Oasis Writing Link (TM)

Memories Re-visited

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Wed, 22 May 2013 17:56:00 +0000

Memories Re-visited

Mother and Daughter 2009

Life is a surprise. It's full of forgetting and remembering but when you forget, you don't remember. Okay. Take that thought slowly. It is only when you remember that you realize that you forgot something. It's like that with most lost memories...they come rushing through your mind after some triggering moment. It is also possible to remember factual events, but still forget the accompanying feelings that those events entailed. So I ask myself: Do you remember if you don't feel the experience again? Lately, my memory is inundated with past experiences that come upon me, suddenly. And too, I'm aware of the feelings of another time. They sweep through my mind alive with the fragrant and bittersweet breeze...

Morning Memory

White lace flower curtain
Growing round and close.
Late morning heat, cooled,
Again the earth breathes sky.

Brushed by the damp and
Dead leaves, I walk.
Head-wind determined...
Old fears dry and peel off.

Oh memory wind, oh friend
I open the door to your
everything and all -in
this once-was breeze

Heavy stuck leaf-prints
Evaporate and crumble
Soil-rich with promise-
Newness yet to come.

Cynthia Pittmann
2009

~~~~~
What causes this upsurge of memory? It could be a certain age, or having time to reflect? Perhaps it is a combination of turbulence and slow thought all in the context of a relationship? I am a mother who has a daughter- and "we get along" my daughter would say. Lately, when the breeze of her life blows through mine, I remember what it was like to live many years ago. I don't mean that I experience what she experiences (though that happens too) I mean that I remember myself as a teenager. I think back on my own high school years and I remember what it felt like to be devoted, absorbed and swept away by another-in the "teen way"- which is not usually accessible to my ordinary task-oriented adult self. Lately, I surprise myself with tears when I listen to the uncomplicated music of Taylor Swift. Suddenly, I remember/realize the pain of early unrequited love when I hear this song (Don't judge me!!! :-) :

Letter to Sweet-Sixteen Me

Dearest young Miss C,

Going as you are into this life with
Anger, joy, loss, and hope swirling in
A kaleidoscope of poetry and dreams, riding on
a Ferris wheel, "Carousel" and "Brigadoon"
"June is busting out all over..." but

Michigan winters are cold...
Spring arrives early in Ohio...
It's a trip all night to reach down and
find a muse alive in the apple blossoms...

A wild but careful you, an
overfilled-lilac-purple-budding-in-vase you,
set on the mantle and likely to fall.
Oh, I would catch you if I could.

Still wild horses will buck and break that
country-roads-take-me-home innocence.
Should I tell you the secrets of your future?
The crystal ball has gone smoky.

You must have your time...uncomplicated
Drama with Romeo while you play Juliet or
A Christmas Pixi who sits on Santa
Claus's lap beaming over-bright
smiles into the camera.

Cynthia Pittmann
1950s Musical Playlist

"The old dreams were good dreams;
they didn't work out, but I'm glad I had them."

Robert James Waller, "The Bridges of Madison County"

~~~~~~

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Hey there, Cynthia (on the far left), how are you doing? It's been a long time; and, it's so nice to see you, again!

Post Script:

Thank you, blogger friends, for taking this trip down memory lane with me. I know we stayed up all night talking but the sun is rising and I feel renewed! xxoo

(Note: Sections of this post are updated from 2009)

Puerto Rican Christmas Food: Pasteles

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Wed, 19 Dec 2012 19:00:00 +0000

Christmas in Puerto Rico: Plantains!

I'm not sure if the bananas in this truck are plantains but they look about the right size. Plantains are called platanos in Spanish but when I lived in San Diego, California, I often saw them on the shelves at the now defunct Alpha Beta grocery store under the name of "macho bananas". ( I wonder what that referred too?)

During the holiday season in Puerto Rico, which starts just before Thanksgiving Day, these large green bananas are in high demand principally because the favorite holiday dish features a mashed banana paste (masa). I usually order mine from Dona Christina because she makes them without meat upon request. If I ever motivate myself enough, I will adapt a version of the following recipe(please follow the link for exact directions).

Puerto Rican savory cakes in banana leaves:

"Pasteles are Puerto Rican special occasion food. The whole family usually gets together assembly-line-style to make large numbers of these starchy parcels and get them ready for the boiling pot. No Boricuan Christmas is complete without pasteles."

If you prefer, you can watch this YouTube video on how to make pasteles. It shows an adapted recipe that is made by a Puerto Rican woman in the United States.
Feliz Navidad to all!

Animal Farm Revisited

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Mon, 12 Nov 2012 19:09:00 +0000

Many Changes Both Great and Small

Dear Readers, Since this post appeared we have undergone many changes. Our dear Michelle (in the photograph) has died of a liver ailment. We moved to the animated and transformative beach. Benicio del Toro, the perky black dog and Miss Junie are living with us in our beach side apartment. We found a small farm for a few of our adopted dogs, several were placed and the less fortunate were taken to a shelter. It was a painful time. I send you all a most lovely wish for both joy and compassion in your lives. Sincerely, Ms. Oasis (Cynthia)

Oasis Animals: Michelle's Eyes

Michelle, ma belle, sont des mots qui vont tres bien ensemble-

tres bien ensemble...

(The Beatles/Paul McCartney)

What is so compelling about our animal friends? I love Ma Belle, Michelle's, face. I love to press my forehead against hers and send her all my love. Contact with Michelle gives me such a feeling of profound well being. I know this is not unusual. Many people have a special connection with an animal friend.

I also feel great warmth (and sometimes anger) toward Miss Junie. She claims all flat surfaces with a sense of authority that defies all boundaries.

Lately, we have been having a territory battle over the large table that I use as a desk. She determinedly knocks over my pile of research books and brushes her paw across the carefully stacked and ordered mail while she makes herself quite comfortable as owner of the table. But what can I do? She's the queen of the house, and is likely to punish anyone who attempts to constrain her. (These punishments are unspeakably naughty! If you have a territorial cat, you completely understand. If not, it's best not to go into it.

Recently, she has allowed me to pick her up and hold her in a close hug. Her tolerance of my affection has made me so much more permissive about her eccentricities.

This lovely yogi cat (Lionheart, Temple Cat) is from the Seven Centers Yoga Arts in Sedona, Arizona (photo credit and to read the latest newsletter click here.)

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A love song to our animal friends...

Only You by Ringo Starr's quirky video expresses this sentiment! (Click to watch the video!)

Only you, can make this world seem bright.

Only you, can make the darkness bright.

Only you and you alone can thrill me like you do

and fill my heart with love for only you

Only you can make this change in me.

