The root word for Katherine is pure, so Purity will write today’s post. Purity read about illeism in this BBC article: https://www.bbc.com/worklife/article/20230411-illeism-the-ancient-trick-to-help-you-think-more-wisely. Purity admits that it feels a bit embarrassing to write in the third person here on the blog, very egotistical, but that is not what the article is about. It is about writing that way in one’s journal. Purity has been trying it and it is interesting. It sets events at a distance and quiets and muffles the emotions related to events. How very curious.
Purity does not plan to keep writing this way on the blog nor does she plan to start speaking with a royal we. However, the United States appears to be in a state of chaotic stupidity and it is affecting everyone. Not just in the United States, but the rest of the world as well. Purity thinks of the United States as a teenage country, struggling with hormones, while the old countries stand back, watch and sigh. “At some point he will mature,” they say to each other. “Or destroy himself.” And yes, a male teenage country, stupid and boastful with testosterone. Purity thinks it will take the United States another 200 years to live down President #47 and his minions, if we survive.
At any rate, Purity hopes that the prompt of illeism might be more light hearted and be a new word to some people and tickle their fancies. Apparently our fancies mostly lie in our cats. Cats certainly seem to be experts in illeism. May you each feel as wonderful today as a cat when they own the world.
My favorite female author is Laura Ingalls Wilder. My favorite male author is Walt Kelly.
Louis Carreas wrote about how descriptions can be cages, here. WordPress won’t let me comment on his blog (Hi, Lou!), saying that I have to be logged in. Even when I AM logged in. Ah well, maybe the AI has a sense of humor and is messing with me. Anyhow, his comments make me think of the DSM V, the list of behavioral health symptoms defining them into disorders, fifth version. We humans make them up, these lists. My daughter pointed out years ago, “We make up all the words.” It’s all an effort to communicate and we make it all up.
Walt Kelly is my favorite master of playing with words and word silliness. One time Howland Owl and Churchy are trying to make a bomb. They need a certain material. They have a small yew tree and a geranium. They both fall over and CROSS! Owl and Churchy dive for the floor. There is no explosion. Howland Owl says, “The natural born reason we didn’t git no yew-ranium when we crosses the li’l yew tree and the gee-ranium is on account of cause we didn’t have no geiger counter.” They decide against an A-bomb and put a honey bee hive in a shoebox, making a quite effective B-bomb.
Laura Ingalls Wilder starts the book about her youngest years explaining that she tries to be good but she just can’t be as good as her sister Mary. There are ways they are supposed to behave and she fights with her sister and misbehaves on Sunday and runs around. They are also not supposed to talk about certain feelings, but the feelings show through the events. When I read the books to my son and daughter, I found myself a bit appalled and editing the bits about the blackface minstrel show that they do and about Laura’s Ma talking about “dirty Indians”. Mrs. Wilder edited her life quite severely for those books, but I too chafed under the cage of society’s rules and what feeling I was and was not allowed to express.
Now there are series based on Laura’s mother, grandmother and great grandmother. I like them though the feelings aren’t as authentic to me. Not quite. My daughter loved the books about Laura’s mother and I think is like her. My daughter objects to Anne’s behavior in the first book of the Anne of Green Gables series. “No one is like that!” she says. I mention a classmates name, who is very very extroverted. “Hmmm,” says my daughter, “Ok, she is like that.”
The photograph is from 1965. My maternal grandmother, me and my sister. I do not know who took it.
I like it when you can see the rain coming, the cloud in the distance with the rain coming down in lines and strands. I can smell the ozone and everything waking up in the rain, as if all the plants are talking to each other. “Oh, here it comes and I am so thirsty!”
What is older? Anything and anyone older than me? At one point I have 5 women who are over 100 years old as patients. Two are 104. One is local indigenous tribe and tells me about white women moving to another pew if she sat down near them in church, back when she is in her twenties. I am apologetic at that visit because it is hospital week. Our pacific northwest hospital has chosen cowboys as the theme so being a bit oppositional defiant, I have braids with one feather hanging down. I swear that EVERY ONE of my indigenous patients comes in, including the 104 year old. I apologize, but they mostly seem amused by my rebellion.
They also influence me. Now when a 72 year old complains about being OLD, I say, “You are not old in my practice.” They look confused. I say, “I’ve had five people over 100 all at once, so you don’t get to complain about being old until you are 90.” People laugh, but they also usually look pleased. Over 100 is a LOT older than 72. When someone is over 100, I don’t really doctor them much. I might say, “This is what the book says we should do.” “I’m not doing that,” says my 101 year old. “Ok, cool.” I say. It’s hard to argue with.
