annual hunt for furniture that I'll only keep for a year, and then have to unload when I move on.
For every trip I've not taken to a thrift store, I eliminated exposure to COVID-19 risks.
My living room chair is a comfortable, collapsible, lightweight backpacking chair that I bought in Tucson, which performs double duty in my apartment and ChezP, and I won't have to unload it when I leave.
My bedside table is a sturdy, collapsible, lightweight, camping table that I bought in Tucson. Like the chair, it performs double duty and I won't have to re-home it when I move on.
My bedside lamp is a cute, diminutive, battery-operated camp lantern, with three brightness settings, and for which I use rechargeable batteries. Again: double duty and no need to offload it when I leave Birmingham. It happens that my Birmingham apartment has ceiling lights in all of the rooms, so I haven't had to buy additional, freestanding lighting. But if I did, I'd already planned to buy another battery- or usb-powered light source. Another advantage of my camp lantern is that if I want more subtle lighting, I can easily place my lantern anywhere in my apartment.
There's an Aldi's in Birmingham, and there I found robust cardboard boxes to serve as an ottoman and a shoe shelf.

The good: other stuff

Before leaving Tucson, I reduced my place settings to two dinner plates, two salad plates, two small bowls, and two soup bowls. I pared my flatware to four dinner forks, two salad forks, four spoons, two soup spoons, and two dinner knives. I don't miss the additional items at all.

I'd had two and a half sets of twin-size sheets since I lived in Alamogordo: four flats and two fitted. Before leaving Tucson, I released the fitted sheets. What a hassle-saver in folding after laundering and in making a freshly changed bed!

The disappointing: My bed

It's the least comfortable of all the beds I've had so far. I placed my ChezP foam pad atop a cot that I bought at a big box store in Birmingham, my first night in my apartment. I thought the inclusion of the foam pad would offset my past cot experience, and it has, to some extent, but not enough. Oh, how I miss this bed and this bed and the vintage, bed-spring cot + thin mattress that my aunt gave me!

The air mattress I used in Opelousas and Ferguson as my guest bed, and in Tucson as my primary bed, was very comfortable. Because of its bulk and my ruthless editing of stuff before I left, I gave it to a friend before I left. I do not regret this decision, as I saved precious real estate in ChezP and, just as importantly, learned an important lesson with the cot-purchase mistake.

I don't know yet if I'll try some more strategies to add comfort to my bed, or if I'll just spend the money on a new air mattress.

Overall: stuff evaluation

I feel good.

Sometimes I smile when I look at my Spartan surroundings. For now, it suits me.

Friday, October 2, 2020

Flashback to 2010: Gezellig

In the beginning of the last decade, gezellig, was the word. It's now been superseded by hygge. But they mean pretty much the same thing.

When I was working on my CELTA in Playa del Carmen in Mexico, a Dutch colleague introduced to me to the mental, spiritual, emotional space called gezellig. Thank you, Chantal!

The original post here.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Gezellig

Today was a tough day school-wise. Glad it's over. Glad it wasn't as disastrous as it felt at the time. So moving on from there ...

Chantal, one of my colleagues, introduced us to the Dutch word gezellig. It's pronounced like this, though I like Chantal's pronunciation better.

There's no translation to English. As I understand it, gezellig perhaps captures a period of time, maybe a few moments or an hour or hours or a day or days, where you're in a house or maybe another place, and its ambiance is just right. And you're with friends or family, maybe some wine or coffee, and you just feel good together in that space and time.

Here is a group of people feeling the gezellig:

Makes me feel gezellig every time I look at it. I like the woman kicking up her heels.

Thursday, October 1, 2020

Word of the Year 2020: Build 10: Service and Activism

Gloria Richardson and protestors facing National Guard troops, Cambridge, Maryland, ca. 1963. Source: Black Past. Credit: National Museum of African American History and Culture

On Build thus far

Word of the Year 2020: Build 1: After the Floods
Word of the Year 2020: Build 2: Fronterista
Word of the Year 2020: Build 3: "House"
Word of the Year 2020: Build 4: Chosens
Word of the Year 2020: Build 5: It Takes a Village
Word of the Year 2020: Build 6: Elevation
Word of the Year 2020: Build 7: Trail Building
Word of the Year 2020: Build 8: Money
Word of the Year 2020: Build 9: Health

In July, I said ....

