Girl with a Gypsy Soul: Or Coffee with My Brother

I have always resonated with travelers, wanderers, and vagabonds. Roots frighten me. When I was a young girl and I read tales of princesses, I didn't want to be the stereotypical damsel in distress. I wanted to be my own version of a questing princess who didn't just sit around waiting to be rescued but a princess who got the chance to travel the medieval trails on her own adventures. Somewhere along the way that girl got lost. To quote my brother as we sat in a coffee shop the other day, "I just feel as if your story got off track somewhere, Cat. This isn't you. You're in some kind of holding pattern. Your story is stalled, and you need to figure out how to start writing the adventure again." I've been thinking a lot since that conversation. Thousands of other stories and characters and lyrics and movie lines that echo my brother's sentiments have been running through my head since he spoke those words to me. Adventurers, those who live with longing, those who refuse to be content with the status quo, these are my inspiration. So, what am I going to do about it?


Sadly, first I'm going to research...key there, search, and then do it again. I'm okay with simple, but I'm not content with a small life, a small existence. I have hands and feet that need to leave prints behind. About two years ago I wrote this post, and there I talked about finding my roots and not turning from them again anytime soon. I needed roots at that point in my life like I had never needed them before. I needed something to hold me together, to hold me down, to anchor me deep into the ground, deep into the comfortable so to speak. Honestly, it was the only time in my life I have ever felt I needed that kind of stability. I rooted myself into that intense need and planted deep into good soil to find healing. I think I planted too deeply and got lost in the undergrowth.  Hence the holding pattern mentioned by my brother. I'm not sure if my story stalled in spring 2000 when I chose China as the place to travel to for a student exchange instead of choosing a place that more fit me and my talents. Maybe it was when I came home from that student exchange program early because I let the unknown and fear incapacitate me, or did it stall in 2001 when I left Truett Seminary? Did it stall out when I anchored myself into the profession of teaching, first in Central Texas, then Colorado, then North Texas?  I don't know? In these twelve years, I've been restless. I've felt an uneasiness that seemed to subside at times, but never really left me. What I have come to find to be true throughout all of these questions is that I am happiest when I'm traveling, when I'm getting my hands dirty, when I'm meeting a real need, when each morning seems like an adventure waiting to happen, even if the adventure appears insignificant at first glance.


Back to my roots and what I'm doing about them. First of all, this time I'm going back to my roots, but instead of planting them deep in the earth, I'm digging them up, brushing the dirt from them, and pruning them back. I don't know what ANY of this is going to look like, but to be completely cliched about the whole thing, I have one life, one chance to write my story. I can't continue to be stuck in a circular argument. I can't keep reading the same chapter over and over, revising and editing, trying desperately to make the same story work for me. I can't wallow and nestle into comfort and certainty any longer.  


In my youth, thoughts like the ones I type now would be manifestations of me running from something I didn't want to face, something I wanted to hide away from. Such is not the case here. The healing that came from planting my roots deep two years ago has made me stronger. That same strength though has made me hold tightly to what is comfortable. It's time to release the grip on comfort. What do I want to do? What am I going to do? At this point I don't know. It begins with the  search, the search for a way out of the holding pattern.

This Might Be My New Favorite Poem

Through the persistence and insistence of my friend Lori, I have come to discover that I might actually like poetry.  With that being said, she introduced me to Billy Collins, and after purchasing a collection of his poems and the beginnings of a perusal, I discovered this jewel!  I love its indiscretion through subtlety (and then again not so much subtlety) and the way it peels away the layers of Victorian conservatism and prudery as he peels away the layers of her buttoned up lace collar, mother-of-pearl buttoned white dress, and corset!  I've never wanted to be the reclusive Victorian poet from Amherst more!  Although it would need to be someone other than Billy Collins playing the speaker's role:)!!!  And who doesn't conjure up images of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet in this poetic scene too?!? Awesomeness on the page!


Here it is for your reading pleasure along with some of Dickinson's poems that were part of the inspiration for the Collins verse:


"Taking Off Emily Dickinson's Clothes"
by Billy Collins


First, her tippet of tulle,
easily lifted off her shoulders and laid 
on the back of a wooden chair.


And her bonnet,
the bow undone with a light forward pull.


Then the long white dress, a more
complicated matter with mother-of-pearl
buttons down the back,
so tiny and numerous that it takes forever
before my hands can part the fabric,
like a swimmer's dividing water,
and slip inside.


