Cars I have known

I am not sure why I have been thinking about this so much lately, perhaps it was the loss of the Buick this summer, but I have been thinking about all the cars I have owned. Or maybe it was getting my Honda Accord back from the mitten. I have always had an interesting relationship with my cars…

It started with my first, a 1973 Ford Pinto. My father bought it for me, brand spanking new right out of the dealership for $1995.00. I named it Spot. I name most all my cars because that way I can form a personal relationship with them and when I talk to them, which I do, I can call them by name. We have often joked that my parents bought me a pinto – they must not have liked me very much, but when they bought it, it was a simple vehicle, which could get me from home to school and work and back home again. (Barring any rear-end collision explosions, of course.) My boyfriend taught me how to change the oil, the filters and the sparkplugs. It had an AM/FM radio which was all a girl could ask for in 1973. Spot was my new best friend and eventually replaced my beloved Spellbound (who was a wonderful thoroughbred gelding) as my confidant. I could tell Spot anything and he would never tell another soul.

When I graduated from high school, Spot was replaced by Big Blue, a Ford F-150 cargo van whose job it was to help me get into the music business, schlepping me, and whatever amps, speaker systems and microphones, from lousy bar gig to lousy bar gig.

Blue was followed by a short affair with a Yamaha 650 motorcycle and a Pontiac Trans Am, with the one supposed to supplant the lousy gas mileage of the other, however in Michigan the motorcycle season is very short.

In order to save money, the next car was a real lemon – a Pontiac Sunbird. Even though I bought it new, it was one nightmare after another with this car, but I did learn all about head gaskets before I traded it in after making a stink in the showroom of the nearest Pontiac dealership.

The aforementioned (I just really wanted to use that word) was followed by one of my favorite cars, Jean Luc Pontiac, a Gran Prix. It was maroon with a plush interior and all the bells and whistles a girl could ask for in 1979. Jean Luc again became my confidant, and he and I went everywhere together. He saw me through my artist management days and my divorce before he was replaced by an actual French car – Pierre Renault Le Car.

Pierre saw me though the ‘between husbands’ era, and was eventually replaced by the quintessential soccer-mom vehicle, a Chevy Astro, which was supplemented by a Pontiac Fiero (otherwise known as “Daddy’s pretty car”).  I drove that mini-van into the ground with something like 165K miles over a period of 10 years, until we had a close encounter with Bambi on I-69 in the middle of the night, and then we moved to Germany.

Buying a used car with automatic transmission in Germany is not as easy as one might think and that adventure is a story in itself. When I picked up our BMW 325i at the dealership, the salesman asked me, “Are you going to be okay driving this? It has a very powerful engine.” I responded, “Hey, I’m from Detroit!” I have never been a nervous driver, but at first I was in Germany. The streets are narrow, the hills are steep, and the rules are just different enough that I wasn’t comfortable for a few months. But driving in Germany was a joy and Forrest (a reference to its deep green color) took very good care of us – even though my 10 year old tried to back it down the stairs to our house.

When we returned from Europe, my boyfriend thought we should again have a mini-van. Over my protests, we bought a very fancy Ford Aerostar. It was okay, lots of bells and whistles, but I never formed an attachment to it. Actually, I hated driving it. It was huge and the kids were growing up and most of the time I was in it by myself. We did take a couple of trips in it, but we could have rented something big for those occasions and that would have been fine by me.

 When I had enough of that behemoth, I went to the Honda dealership and bought an Accord. Even though my boyfriend paid for it, it has always been my car. The license plate said “MQUEEN”, so there would be no doubt as to whose car this was. It has seen me through a lot over the past 8 years, even though I wasn’t able to drive it much for several years.

To make what has turned out to be a long story shorter, a few years ago I inherited my father’s car, a Buick LeSabre. (Yes, the dreaded “grandma-car”.)  I named it Horatio, in honor of my dad, who would use that name from time to time when describing any ‘unnamed’ male person. My dad loved his car and when my boyfriend accidentally parked it beneath an SUV on the freeway this summer, I felt the loss of the man more than the loss of the car.