If I visualize a long trail such as the Appalachian Trail, there are sections, each with different geographic and climate features. I can divvy up my through hike into sections, too:

Money

Health

Relationships

Service and activism

Creative life

Rootless goals I want to achieve

This month is about building service and activism.

A woman I admire shared the image (and accompanying video) of Gloria Richardson on a social media platform. The scene captured me immediately.

The command of the Ms. Richardson's look. Her direct eye contact with the armed soldiers, who were sent to quell her and her fellow activists. How she pushed away the rifle with an open palm, evoking a martial art movement.

This photo - this woman - Gloria Richardson Dandridge - inspired me.

A video about her work below:

My favorite quote from the video:

She defied the white power structure here. They had always expected the Black leaders to hold the peace, hold the order. They're saying, "Okay, if you guys agree to call off your protest, we'll negotiate with you." And she said, "No, you're not going to negotiate with us unless we're on the street, unless we're marching."

When I consider service and activism in my build for the future ..........[insert blah, blah, blah, blah, and .... more blah] ........

Let's skip past all the blah, blah, blah.

The bottom line: What will I do to make the universe a little better place for more of us?

I do some stuff now.
I must do more.
Be a chingona, Mzuri.

Sunday, September 27, 2020

Birmingham, AL: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 888: Laundry Economics of the South

Laundry tote and shelves. Birmingham, Alabama. September 2020.

Caucasus Georgia has its Khachapuri Index. The Economist has its Big Mac Index.

I've got my Laundry Economics, I guess, considering I write about this regularly.

The Economics of Laundry (2013)

In Tucson (March 2019), embedded in another post, I noted: Now that I'm in my 'permanent' domicile in Tucson, I'm again factoring in the economics of laundry, as my apartment has laundry facilities on site, but one pays. And, indeed, nowadays one does pay via pre-pay laundry card instead of having to negotiate the cumbersome quarters I messed with in the past.

Here in Tucson, it's $1.75 for one wash load and $1.25 for one dryer cycle of about 20 minutes. I still avoid buying white and light-colored clothing so I can throw all of my stuff into one load. Three out of four weeks, I do only one load of laundry per week.

Tucson, AZ: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 17: Laundry Economics Revisited (April 2020)

Now Birmingham, Alabama.

My apartment complex has no laundry facilities, so for the first time in many years, I've got to schlep my goods to a laundromat. Being as we are in COVID Times, this adds an extra dimension to a mundane chore.

Not to mention that the circulation of quarters has stumbled, creating shortages at stores and, yeah, laundromats.

The two laundromats I've visited in Birmingham still eat quarters and not cards, but fortunately, I've not run up against a supply issue at either location.

But here was an unanticipated surprise: There are no one-load machines! The smallest machines are for two loads. Four bucks!!!!

Whoa, mama. That required a new laundry economics rule for me.

Instead of a weekly laundry routine, I now do laundry every two weeks. Which is just as well, I guess, in the COVID Era, as I reduce my COVID exposure risk by half (in the context of laundry excursions).

I find that the two laundromats I frequent are, overall, pretty good at protecting customers and staff from COVID exposure. There are inconsistencies from week to week with staff or customer mask wearing and with maintaining clean surfaces of counters, machines, and laundry carts. I'll quantify "pretty good" as 3.5 on a scale of 0 to 5, with 5 being exceptional.

Fortunately, by having a Prius (because of its quiet, mostly-battery-powered climate control), I can hang out in comfort (and non-exposure for me OR infection to others in case I'm afflicted without knowing it) in my car betwixt loads.

Thank goodness I have a plentiful supply of underwear, which supports my bi-weekly laundry regimen.

