Gratitude

If the flap of a butterfly's wings may cause unexpected, larger changes in the future, what does the present owe the future?

Our children's children will reap the effects of what we do today.

We live, we die - we leave behind traces of our existence, good, bad, indifferent.

Life is death, death is life; a continuum of causes and effects, affecting future generations, affecting the present.

There are two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle. - Albert Einstein.

Life is a miracle
so let's live it that way
Josee

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http://creativewriting-josee.blogspot.com/

Apartheid - it's a question of black and white

I was brought up to be kind, to go to church regularly and to confess my sins every Saturday so that I could receive God on Sunday. Born in Madagascar in the '50's I lived the first six years of my life with predominantly black people. They were my friends, and they were also my servants. We had a cook, a gardener and two young women who cleaned our house and washed clothes. They have all disappeared into the mental mists of time except for our cook, Antoine. I loved him with all my heart and he loved me as though I was his own daughter. I'm sure he's long dead now, but he lives on in my mind. Antoine would leave his home before daybreak every morning and walk many miles to reach our house. He had three formal meals to serve each day - that seems to have been de rigueur for most French colonialists living on the island at that time. Antoine would shop at the open-air market every day, then stand in the swelteringly hot kitchen and prepare perfectly cooked roasts, light flans and whatever else was on his menu for the day. I loved the days Antoine cooked roast beef. He'd prick the meat and stuff plump cloves of garlic in all the holes before putting it into the blazing coal oven. After the meat had spat and sizzled for a while, he'd pull out the roast and pour some of the fragrant juices into a cup and hand it to me. If I close my eyes I can still taste that juice, the oil and blood, the salt and pepper, and, oh, the garlic - all mingled together to make the best broth I've ever tasted. One day my mom and my aunt pooled their money and bought him a bicycle. It was a girl's bike but Antoine didn't care. Cycling to and from our house saved him a lot of time that he could now spend with his own family. He worked from sunrise to after sunset seven days a week, and sometimes if my parents went to a movie he'd volunteer to look after me and my brother. We did crazy things and Antoine would take the blame, stoically shrugging his shoulders and smiling. Then he'd cycle home in the pitch blackness of night, through endless rice paddies, dodging deep potholes in the mud roads and be back at work in our kitchen at daybreak, brewing coffee and baking croissants for breakfast, resplendent in his freshly washed and starched white tunic. You probably think we were a wealthy family, living off the sweat of our servants. To the contrary, we had very little money and my parents sacrificed a lot to pay for our numerous servants - without those jobs their families would starve. In 1956 we flew to South Africa to begin our new lives in the land of milk and honey. Madagascar's natives were getting restless and wanted their country for themselves. I hated South Africa. I couldn't speak either of the official languages and my first day at school was spent crying in the corner of the classroom. The teachers couldn't understand me and I couldn't understand them. When my father came to collect us that first afternoon, he was met by two very miserable kids. He bought us ice creams and sweets and then we walked home. Mom had prepared a feast to celebrate our first day at school - roast beef, mash potatoes followed by a vanilla flan. I cried even more, for my beloved Antoine, my best friend in the world. Walking to school the next morning, I glanced up at my dad. Tears were silently streaming down his face and this, strangely, made me feel a little stronger. All our friends were now white kids and we weren't allowed to talk to anyone who was black. Totally confusing, but I had enough of my own problems so I didn't question my parents too much when they said we had to follow the laws of the country. I did wonder, though, why there weren't any black kids in my school - I mean, they could be there, couldn't they, and talk only to each other, right? I later found out they had their own schools and was told that was a good thing. As years passed I fell into an acceptance that there was a great divide between black