So now I have my Accord back and driving it is like pulling on a favorite pair of jeans.

Tears for Biafra

I have been away for a while... working and sticking my head deep into a hole which was inspired by the events which my father wrote about in this poem... I found it, along with letters of rejection from the Saturday Review and New Yorker, in a file folder which also contained letters from one of my father's colleagues, begging to send his children to us and safety...
 

Tears for Biafra

George H. Axinn

Beneath the palms the children played

With gentle laughter danced and swayed

While women fined the evening fires

And told each other of life’s desires.

They bore home water in earthen flasks,

And carried on their homespun tasks
Whilst at palaver the men did sit
And with palm oil, the lamps were lit.
Then like a curse the machete fell
From North and West they heard they yell
And refugees told of a living Hell
As they swarmed back home to break the spell;
With stories of horror there to tell
And hopes that the maimed might soon be well.
 
A people cried… depressed… forlorn –
And out of those tears, Biafra was born!

The lame, the beaten; the great and small

Brothers and sisters were welcomed all.
Cassava was planted where never before
And yams were gathered to fill the store.
Their plea was freedom to live alone
In Peace and safety; to throw no stone…
The Igbo, Ibibio, Effik and Ijaw
Ogoja and Annong, and so many more.
The leaders, in Ghana, their fears did allay
And on Aburi would they stand and pray.
But the Federals refused to let them away
Brought rifles and mortars to pave the way
To death for mothers and children at play.

A people cried… depressed… forlorn –

And out of it all, Biafra was born.

 At first the battle went quite well

And both sides had their claims to tell
But then came guns and tanks and planes
To Lagos to enhance their gains
From London and Moscow and Cairo too
While poor Biafra had nothing new
As mortars fired and guns did blast
And no one lived as they swept past.
The world saw not how many died
Nor heard the sounds as children sighed,
Yet hungry dogs and vultures plied
The lanes alone – ‘twas genocide’.
All churches, schools, and markets wide
Were left in smoke, but not denied.

A people cried … depressed… forlorn –

And out of it all, Biafra was born.

Welcome 2012

Somehow 8 weeks have managed to fly by since my last post. I went back to Michigan for my birthday and the Thanksgiving break. While I was there I was lucky to attend a wedding between two of the tutors I worked with at U of M Flint, which was held at the Flint Planetarium - it was quite an experience. When I left I told my youngest son that what I really wanted from him for Christmas was for he and his dad to put Christmas up so I wouldn't have to do it at the last minute when I came back for the Holidays. Then it was back to Lawrence for the last weeks of the semester. That is always a busy time at any writing center with loads of panicked students who have waited too long. I love working in that kind of environment -it is so very alive.

I went to Michigan for two and a half weeks. Larry had promised me that we could see a lot of Christmas lights while I was home. Little did I know they would be on my own house!

Nick had gotten up on the roof of the house - in the middle of the night one night - and strung lights all over the front of my house. But that was only the beginning. He had put up three trees in the house, decorated the mantle, hung the stockings, put the Christmas village up on top of my piano, put the musical bears on top of the refrigerator, hung the advent calendar that I made when Danny was a baby, hung the mistletoe in the entry - every room on the first floor, everywhere I looked - it was Christmas. He even put lights up on the pergola. It was just about the best gift anyone has ever given me.

My break at home was everything I had hoped for. Lots of time with friends and family, very little stress, tons of good food, a little shopping, a few movies and naps on my sofa almost every day. I felt a bit like a bum, but I decided that was probably okay. As usual our anniversary went by in the usual post New Years fog, so we will celebrate later. We still haven't figured out what we are going to do for the big one next year.

Now I am back in Kansas, settled in and stocked up for the coming week. I will mark my one year anniversary at KU this week. I have been thinking about my resolution for this year... the one word resolution. I am having a hard time coming up with it. I know I want to be more efficient at work, I want to work more regularly on my personal writing, exercize regularly, eat healthier, etc. But I am having a hard time coming up with the word. Any ideas?

Busy, busy, busy...

