And, if you are scared of losing your job, or if you’ve lost your job, please don’t despair and above all, don’t take it personally.  I have.  Let me explain:

Gypsy Employee (by Linda Athis)

You’re fired.
I resign.
We’ve eliminated your position.
I’ve heard these all many times.
 
Forty-two years my father worked
in one, same place.
Was it fun?
Were there friends?
A respect for grace?
 
Me, I jumped,
assumed new faces,
lucky to rest two years
in any one place.
 
No one would have me.
Too blunt.
Too bold.
Even told,
too good to be here.
 
A heart
sliced and diced,
seeking employer appreciation,
I fled hard,
came home,
bought a computer,
got a logo
and thick, rich business cards.
 
There I earned my name
as one employee…single,
and a ten year stint
in my home,
so simple.
 
While those
with big titles,
who fire, layoff, let go,
they call for me.
 
I walk into their office
dressed to the nines,
cautiously posed
in leather chair,
and wait for the sign
when they tell me the secrets
they cannot bear,
and I, in turn, swear
to keep them.
 
I’ve spun 180.
Now I know
why they do
what they must do.
And me, how my heart pulls,
for all those past workplace wounds,
I took far too personal.

Now that gas prices have upped the price of food, especially exotic produce, we find ourselves realizing how much we’ve taken fresh fruits and veggies for granted.  I learned this lesson all too well when I visited Alaska and realized how my health was affected by a simple change in diet.  My verse is below.

Secret Deal – by Linda Athis

At the fringe of dark wild,
I craved comforts so simple,
A mere tissue, blown into, was saved.
 
My rumbling gut
craved fruit
rarely found in Alaskan forest.
 
It felt like a drug deal.
I chose just one. 
One I thought might do the deed.
At lunch I whisper:
Can you find me an apple?
Complicit, my waitress leans in,
knowing she too, takes a risk.
I can, but it will cost you.

Doesn’t matter,  I say
 as if I have millions.
Then what do you want?
 
I scan for spies at nearby tables.
All clear.
 
Two apples,
two bananas,
to heal a shocked body
back to rhythm it knows.
 
She fades away quickly,
returns with a sack
and forbidden contents.
 
My bills feel luscious,
and I pay in cash,
adding hefty tip
for her employment risk.
She smiles subtly back,
departing quickly
avoiding capture.
 
And so,
if I asked God
can I have my life back?
What would be the price?
Would I pay it? ]]> https://secondbloom.wordpress.com/2008/09/13/seeking-fruit-in-the-wild/feed/ 0 Linda https://secondbloom.wordpress.com/2008/08/29/i-am-a-desperate-american-dear-future-president/ https://secondbloom.wordpress.com/2008/08/29/i-am-a-desperate-american-dear-future-president/#respond Fri, 29 Aug 2008 16:26:06 +0000 http://secondbloom.wordpress.com/?p=58 I had to put this on paper.  The presidential elections have hit me hard.  I didn’t expect it, still don’t understand it.  So I tried to put it in words today.

Dear Future President:

You may be the last president of my life.  Because of that, please hear my story.

I did everything right…everything everyone says you should do.  

 I’m in a new class, a self-proclaimed “Desperate American.” 

1. My parents weren’t poor and they weren’t rich.
2. I paid my own way through college.
3. I have no debt.
4. I’ve saved a lot of money.
5. My starter home is paid off.
6. I drive an old, paid-off car.
7. I have my own business.
8. I pay my taxes.

And sadly, I was born with vulnerable health.  I do have health insurance, provided for those who are regarded as uninsurable.  For $700 each month, I have insurance that will not cover the services and the drugs that have kept me healthy enough to work for a living.  I’m a dedicated patient and take good care of my body.   I pay, out of pocket, tens of thousands of dollars each year to preserve my life.

I’ve taken no handouts.  I didn’t blitz on a big house, boat, nice cars and exotic vacations.  I simply survived. 

Each day I wake up in despair and fear.  My country has no safety net for me… the one who did everything right.   My healthcare costs will quickly deplete my savings.

What do I want?

I want less fear.  I want the rare chance to wake up in the morning and think, “it’s a beautiful day, don’t let it get away.”  

I have no power in America’s circle of influence.  I ask you to use yours to throw me a rope.
I, and many other “desperate Americans” need something we cannot provide for ourselves.

This hurts.  This time I’m asking for that handout… that momentary reprieve… that great and tumultuous reinvention of America’s health care system. 

In return, I promise not to bankrupt the system by trying to live long.  When my time comes, I will go in peace at home, not surrounded by doctors and life-saving medicine.

Feeling a little too sorry for myself, I wrote this poem.
The Weight of Water– by Linda Athis

My back and arms ache
when I lift my jug
of filtered/safe water,
for a glassful, to swallow
my pile of daily pills.

Then a flash in my mind,
of tall, African women,
in their slow,
foot by foot journey.
Precious river water
in huge earthen jugs,
painfully pounding,
in delicate balance on their tender heads.