About my photo. The two-part, hanging shelves-and-laundry tote gives me so much pleasure to look at, despite its prosaic purpose and its institutional gray color. I pull the tote off the hooks when it's time to go the laundromat, then toss it into my car. Because there are only three shelves, I'm hopeful the shelving part will serve a double purpose for easily-accessible organization of camping stuff in my car when I use it as Chez Prius.

About the towel that hangs from the tote. This is an artifact from the Sonoran Desert. Made in Guatemala. Retrieved by one of my fellow water carriers to the desert on a sortie we took together, who graciously allowed me to have it. Maybe a relic from Central American refugees to the United States. I touch this towel every day. I think of a person who undertook a long, long journey for self-rescue. Perhaps alone, perhaps with friends or family, perhaps with people who began as strangers.

Thursday, September 24, 2020

Birmingham, AL: Beelzebub in Birmingham

Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies. Source: Wikimedia.

It was the buzzing at first.

Loud.

Persistent.

What was the source?

Dead flies on sill. Birmingham, Alabama. September 2020.

Ah, a fly, hovering at my bedroom window, indoors, in the space between the glass and the blinds.

Annoying, but it's typical for flies to appear as the air grows colder, and flies enter uninvited, and are sluggish, making them more annoying than if they simply flitted about.

Dead flies on sill. Birmingham, Alabama. September 2020.

A day or two later .... louder buzzing, a chorus, a capella, in my living room, somewhere above my desk or in a corner of the ceiling or in the kitchen. I look up and around and cannot find the source.

The next day.

Holy moly.

There is a family reunion of larger-than-normal flies inside and outside my kitchen and bedroom windows.

Was there a dead animal outside?

No. I looked and I sniffed. Neither sight nor smell of one.

This required a consultation with Monsieur Google. Cluster flies. No easy fix.

Dead flies on sill. Birmingham, Alabama. September 2020.

Shit.

Fortunately, it appears the flies have a sort of coming-out schedule in the course of a day and evening, so I am not molested 24/7. This also allows me to concentrate my radical defensive maneuvers during these times, with the following sweep-up operations.

Until I find a more definitive solution, here is my artillery:

Personal fans repurposed as fly swatters. September 2020.

My thanks to a couple of health fair vendors from whom I received personal fans-cum-flyslayers.

But this unexpected fly invasion reminds me of my meltdown in Lalibela, the legendary city in Ethiopia, where the Devil sent one of his fly minions to plague me.

Ethiopia: Meltdown in Lalibela, Part 1 (with appearance by the Devil's fly)
Ethiopia: Meltdown in Lalibela, Part 2

Dead flies on sill. Birmingham, Alabama. September 2020.

Does Alabama have an unusual relationship with flies?

This Alabaman author suggests that the fly is Alabama's unofficial state bird.

I am also reminded of Robert Heinlein's sci-fi classic, Tunnel in the Sky, in which the professor warns the survival-class students: Watch out for the stobor.

When you go to a new place, you know there will be stobor. You just don't know what it will look like .... until you meet it.

Wednesday, September 2, 2020

Flashback to 2019: El Paso 2019: The Tumblewords Project: A Brief Love

This makes me smile. Original post here.

Monday, February 11, 2019

El Paso 2019: The Tumblewords Project: A Brief Love

James Drake, Falling Birds, El Paso Art Museum, Texas. November 2016.

Born in 1995, founded by Donna Snyder, the Tumblewords Project is a writing workshop that occurs every Saturday at the Memorial Park branch of the El Paso Library. Each week, a workshop leader suggests writing prompts to the participants; the prompts usually follow a theme the leader chooses for the session. Everyone is enthusiastically welcomed. If you're just passing through El Paso and happen to be in town on a Saturday afternoon, go!

My related posts here.

One of my workshop efforts below. Writer and artist, Sandra Torrez, led the day's work, offering Edgar Allen Poe as our inspiration.

A Brief Love

I'll look at you
While you sleep.

I'll touch your sternum, press
Down with the pad of a finger

Like a push of life.

I'll find your pulse, rest
My finger there, and linger,
To absorb your beat.

I'll leave you then.
Push out into
The cold and
Not look back

Because I gotta go.

