My Maternal Syllabus.

There are certain movies that are musts, if you would run the race of motherhood, in my opinion. They are like a banana, they say, when you are running a marathon. When you have flown as hard as you can physically go, you are half way there, from the movie, Gahool.

I love my mamas and grandmamas and I try to remember them with fondness. I know that you will try to do the same, when I am gone. I find some extra impetus and strength, on occasion, from the stories of the other cultures' maternal/child experiences. I Remember Mama is first on my list.

That daughter studies and lays out for us, the way and skill that her mother had, in negotiating the multiple relationships in her life in a strange land, with her children and husband as a priority. Life gets so complicated and their life was complicated, by the multitude of close relationships and responsibilities that they had. It was clear that it was not because her husband was not the leader in the home, but because he was, that she had the liberty to use her gifts for the upbuilding and love of her children and others.

Mama's love of thrift and consideration, taught her children certain priorities in their lives. I am always struck, in movies, how the heart of an aching mother for her ill child is shown by others, who may have not had that experience.
In the scene of Dagmar's hospitalization, mama gets on her knees and she shocked the tough heart of her most cynical daughter, by doing so. They are such students of our behavior. The daughters were concerned about their sister, it was clear. "Is she sick, is she worsened or better?" Mama?
These life and death struggles of soul are the daily fare of motherhood. In my family the cat would have been put out immediately, before the sickness would have come upon the house. The prevention of those kinds of things are the bent of my maternal heritage.

I remember hearing stories of cat sicknesses, coming upon the children and the expectant mothers and it was taboo, for a child or a woman to be too close to these, "fungal animals" in my upbringing. It was obvious that they were also aware and their aunties had told them the stories also, but love and relationship and children pursuing their bent in life was a higher priority.

I was struck that the care of their mother's emotions was more to the girls than the concern of their sister's well being. This is also a reverse of my family upbringing. Sisterhood, is everything in my family love priority. Mother is secondary to the sisterhood. It must have been Mu that inculcated that to the family, since she was so far from her family love. I grew up with Aunts that were closer than anything. Grandmas and grandaunts who lived and died in eachother's arms. Care of mother's emotions was never even looked at. These girls cared about their mother's concerns. Her dropping to her knees, out of turn was heartwrenching to them.
Clearness of mind came to the mother, there on her knees, scrubbing her floor. It was not God, it was not prayer, perse'. It was clarity and cunning that came to her on her knees there. She thought of a way to get to her child. There must be some way to get to my child. Only when the barricade is manmade, can cunning of maternal pursuit be appreciated. I promised my baby that I would be at her bed, when she awoke; Rules not withstanding.

When the ground has swallowed up the fruit of your womb, that is a barricade that cannot be crossed. That is the barricade set up by God. No person can pass that place. They set up human barricades to divide mother from child and on the knees, we try to cunningly find a way to traverse the generation gaps and the educational gaps and the cultural gaps that are set up to keep us from our sickened children.
Dagmar and mother's embrace, in the hospital room was cathartic to my constant weeping soul. The bereft mother's heart is always in that state, looking for a way to traverse the barricade that God has set up. Catherine, gave me a way to traverse it for a moment as mama got into the hospital room to comfort her little one, my heart is embraced.

Remember Lot's Wife?

Jesus was not insensitive to the heartbroken condition of circumstances. Oliver Twist, The plight and circumstances of the birth of Oliver Twist.

What were similar to our day? What was different? What are God’s promises to the orphan and the fatherless? Site verses.

Great Expectations Pip Phillip Pirrup---
See the movie schedule it in.

What is the difference between… Him-PIP and Ollie

Mission to motivate gratitude for our day and for the comforts of God’s provision. To sensitize the hardened conscience to the goodness of God in His works and providences. To open the eyes of self centered young fellows to others of lesser circumstances. To sensitize the hardened child to the condition of what is real poverty of soul and condition.