For it's true, you are my destiny.

When you hold my hand, I understand the magic that you do.

You're my dream come true.

My one my one and only you.

~~~~~~~~

Introducing Benicio del Toro (AKA Beni' and 'Nicio)!

He is the classic dog. Completely loyal. Completely protective. He is our oldest stray. One day, his mother, Ms. Nellie, arrived at our gate and just waited. She waited until the night. She waited until the next morning. She found her way into the fenced in back area and settled in. We fed her and then it was all over. Little Ms. Nellie was pregnant. The following day, she had our little bull- headed, Beni!

~~~~~~~

A few words of love by the renowned (and occasionally sardonic) poet, Billy Collins:

Dharma

The way the dog trots out the front door

every morning

without a hat or an umbrella,

without any money

or the keys to her dog house

never fails to fill the saucer of my heart

with milky admiration.

Who provides a finer example

of a life without encumbrance—

Thoreau in his curtainless hut

with a single plate, a single spoon?

Ghandi with his staff and his holy diapers?

Off she goes into the material world

with nothing but her brown coat

and her modest blue collar,

following only her wet nose,

the twin portals of her steady breathing,

followed only by the plume of her tail.

If only she did not shove the cat aside

every morning

and eat all his food

what a model of self-containment she would be,

what a paragon of earthly detachment.

If only she were not so eager

for a rub behind the ears,

so acrobatic in her welcomes,

if only I were not her god.

"Dharma" by Billy Collins, from Sailing Alone Around the Room. Random House, 2002.

~~~~~~~

And if that is not enough, here is a story that you can read to your little ones:

I’m a Big BoyIt was time for bed, but Joey was afraid of the dark.

“Go to bed Joey”, his mom said.

The room was dark. A big shadow moved on the wall.

“Mom” Joey yelled, “Mom!”

“What is it son?”

“There’s a big shadow on the wall!”

“A shadow,?” His mom asked “It’s from the big tree outside your window!”

Joey wanted to be brave but when his mom left, the shadow grew!

Joey could not fall asleep and only by holding his stuffed animal, Buster Brown, could he quiet his fear.

The next morning Joey went to the park with his mom. He had dark shadows underneath his eyes. He was cranky.

He met his friend Suzy.” Hey Joey, do you want to play ball?” Joey didn’t answer.

You look sad. She asked him, “What’s wrong, Joey?”

Joey said, “I’m sad”.

“Why are you sad?” asked Suzy.

“It’s a secret. I’ll tell you if you promise not to tell.”

Joey told Suzy everything, even the part about the shadow and how his stuffed animal, Buster Brown helped him fall asleep.

“I think I know how to help you, but it’s a surprise. I’ll come over this afternoon.”

Later, Suzy talked to her mother and then, they came over to Joey’s house with a gift.

When Joey and his mom opened the door, they saw that it was a soft fluffy puppy!

“Oh mom, can I keep him? And can he sleep in my room?” Joey asked.

She smiled, “Yes dear, but only if you are a big boy.”

Joy said to his new brown puppy, “I am a big boy, Buster Brown!”And everyone laughed.

Joey knew he was a big boy because he took care of a real puppy and big boys are not afraid of the dark!

Here's wishing you all the puppy love you want!

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Fri, 24 Aug 2012 20:56:00 +0000

Oasis Feature (re-post): A Series of Local Views #1

Good morning, friends. Have you ever looked again, with appreciation, at the place you live? Recently, we met with some visitors from California and while we talked, I started to remember the early impressions I had of Puerto Rico, la isla enchanto-the island of enchantment. Won't you be a tourists with me as we take a look around this beautiful island? To start, we are taking a little tour of the beautiful Old City, El Viejo San Juan.

Please sit down and join me with a cafe con leche at El Convento Hotel before we get started on our little walk. Sipping locally grown strong coffee accompanied by hot steamed milk is a must for the beginning of an active day.

El Convento Hotel is one of the oldest hotels in the city and used to be a convent. It is graced with lovely arches, thick cool walls, and remarkable works of art informally placed around. If you ask at the front desk, the bar, or the waiter about the pieces, it is likely you will get this response from the young attractive bilingual employees, "No, I don't know. I should because we get a lot of questions about it from our guests. But I don't really know much about it." After living here for fourteen years, I have a theory about these answers. Puerto Rico is an accessible unpretentious place where art and artistic talent are considered ordinary. Why make a big deal about these mystery musical monks? (Who is the painter???)

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Creative expression is more of a lifestyle here rather than a career path. Of course, I love Puerto Rican people and like bloggers, they all are excessively talented.

Let's go up one level to the Cana restaurant and bar to look at this impressive sculpture created by Botero, a work that is just casually observed as you sip your pina colada on the outdoor patio. The name Cana, has a special significance to me because when moved to Puerto Rico fourteen years ago, we lived in Cana, a community outside of Bayamon. Also, if you have read Jan Karon's Mitford series of books, you probably have come across the the title, Out to Canaan? And have you heard "Camidano haica Cana" (accent on the letter a or else it means white hair)? It's a lively church song here, "Walking Towards Cana", which suggests a pilgrimage to the promised land-maybe a Puerto Rican paradise? This piece was sculpted by the Columbian artist, Fernando Botero Angulo (born April 19, 1932 in Medellín, Antioquia) He is a well known Colombian figurative artist whose work is often on exhibit in the Museo del Arte in Ponce as well as other places around San Juan.

This early piece reflects a gracefully slim young woman but his more popular work focuses on the large curves of voluptuous women-here is Botero's drawing/
painting
The Love Letter (2003).

I cannot resist posting another one, Rosalba (1969):
Actually, the people at El Convento Hotel know who Bot ero is ...
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This antique filled hotel also has some beautiful botanical prints and here is one of the Ceiba tree flower by Agustine Stahl ...

Interestingly, he had a leading role in the Independence movement in Puerto Rico. He was remarkably talented in the natural sciences and made important contributions in the fields of archaeology, botany, ethnology, medicine and zoology. Dr. Agustín Stahl (1842-1917) is one of the first celebrated and acknowledge Puerto Rican scientists.
I'm glad I did this bit of research. The next time I go to the El Convento Hotel, I will pay my respects to the series of three accurately rendered botanical watercolors on the external wall leading up to the Cana Resturant and bar...
~~~

Let us step out into the antique cobalt blue cobble stone street.

Oh, what a lovely park just out the door! I just want to sit there and do some light summer reading... maybe one from the Mitford series?Or maybe I could draw this tree? I love the iron work detail, too.
When we walk out the front door and look down beautiful purple flowers grace the entrance.
Such a sunny day for a walk in El Viejo San Juan.