You will want to know
that she was standing
by an open window in an upstairs bedroom,
motionless, a little wide-eyed,
looking out at the orchard below,
the white dress puddled at her feet
on the wide-board, hardwood floor,


The complexity of women's undergarments
in nineteenth-century America
is not to be waved off,
and I proceeded like a polar explorer
through clips, clasps, and morrings,
catches, straps, and whalebone stays,
sailing toward the iceberg of her nakedness.


Later, I wrote in a notebook
it was like riding a swan into the night,
but, of course, I cannot tell you everything--
the way she closed her eyes to the orchard,
how her hair tumbled free of its pins,
how there were sudden dashes
whenever we spoke.


What I can tell you is
it was terribly quiet in Amherst
that Sabbath afternoon,
nothing but a carriage passing the house
a fly buzzing in a windowpane.


So I could plainly hear her inhale
when I undid the very top
hook-and-eye fastener of her corset


and I could hear her sigh when finally it was unloosed,
the way some readers sigh when they realize
that Hope has feathers,
that Reason is a plank,
That Life is a loaded gun
that looks right at you with a yellow eye.


And now, here are the Emily Dickinson poems inspiring Collin's final stanza, and YES!, the sigh is there on all accounts:


"Hope is a thing with feathers"
by Emily Dickinson
     

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

"I felt a funeral in my brain"

by Emily Dickinson

I felt a funeral in my brain,
        And mourners, to and fro,
Kept treading, treading, till it seemed
        That sense was breaking through.

And when they all were seated,
        A service like a drum
Kept beating, beating, till I thought
        My mind was going numb.


And then I heard them lift a box,
        And creak across my soul
With those same boots of lead,
        Then space began to toll


As all the heavens were a bell,
        And Being but an ear,
And I and silence some strange race,
        Wrecked, solitary, here.


And then a plank in reason, broke,
        And I dropped down and down--
And hit a world at every plunge,
        And finished knowing--then--


"My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun"
by Emily Dickinson


My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun -
In Corners -  till a Day
The Owner passed - identified -
And carried Me away - 


And now We roam in Sovereign Woods - 
And now We hunt the Doe - 
And every time I speak for Him - 
The Mountains straight reply - 


And do I smile, such cordial light
Upon the Valley glow - 
It is as a Vesuvian face - 
Had let its pleasure through - 


And when at Night - Our good Day done - 
I guard My Master's Head - 
'Tis better than Eider-Duck's
Deep Pillow - to have shared - 


To foe of his - I'm deadly foe -
None stir the second time - 
On whom I lay a Yellow Eye - 
Or an emphatic Thumb -


Though I than He - may longer live 
He longer must - than I -
For I have but the power to kill,
Without--the power to die--




Inhalation, 
sigh...

Poems that Reflect My Heart and Perspective at the Moment

Introspection, reflection, meditation, adjustment, courage, gumption--these all define my persona as I share these lines...enjoy!


i am not    done    yet                        
by Lucille Clifton  
                                      
as possible as yeast                                
as imminent as bread                                
a collection of safe habits                           
a collection of cares                                          
less certain than i seem                             
more certain than i was                             
a changed changer                                
i continue to continue                                      
where i have been                                      
most of my lives is                                     
where i am going


I dwell in possibility (#657)
by Emily Dickinson


I dwell in Possibility--
A fairer house than Prose--
More numerous of Windows--
Superior--for Doors--


Of Chambers as the Cedars--
Impregnable of Eye--
And for an Everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky--


Of Visitors--the fairest--
For Occupation--This--
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise--


May today there be peace within

by Teresa of Avila

May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be

May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith

May you use your gifts that you have received, and pass on the 

       love that

has been given to you...

May you be content knowing you are a child of God...

Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the

       freedom to

sing, dance, praise and love.                                

It is there for each and every one of us.

May 2
David Lehman


Someday I'd like to
go to Atlantic City with you
not to gamble (just being
there with you is enough
of a gamble) but to ride
the high white breakers
have a Manhattan and listen
to a baritone saxophone
play a tune called "Salsa 
Eyes" with you beside me
on a banquette but why
stop there let's go to 
Paris in November when
it's raining and we read 
the Tribune at La Rotonde
our hotel room has a big
bathtub I knew you'd like
that and we can be a couple 
of unknown Americans what
are we waiting for let's go


Leap Before You Look
by W.H. Auden


The sense of danger must not disappear:
The way is certainly both short and steep,
However gradual it looks from here;
Look if you like, but you will have to leap.


