Thoughts on Granny

There’s something interesting about grief. The death of Granny is an event that I like to call “rock bottom,” but it was really just the opposite. I don’t even know if I’m ready to write about it, because she had such an impact on my life that even now I’m still discovering. She will get (another) short story dedicated to her eventually. But for now I’ll give a basic overview.

It’s not the death of Granny, really, but the life of Mrs. Daisy Huffstickler Hudgens that changed me. For the nine months I spent abroad, updates on family would stress and frustrate me. I felt helpless to change it. I felt guilty I wasn’t there.

Then the summer came, which provided me with the chance to spend three months with Granny. I lived with her and took care of her, including but not limited to dressing, bathing, feeding, and administering pills. But the times in between all of that—all of the conversations and silences—were the life-changing part. I felt helpless and unprepared. I felt stressed and frustrated, and then guilty for being stressed and frustrated. I felt like I was going crazy. I was in back woods North Carolina with no friends, no real civilization, and what felt like no freedom.

We almost lost her at the beginning of the summer. She had a few heart attacks and had luckily not yet signed a DNR order, so she spent weeks in the hospital, in ICU, and then another month in a rehab facility. So I spent my days there. And held her hand, and listened to her complain about doctors’ cold hands (“your fingers are like ice!”) and how the nurses were too rough with her (“ohhh foot, your tryin’a keel me.”). And she was adorable. Like, really, really adorable. Especially when she would talk without her dentures.

And she loved to hear stories about the family. Paul and the wedding that May (“that’s Paul? He’s got hair like a girl!”) and Jessica finally discovering that Granny wore a prosthetic breast (“what did Jessie say about my boob?”). And talking about how she didn’t know what she was going to do without her nurse. Me. Sometimes when I would get her undressed for bed, she would say (with no teeth in, of course), “Johanner, what are you going to do when you don’t have a Granny to look after?” And I would always say, “I don’t know, Granny, I just don’t know.”

And the truth is, I didn’t. I grew to love her, beyond the love that is automatically reserved for family members. It was that generous, selfless love that comes from loving someone’s soul and being beyond the limitations and faults. Of which she had few, minus perhaps the forgetfulness and inability to walk.

But she was so strong. That’s what I’ll remember most. Her brother, Max, would come by once a week or so to visit, and he would say that her will to live was the only thing keeping her alive. “When the Good Lord is ready to take her,” he’d say, “the Good Lord himself is gunna hafta come n’ drag her to heaven.” She made it through two types of cancer, disease and infection, and you couldn’t tell from the level of her spirit. I learned what joy looked like.

And it was true, she wasn’t going anywhere until she was good and ready, and that applied to things beyond heaven. On the flip side, when she was ready to go somewhere, there was really no way to stop her. We had to check her out of the rehab facility early because she would get up and push her way to the door. And oh man, the physical strength that woman could muster when it meant going home and getting back to her cat. That cat. Jesus. Tinker didn’t like anyone but Granny, and she would stay up for hours at night either fussing at or fussing over him.

So I still wonder what to do without Granny around. But I do know that I am so grateful she was a part of my life. I spent nine months abroad learning about other cultures, other people, other ways of knowing. But it took me those three months of being in the sticks of North Carolina to learn what love was. Going back to school that semester was a time of purging my life of the bad, the negative, the hurtful. But after Granny died, this semester was spent reeling in the good, the positive, the joyful. Soaking up every moment and appreciating them in all their beauty. And I know that she was a big part of that.

There's a lesson I learned from Granny that I always say, but never fully understood until last summer. Love isn’t something you feel, it’s something you do.

And I hope I can live up to how well she did that.

Bouldering, backpacking, and bro

So I'm going bouldering today after I talk to my professor. Which I'm slightly nervous about because he may or may not have read my paper already. But yay bouldering! It's been a while.

I'm also planning a weekend backpacking trip with my sister Krista. We're in the process of finding a small tent (we have six-person tents, which isn't very conducive to packing. Or more specifically, packing light). But I'm so excited. This is the trail we're looking at: Maddron Bald Loop. Not bad for a weekend, and a beginner.

Lastly, my brother made the local news the other day for Hattie's Crawfish Festival. He's not cooking, but doing what I assume to be his number two favorite activity: eating. It runs in the family, I tell you. He's the one laughing and looking like he's having a really good time. That must also run in the family. :)

Requests!

I want addresses. I was talking to someone about stationary the other week and I realized that, for all of the stationary I own, I don't write very many letters anymore. So I would like your address. You can put it as a comment, or email me. Seriously. I will write you, I promise. I'm buying stamps tomorrow. It's time I committed to something. Might as well start small, right?