Fear or love?

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Mon, 16 Jul 2012 16:07:00 +0000

Choose love or fear..."There are two basic motivating forces: fear and love. When we are afraid, we pull back from life. When we are in love, we open to all that life has to offer with passion, excitement, and acceptance. We need to learn to love ourselves first, in all our glory and our imperfections. If we cannot love ourselves, we cannot fully open to our ability to love others or our potential to create. Evolution and all hopes for a better world rest in the fearlessness and open-hearted vision of people who embrace life." ~ John Lennon

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Thu, 05 Jul 2012 19:55:00 +0000

Oasis Feature: Re-post Self-disclosure and Honesty

How do you react when someone "over" shares?

Though I no longer live in the country, I think this post invites relevant introspection about our sharing boundaries.

Yes, it's true, I have lots of it! Seriously...at least three bags in the bedroom. See, it's been raining on the weekends and I wash all of my dirty clothes outside in the sun. Why? Yes, I have had modern conveniences but whenever they break, I take a break from the 21st century. Washing clothes outside reminds me of women washing by the river; I feel connected to the past and linked to an unbroken chain of peasant womanhood. Of course, women still wash clothes outside by a water source in many countries. (And, yes, it seems to be gender specific.) I look at this washing as my karma yoga, for all of you (sparse!) yogi bloggers out there. I kind of imagine myself out in another country, say India, next to the spiritually renown and polluted Ganges or in Peru, next to the Parana infested mystical water of the Amazon. Or on a Caribbean island, Antigua say, where author Jamaica Kincaid describes her childhood as she was growing up in the 1950's and I see her mother's pile of bleaching stones. I also see myself: There I am washing, and lifting the wet clothes. I swat them at the stones, breaking the clinging mud from its hold on the once lovely soft fabric. Rinse in the cool flowing water. I carefully spread the white clothes on the pile of bleaching rocks and allow the sun to bear down into the fabric until it is white again. If you do feel inspired to wash clothes outside and do your bit to save the planet, you should keep the weather report close at hand! Still, I'm not talking about that kind of dirty laundry.

I'm talking about the kind of secrets that people are not suppose to say unless there is a significant degree of real intimacy in the relationship. I was trying to come up with a list of socially taboo subjects...

physical and mental disabilities

same-sex gender preferences

terminated pregnancies

a murder in the family

financial problems

unmarried parents

bodily functions

criminal record

I know these are not all of the potentially "forbidden" subjects, but I think the above list is enough. Notice when someone begins to reveal something personal from the above list there can be a kind of moral physical retraction and the accompanying emotional feeling, 'Oh no, over-share! Make-it-stop. We want to know secrets and we don't want to know secrets. Why else would we avidly read about celebrities infidelities, and other domestic and personal indiscretions? Why would office gossip be so popular? Maybe we just don't want direct contact with those who tell their own secrets? What makes something wrong to share? How did we make these rules?

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I've been thinking about this disclosure issue because some of you know that my mother was murdered. Whenever, I share this fact, it's a risk. Some people just want to run from this sort of bare fact. I've noticed the same concern addressed in other confessional modes. Consider, the Twelve-step Program which is designed to help people confront the desire to deny and soften the truth by beginning every testimonial with, "Hello, I'm (insert name here) and I'm an (insert condition here)." Why would people judge you when you tell them the biographical detail of your life? I've read many autobiographies and several of the classics which are titled, Confessions. (Rousseau, Leo Tolstoy and St. Augustine.) I've noticed that what was private has changed over time.(The three "Confessions are from the more recent past and go back to the 1600's) Also, I have worked for a number of years in counselor type positions (military, prison, and college). From these various experiences, I can assure you of what you must already know, people are not really so different. Everyone has secrets. My own dear grandmother would not talk about her missing father. I don't know if he was really 'killed in the war.' Were her parents really married? Did she feel shame? I would like to know. I'm sure you also have some family secrets you would like to know. Many of our questions remain unanswered, either they are buried in silence or buried underground. We just have to accept the fact that we will never know. It's a secret.

We assert or reveal who we are or what our values are through

personal sharing.

In our time, I think we should pave the way of connecting by honestly (and without pressure)sharing our own life experience. And if someone shares with us through our everyday interaction or through the blogosphere, I think we should say (or at least think) in a nod to the sixties:

Let it all hang out!
Right on, baby!

You tell it like it is!

We should let those brave people who risk self-disclosure know that what they have shared has been honorably received. We should embrace them in an accepting atmosphere. I say this because recently, I've read some confessions in blogland and the commenter(s) seem to be frightened away. Sigh. I wonder why? I think our lack of response is interpreted as society's voice echoing the familiar warning:

Don't go airing your dirty laundry out in public.

Here's a quirky little video, I thought you might enjoy. Also, it makes me think of my mom's positive vision. I see her on her motorcycle. (Like other trail blazing women of her day, she was a proud trophy carrying member of the Motor Maids, Inc.) This is for you, "Mama Sue."

More about my clean laundry:

If you would like to know more about my mother's story, click on the highlighted links. Also, there is a documentary film that is being made by Brian Alexander about the life and death of my mother and her partner, Christine, just click here.

photo credit

Summer Songs

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Thu, 14 Jun 2012 16:19:00 +0000


Janis Joplin is the greatest female rock singer of the 60s!

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Tue, 05 Jun 2012 20:52:00 +0000

Congratulations to Marianne K. Martin who is the author of The Indelible Heart for winning the International Book Award!

I appreciated it when Marianne invited me to write the forward for this book and also how she included me in her celebration of winning this award by sending a Facebook message that said: "We did it!" I celebrate her warmth, intellect and story-telling ability.

Thank you Marianne for continuing to keep the memory of my mothers alive.

Let us all join together to end homophobia and hate crime.

Forward
On May 5, 1992 my mother Susan Pittmann and her lesbian partner Christine Puckett were murdered by their neighbor James Brooks. Newspapers in Detroit and Huron Township, Michigan reported that the double homicide was the culmination of an ongoing battle over property lines. My mother was fifty-five, healthy and vibrant with positive ideas about the future. Christine was thirty-nine, energetic and busy raising her teenage son. Brooks was slow to reflect and quick to anger. He became enraged when he saw my mother and Christine publicly expressing affection. By erecting a privacy fence between these two rural properties, Mom and Christine intended to bring a peaceful resolution to Brooks’ complaints. However, it became clear that he was enraged about their gay relationship, and that not seeing them together was not enough. He vigorously complained to neighbors where he found support for his rage, and he formulated his murder plan.