Tuesday, September 1, 2020

Word of the Year: Build 9: Health

Crowley Rice Festival, Louisiana. October 2014.

Money

Health

Relationships

Service and activism

Creative life

Rootless goals I want to achieve

This month is about building health.

Not just physical health, but emotional and cognitive health, also.

Healthy aging

The World Health Organization (WHO) defines health aging as follows (with long version here):

"... the process of developing and maintaining the functional ability that enables well-being in older age.
Functional ability is about having the capabilities that enable all people to be and do what they have reason to value. This includes a person’s ability to:
    meet their basic needs;
    to learn, grow and make decisions;
    to be mobile;
    to build and maintain relationships; and
    to contribute to society."

To be more concrete, in visualizing my 90 year-old self, I:

Live in a universal-design environment and in a walkable community.
Move myself around my living spaces, unassisted or with the help of a cane, walker, or wheelchair.
Manage my finances responsibly.
Engage in regular physical exercise that promotes muscular and skeletal strength, stamina, flexibility (range of motion), and balance.
Adopt any tools that are accessible to me (e.g. financially) to optimize my sight, hearing, and dexterity.
Carefully consider the risks and benefits of any meds that a doctor wants to prescribe to me, and decide if the RORI (return on the risk investment) is worth potential compromises in my quality of life physically, emotionally, or cognitively.
Contribute to and receive quality-of-life support from a solid support network of both family and friends.
Can say to myself when I go to bed: If I die tonight, I will have no regrets, as I have lived the best life I knew how to do.
Say yes more than I say no.
Am fearless, as I know that, statistically, my demise is relatively imminent.

I've already done some good prep, for which I needed outside help.

Quit smoking with Chantix about 10 years ago. In effect, this drug allowed me to go through nicotine withdrawal while I continued to smoke.
Whittled myself down to a healthy body weight from morbid obesity some years ago (and am sustaining the weight loss) with the aid of the 12-step program, Overeaters Anonymous.
Did some growing up with the guidance of Overeaters Anonymous, Al-Anon, and intermittent counseling.
Learned (and continue to learn) to dance.
Take risks that require me to stretch physically, emotionally, and intellectually.
Take risks that might result in rejection. Ouch.

But just so's you know, I was like the vast majority of humans in that I didn't take the above life-changing actions until I was over 40.

I subscribe to the axiom that (most of us) don't change until our backs are against the wall and the wall is on fire. There was that for me, and also the prize offered by the 12-step path: To be happy, joyous, and free.

So I've traveled pretty far in my physical and emotional walk, but this path doesn't end til I end, and I've got more stuff to do health-wise if I don't want to leave my well-being entirely to chance as I age.

My biggest challenge: I do not have a discipline of daily physical exercise. Before COVID, I could cover this up with dancing.

But, while it was good exercise, dancing did not replace a discipline of walking, stretching, and resistance/strength-building.

If I want to increase the likelihood of achieving the lovely vision of my 90 year-old self, I must build the discipline into my daily routine. It needs to be as regular as brushing my teeth.

Monday, August 10, 2020

Birmingham, AL: The 1000 Names of Birmingham

Birmingham view from Vulcan Park on Red Mountain, Birmingham, Alabama. August 2020.

The 1000 names of Birmingham:

Magic City (1872)
El Dorado of the Iron Masters (1873)
Bombingham (1947-1963+)
Boomingham (also referring to the regular bombings)
Tragic City
The Most Segregated City in the Country (I don't know: St. Louis might be a contender)
Birmingham: "a heart as hard as the steel it manufactures and as black as the coal it mines"
City of Churches
Biggest City in America for its Age
City of Perpetual Promise
Murder Capital of the World
The Munich of Southern Capitulation (1938)
Pittsburgh of the South (1909)
Best Little Dangerous City in the South (Birmingham subreddit)
Forest City
Heaviest Corner on Earth (1912)
The Diverse City (get it?)(2006)
Toxic City

I gleaned many of the nicknames above from the book, Carry Me Home: Birmingham, Alabama, the Climactic Battle of the Civil Rights Revolution, by Diane McWhorter.