To read previous journal entries, please go to: Journal 1 archive 2/25-3/24/00, Journal 2 archive 3/25-4/24/00, Journal 3 archive 4/25-5/24/00, Journal 4 archive 5/25-6/24/00, Journal 5 archive 6/25-7/24/00, Journal 6 archive 7/25-8/24/00, Journal7 archive 8/25-9/24/00, Journal 8 archive 9/25-10/24/00, Journal 9 archive 10/25-11/24/00, Journal 10 archive 11/25-12/24/00, Journal 11 archive 12/25/00-1/24/01, Journal 12 archive 1/25-2/24/01, Journal 13 archive 2/25-3/24/01, Journal 14 archive 3/25-4/24/01, Journal 15 archive 4/25-5/24/01, Journal 16 archive 5/25-6/24/01, Journal 17 archive 6/25-7/24/01, Journal 18 archive 7/25-8/24/01, Journal 19 archive 8/25-9/24/01, Journal 20 archive 9/25-10/24/01, Journal 21 archive 10/25-11/24/01, Journal 22 archive 11/25-12/24/01, Journal 23 archive 12/25/01-1/24/02, Journal 24 archive 1/25-2/24/02, Journal 25 archive 2/25-3/24/02, Journal 26 archive 3/25-4/24/02, Journal 27 archive 4/25-5/24/02, Journal 28 archive 5/25-6/24/02, Journal 29 archive 6/25-7/24/02, Journal 30 archive 7/25-8/24/02, Journal 31 archive 8/25-9/24/02,Journal 32 archive 9/25-10/24/02, Journal 33 archive 10/25-11/24/02, Journal 34 archive 11/25-12/24/02, Journal 35 archive 12/25/02-1/24/03, Journal 36 archive 1/25-2/24/03, Journal 37 archive 2/25-3/25/03, Journal 38 archive 3/26-4/24/03, Journal 39 archive 4/25-5/24/03, Journal 40 archive 5/25-6-24/03, Journal 41 archive 6/25-7/24/03, Journal 42 archive 7/25-8/24/03, Journal 43 archive 8/25-9/24/03, Journal 44 archive 9/25-10/24/03, Journal 45 archive 10/25-11/24/03, Journal 46 archive 11/25-12/24/03, Journal 47 archive 12/25/03-1/24/04, Journal 48 archive 1/25-2/24/04, Journal 49 archive 2/25-3/24/04, Journal 50 archive 3/25-4/24/04, Journal 51 archive 4/25-5/24/04, Journal 52 archive 5/25-6/24/04, Journal 53 archive 6/25-7/24/04, Journal 54 archive 7/25-8/24/04, Journal 55 archive 8/25-9/24/04, Journal 56 archive 9/25-10/24/04, Journal 57 archive 10/25-11/24/04, Journal 58 archive 11/25-12/24/04, Journal 59 archive 12/25/04-1/24/05, Journal 60 archive 1/25-2/24/05, Journal 61 archive 2/25-3/24/05, Journal 62 archive 3/25-4/24/05, Journal 63 archive 4/25-5/24/05, Journal 64 archive 5/25-6/24/05, Journal 65 archive 6/25-7/24/05, Journal 66 archive 7/25-8/24/05, Journal 67 archive 8/25-9/24/05, Journal 68 archive 9/25-10/24/05, Journal 69 archive 10/25-11/24/05, Journal 70 archive 11/25-12/24/05, Journal 71 archive 12/25/05-1/24/06, Journal 72 archive 1/25-2/24/06

To read my current journal, please go to: windchime walker's journal

*Now that I have a digital camera, journal entries may be linked to related photos. To access the photos, simply click on the text printed in color.The easiest way to navigate going back and forth between photo links and journal text is to click on your "back" button at the left of your tool bar.

MONDAY, AUGUST 25, 2003

It's now 6:30 PM and I'm waiting for our four biking friends to arrive so I have a few minutes to put up today's journal. Once they get here, I'm expecting life to go in high gear so I don't anticipate having much time to work at the computer tonight. This going to be fun! They are utterly delightful and I know Ed is going to thoroughly enjoy their company too. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 26, 2003

We've just finished an incredibly delicious vegetable stir-fry dinner and are getting ready to watch "Bowling For Columbine" on video, so I only have a few minutes to write this journal entry. I've got great photos that I'll put up tomorrow, but now I've got to go.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 27, 2003

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Let's see if that is true. Here is the Festi-Biker's Photo Album I made showing our delightful visit with Steph, Jillian, Emily and Liz. Does it tell the story?

THURSDAY, AUGUST 28, 2003

2:30 PM

I look back at my recent journal entries and realize that I've been a pretty pathetic journal keeper here for awhile. I could give excuses like the festi-biker's visit and having to put up my Michigan Womyn's Music Festival journal photos and entry before that, but if I'm honest, I'd have to admit that I didn't want to write about my day-to-day life because, until the bikers came to visit, there was little to say.

This foot/ankle healing has been quite a challenge. Swollen more days than not, still painful when I tried to walk, and at risk because of a constantly-buckling right knee, this injury has definitely cramped my style. For someone to whom independence is a BIG issue, only coming downstairs once a day because I have to ride on my bum coming down and get help going back up, having limited outside-time on my scooter because I need someone to push me back inside the house in my Mom's wheelchair...well, it's no wonder I've been in a funk. Add to that my feeling that I can't make any future plans because I don't know how soon it will be before I can drive again, and you get the picture.

Now, if I could be assured this was a temporary situation, I could stay upbeat, but my fear is that this is ushering in a new level of disability. What if my knee continues to buckle, always putting me at risk of falls? What if these weeks of inactivity make it impossible for me to regain the former strength I had in my legs, feet and ankles? What if my days as a walking person are numbered?

All these questions rattle around my unsettled brain. As I say, it has not been an easy time.

But, after saying all that, yesterday gave me moments of encouragement. For the first time in four weeks I was able to lift my legs without Ed's help and walk halfway up the stairs by myself when going to bed last night. And that was without using my ankle and knee braces. I also started doing a little exercise on my stationary bike, and although I was weak, at least it was a start. Next Wednesday, I have an appointment with the orthopedic surgeon, and in addition to seeing about getting a plastic custom-fitted brace to keep my knee from buckling, I'm going to request a series of physical therapy treatments. I can even scoot to those.

And today my ankle and foot are the least swollen they've been since the injury. Yes, I am definitely on the mend. And I WILL walk again!!!

8:30 PM

This day started on a positive note and got better as it went on. At 3 PM a sales representative from a home medical equipment company came over to give us estimates on installing a lift for outside the house and a stair glide for inside. He had good news on both fronts. The best news was that Ed's idea about installing a lift that would go from the side door of our garage, across a small bricked-in court, and up to the screened porch is feasible. Not only feasible but less expensive than the ramp and sidewalk we'd gotten an estimate on from a construction company representative last week. This would mean the front of our wonderful old house would not be changed. It also means that I could easily scoot or walk with my walker from the garage into the house without having to cover much ground. We're going to get more estimates, but both Ed and I are feeling very encouraged tonight. The stair glide will not be perfect--there will still be one step up to it from the front hall and a half a step from it to the upstairs hall--but it will be a big help. This is assuming we can get a variance from the city building inspector because our stairwell is so narrow that we'd be in violation of the safe egress law. Old houses make their own rules.