From police reports, it’s clear that he shot Christine first from the side door of his house and then as he walked over to view her body that was face down in the grass, he lifted his gun and shot her in the back. I imagine just before he pulled the trigger, he thought the words he told the police later, “It had to be done”. My mother was on the kitchen phone with the emergency operator reporting that Brooks had threatened their lives when Christine was first shot. She immediately dropped the telephone, ran outside and stood in front of Brooks, weaponless. I imagine she asked him why he did it, and in answer, he shot her just below the heart. Brooks’ determined discriminatory attitude has troubled me ever since. How did he become so certain about his decision to murder my mother and Christine? After the deaths, I watched in astonishment as the actual motivation for the crime was determined to be a property dispute instead of a hate crime. Newspapers reported exaggerated stories casting my mother and Christine in a harsh light, which apparently had nothing to do with their sexual preference.

I was shocked to see my mother, a dynamic loving people-person characterized as a temperamental abuser of animals while Brooks was portrayed as an elderly man who was pushed to the limits of tolerance by his unreasonable neighbors. Neighbors reported that he was upset about my mother’s Pit-bull trespassing onto his property. No one explained that my mother’s dog, Ms. Pitt, was an elderly overweight, exhausted and non-territorial dog that was given a daily dose of thyroid medication just to stay alert. No mention was made of her activism within the gay community, and that she and Christine were founding members of the Affirmations Gay and Lesbian Community Center in Downriver-Detroit. No mention was made that she was a loving mother of five children and devoted grandmother to eight. No mention was made about how much we would continue to miss her for the rest of our lives.

After reading these news reports, I quickly understood that Brooks had not acted alone. In fact, it was a narrow-minded society that provided ammunition for this crime. It was only the gay community that stood strong and honestly told the truth about these murders. They loudly proclaimed that this double homicide was not a neighborhood feud but a hate crime. As a continued tribute to the gay community, I am honored at Marianne K. Martin’s request to write the forward of her latest novel, The Indelible Heart. This novel extends some of the plot threads related to my mother and Christine that appeared in Martin’s first novel Love in Balance and succeeds in giving a personal face to the events surrounding the murders. Though it is a work of fiction, the narrative highlights how in fact, the gay community rallied together to fight homophobia and violence in response to this shocking crime. I encourage people to read this profoundly moving novel and realize that it is our duty as members of society to stand together and continue a united struggle against intolerance and violence.

Visit the Pittmann-Puckett Documentary

What about Bob Marley?

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Mon, 14 May 2012 13:27:00 +0000

Do you ever wonder about Bob Marley' fame and why it's lasted so long? Living in the Caribbean, I sometimes sit outside Pizza Cono and listen to some great old Marley tunes like "One Love" and consider why this music continues to resonate with so many people in Puerto Rico and around the world. When my family lived in California our son Alex made a little CD with a cartoon face of Bob Marley drawn on the cover. It was a carefully constructed five year old's effort complete with an aluminum silver case and a wild reggae lion-man drawn on the front. I share that story because I think it shows how important Marley was to my young family. Certainly, I appreciated Marley's non-materialistic giving and compassionate nature as well as his talent. In Puerto Rico, I think he represents independence and an attitude of embracing all that life offers. Here's a recent article about his family and his current family legacy.

Excerpt:
While 1 love.org is a charitable organisation devoted to spreading peace, love and good deeds, the family also runs the Bob Marley Foundation, assisting with the empowerment of the oppressed in regions such as Africa. They own the reggae label Fifty-Six Hope Road, while Tuff Gong Worldwide is a label formed by Ziggy, who named it after his father's original label with the Wailers. Rohan explains that his eldest sister Cedella makes all the business decisions together with Ziggy.

Confidence or Self-importance

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Mon, 26 Mar 2012 22:00:00 +0000

Self-importance is our greatest enemy. Think about it - what weakens us is feeling offended by the deeds and misdeeds of our fellowmen. Our self-importance requires that we spend most of our lives offended by someone.

Carlos Castaneda Anthropologist and Writer

University of California

Do you remember in the movie, "La Bamba" when Ritchie's mother, Connie Valenzuela gets offended because the band does not allow her son to play solo at an evening garage performance? Ricki jumps in the car where his whole family is waiting and she asks, "What did they mean ...not letting you play, Ritchie?" He says, "Don't worry, I'll get them to listen." Connie is angry, though, and she says, "My Grandfather was a full blooded Yaqui Indian..."

I aways smile when I think of that pride. What is it? Mother's pride? Family pride? Some part of me knows that it does not really matter how you came into this world and which group of people you belong to...but another part can relate to that indignant mother! Respect! It's like Aretha Franklin R-E-S-P-E-C-T!

(Photo Yaqui People C1910 Mexico)

I'm thinking about confidence and balancing our needs with the needs of others....of knowing that you can make a difference in your own life and in the lives of others....of putting yourself out in the world. I think many of us are born with a introverted character, we have to learn to express our needs. Others are born with an extroverted tendency and may overlook the needs of others. Neither is necessarily better because we have to learn balance, either way. I know some people who keep giving until they harm themselves...and others who tightly hold on to what they have -but the universe or chance creates hardship and loss anyway. Perhaps, teaching generosity to some children is difficult in some way but so is teaching children to stand up for themselves and be noticed.

Many years ago, when my daughter was singing at a small theatre for a school function, I watched her get pushed away from the microphone by a more aggressive singing partner. (I have it on film so it's clear in my memory.) The other girl's parents had the shame of their daughter's public behavior to deal with but the girl who pushed was the one who was heard the most. I kept thinking that my daughter should have moved back toward the microphone and tried to sing again instead of staying in the background. I always wonder what is the right guidance to give in those situations. I didn't want my daughter to grow up into an aggressive personality but I did want her to know how to stand up for herself. She's turned out fine but I still wonder how to handle pushy people in the world.

As a shy child, I had to learn how to stand up for myself. My mother frequently commented about my own sensitive ways. She used to say, "I worry about you. You need to toughen up!" I think I must have gotten much bolder in my teen years but I remember feeling the need of support before I could try something new. I waited for friends to say, "Hey, you can do it!" I think you miss a lot of opportunities when you need to wait for someone else to discover your talents and encourage you to move ahead. Sometimes even people you love just don't want you to excel too much . Why is that? I'm naive a bit- when someone tells me it's control and jealousy, I don't want to believe it. Usually, I just look away and try not to notice. I think maybe my daughter does that too. It's a strategy. I don't know if it's the best one.