The day before yesterday I was at the monthly meeting of the Writers Guild when I realized it has been a long time since I posted anything on my blog. Then I was thinking about, wondering why I fell out of the habit, and began to reflect. I realized that for the past 7 weeks I have either had events or company and I have not had two days in a row that there hasn't been something of some importance on my schedule. At first I was a bit dismayed by this realization, but now I have decided to relish in the fact that I have people and responsibilities in my life that are meaningful enough for me to put aside the fact that I am exhausted, to muster up the energy to push on.

Just a year ago I was adjusting to being back in the mitten after nearly a year of dealing with death and terminal illness. The future was bleak as well, and I was having a very hard time rising above despair. My children were grown and didn't need me, my parents had passed and didn't need me, and I was in the worst funk of my life.

Since I arrived in Lawrence in January I have been busy, but mostly busy figuring things out. I finally feel like I am finding my bearings. Since this semester started we have done 2222 consultations including 50 at special events like the research write-in last Saturday. In collaboration with the libraries here at KU we have been holding a series of these events this fall, and apparently the word is spreading. We take over a whole floor of the library and last Saturday 75 Graduate students came to write, research, attend mini-workshops, have consultations and write, write, write some more. It was awesome.

The weekend before I did my first "solo" at a conference presenting at the Midwest Writing Center Association conference in Madison, Wisconsin. I travelled by train with three of our fabulous, brilliant graduate consultants - who also presented at the conference. It was exciting and exhausting, but mostly a wonderful opportunity to learn  and laugh. I almost forgot that it would have been my Mom's birthday that weekend. And the two weekends before that my boyfriend was here and there was a lot to show him.

This past week I did a workshop for honors science students and one for honors business students, 7 graduate consultations, 4 onlines, covered shifts for consultants and office assistants who were ill or had some other kind of emergency, did a workshop for professional development for faculty and staff who needed to learn how to do online responses to writers, planned and held a birthday party, and set up and attended this month's consultant practicitum. Whew.

Now I only have two weeks before I go home for the Thanksgiving break, and then less than four weeks until I go home again for Christmas. In between I have four undergraduate write-ins, consultant observations, end of semester meetings and probably about 300 online consultations to get done. I am exhausted, so this weekend I am going to relish being a bum, watching football on TV, eating when I am hungry and  taking naps whenever I feel like it. (Oh - and I am going to remember to change all my clocks!)

The Sunflower State

I have been trying to figure out why Kansas is called the Sunflower State since I got here. I now understand, and with that understanding has come the realization that no matter how 'worldly' I think I am, I am apparently still carrying preconceived ideas, prejudices and bias around with me.

I am not sure if it is due to the fact that I watched the Wizard of Oz too many times, or if I listened to other peoples ideas too carefully or exactly why, but I realized that when I thought of Kansas, I have always thought the following: flat, corn, wheat, flat, soybeans, rectangular and more flat. While I still think there are parts of Kansas that are flat, my knees and I are very certain that parts of Kansas are very hilly. Not little rolling hills like Michigan, great big hills.

There is a sign just after you drive onto the Kansas Tollway from the east which says something like, "Kansas farmers feed 28 people, themselves, and you!" The rich soil of the valleys have big fields of corn, wheat and soybeans growing in them, so I am guessing that sign is probably true.

But I have still been hung up on the Sunflower State motto. I have wondered if perhaps just to my south there aren't farms growing fields and fields of sunflowers, and I just haven't happened upon them yet. Or maybe they do that far out to the west... it has been a puzzle. That puzzle has now been solved.

You know how, when you drive in Michigan, Indiana or Ohio there are wide carpets of natural grasses, wildflowers and weeds growing just beyond the shoulder of the highways? Often there are huge patches of the dreaded weed goldenrod, which are very pretty to look at but evil for anyone with allergies. Well, much to my surprise, in Kansas there are sunflowers. They are growing along every fence line, along the drainage valleys, through the cement under the overpasses, by the street lights, they are all over the place!

So now I have to wonder... if I have carried all these misconceptions about Kansas all these years, are there others? I am guessing that I have similar preconceived ideas about other places, but I haven't become aware of them yet, and this makes me kind of angry with myself. I don't like the idea that I am carrying such misconceptions around with me everywhere I go.