Tough-minded men get mushy in their sleep
And break the by-laws any fool can keep;
It is not the convention but the fear 
That has a tendency to disappear.


The worried efforts of the busy heap,
The dirt, the imprecision, and the beer
Produce a few smart wisecracks every year;
Laugh if you can, but you will have to leap.


The clothes that are considered right to wear
Will not be either sensible or cheap,
As long as we consent to live like sheep
And never mention those who disappear.


Much can be said for social savoir-faire,
But to rejoice when no one else is there
Is even harder than it is to weep;
No one is watching, but you have to leap.


A solitude ten thousand fathoms deep
Sustains the bed on which we lie, my dear:
Although I love you, you will have to leap;
Our dream of safety has to disappear.

Rain on the Roof, Tears Falling Down

I don't know if it's the weather, the winter season, the moment, the images on the screen tonight, the emotions conjured up by the memories, but tears run down my cheeks as I watch Rock Center by Brian Williams.  When you see images flash across your television screen that you have stared down face to face--the poverty, the desolation, the hunger, the tears, but that's not all--the smiles, the laughter, the children singing, the face of a little girl whose hair ribbon was tied around your wrist one summer day and now hangs on your refrigerator door, you can't look into those faces and hear those voices and not be changed.  I am changed because of Haiti.  I see differently.  I love differently.  I confess differently.  I forgive differently.  I understand differently. I cry out differently.  I stumble and fall differently.  And I rise from my ashes differently because I no longer try to do it all myself.  I have learned that their is always a hand holding onto mine when I stand back up and move forward.  There are days my heart hurts because of what I have seen.  It hurts because I have prayed over babies who may not survive.  I have handed food to people who are truly starving.  I have handed medicines as simple as tylenol and vitamins to desperate people who long for healing.  I have stood in the shallows, at the edge of a lake and on the edge of the ocean in two different small villages and looked at the immensity and beauty of my Creator.  But it also hurts because I can still hear the laughter.  I can still feel five little girls crowded in around me to hear the story I read to them in French and to look at its illustrations.  I can feel them sitting in my lap and leaning over both of my shoulders, braiding my hair as I read.  I can still hear voices gathered under the lone tree in a village of grass huts and dirt floors. I went to Haiti for the first time in the summer of 2010 a heartbroken mess.  I'm still a mess, but a place full of such brokenness itself was used to continue the work already started in my heart of working toward healing.  So tonight I say thanks.  Healing comes from unexpected places, and because it has come and continues to come, I offer up my hands and my feet and my heart to be used here, in Haiti, wherever.  The tears that stain my cheeks tonight fall because my heart will never be the same.  They fall to remind me that there is still help to bring.  There is still healing that needs to come.  They fall to remind me to give thanks that I am not wallowing in the mess and ashes instead of seeing and living in the beauty.

Lap Dogs and Burp Rags

Well, today was just plain interesting!  I discovered two things that make life more challenging: jealous lap dogs and colicy babies.  My eldest nephew was sick today, so Aunt Cat was left alone with an almost four week old!!!  Four burp rags, two blowout diapers, a shirt change, and about thirty minutes of what I like to call just plain pissed off infant later, success!!!  Lincoln was asleep in what I have lovingly dubbed the Aunt Cat papasan chair which is really just my thighs made into an elevated chair, but whatever!!!  It works, and if it ain't broke don't fix it!  At this moment my little miniature schnauzer, Bridget, decided the best place for her was also my lap.  She whined.  She cried.  And yes, she ended up in my lap too.  She's just a wee bit jealous and can't really figure out who or what Lincoln is yet.  I have always been so hesitant around babies and children.  That's why I chose to teach high school after all, but what I'm learning through this time in my life is that babies are hard, babies cry A LOT, but babies make you see life through a different lens.  I'm seeing life differently, and I like it, burp rags, spit up, jealous lap dogs, and all!

Ten Things a Single Girl Learns While Living with Two Kids

In September my brother and sister in law (with one on the way) and my five year old nephew moved in with me.  Needless to say it's been a wild adventure.  Here are some things I've learned along the way.  Let's just say my life will never be the same because of this experience!!!

10.  What appears in the diaper of a newborn looks like dijon mustard, but I'm not going to spread it on a sandwich any time soon!