What do you think about confidence and self-importance? Sometimes when it comes to my children, I'm like Ritchie's mother, Connie Valenzuela. Do you remember when she was imagining for her son and she looked up into the sky while visualizing, "Ricky Vallenzuela and his Flying Guitar?" She's dreaming big for her child...her cause...

(A version of this blog post can be found in Oasis Writing Link archives.)

Trust?

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Sat, 03 Dec 2011 17:39:00 +0000

Oasis Reflection: On Trust During Troubled Times

David: Why do people do such terrible things?
Sophie: Like what?
David: Like beat people, and kill them, and make them prisoners.
Sophie: Most people don’t do that, David.
David: My friend Johannes always used to tell me, "Trust no one."
Sophie: Oh, life wouldn’t be worth living if you did that, David. You can be cautious, but you have to let people in.
David: How do you know if they’re bad or not?
Sophie: David, most people are good. They have families and friends, and they just want to live their lives as happily as they can. Oh there will always be bad people in this world and you will usually know them when you meet them, but sometimes you won’t. But you can’t let that stop you from living your life fully and freely. And making friends and seeing the goodness in people because if you can’t do that you will never find any happiness.

I am David (film)

Do you ever wonder how you can trust again after a difficult experience? I admit that I struggle with this one. Sometimes I think I'm a bit like the 12 year old David in the quote above. He was taken by himself to a Bulgarian concentration camp when he was young because of his family's political beliefs. Growing up away from his family in a lackluster environment surrounded by guards who are quick to administer punishment changes the way he interacts with people. He forgets how to smile. When unexpectedly he is given a chance to escape, he sets off on a journey across Europe to Denmark carrying important secret papers which later turn out to be his personal identification and the information needed to reunite him with his mother.

The story is compelling, but it is his interaction with Sophie, the Swiss woman who helps him to get in touch with his mother that is the most moving. She is played by Joan Plowright, a favorite English actress who plays a similar role, Mary who takes care of Luca Innocenti, in Tea with Mussolini. Both Sophie and Mary are exactly the kind of people I admire. In both of these roles, we meet creative, self-sufficient yet engaged with others woman; these women are not afraid to reach out when help is needed. Admittedly, I like Joan Plowright best in Enchanted April, where she plays Mrs. Fisher, a woman whose feelings have contracted so much that she has lost the ability to feel compassion for others, but then her time in Italy thaws the her heart and she realizes the importance of yielding to creative impulses and allowing connection with others. (photos from Facebook fan page)

Why am I pulled toward this type of character? I think I have to continually learn the trust lesson. I imagine myself sitting down and discussing life over a cup of Earl Grey tea with a wise woman like Sophie. If I let my imagination go further, I can envision that I might be a woman like Sophie in the future...and maybe a little now. However, at the moment, I'm feeling more like David-cut off and fighting with my own emotional demons- I'm particularly battling with trust issues.

Perhaps you know that my own mother was murdered by a neighbor. (I have told the story before-just click the link.) I don't know if you realize how perplexing it is to that young person who resides inside me -ever an innocenti- she who cannot comprehend how someone familiar and well-known-a lifelong neighbor- could do something so cruel.

You read about people- this past weekend in Puerto Rico, for example- who kill their own spouse or family, and then turn the gun back on themselves. It seems like such a foreign experience. You never think you will have to confront that type of situation with anyone you personally know.

I have never been able to connect the act of murder with the known person who was my neighbor.

Factually, I know he did it. I've looked at him in photographs and in court but it never made sense to me. I think about his behavior more as a symptom of society's sickness and lack of tolerance for difference. I have to make myself remember that it was his hand that pulled the trigger. It was Jim Brooks who killed my mother and her partner, Christine.

No, even after writing that statement, it still feels remote.

While viewing I am David, I allow myself to feel upset. After the movie, I watch an episode of Friends and found it extremely amusing. I laughed out loud. I felt freer somehow and more open to all emotions. I know it is important to feel. I also know that trying not to feel leads to depression. Did you know that when you have trouble, it often acts like a trigger for a cluster of repressed feelings, and there are some things that you just don't want to remember. Noticing myself going through this emotional roller coaster made me realize that I need to remember to feel and allow myself to trust people again.

Sophie is right, "...there will always be bad people in this world and you will usually know them when you meet them, but sometimes you won’t. But you can’t let that stop you from living your life fully and freely. And making friends and seeing the goodness in people because if you can’t do that you will never find any happiness." I'll take that wise-woman's advice!

(Note: Oasis Re-post)

Re-Post: Dear Mom

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 22:25:00 +0000

Recently, author Marianne K. Martin wrote an article,Double Edged Blessing, which touched me deeply. In it, she mentioned the letter that I wrote to my mother on her birthday. It's going to be her birthday again (October 31). I'm re-posting this letter in honor of her birthday.

Thanks, Marianne, for helping to spread our message about the humanity of all people and working to end hate crimes against the LGBT community. (Please follow the hyperlinks to follow up on Martin's books and visit the Pittmann Puckett Documentary web.)

Oasis Reflection: It's October again.

Halloween is Susan Pittmann, my mother's, birthday. When I see pumpkins, black cats and witches, I think of her. Why would that be a concern, you may wonder. You see, she was murdered in a hate crime 18 years ago by our neighbor, Jim Brooks. (I wrote about the murder.) Since that time a lot has happened around her story. Isn't it strange how a life can continue in some way even after it passes? Every October brings with it a time to reflect, whether I want to or not, about that tragic event. I thought I would just go ahead and write about it here, on my 100th blog post.

Dear Mom,
I turn to you on this day because I am compelled to embrace your life. You are the door that has led me on so many life journeys. I want to thank you for your strength and open mindedness. Do you remember that you once told me that I could have benefited from a mom who was more sensitive? I want you to know that you were enough, and that I did not need any other mother.
You were a strong straightforward person- a woman bound to accomplish, an entrepreneur, and a visionary. We had our differences. You liked having a practical vegetable garden and I loved growing flowers. You liked painted properties and I liked painted canvas. You were tough and I was sensitive. You were a 'people person' and I was somewhat reserved. Let me be clear about your insight, Mom, you were wrong because you were exactly what I wanted and needed. You taught me to toughen up, and I'm still learning that lesson from you.

Do you see that book cover I posted here, Love in the Balance? It arrived in the mail last week. It has a character, Evonne, who is loosely based on you. And the scene of the murder trial, news reports, the sentencing of Mr. Brooks are all factually correct. Some of it sounds like it came right out of the TV news reports, "Our top story tonight is the double murder this morning of two local women at their home in a quiet rural neighborhood...It is unclear whether the murders were the result of a boundary dispute. The women were in the process of installing a fence separating their property from that of the suspected killer." There is one mention about a daughter, Jenny, who spoke to the reporters and at the funeral. Her words make people understand that her mother was a loving mother, grandmother, and friend-and that living a lesbian lifestyle does not mean that you are someone who is separated from the normal embrace of family life. That message is what I try to share as well. I think you would like the book. It's about self-acceptance and celebrating life.