It seems to me, that the men of words in our generation must show themselves in the musical realm. Every other genre, is torn apart for editorial purposes. I have seen more intensity in suturing or slicing the words of instruction and condition into the soul, in music than in any other genre. A picture is worth a thousand words they say. A picture uninspired by words, leaves all to the imagination. A song like, Daughters, a young man’s observation of the sensitivity of the feminine soul, little else needs to be said. I have rarely heard a preacher as sensitive to the human condition. Even in Isaiah, He looked at those women in his days and saw only temptation and sin. Making a pact with ones eyes for generations has left women in the lurch and bereft of Godly counsel when it comes to all of the vicissitudes. Job had friends come to comfort him. Who came to Job’s wife? She was not a person. Jesus understands and made it his business to come to the aid of the distressed and unpersonified women. Women are not just tools for either temptation or use. They are souls and many a godly man has sliced his share of women in the name of the scriptures. Jesus kept saying that is not what the scriptures are telling you to do. He cares about the needs and he allowed that precious woman to pour her sadness upon him. The help of God is in the condition of what men do with the dainty souls that God entrusts to them. Do they deserve what they get, walking around with jingling selves as Isaiah seemed to say? That is not God’s heart. Paul said Elijah was a man of like passions. He didn’t understand women either and still God used him and spoke to him, the same with Isaiah, but we cannot justify what men do, because Isaiah did it. God is judge.
12/6/10---
Remember not to be like her and when you see her, remember to go to her as Jesus did.

Little Boddens

Little Boddens


Don’t you think we need a boy? No, Yes, No, Yes, No.

Here I am years and years past the little voices who live forever in my memory. They are still alive and they are still little children, although they have all gone on to be adults and beyond, some are gone from us, but I remain, on occasion; a spectator in the little room in 113. Looking out of the window, past Benita’s house, down 113th Ave. Looking at the rest of the world and dreaming of life outside of our wonderland.

5 of us could fit in the length of that little window in that tiny bedroom, not larger than a closet really. Solid pale blue paint was on the walls, from mommy and Miss Bessie’s one long painting fit that day. They had us in the room and though it was small, it didn’t seem very small to the 5 of us at that point. We were not very large ourselves.
I was so grown at 8 years old and the director of our wishing, that day. None of you will wish for anything other than a boy this time, do you hear me? Was it you, who wished for a girl the last time mommy went to the stork’s house? We knew an awful lot about childbirth for being 5 children under 8 years old, but my mommy went to the stork’s house every year or so and we just knew that it was our wishes that sent her there. Who was it, who forgot to wish for a boy last year when Amy was born? Amy rose her hand. We know you wished for a girl, you are a girl and we are glad to have you, but this time we must wish for a boy, do you hear me?

They knew I meant business, when I used my mommy voice. Ju, said, who could wish for anything else. I heard some people saying that mommy shouldn’t have anymore children, if we had a boy. Do you think that she will stop if she has a boy? That is what they say. Well, I hope she has the boy and stops, like the people are saying. I am getting very upset that people are always talking about us. Never mind all that gossip that dad tells us not to do, I said, just make sure you wish the right kind of baby.
We ran to look out of the window. A star was above us. Let’s wish together. It is November 24th, cousin Karla is coming to watch us, it is like Christmas, let’s all wish for a boy. Yeah We closed our eyes and wished together. Jo said, why are we wishing for a boy, I don’t like boys. Jack said, me too. Nevermind, just wish, already, I commanded. I am not wishing for anything, it doesn’t make any difference anyway, said Jack.
The night seemed forever, and we woke up and Aunt Karla looked at us, Mom had a boy, she said matter of factly. Wowywowywow! A Boy!

A Boy!

When the Moon...

Is in the seventh house...
I remember being a little child. The bedroom that we shared seemed an alright place and a mysterious place for a group of little girls to play and at night it became our stage and show place. We caught the moon, nightly, by making up new rhythms to old songs that we knew and singing new harmonies "like alleycats" :).
We sang and sang and one of the songs we sang was Don't sleep in the subway... I am ashamed to say the I just figured out what that song was about today. HA, Ha.

Must'nt Point!

