A MERCY

Gentle Readers,

Yesterday I finished reading A Mercy by Toni Morrison.

I looked at the photo of Morrison's familiar face on the back cover and felt as if her strength and beauty had been transferred directly to the page. Oh, to be such a writer. Pulitzer Prize Winner. Nobel Laureate!

I have also read Beloved, which is amazing, and Song of Solomon, which has a particular passage about a death that moves me to tears every time I think of it.

What a powerful writer Morrison is.

My only disappointment with her is actually Oprah's fault, because Oprah made a movie of Beloved, starring herself. Check out the movie and see what you think, but I don't think Oprah was up to the task. She was a better actress in The Color Purple, before she was so famous and so full of herself.

As usual, though, the book of The Color Purple by Alice Walker is superior to the movie.

I celebrate you Toni Morrison, and you Alice Walker. Yes, you are important black, female writers, but your greatness transcends any particular category.

And Alice Walker, thank you for finding the approximate burial plot Zora Neale Hurston and putting the marker on it that it deserves: A Genius of the South. I love Their Eyes Were Watching God. What a wonderful character Janie is!

I think we need to explore Hurston more in the future and take a look at Maya Angelou, whose poetry and memoirs receive quite a bit of attention, and richly deserved attention it is.

Happy Reading, Gentle Readers.

Love,

Lola

IDENTITY THEFT

I watched the movie Nine, Gentle Readers, based on the Broadway musical of the same name.

It has some big splashy fun production numbers that I really enjoyed.

However, the most interesting character was that of Luisa (Marion Cotillard), film director Guido Contini's (Daniel Day-Lewis) wife.

Once upon a time an actress in Guido's films, Luisa took on the role of Wife and lost her identity. To retrieve it, she must leave Guido.

That's the danger of marriage to a famous or celebrated person. You become the Nobody who accompanies him and is never noticed. People cannot be bothered with you. You feel embarrassed and ashamed all the time because you are in the way. Everything you say is judged as stupid, or when it's intelligent, it's attributed to him.

Anyway, the movie was fun and thought-provoking at the same time. All the women of Nine were great, including Kate Hudson, Fergie, and Penelope Cruz - who can do the most amazing moves with those long gorgeous gams of hers.

The women, however, are stereotypes who revolve around Guido Contini's Sun. The Wife, The Whore, The Mistress, The Muse, The Slut Reporter/Fan. No woman is a well-rounded character. No woman is all things, as Guido Contini is all things.

Something to think about.

Love,

Lola

SAFE AND RESTFUL SLEEP, SLEEP, SLEEP

Gentle Readers,

I was allowed to sleep in my bed last night. Robin began the night on a doggie bed on the floor. I don't know why. She just did.

So I made myself comfortable, and at some point during the night, she joined me. She didn't push me around. I was allowed to stay where I was.

Perhaps Robin read yesterday's message and realized that remaining a bed hog could make her unpopular.

In spite of the large tumor she has, I question the vet's prognosis of four months to live. She's so tough, I suspect she may decide to hang around awhile longer, especially now that she's living the good life.

In another life, I helped take care of a man who was dying from lung cancer. Oh, I adored him. Before the pain got really bad, every day I would take a fresh pitcher of water to him and he would tap his cheek and say, Gimme a kiss right here, baby doll.

I was happy to oblige.

But when he no longer asked for kisses and stayed in bed all day, the hospice nurse was called in. She said he had mere hours to live.

His family came to be with him. They gathered round his bed and cried, Daya-dee, don't leave us!

Daya-dee respected their wishes and lived about another six weeks.

So much for the hospice nurse and her prognosis of mere hours to live.

The man was the one who knew when it was the end. He told me he wanted his son to be called - his oldest son, not the rest of the family.

The son arrived at about 2 a.m. and the kindly man drifted away into lovely, soothing death. He knew when it was his time, and I think Robin will let us know when it is her time.

Love,

Lola

WHO OWNS THE BED?

Gentle Readers,

Poor, pitiful little Robin who is dying of cancer started out as a cuddler in my bed.

Poor, pitiful little dog, I thought. She is so starved for affection and attention. I was simply thrilled to give her the love she deserves.

But cuddling has turned into a turf war; that is, who owns the bed?

Before I can get in the bed at night, Robin hops in and settles down smack dab in the middle. I have to push and shove her as best I can so I can join her in bed. For a poor, pitiful cancer stricken dog, she is mighty heavy and strong when she plants herself in her desired spot.

Last night, I barely got into the bed, and when I did, I was allowed only enough of the sheet to cover half of myself. Robin was on top of the middle of the sheet and would not allow me to pull more onto myself.

I awoke frequently during the night, finding myself in danger of being pushed out of the bed. Robin, I said, You really must let Mommy share the bed and get some sleep.

I was exhausted this morning because I spent the night fighting for a spot in what used to be my bed.

So the question is: Who owns the bed?

The answer is simple: Robin.

Love,

Lola

AND SUMMER WILL NOT COME AGAIN

Gentle Readers,

Robin has come here to live.

Robin has come here to die.

