February 2010 Archives

Lucille Clifton was an accomplished poet. She passed away days ago on February 13, 2010.

Two examples of her work:

my dream about being white

hey music and
me
only white,
hair a flutter of
fall leaves
circling my perfect
line of a nose,
no lips,
no behind, hey
white me
and i'm wearing
white history
but there's no future
in those clothes
so i take them off and
wake up
dancing.

wishes for sons

i wish them cramps.
i wish them a strange town
and the last tampon.
i wish them no 7-11.

i wish them one week early
and wearing a white skirt.
i wish them one week late.

later i wish them hot flashes
and clots like you
wouldn't believe. let the
flashes come when they
meet someone special.
let the clots come
when they want to.

let them think they have accepted
arrogance in the universe,
then bring them to gynecologists
not unlike themselves.

And here's a wonderful anecdote from Ms. Clifton's childhood:

"When I was 5 years old I forgot my piece. It was the annual Christmas program of Macedonia Baptist Church-a splendid affair-and all of the young Sunday school members had been given poems and recitations to memorize. I forgot mine. I remember standing there on stage in my new Christmas dress, trying not to cry as the church members smiled, nodded and murmured encouragement from the front row.

"Go 'head, baby."
"Say it now, Luc."
"Come on now, baby"
But I couldn't remember, and to hide my deep humiliation, my embarassment, I became sullen, angry.
"I don' wanna."
And I stood there with my mouth poked out.

It was a scandal! This fresh young nobody baby standing in front of the Lord in His own house talking about what she don't want! I could feel the disapproval pouring over my new dress. Then, like a great tidal wave from the ocean of God, my sanctified mother poured down the Baptist aisle, huge as love, her hand outstretched toward mine.

"Come on, baby," she smiled, then turned to address the church: "She don't have to do nothing she don't want to do."

And I was at the same time empowered and made free..."

"Dogma isn't the absence of thought, it's the completion of it." I'm not done thinking.

From www.orangeburgmassacre1968.com:

"The shootings occurred on February 8, 1968, two nights after an effort by students from an almost all all-black college to bowl at the city's only bowling alley. The owner refused. Tensions rose and violence erupted. When it ended, nine students and one city policeman received hospital treatment for injuries. Other students were treated at the college infirmary. College faculty and administrators at the scene witnessed at least two instances where a female student was held by one officer and clubbed by another. In total, 28 students were injured and three were dead.

After two days of escalating tension, a fire truck was called to douse a bonfire lit by students on a street in front of the campus. State troopers--all of them white, with little training in crowd control--moved in to protect the firemen. As more than 100 students retreated inside the campus, a student tossed a banister rail which struck one trooper in the face. He fell to the ground bleeding. Five minutes later, almost 70 law enforcement officers lined the edge of the campus. They were armed with carbines, pistols and riot guns--short-barreled shotguns that by dictionary definition are used "to disperse rioters rather than to inflict serious injury or death." But theirs were loaded with lethal buckshot, which hunters use to kill deer. Each shell contained nine to 12 pellets the size of a .32 caliber pistol slug.

As students began returning to the front to watch their bonfire go out, a patrolman suddenly squeezed several rounds from his carbine into the air--apparently intended as warning shots. As other officers began firing, students fled in panic or dived for cover, many getting shot in their backs and sides and even the soles of their feet."

Delano was murdered on February 8, 1968 in Orangeburg, South Carolina during the Orangeburg Massacre.

From www.orangeburgmassacre1968.com: "Victim Delano Middleton, a 200-pound high school football and basketball star whose mother worked as a maid at the college, died after asking her to recite the 23rd Psalm for him and then repeating it himself while lying on a hospital table with blood oozing from a chest wound over the heart."

Henry was murdered on February 8, 1968 in Orangeburg, South Carolina during the Orangeburg Massacre.

Samuel was murdered on February 8, 1968 in Orangeburg, South Carolina during the Orangeburg Massacre.

Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave. Frederick Douglass was, and remains, an American hero. He is our Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn.

There's little demand today arising from my religion, yet I am by measure a faithless man. The Bible proclaims if only I had faith the size of a mustard seed I could move mountains; I can hardly attend to the core of my conviction, that I should seek the presence of God through the present day. I am crystallized in my imperfection, and each day's faithlessness reveals the gulf between myself and God.

With each return I come as a ragged, prodigal son, only to be received with tender mercy and love. It is the redeeming faithfulness of God alone that promises to liberate me from bondage in my corruptible nature. It is in God alone I trust.

The hard won words of Frederick Douglass reflect my conviction:

"From my earliest recollection, I date the entertainment of a deep conviction that slavery would not always be able to hold me within its foul embrace; and in the darkest hours of my career in slavery, this living word of faith and spirit of hope departed not from me, but remained like ministering angels to cheer me through the gloom."

