Freedom of Voice

"Marco!" "Polo!" "Dada!" "Marco!" "Polo!" "Dada! Dada!" "Marco!" "Polo!" <insert baby wailing> These might irritate some, including me, on a relaxing day poolside. Not today. These are the sounds of life, our future. When my own children were young, I vowed not to be one of those curmudgeony old people who hate the sound of children--all their sounds.  Whether they are laughing, crying, repeating the same word/phrase, talking non-stop, or whining, children are precious beings, finding their voices in all forms, learning their places in the world. Let me never fail to embrace this miracle.

Sun rays slice through stucco and glass, swords of light extending from the fiery orb, while white puffs billow against the powder blue sky. The strong breeze moves the spiky branches of the palms, while low-flying planes buzz  by. My special window to the world on this perfect day.

I am aware I am blessed with physical comforts, emotional health, financial stability. In creeps the guilt, eating away at the gratitude,  taking up residence in my gut. I am aware of the suffering of others-- physical ailments, mental illnesses, financial issues.  The mother and grandmother whose body is giving up on her  before her spirit is ready. The husband, father, and grandfather who cares for her, his spirit dwindling before his body is ready. The sisters, daughters, and mothers who strain under the pressures of life, holding on to that single thread that seems to be holding it all together.  The homeless men at the interstate exit, begging for spare change,  at the mercy of the generosity of others. It doesn't matter how any of them got there. They are suffering,  and I don't have the answers. 

I am so uncomfortable when people credit me with things I really don't deserve credit for. A former student's mother who often checked me out at Publix: "My son would have never graduated without you." Yes, yes, he would have. Most recently, one of my dearest friends giving me credit for helping her son get into a local college. Nope. Didn't help. HE did it. He just did it in his own time. The only thing I did is ask him some questions 6 months ago when she sent him in for a "come to Jesus" talk with good ole Ms. Annmarie, head mistress of the School of Hard Knocks. But, he took the steps to make it happen. I just gave the kid an outline. He filled in all the Roman numerals. I am a firm believer that people do things in their own time. As a non-traditional college student myself, I appreciate that not everyone follows the graduate-from-high-school-then-go-directly-to-a-4-year-university prescription. And, many of those renegades grow up to be...

Scrolling through my old posts, I came across one called "The Anti-Linear Life."   The timing could not have been better; this is a message I need to re-visit given some uncertainties I'm facing at the moment. The list of synonyms I included at the end, along with some conversations with friends and family and posts from a fellow writer,  inspired this poem. The Ride Weaving in and out of security and uncertainty like a crazed driver zigzagging to avoid the other cars creeping along, their drivers not seeming to know where they are headed or how to get there. Veering with outwardly sinuous grace through doubt while inside the devious seas are rough, tossing the ship in a dizzying spiral, its panicked passengers praying to plant their feet on solid ground once more. Swirling emotions take over calm and reason like the nauseating loops and twists of a high-speed roller coaster, its riders dreading the inevitable corkscrew of ups and downs but having no escape....

Our dog has a weird name: Semi. At first, the kids and I settled on Simi after a football player on the Tampa Bay Bucs--until John pointed out that he may not be with the Bucs for long. But, we were already calling him that, and he was responding. People mentioned all the time that he looked like a fox, so we swapped an "i" for an "e," and started calling him Semi, half dog/half fox. Hey, at least it's original. But, we didn't stop there. Over the years, Semi got many endearing nicknames: Semi, Semi Cocoa Puff Sir Sem-a-lot Sema-lem-a-ding-dong Dr. Semi Sem-Sem Semenator I'm sure there are more. Just like we use terms of endearment for beloved family members, we have an ever-growing list of pet names for Semi. This dog has been a cherished part of the Ferry family for 13 years. He's suffered through a pitbull tearing him in two, saved only by AJ's quick thinking, and his thyroid bottoming out. Other than a few minor mishaps, he has be...

Why is it so hard to let go?  read the text from a friend whose eldest just pushed the "send" button for an application to a university 4 hours away. That's the million dollar question. It gets easier,  I answered. Lame. So, I added: Just trust that he will make good decisions and learn from the rare bad ones.  Trust. Why is so hard to trust? That is the real million dollar question. We bring them into the world, attending to their every need at first, then gradually begin giving them more and more responsibility and freedom. It's all training for this moment--for them. But, where is the training for us? I am no parenting expert. In fact, I've experienced plenty of epic fails as a mother--those not-so-proud mom moments when I wished life had a rewind button. But, I can speak with some expertise on transitioning children from dependence to independence. I've (successfully, so far) done it twice. I always jokingly asked this of myself: Would you rather...

