Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Gratitude

Things I'm currently thankful for (all basics aside, since they're kind of a given) in no particular order:

1. Heroes (the TV show)
2. Winter trees against orange/pink/purple/blue sunsets
3. Pesto
4. Quirky movies (like Lars and the Real Girl)
5. Functioning heaters
6. Friends' blogs from Boone, Grenada and Reiko's room
7. Weekends
8. Roses
9. REAL Christmas trees
10. Payday
11. Questions
12. Books, films and people that question everything
13. Mint Mojito chewing gum
14. The Independent Film Channel
15. Nutmeg
16. The glass bottle tree on highway 86
17. Hippies with dogs and frisbees
18. Rain (whenever we can get it)
19. New cell phones with reliable alarms
20. Pretty much everybody I know

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Amazing Women I Know

I know a lot of amazing women.

My mother is one, my grandmother was one, my aunt Doreen is one...and that's just my family. I don't even know where to start when I get to the amazing women who are my friends.

Today, I met an amazing woman. And when I say amazing, I mean that after I spoke to her, I was so amazed that I wasn't sure what to think, much less what to say. I was stunned and speechless and emotionally wrung out.

In a good way, I was overwhelmed.

This woman's name is Gizella. She was about seventy five, maybe younger, maybe older, I'm not sure. She was about four feet tall and had that same sort of kindly grandmother face, except she was more petite in every sense than any grandmother I've ever met before. Her eyes alone were amazing; they were huge, expressive, cheerful-- and they were this remarkably clear, bright aquamarine color with dark blue-green circles rimming her irises. I've never seen such beautiful eyes before.

Gizella was born in Poland. She was a member of the Polish underground until it was discovered that she was a Jew who had somehow escaped the Lodz ghetto, and then she was sent to the Majdanek death camp. Her family, her parents and her brother, died at Belzec, the death camp of which there are only two known survivors. Before she joined the Polish underground she saw Nazis shoot an entire community and dump them into crude ditches while she was hiding in the bushes. She slaved and scraped by at Majdanek, passing herself off as healthy by pinching her cheeks and biting her lips to give herself some color, until she was made to dig her own grave, but before she was shot the Allies appeared to save the day, all too late to save the rest of her family.

She did not speak about what had happened to her until 1970 -- almost thirty years after she had experienced it -- when she was living in Raleigh with her husband and two small children, and now, she says that she cannot stop talking about it, hoping that we all "understand what a precious thing you have in the democracy of this great nation...that you understand that this country is not perfect, but it is beautiful, and we must hold on to the freedom that makes it so special."

She told us her story today -- us being about 40 History and English teachers from around the area -- over the course of about three hours, which didn't seem long enough to sum up such a remarkable life. She had a remarkable (and sometimes wicked) sense of humor, and a sense of joy about the world and about her life that I absolutely could not believe.

I suppose I expect everyone who survived something as horrible as the Holocaust to be shells. I expect something that horrible to completely gut somebody, to eviscerate their souls. I expect to see somebody so full of sorrow for what they've seen that a smile seems difficult and a laugh seems damn near impossible.

Not Gizella.

Gizella was so full of joy and love, it was as if she had to overproduce it to make up for all of the joy and love that was sucked out of her life the instant the Nazis invaded her hometown. She told me today about going back to Poland to visit the Belzec death camp, where her family died, from which she was miraculously spared. The memorial has the names of thousands of those who died there -- including her parents and her brother. She tried to touch all of their names, but because she is so short (she cracked short jokes about herself pretty much all day) she could not reach her father's name. She suddenly felt someone lifting her up to touch her father's name; she reached it, touched it, and turned around to see an American marine standing behind her, smiling. I got teary and she hugged me and took my hands and said in her thick Polish accent, "Don't you cry, now!"

I was at a loss for words.

She lost her mother -- I've been thinking about mothers alot lately, and that made me think of all of my other "amazing women -- " and still, she was the one telling me not to cry. I just kept thinking about how incredible and unbelieveable it was that she still found joy in life, after she had lost what was most precious to her. I was suddenly so grateful for everything, especially for all of my amazing mothers, aunts and sisters.

I wanted to share this, and to offer it up as a thanks to "the Big G" (which is how Gizella refers to God) for this country (despite all it's faults), for my life, for Gizella, and for all of the amazing women I know -- some of the things I love most in this old world. Whether she meant to or not, she reminded me today that I have so very much to be thankful for.

I think now, when I picture God, I might just think of Gizella.