After that appointment I scooted down to the park for a most welcome swim. I had the lap lane all to myself and, instead of counting laps as is my habit, I simply swam until my body said it was done. I then did some knee bend exercises in the water before getting out and taking a nice hot shower. There was a strong breeze off the water so I sat out on the dock and let it clear my cobwebby mind of all concerns. After a dinner of french fries and a grilled cheese sandwich--probably my last of the season--I scooted home where my hero met me and pushed me up into the house. I'm now nibbling fresh watermelon and feeling delightfully tired. Life is good.

FRIDAY, AUGUST 29, 2003

As you probably surmised, it was not the easiest thing for me to share my feelings and fears in yesterday's journal entry. It's not that I mind being honest, it's just that I don't want to risk giving myself a pity-party. But the response I received from Penny, a friend and regular reader, helped me see things in a different light. She said:

Just read your journal. Oh Patricia, the honesty with which you write about your life is so good. The way you document your ups and downs gives all of us permission to have those ups and downs too! I sometimes worry that you don't give yourself enough permission for feeling "down". I want you to know that I am always open to a conversation or just to be a listening ear for your worries as well as for your accomplishments. It is usually people's weaknesses that make me feel closer to them. I like a friendship where both weaknesses and joys can be shared. And I especially appreciate the personal nature of what you have shared the last couple of days in your journal. While I admire your "out there" actions in the world, what I find I want to know more about is about what happens "inside" with you!! Though I recognize that at least for me, that is always much more difficult and vulnerable to share. Just wanted to let you know both that I appreciate the personal sharing of your own concerns and that I am witness to and a partner in having concerns of my own!

Do we ever know how our words can heal others? These words healed me and I am deeply grateful to Penny for taking the time to share them with me.

I had three more examples today of how reaching out to others can bring life and energy to the giver and to the receiver. My friend Pat K. brought over a delicious lunch and a rough draft of a newspaper article that is being written about her. I dearly loved seeing her, and, according to her, my comments helped her pinpoint what changes to recommend to the journalist and what parts of the article to leave as is. Later in the day I called a dear friend with whom I talk maybe once every couple of months. I just felt the need to connect with her and to experience the exchange of loving energy that always passes between us. And a few hours later I was the recipient of an unexpected phone call from a friend in San Francisco. Jamie said he was going to forward me a political email, but when he sat down to do it, he thought he'd rather talk to me instead. I'm so glad he did! He and his partner are moving to Australia in a month so it was a precious gift to have one last voice-to-voice visit before they leave the country.

From the vantage point of today's encounters, I'd say that if you have an impulse to contact an old (or new) friend, just do it!

SATURDAY, AUGUST 30, 2003

In about an hour Pat K. and I will be off to the 24th Ford Detroit International Jazz Festival. After all, it's Labor Day weekend in Detroit! Today is a perfect day--mixed sun and clouds with a high predicted of 72 degrees F. As you can imagine, I am raring to go! Enjoy your day wherever you are...

SUNDAY, AUGUST 31, 2003

What fun to have so much to write about that I don't have time to do it all justice!!! The Jazz Fest yesterday was glorious. Pat and I got there in time for Jackie Allen's 1:30 PM set at the Pyramid Stage and stayed until 10 PM. We saw and heard the jazz great, bassist Ron Carter, which was my highlight of the day. We'll be going back tomorrow (Labor Day) and plan to stay the entire day. For jazz lovers like ourselves, this weekend is a little bit of heaven. I took a bunch of photos yesterday and plan to take more tomorrow. Then I'll put up a Jazz Fest photo album, probably on Tuesday, so you can see a bit of what we saw.

But today I made music myself--in the company of my sisters--instead of listening to others make it.

Our Great Lakes Basin community had been asked by Carolyn McDade and Jan Devine, recording coordinators of the O Beautiful Gaia CD, to overdub some of our songs. According to an email we received from Penny, our American Great Lakes coordinator, "Carolyn has said over and over that what is there now is solid, faithful work. What we are adding is more melody and heart. Just singing freely and intensely." And so a dozen of us spent four hours in the sound studio on this Sunday of Labor Day weekend, singing for--and with--our sisters. We started the day with a phone call to Carolyn so she could send us her love and encouragement via speaker phone (#1, #2).

The process was quite different from when we'd recorded in June. For one thing, we each wore a headphone so we could hear the original tracks and sing along with them. Because of the computerized nature of current recording techniques, we could keep going back and changing things phrase by phrase when needed, but we'd always start by singing right through the song and trying to get it in one or two takes. Of course we never did, but that didn't discourage Rob, who owns the recording studio in Ann Arbor (Solid Sound) that we used. He was a wonderful facilitator of the process--part cheerleader, part taskmaster, part stand-up comic, and all around competent sound engineer. His thirty years experience showed.

We used four microphones--one for the two lows, one for the two middles, one for the one upper, and one for the seven melody-singers. There was as much listening as there was singing (#1, #2). And because of the intensity of this work, our few rests--#1, #2, #3, #4--were most welcome. We even had a 20-minute break--#1, #2--while Nancy was re-recording her solo, but even then we used the time to practice the Blessing Song (#1, #2). After four hours we had done what we'd set out to do. By the way, if you want to order a copy of this double CD, you can do so by going to our O Beautiful Gaia web site. It is due to come out in November.

I will never again listen to a CD without being aware of all that has gone into its making.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 2003
LABOR DAY

I wasn't planning to put up any pictures tonight. It's midnight and I've had a big day. But--and that's a BIG but--I can't go to sleep without sharing just a bit of today's magic.

I am flying high after experiencing one of those musical moments that you dream about. The moment when you first hear an exceptional artist that you know is destined for greatness. And this jazz pianist is only 24 years old! Ahmad Jamal co-produced her debut CD this year and says, "Hiromi is changing the musical landscape. Her music, charm and spirit let her soar to unimaginable heights. She is nothing short of amazing." I would concur with everything he says. Hiromi does not fit into any box, musically or any other way. After hearing her on this rainy Labor Day evening, this jazz-savy Detroit crowd was on its feet yelling for more. My jazz-loving friend Akira came running up to me after her set and all we could say to one another was, "Oh my God!" As I say, it was one of those moments. I'd bought her CD--"Another Mind"--before hearing her and I'm glad I did. I suspect those CDs were flying off the shelves of the jazz fest store as fast as folks could get themselves over there after hearing her perform. When I did a Google search on Hiromi, this interesting interview came up. Watch out for her. She is something else!

Another magical moment had occurred right before Pat and I went over to the Pyramid Stage to see Hiromi. This came when Joey DeFrancesco, a master of the jazz organ, responded to the thunderous applause of a crowded Waterfront Stage audience with an encore that got people on their feet, singing and waving. It was the most rousing version of "Lift Every Voice And Sing", the African-American National Anthem, that I have ever heard...and that includes my having sung it with a 1000-voice NAACP chorus a number of years ago. How I love this city!

Then there was the blues guitar and vocals of Johnnie Bassett. He tapped into remembrances of my love of R & B, a style of music that I discovered back in the mid-50s, when I was 12 or 13. Anybody remember Jimmy Reed?

And all of this happened because Pat encouraged me not to let the rain keep me home. Oh how tempted I was to cuddle up with a good book and a hot cuppa tea on this cold, rainy morning! But Pat's philosophy was, "Let's try going down to the jazz fest. If it doesn't work out, we can always come home and watch a video." So we headed downtown about noon and managed to see/experience the 1960s-70s icon, John Sinclair, performing his poetry to a blues beat. BJ, Pat's sister, was there too, and we three found that ponchos worked fine to keep us dry. (Three Little Maids From School!). You may notice, there aren't many people sitting behind us, but as the afternoon wore on, the audiences grew. Even families with children started appearing. I must admit I was particularly smitten by this little girl playing with her Mom.