I found out about the book because the author, Marianne Martin, was interviewed by the film maker, Brian Alexander for the Pittmann Puckett Documentary- yes, there is a film being made about you and your partner's murder, and how it mobilized the gay-lesbian community into action. Did you know that the Michigan organization you founded (with others), Affirmations, is still going strong? It serves as a community and support center for people who are discovering and/or celebrating their sexual identity. There is an art gallery named after you, too, and I copied the dedication for you:

The Pittmann-Puckett Art Gallery was founded in memory of two of Affirmations founding members and strongest supporters, Susan Pittmann and Christine Puckett. The couple was killed in their home by a neighbor in 1992.

I went to Michigan last March to be interviewed for the film. It was a powerful experience, and I felt as though I could say all that was important to me about you and your murder. I hope the film is seen by many people, and that it continues to expand and open the perception of those who are narrow-minded. While I was there, I was able to visit the Pittmann-Puckett Art Gallery. I was proud to know that your presence continues to be felt within that organization. I particularly appreciate that an art gallery was named after you (and Christine). Do you remember that the first college class I ever took was with you? And it was art history?
I am strengthened by the memory of how you lived your life. Your graduation from Wayne State University at 50 years young-as you would say-continues to inspire me to strive forward regardless of artificial age limits. Thank you for showing me how to change and become strong enough to obtain my goals in life.
Just before you were killed, you told me that you were proud of me and how I lived my life. Mom, I hope I always make you proud of me. I hope my life reflects the best of your legacy. I will always love you.

Your daughter,

Cynthia "Sue"-included for you, Mom xxoo

PS. You will be happy to know that the Hate Crimes Bill was signed into law just three hours ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To order Marianne K. Martin's books:
Love in the Balance
Indelible Heart

Please click on the hyperlink on the sidebar (rainbow Michigan) to visit Brian Alexander's web page: The Pittmann/Puckett Documentary.

Prostitution

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Sat, 08 Oct 2011 21:23:00 +0000

It was the first time I had done something important. I memorized the Ten Commandments; and too, the history of the Lutheran, Methodist and Episcopalian churches. I had passed the exam with high marks and the church was recognizing me as an adult. I was to speak in front of the congregation way up on the podium. For my big moment, I had prepared a speech about honesty where I would assert that I learned this trait from my father. However, he would not be there for this first public speech. He would not be there because he never attended my special events- not in school or performances in band, choir or drama. I didn’t expect him to come, and yet I couldn’t keep some small part of me from hoping. When the day came, I wore the mantle of my disappointment at his absence gently like the embracing wrap of a surrogate parent. I would bow my head and hear my own counsel culled from other such letdown moments, “Don’t want too much or you will feel the consequences of getting too little.”

My mother was there as expected. She was the one who took the children to church, a responsibility she shouldered in spite of our resisting tears and lateness. It’s Sunday. Go to church. No questions. Up on the podium, I bravely spoke about honesty to a sparse but attentive audience. I told the story about how I learned to tell the truth from my dad. I’m telling the anecdote about eating the prohibited jelly, however I'm omitting important details, such as the truth that I didn't actually eat the jelly though I said I did. The truth didn’t fit my point well. I wanted to claim that Dad taught me to value honesty even when it was about little indiscretions. I left out the entire scene where he paced in front of a row of five scared children cracking a belt and speaking in a deepened Tennessee hills’ voice that terrified us until the guilty party was forced to confess. I didn’t say that he threatened to beat everyone until someone confessed. I also didn’t say to the congregation or to my father that I knew who ate the strawberry jelly.

Temptation. The Lord knows the art of temptation. Do you recognize the line from Enchanted April? That strawberry jelly was just sitting on the shelf offering a special kind of temptation. We yearned for the taste of summer freedom from this forbidden fruit. My sister couldn’t resist. I knew she wouldn’t confess. I knew no one would. I knew we would all be needlessly beat if someone didn’t confess. I said I did it. My jellied legs were ordered to Mom and Dad’s private bedroom where I was taught honesty by my father- the same father I was lying about during my maiden speech.The father I was devoted to in spite of the beatings and his absence. My father who taught me to value honesty. I can still hear his voice, Take your pants down. Bend over.

I highlighted my father’s integrity in the speech my mother attended. The speech father didn’t hear. When I finished, I don’t remember my mother's praise. I remember her tight face; it was a face that yearned for validation from a daughter and a face that could never receive. Mom was playing the thankless mother role while her middle daughter praised the absent father. She didn’t see her daughter’s hidden hope that if she were good enough she might somehow earn his love and feel safe. I admit that I was the daughter who felt sorry because she couldn’t appreciate her mother. I was the daughter who was shamed into silence. My mother didn’t tell me that day that Dad didn’t deserve my devotion though she knew about the beating. Mom, how could you allow it? You used our fear of being beat to control us. Just wait until your dad gets home then you’ll get it. Instantly, that would silence us. Why didn’t you protect me, Mom?In all of the silences between us over the years, my mother never learned the truth about that incident. She never knew how much I lied in my speech about honesty. She didn't know I did not agree to these repeated beatings. Our Father who art in heaven...hallowed be thy name. I would do anything for my father but it would never be enough. In my mind, Mom was responsible for his behavior. Why is it we always expect more from our mothers? After the service, the members congratulated me. All strangers. All empty. All those who weren’t in my life except on Sunday. Soon the final stage of my confirmation would come and we would celebrate the official ceremony. This was the day that my mother’s extended (and unknown to me) family could be invited to our house for a big party. I would wear a white dress and after my first trip to the hair salon, I would have an up-do. Stepping in a pair of low heels, I would receive all of the attention of a grown up girl- just the way my sisters had before me.

It came down to this- my mother said, “I will give you one hundred dollars if you take that instead of a party.” One hundred dollars! That was a lot of money. More money than I had ever received before. If I accepted the money there would be no party. That was the deal. Mom said I might not get that much money in gifts even if I had a party. So it was a gamble. Should I take the sure money or have a party? I could tell that my mother wanted me to take the money so I did. I knew she didn’t have time or the desire to throw another confirmation party. Now I’m twelve again. I’m angry. I’m the older woman now and I’m fighting for the girl who was tricked by her mother- her mother who was jealous of the girl’s devotion to an undeserving father. The mother who wanted to be done with this child raising drill and just get on with her own life. I’m the woman remembering the girl. I was conned. I was conned by my mother who didn’t want to do the mother thing anymore and by my father who just didn’t do.

