Forecast: Peaceful Waters

Mom loses her voice under stress.

Which is fine, because she has her blackberry.

This also fine because it means that people can't call Mom and constantly ask for updates on Abuela's conditions.

Being a PR/Media specialist, Mom has found a way to manage this situation.

She's issuing written updates to my father whose job is then to stick to his script and disseminate the statements by phone.

And of course, there is a protocol.

First, dad calls Abuela's other children, Milly and Vincent.

Then he calls my brother Winn.

A fter that he should call me, then other cousins.

The noon update, today: "She continues to deteriorate."

This is a particularly meaningful and appropriate analogy for a family who resides in South Florida and New Orleans.

I imagine Hurricane Abuela, once a category 5 storm with a well defined eye and winds of over 200 miles per hour, downgraded to a category 1.

Then a tropical storm.

Then a disturbance.

Then peace.

And a few more ~

Mom

Dear Mom, I know you're in the hospital holding Abuela's hand... and your blackberry... so maybe this will make you giggle ~

About those Keys

(Required pre-reading column: Abuela)

So Sunday night I didn't answer the phone.

No surprise to anyone, really, because I didn't really talk to anyone all during Thanksgiving Break.

Maybe I was still dealing with Beth's suicide, maybe I was tired, who knows.

I just know I sat still in a shadow, unreachable.

I didn't answer the phone when my brother called.
He and I love each other alot. Very much.

We love each other in the "only need to talk once or twice a year" kind of way.

The last time we spoke on the phone was when my dad was in the hospital back in June.

I didn't answer the phone because I just knew it was something not so good.

Finally someone got through to me.

Abuela was in the hospital.

Cardiac ICU.
No, don't come down yet.
Just stay in Tallahassee, wait.

Great. So I did stay here.

And I made up my own rules.

If I couldn't go down there, then no one could call me with bad news.
Not until after 5pm, after teaching, after lecturing, after I was a grownup all day.

Then, of course, I'd be ready to handle it.

On Monday I threw on my lucky airport dress, and taught my AMH 2020 class then took a field trip to FSU to lecture on Teaching College History.

On my way home, I called my mom and talked to Abuela.

She sounded tired and distracted.

Of course, she's a celebrity in that hospital, probably getting foot rubs and extra morphine.

Lucky her.

I told her I loved her and that I'd see her when I drive down with the kids on December 18.

She laughed and told me I'd better bring down the keys, soon. She's ready to drive.

I think -- although I don't want to -- that I understood her, completely.

Abuela

(Originally written June 2007)

My grandmother comes from a particular class and culture in Cuban history where women were not permitted much freedom.

Girls always took chaperones on dates, lived at home until married, knew how to embroider and play the piano.

Such a cultured and protected woman could expect a fine marriage with a Papi-style husband, one who works hard, cheats only when he's out of town, takes care of all the money, and -- of course! -- drives his wife wherever she needs to go.

After fleeing Cuba for New Orleans, Abuela had to take streetcars to work in a cafeteria where no one else spoke Spanish.

Later she carpooled to work with her married daughter to a job a downtown lab where she stained and read pap smear slides.

In all these years Abuela has never ever learned to drive.

Many times over the years she's gotten angry, gotten scared, gotten some backbone and threatened to go to driving school.

When Abuela was about 75, I offered to teach her to drive.

Heck, I taught my brother, I'm pretty relaxed, and hey -- this is Dad's car anyway -- why not?

Abuela said no.

Every time I came home for vacation, for holidays, for whatever, I'd shake car keys in front of Abuela.

"OK! Vamos!"

She would laugh and say "Ay! Si! Vamos!" but she wouldn't get up.

For years Abuela has continually refused the joy and privilege of learning to drive from me.

So about two years ago I started to threaten my Abuela.

Here is the story I told her.

I'll wait until she was completely deliriously old and frail, then I'll ask her to drive me somewhere.

If Abuela says she doesn't know how to drive, I'll make up some wonderfully accurate and descriptive stories about all the places in Cuba she's driven me.

