Speaking Out Loud

I am a South Carolinian.  I am a writer.  I am speaking out loud.  South Carolina politicians are stripping funding from public colleges that teach books with LGBTQ themes .  The College of Charleston and the University of South Carolina Upstate had each selected a book for students to read, study, discuss, etc.  You know?  What students do at a university?  South Carolina Representative Garry Smith, a Republican from Simpsonville, proposed the cuts.  It started with a complaint he received from one constituent.  The constituent's daughter was going to the College of Charleston and would be reading "Fun Home."  This book was not even required reading.  It was part of a College Reads! program.  When others, politicians and citizens, wondered aloud about academic freedom, Rep. Smith stated, "It's not academic freedom -- it's academic totalitarianism."  Hmm. 


Academic freedom is defined as the freedom of faculty and students to teach, study, and pursue knowledge without unreasonable interference or restriction from law, institutional regulations, or public pressure. Totalitarianism is defined as the political concept that the citizen should be totally subject to an absolute state authority.  Again, hmm.  College is a place for learning, expanding, disagreeing, growing.  The list could go on.  College isn't about restricting knowledge.  If this is the type of experience a student wants to have, then there are private colleges.  My state government took my tax dollars and told the faculty of a public university what concepts/subjects they could teach, and this scares the hell out of me. 


While both of the books ("Out Loud") that were chosen dealt with LGBTQ themes, this censorship goes way beyond that.  When we allow the government to decide what we will read, then where is our line?  What's next?  In any relationship there are boundaries.  If we, as South Carolina citizens and citizens from other states, let a state government push our boundaries too far, then we will all be sorry.  No matter a person's view on the LGBTQ community, he or she should be able to understand that we do not want the government choosing our reading material.  If the students had been this upset about the reading material, then why weren't they protesting? 


I have been left with so many unsettling questions.  As a former faculty member of a public college and as a writer, I am Speaking Out Loud.  I encourage you to do the same.  Please go to Speaking Out Loud to find out how. 

A Poet!

I am so excited.  Please check out this link. 


http://spiltinkpoetry.tumblr.com/post/83511789776/1977-caprice-classic-not-for-sale-by-Kathryn


I wrote this poem in my pajamas one morning, while sipping coffee.  I had just gotten off of the phone with my friend Penny, and I remember not liking how she was feeling about herself.  From there?  I wrote.  :)  I hope you enjoy it. 

Idling

Stuck, stuck, stuck.  This is how I feel lately.  Oddly, I have a ton of decisions to make because of new, exciting things cropping up in my life.  On the other hand, I can't seem to get motivated to make any decisions.  I'm idling.  When I get like this, I tend to zone out with music.  In a sense, it's what keeps me Marching Fourth.  So, until I can shift into a higher gear, how about I share my top ten bands? Yes, that's what I'll do.  Here they are--in no particular order.


1. Grace and Tony
2. The Avett Brothers
3. The Carolina Chocolate Drops
4. The Steep Canyon Rangers
5. The Lumineers
6. Loretta Lynn
7. Macklemore and Lewis
8. The Oak Ridge Boys (don't judge)
9. Edie Brickell and Steve Martin
10. Def Leppard

And, I will leave you with one of my most favorite music moments.  Yes, that's me with the Oak Ridge Boys.  Oh, how I love William Lee Golden.  *swoon*

April 16, 2013

"Katy, I need you.  Can you get to me?"  This is what I heard when I picked up my office phone on April 16, 2013 before lunch.  I didn't know it at the the time, but I had lost my friend.  My husband had lost his friend.  Penny had lost the future she was planning.  I arrived on the scene, and I can't even describe what I felt or what I saw.  Well, I could describe it.  A year later, and I just still can't seem to share it with anyone.  This day changed a lot of lives, but I can only share how it changed mine.

Lee

Lee was a lot of things.  He was a father to three children.  He used to tell me, "Katy, they are my heart from my body."  He was a stepfather to Penny's child.  He was a fierce and loyal friend to my husband.  He was my long lost brother.  He was Penny's new beginning--her love--her heart from her body.

I like to try and remember him like he is here.  He loved nature and the trees.  He died doing what he loved.  He died with the trees.  When I think about him, I find myself shaking my head and saying, "God damn it, Lee!  What the hell were you doing up there?"  I know there isn't an answer.

I've watched Penny this last year.  She wakes up each morning.  She puts one foot in front of the other.  What else can she do?  I try to be to her what Lee would be to my husband.  I know if the roles were reversed, Lee would do whatever it took to help my husband.  Sounds like lip service.  It's not.