and white and the only time I spoke to a black person was when I needed something done. I accepted it when I was told that they were inferior to whites - and that the black folks knew that, and they, too, accepted it. I accepted that we rode on different buses, shopped at different stores, entered rooms through different doors, and sat on different benches in the park - "white" benches were placed under shady trees and "black" benches were on the outskirts of the park, placed on dry sand with no protective shady trees. If a black nanny was in the park looking after a white kid, she was allowed to sit in the shade, but on the grass, not the bench. We had a full-time maid, Emily, who lived in a small room in our backyard. She had a husband and kids, but she lived alone, as was the law. Once in a while her husband would come to visit her, always during the day. He was a miner and lived in a nice enough compound near a gold mine. He had a comfortable cot in a huge dormitory which he shared with two dozen or so other miners. He had to be back at the compound before dark. Once a year he and Emily would both go home to visit their children who were looked after by their extended family. Emily invariably came back pregnant. She would have her child, whom she would keep with her until the next time she went home; then she would leave the infant with her other children and come back alone. Emily diligently saved her money and bought whatever was needed for her own home. When she went home, usually for the whole of December, she'd be loaded down with misshapen cardboard boxes tied with string, an odd chair, and pieces of plastic piping. My dad drove her to the train station. She would sit in the back of the car, of course. The station was divided into two distinct sections and she'd trudge to the black section and buy a ticket home. No sleeper compartments, just uncomfortable wooden benches crammed together for a journey that lasted more than two days. Both my parents had full-time jobs so we needed a replacement and usually Emily would organize one before she left. It never worked out because Emily feared for her job and never properly trained the replacement maid, and so my mother usually landed up firing her, and we would look after ourselves for that time. In my late teens I began to see the unfairness of what was happening in South Africa, especially how SA had changed me, as a person. I found myself ignoring black people, and even worse, when they were around, I totally expected them to not understand whatever it was we were talking about - as though they were unable to make sense of anything. There were times I didn't even see them standing there - except for Emily. I loved her, and over time I got to know about her family, and how sad she was when her youngest child died suddenly and she couldn't be there. She cried for days and my mother cooked her tasty stews and sustaining soups. But her husband wasn't allowed to stay overnight to comfort her, so she spent many a lonely night in her tiny room, on her single bed. We knew she was in pain, but we also realized that their reactions were totally different from us white folks, and she'd get over it, sooner or later- hopefully sooner. Thankfully my outlook changed as I matured, and I had friends of all denominations and colors. When we discussed the political situation in the country, they never criticized me for my color or the privileged lifestyle I led. They accepted me for who I was - and that has been the biggest life lesson I learned - acceptance of people for who they are and not because of color, religion, sex, sexual orientation and all the other crap we tend to look at. Then Black South Africans began to make themselves heard - they rioted and the police tried to stifle their complaints, but over time the world sat up and took notice and realized that there was more than gold and diamonds in this complex country. There were human lives, people who had feelings, who loved and hated, just like everybody else, and whose dignity had been completely obliterated by the boer afrikaaners' regime. But I'm not going to go into that right now - my purpose for writing this is to acknowledge all those people who touched my life, who molded me for better or worse, those people who loved me unconditionally and who were part of my life, who looked after me and wiped away my tears when I should have been wiping away theirs; who comforted me when I should have comforted them and told them that I was sorry that their lives were so dreadful and full of hurt. I love and honor you all - especially you, Antoine and Emily.