And now, I must go to bed. I'll put up my Ford Detroit International Jazz Festival photo album tomorrow.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 2003

I had more photos from my two days at the Jazz Fest than I'd realized. I've just completed the first step of choosing, resizing, cropping and optimizing each image. I still need to make thumbnails, create a web page for each, and then make the photo album itself. Since I go to the doctor tomorrow morning and have my women's book group meeting here in the evening, it might take a couple more days before the photo album is up and running. I know you understand.

Today we had our third estimate for installing an inside stair lift between the first and second floors, and an outside verticle platform lift to transport me and my scooter or walker the four feet from the garage up into the house. This fellow seemed the most knowledgable and had the best ideas about how to work with the existing layout of our house. I'm feeling very encouraged. We'll probably wait until mid-September before making our final decision. At that time our neighbor and friend, Bill Mackey, will be back home and able to give us expert advice. He is a building contractor who not only understands the modifications we'll be requiring, but has a fellow whom he trusts to do such work. I'll be happy when all of this is done. It will be great to be able to go upstairs and enter the house on my own again. Such simple pleasures.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 2003

The good news is that I am going to school for the first time tomorrow. YIPPEE!!!! The not-so-good news is that it turns out my ankle bone was and still is broken. That's why, five weeks after my fall, it continues to be swollen and not at all happy bearing weight. The orthopedic surgeon said it will probably be another two months before it is fully healed. But in the meantime, he gave me a lace-up canvas brace that makes it possible for me to walk--as much as I'm comfortable doing--and to drive. I tried driving after I got home from the doctor's office, and it felt fine. So that's why I can go to school! I'll drive myself, call Susan the teacher on her cell phone when I arrive, and she'll send down a couple of strong youngsters to take my wheelchair out of the car and push me upstairs to the art class. Thank goddess this school has a ramped entrance and an elevator. I CAN'T WAIT to be with my kids again!!!

So do I wish I'd gone to the doctor right after my injury? He said if I had, he would have casted that leg immediately. And instead of three months healing time, it would probably have only been two. But it would have been really really hard, if not impossible, for me to have gone to the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival with a toe-to-knee cast. So would I have done it any differently, knowing what I know today? I don't think so. Festival was too important for me to imagine having missed it. All that I might have done differently is that I probably would have gone to a walk-in x-ray clinic after returning home from Fest, so I could have gotten an earlier appointment with the orthopedic surgeon. But I suspect we're only talking one week's difference.

In addition to taking x-rays of my right ankle, they x-rayed my right knee as well, the knee that buckles and caused me to fall. The knee that has been buckling off and on for fifteen years and has caused almost all of my falls. He didn't see any bone problems but ordered an MRI to check out the ligaments. If it's a ligament problem, that can be corrected surgically. If nothing shows up on the MRI, he can give me a custom-made knee brace that will help support that knee. At least we're on the path to examining the problem and finding a helpful solution. That makes me feel good.

My women's book group comes here tonight for our monthly meeting. I cannot tell a lie: I haven't read our assigned book (Arundhati Roy's Power Politics), but I think I'll be able to enter into the discussion anyway. Just being in the presence of these women is life-giving, whether I say a word or not.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2003

School days, school days,
Dear old Golden Rule days,
Readin', and 'riting' and 'rithmetic,
Taught to the tune of a hick'ry stick.
You were my queen in calico,
I was your bashful barefoot beau,
And you wrote on my slate, "I love you, Joe"
When we were a couple of kids.

As in years--more like decades--past, I wore a new (almost new) dress to my first day of school, and was so excited I could hardly sleep. It was also my first day driving a car in over five weeks, so there were a lot of "firsts" today.

The driving went fine, which was a relief. My braking foot (left) wore a Birkie sandal, and the gas pedal foot (right) wore a white canvas lace-up ankle brace. They seemed to work well together, which is important. When I arrived at school and had parked in my usual spot across the street from the playground, I called the art teacher Susan on her cell phone--as we'd worked out ahead of time--and she sent three fifth graders down to help me. It was SO GOOD to see them! The two girls and one boy easily got my wheelchair out of the car, set it up and then pushed me up the ramp into school. For them it was a real treat to be able to use the elevator; for me it was a singular treat to be back where I belong, with Susan and "my" kids. The fourth graders are now fifth graders and already they seem older. Hormones were in the air!

They pushed my wheelchair up to a table and I started working on their initial art project which was to write your name in big letters at the top of a long rectangular sheet of paper and then draw and color your house. The kids will be pasting it onto the front of their lockers in preparation for Open House next week; mine will be the first item in my brand new 2003-2004 art folder.

What was new was Susan's heroic schedule. Seven art classes every day!!! The most she has ever had. The education budget cutbacks have affected everything. Fewer teachers mean more classes for art and music teachers, and larger classes for classroom teachers. There are only four fourth grade classes this year, and each has 30-31 kids. Susan had to bring in more chairs to accommodate them. There will be NO field trips, which is very disappointing to us because that cuts out our annual excursions to the Detroit Institute of Arts. The fourth graders will not go on their usual three day camping trip in the spring, and there will be no field trips for the music classes to the Detroit Symphony Orchestra's children's concerts. For the majority of our students, the DIA and DSO will now be totally unknown to them. Most immigrant families do not go there.

Another new thing for me was being with kindergarteners. Oh my, but they are young! One little girl told me proudly that her birthday was this Saturday. "So how old will you be?" She held up five fingers. This little one is only four years old!!! There are different issues with kindergarteners. For one thing, there are the cryers. One little girl had tears flowing down her cheeks during much of the half hour, but still managed to make a lovely drawing. Another, whom the teacher had warned Susan has a tendency to leave, spent much of the half hour under the table. As I say, things are a bit different with this age group! We had two kindergarten classes, one second grade (which seemed old compared to the kindergarteners), and four fifth grade classes. From hormones to tears and back...

I lasted through only five of Susan's seven classes. By 2 PM I was beginning to lose it, so three fifth graders wheeled me down to my car--including a thrilling ride down the ramp!--and I was home by 2:30 PM. I was down for my nap fifteen minutes later. Two and a half hours later I woke up not knowing if it was day or night.

Kids are great but, WHEW, do they ever have the energy!!!

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 5, 2003

I finally finished preparing and putting up my Detroit Jazz Fest 2003 photo album. After completing that project, I began to prepare song sheets to hand out at our Raging Grannies Without Borders table at tomorrow's street fair--Dally In the Alley--over by Wayne State University. I then scooted down to our local Kinko's and had 200 copies made of the song sheets and 200 copies made of our Raging Grannies flyer. Granny Kathy, Charlotte and I will start womaning the table at 11 AM and expect a goodly gaggle of Grannies to join us between 2-4 PM, if not before. The Dally organizers said they'll try to get us onstage between sets, but even if they don't, we'll be singing anyway. That's the way it is with Grannies. Nothing can keep us down.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, 2003

The Raging Grannies Without Borders have had wonderful times in our ten months together, but, in my humble opinion, today beat all! There were only four of us in attendance at the Dally In the Alley street fair, but that was enough. Grannies Kathy, Charlotte, Birdy and I kept the energy up and running for eight solid hours, and never missed a beat. We never did go onstage but we didn't need to. Our table was a stage and the songs never stopped. OK, we'd rest our voices every so often, but not for very long. And did we ever have company in our singing!!! One indication of how many people came to visit us was the fact that we only had 15 song sheets left at the end of the day, and I'd brought 200!

