My earliest childhood memory: Getting my Sasha doll on my 3rd birthday.

My earliest childhood memory: Getting my Sasha doll on my 3^rd birthday.  

Yep, I still remember this VERY moment: all dressed up in my gypsy-best, looking down lovingly at the brand-new baby doll that was all mine….ALL MINE!  And - she even looked like me!  Well, as near as a generic brown doll with bone straight hair can look like me…it was, after all, 1971.  Nowadays, dolls come in all colors/ethnicities/hair types, and I know one thing for sure:  if I would have popped a baby girl out of these here loins, I would have definitely given her a brown doll.  

One of the most difficult parts of being a trans-racial adoptee is that I often felt like an alien in my own home.  I mean, sure, they were my family, but I cannot help but imagine that one of the ways we come to know we belong is that we see people who look like us.  And I don’t think that we consciously register this, it’s just something that IS and then becomes part of the background.  

I don’t think I would consider this experience to be a “luxury” that I didn’t have and/or that most folks take for granted.  I think it’s more accurate to say that there is a “human experience default” (growing up with one’s biological family) that instills in us our initial sense of belonging.  Absent this default setting, and the potential for mayhem opens up reeeeeeal wide-like.  Absent this default setting, and perhaps you get the "gift" of trying to manage a colossal identity crisis.  Does anyone remember the book “Are you my Mother?”   Well, imagine that the momma bird never comes back.  Yeah, I read and re-read that book, hoping that, somehow - perhaps by some sort of tricky osmosis - my mom would suddenly feel “familyar” to me.  But it never happened.

Now, before you go make a grab for the tiny violin or the tissue box (depending on whether or not you have a heart), it seems as those this history of mine has set me up real well to ask the big questions, like “who am I?”  Starting out as I did, trying to worm into some type of identity (to no avail, obviously…I work it like a chameleon) it’s become a regular practice of mine to drop coats that don’t seem to fit the particular occasion.  And it’s also forced me to try and integrate all of the different “I AM’’s” who have taken up residence in my psyche.  Does anyone else live with “the perfectionist?”  Or how about “the inner critic,” the “nagging mom” or the “know it all.”  Or, one of my favorites: MILF.  And u know it. 

So – here we are – 43 years later and I have finally started meeting my family.  And I don’t just mean my biological family.  I mean the family who I feel in my heart, my soul brothers and sisters, people who I have chosen to love, and who have chosen to love me.  And lots of you will be at my celebration on Saturday and I cannot wait!  And for those of you who cannot be there (or weren’t ‘formally’ invited – we will be at the Grand Lake Farmer’s Market at 1pm if u wanna stop by!) thank you, bless you, I love you. 

-           

      - mo

"NEW WORLD WATER" Part Deux

Since that dreadful evening with my son where i made him cry, we have been talking about this whole water issue and how, rather than worry about something one has very little control over, to take action over what you do control - your own use. 

We also pledged to learn more about the water cycle and water conservation in order to better educate ourselves and others about what is going on in the world.  In that spirit, Tre went straight to the heart of his concern last night and googled "Are we going to run out of water?"  I cringed.

This is the article that came up from the National Geographic titled Are We Running out of Water?

In summary, the glass half full answer is "no."  Since water is cyclical in nature, we have as much water on the planet NOW as we did when the first signs of life appeared on the planet.  However, the issue is that "water is not distributed evenly across the globe and our needs for that water aren't the same everywhere."

Setting aside the whole host of issues that arise from inequitable distribution of/needs for water, the Sun went to bed quite happy that his glass is indeed half full and we will not be running out of water. 

Next up:  the idea of grey water and how we can begin to utilize this in our own lives.

"NEW WORLD WATER"

There are many - myself included - who have speculated that the next world war is not going to be over money, or oil, or religion.  It’s going to be over water.  A resource that none of us can live without. 

The title to this blog entry was “borrowed” from Mos Def, who writes in his song “New World Water:”

Tell your crew use the H2 in wise amounts since
it's the New World Water; and every drop counts
You can laugh and take it as a joke if you wanna
But it don't rain for four weeks some summers
And it's about to get real wild in the half
You be buying Evian just to take a fuckin' bath

For the last few months, the Trester has been extremely concerned about the world running out of water.  This concerns me, because I know only too well how pointless it is (and how harmful it can be) to worry about things that have not happened yet, and may never happen.  It also concerns me because I believe this to be a legitimate issue, warranting proper consideration and attention, and though I don’t want to scare him, I cannot lie to him either.  And so I haven’t exactly worked out the proper response to the question: “mom, will we run out of water in my lifetime?”

