Melissa Etheridge

I wanted to tell The New York Times what I felt about them omitting any reference about her appearance on the Grammys last Sunday---a whole long article that referred to each and every other event on that show except...Except, how dare they. She really stepped up bigtime last Sunday, not only for Janis Joplin, but for herself and all of us "baldies" out here in the world who know what courage it takes to be real in a world that has such a committment to be otherwise. Talk about a reality show---Melissa made it reality in a big way. I look back on my journal here and I thank her for how in one natural, powerful moment, she once again spoke for us all--women. Yes, my guess the editors of The New York Times are predominantly, if not completely, male--at least the real decisionmakers and that's why Melissa was omitted. How powerful her act really must have been to cause such a conscious reaction.

I wanted to tell Melissa how much her act meant to me. I have been a fan of her music since her early beginnings--her lyrics have helped me through many a day in my life. I also was a Joplin fan. So anticipating hearing Melissa sing Janus kept me glued to the show. And then, at first I heard her power as she sang "Pieces of My Heart" and marveled at how she was not only doing justice to Janus, she was cranking it up a notch and making it her own. Wow, very cool. How could I expect less of her even though she has been ill. And then the camera went on her. I could almost hear the audience gasp, or maybe it was I. Yes, and I looked at her and saw me and felt validated in a way I haven't since I've been ill too.

And it took me today to a song she wrote and is on her "LUCKY" album called "Mercy." Here are a few of the lyrics:

"Well I have lived ten years plus ten
And ten and ten again
I have seen too much to pretend
Then you wanted to come in
I have survived all of the lies
They made me wise
The locks and walls and peace it buys
Still when I look into your eyes
It's a surprise when you say

It"s gonna be all right
It's gonna be okay
Just hold on tight
Let it all go away

Oh mercy mercy baby
What do you want from me"

And of course, what I want, perhaps what many of us want, is to be heard as an individual--and as an individual, things you experience change you--and as you evolve, you want to stand firm and be seen for who you are without pretense. But then there is the reality that to do this is dangerous---whether it is to do it in a very tiny way as in how you choose to dress, or in a larger way in what you choose to believe. Expression without regret is a tough road to travel...thank goodness for leaders like Melissa Etheridge.

Hair

Bill Cosby says, "If you can find humor in anything, you can survive it." May Sarton took this perhaps a bit further when she said, "Each day, and the living of it, has to be a conscious creation in which discipline and order are relieved with some play and pure foolishness." I have both of these quotes posted discretely on my wall at work among the have-to-do pages that come and go with time. The quotes have followed me for years here, and time can almost be counted like the rings of a tree by the layers upon layers of tape that hold them in their present place.
So what has this got to do with hair? Humor and my perspective on hair definitely correspond in my present world. After my first chemo treatment, the hair fell out in great gobs. My younger cat was quite enamoured with it. He collected it and secreted it behind my couch. Whenever my older cat attempted to check it out, he became quite possessive about his cache. I must admit, I sort of enjoyed their antics. It put things into perspective. So I decided to get a wig.
I went to the shop at the Cancer Institute where you can get all sorts of replacement things. I tried on many wigs that each had a woman's name, like Wendy, Laura, Marcie, and so on. For the life of me, I can't remember the name given to the wig I finally chose. Probably something that ended with the e sound. A lady who volunteers there works on the wigs used weekly on Saturday Night Live, and she filled me in on all the wiggy things to know as well as shaped the wig nicely to my head. Looked pretty good to me. I left with it in an attractive bag that discretely held the sytrofoam head that held my wig.
Upon arrival at home, I sat the bag on the counter and went directly to the restroom. When I came out, I heard a commotion and was almost run over in the hallway by the younger cat who was rolling the styrofoam head along as he attacked it vigorously. Then I went into the living room and found the older cat lunging around the room, growling and shaking the wig as if she had captured a wild creature. Ok, I thought, once more the cats have put things into perspective for me. Forget the wig.
And so, for the past five months or more I have moved from hats, lots of different hats, to au natural. My head is not pointy, and actually, it is sort of a classic shape. Nobody has fainted upon seeing it, nor have they burst into laughter or even tears (gratefully). In fact, some male waiters have actually referred to me as Miss rather than Madam. Not bad. I could get into this. But there are drawbacks, the primary one is winter in New York City. It gets cold outside so two hats are needed. My students have taught me that layering hats is an art form. You put the tight one on first that shapes to your head, then you put the baseball type cap on backwards with the tag showing, or else the leather biker type cap backwards with the tag showing. Something about the tag showing holds great importance and they assure me that it allows me to enter and leave any neighborhood in any borough, a regular urban visa.
Now the treatments have ended, at least for now. It's been six weeks and, as Natalie the department secretary announced quite happily at work yesterday, "Oh look, your hair is sprouting." And I replied,"Ah so it is. And I haven't even watered it today." Yes, it is "sprouting," and not too evenly yet I'm afraid. I think this will be yet another adventure because much of it is coming in platinum blond, while the remainder seems quite reluctant. Not only is growing slower, but it is not definitive aboutits shade yet to be determined. Oh, and my younger cat is taken by the "sproutings," too. He licks them. And my older cat doesn't even growl. I think she's still looking for the wig because she is constantly stalking the closet.