Our gaggle has said from the beginning that we are about education, about causing folks to rethink their opinions. So often we preach to the converted at rallies and demonstrations, but not today. Today we were out among them in a way that allowed for non-confrontational, humorous, musical encounters that truly had the potential for a goodly bit of mind-expansion. And it didn't hurt that our table was next to a beer concession so those waiting in line were our captive audience!

But now this sunburned Granny is too pooped to pop. I'll share stories and pictures tomorrow.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 2003

Today I prepared and put up the Raging Grannies/Dally In the Alley 2003 photo album, had three wonderful phone conversations--one wishing my sister Emily a happy birthday, another with my friend Margaretha in Sweden, and finally to compliment my San Francisco friend Luis on his poignant memoir, A Child Of No Importance--swam twelve lengths of the outdoor pool, visited Eddie at his office, tried a new neighborhood restaurant for dinner, and attended our weekly community peace vigil at 7 PM this evening. I think you can tell I'm definitely feeling better! Now it's time for bed.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 2003

I just realized when I typed today's date that this marks the fifteenth anniversary of my receiving a diagnosis of chronic progressive MS. Fifteen years! That surprises me. In one way it feels like yesterday, and in another, like a lifetime ago. When I look back at who I was and what I was concerned about in 1988, it almost seems like another person. At that time I was still under the thrall of a priest who collected mystic women. I was not yet awake to issues that now mean the world to me. Things like governmental abuses, militarism and war, political chicanery, threats to the environment, corporate globalization, feminism and the patriarchy, lesbian/gay/bisexual/transgender issues, and so much more. But I was aware of and had been committed for years to fighting racism. I'd had the privilege of being accepted into a black community in Detroit's inner city, so had consciousness of inequalities based not only on race but on economic and educational opportunities. I had not yet gotten to know refugees from other countries. That would not happen until 1991. So many paths to walk, people to meet, places to go (within and without), and things to learn. I'm sure that if I'm still around fifteen years from now, I'll be saying the same thing then.

Funny thing is that much of what I feared when I first received the diagnosis of MS--loss of mobility and strength, using various devices, identifying as a woman with a disabilty--has happened. But it has manifested in ways I couldn't have predicted. Nor could I have imagined what my attitude would be. How could I ever have guessed that when I finally got a disabled scooter, it would feel like freedom not restriction? And the same with the proposed changes to our home that will give me greater accessibility. Both the outside and inside lifts we're looking at will make my life so much easier that I couldn't possibly see them as anything negative. How often what we fear comes as a gift, not a curse.

To get back to this day, it was another busy one. A friend from the local peace group and her daughter--Jan and Bridget--drove me to an interesting production that was put on at a Detroit college. "Freedom Sings" is a touring concert/educational event sponsored by the First Amendment Center in Nashville, Tennessee. It gives an historical overview of the interface of music and the First Amendment freedoms of speech, assembly, press, religion and petition. Ken Paulson, the narrator, has a PBS show of his own, as well as being executive director of the First Amendment Center, and the seven performers we saw today are grammy award-winning singers and musicians. They put on a most engaging show, but I would have liked more education about the current threats to the First Amendment posed by this President and his appointees. I mean how can you discuss the Four Freedoms in 2003 and not even mention the Patriot Act?

After arriving back home I had an hour to get my dinner before the next event on my agenda. That was an interview about the Raging Grannies with Amanda Hanlin, a journalist who writes a column on local characters for Real Detroit Weekly, a free entertainment magazine. Fortunately Grannies Kathy and Birdie joined me for the interview. It was fun to chronicle who the Raging Grannies are and what we have been about since our gaggle came into existence ten months ago.

The final event of the day was an utter delight--swimming indoors for the first time since last June. And the new disabled lift at the middle shcool where I swim was ready and waiting! No longer did Tim have to pump me manually in and out of the pool in that funky old hammock-lift. Tonight I was twirled down in a comfortable plastic seat operated by hydraulic power. The only challenge was that it was set too high off the ground, but Tim's going to see that it is adjusted to my height. Otherwise, all was perfection. Especially being in a lap lane to myself. After having to keep my eyes open to the possibility of either being run into head on by another lap swimmer (as happened in June) or being kicked by children crossing in front of me, it was pure joy to be able to relax, swim at my own pace and settle into a comfortable rhythm.

Life is good.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 9, 2003

Did you see tonight's full moon? One can certainly see why they call it a Harvest Moon. It lit up the sky like a spotlight. Stunning, especially over the lake.

Today's goal was to clean out the overloaded email inbox from one of my two screen names. Since I had over 80 unread messages, plus over 100 more that I'd read--many of which I had not yet responded to--it was a time-consuming task. But in the process, I found a request from MoveOn.org for submissions to their proposed book, " MOVEON'S 50 WAYS TO LOVE YOUR COUNTRY: How to Find Your Political Voice and Be a Catalyst for Change." That inspired me to write about how Kathy and I had met at an anti-war rally in Washington, DC last October 26 and decided to start a Raging Grannies gaggle in Detroit. I called it, "Changing More Than the World."

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 2003

I talked to my brother Rabih Haddad in Lebanon today! And not just to Rabih, but also to his 13 year-old daughter Sana. You know, it feels like I'm living back in the 40s again. Remember how exciting it was when you'd talk long distance to someone in another state? Long distance calls were a BIG DEAL back then. Well, calling Lebanon from Detroit feels like a BIG DEAL in 2003. I keep pinching myself to be sure I'm not dreaming. And after all those months in jail, just being able to talk with Rabih at all is amazing.

They're doing all right. Lots and lots of things to work out, though. Finding a school they can afford where they accommodate non-Arabic speakers. Finding a place to live near the school. Waiting for their shipment of household goods to be cleared by the Department of Homeland Security and finally shipped to Lebanon. And of course there's always the challenge of Rabih and/or Sulaima finding work that will support a family of six. All of this coupled with the adjustments that come of living in a country with a different language and customs, especially for the children who have only lived in the United States. But things are moving along.

Sana told me that two days ago they visited the school that she and all three of her brothers--even five year old Oussama--will be attending. She was pleased to see that not only are most of the classes taught in English, but the kids she heard talking in the halls were also speaking English. That was a big relief. She's still anxious about making new friends. A reasonable, perfectly normal anxiety for a ninth grader.

Rabih sounded tired. With good reason, I'd say. Can you imagine having been cooped up by yourself in solitary confinement for over a year and a half, with no outside stimulation and no opportunity to exercise your management skills, and all of a sudden to find yourself responsible for caring for the needs of your family, finding work and doing all of it in a country that may be your country-of-origin but where you haven't lived in decades? That would be enough to tire even the most indefatigable among us...which I think describes Rabih Haddad.

In only five weeks, they have found a school for the kids, as well as an apartment to rent near the school. Pretty darn good! Now the biggest anxiety is the question of when will their household goods arrive. And that is a legitimate anxiety. As is their habit, the U.S. government seems to be doing everything in their power to make life hard for Rabih Haddad and his family. In a recent phone call to the shipping company here in the States, Rabih received word that the Department of Homeland Security had finished examining their shipment but refused to release it for shipment. So members of the Ann Arbor-based Committee to Free Rabih Haddad are now trying to get more information on what is holding things up. As Rabih said with an audible shrug, "So we'll move into our apartment but we won't even have beds to sleep on."

Does it never end? Will the U.S. government never let this righteous man and his family get on with their lives? I told Rabih if they need an advocacy work done, to be assured that their family of friends here in the States are ready to do whatever it takes get their household goods freed from chains. He was comforted by that.

