Bones


Isabella

 

The bone is big, more than eighteen inches long.  Isabella–

wolf, German shepherd, blue heeler, 80 pounds, lies in cool,

emerald, native grass, gnawing.  What kind is it?  From where?

Half hour hiking cross canyon, through junipers, tall grass, searching.

Nothing.

One week later, while driving through the gate, I see the neighbor’s

black lab gnawing on identical bone.  Surprised, puzzled, I wonder

if it’s the same bone.  After running the eighth mile back to my house,

I find the old bone, three pieces scattered in the grass.  Not the same.

Neighbor tells me he hiked, searched.

Nothing.

 

no dead animal smell

meat scraps stuck to bone

we will never know

 

 

Gratitude by Esther Nelson


Here in the USA I hear so much complaining even about trivia and so little gratitude. I have also come to realize that gender still defines so much, limits what girls in particular think they can accomplish; girls still try to, as this essay notes, “make nice”, often failing to accomplish all they can be. It remains remarkable and a puzzle, as this essay notes, how some people can rise above negative circumstances while it destroys others.

Esther Nelson's avatarFeminism and Religion

esther-nelsonI’ve been in the midst of moving for almost a year, yet am still not finished with that onerous task.  My youngest son and family recently moved into the place I’ve called home since 1980.  I bought a small house in the vicinity and have just settled in after spending four months painting, cleaning, and hauling box after box to my new dwelling.  At the same time, I’ve been traveling back and forth to New Mexico busy with painting, cleaning, and remodeling my “retirement house.”

I’m tired.  Am also experiencing emotions that I thought I was impervious to.  I never perceived myself as somebody having an attachment to place, but a month or so before moving out of my old home, I began to feel nostalgic.  There was so much I didn’t want to leave behind–the woods, birds nesting in bushes around the property as well as on top of…

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Making a Difference: Kiva Loans


To honor the death of a best friend’s father, I did as she asked, made a Kiva loan.  After looking through dozens of potential individuals and groups, I loaned 100 dollars to a group of women in the Democratic Republic of Congo to help fund their poultry raising operation.  Even though it has been less than six months, they have paid back more than half, paid on time regularly.

Some loan opportunities require even less money.  People often think their efforts don’t count, they are too small to make a difference.  Everything each person does makes a difference for better or worse.  Make a difference, act, speak out, contribute however you can to make our world a better place for all of us.

Who’s to Blame for Patriarchy? by Vanessa Rivera de la Fuente


This just about says it all. Everything I could think of and more. Anyone who thinks it only happens in Latin America, Africa, other places, not in the USA, has not been following the news here.

Vanessa Rivera de la Fuente's avatarFeminism and Religion

Vanessa Rivera de la FuenteA 16 year old girl was drugged and then gang raped by 33 men in Brazil. The police arrested the boyfriend as a suspect. A 30-second video recording the suffering of the girl was uploaded to social networks, as a display of the “omnipotent” power of patriarchy on women’s bodies; a power that not only destroys wombs or bladders but also unbearably wounds the soul.

A woman was attacked in Chile by her ex-husband. Her name is Nabila. He raped her and then ripped out her eyes, in a jealous rage, because she attended a party. Months after they broke up, she dared to have fun without him.

Each day the body of a murdered woman appears somewhere in Latin America. They appear in the middle of the road, in garbage dumps, wrapped in plastic bags, among the woods or on the shore, cut into pieces, impaled with…

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Feministing Sarah and Hagar by Vanessa Rivera de la Fuente


This resonates with me in part because I am working on a set of poems written from the viewpoint of these and other Biblical women rather than from the viewpoint of the males who “wrote” the Bible.

Vanessa Rivera de la Fuente's avatarFeminism and Religion

sarah_hagarOne story that has marked my life as a feminist is that of Sarah and Hagar. This is a story of pain and enmity among women under patriarchy that despite its age, is still relevant to illustrate the negative effects of the androcentric socialization. But it can also hold an inspirational feminist reading that leads us towards a reflection on the amazing possibilities of a shift in the way we women look at each other.

Feminism is a political practice, an ethics for living based in an option for women. It is not or should not be a Diploma, a chair where to work from 9:00am to 5:00pm, or an excuse to act from our own privileges against other women. In private and in public, in academia or in the street, in sexual, cultural, intellectual and religious affairs, a feminist is a feminist, without excuses or regrets.

This year I was part of…

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Contemplations, High School Seniors–May 18


Rarely do I go ten days without posting on my blog.  I teach English IV in high school.  Most people think students want to graduate, will do what it takes to do so.  Such is not always the case.  Ten days ago, at the time of my last post, at least ten per cent of my senior class members did not have passing grades.  When the school looked at all classes, including math, the percentage hit 47.  Hard to believe, I know.  After nearly harassing students about missing papers and their grade, emailing parents, and hunting students down during other classes and the hallways to remind them, I am down to only a few not passing.

Several types of students exist, including those who work hard and care no matter what, those who think a miracle will occur and they will pass no matter what, and those who really do not care all that much and think whatever, it won’t matter.  Today we had Senior Day.  As a teacher delegated to go, I spent from 8 to 4 with nearly 90 students between the ages of 17 and 19.  All the above groups presented themselves to jump endlessly at a trampoline club and later at the local university athletic center to engage in the activity of choice.

Some students demonstrate the social ability to move from group to group comfortably.  Others, like several young women with whom I walked, exercised on various machines, and then played racket ball, feel comfortable chiefly with close, at least somewhat serious friends.

This leads me to contemplate what creates career success in life.  Social dexterity helps as does a decent work ethic.  Intelligence matters also.  The more adept combine all these.  Is it possible to find success if these are lacking?  It depends on the chosen career and what the individual wants to achieve.

Last year some of the smartest students, especially females, made choices that in the short run cut off their academic life.  Some are working, some waiting for a baby to be born.  Several who demonstrated less academic acuity in high school have finished their first year of college quite successfully.  Some of their choices continue to mystify me.

Yesterday, a freshman commented to a senior that freshmen year does not matter much.  The senior, who does have ambitious college plans, immediately corrected the freshman.  He expressed regret at not taking high school more seriously sooner.  It does matter.  Choices a student makes as young as 14 and 15 can affect the rest of his or her life.

The question I keep thinking is this:  how do I as a teacher help them make wise decisions?  The literature we read aptly demonstrates the effects of both good and bad decisions.  Does that help?  How many will only learn through life’s hard lessons?

 

Note:  Four female students who do care walked into my classroom yesterday and presented me with a red rose bush ready for planting.  I will plant it this weekend.

 

 

 

 

Barbie Doll


This poem praises my mother.  It is page 17 of my memoir in poems, “On the Rim of Wonder”.  It seems appropriate to republish it here for Mother’s Day.

 

Barbara Lewis Duke, pretty, petite, blue-eyed, and blond, my mother,

one fearless, controlling woman.  Long after Mom’s death, Dad said,

“Barbara was afraid of absolutely no one and nothing.”  They married

late:  34 and 38.  He adored her unconditionally.  She filled my life

with horses, music, love, cornfields, hay rides, books, ambition.  Whatever

she felt she had missed, I was going to possess:  books, piano lessons, a

college education.  Her father, who died long before I was born, loved fancy,

fast horses.  So did she.  During my preschool, croupy years, she quieted my

hysterical night coughing with stories of run away horses pulling her

in a wagon.  With less than 100 pounds and lots of determination, she

stopped them, a tiny Barbie Doll flying across the Missouri River Bottom,

strong, willful, free.