Can I Touch You Here?

Dancing. Out with on the dance floor, enjoying some cover band, some nondescript band. Wait - I can describe them. Fedoras on the men, Spandex on the women. Is that enough? More? They played a little Prince, they played a little MJ. (It's much more cool to call him MJ than by his given name. I think it lessens the sting of his adulthood to our party going ears.) I moved to the dance floor with a friend who dances to her own beat even as the music pounds around her. I'm often laughing when we go out together because she is so profoundly free. I get caught up in admiration mingled with a teensy tug of envy and I find myself smiling at her effortless ease in simply being Janet.

So I was dancing in the space that is Janet and I felt a hand on my waist. Not such an unusual thing, to be asked to dance. I turned to the man and we moved to a spot on the floor and then it happened. "Can I touch you here?" His hand was still on my waist. Well, we were dancing. It seemed benign.

"Sure." It was a nice evening. I'd had a cocktail. The music was...there was music if not wonderful music.

His hand moved up my ribs. "Can I touch you here?" Whoa! His hand kept going now it was, where? "Can I touch you here?" He had his hand under my arm. Now I'm not talking about around my back, guiding me blissfully around the floor by cupping my scapula in some sort of Fred Astaire move. No, this guy was sticking his fingers into my armpit. He was performing some sort of axillary massage.

How many ways can my eyes say no? My mouth said it once. I removed his hand from my 'here' and I returned to my table. Fellas, that's not a flirt, that's a deal breaker. If the club had a shower, I'd have been there.

The closest I've come to that sort of thing was the man who asked me, in front of a couple of male friends, if he could "rub this lotion on your feet". He had produced a large bottle of lotion and was holding it in front of him. This took place at a singles mixer about 5 years ago. Paul, remember that? Yeah, same suave moves.

Anyway, I've been thinking about how we let people touch us, or not.

I had dinner with my sister last weekend and she asked me something that set off a chain of thoughts that I've wanted to put down in words. She asked me why our Dad kept us separate when he visited Houston. I told her it may have been because he wanted each of us to have special time with him. That's not entirely true. Part of it was me.

It took a very long time for me to establish trust with my father, to be able to talk to him about who I was dating. At first he was hesitant to accept that sometimes I dated outside of my race and we had some heated conversations around that. I was hypersensitive for a very long time and I worried that at any time I might speak out in defense of a relationship I was in, causing stress and unhappiness during a holiday meal or a family reunion. I isolated myself from my Texas family, only seeing them on rare occasions and I know this caused them and Dad to think that I didn't want to see them. I wasn't letting them touch me.

Eventually I couldn't deal with not having my father involved in one of the most important aspects of my life. I introduced him to someone I cared for and they got to know each other. Dad showed me a part of himself I didn't expect to see. He wanted me to be happy above all else. He was incredibly supportive of me and I will always cherish the time we spent together.

This brings me to today. The circumstances around my father's death were so stunning and shaking to my family that my sister and I are tenuously developing a relationship that we've not had over many years. I know Dad would be thrilled with this outcome.

I've been compelled to enforce some of my personal boundaries over the last few months as I've recovered from the loss of my father. At the same time, I've opened up and trusted in ways I didn't even imagine before the events of last year. I'm grateful to him for the years of Sunday morning talks on the phone.

So the answer is, maybe.


©Michelle Scofield, Feb. 20, 2011 All Rights Reserved

When is Enough Enough?

Tragic. Horrific. These are just two of the words I've used to describe the shootings in Arizona today. We don't have all the details yet. All we know is that several people are dead, including a little girl who happened to be born (by reports) on 9/11/01. A Federal Judge is dead. A Congresswoman may or may not be dead. She suffered a gunshot wound to the head. There have been conflicting accounts as to whether or not she survived. The scene must have been incredibly frantic and I can't imagine how those people felt, knowing that they were under attack.

The controversy is mounting as to the motivation behind the attack. The news media is doing its best to feed the public lust for facts concerning the shooter. The few sketchy details released so far have revealed only a few rambling, nearly incoherent postings from social websites. Where can we place the blame? We may never know.

We may never know because it is senseless. It is not predictable. We didn't wake up this morning and expect this to happen. But...

...did we do everything we could to prevent it from happening? I'm going to go out on a limb here and throw out a whopping generality and say no, we did not. Oh, maybe this particular incident was going to happen anyway, but what about the one before it or the one after. I'm going to step on the thinnest of ice and say that we are pulling the strings of tension so tight that snapping is inevitable. Our fellow men are standing on the very edge of the precipice and we crowd them ever closer to falling. Our world is loud, full of noise and jangle and we keep screaming.

Nothing excuses the actions of those who perform such horrible acts as those which were done today. Nothing excuses those of us who perpetuate violence and hatred in our society. Nothing excuses those of us who would allow the sickest of our brothers or sisters to go untreated.

It is not with naïve mind that I write this, it is with sick and honest heart.

May peace prevail on earth. May healing find the way to those who are hurting.





©Michelle Scofield January 8, 2011 All Rights Reserved

Early Morning Read for Study Attempt

Harwin Street silk
brushes my chin as I
pull the covers over
my shoulders and I

sink

into my own warmth.

I
fall
for
the words.

Perhaps inspiration
will find me if I
spend enough time
gazing at their cadence
and measure.


I am lulled by them.

I trip
into the crevice between
the labour of the pages and
I am lost to the story.





©Michelle Scofield All Rights Reserved January 6, 2011

I'll Chase the Pavement

New Years Day, 2011
Houston, TX

I turned the MP3 player to shuffle. I ran a song, walked a song. My foot still hurts, people. It's not a complaint, it's a fact. I'm also not getting thinner "resting" it. I bought a yoga CD. I can use the elliptical trainer once in awhile. I love to run. It works for my body type, it works for my mindset.

