The Silence of Bees

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Welcome to All You Seekers of the USA

Are you wondering what happened to America? The America we remember? Welcome to my Blog. Please feel free to respond. I yearn for responses and dialectic.

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Saturday, March 20, 2010

Karma Free Writing: Things My Parents Taught Me

Ann Randolph, that great and brilliant actress and one woman show, sent us a recommendation. She suggested we look into Karma Free Writing which begins today, the first day of spring. Check it out at
http://karmafreewriting.blogspot.com/

So here is my Day One...very revealing....you ought to try it

I learned I was funny
Inventive
Smart
Resourceful
Creative
Wounded
Strong
Sensitive
Too sensitive
Defensive
Artistic
Non musical
Wild
Rebellious
Messy
(Out of control at times) I choose this
Shy
Caring
Selfish
Protective
Loved animals
A gardener
A scavenger
Depressed
Awkward
Fearful
Very very brave


Flying down Blueberry Hill a hundred miles an hour on my winged steed, a red Schwinn footbrake bike like mad dogs were nipping at my feet. Hollering to my friends Joey and Jason ten feet behind me that they were girls and realizing I was a girl and not a boy. Feeling the loss of that as they laughed at me and said, "Who you calling girls, girl?" And wanting to be a boy, wanting very much the physical limitations lifted so I could fly over the hill and into a world of endless possibilities in which no one could say, "No you can not be that, do that, want that, know that because you are the wrong sex." Coming home sweaty, knees bleeding, exhilarated and proud that I beat my buddies once again on my mad quest for adventure in mundane places and seeing my mother standing, arms crossed at the front door, looking disappointed in me because I was not frilly and clean and unblemished. Hearing her ask me for the hundredth time, "Why are you so out of control?" And shutting down my listening as I rushed past her shouts and into the kitchen where I would stand in front of the fridge looking for fudgsicles to feed my lust for ice cold chocolate which was the only thing that could or would soothe me from her looks of disgust and disdain and her realization I was never going to be like her other daughter, the princess, the cheerleader, the winner and stuffing my feelings along with the fudgsicles and my own disappointment in myself down my throat, worrying I was not good enough to be as good as I actually was in math and other male subjects and realizing I might end up like all the women in my family with kids or worse: without themselves.

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