Seasons

Many people will tell you that spring is their favorite season. I can understand that sentiment, life renews, flowers bloom, the temperatures warm as the days get longer. For some reason, I love fall the best. I don't know if it is because my birthday is in the fall, or because the holiday season is upon us or because the temperatures drop... I am beginning to think it is because that is when the new chapter of life begins for those of us in Academia.

I grew up in a household of academics and my father's joy at the beginning of each new school year was contagious. He would be giddy at the start of every semester, giddy with the possibilities each new class brought to his life. I, on the other hand, used to feel the dread of having to meet new classmates, learn that new locker combination and live up to the standards my parents set by example. Now, however, I can see why Dad was so excited, so many bright minds and wonderful stories to share.

I have lived in several places where the seasons are not the same as here in the Midwest US. I have always been miserable in October in those places - the lack of change making me feel like something important was missing in my life. Florida, California, West Africa - you guys can keep your versions, I like the big changes.

As soon as the temperatures turn cooler I find I am invigorated and suddenly want to cook and bake. Perhaps it is a residual urge, from the times when preparing for the winter was a life or death matter. I am currently struggling with an irrational desire to buy a bushel of tomatoes and put them up for the winter, alone in this tiny apartment where I have neither the space for such an endeavor, nor the bellies to be filled. Instead, this year my challenge is to figure out what I can cook and bake that can be easily stored, consumed and shared. I want to make casseroles, stews and soups and bake all kinds of muffins,  pies and cakes. But I have a tiny freezer, so I am going to have to be careful not to over-do.

I love the Autumn. Bring on the cooler temperatures, steady rains and changing leaves. I am ready to get busy in the kitchen!

9/11

It is amazing how certain events in our lives stick dates out like sign posts to help us mark the milestones in our lives. For me the first one was President Kennedy's assassination on November 22nd, 1963. I had just turned 5 years old. All I really understood was that our President, who apparently everyone loved very much, had been shot and killed. Everyone was sad and we got days off from school. The 60's were troubling years for me growing up, as there was so much violence that I simply could not understand.

For me personally, July of 1967 was probably the most difficult. At 9 years old we were evacuated from the civil war in Biafra and returned to the US only to be greeted by the televised reports of the 6 Day War in the middle east. I clearly remember seeing the images on TV - the first TV images I had understood since we went to Africa two years earlier. 1968 was a terrible year as well since we lost both MLK, Jr and Bobby Kennedy and I was beginning to understand that if you wanted to do good, you ran the risk of being killed. And then, of course, there was Viet Nam...

The 70's were somewhat quieter, starting with the end of the Nigeria-Biafra civil war coming to an end, with Nigeria re-absorbing the Biafrans they had worked so hard to eliminate. This was followed by the Kent State shooting in 1970, the attack on the Munich Olympics in '72, Nixon's resignation in '74, more violence in the Middle East, the end of the Viet Nam conflict in '75 and so on... ad nauseum. Then we had the 80's with more assassinations or attempts. I will never forget the day John Lennon was killed, It was a Sunday in 1980 and I was watching football when they announced the news. I sat on the floor in my kitchen and cried.

Not all of these events have been tragedies. I clearly remember watching the moon landing on July 20th 1969. The Berlin Wall coming down in 1989. the fall of the USSR and the end of Apartheid in 1994 were all milestones for me. These events brought a glimmer of hope that human beings could resolve and embrace their differences and live in peace and harmony.

I was in my English 112 class when the first plane hit the tower on 9/11/01. They sent us home. My children were 10 and 16 and Manu was with us from Germany that fall. I got Manu out of bed when I got home and stunned by the images, we watched the tragedy unfold together.  Like Pearl Harbor for the generation before mine, I quickly realized that this would be the "assassination of President Kennedy" for my children. This would be the first event that they would have as a milestone in their lives.

Someone recently asked me "How do you do it?" referring to my living so far from home. I wasn't quite sure what to say. Today, reflecting on the events of my life, I know the answer to that question. You do whatever you have to do to survive living in a world with so much insanity, violence and uncertainty. You look for the simple joys in life and you go on.