Company, we had company and it occurred to me that I haven't emphasized the importance of not pointing.
When we were young, there had better have been a broken finger on you, if your pointer finger were left out, in front of the other four, for any reason. Not to Ever. I must have forgotten. It isn't everyday that we have company. I must be seeing things. That is not her pointer finger going up at the company? I said, Ev, get the gentlemen some drinks. Up went the pointer finger, "these gentleman?" {meaning her father and our company?} Yes. Needless to say, there were no other gentlemen in the room. Steam and smoke and fumes and every kind of fierce gumption, had to be held back from me, in this state.
She did not just ask me a question in response to a command. She did not just ask me a question, did she? That is not the worst of it. She POINTED HER FINGER!!!
Where is Grandma Ruth, when you need her?

On the First Monday of Unemployment...

As I stated, in another place, Mr. Allstate called goose, over my head and now I am running around the circle trying not to get tagged by..."Mayhem?" LOL
This discouragement and difficulty could make me cry again. I spent the weekend in my bed and crying and now, I am out of my bed and awakened to remember the goodness of God, even when Mr. Allstate calls "Goose".
I do remember that my job was a wrapping of my tongue and as I think about it, it seems to be that there was a swaddling cloth over my mouth, in working in claims. You must say this at that and say that at that. At first it seemed a muzzle. Perhaps it was meant to be. I wiggled and waggled and tried to get out of the muzzle and now that I am loosed from the muzzle, am I crying?

At church one Sunday, I saw a delightful tiny newborn daughter. She wiggled and waggled, in her sleep to try to loose herself from the swaddling cloths. Her daddy was right above her face. She was reaching and pushing and then when her hand was loosed from the cloth, she opened her eyes. It alarmed her. She almost cried and then, she opened her eyes and saw her daddy. Her alarm turned to a precious newborn smile. I know that God is outside of my swaddling cloths and although the alarm of having my tongue loosed from the swaddling cloth of insurance verbiage, I can see God on the other side of the cloths.

Man is made in the image of God and in as much as we are using insurance for the good of others, it is in the image of God and outside of it and above it and beyond it, is God's goodness. I see Him there, above my upsetment and concern about our provisions, waning. I see Him there, loosing me from the muzzle of verbiage and loopholes and claim status. My claim is there before Him, being interceded by the the perfect Savior and perfect advocate. No demon in Hell and no earthly concern can snatch up my soul, though it be tangled in the verbiage and the gridlocks. God is above the muzzle and He uses them as swaddling cloths on our infant souls to teach us to long for Him and His face to be above the cloths. That we may smile, as that baby girl did, in the seat in front of me, in church, when we are loosed from all of our earthly concerns and see His face smiling at us, Abba! Father!

Laws of Association

My Jo (sis) and I had a discussion about what makes a woman throw off her feminism for the apron(so to speak). We had had this conversation many times and she had never been able to understand why I would submit my life to my wifely and motherly attempts. Then, she met Gill Noble. He's gone now. But, she heard him speak and described every notable inspiration that made her throw off her feminism, for that brief moment. I could identify, completely. I love my Ben in that way that there is a presence and an ability that makes you say, I will follow you. It is very observable, for a bunch of Bodden girls who were raised with boxing gloves and tennis rackets, a huge American twist serve and a big chip on the shoulder. When we collapse in the arms, it is a Goliath tumble. I don't know what my father did to make us like this, but we are what we are.
Jo described having had her act together to go and see this distinguished man speak. She was ready to be the woman student, but it rained and she was suffering with the popcorn syndrome of our hair. She watched him intently and there was something about the way that he instructed that made her incognicent of her BHD (Bad Hair Day). We got goose bumps about it afterward. He was commanding and yet not fierce. He was intentional and directive and wooing and she said, I don't care where he leads me. I am following him. She left and we both revelled in the wonder of God having made men that were like that. I married mine. She couldn't catch Gill Noble, he had already been taken. So she showed me her apron, put back on her feminism and waited for the next bus.

On carrying all the books home.