Friday, November 9, 2007

Miscommunication

Gyaaaahhh, I hate it when communication gets all fucked up.
I think that I have a habit of assuming that everything is settled when it isn't in other people's minds, so I make plans accordingly, and then end up feeling like a royal bitch for making plans that end up ruining somone else's. Kind of like right now. I think I should just start flying by the seat of my pants and not make plans at all (of course, then, things would REALLY be fucked up because everybody's plans would be ruined except mine, because I wouldn't have any). Argh.
I kind of desperately want to crawl in a hole; I feel like I've somehow managed to waste the last two weekends when I could have been doing something useful like visiting my family so my mother can have her Erin fix and my grandparents will stop sending me guilt-trip phone calls about how they've forgotten what I look like. Or maybe going up to Boone to re-center myself. Or...something. Truth is, I want to stay here, I want to have people over, and I want to sit around and play hostess like I used to back when I lived at College Place -- watching Scrubs and The Daily Show on my sofa sipping wine/beer/improvised mixed drinks and slowly getting tipsy while laughing at the television and my friends' latest antics. God, I miss that sofa. It was a great sofa. Still is, only now it's my brother's, because it was too much trouble to move down the stairs and onto a horse trailer that was temporarily serving as a makeshift U-Haul.
I'm heading to Yadkinville in about a half-an-hour, and I'm typing this while I should be throwing shit in the car (not literally; that would be a sight, wouldn't it?), and I feel like a royal bitch for not making sure that everything was settled before I let someone talk me into doing something else.
Who knows? Maybe I'll still have a fantastic weekend. I'm just so tired. And I tend to freak out unnecessarily about miscommunication, especially when I feel like its my fault.
Sorry, everyone. Love you muchly anyway. Hope sincerely that the only weekend I ruined was my own.

Saturday, November 3, 2007

Cock on a Rock in a Frock

This morning, since I currently have an infinitely uninteresting life, I watched the movie The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. It's an Australian road movie about two drag queens and a transexual trekking across the Outback in a purple Swedish tour bus named "Priscilla," and seeing as how few things cheer me up like drag queen movies, it is probably now in my top ten list. But anyway, that's beside the point.

Last weekend Reiko and I went to a party. it was a Halloween party, full of folks I don't know -- I've only met the girl who invited us once, for that matter, and so the only people that Reiko and I knew at the party were this girl and each other. There were two kegs in the backyard, and lots of people in interesting, creative and witty Halloween costumes (my personal favorite was two girls who dressed exactly alike with blood smeared all over one side who told everyone they were Siamese twins who had recently tried to separate themselves). Reiko was a naughty referee and I was a naughty librarian -- black pencil skirt, all-business pinstripe shirt, hair in a bun, glasses, black high-heeled pumps, etc., except I had the shirt buttoned about up to my waist to show off a red bra. Wasn't quite sure what to make of all of it. I've discovered that I love parties, but only when I know just about everyone there.

Spoke to a few guys, who seemed surprised that I knew as much about action movies and George Orwell as I did, who sat around and talked literary nonsense all evening -- all about books they hadn't actually read and authors they weren't actually fans of, but everything sounded prestigious and pretentious, so they ran their mouths about them. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm the queen of pretentious articulate bullshit, but when I do know something about the subject matter, I'm frustrated by people that don't and still try to sound like they do.

We left the party at about 1 AM. I went home and went to bed.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm nowhere near the kind of party animal I thought I was. Yeah, I like to party, and yeah, I like to get drunk, and yeah, I like to act scandalous and be silly -- but only when I'm around people that I know, only when I'm in places that are familiar, and only when it's usually on my terms that I'm acting ridiculous. Isn't that strange? I guess I'm just not as outgoing as I thought.

Well, back to Priscilla...one of the characters, one of the drag queens had a son, and was forever afraid that his son wouldn't understand the fact that his father was gay, and wouldn't love him because of it. Turns out, he didn't give the kid enough credit; the boy (who was about ten), didn't seem to care at all; in fact, he asked his father if he'd have a boyfriend when they got back to Sydney, and when his father said "Probably," the boy said, "Good." All I could think was, "what a beautiful moment. Here's this father, who's so used to being beaten down for what he is, and he's pleasantly surprised when his estranged ten-year-old doesn't give a damn if he has a drag queen for a dad." It said something to me about people being so worried about other people's acceptance that we're too cautious. This man had been avoiding meeting his son for this very reason, and when he finally did, turns out there was no problem at all.

I guess what I'm saying is that I should get over my neuroses and meet people -- minus the pretentious bullshit. Maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised.

Oh, and the title of today's entry? A quote from Priscilla, of course -- the old transexual in the film, upon finding out that the youngest member of the troupe has the ultimate dream of climbing Ayer's Rock in a full-length sequined Gaultier ball-gown, says to the kid, "Oh, great, just what we need: a cock on a rock in a frock." Hands down, favorite line from the movie.