Also, I would really love some book recommendations. Fiction and Non, wacky and thoughtful, intellectual and shallow. I want to read a lot this summer, too. FOR FUN. Gosh, I can't wait.

Lastly, if I haven't told you something that I enjoy about you lately, tell me. I really should be more open with the people that I care for, even if it's about nothing more than why I care for them. And if you're reading this, I cared about you enough to give you my blog. So that's pretty special, making you pretty special.


Damn, I'm in way too good a mood. (That was a lot of "oo" in the previous sentence...weird.)

A Lesson From Smitu

So I didn't have time to write last night. I was phoning it up, and then my body was so tired from the beach that I just went to sleep. Now that everything's over, I'm not really sure to do with my time, but spending it in front of the computer doesn't really seem like fun at the moment. So I'm going to take my journal outside instead, along with the Tao of Pooh (I started reading it again yesterday at the beach), and my graduation dress. So I can write, read, or sew in a zipper. Seems like a good day to spend in the grass.

Anyway, I wanted to write down something I wrote for my IHP professor, Smitu Kothari. He passed away kind of suddenly over my spring break this year, and at the beginning of the month we had a little celebration of life in Boston while they had one in Delhi. Anyway, it was a great ceremony, and full of stories about him and how funny he was. It's interesting to me the impact that someone can have on your life, just by knowing them for a short while. Once you got to know Smitu... well, he was inspiring. It was one of those moments when he died where it seemed like the world should just stop moving and take notice.

So we had a prayer flag, and a chance to write a memory, or a message. I wrote mine, but as we all know I like to keep my feelings to myself. So I didn't put it on the prayer flag...but I'll write it here instead. It was in India when I realized that there are many places in a social movement, and many ways to make change... there's this whole metaphor with a candle... if you're interested, I'll explain later. But anyway... this is for Smitu, and a big thanks for his part in my life.

a lesson from Smitu:

it's not what you do with
your life
it's what you do in it.
it is not the outcome
but the actions (
the pure act of living
is a movement
of justice
of peace
of love.)

--jrh

Done done done

And I'm off to the beach... it's amazing how much I can get done when the prospect of going to the coast for the afternoon is dangled in front of my face.

I'll probably be exhausted and won't go into Boston tonight, but that's great news for you because then I can take a moment and maybe write a serious, thoughtful blog post. On a Friday night. Ha.

Aw

There is an albino spider crawling on the ceiling above my bed.

It's too cute to kill!

Damn it.

These Skittles have gelatin.

Worst vegan ever.

The Miserable Luck of a Fattie

So, I will first say that I know I'm not fat. I feel like I should mention that because otherwise I'm going to get very angry comments. I'm very happy with my body, thanks. When I say "fattie" I do not mean to imply anything about my body shape, but rather the amount of food that I put into my body. Which is a lot. And my overwhelming desire to eat basically all the time has led to, among other things, a credit card bill full of restaurant tabs (along with drinking tabs, gas, and my cell phone bill. Not much else.).

Tonight... well, my overwhelming desire to eat just lost me $5. That's right. First of all, I'm in Pendleton (please see my balloon story if you're confused), and I didn't bring food with me. It's like, a five minute walk back to my room, but if I went back, I would never leave, and therefore never finish this paper. Besides, my room is stocked with the very basics right now-- beer, hommus, carrots, almonds, and pickles-- which I've been sustaining myself on for a week now. So I want something different.

So I need change for the vending machine so that I can buy one of three vegan things in there (none of which are healthy, but that's beside the point). All I have is a five dollar bill. Being the smart person that I am, I know that the copying machine takes five dollar bills. So I insert my five dollars and then hit the change button... and then realize I have to make a copy before I can get change.

Of course I stick my head under the copy machine (and oh yes, someone passed by at this point) and make the silliest face I can think of, and hit the green "copy" button.

Nothing happens.

The machine is broken. Not broken enough not to take my five dollars, NO. Only broken enough to make me self-depricate to no avail.

So I lost five dollars. Sigh. And it all would've been totally worth it if I could've gotten change.

My life is average...

I just thought I would pass this around. Everyone's gotten really into the fmylife.com site lately, but for some of us, it's not really all that easy to relate to, or at least not all the time.

So for those of us whose lives are average (and maybe even slightly boring), I give you: mylifeisaverage.com.

Enjoy!

I'm sick :(

I'm dying.