Abuela will then feel a sudden burst of confidence, snatch the keys from me and we'll be off.

Of course, when she actually does drive she'll kill herself, but that would be *fine* because her brain was expiring anyway.

Abuela and waves her hand at me, "Psssssht. I'm not afraid to die. I think it will be fun."

So when I went home this past week, I made sure to wave keys at Abuela, reminding her how much I love her.....

Reality, Published

Jarrett walks by me in the hall this morning, and after a warm hug drops a big bombshell "The new campus directory came out. You're OPS. I don't exist."

Then she went to teach a class, and I went back to reworking a lecture so I could cram the 1930s and WW2 into 75 minutes.

Now that I have some time to think about it, I'm actually a bit numb.

What? Me?

Other Personnel Services?

Part-time, temporary, at-will, no-benefits?

I totally thought I was a professor. Dammit! They're on to me.

Should I cancel class?

Do I even HAVE classes to cancel?

Faced with such overwhelmingly painful questions, I opened up Facebook, hopeful to find out who I really, really am.


So Liz, wonderful wonderful Liz, has been having a field day on Facebook posting taunts on my wall regarding my sudden skid in prestige, power and security.

since you're ops staff, can you come and do my job so i can go home

then

i'm moving to puerto rico, oh wait...well at least we get vacation time...

That's fine. I'm used to Liz and her evil mean biting sense of humor.

We pick on each other every day at work, and every single time SHE wins because the woman has found my Achilles heel.

What? did you think I'd tell you?

Ask her.

She'll sell you the secret for $50, a bag of Chik-fil-a and a scarf that has the colors of Gryffendor House.

Actually, I'm OK with my recent demotion.

What I'm angry at is Lisa's new position.

Did you think she was a tenured, full-time Professor of Psychology?

You did? Me too.

We were all wrong.

According to the campus directory ("reality"), my buddy Lisa is a Visiting Scholar in the Tech Office.

First of all, I don't think it's fair to pretend she's visiting just because she's a blonde.

She's a very very smart blonde, who has advanced texting-messaging manuevers, and certainly should not be treated like a Visitor here in Tallahassee.

So during my little lunch break, as the sun was streaming through my office window on this beautiful November afternoon, I left my "OPS office" and brought Lisa the baby gator doll as a reward for winning the UF-FSU game.

She laughed, smiled, and lined it up next to the same doll I brought her last year when UF beat FSU.

Then I made my move....

So, Lisa, I heard about you being a Visiting Scholar...

Her eyes narrowed, she stood up and pointed at me, unleashing her inner Tiger.

At least*I'M* not OPS!

Ouch.

The woman is a born fighter.

Fine. Whatever. I might be OPS but at least I'm not, um, in the TECH office, which doesn't even exist.

I rolled up my sleeves, ready to take the brawl to the hallway.

But then the Dean showed up and we both raced to the hallway, jostling with each other for shots at impressing this very very powerful man and hopefully influencing him to use his powers to restore our professorships.

I'm having much more trouble accepting the fact that -- according to the campus directory ("reality") Jarrett Phipps doesn't exist.

At all.

Not under Jarrett Phipps, and not under her "real" (shhhh) name or her "married" (shhh) name.

Not at all.

Which totally means I've been hallucinating for the past several years.

Wow.

At least most of my dreams have been funny ones!

Another Blog

Yes, I'm alive, and YES I have stories, but right now I'm up to my armpits in grading!

Here's the link I talked about in class -- http://soldanihistory.blogspot.com

A Little Less Sunshine

This morning, while sitting at my desk amazed morning sun shooting prisms across my office wall, I got the heart-wrenching news that Beth Seidle has died.

I knew Beth from leadership trainings in South Florida.

The woman was a force of love, compassion, insight and optimism -- which is why the news of her death is such a shock.

Beth, I wish you peace.

**********************************

Sources:

http://www.phaup-turner-family.com/index.php

http://ericphillips.info/?p=28

It's the Little Things

PICTURE #1

This is a picture from on-set of the film that wraps tomorrow (Tuesday). Carrie, Zoe, and Zack. I don't know their character's names because, um, I'm the kind of actress who really doesn't read the script very much.