I would like to say I don't take life so seriously anymore.  I do, though.  I try very hard not to.  When I allow myself to get too bogged down, I look at his grin and remember.  I remember to live.  I remember to love.  I remember to tell people how I feel about them.


We celebrated Lee with music and good beer this past weekend.  It's what we did together.  We celebrated.  We were happy.  There is an Avett Brothers song with a line in it that sums up how I feel.  "Hurts so bad.  More than I expected that it would.  Worse than that.  It seems to be lasting just a little longer than it should."  It hurts so bad to watch those I love suffer.  I wish I could put Lee into better words than I have.  It's hard.  I think I'm too close.  Maybe one day.

I don't March Fourth through this tragedy.  I'm stuck.  I think we are all going to have to find that melody alone.

A Novel Idea

"I had a fever as a child.  I remember being in an ice bath.  I think I had a vision.  Or something."  This is a piece of the conversation I had when I first met Lisa Snellings.  I'm not positive this is how the conversation went, but it is what I heard.  Is that what counts?  Hmm.  Lisa fascinates me.  Lisa inspires me.  I look up to her.  I came home and told everyone about meeting her.  I wasn't really able to do the meeting justice, though.  How many times can you scream, "But it was the artist Lisa Snellings!  Lisa Snellings!"  My friends and family stared at me politely and smiled widely.  I could tell they didn't get my excitement, but I could also tell they wanted to get it.  Yes.  Yes, this is what counts.  My excitement about meeting Lisa had caught on.  Hmm.

The conversation about the ice bath has played over and over in my head.  I want to do something with it.  Something, but what?  I had a five hour drive yesterday.  I was all by myself in the car.  I turned the radio off for most of the drive.  It was sort of like being in a meditative state at 70 miles an hour.  The ice bath.  The ice bath.  The Ice Bath.  THE Ice Bath.  THE ICE BATH.  It was screaming at me.  This is all it did, though.  I finally made it to my destination late last night.

I'm with my family at Holden Beach, N.C.  I have been coming here since I was born.  Literally.  In an odd turn of events, I am here with my parents, my sister, and my nephew.  No husbands.  They couldn't make it.  It's like being a child again.  THE ICE BATH.  Still screaming.

I woke up this morning to fresh coffee and grits on the deck.  Not too shabby, eh?  I had breakfast with my family as my nephew danced around us with his Nerf gun.  Yes, it was still relaxing.  I came inside

Holden Beach, N.C.

and sat down with my coffee and the latest issue of The Writer magazine.  There was a great article titled "Four Walls and a writer."  Do you know how you can read an article and take something away from it that may not have been intended?  I think that's what happened to me.  The article was about giving writers houses that have been in foreclosure in Detroit.  The article got me to thinkin'.  Are my four walls good?  Are they too small?  Perhaps.  I took a walk with my sister on the beach.  I finally uttered the words to her.  "So, can I tell you about the ice bath?"  I told her Lisa's story, and I now had the magazine article stuck in my head.  Did I come on this trip because my four writer walls needed expanding?  I believe I did!

I have been working on a novel titled Prue and The Needle Factory.  So far, I have been in the research and brainstorming stage.  I have lots of words on the screen, but I'm not sure the story has taken shape--until today.  Prue=Lisa.  Lisa=Prue.  I have been trying so hard to create my character, Prue, and she has been with me this entire time.  Prue is Lisa as a child.  Prue is in the ice bath.  Prue=Lisa.  Lisa=Prue.

I came in from my walk with my sister, and I began frantically spilling everything from my brain to a legal sized notepad.  As it began to fill up, Prue began to take shape.  I think this was swimming around in my head since the first conversation I had with Lisa.  I believe it was sneaking around in the back of my brain on my drive yesterday.  I know it came out to play a bit, while I was reading the article.  Then, I expanded my four writer walls, and the ice bath had meaning.  Prue had meaning.  My conversation with Lisa had meaning.  No wonder people had no idea what I was babbling about when I would talk about meeting Lisa, yet they still had these interested and excited grins on their faces.  They saw it, too.  None of us knew what it was yet.  And, this is ok.  It was a novel idea.

The Writer article.

What now?  How do I keep Marching Fourth with this novel?  I don't have the answers.  I have to trust the process. I need to keep expanding my walls.  Changing them.  Sometimes making them smaller.  Always allowing them to move.  Yes.  Yes, this is the answer.

Friendships and Cycles

"Thanks for stopping by, ya'll."  This is how I have felt lately.  I've been putting many of my friendships under a social microscope this week.  I expected to be sad and disappointed.  Instead, I found some interesting aspects of friendship to think about, and I found out I am not screwed up.  With that said, none of my current or former friends are screwed up either.  Even though I have spent a large part of my life in academia, I still get amazed at some of the social theories out "there" and how they really do apply to everyday life.  Who'd a thunk it?!