Playlist:

Adele - Chasing Pavements. She asks if she should keep chasing them. It's the first song that plays and although I suppose she's asking about something entirely different. I chuckle as I start off at a moderate pace. I don't know about her but I know that it feels wonderful to feel the wind blowing against my face and the sun on my legs. I smile as I wish a happy new year to a little girl and her mother. The child is bundled so tightly in her winter clothes I can barely see her face but she's in there and she squeaks a greeting back to me as I pass her stroller.

The Spinners - Rubber Band Man. Some lyrics can't be explained. They can't but the music is happy and upbeat and if you don't love this song I'd love to hear why.

Glee Cast - Cover of Somebody to Love. I like the Queen version better but those Glee kids can belt it out. Something I realized today is that hearing a song like this doesn't mess with my head anymore. I'd *like* to have someone to love, but I'm not *sad* that I don't have someone. (If anyone is so inclined to find me someone, I wouldn't object.)

Norah Jones - Wish I Could. If I allowed myself to pine over someone who loves someone else, this would be the song I'd sit around and play over and over. I don't. I won't. This is the one, though. And yes, I'm smiling as I type this. If the last several years taught me anything it's that there will always be someone wonderful who loves someone else.

Fountains of Wayne - Stacy's Mom. Cracked myself up that this is even on my player. However. But. For. The. Record. Men under forty years of age are not on my radar. It's silly. It's not going to happen and forget about it.

The Supremes - You Keep Me Hangin' On. "Set Me Free..." Oh Hell yeah! I feel freedom right around the corner.

Gwen Stefani - Hollaback Girl. ???Who is??? This is a holdover from my kickboxing instructor days.

Adele - Cold Shoulder. I've felt it lately. Fine. I'm 50 freaking years old. BuhBye.

Smashmouth - Allstar. Enough said.

Happy New Year. I hope you chase whatever pavements you see fit. Or not. Blessings on you and yours. M

This and That

A few things from this week:

First, nothing makes me happier than putting on a dress, adding a touch more mascara than usual and dashing out the door in high heels on the way to an evening out. I enjoyed myself on Friday AND Saturday nights this week. Double bonus and big smiles all around.

Now on to more serious issues. I watched this movie and it's brilliant. "My Name is Khan" says what I've wanted to say but I don't have the experience or the words. It talks about acceptance and patience. It talks about fear and the true meaning of family. I highly recommend it.

Houston, TX early voting starts TOMORROW! Voting Information
I won't tell you who to vote for (exactly), but I'm voting for Bill White for Governor and also Sheri Cothrun for Judge Family Court Seat #246. I'm voting YES on Prop #1 because I'm sick and tired of my car falling into potholes large enough to swallow...my car!

Johnnie Tuitel was told by U.S. Airways that he was "too disabled to fly alone". He was on his way to give a talk on Self Advocacy. I have a feeling we haven't heard the last of this man. I hope not.

Have you seen the latest issue of W Magazine? It's the Art Issue and it's a stunner. Oh yeah, Kim Kardashian is in it painted silver and nude. Right, she's naked. She's silver. The rest of the magazine is fantastic. And Kim Kardashian is naked and silver.

Finally, I'm saving the biggest news for last (if you leave a silver reality star off the list). Reuters reports that a Florida company has developed red celery. Apparently it tastes exactly like the pale green stuff. This tells me I still won't eat it. There you go.

Have a good week. Hope you get to put on a dress, or extra mascara, or whatever makes you happiest.

Reminiscence

Reminiscence moved over the night,
wound around the room,
and touched us on our shoulders.
She patted us on our backs and kissed our cheeks.

She stopped to listen like the friend
she would have been if we’d met back then.
She sat on the same curbs with us as we waited
for the Ice Cream Man.

She watched the trains move down the tracks
leaving our pennies
flattened with the pressure of their heat,
and us, wishing for exhilaration
but flattened by the pressure of our guilt.

Reminiscence parked her bike in the rack at the library
and moved between your table and mine.
She walked through the stacks and
whispered the names of authors in our ears.

She sat on the banks of a river that was
strong enough to wash away city blocks and
watched it flow by, spring after spring.
As strong as that river was it was
never able to wash away all of the
Imagined Sins Of A Teenager.

She watched our mothers cry over us.
She watched us cry over our mothers.

Reminiscence induced bursts of laughter and sighs.
She set fireflies of memory across the room.
They darted past us, near us, almost in our grasp.
They landed in front of us casting sweet illumination on the past.

She was also content to let our conversations move forward.
She didn't keep us lingering with her for long.
She knew that forward is what makes her existence
Reality.

As she sat quietly and listened to
Today.
She knew that one day this will be
Back Then.
She kissed us on our cheeks, and sat back.
She watched.




©Michelle Scofield All Rights Reserved October 16, 2010

At the Center of the Storm-Self Medi(ca)(ta)tion

I've weathered worse.

The opposite of pure light isn't total darkness. It's the twilight that lingers for weeks when the candles have burned below their wicks and wax has spilled onto the tables and no one cares if the newspapers are piled on the porch.

I've walked among the dead and among those who beg to die and my heart holds the scars of both yet it still stirs at the memories of their living.

Mantra.

The tap, tap of the keyboard can start a rhythm that makes me forget - at least for a while - that I need to pull air in, feed my brain, and let the stale air out. It keeps me from getting stuck at some point, guppy breathing and dumbstruck by the outlandish folly of throwing down the gauntlet with myself - yet again.

The thought of howling out of the depths of another self-imposed cyclone is daunting.

tap. tap. tap.

Center of the storm.

Salvation. One key at a time.




©Michelle Scofield, October 9, 2010 All Rights Reserved