...That was dramatic. But my throat is KILLING me. I'm sure the stress over Zapatista paper/finals had something to do with it. And also perhaps the fact that my 3 hours in the car to and from Amherst to visit with Molly and Emma was spent singing very loudly along to my music.

So clearly the best recourse for this is drinking beer. And going to sleep early. I'll write my last paper tomorrow. (Last paper of my college career, perhaps? Cross yo' fingers, bitches!)

My throat is so hoarse... I just tried to squeal out of excitement, and no sound came out of my mouth. Though I did hear the dog barking downstairs...

I'm not in an over-thinking sort of mood right now (you're thinking "WHAT? Does that Johanna even exist??" I assure you it does), so I'll save the things more serious to talk about later. Right now I have just been enjoying every moment without thinking of their implications. That's for another time.

So to end this, I'll leave you with a video that makes fun of college kids. I think I'm allowed to do that since I won't be a college kid very, very soon.


Police Slog Through 40,000 Insipid Party Pics To Find Cause Of Dorm Fire

Sad.

So I'm sitting in the Atrium doing my work, surrounded by the Emerald Palace from the Wizard of Oz. (Backstory: senior prank every year is to decorate buildings, and Pendleton was the WOO. You can imagine my delight. Especially because they also took my idea to recycle bottles to use as decorations. It's was a recycled Emerald Palace. Marvelous.) I'm going to tell it as a story:

It's finals, people are being extremely quiet and getting their work done. You're quietly procrastinating. Seniors are gearing up to party and graduate and celebrate Wellesley either though reminiscing over Wellesley memories or imagining how great it will be to have Wellesley as a just a memory.

And then, from beyond the clickity-clack of computer keys, you hear something. "Sssssssssss." This hissing noise is coming from behind you and don't want to turn around because, much like smiling at strangers on campus, a turn will incite glares hinged with "mind your own business." So you remain in your mime-like cubicle as the hissing becomes closer. Suddenly you see it out of the corner of your eye: a custodian. He's walking by, pulling balloons off the wall, one by one, and cutting holes in them. He drops them on the floor, and the balloons squirm as air is released. You, as a senior, find this to be very symbolic of your relationship with Wellesley as the institution. You feel like you're withering away. Your soul is a deflating balloon.

Just as you laugh to yourself over the balloons, the custodian either can't reach or has become impatient. "POP." He is now popping balloons, and you notice the stop of the clickity-clack. Everyone has noticed. The balloons, themselves now penetrated , have penetrated the mime-like cubicles of Wellesley students.

As it turns out, people are aware of life off the computer screen during finals. Even if they still glare when you smile.


Okay, I really could make up an entire story based off of that one situation, but I really should get back to replyforall stuff since I actually get PAID for writing there. Though it's not nearly as entertaining.

It's over...

and I'm flipping ecstatic. Flipping. Yes. I want to do flips. Because it's finally OVER.

What, you ask? Well, you haven't been talking to me lately if you don't know.

Zapatistas can suck it because my paper is done and turned in and it's late and I don't carrreeeeeee. (I'm saying that to the tune of a song. A song I just made up in my head.) (Zapatistas, don't really suck it. I just spent 20 pages defending you, I really like you. Really the paper can suck it.)

Alright, it's four AM which means in a couple of hours I will have been up for one complete day, and while that's probably the most entertaining time to be around me, I don't think it really comes across in writing (it's so hard to convey tone!).

So I am excited for today because it's Sunday and I get to see Molly and Emma. And that will complete an almost perfect weekend. Near perfect. Like, pretty up there as far as weekends go...yeah.

And, to complete this post before I finish this beer and fall asleep to the birds chirping outside my window, I will make one of my handy lists.

Best things EVER when you're in a good mood, but not so much if you're in a bad one:

1.)Birds chirping outside the window
2.)Kids saying (you guessed it) the darnedest things
3.)Rain on your face when you've forgotten an umbrella
4.)Loud music to the point of obnoxious-ity (yeah, is there no noun for that? Interesting discovery...)
5.)Chills
6.)Lots of giggling
7.)PDA
8.)Someone blowing up your phone

Okay, that's all I can think of at the moment. It's kind of hard to think of things that wouldn't be awesome if you were in a bad mood. Because I'm kinda delirious right now. But eight things is actually a lot. Hm. I'll have to work on that when I'm in a bad mood to cut that list down.

ALLLLSO. My element is water. (If you're an IHPer, you should read this the same way Helena said it during the Captain Planet group checks. If you're not, ask me for my impression.)

Picture from abroad, because why the hell not:
This week's quiz: name this tree.

I love big trees.

I want to go camping.