For example, there is the seven year cycle theory derived from research at Utrecht University in the Netherlands.   According to the researchers, the seven year theory is not just applied to childhood friendships.  Woman go through life cycles every seven years.  We have major changes in our lives like children, marriage, partners, careers, illnesses, etc.  A majority of friendships are based on having similar experiences.  When those experiences change or cease, we have to work harder at keeping the friendship alive and well.  This can prove difficult when a woman is juggling many different issues in her life.  Distance can also be a major change.  Your surroundings have changed.  It's not easy to just meet the other person for lunch, drinks, or coffee.  It takes more effort.  Not putting forth the effort doesn't mean you don't care.  It just simply means that the cycle is ending.

I started to apply this theory to my friendships.  My sister is my number one peep.  Always will be.  There are eight years between us, and this has never been an obstacle for us.  Of course, there are times we get on each other's nerves.  She'll make decisions that I would never make.  Same for me.  I know my life is not set up the way she would like it.  The point is that our love and respect for each other trump all of the other stuff.  Our life experience is that we are bonded by blood.  Thank God that's hard to break!

Sisterly Love

I have a childhood friend who has been in my life since the 3rd grade.  We have gone through major periods in our lives where we were inseparable.  We have also gone through periods where we don't even speak.  We have entered one of those periods this past week.  I'm sad.  I'm disappointed.  I feel like I know there are reasons beyond her control as to why our friendship has suddenly seized.  I might be wrong.  My hope is that if I leave that door open, like I always have, maybe we will find ourselves connected again.  I hope we have not fallen victim to the seven year cycle.  If we have, well, it's been an awesome time and I will choose to remember all of the wonderful things about her.

My friend Penny is a fairly new friend.  We are also connected by having somewhat similar experiences.  As I have briefly mentioned in earlier posts, Penny's fiancé and my friend passed away almost a year ago.  It was unexpected.  I remember picking up my office phone and hearing Penny's guttural scream through the phone.  She was barely able to give me her location.  I rushed to the scene. I remember the paramedic telling me my friend and her fiancé was gone.  I collapsed.  Penny didn't see this.  The paramedic got me up and gave me the pep talk of my life.  I had to be there for my friend.  I whipped off my high heels and ran to her.  She hugged me so hard I had bruises for a week.  Those bruises bonded us in a way that I don't think the seven year cycle will be able to penetrate.  We are survivors of a scene which affected us each very, very differently.  I wonder if the researchers of the seven year cycle factored an "experience" like this into their research?  Hmm.

Me and P.  We know how to have fun.

My friendship with Jessie began many years ago as an online friend.  We just met face-to-face in the past year.  We share many qualities and personality traits, yet we do not share very many life experiences.  For me, this has made for an interesting friendship, which has allowed me to learn all sorts of wacky things about myself.  This friendship challenges me, too.  Jessie makes me feel like I should and can be a better person.  In Jessie speak, "If you want to be something, then go fucking be it."  Jessie is a direct lady.  She doles out excellent advice, though.  I want to be a working writer.  I'm following my dream, and I'm slowly achieving it.  Jessie has encouraged me and provided me with contacts and opportunities to reach my dream.  I admire her because she makes things reality.  For me, that's a hard thing to do.  Will Jessie survive the seven year cycle?  I hope so, and I think so.   We have a strong shared experience through writing.  Jessie is a writer, photographer, and artist.  She's deep, ya'll.  I'm not kidding.  I admire her in the same way I admire Flannery O'Connor and Ann Patchett--two of my favorite authors.  I swear she must have been a Southern gal in another life.  ;)

Tiny hat fun.  All.  The.  Time.

The females I have described are all very different people.  They have all provided different things and experiences for me in my life.  I treasure all of them in their own unique way.  I have bogged myself down this past week in feeling lonely and upset over my childhood friend.  Instead, I want to celebrate that friendship.  If it has run the cycle, then I have to accept that.  I don't have to accept bad feelings, though.  The good stuff far outweighed the bad.  I love her.  I love all of these ladies.  Go examine your friendships.  Really think hard about them.  Work at them.  If the cycle has ended on a friendship, think about what you learned.  Don't let the seven year itch rule you.  March Fourth!