We talked about the possiblity of my coming to visit, perhaps in the spring. Both Rabih and Sana sounded delighted with the prospect. I think it is doable, even with my disability. What an amazing thing it would be to see my brother Rabih for the first time ever, and to again be with my sister Sulaima and the kids. Sounds thrilling actually. I understand that Lebanon is one of the most beautiful countries in the world. Maybe in a few months I'll see for myself.

At one point during our conversation Rabih said, "I was saying to Sulaima just the other day that we hadn't heard from Patricia in awhile. She must have gotten her phone bill." I laughed and told him he was right! But since then we've gotten on a better "international calls" plan, so occasional calls are possible. Actually, Ed was great about that outrageous phone bill. Although he was pleased that I was going to do what I could to reduce the cost in the future, he still said it had been worth it for me to make those calls to Rabih and Sulaima when I did. I agree. And now that Rabih is in the market to get a home computer, we'll be able to communicate by email. That will be sweet. Staying in touch with family is important.

Later:

I have to show you the difference between the old lift I used for two winters to get into the middle school pool where I swim from September-June, and the brand new lift they installed this season (especially for me). Like night and day! Not only is it MUCH easier to for me to get in and out of, but Tim doesn't have to work up a sweat every time I come to swim. My tax dollars at work. Yippee!!!

Another bright light of this rather amazing day was that after swimming hard for 24 lengths, I was able to walk up our stairs to the second floor tonight by myself. Not only by myself but lifting foot-over-foot rather than one foot at a time. Ed was practically cheering! Yep, the ankle is healing.

And tomorrow I go to school. As I've said before, life is good.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 2003

I managed to make it through most of this beautiful late summer day without hearing or reading a word about its being September 11th. None of the kids at school mentioned it; nor did Susan the art teacher. As is my habit, I read no newspapers, listened to no radio news programs, saw no television (except a few minutes of "Seinfeld" while Ed was preparing dinner). He and I didn't talk about it at dinner either.

It wasn't that I didn't know it was September 11th. Of course, I did. It's just that that tragic event has been so thoroughly co-opted by Bush & Co. that I want nothing to do with it. Like the American flag and all things patriotic, this administration has turned me against remembrance of the events of this day two years ago. Not that I won't always feel sadness at the horrific loss of life that happened on just such a blazingly beautiful September day as this, but I refuse to be suckered into feeling what the spin-masters want me to feel, and that is their twisted fears and racial/religious prejudices and desire for unremitting vengeance and sentimental sensationalism.

I will choose my own days to remember. Days like Wednesday, March 19, 2003, the day George W. Bush and his buddies finally got their wish and started bombing the hell out of Iraq. Or Monday, April 14, 2003, the day the repositories of the history of civilization were destroyed and the U.S. occupying forces stood by and let it happen. Or Monday, July 14, 2003, the day my brother Rabih Haddad was secretly deported to Lebanon after having spent nineteen months locked up in jail for a visa violation.

Oh yes, I have my own dates to remember.
.............................................................................................................................................................................

On this day I made art with the kids at school and enjoyed every minute of it. Most of our kindergarten students seemed better adjusted to their new lives as students. Of course, a few still showed signs of discomfort and/or lack of readiness to be in a classroom. Instead of having a little one sitting under the table, today we had a drooler. It didn't seem to bother him that his paper had wet spots on it, but we adults noticed. Then there was the youngster who is prone to panic attacks. He had one when he was asked to color in some stars that Susan had drawn on his paper. But his were the only tears today.

Going from a fifth grade class to kindergarten and back to another fifth grade is rather like trying to adjust your eyes to the sun after having been in a darkened movie theater...and then going right back into another movie theater. You feel kinda blind, for the first few minutes anyway.

After a slow drive home in rush-hour traffic, I had a hankering for a swim. Knowing this might well be my last outdoor swim of the season, I acted on the impulse. Oh, did it feel good!!! I just swam and swam and swam. Didn't even bother to count the lengths. Just swam till I got tired of swimming. Then I took pictures to remember the day and the sun and the lake and the beach and the boats and the bees and the smell of lavender and fathers and children playing in the pool and a woman engrossed in a book beside the harbor and my neighbor Natalie with her freshly-coiffed dog CoCo. It all seemed so precious and fleeting. Already I'm seeing maple leaves dipped in scarlet. And the outdoor pool closes on Sunday. Evenings are getting cooler and fog often greets us in the morning.

Summer, my favorite season of the year, is coming to an end and I don't want to let it go.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 12, 2003

I guess we never know when we'll be given an opportunity to develop compassion. Com-passion, meaning to suffer with. Today I was given a tiny taste of what it must feel like to undergo at least one form of torture. And as I say, I was unprepared.

I went in for an MRI of my right knee--the one that buckles, causing me to fall--with a sense that it would not be particularly pleasant to be enclosed in a cylinder for 20 minutes. I expected discomfort, maybe even a touch of claustrophobia. What I did not expect was the sounds. I'd never heard that MRIs involve the use of excruciatingly loud sounds throughout the entire ordeal. I do not use the word "ordeal" lightly. What especially made it feel like a torture chamber was when the sounds would cease for a blessedly few seconds, only to be followed by more hammering, submachine gunfire and screeches. As Ed said afterwards, torture always uses the techniques of stopping and starting to enhance the pain.

As I was being loaded into the MRI machine--footfirst--the technicians said nothing about what was to come. Even when I said, "I'll just nap in there for 20 minutes", the technician did not respond with a warning that it would be pretty near impossible to nap in what sounds like you're in the middle of a firing range. It was 10-15 minutes into this nightmare that the technicians came into the room to remove my ankle brace that was interfering with the MRI. As they wheeled me out of the chamber, Mary Ann smiled and said, "Oh, I guess I forgot to give you earplugs." I was so spitting mad I could barely speak.

"Why didn't you warn me about these sounds ahead of time?"

"I forgot all about it in my concern to get you up on the table without hurting your broken ankle. I'm so sorry."

There are times when a simple apology is not enough, and this was just such a time. I took the name and address of their supervisor, the technicians' names and assured them--Gerry and Mary Ann--that I would be sending a letter to express my displeasure.

I fear my hearing was impaired.

Luckily Ed had driven me there. In response to his asking what was wrong when he saw my face as they wheeled me out of the room, I just shook my head. I couldn't even speak. All I could do once I was safely in the car and away from that place of torture was sob and sob. After he heard the story, he said just the right thing:

"That might be actionable."

Not that I'm going to sue this place, but it sure helped to know he was as upset as I about what had happened. He then stopped to get us each a vanilla Dairy Queen cone for comfort. It helped. And what also helped was coming right home and writing the letter to Gerry and Mary Ann's supervisor. I'll send it tomorrow with a copy to my orthopedic surgeon who ordered the test.

May Gerry and Mary Ann also learn compassion from this experience. I wouldn't want anyone else ever to have to go through what I went through today.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 13, 2003

Although it isn't even 11 PM yet, my body says it's time for bed. That's what a full day at the Detroit Festival of the Arts will do to you! I'm not even going to begin to try to tell you about what I saw and did--at least not tonight--but I just have to show you a few of my MANY pictures. And since I plan to be there all day tomorrow too, I expect my Festival of the Arts photo album to be quite a production!

The Matrix Theatre Company had invited the O Beautiful Gaia CD project women to sing during their Children's Festival production of "MeadowMorphosis.' It ended up being a duet with two sopranos, Carol Glass and I. But it didn't matter--the teens and youngsters were the stars of this show, as you'll see in these pictures of the deer and wolf, the Canadian geese, and the ancient sturgeon.

Then a dance troop that appeared at the Festival last year was back again. Thank goddess! What Project Bandaloop does on the sides of buildings--in Detroit, it was the Scarab Club building--is hard to believe, even when you're watching it. Their shadows will show you how far they are off the building. Definitely not for the faint of heart!

