Women’s March

flowers of the day

little bright and sunny bouquet

purples are the best

compliment request

It all happened (not) long ago… mother’s day edition

I wasn’t mothered well. It’s true about many people I grew up with. In the culture where the woman is expected to work round the clock, raise a family, look a million dollars, and never complain or ask for help. I grew up knowing that you have no right to be weak or vulnerable, you are like an iron gate that can withstand anything. You just have to weather it, clench your teeth and try harder. “What do you mean you are not feeling well? Tough it out. You know how women gave birth during the war? It wasn’t easy so shut up.”

They say it’s all because of the time after the second world war when women had to do everything on their own, since most men were killed or disabled, they basically had to be indestructible in the face of all odds. It caused the imbalance of too many women and not enough men available for family building purposes. Men were in demand while women lost their potential value in many respects apart from working round the clock. So this is what my mom did, and she still does it because she doesn’t know how else life can be lived. If you are not slaving away from dawn till sunset, you are a slacker. Good for nothing.

My sister is kind of this way too. She chooses to work a lot and honestly there is nothing wrong with that. The problem arises when we start thinking that the only value of a person lies in how much money they can make an hour. It’s true about men and women both. It’s equally wrong to claim, “I have always been a good mom / dad for you, I made enough money to pay for everything”. I totally get it that raising kids is not a cheap business but first of all kids need parents to be there for them. And even if there was a great parent substitute like an aunt or an uncle, it’s not the same, kids need parents, period.

The culture I grew up in didn’t make me any good. The iron woman leading the show was always there, men would come and go, like fathers and boyfriends were just temporary solutions. But the iron woman stayed, she was the only one you could rely on. My mom was married a few times, my grandma was married twice, none of the husband lasted very long and none of them treated her very well mostly due to the alcohol problem. Her mother, my great grandmother, had an even sadder story.

Sarah was seventeen, she grew up in a commune in Siberia, she was a babysitter there helping the working moms and dads be productive in the fields or at the factory. One day her brother came home and told her: “Sarah, Gabriel’s wife died, he has 4 children to take care of. You have to help out, you know how to take care of kids.” So she married him, they never dated or did anything like that. She just did what she had to do, she did the right thing helping a friend out. Gabriel and Sarah had 3 more girls together, the youngest one died at the age of three, Rosa and Lily survived and lived to a ripe old age in Ukraine where they died.

Sarah said she had never loved a single man in her all life, she was very pragmatic about it, she would go: “Why would I waste my precious feelings on them? I love children, but that’s it.” She loved kids with all her heart, she raised her grandkids that Lily had. Lily had no time to take care of her boys, she was too busy trying to find a good husband. She was an incredibly beautiful woman, so she promised she will marry a general one day. The funny thing is that her love brought us all from Siberia to Donetsk, Ukraine. She was dating a musician at the time and somehow he had to go to Donetsk for a concert and decided to stay. She followed him there, and this is how my uncle got to try it out in the early 80s. He loved it there and set his heart to make a life in a new place. He brought my mom and my grandma there, and later Sarah joined too.

Lily got pregnant from the musician and had a baby boy, he was a really nice kid but had a mental heath problem inherited from his father. Both of her sons died early, the older one was in prison a lot, and the younger one was weak of health. But at the age of 75 she met an older general who owned a house, he married her because he wanted to provide her with a place to live. He was 92 at the time. And yes, he died pretty soon. She lived in his house for a short time and yes, she did what she promised to do and married a general.

On this happy note, I wanted to keep it straight for you, Sarah was my great grandmother, she had two daughters Rosa and Lily, two beautiful flowers as she loved to say. Rosa, my gran, had a daughter, my mom, and a son, who are still doing well, working their lives away. Lily, my gran’s sister, was a wind changer in our family who brought us all to Ukraine where she finally married a general. She looked similar to this photo. When the war is over I will probably be able to get an actual photo of Lily and my other folks, God willing.