Proceed with Caution

Don't read me through feel sorry eyes
I am not that person
Listen closely to my voice as it echoes off
the bumps and recesses of your experiences
Hear the differences in timbre
the quiet space between the thrumming of my pulse
I am simply living my moments
following the threads of the mosaic I travel
wondering wondering wondering...

Hurdles

As a kid growing up in N.H., I learned a great deal about hurdles. The sole purpose of hurdles seemed to be rooted in the notion that they exist in order for you to hone your resourcefulness in order to overcome them; the more difficult the hurdle, the better the chance to develop your mettle. Perhaps this comes directly from the Puritan historical context of the area, or the long, hard winters of fierce storms and resulting isolation which led to many a depression, death,high consumption of alcohol (both store-bought and homemade), and sense of individuality of the true New Hampshire people who have lived there for at least four generations.
As a adult living in NYC, I have expanded my definition of hurdles to getting through every day with my eyes wide open. There is no place for semi-consciousness here. I recently read in the paper that NYC has a low alcohol consumption rate. Is that a surprise when you live constantly on edge, getting through the countless obstacles that confront and surround you at every turn? I have already expounded in my journal entries about some of these obstacles, and have little more to offer here. The positive side of this is, in your conscious state, it is easy to learn more new things. Learning is a way of life here,not a luxury or an afterthought.
As a person who received extensive chemotherapy, I can say that the biggest hurdle in this area, for me anyway, was letting fear creep into my consciousness. It was better for me to be in a semi-conscious state about the possible outcomes, put my head down, and plow ahead full-steam. And that's how I did approach it. I spent plenty of time thinking about my options, but once I decided on the course of treatment,I created this semi-conscious, stubborn state of getting through it in one piece, at least emotionally. Whenever I let my guard down, fear came gnawing around the edges of my consciousness and began to create restless nights, sleepless nights, and a definite feeling quite similar to long winters in NH. Not healthy. I remembered how emotionally long those winters in NH were for me, and when I let myself get into that barren emotionaly state, there was only existance, not life. So semi-consciousness with regards to facing chemo. treatments became a tool, not induced by drugs or drink, but by self determination similar to meditation, perhaps.
I guess it's no surprise that I'm a Taurus, is it?
Hurdles I believe have sculpted my persception on life. My multi-faceted experiences above have lent to my growing feeling of control over uncontrolled situations. I have no control over their comings, length of stay, and goings; but, I do have control of how I am going to emotionally let them affect me--will I let them become opportunities to learn something about myself I didn't know, or will I let them throw me into a cloud of dust?---(and a ha-de-ha--like the Lone Ranger--I will ride again?)