My parents are fighting again and I don't know how to stop it. Stop the yelling. Stop it! Only I don’t say anything. I'm listening to an old fight. It reminds me of that scene in Nine Months where the quirky character Gail (Joan Cusack) says to her husband, “I can’t believe you are fighting during my moment. My moment! My miracle! She screams at him while he is punching and wrestling with another father in the delivery room. The laughter lightens me enough to remember that Dad was absent during my birth. According to Mom, he went out and got drunk while she was having a baby. (Really she can't remember which child it was.) Apparently, he met one of my uncles and they took off to celebrate. Mom said she could have died while he was out getting tanked. I heard this fight many times over the years. I don’t know the true story but I do know that Mom couldn’t get over it. She needed recognition and support, he wasn’t there.

At home, I’m sitting on the stairs after my big ceremony. I’ve been confirmed but not affirmed. We arrive to an empty house. No dinner. No cake. No one’s there. I’m so alone. I feel this space gaping wide and wider still. Mom walks up to me with the one hundred dollars. Here’s your money. Remember our deal. Just the money. I look at the money. No card. No friendly faces. I’m sitting alone in my white dress. My piled up and sprayed-still hair is wilting. The curls stretch out on one side more than the other. The hair pins press against my scalp but I don’t take them out. No one is here. Mom’s gone. Did she know how I felt? I prostituted myself for one hundred dollars, and she made the deal.

[Enchanted April- this is a hyperlink to Elizabeth von Arnim's novel, which is provided by Project Gutenberg.]

I'm bound to thank you!

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 21:02:00 +0000

I now bounce through every kind of light!

Readers, I celebrate you and your life!

Virginia Woolf, Moments of Being

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Sun, 18 Sep 2011 03:12:00 +0000

Virginia Woolf

Loss upon loss
Fears the greater loss
Still.

Imagine Virginia Woolf at thirteen. She lives in a busy household that centers around her mother, her mother who is forty...her mother who takes care of seven children-no eight because there’s one yet at home… a child not spoken of… a child who will disappear soon…a child who is called an idiot-child by Virginia as was the custom of the day. Imagine her mother is married to a man, her second husband, who is fifteen years older, a writer, and demanding. Imagine Virginia at thirteen in this busy house of guests and happenings… the same Virginia we all know through her writing… the Virginia who loses her mother on May 5, the same day of my mother’s death. Imagine Virginia at thirteen. She carries the presence of her mother (as I do) while her mother is long gone. She wrote in Moments of Being:

“I could hear her voice, see her, and imagine what she would do or say as I went about my day’s doings. She was one of the invisible presences who after all play so important a part in every life.’’ (80)
And as Virginia pours out her heart-words both troubled and turbulent in To the Lighthouse, a work of fiction that’s autobiography, she becomes empty and unbound to this once compelling presence of her mother. She asks, “Why, because I describe her and my feeling for her in that book, should my vision of her and my feeling for her become so much dimmer and weaker?” (81).

And while writing again about her mother,

she worries that she will erase her completel.

Columbine surrounding the bust of Virginia Woolf, sculpted by Stephen Tomlin.
Photograph by Pamela A. McMorrow

Say No to Hatred, Discrimination and Prejudice!

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Sun, 12 Jun 2011 21:23:00 +0000

Oasis Feature: Stand Against Injustice


I stand in support of the LGBTT Community. Gay Pride Parade June 5, 2011. Condado, Puerto Rico.

On May 5, 1992 my mother Susan Pittmann and her lesbian partner Christine Puckett were murdered by their neighbor James Brooks. Newspapers in Detroit and Huron Township, Michigan reported that the double homicide was the culmination of an ongoing battle over property lines. My mother was fifty-five, healthy and vibrant with positive ideas about the future. Christine was thirty-nine, energetic and busy raising her teenage son. Brooks was slow to reflect and quick to anger. He became enraged when he saw my mother and Christine publicly expressing affection. By erecting a privacy fence between these two rural properties, Mom and Christine intended to bring a peaceful resolution to Brooks’ complaints. However, it became clear that he was enraged about their gay relationship, and that not seeing them together was not enough. He vigorously complained to neighbors where he found support for his rage, and he formulated his murder plan.

From police reports, it’s clear that he shot Christine first from the side door of his house and then as he walked over to view her body that was face down in the grass, he lifted his gun and shot her in the back. I imagine just before he pulled the trigger, he thought the words he told the police later, “It had to be done”. My mother was on the kitchen phone with the emergency operator reporting that Brooks had threatened their lives when Christine was first shot. She immediately dropped the telephone, ran outside and stood in front of Brooks, weaponless. I imagine she asked him why he did it, and in answer, he shot her just below the heart. Brooks’ determined discriminatory attitude has troubled me ever since. How did he become so certain about his decision to murder my mother and Christine? After the deaths, I watched in astonishment as the actual motivation for the crime was determined to be a property dispute instead of a hate crime. Newspapers reported exaggerated stories casting my mother and Christine in a harsh light, which apparently had nothing to do with their sexual preference.

I was shocked to see my mother, a dynamic loving people-person characterized as a temperamental abuser of animals while Brooks was portrayed as an elderly man who was pushed to the limits of tolerance by his unreasonable neighbors. Neighbors reported that he was upset about my mother’s Pit-bull trespassing onto his property. No one explained that my mother’s dog, Ms. Pitt, was an elderly overweight, exhausted and non-territorial dog that was given a daily dose of thyroid medication just to stay alert. No mention was made of her activism within the gay community, and that she and Christine were founding members of the Affirmations Gay and Lesbian Community Center in Downriver-Detroit. No mention was made that she was a loving mother of five children and devoted grandmother to eight. No mention was made about how much we would continue to miss her for the rest of our lives.

After reading these news reports, I quickly understood that Brooks had not acted alone. In fact, it was a narrow-minded society that provided ammunition for this crime. It was only the gay community that stood strong and honestly told the truth about these murders. They loudly proclaimed that this double homicide was not a neighborhood feud but a hate crime. As a continued tribute to the gay community, I am honored at Marianne K. Martin’s request to write the forward of her latest novel, The Indelible Heart. This novel extends some of the plot threads related to my mother and Christine that appeared in Martin’s first novel Love in Balance and succeeds in giving a personal face to the events surrounding the murders. Though it is a work of fiction, the narrative highlights how in fact, the gay community rallied together to fight homophobia and violence in response to this shocking crime. I encourage people to read this profoundly moving novel and realize that it is our duty as members of society to stand together and continue a united struggle against intolerance and violence.