Full Moon

Worm Moon (March): On the final full moon of winter, the ground is getting softer and the snow begins to thaw. Decide what you want to leave behind as you prepare for spring.

As I prepare for spring I want to leave behind my insecurities, fears and grudges I am dragging behind.

In this season I should cleanse my soul and refresh the intentions to unclutter my mind.

March is an awesome time for it because for spring revival we can be living life, forget the survival.

We have to see the light, we get to taste the air, it’s for you and me, it’s for us to share.

• What do you want to leave behind as you prepare for spring, a new life, a fresh start? Please share your thoughts and ideas in comments below, let’s help each other make it happen. Let’s celebrate spring coming and nature revival!

Women Whose Lives are Food, Men Whose Lives are Money

Poem by Joyce Carol Oates / Poetryfoundation.org

Mid-morning Monday she is staring

peaceful as the rain in that shallow back yard

she wears flannel bedroom slippers

she is sipping coffee

she is thinking—

                            —gazing at the weedy bumpy yard

at the faces beginning to take shape

in the wavy mud

in the linoleum

where floorboards assert themselves

Women whose lives are food

breaking eggs with care

scraping garbage from the plates

unpacking groceries hand over hand

Wednesday evening: he takes the cans out front

tough plastic with detachable lids

Thursday morning: the garbage truck whining at 7

Friday the shopping mall open till 9

bags of groceries unpacked

hand over certain hand

Men whose lives are money

time-and-a-half Saturdays

the lunchbag folded with care and brought back home

unfolded Monday morning

Women whose lives are food

because they are not punch-carded

because they are unclocked

sighing glad to be alone

staring into the yard, mid-morning

mid-week

by mid-afternoon everything is forgotten

There are long evenings

panel discussions on abortions, fashions, meaningful work

there are love scenes where people mouth passions

sprightly, handsome, silly, manic

in close-ups revealed ageless

the women whose lives are food

the men whose lives are money

fidget as these strangers embrace and weep and mis-

            understand and forgive and die and weep and embrace

and the viewers stare and fidget and sigh and

begin yawning around 10:30

never made it past midnight, even on Saturdays,

watching their braven selves perform

Where are the promised revelations?

Why have they been shown so many times?

Long-limbed children a thousand miles to the west

hitch-hiking in spring, burnt bronze in summer

thumbs nagging

eyes pleading

Give us a ride, huh? Give us a ride?

and when they return nothing is changed

the linoleum looks older

the Hawaiian Chicken is new

the girls wash their hair more often

the boys skip over the puddles

in the GM parking lot

no one eyes them with envy

their mothers stoop

the oven doors settle with a thump

the dishes are rinsed and stacked and

by mid-morning the house is quiet

it is raining out back

or not raining

the relief of emptiness rains

simple, terrible, routine

at peace

I loved this poem, it reminds me of the movie I watched a long time ago, it’s called Eat.Drink.Man.Woman.(1994) Anyway, what do you think of the poem? I hope to hear if you agree or disagree with this opinion (of a woman). Thanks for reading!

Still I Rise

poem by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops,

Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don’t you take it awful hard

’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines

Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I’ve got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame

I rise

Up from a past that’s rooted in pain

I rise

I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.

Maya Angelou is one of the modern day poets we teach in high school. Her poetry and prose are equally breathtaking. And shocking. High school students love her writing because it’s very relatable and sometimes eye-opening. Last spring we had to read 3 poems by Maya Angelou: Alone, Still I Rise and Caged Bird to make a poster with the themes, imagery and quotations. It was a great assignment and I wish I still had their work submitted. I had them in my classroom to showcase the artistry and reading comprehension.

‘I Know Why Caged Bird Sings’ is the autobiographical novel by Maya Angelou I enjoyed reading but couldn’t bring myself to read it in class with students, it was not an easy read, yet I enjoyed it immensely. She was discovered by me quite recently. I hope you are familiar with her in which case I want you to share your thoughts and ideas on her writing. Otherwise, you can find more information about her on https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/70265/maya-angelou-101

Enjoy!