The 2011 Imaginary Family Project – Week 21

#21 of 52 : FRANKIE JEAN
Imaginary Family Project - Week 21

External Photo Clues:
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Imagine:
By the time this photo was taken of my mother she had made up her mind. I can tell because she looks almost happy.

In this photograph—I found a bunch of them in a box in the garage with a yellow dress and an old, empty bottle of French perfume—she and my daddy are looking in different directions. They always were, but I guess in the inky womb of the club where they met, they couldn’t tell that yet. At 18, Mama hadn’t yet discovered the difference between a man’s big talk and a man’s real talk. The only reason he wasn’t a foreman at the factory, Daddy told her, was cause they wouldn’t let colored people or Indians be foremen but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do it. After all, he’d spent two years in Paris during the war, hadn’t he?

She’s never told me any of this, not in words. Not out loud. All I really know is that the yellow dress is the one she used to wear to the juke joints down on Freeman Highway. It was the kind of dress with a low sweetheart neckline and slim-fitting skirt that promised that the nice girl might not be quite as nice as you thought. Continue reading The 2011 Imaginary Family Project – Week 21

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N.U.T. #5 – I don’t raise my voice in anger.

A real man rarely raises his voice and when he does, it is never out of anger.

A real man’s influence comes from the gravity of what he has to say and the character he has built over time. He lets his words stand on their own merit without resorting to amplifying his volume and furrowing his eyebrows to get his point across.

A real man knows that to raise his voice in anger, is to lose control of his emotions. When a man loses control of his emotions, his emotions then control him, and a real man is not controlled by his emotions. A real man realizes that screaming or yelling in anger or to get a point across is the vice of the emotionally weak. He is not afraid to express his emotions, but he is not controlled by them. A real man knows that yelling, though somewhat instinctive, is reactive and a real man rarely reacts… a real man acts with intention.

A real man knows that he when he raises his voice, people often tune him out and miss his message. And yet, the opposite happens when his voice is calm, cool, and collected. He finds that other people actually begin to lean in closer to hear what he has to say. They tune into his message and (if what he’s trying to convey has merit) he is able to persuade or influence them appropriately.

A real man sees that yelling as a form of persuasion or influence simply does not work. Not only that, but he also realizes that his yelling gives everyone around him a headache and makes him feel incompetent. Continue reading N.U.T. #5 – I don’t raise my voice in anger.

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On the Horizon: A Sad Symptom

As I write, medical examiners have yet to release the official cause of death for University of Oklahoma football player Austin Box.   According to El Reno Police, a friend who lived with the 22 year-old found him unresponsive and believed he had overdosed on prescription pain pills.  In a 911 recording, the roommate said Box takes pain pills and he’s not responding to me.

If true, it’s just the latest sad incident in a troubling trend: the misuse of prescription medication, whether intentionally or accidentally.  Former OSU basketball coach Sean Sutton plead guilty last year for illegally obtaining pain pills that he began taking after a back surgery then to which he subsequently became addicted.

Box played a brutal sport that requires unusual physical and mental toughness.  The demands often require playing through pain and sometimes even injury.  I worry that in our attempts to explain such a tragic loss of life, we focus on the symptoms and not the wider disease.  Prescription medications are just as addictive as anything purchased from a seedy street corner.  According to law-enforcement, prescription painkillers rank second behind marijuana as the country’s most common illegal-drug problem.  Today we begin a multiple-part video post about a growing problem that cuts across all age groups and economic classes.

Rob

 

Prescription Addiction from Alisa Hines on Vimeo.

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My Little Victory Garden: Strawberries, Chard, Al Fresco Dining…Ahhh.

Last week I left you with the tag line, “California strawberries are for shipping, Oklahoma strawberries are for eating.”  I had at that point two very full quarts of Oklahoma strawberries from the Urban Agrarian sitting in my refrigerator and my family had been enjoying…berries with creme fraiche, strawberries with homemade pound cake, berries with whipped creme and cookies, berries with breakfast, and – well, you name it.  It seemed that every time I walked by the kitchen my feet would take over my body searching for berries, my arms would shoot out from my sides to open the refrigerator, and my hands would grab a strawberry then hurl it toward my mouth. Bliss.

I just love Oklahoma strawberries.

Unfortunately, my shipment from the Food Coop this week came in damaged.  They were already in a severe state of atrophy and I only saved about half from one container, less from the other.  So I put them with some friends: my first rhubarb harvest this year.  I whipped up a quick compote and my family ate it all on homemade buttermilk biscuits. So, THAT was a melt-in-your-mouth experience. Continue reading My Little Victory Garden: Strawberries, Chard, Al Fresco Dining…Ahhh.

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Red Dirt Rambler: Eighty Years of Osage Wisdom in a Thirty Minute Encounter

I walked into the museum and was greeted by her.  She sat at the desk, surrounded by busts of ancient Osage warriors, maps, artifacts and tribal dress displayed in glass cases.  “Do you have any questions?” she asked.  “No,” I replied.  “Not yet.”  I made my way to the corner case and began mentally walking through Osage history. The voices of other visitors began to seep through my mental fog and I adjusted my angle to take on a better view.  I gathered that stories were being told and wanted to hear them.

I glanced at her again as she sat behind her desk.  She watched quietly as two aging white men seated on benches in the middle of the room leaned in to hear stories from the middle-aged Osage they had met in the museum.  The Osage was seated on a second bench near them and was carrying two pieces of lumber. One of the white men clutched a knotted piece of Cyprus wood that had been polished by man or by Time, while the other held two books on his lap.  The Osage was saying, “In order for children to properly speak the language, their pallets have to be broken.  I remember my grandmother reaching her thumb up into my mouth.  It hurt, but the pressure of her grip helped me bear the pain.” Continue reading Red Dirt Rambler: Eighty Years of Osage Wisdom in a Thirty Minute Encounter

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