Cynthia Pittmann

Brian Alexander is making a documentary on Mom and Chris' story, and the LGBT community in the Detroit Metropolitan area in the early 90s. You can visit the new website http://pittmannpuckett.com to find out more about it. He contacted singer/songwriter Susan Hendrick and asked her to share her talents, which resulted in the moving music video, "Fight 2 B Whole." You can view it below, or click on the link at the Pittmann/Puckett website or plan to watch it during the closing credits of the film.

My Private Blog Has Gone Public

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Sat, 14 May 2011 22:04:00 +0000

You are invited to peruse my research blog:

Autobiographical Dynamics (TM) and Jamaica Kincaid.

Cynthia Pittmann's blog that collects research, processes thoughts,and evaluates both formal and informal information about her concept of Autobiographical Dynamics(TM), with special interest in Caribbean authors and Jamaica Kincaid.

Old San Juan

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Thu, 28 Apr 2011 00:14:00 +0000

Oasis Feature: A Series of Views;
The cobblestone streets of Old San Juan.

Old San Juan, Puerto Rico

The cobblestone streets in Old San Juan are still well maintained. The stone is cobalt blue and provides the pedestrian with a feeling of another age. History in the present! Teachers, if you want to prepare a lesson plan on this old city you can locate great information at this link that is provided by the National Park Service. If you're coming to Puerto Rico, the best way to enjoy El Viejo San Juan is on foot and enjoy your walk down these narrow and often busy streets.

"Taking Refuge" in the Beach

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Thu, 24 Mar 2011 02:50:00 +0000

Oasis Photographs

San Juan, Puerto Rico


Condado, Puerto Rico

Sometimes you just need to take a little time and immerse yourself in the beauty of the day. Puerto Rico is gorgeous!

Photo credit: Amber Villanueva

"What is essential is invisible to the eye."

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Wed, 09 Mar 2011 23:39:00 +0000

Oasis Questions

"And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Wise words of the fox in The Little Prince
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

What if all that you dreamed possible
were within your reach?
Would you allow life's geyser to flow?
Or would you cap the steaming pressure
and remain, determinedly, contained?
Would fear stop you from accepting
everything that is coming your way?
How can we feel worthy enough to accept
and open up to the life we've always wanted?
How can we know that this gift is not only possible,
but here?

Interrogating reality...

Sky and Sea

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 01:50:00 +0000

Oasis Feature: A Series of Views


Sea birds fly through the cloudy sky. Ocean Beach, San Juan

Ocean waves gently caress the sand. Condado Beach, Puerto Rico

Buddy on the Beach

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Tue, 22 Feb 2011 16:26:00 +0000

"My Buddy"

Buddy Holly is learning to walk his stress off on the beach. He used to live in a big grassy yard but now lives in an apartment near the beach. Poor Buddy! He need a good home where he can run and play. (We can only keep one dog.) Buddy is loyal and patient. He is a fluffy black and white collie mix...so charming! Would you like a new friend? If so send me a message at cpittmann@gmail.com.

Bye Buddy!

Moving Forward

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Sun, 06 Feb 2011 22:15:00 +0000

Oasis Feature: A Series of Views

Getting ready to sail!
Ocean Beach, Puerto Rico

Birds fly in a cloudy Caribbean sky.
San Juan, Puerto Rico

My current mood is expressed by these two photographs. First, the sunny day anticipating new seas to cross, which is the colorful boat resting on the sand and second, the actual action of adapting to a new location and the natural adjustments to changing weather- which is represented by the birds flying through the cloudy sky. I've made a deal with myself. Whenever I feel undo stress, I'll take a walk. I have taken up to three walks a day! (The dogs love the exercise.) I continue to remind myself that all change-even the best kind- involves stress.

Breathe, just breathe.

I love my new yoga class. If your in Puerto Rico be sure to stop by It's Yoga in Ocean Beach and take a yoga class. It will make you feel stronger and ready to face new challenges. It works for me!

Embracing Change

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Tue, 11 Jan 2011 01:37:00 +0000


Condado Beach near the Conrad Hotel

Action and reaction, ebb and flow, trial and error, change - this is the rhythm of living.
Out of our over-confidence, fear; out of our fear, clearer vision, fresh hope. And out of hope, progress.
Bruce Barton

Walking by the beach inspires me to reflect on all that has changed this past year- so many endings and beginnings: my daughter has graduated high school and is attending college in the States; my brother-in-law, Joel, passed away; we moved from the mountains to the beach, I was laid off and my career is in flux. All of the changes have a tendency to make me feel I'm standing on shaky ground. Actually, we even had a couple of earthquakes this past year. While my daughter and I were shopping at JC Penney in Plaza Las Americas for Christmas gifts, the stacked boxes around the center escalators suddenly began the rock back and forth. We're having an earthquake! I yelled. Not knowing where to go or what to do, we held on to each other while the boxes fell. People scattered and an employee fainted. Afterwords we laughed in relief once we were certain everyone was fine. Events such as these make you re-evaluate what's important in life, don't you think?

Postcard from Puerto Rico

noreply@blogger.com (Cynthia Pittmann) — Tue, 28 Dec 2010 22:39:00 +0000

El Moro in the Old City*

Christmas in Puerto Rico is filled with joyous celebration...usually.This year we're turning a 'hard corner.' Do you remember manual steering? You just grab the wheel and keep pulling until you finally make the turn. That's our holiday. We're in a time of change that has brought about an unscheduled move that brings us closer to the beach. I remind myself every day that I can enjoy sunny walks on the sandy beach. Why am I sad? Our poor little homeless dogs have no place do go. We tried so hard to help with the stray dog problem in Puerto Rico. (insert sigh here)

Today the waves were crashing on Condado beach with great force and cutting a sharp wedge out of the coastline. It reminded me of our transition from the mountains to the sea; along with the water's turbulence is also a rejuvenating breeze. There's a yoga studio nearby and plenty of coffee shops in which to write. It will be okay (I tell myself.) I miss Mom.(Her story here.) Holiday blues? I'm going for a walk!

Accentuate the Positive
You've got to accentuate the positive
Eliminate the negative
And latch on to the affirmative
Don't mess with Mister In-Between

You've got to spread joy up to the maximum
Bring gloom down to the minimum
Have faith or pandemonium's
Liable to walk upon the scene

(Johnny Mercer/Harold Arlen)

Thank you for reading Oasis Writing Link (TM) this year. I send you besitios and abrazos!

*Photo credit: Amber Villanueva