In the past, I have said, “I don’t know, Tre, but I really don’t think so,” or offered “I think they (whoever the nebulous ‘they’ are) are working on a machine to convert saltwater into freshwater.”  We have also talked about the water cycle, and if it’s a cycle, well, that would mean it just keeps repeating itself, right?!  

Tonite, however, I was feeling particularly surly, after another day losing the battle with a nasty head cold, then homework, then a nutritional meal within 20 minutes, followed by late t.v. night.  So it’s 9:15p.m. and I am tucking him in and now he wants to discuss the water crisis???  “Tre,” I said, ”I don’t know if we have enough water to last MY lifetime.”

To which he responded by breaking out in loud heart-wrenching sobs.  Never mind that the conversation began with discussing my eminent death, and how upsetting this already is to him.  Now I am actually suggesting that my death is looming ever-closer, the leaky faucet in the bathroom (which he pointed out to me last weekend) an ominous drip-drip-drip reminder that we are sealing our own fate.  

Well.  In the end, because I am indeed Supermom, I managed to patch things up.  And for the time being, we are good.  We have water.  Mom’s ok, dad’s ok, everyone he loves is ok right now.  “And so,” I said, bending down to kiss his check, “for that, we have gratitude.” 30 seconds later the child is snoring, and I say a silent prayer of thanks that he still has the capacity to pick up heavy objects, stumble around with them for a while, and put them back down.  Thank you, baby j.  Thank You.

"The day I decided enuff was enuff and Tre needed to go on a feeding schedule"

On occasion, i will read through my old journals to see if i can't find something to jump-start my reluctant creativity bug.  Today i found this:


Diary entry 1/9/03 (i think i actually meant 1/9/04 since Tre was born on 6/4/03):

...there are no more entries after that.  it was a clumsily-hatched plan anyway, destined to fail.

“The Nos always Nos”

You know that one body part that has always been an issue for you?  Well, for me, it’s my nose.  And I have been doing a lot of thinking about that nose since seeing the picture of my 4 aunties and reflecting on how strong this nose gene is in our family.  I think it’s a lot of what makes us look so similar.  At least my birthmother and me. 

When I was young, my (white) brother used to tease me about the size of my nose.  And it hurt my feelings, and so I tried to get him back by talking about his very Scandinavian “ski jump” nose, but it just didn’t hit quite as hard. 

When I was back from college for a summer, I had a job at the Salvation Army day camp in inner-city Denver (read: predominately poor, black kids…angry for many reasons and with serious attitudes).  I started dating one of the other counselors – very cute – not so bright, but good with the ladies.  I had the 6 -7 year old group of wonderful children, not yet fully aware of their surroundings, still innocent and somewhat carefree.  Kevin had the 12 -13 year-olds: a gnarly group of just-teenagers who were eager to please their superior and demonstrate how cruel they could be to their peers.  One day while we were all at the playground together, Kevin had them start chanting, in unison – “Big Nose Mo!  Big Nose Mo!  Big Nose Mo!” over and over again.  I was mortified.  I turned to the group, looked at Kevin with this twisted grin on his face and smirked, unable to do anything else, then went back to what I was doing, my face hot with embarrassment and panic.   Kevin wasn’t around for much longer after that. 

It’s no coincidence that rhinoplasty is the #2 most common plastic surgery procedure (behind liposuction) performed in the United States. Let’s face it, your nose is really the most prominent feature on your face, what, with its location smack dab in the middle of everything.  And when it’s prominent, it’s reeeeallly prominent.  And don’t think that I haven’t given that nose job some serious consideration.  I even got a plastic surgery consult, some time in my mid-20’s and had them do a before/after computer simulation with some minor tweaking done.   I looked terrible.  And perhaps that particular surgeon just wasn’t very good at his (nose) job.  But it didn’t inspire me to look any further.  And still I thought about it.  But – I was planning on having children and when I thought about my daughter never seeing my true nose (which may very well have been her nose) I decided against the nose job.  I wanted the “complex buck” to stop with me and not pass that onto my child.  And I could always have it later, after she was all grown up and super-secure about her looks.  Dare to dream.