A new addition this year was what they called a Street Painting Exhibition. Professional and student artists copied paintings from the Detroit Institute of Arts collection but used colored chalk to draw them on the street. It was amazing to watch.

And of course there was live music on at least six different stages throughout the day and evening. This group from Finland--Gjallarhorn--were so original in their sound that I listened with my jaw hanging open during most of their set. I can't wait to hear them again tomorrow.

There is so much more that I haven't even mentioned, but I now have got to go to bed. I'm having to prop my eyelids open with my fingers.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 2003

I had a good day at the Detroit Festival of the Arts, even though I crumped out at 4PM and came home for a much-needed nap. Tomorrow I'll work on my Festival photo album, but tonight other things are on my mind.

After a full month of staying away from the news--as much as I could--I am back in the swim. As you know if you're a regular reader of my journal, when I say "news" I mean the day-to-day reports of violence, abuses, and threats to our planet, its people, creatures and civil liberties posed by the cadre that surrounds our current US president. If you're a regular reader you also know that when I read the news, it is not a spectator sport: I must act on it. And so I did, yesterday and today.

Before going off to Saturday's Festival, I sent off another in my series of group emails to the hundreds of folks on my political email list. I wanted to share with them a poem called "A Moment of Silence" by Emmanuel Ortiz. This poem appeared in my inbox yesterday morning. It gave me chill bumps. From the responses I'm receiving, it did the same for lots of other folks as well.

Then tonight I had to send another message, this one informing people that the Patriot Act II is here. Although President Bush, who introduced it on Wednesday as a curtain-riser to his stage-managed "remembrance" of September 11, is not calling it that, even the slowly-awakening media is. It must be stopped.

My advice to activists is to do as I did: take a breather every so often. During times such as these, it's too easy to burn out. A news-break can be just what the doctor ordered. Believe me, the world will keep spinning on its axis even if you're not there holding it up. After a rest, you see things with a clearer eye and have the energy to do something about it...without doing damage to yourself. I think of Carolyn McDade's song that starts:

No woman is required to build the world
by destroying herself.

The same goes for men and young people.

A little later:

Less than a minute after I'd fowarded my "Patriot Act Is Here" group email to Sr. Jackie Hudson's friend, Sue, I received an email from her. The subject was: "Letter from Jackie." This letter gives you some small idea of how our U.S. prison and jail system treats 65 year-old non-violent nuns. Does our society really need to be "protected" from her?

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 2003

It's bizarre but I think I have almost as many photos from two days at the Detroit Festival of the Arts as I did after eight days at the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival! It's now after 1 AM and, except for perhaps four hours, I worked all day preparing two photo albums of last weekend's pictures. I'm not finished yet, but at least you can see the thumbnail photos on my Detroit Festival of the Arts photo albums. I still have to create webpages for each larger picture, so don't try clicking on the thumbnails yet; if you do, nothing will happen. I trust everything will be up and running by tomorrow night.

I am much indebted to Amy O'Rourke, a member of the audience whom I asked to take photos with my camera during Saturday's Matrix Theatre production of "Meadow-Morphosis" while Carol Glass and I accompanied them in song. I didn't know it beforehand but she is an excellent photographer. Actually, it's partly because of her that I ended up with two photo albums instead of one. I found her pictures too enchanting to try to choose only a few. So I basically put them all up. Hope you enjoy them as much as I.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 2003

Another day spent working on my Detroit Festival of the Arts photo albums, and I'm happy to report they are both up and running. You can access Photo Album #2--the Matrix Theatre's production of "Meadow Morphosis"--either by clicking on this link or by following the link from Photo Album #1. These albums can also be accessed through my Music Festivals page.

In between photos, I read articles and emails about what is happening in the world. There was good news on two fronts that inspired me to send out another group email. And this evening, after a lovely scoot/walk with Eddie to our favorite restaurant for dinner, I sent out one more group email, this one regarding General Wesley Clark's entrance into the campaign for President. In the last few days I'd received three emails from friends in which they forwarded Michael Moore's letter encouraging Wesley Clark to run. In it, Moore referred to General Clark as one who "opposes war", but something was holding me back from embracing this four-star general as an anti-war candidate. When I read the article written by FAIR (Fairness & Accuracy in Reporting), I saw why. It always pays to do some digging on your own. Even persons you admire don't always get it right.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 2003

Today was a red letter day for my dear friend Jeff and his little boy, Noah. This morning in Marin County, California, Noah became the legally adopted son of Jeff!!! At age three-and-a-half, this precious child has had more than his fair share of losses. But no more. Now he has the best forever-Daddy that anyone could ask for. Noah has been living with Jeff since December 18, 2002, and from everything I have seen, it is a perfect match. By the way, Jeff is a single parent, never been married, with no other children, and proud to identify as gay. We've known one another since December 1993 and I respect him as an exceptional human being, and love him as a dear friend. Now I''m trying to talk him into bringing Noah to visit us next summer. Don't you think he'd love the toddler's water playscape and the beach at our park? Let's hold the thought.

In addition to a wonderful phone conversation with Jeff, I also heard from my Canadian sister, Joan. She called to change a meeting to my house so I could attend. I was deeply touched by her thoughtfulness. I'd had trouble sleeping last night fretting about several gatherings I was scheduled to attend at less-than-accessible venues. The O Beautiful Gaia CD Launch planning committee meeting was one. This morning I'd sent an email to Joan and Penny, our Great Lakes Basin coordinators, explaining my concerns and regretfully cancelling my attendance at next Tuesday's meeting. But now, thanks to the thoughtfulness of friends, I can stay at home and on the committee at the same time.

Tonight was a swim night and tomorrow is a school day, so I'm ready to hit the hay.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 2003

My days helping in the art class at school often have moments that I cherish.

One such moment today involved a fifth grade boy who is probably the poorest student we have. It's not that Ali [not his real name] disrupts the class, it's just that he's not there. I don't know where his mind goes, but, believe me, it goes someplace far away. It's rare that he makes any attempt to follow what is going on in class, and rarer still that he finishes the assignments. He hardly ever talks or connects with anyone.

You can imagine my surprise when a girl brought Ali up to my chair a few minutes after I'd arrived. She said, "Ali wants you to sing 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow'." I asked him if this was true; he smiled and nodded. I'd sung "Over the Rainbow" with some students last week, and he must have heard it then. Today I sang the song just for Ali. Rarely have I seen such a beatific expression on anyone's face. He never stopped smiling and his eyes shone. When it was done, he just stood there smiling.

You see what I mean about special moments? The odd thing about this one was that when I'd led singing in his art class last year, I remember Ali was not pleased. Actually I recall his saying aloud, "Stop singing. I don't like it." That may have been the only time I ever heard him speak up in class. It makes me wonder what it was about this classic song from "The Wizard of Oz" that touched him so deeply. Sixty-seven years later, I'm sure Judy Garland would be pleased.

Another special moment came during class #6, a second grade class.

It's been my habit to move from table to table every week, so that I have a chance to spend time with each child. This year I'm trying hard to learn their names. Since most of our kids are Arab-American, the names are unfamiliar to me and I have trouble remembering them. But that's no excuse. Susan, who's as European-American as I, knows every single student's name, and that numbers over 600! I only have about 160 names to learn. But because I can only do this bit-by-bit, I've started asking each child at whose table I sit to tell me her/his name and I write it down. The students' favorite part is when I ask them to quiz me at the end of class. I have to admit I'm finding it slow going.