In this continuity still-shot, I'm drinking wine (really, it's grape juice and I hate it) and looking annoyed at the kids while wearing VERY high-heeled boots and leaning provacatively on the post.

Oh, and I just *finally* read the end of the script. I die. Guess which one of those three is going to kill me?

PICTURE #2:

Zoe likes her lunch to be prepared and labeled properly.

Picture #3:

Last week in class, Seth borrowed another student's notes, then just took a picture of them.

Brilliant. Sheer genius. Who needs a scanner???

Now I know how to save all of Zoe's work forever.

Especially the parts about her rotten, evil mother who yells at her.....

Oh NATHAN!

So I'm in my office between classes, drinking soup and clicking around the Internet for political cartoons from the 1930s.

The phone rings. I give it a dirty look because I hate not knowing who is calling me. I know, I know, it shouldn't matter who is calling. But it does.

So I answer( as unenthusiastically as possible, so as not to reward callers.... )
Hello.... this is Dr. Soldani...

Dr. Soldani... you might not remember me... I was in your summer class... Nathan...

I interrupt him, proclaiming his last name, and then rolling right into my usual tirade.

WHAT? WHAT?
I know you're ONLY call because you WANT something?
A recommendation?
A change of grade?
$100?
WHAT do you WANT?

Well, actually....

Unless you're calling to TELL me something?

Well, actually....

This time, I don't interrupt the poor guy, and he tells me a GREAT story about how he applied for a scholarship, and it required him to write an essay.

Nathan, still inspired from our class this summer, wrote his essay on the shift of US foreign policy after WW2. With no notes. Just from his heart, from what he read, saw, and knew.

And guess what?

Nathan just got a release form in the mail, because it was so good that he's being PUBLISHED.

Out of over 4,200 entries, Nathan's was in the top 10.

Not 10%, just 10.

I congratulated him, and told him I'd write about him, and maybe I'd write about foreign policy, too.

Actually, I told him I don't have the guts to write about foreign policy or to make my blog more political, so I stick with writing about love, hope, cute outfits, and forgetting to bathe my children.

We laughed, and I wished him continued success.

-----------------------
GO Nathan!
I*love*my*job!

From Lao ~

The Tao abides in non-action,

Yet nothing is left undone.

If kings and lords observed this,

The ten thousand things would develop naturally.

If they still desired to act,

They would return to the simplicity of formless substance.

Without form there is no desire.

Without desire there is tranquillity.

In this way all things would be at peace.

From Lao ~

Look, it cannot be seen - it is beyond form.

Listen, it cannot be heard - it is beyond sound.

Grasp, it cannot be held - it is intangible.

These three are indefinable, they are one.

From above it is not bright;

From below it is not dark:

Unbroken thread beyond description.

It returns to nothingness.

Form of the formless,

Image of the imageless,

It is called indefinable and beyond imagination.

Stand before it - there is no beginning.

Follow it and there is no end.

Stay with the Tao, Move with the present.

Che Guevara is Psychic

OK, so his name is NOT Che, but his last name is Guevara, so I renamed him.

He's a freshman, so I guess he expected some sort of hazing.

Around 9:15 he knocked on my office door.

It is locked, and there is opaque stained glass. so we can't see each other.

Which is for the best, because I'm taking my time slipping into the week.

I don't want to be seen, and I'm not to interested in seeing anyone.

I leave my online research and go to the door, Yes?

I need to talk to you about my schedule and....

He might have tried to walk in, but I don't hold the door open.

I wasn't expecting anyone, I'm writing. How about coming back in 15 minutes?

He leaves, and I return to my project.

When he returns, I'm ready.

We review his Spring Schedule and discuss summer school.

I don't know who told him to only register for nine hours this semester. Che is exceptionally intense and well prepared, and could have easily earned 15 or 18 credits this semester.

I sit back. OK, that's ALL the helping I have in me today. See you at 1:25.

Oh, I can't be in your class today. I'll be in court for a speeding ticket.