~Psalm 51:10-12

It seems to me I need to get around to more creative writing on this blog. I'll see what I can do.

There are so many mundane miracles in life it's easy to lose perspective on the little things...

I'm healthy.
My life was saved by modern medicine.
I had a hot shower today; I can have another if I want it.
My family lives nearby.
I have access to fresh vegetables.
My house has electricity.
There's food in my refrigerator.
I have access to clean water and indoor plumbing.
I have a warm bed.

There are so many things to be thankful for in my life. In light of history, these things are luxuries...

Yes, God has been gracious.

Remember the blessings in your life. Be thankful for the little things that can so easily be taken for granted. Pray for your brothers and sisters who are less fortunate. Help them when you're able.

I was thinking of these things earlier today and how it positively affects my perspective when I meditate and pray about what I have rather than what I lack. God is good.

There's not a wealth of information jumping out on the web about Doctor Albert C. Johnston. He graduated with honors from the University of Chicago and did his postgraduate work at Peter Bent Brigham Hospital in Boston. He practiced medicine in Keene, New Hampshire for years. Most conspicuous in his story is that a gifted, hard-working man was forced to hide his race, passing as a white, in order to find work.

The movie Lost Boundaries, made in 1949, was loosely based on his life.

New Hampshire Public Television is currently airing a documentary called Home to Keene: The Reunion of Lost Boundaries, about the cast and crew along with Johnston family members coming together in Keene to commemorate and discuss the making of the the film.

Doctor Johnston's obituary in the New York Times is online.

Nina Simone puts some perspective on Dr. Johnston's life experience.

I thought this was brilliant:

"Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge."

The Saints are the Super Bowl XLIV champions after a hard won contest against the Indianapolis Colts. The dream comes alive on Bourbon Street and Mardi Gras comes early!

"Be still, and know that I am God." It's a zen-like call to let your heart be a place of peace in the midst of difficulties. Rather than an exhortation to abandon action, it's an invitation to witness the glory of God with an untroubled heart. The idea reminds me of the existential calm of Juliette Binoche's character Julie in the film Blue after she learns of the infidelity of her recently deceased husband. With a gentle resolve she moves into the next chapter of her life. The pool scene in particular works as a symbol of her transformation; as she quietly moves through the resistance of the water, buoyed by grace and skill, the idea of a womb or a baptism comes to mind with connotations of rebirth or renewal. Psalm 46:10 is a call to this kind of existential calm while offering an escape from the theater of the absurd. Be still, and know that I am God. The only question is can we be still.

Super Bowl XLIV is tomorrow, 6:30 PM ET! Booha!

I'm cheering for the lesser of two evils, which in my world means rooting for the Colts. I was really not impressed by the sportsmanship of the Saints in their match-up with the Vikings. Go get'em! Unleash Peyton Manning and let's get this thing started.

Game day is the opportunity for unrestricted dietary mayhem in the Jephnol household! I went off the reservation a wee bit this morning dining out with some friends, but the serious celebration begins tomorrow afternoon. I'm making dangerous nachos for the early afternoon and during the game we'll be having toasted sausage subs with Swiss cheese, caramelized onions, sauteed shiitake mushrooms and horseradish sauce. And of course beer. Mmmm, beer....

Tonight I got back on course after this mornings culinary hiccup. Check this pre-debauchery health food repast:

1 cup nonfat plain yogurt
1 tablespoon all fruit Blue Berry jam
1 tablespoon wheat germ
2 slices whole grain wheat toast
1 medium sized navel orange
1 cup raw baby spinach
1/2 cup baby carrots
1/2 cup grape tomatoes
1/2 orange bell pepper
1 cup raw green beans

Okay, that sounds like something a horse would eat, but my body is loving this food. And the yogurt mixed with the wheat germ and jam rocks. Anyway, it's like I said, Sunday's coming. It looks like a real match-up between the Colts and the Saints and I expect I'll get all my exercise from jumping up and down while I'm screaming at the TV. Let's get it on!

Pfc. Marc Paul Decoteau: Killed in action in Afghanistan.

My condolences go out to the family and friends of Pfc. Decoteau and to the Waterville Valley community. Thank you for your sacrifice.

My skin is black, my arms are long
My hair is woolly, my back is strong
Strong enough to take the pain, inflicted again and again
What do they call me? My name is aunt Sarah
My name is aunt Sarah, aunt Sarah

My skin is yellow, my hair is long
Between two worlds I do belong
But my father was rich and white
He forced my mother late one night
And what do they call me?
My name is Saffronia, my name is Saffronia

My skin is tan, my hair fine
My hips invite you, my mouth like wine
Whose little girl am I? Anyone who has money to buy
What do they call me? My name is Sweet Thing
My name is Sweet Thing

My skin is brown, my manner is tough
I'll kill the first mother I see, my life has been rough
I'm awfully bitter these days, because my parents were slaves
What do they call me? My name is Peaches