And the joke about the centurian? What do you like best about turning 100? “No peer pressure.” Um, yes. I want them to tell ME what they’ve done to reach 100. The one thing that they all have in common is that they are all stubborn. I don’t know if stubbornness is what gets them there or if we just get more stubborn as we get older. Both, perhaps.
By stubborn, I don’t mean that they don’t learn and do new things. I had a woman in her upper 70s who I diagnosed with diabetes. At the next visit she said cheerfully, “I found these five apps for my phone. This one tells me the carbohydrates, this keeps track of the distance I walk, this one tracks my blood sugar.” I don’t remember what the other two did. This was a decade ago. She was retired from Microsoft. I wanted her to teach a class for me and all of my other diabetic patients.
My grandmother took classes in her 80s in lip-reading. She was going quite deaf and her hearing aides were not terribly helpful. She had videotapes and a rather shy teacher who would come to the house. She would glare at him and the videotapes. She attacked learning it like a piranha and was furious that she couldn’t learn it faster. I am like that too and my son learned some patience from the violin. He couldn’t play well immediately and found that practice works.
At what age is someone old? I think that’s moving target and the older we get, the older we think it is. I do think 104 is a lot older than 72. When does your culture think that people are old? My fierce grandmother said that she would look out her window. “I see little old ladies across the street and think, oh, poor things, they are so old. But then I think, OH, I am older then they are!” She died at age 93, fierce until the end and curious about death too. Her last words to my father were, “Look, Mac, I’m dying.” He said, “I’m looking,” and she stopped breathing. She was always curious and funny and could tease quite terribly and she and my mother butted heads and loved each other. She loved my father too, and me.
The photograph is my maternal grandmother, Katherine White Burling and it’s one I took.
All of these graduates at Washington State University, done, finished. Perhaps they were truants here and there, slept in, skipped a class, were out sick, learned from the book or on line. But they are done!
Soft my heart forgives and lets go, lets go of reconciling. We won’t. I won’t. I have waited long enough. I forgive all and I am done waiting. I let it all go and walk forward into a different life. The Sufis lead me: the teacher must judge when the student is ready. I am not a teacher. I am always a student. I want to learn always and change. I let go. Farewell, my dears, you still have my love but you do not have me. I no longer care, I don’t long for your love, I let you live your stuffed and twisted lives in peace, without me importuning you, to listen to think to grow with me and you don’t want to so I am free.
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Written February 17, 2024.As with most of my poems, I don’t know how it will end until I write it. Poem as prayer. The ending surprised me, too.
I’m going to have an Oscar party No, not those Oscars. The trash one. The grumpy one I grew up with. The one who lived in the trash can grumpy all the time. Reliable, you know. Trustworthy. I knew how he would respond to everything. I valued that then and now. Let’s have a party and all come as Oscar the Grouch. Let’s dress as muppets and be grumpy. Let’s complain about anything and everything.
And what do you think you will hear, listening in to this Oscar the Grouch party as it devolves?
“The USBG’s presentΒ conservatoryΒ is a two-part building. The front is a one-story limestone structure with 11 lofty arches inspired by the seventeen-century orangery at Versailles near Paris. The facade features four alternating keystones carved in the images of Pan, Pomona, Triton and Flora. At the rear is a glass and aluminum greenhouse conceived in the glass house tradition first seen in the 1850s Crystal Palace in London.”
This is either Pan or Triton. I only took photographs of three of the four: two female and one male. He looks pretty wicked, so I would guess Pan. Triton had a reputation for being grumpy too, disappointed in love.
This is the model of the US Botanic Garden Building. You can see the faces over each arch.
Here is the other side of the building.
And here is the view of the Capitol from the desert room.
Discover and re-discover Mexicoβs cuisine, culture and history through the recipes, backyard stories and other interesting findings of an expatriate in Canada
Engaging in some lyrical athletics whilst painting pictures with words and pounding the pavement. I run; blog; write poetry; chase after my kids & drink coffee.
Refugees welcome - FlΓΌchtlinge willkommen I am teaching German to refugees. Ich unterrichte geflΓΌchtete Menschen in der deutschen Sprache. I am writing this blog in English and German because my friends speak English and German. Ich schreibe auf Deutsch und Englisch, weil meine Freunde Deutsch und Englisch sprechen.
KO Rural Mad As Hell Blog 
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