This existence amazes me.
What they must do
to simply live.
I shift my attitude,
lift my jug with dignity,
and drink with gratitude
for what I have
that they do not.

Spotlight Gone – by Linda Athis
My eyes prefer shade,
as others seek light.
I crave cool safe-haven
to rest my body,
a blistered, wincing parcel,
ill from self-sought celebrity.
 
Do not seek it.
Do not wish it.
Once you get it,
can you lose it?
 
That warm temptress spotlight
will ravage your life.
Friends won’t be real.
Relatives are kinder.
Lovers come in quantity,
hiding hideous motive.
 
In a red-hot, sweaty, jealous fist,
the known squeeze tight their treasure,
and every new face,
exquisite body,
rare raw talent,
could easily snatch it,
like a most evil thief.
 
The known, they know this,
weep deeply inside,
for the helpless baby bird they clutch,
as the world plots to steal it.
This sad hatchling will never face age.
Never fly free,
find peace,
in seasons of life.
 
Do you have celebrity?
Don’t pause, don’t ponder.
Toss it like trash, like spit to cement.
Flee fast before you grab it back
and gasp at the kidnapper you choose to embrace.
 
Find fresh space, fresh fields,
search hard for the gem of the ordinary.
Talk not of yourself,
not of your past.
Walk away from those who knew you when.
Find instead, true family, true friends.
 
It is no sin
to leave no mark in this world.
It will still turn,
the stars will still shine.
And you, fortunate one,
at last will find
your ageless eagle inside.

It sounds silly, but for some reason I thought just the opposite for nearly 57 years.  Where did that come from? 

I thought that every moment had to be filled with very hard work…or no one would value me.  And I thought I was a burden to this world.

When you have transformative thoughts like this…you have to promise yourself to hold onto them.  It is easy to forget as the years go by.

And so yesterday, I set my work aside, did several hours of Yoga, went for a walk, and refilled the soap, hand lotion dispensers in my home.  All simple things, and my day was filled with joy, and best of all…no guilt.

Smoked Filled Rooms – by Linda Athis

He used to get mad at me
when I was ill.
My coughing,
my hacking,
drew me much ill will.

Do you have to make those noises?,
he’d say.
Isn’t there another way
to clear your throat?

Me, a child ,
used the only way I could.
But I so wanted to be good.

Now Dad is gone,
and I remain
and look back
and remember his cigarettes.
All his smoke,
all his ashtrays,
and realize the joke.

A vacation spent with lots of people that I don’t know, and the “herding” tour guides, is highly irritating for me.  As I age, I love the silence of life.  Best of all…it is free.

Tour Bus Hell – by Linda Athis

Promise yourself:

Never venture onto a tour bus.

Buses aren’t the problem.

People who like them are.

The chatterers memorize facts to spew.

The beer drinkers work to charm the guides.

The short, fat ladies with ratted lacquer hair

will incessantly mother anyone,

and will not shut up,

even when asked,

frequently running to bathrooms

and towards any source of food

as if starved for centuries.

But if you must board that bus,

stand back.

Cover your ears.

Fold your soul slowly into itself.

Find the mystery – absolute joy within.

Fiercely protect your newfound land.

Tell no one you have it, lest they run you down,

demand directions and a map

of how you arrived there.

As I look back at my insensitivity to those who had chronic conditions or were aging painfully, I am totally embarrassed.  Youth can be a time of unwise cruelty.

Today I had lunch with a younger woman.  She had a beautiful hard body.  I stepped unsteadily out of my car in my heels.  I then “sucked in my gut” so she wouldn’t think I was fat.  Then an alarm went off in my head.  “Get used to this, there’s no changing it.  Accept what you are.  You cannot control the physical laws of the universe.”

My goal for the future years… learn to be me, love me, and accept this new season.  No more gut sucking.

I remember in my 30s, stepping on a weight scale up to 14 times a day, just to make sure no ounces crept in.  I didn’t drink water for fear it would add a pound or two.  Then one day, I grabbed the ugly scale and threw it in the garbage.  I had nightmares for two weeks.  Now I’m more at peace.  And when I go to the doctor and they asked me to step on their scale, I turn my head and tell them not to say a thing about my weight.

Statistical Living-by Linda Athis

I measured my heart rate.
Stepped on a scale.
Embraced the practice of self-inflicted pain…
my personal wail
against age.

Nearby, elders watched
with a non-malicious glee.
They knew the secret:
Time and gravity bring all to their knees.
Ten out of every ten people die.

Now I,
Much older,
threw out my scale.
Vowed to stroll, not race,
grateful to do that alone,
inhaling all beauty
I never saw
while dueling with time.

I bow in peace at my role, my place.
I lived not to gain power, money, pleasure,
but faced my most formidable goal:
To treat myself with kindness,
and unfold my soul.

You can’t fold a pile of laundry all at once.

Get mad if you must.

Each piece demands to be folded,

by itself.  In its own time.

Age Revelation

Two tiny holes in a dishwash rag.

My earlier mind would have thrown it out.

Replaced it with a costly designer piece.

My later mind likes the touch

of fabric supple from use.

This one is saved.