Meet the Mutts: Part One

"I don't like dogs."  "What?" asked the shelter employee.  "Why don't you like dogs?" the employee inquired.  I answered, "I've never had one.  I don't think I would like all of the training."  She gently led me away from the cats and towards the dog area.  It sounded like a really bad Poison concert in that room.  There were squeals, squawks, and general chaos.  Hair.  Hair was everywhere.  "The information for each dog is on the tag hanging from the cage.  If you see a red dot, this means that particular dog doesn't have very long."  "Like, you are going to kill it?!?" I asked in disbelief.  I knew that is what happened at the kill shelter, but I didn't think they would be so forthcoming and blunt about it.  "Yes, like the dog will die, " she explained.  I thanked her, and she left to go do one of the many, many things I'm sure kept that place going each day.

I slowly walked down the aisle.  There were little sets of brown and black eyes starting at me.  Some tongues were lolled out to the side.  There were puppies sleeping in tiny little balls or packs.  I came to the end of the aisle, and there was a dirty little thing.  She was in the very back of her cage.  She shivered when I kneeled down to get a closer look at her.  I noticed a puddle form on the floor of her cage.  Poor thing had peed on herself.  I inspected her card.  She had a name!  Nola.  Why would someone turn in a dog with a name?  Then I really saw the last straw.  The red dot.  Oh, hell no.  I immediately found the nice shelter lady and told her I would be taking Nola with me.  She beamed at me, and she said, "Excellent choice!  Nola was dropped off by her family weeks ago.  The mom said that her young sons were constantly torturing the poor dog, and the dog would pee all over the house.  She surrendered her."  I blinked.  "You mean that two little sadistic boys tortured the dog so much she peed on things?"  "Sounds like it," the shelter worker said.

I couldn't believe that someone had done this.  I know I don't know this mother's story.  I hope there was more.  I hope she got her little soon-to-be Ted Bundys some help.  Yes, that is harsh.  No, I do not apologize.  Nola had already been spayed, so I could take her home that day.  Yay!  As soon as I slipped a leash on her dirty, little head, she peed.  I slowly walked her to my car and talked softly to her.  I kept saying, "Come on, my sweet Nola Jane.  It's ok."  She was my sweet Nola Jane from that second.  We got in the car, and she started to perk up.  She slowly made her way over to my lap.  Her head rested right on the window I had rolled down.  I started the car, and we were off to our new life together.

At the time, I was with a horribly abusive boyfriend.  When he started to show signs of being abusive to Nola Jane, that was it.  After a year of putting up with his shit, it took me seeing how he treated my beloved doggie to leave.  He tried to claim that Nola Jane was his.  I fought for her.  I took him to court and had it declared that she was mine.  All mine.  It was the first time I had fought him for anything.  And there would be no other time because I left him.  Finally.

Nola Jane had so many adventures with me.  We moved into my first place as a young, single gal all by myself.  We finished graduate school.  We rappelled off of a large boulder together.  We had long camping trips.  We got married.  We got divorced.  We found our Al.  The list could go on and on.  She was my constant companion.  My confidante.  My everything.  For never having a dog or even liking dogs that much, Nola Jane was my heart.  She knew all of my secrets.

I noticed a large purple splotch on her belly.  I screamed, "Al!!!  Something is wrong with Nola Jane."  We rushed to the emergency vet.  There was nothing they could do for her.  They sent us to a specialist in a town about 30 miles from us.  She had mast cell cancer.  She would die.  I lost it.  There was no way I could lose my precious baby.  She was the reason I had made most of the major decisions in my life.  She would always listen.  She would give me "the look" and I would know what decisions I had to make.  I looked at my sweet doggie that day, and she looked back at me as if to say, "It's ok, mom.  It's part of life."

We took her home, and we gave her the best six weeks of life we could.  Nola Jane lunched on filet mignon.  She took rides in the convertible, and we let her hair stick to every surface of that car.  She would get in a wagon, and I would pull her around the neighborhood because she was too weak to walk but wanted to enjoy the fresh air.

I woke up in the middle of the night, and she was shaking.  She looked at me.  It was time.  I called our friend who is a vet.  She came over.  We all gathered in the living room to tell my sweet baby goodbye.  Al and I held hands and sobbed as our friend put the needle in our Nola Jane's leg.  Nola Jane looked at me and sighed.  She put her head down.  She was gone.

My Nola Jane helped me March Fourth through so many major parts of my life.  I sit here today writing this and have tears streaming down my face.  My Nola Jane taught me how to love myself and others.  She taught me how to be adventurous.  She taught me that death is part of life, so just enjoy your time.  She taught me to love dogs.  I still think of her each day.  When Al and I got married, her little urn sat right there with us.  She is still my constant confidante.  My Nola Jane.

Nola Jane Goforth