A charm on my bracelet had broken...

aww - may 14, 2014
prompt or not: putting it all together
***

Sometimes I think that I have allowed social media, like Facebook and Twitter and LinkedIn, to steal my creativity.

Why do I think that?
Is it because I put on a different face than who I really am?
A different face so as to make a certain impression?

LinkedIn is mainly for my pet sitting business. I'm not trying to grow my business; I regularly turn away new prospects, referring them to three other pet sitters that I trust. So, why do I continue with LinkedIn?

I have two Twitter accounts - one for my business and one that is personal. On my business Twitter account, I mainly post photos of my pet friends. On my personal Twitter account I post whatever I feel like posting. I seldom get retweets or acknowledgements on either account. I'm okay with that; I think of them like bulletin boards. People might notice, or not. To add to that, I don't often engage others much on Twitter, so I wouldn't expect others to engage often with me.

Facebook.
Oh the addictive pull of Facebook.
I've been known to call it Fakebook - a label which applies to me, not necessarily others.
I rarely reveal my inner workings on my personal Facebook page. I don't want to necessarily discuss my inner personal ramblings; with Facebook updates, discussion regularly ensues. I am by nature a genuine friendly sort, and I like to acknowledge any comments posted in response to my updates. But I don't really want to discuss my personal life on Facebook, so I avoid showing certain parts of me.

But my blogs.
My blogs.
My blogs.
My blogs are different from social media. They are like my corners of cyberspace where I feel a bit of freedom? I'm not sure why that is or if I am even correctly describing my feelings about them.

I have four blogs - three public and one private.

One basically sits dormant; soulfeet is it's name. Soulfeet is a transcription of one of my handwritten journals from 1982 and 1983 presenting one of my in-residence years in the Way Corps when I was in my early twenties.

Parchment Anthology is my poetry blog where I post some of my poetry. Sometimes I think about transcribing all my poetry to Parchment Anthology. But, who knows if I'll ever get around to that. Parchment Anthology seldom gets visitors. I probably like it that way.

Versions ~ the Tender is my private blog; reserved for my eyes only. I type regularly at Versions. It has become my private online journal. I seldom hand write anymore, which I sometimes miss. There are times the neuropathy makes the physical act of gripping a writing utensil and moving it on paper laborious.

Toss & Ripple is my main public blog. I have revealed a lot of my life on toss & ripple. I do sensor what I allow to be publicly viewable, and that frustrates me at times.
Will what I write be taken as who I am for all time?
Will it be critiqued for absolute accuracy?
What if I discover that I recalled something incorrectly?
What if people read one blog entry and base their opinion of me on that blog entry?
What do my siblings think of my public writing?
What do my children and husband think of it?
My family seldom, if ever, reads my public ramblings.

And that's what these are...ramblings.

I went to the mall today. I seldom go to the mall, but a charm on my bracelet had broken, and it was still under warranty. It is the charm representing Alex. Alex is the name I chose for the fetus I aborted in 1978. My intuition has told me the fetus was male. I could be wrong, and that's okay.

As I walked past the mall stores with their large window fronts, I thought, I like nice things. All these home decor items, none of which I need. But I like them. Everything looks so clean and neat and well arranged. But, it's just more stuff. Stuff to take care of.

I got my Alex charm replaced for free. With my recent birthday gift money, I bought two new charms for my bracelet.

One of the new charms represents my marriage - a heart shaped sterling piece with two engraved rings on each side of the heart. Due to my fluctuating finger size and neuropathy, I can no longer comfortably wear rings. It's nice to have a token of my marriage, now dangling from my left wrist.

The other new charm is a sterling butterfly with open hearts in its wings depicting the ribbons within organic butterfly wings. Tiny pink gemstones rest in the butterfly's body. The butterfly represents new life, described in a poem I wrote in 2007 entitled Butterflies Will Dance; a poem honoring Alex and the reunion with his father decades later.

Celebratory Abortion

I viewed a video this morning of a young woman's thoughts and feelings on having an abortion.

Twenty-five year-old Emily Letts is an abortion counselor. She became pregnant herself and decided to video herself while undergoing the abortion procedure. Though the abortion procedure itself is not shown, the video does show Emily sharing during part of the procedure. She shares her thoughts about her own feelings before and after the procedure. She states her reason for publishing the video, which has had over one million hits on Youtube in the past two months, is so that the public has access to a positive abortion story. The video is only 3 minutes and 18 seconds in length.

I watched Emily on the table in her dark blue gown, with her light blue cap over her head, knowing that her legs were bent at the knees and draped and that her feet rests either in stirrups or on the table extension. Emily began some deep breathing, something I often do with any invasive procedures, from injections to pap smears. And Emily hummed, something else I often do as I warn the lab technician or doctor that I will probably sing a tune or hum and to tell me before she or he sticks me or invades my body with some foreign object. (One would think after literally thousands of pricks and needles, I'd be used to it; but, I'm not.)

Emily's breathing and humming reminded me more of a Lamaze-type exercise than what I do when my body is being intruded by non-organic tools of the trade. I thought to myself, "This is weird. It's seems like she's almost pretending to be giving birth. But Carol you know you breathe and hum with any invasive medical procedure." Still, it struck me as odd.

The abortion-procedure part of the video is accompanied by the song, "Working Woman's Blues" by Valerie June. As I listened to the song, unable to distinguish the lyrics, the melody and voice reminded me of something from times past, from deep south roots, when abortions were performed in secret, with clothes hangers. The lyrics to the first verse are:
I ain't fit to be no mother
I ain't fit to be no wife yet
I been workin' like a man, y'all
I been workin' all my life yeah

Emily's celebratory responses after the procedure come across as if she had had something like a tumor removed; she seemed detached from any emotional attachment to this part of her body being exhumed. Her only emotional response was that of freedom from an undesired burden. It was strange to me. I thought of when I had my hip removed and replaced with a titanium surrogate. I took time to thank my natural hip; to honor it in some fashion. Would I do the same with an undesirable tumor? I don't know. But then, for me, an undesired fetus is not an undesired tumor.

