Happy Independence Day
It takes a long time to become independent. First, we are dependent. We can’t feed or clean ourselves. We can’t walk or talk. We eat when it’s given to us. We release when the valves necessitate releasing. That’s how we start.
Seeing how we come into existence adds a depth to understanding birth.
My niece did a leap around ANCESTRY. I helped a tad. Then she told me a grandson of my paternal grandmother’s oldest sister reached out to her. “Can I give you, his number?”
We spent some time together one afternoon last year. This year he loaned me a machine that transforms old slides into digital content.
I want to share a picture I’ve had of the night I was conceived.
Now, with the aid of this plustek OpticFilm 8200i, let’s look a little deeper.
This is a slide I transformed this July 4th weekend.
Look at the face of my mother. Notice, she’s the one wearing pants. This Scorpio means business… she knew what she wanted and what was at stake.
My father, a Virgo, what is he wearing? A Moo moo, muumuu or mu’umu’u. He looks kind of sheepish, with his eyes closed. A dear friend who met both of them before they physically vacated the planet said, “Your dad donning a dress, preparing to give you the totality of male and female powers, especially when combined.”
I’ve known since I was of the age to reproduce that my mom was a “fertile Myrtle.” If she wasn’t protected, she’d get pregnant. She didn’t know this because she was promiscuous before marriage but because the minute, they decided the time was right, boom, they conceived their first born. No effort. No induced repetition.
My father wanted four children. My mom wanted two. They settled on three.
In this recently downloaded picture from a 1959 slide, she knows what she wants. The first born son is 19 months old. Perfect time to ignite the wick. She wanted it to happen. They wanted a daughter. Nine months later, they got me.
The gifts we have with technology now, are so measurable and immeasurable. I am grateful to have the ability to go through all these pictures from the past. This weekend I scanned from birth to the age of 18.
I write this as a hello back to my community. I’ve been gone since April 12th. Substack tells us to write two times a week. That we should be consistent. I’m not consistent. I’m an ice breaker. I’m someone that doesn’t like stagnation. I like flow.
All my life, I’ve heard from writers, that you must get up and work early, especially if raising kids and having a career that demands much life force. I knew early on I wanted to write, but what I wanted to write, not what was demanded of me. I’ve always loved writing in my diary. I’ve learned deeply the potency this activity has had for me over the past 53 years I’ve been doing it.
Early on, I learned, whatever might freak me out during the day, if I wrote long enough about what was concerning me at night, if I really turned myself over to it… then a voice of knowing, of calm comfort and guidance would emerge. The answer would arise. There’d be no more Sturm und Drang. I could go on with my life. That was the power of my diary. Of course, some problems are the same day after day, regardless of how you “handle them.”
Many writers say, “Diaries aren’t what people want to read.” I have a very limited ability to snap into whatever I don’t know I need to know. I can snap in when I do know I need to know something, but not always, and not all subjects.
I’m bringing this up because I’m snapping in. Again. This is a book I self-published 12 years ago in between two cancer treatments. I took it down in 2017 because I felt I’d shared too much of myself publicly. This is what happened a couple of years later.
This is the book I had available on Amazon for $18 until 2017. I didn’t market it.
I spoke with one seller above briefly and asked why the book cost so much.
He said, “Whatever the market will bear.”
I’ve had a copy in bed with me the past few months. I finally understand it’s value. A month ago a nurse at my oncologist’s office noticed I was carrying it. She wanted to read it. I told her I was trying to edit out what I felt I’d revealed too much of when I wrote it. She said, “In today’s world we don’t know what the truth is anymore. Except when someone says something so true to them, it can’t be mistaken. You have nothing to hide.”
Last week at my preferred provider’s office the front desk attendant saw my book and asked, “What is that?” When I turned it towards her she said, “You wrote that? I want to read it.”
I think I’ll release it again, in a couple of different formats next year. I’ve learned much all these years, knowing like Sabrina Carpenter, what I was meant to do upon leaving the womb. I love what she says from 4:18 to 4:47, although the rest really got me up, dancing, moving, and rearranging this afternoon.
When I was growing up my dad used to say I was reticent, like it was a dirty word. I remember once seeing in a dictionary that many writers were reticent.
Are you?
I loved reading this early this morning. A time when I never write. Only read. So great to see you are back!