And now I have a child, not a daughter, a beautiful son, who inherited his father’s (and grandfathers) nose, and my radiant beauty of course…

And I could still get that rhinoplasty, but…at this point – the notion seems a bit absurd.  I mean, first of all, any procedure where anesthesia is involved carries with it the risk of death - is a smaller-sized nose worth my life?  And then there is the idea that perhaps my prominent personality is an extension of my prominent nose, and so in that sense, it fits.  I wish I could say that I embrace the idea that there are many, many forms beauty, forms beyond what is mercilessly marketed to us women day in day out, from the time we are small children.  And I suppose I do embrace that idea – for others.  And on a good day, I will embrace even my own unique beauty – I will catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror or other reflective object and really like what I see.  But those times when I catch an unintended (and completely unprepared) glimpse of my reflection, I am often startled at what looks back at me.  

So that’s the baggage.  Now here is the rub: what the hell is it about the nose that is so magical??!!!  There is something about the nose that’s truly special, and I intend to keep sniffing it out until I find it.  Something so powerful that the nose of the great Sphinx near the pyramids of Egypt was blown off by medieval vandals in the 13^th or 14^th century.  Something so powerful that our sense of smell, is by far the keenest, most sensitive, and most closely linked to our emotional recollection as any of our other senses. Approximately 75% of our emotions are triggered by smell, and one of the most childhood-memory producing smells is…crayons.  

And then there are those ever-elusive pheromones.  You know, the smells we cannot smell-smell, but nevertheless, work in a very powerful way when it comes to who we are attracted to and who we attract.          

Finally, for those foodies out there – remember: if you cannot smell, you can hardly taste. 

Now, I am not necessarily suggesting that the larger the nose, the greater the sense of smell.  But I do wonder sometimes – could it possibly be that form follows function in this case, and that the early evolution of the nose was indeed based around the ability to smell more deeply?  Noses can smell danger – and fear.  The ability to smell danger and fear would have been valuable tools to help our  ancestors navigate and survive in a dangerous and unknown world.  And a cat’s sense of hearing is most definitely linked to the fact that their large ears have a greater surface area from which to collect sound.  And I am finding that lately, I have been using my nose quite often to decide whether a certain topical tonic is a good one for me, or not so good.  And my office mates will tell you how much I enjoy freshening up the air (and lightening the tension) with a spritz or two of lavender essential oil.

I recently read that Aristotle popularized the idea of physiognomy - the assessment of a person's character or personality from his or her outer appearance, especially the face.  Of the large nose, he wrote:

He who hath a long and great nose is an admirer of the fair sex, and well accomplished for the wars of Venus, but ignorant of the knowledge of any thing that's good; extremely addicted to vice; assiduous in the obtaining what he desires, and very secret in the prosecution of it; and though very ignorant, would fain be thought very knowing.

Well.  That wouldn’t describe me at all.  And besides, Aristotle is clearly referring to a male in this passage, so…

And anyway, what about the great NOStradamus, a French apothecary and purported “seer” who is often depicted with a strong nose.  Could it be that the legend of the nose is somehow wrapped up with this guy?  OK, that's a stretch, but I have found that wordplay can be good for an epiphany or two.  Take, for example, live and evil.    The Sun just discovered that little gem a couple of months back. 

At the end of the day, I guess what I am saying is: I don’t think I will ever actually “like” the shape of my nose.  I come to peace with my nose on occasion and I appreciate its functionality.  And I am even willing to concede that others have found an inherent beauty in my nose and have graciously shared this with me.  But would I have like to have inherited a smaller nose and a more prominent chin?  Yes. 

Lastly, I am forever indebted to Digital Underground (an Oakland-based hip-hop act from the 90’s) and their song “No Nose Jobs.”  I don’t think there has ever been a song quite like this one – and when I hear it, I stand proud with my african-russian-polish nose and shout Shock G’s lyrics from the rooftops:

Listen, now the black girl wants to get her lip tucked
She says Doc, I want my slim hips so I'm a slim figure
The white girl says my hips are not big enough
And yo, Doc, inject the collagen and make my lips bigger
All of these so-called celebrities
Sellin’ millions of records and claimin’ no responsibilities
A young girl sees you on a TV show
She's only six, says "Mama, I don't like my nose!"
Why'd you have to go and mess up the child's head
So you can get another gold waterbed?!
You fakehaircontactwearinliposuction carnival exhibit
Listen to my rhyme, you need to hear it

Word.