Month: April 2007

Pretty Bird Woman House

/ Tracy Abell

I’ve copied this from DailyKos.com in hopes some of you could contribute funds to help save a much-needed women’s shelter.  Thank you – Tracy

Please Help Save Pretty Bird Woman House

by Devilstower

Fri Apr 27, 2007 at 11:27:31 AM PDT

Yesterday, I posted an article about Amnesty International’s heartbreaking report on violence against Native American and Native Alaskan women.  As part of that article, I had a link to the Pretty Bird Woman House, a women’s shelter on the Standing Rock Sioux Reservation in South Dakota.

The story of how the house was founded was painfully sad and the tragedy was compounded by the news that Pretty Bird Woman House is on the brink of closing for lack of funds.  Thankfully, the DailyKos community responded. Kos contributor nbier contacted the shelter and made arrangements to collect funds for them.  Even as he was talking to the shelter worker, he learned that she was literally on her last paycheck.  It’s that close.  

I’d like to ask you to go to the Save Pretty Bird Woman House chip in page and show these folks that someone was touched by their story, and that this community wants to reach out to their community.

I’d like to extend my thanks to nbier for making the effort to contact the shelter and collect the information.  Hopefully, we can get them some funds before the lights go off.  Then maybe we can convince them that it would be worthwhile to put up a web page to pass along news of the shelter’s progress.

Procrastination

/ Tracy Abell / 27 Comments

I’m supposed to be doing revisions.

Guess what I’m really doing?

Bidding on ebay!

In one hour and 38 minutes I’ll know whether I’m the proud owner of a vintage dragonfly pendant.

One hour 37 minutes……
 

Daffodils in bloom

/ Tracy Abell / 34 Comments

These bloomed yesterday and I’m so excited because (1) I’ve never had daffodils before and (2) they’re
the bulbs I got from Laurie Halse Anderson (explanation here) and (3) they make me feel connected to LHA and all
the other writers I communed with that weekend.

It may sound corny but these lovely flowers symbolize the commitment each of us has made to creating real and true stories for young readers.  And that makes me feel good.

 

Beauty

/ Tracy Abell / 35 Comments

As per the sound advice offered by my friends, I’m seeking out beauty in the world.

My neighbors’ crabapple tree hangs over my patio so this is the gorgeous pink
canopy above me as I work on my revisions.  I only wish this journal provided aroma and sound
capabilities.  The air is sweet with blossom perfume and the bees are a-buzzing.

Thank you for the comments and emails regarding the earlier post related to my health
and world view.  Your kind  words and support mean so much to me.

Personal Yet Universal

/ Tracy Abell / 66 Comments

In August of 2004, my health crashed.  Diagnosis was first Lyme disease then chronic fatigue.  I went from an incredibly strong person who ran, lifted weights, hiked, swam, etc. to a woman with no energy who spent the day in pajamas, napping three or four times each day.  Friends drove my children to and from school.  My husband did EVERYTHING around the house.  I had difficulty concentrating, could not multi-task, and overall was mentally fatigued.    

I eventually regained some strength but experienced a near-constant buzzing/humming sensation throughout my body, and pain in my hands and legs.  I still could not think clearly and was easily overwhelmed.  I became depressed.

 

In the summer of 2006, I happened upon an article about post traumatic stress disorder and chronic fatigue.   The article mentioned a book called WAKING THE TIGER by Peter Levine.  I read the book and realized I was suffering post traumatic stress!  But how could that be?  I hadn’t been assaulted, hadn’t experienced a natural disaster or lived in a war zone.  Well, I learned trauma can accumulate in our systems.  The time I’d been rear-ended, the various dental procedures, the C-section, all those experiences left residual energy in my system (I think of it as by-products of the adrenaline my body put out during those fight/flight moments), and my body reached the tipping point.  Hence, the buzzing/humming sensation.

In October I began weekly somatic experiencing therapy in which I learned to discharge that unwanted energy from my system.  It’s an amazing process and I’m thrilled to say I’ve regained much of my strength and vitality.  I’m not 100 percent yet but I’m running again, I can multi-task, and I’m not so easily overwhelmed.  Also, the process helped me understand the ways I disassociated in order to survive.

So why am I writing about this now?  Yesterday’s news out of Virginia Tech brought back many of those old “symptoms.”  My legs buzzed, my hands ached, I couldn’t think clearly, and I cried.  And cried.

And then I thought about these two news briefs from yesterday:

BLACKSBURG – A gunman massacred 32 people at Virginia Tech … The bloodbath ended with the gunman committing suicide, bringing the death toll to 33.

BAGHDAD – In the northern city of Mosul, a university dean, a professor, a policeman’s son and 13 soldiers died in attacks … Nationwide, at least 51 people were killed or found dead.

And I cried even more.

Because I realized I’m still living the post traumatic stress profile in regards to Iraq.  Even though every morning I maintain this sign, I’ve disassociated from that tragedy.  The civilian death toll is so high I can’t even visualize those numbers (I realize the “official” number is much lower than the actual death toll).  I can’t imagine what it’s like waking each morning with the knowledge there’s a very high probability someone you know will lose someone they know that day. 

The Virginia Tech tragedy plays out each and every day in Iraq.  Not the same circumstances but the same cycle of horrific violence and heartbroken families.  Yet I don’t cry about Iraq on a daily basis.  I won’t allow my mind to dwell on the terrifying reality of night raids, rapes, executions, explosions, starvation, and disease.  I’ve forced those thoughts from my mind in order to survive.   