OK, fine. I'll be there. And it'll be a good class.... so if there is nothing else, you can LEAVE now....

Well, there is something. Since you're a Doctor, can you write me a note? For food poisoning?

When did you have food poisoning?

Friday. This Friday, after Thanksgiving.

You want me to write you a note for a future case of food poisoning? You ALREADY know you're going to have food poisoning on Friday? Are you PSYCHIC?


Well... Doc.... they scheduled me to be at work for 7am Friday.

That's right! You work in the mall! You *have* to work Friday! It's the law!

And I'll be home in Miami...

And if your Mami and Abuela knew you were going to tell people they gave you food poisoning, they'd kill me, you know that?

I know that.

He sits there, though, optimistic.

I'm not writing anything. Go to work and tell them the truth. Then find a solution. At least you won't have them questioning your honor.

He holds his hands up, I don't think I can do that.

I laugh and shake my head, glad to never, ever have to be a college freshman again.

Well, enough. Happy Thanksgiving. Starting NOW! Leave!

Third Eye, Blind ~

Just as Che walks out of my office, I look out the window. A firetruck and three TCC security vehicles line the traffic circle below.

So I do the right thing and call Liz.

Her office is in the middle of the building so the only thing she gets to see is people on cellphones, people with ipods, and people begging for staplers.

She sees the darker side of college.

Since Liz has a super-duper upgraded multi-line phone, she knows who is calling before she has to answer, and usually tries to trick me with some geisha voice.

Today she's Hermione.

Helllloah?

Wanna see hot firemen? Come to my office!

I'm BUSY. A student passed out in 122.

Hurry up, woman..... there go uniformed public servants..... carrying heavy things.....

You can't even tell if they're hot. What if they have a third eye?

Oh, Liz, that's not an eye.... No matter what they tell you to call it.

My Dad

-

Here is a very

recent picture of my

handsome, charming and successful Dad.

He is at some event

posing with a man

who apparently has a

very very big head.

Veteran

And so it maybe wasn't Veteran's Day, but it was the Monday that we had off of school, and I woke up inexplicably angry at no one other than myself.

I get like that when things slide, when I spend too much time thinking. My brain starts to feel like a swampy lake with algae blooming, turning it it greenish brown and soupy.

By 10am, I'd fussed at each of the kids until they cried, and was thinking of locking myself in the bathroom

Mommy needs a time out, I wanted to say.

But that would have been a lie.

What Mommy needed was peace, and Mommy knows peace does not live in the bathroom.

So we loaded up the car and took a drive.

I told them we were going to Lake Ella, and that's where we went.

I took them the long way, heading north to Georgia, crossing the state line, stopping, getting a diet coke and icees, regrouping and then crossing back into Florida.

It's a silly ritual, but for me, it works.

Lake Ella was swarming with Veterans, students, kids and ducks. Within minutes Zoe and Zack had exhausted their cracker supply on a pack of mangy looking warty faced ducks, and turned their attention back to me.

Zoe is the designated complainer today. What do we do NOW, Mommy?

I chased them around the lake - 6/10th of a mile - and lead us to a huge tree with low limbs.

As Zoe started to climb the tree, a huge BOOM shattered the peace.

Birds flew, ducks shrieked, people stood completely still.

OK, OK. Dammit.

An attack on Veteran's Day.

Fine, we can handle this.

Zack starts crying, Zoe races back to me.

I lead us to our car, imagining several routes home. I can handle this. Don't go by the capital... be prepared for I-10 to be closed... oh, please let my cellphone work...

Hey! Hey! I look at a man in uniform, on a bench, feeding pidgeons. That was just a cannon. They shoot it every hour.

A cannon. They shot a cannon.

I'm laughing because I realized how serious I had let myself become.

Just for fun?

He laughs. More than fun. More like for remembering.

Well tell them thank you.

Will do, Ma'am.

He stands up fixes the creases on his pants, and walks back into his world.

I slide back into my own world, thankful for the booming wakeup call.

Know

Psalm 46:10: Be still and know that I am God.

Translated - Shut up. Sit down. Feel my peace. Now.