9.  Morning coffee goes well with the witty humor of Phineas and Ferb cartoons!

8.  Five year olds make the best listeners and parrots, so I better watch what I say!

7.  Every toy has some assembly required and usually makes me feel incredibly stupid:)!

6.  When Corn Pops are the requested cereal for the morning, but you don't hear the request the first time, a tantrum will follow that is possibly one of the most hilarious things I've seen in awhile!

5.  Every story or explanation or description must be repeated three, four, five, six, seven, etc, times when it comes to five year olds laying it all out for you:)!

4.  When sitting at the dinner table coming up with good words to practice rhyming don't ever throw out the words chicken or truck!!!  And yes, I say this from clueless, single girl experience!

3.  A nursing baby sounds like a wild wombat or some other small animal!!!

2.  I'm much better at this whole kid thing than I ever thought I would be!!!

1.  Hugs and snuggles are the sweetest things, and I wouldn't change any of this!!!

You Have A VOICE--What Will You SAY???

Learning is my love.  Education is my passion.  Books are my solace.  Sometimes I feel as if I have lived a thousand lifetimes because of the places books have taken me and the characters I have met along the way.  Stories speak to me.  When I think of some of my most intimate comrades from my youth, not all were living, breathing companions, but the experiences and connections I had with them were not diminished by the fact that they existed solely on the page and in my imagination.  Even today, my bedroom and living room are littered with tomes of every subject and genre.  Literature allows the opportunity to engage in dialogue with great figures, to travel to exotic locales, and to sharpen the powers of reflection and analysis.  Literacy taught me how to tell stories.  It taught me and equipped me with the power to speak out against injustice and to use my LIFE to say something! Books, fiction and non-fiction, and the reservoirs of knowledge contained within their pages give me a voice and challenge me to consider what I will do with that voice.  I have a VOICE, a powerful voice that has been blessed beyond understanding with countless resources to grow and strengthen.  My recent fourth trip to Haiti over Thanksgiving break reminded me of how strong my voice is.  The country of Haiti, the land of contrasts and contradictions-immense beauty paralleled with utter desolation, forces so many people into silence through illiteracy, ignorance, oppression, poverty, illness, hunger, yet if you look deep into their eyes and take the time to listen to their hearts tell their stories you will hear voices so powerful, so strong, so eloquent and beautiful crying out to be heard. 

I am a teacher by trade and a student by heart.  I am curious.  I do not merely read.  I wallow in the printed word.  I have friends who say “Nerd Alerts” go off whenever I am near.  In light of that, I am currently rereading The Tragedy of Julius Caesar with my English II students, and although I do not usually relate closely with the melodramatic, slightly neurotic character of Caius Cassius, I do find myself connecting with something Caesar says about him.  Caesar says of Cassius, “Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much, such men are dangerous…He reads much, He is a great observer, and he looks quite through the deeds of men.”  Granted Cassius is a jealous, power-hungry conniver, but embedded here in Caesar’s observation is to me a resounding truth—people need the opportunity to be curious, to have that “lean and hungry look,” to question authority, to learn, to think for themselves, ultimately, to have a VOICE and something to SAY!  In Haiti stomachs are empty and needing be fed, but after many lengthy conversations with my Haitian friends, Haiti is also a land of hungry minds longing to be filled with the sustenance of knowledge and learning.  A quick glance at the literacy rates in Haiti shows them to be dismal at best.  According to CIA: The World Factbook, only 52.9 percent over the age of fifteen can read and write.  That number is slightly higher regarding the male population (54.8 percent) and slightly lower regarding females (51.2 percent).  Why these statistics?  I can attest that it is not the result of lack of hunger for an education.  When I sit and talk with my Haitian friends, we discuss Montesquieu, Rousseau, Sartre, Plato, etc.  I traveled back from Haiti this time with a list of books by French philosophers and poets and French language resources to locate and bring back to my friends who are hungry for education and knowledge.  The voices of the Haitian people are strong, but there needs to be more of an opportunity for the youth of Haiti to find their voices. 