And that scares me.  Because when we become numb to the lives of other beings (human and otherwise) on this planet, atrocities occur and our collective health is damaged.

I don’t want to “disassociate” the fact that we all love our children.  That we all want a safe, happy, and healthy future for those children.  And that every parent grieves the same way.

Today I grieve for everyone on the planet.

 

 

 

My Sunday

/ Tracy Abell / 48 Comments

Sunday is our cleaning day.

Wildebeest and Zebu cleaned their rooms, vacuumed, and “scoured” the downstairs bathroom. 

Zippy Ramone vacuumed and cleaned the two upstairs bathrooms.

Guess what I did?

Here’s a close-up in case you need another hint:


I’d forgotten you’re supposed to be able to see the contents of the fruit and veggie bins. 
(Visibility!   What a concept!)

So long, expired vitamin powder.  Farewell, fossilized chile relish.  Ta-ta, coagulated strawberry syrup.

Oh my .  Get outta here, half-cup of sauerkraut.  And take that furry whatever it is with you.

(Confession:  I keep opening the fridge to admire my handiwork.  That tells you a little something about my worth as a domestic goddess).

 
 

Kurt is up in heaven now

/ Tracy Abell / 8 Comments

“Being a humanist means that you try to behave as decently, as honourably, as you can without any expectation of rewards or punishments in an afterlife. When we had a memorial service for Isaac a few years back, I spoke at it and said at one point, ‘Isaac is up in heaven now’. It was the funniest thing I could think of to say to an audience of humanists. Believe me, it worked – I rolled them in the aisles. If I should ever die, god forbid, I hope people will say, ‘Kurt is up in heaven now’. That’s my favourite joke.”                                                                              
                                                                                                                                                                      — Kurt Vonnegut

Thank you, Mr. Vonnegut, for all you gave.

 

Revisions Accomplished!

/ Tracy Abell / 54 Comments

Thanks for your kind words and empathy in reply to my post about losing hours of revision work.  I’m happy to say I got that work done (again) yesterday and while it was AWFUL at the start, I pushed on through to the other side.  Several friends commented that the revisions would be better this time around, and it’s really true.  My brain remembered much of what I’d done PLUS it saw ways to add layers of complexity to the story.  Which might explain why these revisions took several hours longer than the original.  I got done just in time for dinner last night (compliments of Zippy Ramone).

That’s not to say I wasn’t on the verge of tears several times or that I didn’t contemplate throwing myself on the floor for a full-blown temper tantrum or that I didn’t make sure Zippy understood exactly how difficult it was redoing the work. 

Notice I said “Revisions Accomplished” not “Revisions Accomplished Gracefully.”

Now I can move ahead!

 

A Laugh and a Sob

/ Tracy Abell / 52 Comments

First the laugh:

I got tired of referring to my guys as Elder, Younger, Mate, etc. when posting on LJ and so asked them to supply me with identities for my journal.  Please allow me to introduce:

Zippy Ramone (formerly known as the Mate)

Wildebeest (formerly known as the Elder son)

Zebu (formerly known as the Younger son)

There, won’t that be so much easier to keep straight?!  (I’m a little disappointed Zebu chose that name.  Earlier, he’d opted for Phenomenon which has a certain lyricism when combined with Wildebeest –  try saying Wildebeest and Phenomenon aloud.  See?  But then Zippy Ramone, Zebu and I played BOGGLE and Zippy Ramone formed “zebu” and, well, the rest is history).

So what if my LJ will read like some bizarre hybrid of African safari and punk?!

Okay, now for the sob:

I’m computer illiterate.  But I’m a functioning illiterate.  When I’ve learned how to do something, I follow those directions each and every time.  I don’t necessarily understand what I’m doing when I save a file to a certain place but as long as it’s worked before, I keep doing it.  Each and every time.

For instance, I save my file throughout the day and then when I’m done working, I “Save As” to another location.  For some reason I don’t understand, this drives Zippy Ramone crazy.  Last night he wanted to show me a new method for saving my file since we have a new computer, new backup thingies, upgraded Word program, etc.  He likes the click and drag approach.

Somehow in the process (in case you haven’t guessed, here comes the climax of the Sob portion of this post), he overwrote the HOURS AND HOURS of revisions from yesterday with the file from the day before yesterday.  All my revisions are gone.  GONE!

Why couldn’t Zippy Ramone let me Save and Save As?  Why, I ask you?  Why?

(Okay, I don’t really want to know the why so please don’t try explaining it to me.  If I haven’t grasped it yet in all these years, it ain’t gonna sink in now).

SOB.

I’ll stop whining now, seeing as I need to get back to work on my revisions.  Thanks for listening.

 

Secrets

/ Tracy Abell / 10 Comments

Just pulled Eudora Welty’s ONE WRITER’S BEGINNINGS from the shelf and opened the book to a page (p. 17) I’d marked when reading it several years ago.  This was highlighted:

The future story writer in the child I was must have taken unconscious note and stored it away then: one secret is liable to be revealed in the place of another that is harder to tell, and the substitute secret when nakedly exposed is often the more appalling.


Eudora Welty wanted her mother to tell her where babies came from but the mother always spoke around the issue, never coming out with the facts.   But one day Eudora happened upon a small white box that held two nickels, and she ran to her mother for permission to spend them.  That was when Eudora learned a baby had been born before her, a brother who had died.  “And these two nickels that I’d wanted to claim as my find were his. They had lain on his eyelids, for a purpose untold and unimaginable.”