(and then I found $20)

Squawk!

I have no reason to title my blog post that, except that I think it is a really funny word to say. But only if you actually squawk whilst saying the word "squawk." Give it a try, seriously. HILARIOUS, right?

Okay, so I'm sorry my last post was boring, especially after I'd gone two months. We're going to spice up this blog with some cool video or something. I am more fun in person than I am in my blog, and I find that to be an epic fail. So here's an adorable video of some otters. Don't stop watching-- if you think it's cute, see it through because it just gets cuter.


Also, I've been thinking lately about-- and sorry to have to read about this after talking to you, Tonya-- transexuals and transition drugs/surgery. My friend from abroad is engaged/committed to a woman who is transitioning into a man. First, let me say that I really knew nothing about this area. I feel like coming from my background, I was already at a disadvantage, but even at Wellesley where I know people are transitioning, it's never been on my mind or in my vision. Now knowing someone who is going through this, it's really interesting to delve into a topic so far removed from my everyday interactions.

I should say that I have met Cayes (pronounced Kye) and he is such a great person. Really chill, loves Britney Spears (which we all know is my not-so-secret guilty pleasure), and is down with just about everyone. Understanding on a more personal level the reasons that someone is going through this and making this change has been a lesson to me in knowing myself. For someone to come to the conclusion that they are living in the wrong body sexually speaking not only shows deep awareness of themselves, but to act upon that knowledge in a way to improve your life shows great courage. Especially when considering that, by taking such a big step, you are alienating and sometimes exiling yourself from friends and family. It's amazing how much I've grown to respect Cayes and even (without knowing them personally) FTM transitioners in general from being able to fully understand the reasons for and the reactions to such a life-changing decision.

So anyway, I guess I'm just going to mention that he is reaching out to friends for help getting him to the West Coast, and also to raise money to have top surgery (bust removal, basically). He's asking $10 a person, and while I know money's tight, it's the same amount as a shot of liquor in a bar, and therefore I think it's important to consider the impact this would have on his life. Here's his facebook event page about raising money, his donations page, and videos of him documenting his transition from female to male. (I should also mention that, from a journalistic standpoint, I think it's valuable that he documents this transition for himself; but to put it out there with the intention of showing solidarity to other FTM transitioners and those questioning it for themselves, I find that to be really amazing.) The videos are well done in their own right, but I think it's nice to watch even if you don't really care about Cayes personally, because it documents and raises awareness about an issue that is largely kept at society's periphery.

Also, Cayes in Kreyol means "home, house" which had special meaning to him because he finally feels at home with himself. Very cool.

Alright, that's all for tonight. I have to write a paper tomorrow to turn in late about the Zapatistas, and I already have someone wanting to read it. First late paper EVER, and a drop in my grade, but it's totally worth it. Life's more important than the academic institution.

Quiz? I feel like no one tried to answer my last question. So that makes y'all lame, too. I hope you will get the pop culture reference: NO QUIZ FOR YOU! (There should be some foreign accent when reading that...)



Bed time.

Who is this person?!?

I don't really have a lot of updates. Except that I've been going out entirely too much and haven't really been getting work done. Could be because of Boy, but I really can't blame him all that much since I was queen of procrastination before he arrived on the crime scene that is my life.

So I don't really know what to say. I don't know if I'm graduating until 3 days before commencement. That sucks, but at least they're reopening my case. I am writing a paper about the Zapatistas and land reform in Mexico. I have to write a paper for Gender Studies. And I have some (paid) blogging to do for replyforall. All in one day? Unlikely. But I'll try.

As for Boy, don't ask a lot of questions. It's short term, and it's great. I like that I can be myself and open up completely and its not weird or scary or anything. I find myself acting like a person who hasn't been treated like shit in past relationships. I mean, really, where are my issues? My defense mechanisms? My undeniable need to run far, far away? To hide my feelings, even from myself? It's strange. It's not going to last or anything, but at least I know the kind of guy I'm looking for, right?

As for everything else, life is pretty crappy (with this whole graduation thing and all), but I'm taking it in stride. What else can you do, right?

I've also been thinking a lot about what I'm supposed to be doing in life, and after talking to Adam a couple of weekends ago, I'm thinking of taking a sharp turn down a different life path... not really sure if it's worth all of the trouble, or worth writing about yet.

AND, do not get your palm read if you are an overanalyzer like me. So, for my quiz, what's my element? It came up on my palm apparently (yes, Tao Te Ching), but take a guess!

Sorry, I'm stressed for time and my post sucks. Better luck next time. Maybe when finals end.