Blues, Shoes and the Highway

Who do you think would drop a shoe on the side of a highway? Is it the guy who bought a pair of sneakers, then tossed out the left one because he lost a leg in Iraq last year - and this is the first pair of shoes he's been able to buy since he graduated from therapy? So, why doesn't he donate the useless sneaker? There are plenty of folks just like him out there, and lots of websites that take in odd shoes. Well, he didn't ask to have his freakin' leg blown off, so he could care less if that useless sneaker rots on the side of the road. His leg, or what was left of it, rotted with gangrene and they cut it off and tossed it away, didn't they? Did they care? But it's the cute little baby shoe lying on the highway that freaks me out the most. Did mom toss out the shoe by mistake? And why didn't dad stop the car and run back to pick up his kid's shoe? Why did no one stop for it? ...A stretch limo glides down the highway, music blaring. The couple on the back seat sips champagne and smile happily. A few glasses later, the guy starts to feel amorous and lunges lustily for his date's breasts. She shoves him away. Ugh, his breath stinks and he's on something. She hits the automatic window button and the cold night air rushes in. She pushes her date to the far corner of the car and quickly reaches down and yanks off one of her shoes. She slams the thin heel deep into his cheek. Immediately the blood gushes out. She pulls the shoe out of his face and flings it out the window. Then she screams as he lunges at her again, this time with murder in his eyes. The limo continues down the highway… the shoe rolls to a stop and blood drips onto the tarred road. How many shoes have you seen lying on the roads lately? Who drops these shoes on the highways and byways?

A day in my life

I love the adventure my life presents to me each day. Dozens of people pass in and out of our busy office, some of them wonderful, some irritating or pedantic or downright unlikeable. But we all have one thing in common - we are different. I sit with a farmer and his wife. Quiet and well-mannered, they've been together so long they resemble each other, like an old devoted dog and his mistress. Their life has been hard and has left them with disappointed mouths and gnarly hands and she wears ugly, convoluted silver rings to disguise her arthritic fingers. They grip hands and she smiles resignedly at me. No, no, they can't give themselves permission to have a splendid vacation once in a while - but thank you. That's not what life is about for them. They leave, feet shuffling, backs bent a little more. Life is difficult. Next I meet with a single man, subdued and anxious. He is blind in one eye and his cheeks are mottled with clotted blue veins. He nervously wipes his nose with the scruff of his sweater which is smeared with dabs of miscellaneous white paint and something else - mucus, perhaps? He now lives in his little RV which he parks at the far end of the WalMart parking area. He just lost his job and his wife. Very sad. Then there's the mom and dad and two teenagers who walk into the room and head straight for the food counter. The boy seems to be starving and piles his paper plate high with bagels and cream cheese. He shoves a piece of cheesy bagel into his mouth as he walks towards my table. His cheeks bulge as he sits down and I fear the bagel is trying to escape. He struggles to rearrange his tongue to better accommodate the pulpy mess of dough and cheese. He seems to think if he keeps his mouth open and jiggles his tongue from side to side that the bagel will remain within the grip of his iron jaws. Repulsed yet fascinated, I watch. It's as though I'm watching an animal in the throes of death - a small, white animal struggling against its assailant. Finally, the fight is over and the animal's life blood of cream cheese trickles down the victor's chin. Mom and dad watch indulgently, proud of their son who will one day save the world. Still smiling, dad pulls out his wallet and hands me his credit card. "This will be perfect for our family," he says, satisfied that their future vacations are assured in the manner and style to which he wants his family to be accustomed to. Later on I meet Christopher, who tells me he's a consultant for a raw foods company and his job takes him all around the country. Timeshare would suit his lifestyle of work and meditation, and he will buy it if the price is right. Hmm, that sounds too easy so I question him a little more, and he assures me, hand over heart, that he makes enough money to afford this. I ask him how much he makes. He squeezes his blue eyes shut for a moment then gives me the magic number I need to qualify him as a legitimate candidate. Christopher is relaxed at all times, body totally still, eyes focused. I wonder what they put into those organic brussels sprouts he sells. Perhaps I could grow to love them! His calmness deepens as I show him that he can travel for about 1/60th of the amount that he assures me he spends right now. Do I detect some uneasiness? A tic in his cheek? "I can't do this today, Josee, I don't make as much money as I told you. But someday soon I will, and I'll come back and see you, I promise" Too bad, I think, because I liked this young man and I feel disappointed in him. I tell him so and he turns a little nasty. Nothing I can't handle, of course, but I'm irked to be told by a liar that I'm losing my professionalism and my dignity. I assure him my p&d are intact, but I'm still disappointed in him - he lacks integrity .. . also, he sold himself so cheaply- a free jeep ride. Ah, well, my day is done. Now I'll go home and relax, get ready for tomorrow. Again, I learn that everyone has been given a different journey to complete, a different train to catch, a different station to alight from. And that's okay. Life's a trip - make of it what you will.