Enter two amazing people with vision and passion and above all faithful dedication to lives in Haiti.  I want to introduce you to Mike and Missy Wilson and their story.  My two friends have a passion that is undeniable!  For a person who loves stories, the vision of their lives speaks directly to the heart of who I am.  Mike and Missy have stepped out in faith to address the challenge of changing the lives of Haitian orphans one life at a time.  With their organization myLIFEspeaks (You can discover more of their story at myLIFEspeaks.com.) they are embarking on the journey of feeding the stomachs, hearts, and minds of Haitian youth.  They know how important education is not only to typical children but also special needs children.  The myLIFEspeaks campus will begin with housing special needs and typical orphans in a family atmosphere, and then one day develop into a campus that is beyond comprehension.  Mike and Missy know first hand how important the opportunity for quality education is as they have been active participants in the educations of their three biological sons, one of which is an amazing special needs child, and their two adoptive daughters from Haiti.  Doors have opened for countless partnerships with people from all walks of life to be a part of myLIFEspeaks-- from physical therapists, occupational therapists, and businessmen and women to artists, teachers, and community involvement professionals, etc.  Each of these who have been exposed to the myLIFEspeaks vision, and honestly it is a vision so much bigger than any one individual, have been challenged to address the question, “What is your LIFE saying?” 

For a person who values words and relishes in the truths of storytelling, I want to make sure that not only am I lover of reading stories but that I am also a person who is about having my LIFE tell a story.  I also want to be a person who is about helping others find their own stories and helping them gain the tools to use their voices to SPEAK.  The verse from Proverbs (31:8) that Mike and Missy have chosen to define their passion and vision says, “Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves; ensure justice for those being crushed (NLT).”  I want to be about that.  I have a VOICE, and that VOICE is strong because, by no cause of my own, I was born in a land of freedom and opportunity.  I chose to take that opportunity and immerse myself in a world of curious discovery, a world of literature and information.  I have had more than ample resources placed in my path, both human and material, that have aided me along my journey of searching for knowledge.  Now, it is time for me to take my voice and teach others how to find theirs. 

For a decade now I have had the opportunity to help American students find their voices.  This summer, however, I will begin a journey of being able to do the same with Haitian students.  What that will look like, who knows, but I do know that I have two and half months this summer to give people a chance to discover how to use their lives to tell the world their stories.  If you spend any time at all reading Haitian history or Haitian literature, you will discover that the Haitian people have powerful stories to tell.  They have strong voices and passionate hearts.  Through an Internet search of Haitian poetry, I discovered a poem by Prosper “Makendal” Sylvain, Jr., a true artist of written and spoken verse, who poignantly expresses the strength of the Haitian voice and the Haitian resolve.  Please ponder the following excerpt from his poem “I Don’t Look Haitian?” 

Mad I think you may be at my nationality

Are you still upset because we declared we were free

after riding the freedom train to its 1,804th last stop,

upset still because we made the world’s mouth drop…

“Extra! Extra! Read all about it!

Haitians have declared themselves free.

Napoleon and Leclerc embarrassed internationally!

Haiti becomes the original Statue of Liberty!

Extra! Extra! Read All About It!”

We held truths to be self evident before the first shackle,

built an above ground railroad way before Harriet went Underground,

gave birth to Kings and had dreams before Martin,

knew any means necessary before Malcolm,

knew rivers before Langston,

released caged birds to sing before Maya,

tripped egos before Nikki

spoke to American pharaohs like Moses to let our people go,

took one giant step for mankind before any man on the moon,

took the road less traveled before Frost,

married freedom before any other Caribbean nation

and answered the question to be or not to be by being free and being Haitian,

spoke with the same tongue as Patrick did, give me liberty or give me death!

Our minds and our hunger for freedom

were blatant weapons of mass destruction

long before Gomorrah attacked their Saddam

I DON’T LOOK HAITIAN???!!!!

Did I not look Haitian when I took over The Brooklyn Bridge?

Did I not look Haitian on MTV wrapped in a blue and red flag of Ayiti?

Did I not look Haitian when I founded the city of Chicago?

Did I not look Haitian when I destroyed slavery?

There is a VOICE in Ayiti.  It is strong.  It is vibrant.  It is powerful.  It has long history of speaking out against injustice and speaking out for those cannot speak for themselves.  But it is a voice that has fallen silent because it has not had ample opportunity to learn how to shout.  There are needs, great needs, in Haiti.  It has been said that trying to help Haiti is like putting a small band aid on a gaping and gushing wound, but the way I see it is I can find one or five or ten, etc. who want to learn how to use their voices.   Well, I choose to cry out on behalf of my Haitian brothers and sisters the way I have for my American ones.   I WILL teach others how to find their voices.  What about you?  Will you let your LIFE speak?  Will you use your VOICE to speak for those who cannot?  Will you join in with myLIFEspeaks and their vision?  The choice is on the table!