It isn't just names I'm trying to learn; it's Arabic as well. At least enough phrases to be polite to Rabih and Sulaima's family and friends when I visit them in Lebanon. Until last week all I knew was "Assalamu Aalikum" (a common greeting that means, "Peace be to you") to which one replies, "Aalikum Assalamu." But the second graders with whom I sat last Thursday managed to teach me how to say, "Thank you" ("shukran"), "Please" ("Minfadlik"), "My name is___" ("Ismy___"), and "What is your name?" ("Ma ismok?"). Again, I'm a slow learner, but the kids are patient.

So today I was at a different second grade table. Do you know the first question the kids asked me? "What Arabic words do you want to learn today?" Obviously all the children knew I was trying to learn Arabic.

Did I ever tell you how much I love these kids? Of course I have. But I suspect anyone would love them. My guess is that if someone who was prejudiced against persons of Arab descent sat in on one of our classes, it might take them all of an hour to experience a shift in attitude. We can only hate what we don't know. And even then it's hard to hate children.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 2003

I heard the sound of gentle rain throughout the night. The far reaches of Hurricane Isabel. Nothing like what it was like for my sister Carolyn who lives in the Maryland suburbs of Washington. DC. She called this morning from home--everyone's been off work for two days. Isabel went through last night and left devastation in her wake, but Carolyn's house was unharmed and even her trees remained standing. However, as was true for the majority of people in the Washington area, she had no power. Since she has a well, this means no water either. But she'd stored gallons of water before Isabel hit, so she was managing fine. She'd been trying without immediate success to reach our first cousins in North Carolina, all of whom were directly in the path of the hurricane. What a ferocious storm! It brought back memories of Hurricane Hazel in 1954.

I can see us all curled up together in the den of our house in Northern Virginia. We had no electricity, but made do with candles. My Dad was less concerned about our house in the city than he was about our sailboat moored in an inlet off the Chesapeake Bay. And his worry was well founded. Captain Belkie from the boatyard next to our rented cottage called to tell Dad that our boat, a 28' wooden Chesapeake Cruisekin, had broken free from its mooring, hit the dock and had a good-sized hole in her hull. But Captain Belkie had rescued her and now had our boat tied up at his boatyard. Fortunately the hole was high above the water line so Harem wasn't in danger of sinking. But you can be sure we got down to the beach as soon as we could. There's an old black-and-white photo of twelve-year-old Patsy running down to the dock on that overcast, windy day in October of 1954. What I remember about that day was seeing the water so high that it was practically washing over the docks. Funny what things stick in your mind.

Well, it wasn't anything like that here in Michigan today. Actually, the rain even stopped before noon. I was happy about that because I had a 1:30 PM haircutting appointment a mile away, and I'd planned to scoot down there. So I did. The smells were so autumnal! There's nothing like rain to bring out all the earthy fragrances that are forgotten on sunny days.

I got my hair cut--long overdue!--and then kept scooting down to the local Staples store. I needed a black ink cartridge for my printer and a package of glossy photo paper. Tomorrow the Raging Grannies meet here and I had many things to copy and a photo collage to make for our dear Granny Birdie who is moving to Sacramento, CA on October 1.

On the way I stopped to take several pictures of a nursery with chrysanthemums (#1, #2), pansies (#1, #2, #3), and a Rose of Sharon flowering tree out front. As lovely as their flowers and plants were, I must say I was more charmed by these flowers growing against my neighbor Helen's white picket fence. And even this overgrown bush with its red trumpet flowers blowing in the breeze behind Staples made me catch my breath.

I did my business at Staples and then scooted another mile to the grocery store. Then it was on to Eddie's office where we sat in his courtyard while I nibbled on breadsticks, cream cheese with onions and chives, Cheetos and an Odwalla carrot juice. At least the carrot jusice was healthy! By then the skies were looking quite threatening, so dear Eddie, my hero, packed my scooter in his car and drove me home. That was about 4:30 PM, and it's now 12:30 AM. I've been working on Raging Grannies business practically the whole time. For some reason I never mind doing Grannies' work. I guess that's a sign that you're doing what is yours to do. But now, it is mine to go to bed!

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 2003

What a BIG DAY! The Raging Grannies met here this afternoon but Mercury Retrograde made things a bit tough. Everyone who came had obstacles to overcome, most of them having to do with expressway closures. It took Grannies Kathy and Birdie an hour to get here when it normally takes no more than thirty minutes. Grannies Barbara R., Judy B. and Barbara McG. got stuck on an expressway that closed with no warning. It took them two hours when it would normally have taken them no more than 45 minutes. Grannies Charlotte and Emily were delayed by a flat tire that, fortunately, Charlotte's son Barry was able to change for them. Granny Judy D., who lives just three miles from my house, was the only one who got here without a problem.

But even then, we had a wonderful gaggle gathering. We practiced five songs--four of them new--in preparation for next Saturday's rally and dinner for the Immigrant Workers Freedom Riders, and talked about upcoming events. We also had to say goodbye to our beloved Granny Birdie who is moving to Sacramento, CA. Lucky Sacramento! Granny Kathy had made an apple walnut cake from scratch this morning as a special farewell gift. It was delicious! Yes, Raging Grannies can cook as well as RAGE.

Because we started late, my next guests arrived before the first group had left.

Pat K. brought Rebecca, an activist new to Detroit, to join us for dinner and a video showing of "Radical Harmonies", the award-winning documentary of the women's music movement. This morning I'd finally opened a video sent to me by WomenVision, only to discover it was a complimentary copy of "Radical Harmonies" that the filmmaker had sent me because I was among those interviewed in the film. I'd seen it only once, at the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival in 2002. I thought Pat, who'd attended many festivals in the past, would enjoy seeing it.

Eddie got us sushi and a salad from Farmer Jack's, and Pat fried up green tomatoes fresh out of her garden, so we had a scrumptious meal. After which Pat, Rebecca and I watched the show. I was right: Pat did love it. Rebecca did too, and so did I.

But now I must admit I am one tired puppy. It's 11 PM and my eyes are bleary. It's time for bed. Tomorrow Ed and I are going to his 55th high school reunion. I have to giggle when I recall how we've gone from dinner dance reunions to dinner reunions and now to a brunch reunion. The stages of life.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 2003

Happy Autumn Equinox! I'm afraid this journal entry is going to be brief. I'm having an eye problem that makes it uncomfortable for me to focus. If there's such a thing as having a cold in your eye, that's what it feels like. My sister Carolyn said it sounds like conjunctivitis. She said maybe I picked it up from the kids at school. I certainly remember that we used to get conjunctivitis when we were children, and we'd have to stay home from school because it was highly contagious. That reminds me that Ed has had runny eyes this week. Maybe he had conjunctivitis too. Anyway, if it hasn't cleared up by tomorrow I'll be calling the opthamologist. The best part of all this eye stuff was that it brought Eddy upstairs to read Saki aloud to me. He's just as his classmates described him at today's reunion--a very thoughtful guy.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 22, 2003

I have been too absorbed in self
Self-absorbed
My vision blurred
My ankle unable to bear my weight

The weight of a world the size of a
laptop screen
Cries contained within commas
Anger blazing out of words backlit in a
darkened room
A world so small my footprint
shades it all

The world is larger than this
It spins and dips on an axis defined by
forces we think we understand but
do not

It contains the uncontainable
the silken path of an ant
the song of a hummingbird's wings
the kick of a baby dancing to her mother's heartbeat
the crash of buildings hit by bombs
the tender moans of elderly lovers
the rush of hurricane-swelled rivers
the whisper of a butterfly breaking free of its cocoon

The world is so large that we can never know it
But we must try

We must keep our eyes
the eyes of our heart and our bodies
open
We must allow silence to teach us as much as
words
We must entertain the mysteries as honored
guests
We must read a line of poetry for every
headline

We must stop every so often and just
be

Be like an old oak on the hillside
Be like the stone buried in a riverbank
Be like the clouds shapeshifting on the winds
Be like the frog with its unblinking eyes

Absorbed in the simple act of existence

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 23, 2003

Out of every experience comes good, if you look for it. What I thought was conjunctivitis taught me a lot about the importance of spending time in reflection. As hard as it was to lose my ability to read books or work at the computer on Sunday, it helped me rediscover the joy of sitting in Ed's great-grandmother's rocker and just rocking. Even though my vision had cleared up by Monday morning, my need to start the day in reflection was stronger than it had been in years. So yesterday and today I started my day by simply rocking. And after rocking for a good while, I read poetry--Mary Oliver's "The Leaf and the Cloud." I can already feel a difference. Not only did I write poetry yesterday, but I experienced a real change of attitude today.