I see God widening his eyes at me in a concerned way then mildly knitting his dark brown brows together.

He opens his arms and I fall into them. He does not speak, but I hear him clearly.

Be still. Whatever it is, I have fixed it already. Sit here next to me and rest. Do nothing else but be with me. Got it?

I bury my face in his chest, breathing deeply, nodding obediently.

Saved.

Iron Curtain; Ironic Curtain

Atomic Cafe ~

French Fries and Spiderman's Daddy

We meet in the parking lot of the Burger King.

Deb jumps into my car and for no good reason, we order huge amounts of french fries.

I eat mine one at a time, no ketchup.

She neatly fishes out groups of three fries, then paints a wiggly line of ketchup across them.

You know this is all about nothing. They just want one more picture of my breasts because they're so perfect.And because my health insurance is so great. That's all.

She nods, nibbling at her next bundle of fries.

We talk about almost nothing, passing time until heading to the radiology center.

She slips back into her car, I follow her.

The waiting room is unusually full.

We take seats in the way back corner, our backs to the wall, observing the room like we own it.

Two little boys dressed as unmasked Spidermen play under a table.

A teenage girl is doubled over in pain while her mother ignores her and makes small talk with a woman dressed in a horrible orange pumpkin-festooned sweater.

No one over the age of five should own anything with a pumpkin on it. Pumpkins are not fashion statements.

We agree.

Besides that, I can't talk.

I can't read.

I'm just smiling, waiting for it to be over.

Melissa Soldani?.... Melissa Soldani?

The radiology tech is not wearing pumpkin scrubs or pumpkin earrings or anything silly, which I take to be a good sign.

We're in Room #4.

She points at the door while holding a stack of xrays.

Take off your top, slip the robe on, let me know when you're ready.

I step out from behind the curtain.

She's holding up a film with pictures of my right breast, which is crazy because the whole reason I was referred was because of my left breast.

There is no small talk, no little questions about what I do or how many kids I have.

Slip your right arm out of your gown and hold on to this bar.

I follow directions, allowing her to plop my right breast onto a clear platter.

Before lowering the top of the machine, the radiology tech palpates my breast as though she were looking for either treasure or landmine.

Here it is. Feel it?

I reach over with my left arm.

Yes.

Wow.

I most definitely feel it.

She takes an image, opens the machine and repositions it.

Before settling me in again, she steps back, holds the film up again, I can see a big white something that shouldn't be there.

She inserts an attachment that looks like a magnifying glass onto the mammogram machine, then compresses again.

This time I wince.

I know it hurts. That's because it isn't moving. Just hold your breath.

It's over. I get dressed.

The radiologist will be in touch with you within five days. If you don't get a call, you'll get a letter, OK sweetie?

I nod, slip out of my robe, back into my bra and shirt.

Deb is in the waiting room working on a grant.

I sit down in my same seat, sliding back so that my head is against the wall.

She can see I'm not about to talk. Or drive.

I saw something. There is something. I'm *sure* it's not a bad something, but it's a visible, palpable something. Wow. And I don't want to talk about it because I know this something is just a nothing.

Deb organizes her stack of papers, looks at her watch.

I'm not ready for Halloween. I don't have candy or anything... What time do trick-or-treaters start?

I look at my watch. It's almost 5pm.

Oh, let's get OUT of here. You have to go buy candy, it's getting late!

What are you going to be again?

Barb and I are going to wear cute outfits, drink wine and hit on the helpless and confused Daddies.

I angle my legs so that the muscles pop more defined, then twist a lock of hair in my fingers, pretending to talk to the parents of imaginary trick-or-treaters.....

Hi Spiderman's Daddy. Can I see what's in YOUR bag?......

Hello Snow White's Daddy, that's a really hot beer belly you've got going......

Whoo-hoo Ninja's Daddy, did he learn those moves from you?

She laughs.

We walk back to our cars.

After giving me a hug, Deb stands back and shouts I LOVE YOU!

I know she does, but I'm concentrating on something far more important.... remembering to throw away the Burger King bag before I get home.