Emily definitely comes across that this pregnancy with the outcome of a living, breathing human life was definitely unwanted.

After viewing the video, I googled Emily Letts. One of the first links that appeared was at LifeSiteNews.com, a pro-life news outlet. The article is entitled Abortion counselor videotapes her own abortion, posts to YouTube: says it was ‘birth-like’. The article states Emily as saying, "I remember breathing and humming through it like I was giving birth." Emily's quote is from a Cosmopolitan article, Why I Filmed My Abortion, linked in the LifeSite article.

My own abortion, over 35 years ago, was not a celebratory event. There was lots of blood. I hid in a bedroom after the procedure. I cried. I proceeded to pretend it never happened and to my recollection never discussed it, until decades later. Abortion was still very much taboo in 1978; it had been made legal in 1973.

Would I have the same unpleasant event today, if I were 19 years old at this time? I do not know.

I grieved the events of that time some twenty-seven years later.

I wonder if Emily's feelings will change over time?

I wonder if her feelings will change if she ever gives birth to a babe...

Rewind...

Lately I've been thinking about my GreaseSpot Cafe years...remembering, re-reading, pondering.

Last night, as I re-read what some folks at the Cafe had to say about me a few years back, I thought to myself, How on God's green earth did I end up in such a mess? Their words attributed to me things I had not done and insinuated I had ulterior motives which I didn't, and still don't, have.

The back story behind the mess flipped through my brain cells...how one thing led to another. Like a film on rewind, frames quickly paced through my mind backwards. As I rewound into my Way years, the reel went into slow-motion...through a fog of events. I felt part of myself blame my Way years for the GreaseSpot Cafe mess in which I found myself a couple years after I'd left The Way.

Then the reel began to move forward...from my Way years up to when I first posted online, a couple months after leaving The Way. And the reel stopped...there...around the end of December, 2005, when I made my first post in the sometimes weird, mostly intriguing, online world of text communication...no voice, no facial expression, no touch...just words on a screen sometimes sprinkled with textual symbols depicting emotion.

I was nervous as I introduced myself via that first post at the Cafe. One of the Cafe regulars commented on how my GSC profile didn't reveal much. I immediately felt I had done 'it' wrong, so I added information to my GSC profile. I later learned that many members at GSC, and elsewhere online, reveal little on their profiles.

I spent hours upon hours, every day, as much as I could, at the Cafe. GSC was the online gathering place for ex-Way folks. Cafe members reached out to me with genuine listening ears and helping hands. I was reunited with old friends, some whom I hadn't communicated with in decades. It was like finding The Way again for the first time...I felt a deep 'this-is-it' bond, like at that first Twig fellowship. I felt I was finding my heart again.

Within seven months, I was being interviewed by the GSC administrator for an upcoming podcast. The interview was via phone. We had two phone conversations, each a couple hours long. I was nervous; the interview was going to be public on GreaseSpot Radio. About all I recall now from the interview was sharing how I found The Way, and I recall the kindness of the administrator during the interview and some things he shared with me about his own life and him telling me I did a great job on the interview and that he was going to edit it and then send me the edited version for me to hear before he made it public. He said he'd be in touch with me in a couple weeks.

A couple weeks went by. Then a few more weeks.

What was taking so long? Did I somehow mess something up? But what was it I could have messed up? Has he sent me an email or private message that I somehow missed or that got lost in a technology glitch? Should I contact him and ask? But he is so busy and has so much on his plate; I don't want to bother him. The interview did happen, didn't it? I'm not making it up. Carol, just send him a private message and ask; stop second guessing yourself so much.

I sent Admin a cordial private message inquiring about the interview.

He responded cordially that he'd been busy and that he'd have it reviewed in another couple weeks and would be in touch.

Oh good, I hadn't done anything wrong. It wasn't me. My self-conscious, self-blaming gremlin was put to rest.

A couple weeks went by...and a couple more...and another week...and...

I wonder if everything is okay? Did I somehow miss correspondence Admin may have sent me? This is so nerve wracking; I feel again that I've screwed something up. But I haven't done anything. He did say a couple weeks, right? I'm not making that up. But it's been almost three months now since the interview. Should I inquire again? If I inquire again, will I sound whiny and needy?

I respectfully wrote Admin again. The only way I had to contact him was via private message on GreaseSpot.

He responded via private message. Something like, "I told you I was busy and that I'd get to you when I have it done." That was it. No apology for the delay. No "hope you are doing well." Just a cold statement; a statement that wasn't true. He had told me a couple weeks, both times.

I immediately went into what I call subservient mode. He was right; I was wrong. I must have misunderstood him. But he did say a couple weeks both times. But I should have known better than to write again; he's busy with his life and family and the burden of running GreaseSpot. How can I be so dumb as to have bothered him? I felt like I was back in The Way, asking questions of leadership that I should know better than to ask. I immediately squelched that feeling, I must be projecting.

I wrote him back that I'd received his private message and apologized for the inconvenience and thanked him for all the work he does for folks leaving The Way. My message was genuine, from my heart. But I didn't mention my confusion regarding the "couple weeks." After all, I must have been projecting...that was my problem, not his.

Admin never responded. The interview was never mentioned again, even when I met Admin face-to-face a month later. I was too self-conscious to bring up the subject; I had already been put in my place one time.

A few months later, someone else, much more important than I, took my place for that podcast. By that time though, Admin and I had had a falling out. But our falling out had nothing to do with my interview.

I wonder what I shared in that interview?