As many friends and faithful readers have noticed of late, I have not been in a very good space. Certainly a good deal of my angst has had roots in the increased disability brought on by breaking my ankle eight weeks ago today. And then the added anxiety of a buckling right knee has not made things easier. But, as they say, maybe you can't change what happens to you but you certainly can change your attitude. Strangely enough, when your attitude improves, often the reality does too. And so it was today.

We'd been waiting for our dear friend and neighbor Bill Mackey to return from Maine so we could get his ideas on making our house more accessible. We'd done our homework by having had four companies come in to give us estimates on installing ramps and/or vertical platform lifts for the outside, and a stair lift for the inside. I was encouraged by the final estimate we'd had on a vertical platform lift, but Eddie was spooked by the prospect. Instead of trying to come to a decision ourselves, we agreed to wait for Bill to get back in town to advise us.

Bill Mackey has worked at many jobs in his life, among them being a building contractor for his own and other people's properties. Ed and Bill have known one another since they used to swim together as teenagers at the Detroit Boat Club pool back in the mid-40s. I've known Bill and his wife Al since they moved in across the street in the mid-70s. They've been kind enough to include us in so many family occasions over the years that we feel like members of the family.

The bottom line is we both trust Bill, especially when it comes to construction and building concerns. And our trust proved to be well founded. To start, he asked all the right questions and listened carefully to my answers. Because he had done so, he was able to come up with an innovative idea that no one else had even considered. It is a switchback ramp that would be built in the small courtyard between our garage and screened porch. The best part is that, not only will it work, but it does not change the front of our house. As I've mentioned before, that is a priority for me. I love the look of this old house and would just as soon not mess it up. Bill is also certain that one of the estimater's ideas about removing a landing in our stair well is doable. That means a stair lift could go directly from the first to the second floor. It also means the stair lift chair would be tucked inside an alcove rather than taking up space in our tiny front hall. And on top of it all, he knows a fellow who can do these jobs for us. We may have to wait--the man is very busy--but it sounds like he'll be worth waiting for. Ed and I are both delighted with these plans!

Whew, that's a real load off my mind. It sure will be nice to have an accessible house, especially with winter coming on.

And the day continued on a high note. Eight women from the O Beautiful Gaia CD Launch committee arrived at 5 PM for dinner--more like a picnic--and our first brainstorming session. Ed had gotten us take-out Middle Eastern food from our favorite Lebanese bakery and everyone seemed to like it. The best part, though, was Joan's homemade butter tarts. Why don't Americans make butter tarts? They are SO good. At least, Joan's are.

Our meeting was most productive. Our CD Launch weekend is November 21-23. We'll have one Launch in Detroit on Friday night and another in Windsor, ONT on Sunday afternoon. Carolyn McDade and our CDs will be with us. We can't wait to hear it!!! My job is to chair the CD Sales committee. Our brainstorming generated a lot of exciting ideas. It's going to be a wonderful weekend.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 2003

It's a lovely rainy night and I let myself stay home from swimming. It wasn't that I didn't want to swim, it was just the getting there and back that put me off. Eddie offered to drive me and my scooter, but I felt too warm and cozy to want to go to all that effort. Lazy me!

This afternoon our friend/neighbor Bill Mackey came over to go through some more detailed plans he'd made regarding the ramp he's helping us build in the side courtyard. Now when I say "courtyard" that makes it sound so grand. What we're talking about is a bricked-in and planted area 6'x22' that is between our garage and the screened-in porch.

I really like the way Bill does things. He masking-taped places to show me where platforms would be, and then showed me the grade the ramp will be by extending his tape measure along the projected path. We tried a couple of different ideas but ended up with the switchback plan that I favor. To Bill, trying different plans means actually having me bring my scooter out to the area we're discussing and see how well I can manuver the turns. When it came down to making the final decison, he said to Ed, "I think we should let Patty decide since she's the one who will be using it." As I say, I like the way Bill does things. And Ed feels very much a part of the process too, so we're all happy.

I spent much of the day preparing for a Raging Grannies event this weekend. We've been invited to sing at the rally and benefit dinner for the Immigrant Worker Freedom Riders who are arriving in town on Saturday on their way to Washington, DC. This is such an historic occasion! Just to give you an idea of who the Immigrant Worker Freedom Riders are, let me quote from some material I found on a Seattle web site:

On September 23, 2003, buses filled with immigrant workers and allies will begin an historic journey from ten cities around the country to Washington, DC to demand dignity and respect for all people, regardless of immigration status. Just as the Freedom Rides of the early 1960s exposed the brutality of legal segregation in the South, today's Freedom Ride will expose the injustice of current policies toward immigrants and create a powerful coalition of voices for change.

Fighting for the Promise: What We Stand For

We are taking the Freedom Ride and building a movement for justice because:

-- We affirm the inherent dignity of all people, regardless of color, religion or immigration status

--We demand equality and justice for all

--We demand respect for our rights: the right to organize, the right to be treated equally, the right to apply for citizenship, the right to reunite our families

--We recommit ourselves to the promise of America

--We believe, in the words of Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., that "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere"

Our primary themes are:

The Road to Citizenship; Reunification of Families; Justice on the Job; and Civil Rights for All.

Buses will leave from Seattle, Minneapolis, San Francisco, Miami, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Houston, Chicago, New York and Boston.

It is a privilege to be part of this struggle for freedom and justice.

We Raging Grannies will be singing five songs, but my favorite is one written by Granny Vicki of the Rochester, NY Raging Grannies that I adapted especially for this event. It goes:

LOST MY FREEDOMS
(Tune: Clementine)

Lost my freedoms, lost my freedoms,
Lost the whole darn Bill of Rights!
Ashcroft thinks it's patriotic
To lock us up good and tight!

If an immigrant or dissenter
Better watch out what you say!
They will call you Un-American;
Don't forget Guantanamo Bay.

If not with 'em, you're against 'em,
Better not protest or think!
If you don't do what they tell you
You could end up in the clink.

No attorney, no good reason,
They'll just hold you in the jail.
Not a letter, not a phone call,
No one there to post your bail.

If you think this cannot happen,
You're not looking at the signs.
What they call the Land of Freedom
Could become like Palestine.

Time to speak out, time to sing out!
Time to march on Washington!
Freedom Riders we are with you.
Sisters, brothers, we are one.

Here in Dearborn and in Dee-troit
Here's the message that we bring
We will not stay safe and silent,

We shout, "Let our freedoms ring!'

© 2003 Patricia Lay-Dorsey. Please use with attribution.