Hey, dude, what's your beef?

Nowadays we can manipulate our food sources so they render impeccable-looking fruit and vegetables and plump and juicy medicated animals. Yum. Color-coded dyes, unpronounceable ingredients, growth hormones and antibiotics. Unnaturally supersized, yet visually pleasing. So, what's happened to natural? Isn't it crazy that apples given chemicals and cultivated to be identical to each other and to taste of nothing in particular should be cheaper to buy than the apple that's grown naturally on a little mom and pop farm somewhere? What about beef ? Cows are fed dubious cocktails of growth hormones and expensive antibiotics yet their meat is cheaper to buy than the cow that has eaten only hay and whatever else it can scrounge from the farm fields. As a kid I freaked out when I found a worm in my apple. Now I'm freaked out because I don't find a worm in my perfect apple - unless I can spring for the extra expense to buy an apple that grew naturally. Nothing seems to escape the insidiuous reach of pharmaceutical and agricultural science. Antibiotics are in our foods, so what happens when our bodies are sick and we need antibiotics? A lot of them aren't efficient anymore, so new antibiotics are formulated. It seems to be a continuum. Designer drugs = designer prices - where does this end? Are we going to reach a stage where only the wealthy can be healthy? Let's take a few lessons from our ancestors, the caveman. Cavemen rock! The life of a caveman was a natural one, man and nature in concert with, and respectful of, one another. Man became hungry, looked for food, ate some and stored the rest for the lean months. Man remained lean. The cavemen were tough, resilient people, with a healthy respect for Mother Nature. More importantly, they were an intelligent people. Intelligence is about fulfilling needs which, in turn, creates resourcefulness. Resourceful people are ingenious, imaginative, capable and quick-witted. Living in a cave was a great improvement to living under the stars, at the mercy of Mother Nature’s whims. These cave dwellers struggled with inventing things they could use to fell trees, harness fire, clothe themselves, and feed their family. They had nothing to begin with, and discovered or invented a lot of known survival techniques that we take for granted today. It was they who first used most laws of physics, too. Modern man merely explained them and gave them fancy names. Cavemen lived in harsh conditions where “survival of the fittest” meant that if you couldn't catch your chow you didn't survive. If your neighbor’s club was bigger than yours, you’d be the one with massive head trauma, or dead. Body language and social graces were very important back then. A smile or a frown could be the deciding factor between peace and war. Modern man is made of the same stuff as our forefathers … still inventing - re-inventing and refining what nature gives to us so freely. Modern man is ingenious, which is very good, but when it comes to altering nature, this ingeniousness can often be a hindrance and not a help. Animals are being bred to mature at a much quicker pace, causing them to have thick layers of unnatural, unhealthy fat around their frames. Obesity and global warming are just two of the myriad problems afflicting our world today. Could the simple solution be a question of who eats whom? Do you think if we didn’t breed cows, chickens, lambs and pigs in such large numbers and with so much haste, that perhaps we wouldn’t have so many health and heat problems? English Cumberland sausage, the German Bratwurst, the South African Boerewors, the Spanish Chorizo, the Breakfast sausage, the Lunch sausage... the list goes on and on, and that's only one variation of a myriad of meat by-products. What happened to eating a simple diet? Imagine a world where animals roamed free, where cows were like lions or tigers – rare and exotic – to be admired, or hunted, depending upon your clan's needs, a world where humans and animals alike fed off the greens of the earth, the seasonal berries and legumes. Of course, we can't go back to cavemen days, but surely we can start to take responsibility for our planet? Thriving on human greed is what has brought us to a very sad statistic. About one quarter of the world's adults is overweight. Doesn't that frighten you? It does me. That's my beef.