Today, I remembered with fondness the day that I was commanded to bring all my books home. I was in second grade. I remember the loud pounding in my heart when I found out that I had forgotten my religion book at home. O boy, o boy, am I gonna get it. Maybe Ms. Peterson will spank my hand even. Nope, Mom saved the day. She appeared out of no where with my book and no spankings followed. You are completely disorganized, was the diagnosis of my father. I want all books home everyday. Until when? Until, I say so. I did too. Enoch and Evy were deciding which books were right to carry to school on a half of day and I got a flashback.
4th Ave. all my books. socks around my feet and 89 stairs to get to the F train after a whole day of school. That is tired. Step 47, 48, I think I will try to pull my socks up and take a breather. Don't drop the books! Don't let them slip back down the stairs. {I do remember dropping them back a time or 2} builds character? I don't know, builds muscle, that I do know. Ding dong. Never mind let that one go there is no way that I am running for that train with all these books. Sometimes, I ran up the steps and definitely by step fortysomething I was winded and ready to faint. Just slow down, what are you rushing for the next train will come and you will get a seat. Anyway all my books in tow, was a recipe for knowing and memorizing all the books that were in my bag. Set, 2 hours each way on the train with no comrades but my books... Go figure. Ju didn't have such a plight. There is no way she would let them tell her how many books to bring home. Just me.

Snowdays.

86th Street was a shopping area, so I heard.

It was 5 or so stops from the last stop where I got on the train to go home from school. It marked the first leg of the first lap of my commute home from school. I had just gotten my nightcap on for a long ride, when any of the stalwart travellers who got on with me were getting off to shop. The skirts would be wheeled up and the things that made us look like Catholic School girls were shed by the time we got to 86th Street. I was too much on a mission to concern myself with the style of things, in those days. I had a long, long ride to go. There were no photo ops on 86th Street for me. Anyone who stayed on after 86th or got on after that point were usually the real commuters. They weren't doing riding the subway for fun, they were doing coming from work. Why was I commuting? It wasn't money, that was for sure. It wasn't fun, by that point I was whipped, tired. I had had a long day of school and was heading home for alot of drama, most days. I can't tell you how many times I fell asleep and found myself in some unknown stop, where the lights were not bright and from where I didn't know how to get home.
Are you going to 86th today? I would overhear them say. That meant they had money and would be shopping. I could not even imagine such a thing, nor, if I had money would it have woooed me to get off at 86th St. I had the fear of Dad upon my heart and soul and would no more veer off the beaten path on purpose, than jump in a lake.
Not one of the "good girls" who were imitating the naughty on 86th St., there was no category for me, in those days. I had one uniform skirt and I kept it at or below my knees. I walked and lived in the fear of my father all of the time. Other girls could relate with that. They all had fathers who would "kill" them for this or that. I guess that is what it meant to go to private school, it was a father's intense investment in the life and education of his daughter. It meant that he loved her enough to beat her to death, rather than let her get taken advantage of by someone else. He loved her enough to discipline her mind and heart before she got grown. In that way, we were all good girls. We were all carefully aimed to be good wives and mothers and workers and politicians and thinkers and we mostly got to where we were aimed, but for that brief moment we were children. Children attempting to test the bounds of the bars of the prisons that we were in. How far and what can we get away with? The people who got on at 86th St were grown already and I had absolutely nothing in common with them. But the girls who got off at 86th St were the girls that we were being groomed to a common goal.

Once, we were verbally accosted by some public school girls. You girls think you are something, don't you? (more words followed, with threats and pushes). In my day, I would have taken that challenge to street fight. Not now. Now, I had a higher challenge. We let them do their threatenings and it never went past their 10 or 12 black girls on the train in "civilian clothes". I am sure that they were loved and aimed, just as much as I, but the only time we were in proximity to them was, in their threatenings. This doesn't make for good PR for public school people. They didn't have an identity to uphold, it seemed. No one would know where they went to school, if they got into trouble. Our clothes marked us that we had to be "good", or try to be "good", or somebody would be telling the school that we were wreaking havoc.
We all wanted to be bad, or look like we were bad, but we could get put out of school for representing the uniform poorly and our fathers would-- as it were "kill" us. So we had to try to be "good". I was the only "good" girl still on the train, after 86 St. it felt like.