Robin is some sort of bulldog mix. She has had I don't know how many litters of puppies. She has a terrible limp. She has a scar around her neck from being chained. Her ribs are sticking out.

And she has cancer. About four months to live, according to the vet.

My son's young lady love wants her to know what happiness is before she dies, and I think she already has it figured out.

Happiness is curling up in a chair in the family room and getting your tummy scratched.

Happiness is regular meals.

Happiness is a fenced-in backyard where you can run with the other dogs and feel free but safe.

Happiness is batting at Mom's arm when she's reading to make sure Mom doesn't forget you for one second, and you don't get in trouble for wanting attention.

Happiness is getting into Mom's bed at night and cuddling up as close to Mom as you can get.

I named her Robin because it is still spring. Summer will arrive soon, but right now, at this moment, it is still spring and the robins return in the spring.

So Robin has come to us during the spring. We will see her through the summer and care for her and give her all the love she wants and needs.

Then when fall arrives and it is time for the dying that precedes winter, we will see Robin through her death and we will make sure the death is as calm and gentle as possible.

Robin, you are loved.

Robin, this is what happiness is.

I am so glad you are here.

Love,

Lola

CURTAIN RODS: PRICELESS

Gentle Readers,

A friend forwarded this message to me. I think it's quite funny and I hope you enjoy it.

She spent the first day packing her belongings into boxes, crates and suitcases.

On the second day, she had the movers come and collect her things..

On the third day, she sat down for the last time at their beautiful dining room table by candle-light, put on some soft background music, and feasted on a pound of shrimp, a jar of caviar, and a bottle of spring-water.

When she had finished, she went into each and every room and deposited a few half-eaten shrimp shells dipped in caviar into the hollow of the curtain rods.

She then cleaned up the kitchen and left. When the husband returned with his new girlfriend, all was bliss for the first few days. Then slowly, the house began to smell.

They tried everything; cleaning, mopping and airing the place out. Vents were checked for dead rodents and carpets were steam cleaned.

Air fresheners were hung everywhere. Exterminators were brought in to set off gas canisters, during which they had to move out for a few days and in the end they even paid to replace the expensive wool carpeting.

Nothing worked!!!

People stopped coming over to visit.. Repairmen refused to work in the house. The maid quit.

Finally, they could not take the stench any longer and decided to move.

A month later, even though they had cut their price in half, they could not find a buyer for their stinky house.

Word got out, and eventually, even the local realtors refused to return their calls.

Finally, they had to borrow a huge sum of money from the bank to purchase a new place.

The ex-wife called the man and asked how things were going.

He told her the saga of the rotting house. She listened politely and said that she missed her old home terribly and would be willing to reduce her divorce settlement in exchange for getting the house.

Knowing his ex-wife had no idea how bad the smell was, he agreed on a price that was about 1/10th of what the house had been worth, but only if she were to sign the papers that very day.

She agreed and within the hour his lawyers delivered the paperwork.

A week later the man and his girlfriend stood smiling as they watched the moving company pack everything to take to their new home........ .



And to spite the ex-wife, they even took
the
curtain
rods.

I LOVE A HAPPY ENDING, DON'T YOU?

Love,

Lola

THE INFORMANT'S WIFE

Gentle Readers,

After I saw the movie The Informant, starring Matt Damon as Mark Whitacre, a whistle blower who went undercover for the FBI to reveal price fixing schemes, I was curious about the real Mark Whitacre.

So I read Mark Whitacre: Against All Odds by Stevin Hoover.

Of course, Mark Whitacre's story is fascinating. His faith actually grew during the unjust years he spent in prison.

But the person who belongs on the page of Women: We Shall Overcome is Mark's wife, Ginger Whitacre.

Ginger kept the family together and never, ever lost her faith in God and her husband as he struggled with mental illness and was convicted of the crimes HE uncovered. How easy it might have been to say, I've had it with this. I'm outa here.

But not Ginger Whitacre. Every time Mark was moved to a different prison, Ginger moved the family to the area and they spent every minute of every visiting opportunity with Mark. Ginger went back to school and worked as a kindergarten teacher to help support the family. She continues to teach today, using her teaching skills to work with children who come from poverty stricken homes.

She is a woman who has overcome so much, and now she has her beloved husband back at her side -- except when he travels for his new job, which he does a lot.

But Ginger Whitacre is o.k. with Mark's work. In fact, I'd bet the family farm that she's more than o.k. with it because Mark is looking to help people beat cancer. She's willing to share her brilliant husband so he can do his part to save the world.

Ginger Whitacre: Your husband isn't the only one in the family who is intelligent, hard-working, and selfless. I don't want to hurt Mark's feelings, but I'll go so far as to say you top Mark by a bit. I know how hard it is to be the wife who tries to help her husband through every trial -- literally and figuratively -- and tribulation. Sometimes a woman feels helpless.

If you ever felt that way, I don't think you let Mark or your children see it or sense it. You, Ginger Whitacre, you are a strong and amazing woman. Congratulations.

Ginger, if you should happen to read this and would like to post any information about your faith, your marriage, your teaching, your whatever, I'm sure it would be helpful to a lot of women who also have much to overcome.

Love,

Lola