So many thoughts swirling in her head, So many feelings tugging at her heart, So many doubts nagging her brain. She drew in deep breaths-- positive energy in, negative energy out. You got this , she told herself. Drawing in more breaths, she repeated her favorite grammatically incorrect phrase:      You got this.      You got this.      You got this.    

We just pre-signed our closing documents on the house and get the keys for our rental on Friday. I know this is what we wanted, what we planned (kind of), so why did my eyes well with tears as I scribbled by signature? Maybe because my sweet dog slinked over to the table, rolling over to get his belly rubbed by the agent who brought over the paperwork, and I know in another week in a half I have to let him go live with my daughter? I know he'll be fine, and she will love it, but I will miss him. Maybe because AJ sent John, Alyssa, and me a text conversation between him and his friends reminiscing about the fun times they all had at the Ferry abode with the opening, "Since it's the last time I will be at the house, my friends and I were remembering all the good times..."? I know he doesn't "live here" anymore, but I know he's feeling nostalgic, losing a piece of his childhood. Maybe because as I'm packing and purging, I'm looking through...

"Ms. M," one of the middle school girls sweetly addresses me by the nickname she gave me on the first day in class, "you're always so polite." Choking back tears that have been building all week, I reply, "I try. Wouldn't it be nice if everyone spoke to each other in a polite tone all the time?" "Yes," she quietly answers. I had to turn on my heels--fast--so she didn't see my eyes well up.  Her simple observation hit me like a lightening bolt and brought me to this devastating realization: most of these girls live in situations where people don't speak politely--at best.  I already figured this was true, but it's the first time the reality really hit me hard. "MISS!" someone else screeched from across the room.  I knew in that split second one of the best ways I could serve these girls in my time with them is to model appropriate and polite interactions. Yes, reading skills are important, but learning will ne...

Forbidden by Annmarie Ferry The sting of his slap spread across her face like fire. She was used to this song and dance but still struggled to keep her frayed black and white checkered Chuck Taylors planted firmly on the dull beige carpet.  His words brought the real sting. You stupid whore! Slap. You slut . Slap. You filthy tramp. Slap.  In between blows, Faith attempted to make eye contact with her mother, to silently plea for intervention. But, as always, she was cowered in her corner of the brown chenille couch, hands clasped so hard that her knuckles had turned white, eyelids sealed shut tightly but eyelashes vibrating in angst, rocking back and forth in some kind of sick prayer ritual, one that never yielded any satisfactory results.  Not only have you shamed this house, you have threatened my position at the church. How am I going to explain that as a minister, I can’t even control my own daughter and her filthy urges?  The n...

Wanted by Annmarie Ferry Female, straight, but fantasizes about women when the man I’m with isn’t doing it for me. 32, which I consider young(ish), depending on your age, I guess. Seeking a man who isn’t a selfish, self-obsessed son-of-a-bitch, one who will listen when I speak, really listen, reading between my subtle lines. Must be employed at something you enjoy simply because I can’t listen to endless bitching about your stressful, high-paying, high-power position.  I don’t care if you like dogs, but dogs must like you. They are great judges of character. Must be compassionate, empathetic with a few rough edges, some snarky rawness lurking inside. Most importantly, must be aware. Aware of people around you—the sad-looking child who sits away from the other kids, the old woman struggling to open the heavy office door, the frustrated mother of three with wailing children.  Smile at them; lend a hand; offer an encouraging word. That is all....

The single lit candle cast a soft glow under my grandma’s chin as she gingerly balanced the sheet cake while slowly shuffling it over to the buffet table where the rest of the family had gathered.  “Happy birthday to you,” most sang gleefully, ignorant of my building terror. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Jesuuuuus, happy birthday to you!”  A searing embarrassment spread through me, singeing each of my nerve endings. I took in my breath so sharply, the cold air in my grandparent’s AC always set on 68 degrees because of grandma’s hot flashes home sent a sharp sensation through me, assuring me that, no, this wasn’t a nightmare, but was indeed all too real.  I bowed my head like everyone else, not in prayer, but in mounting mortification. As I slowly lifted my head, I half expected to see tire tracks in the carpet where he once stood. But, he was still there, mouth agape in disbelief, staring wide-eyed at me, silently asking, What the hel...

Whew! That sums up how I feel after a whirlwind month of big changes-- changes large enough to create uncertainties about our not-so-distant future. But, as the dust is beginning to settle, so are my swirling emotions.  I've swept them all up into a big ol' dustpan and dumped them in the garbage where they belong. None of these emotions were serving me or my current situation. They were cluttering my thoughts and robbing me of serenity. Years ago, when interviewing for my first high school teaching job, the principal expressed some concern that I would be able to handle the kids due to lack of experience. He also wondered how I would manage the heavy workload; how I would approach the job in general. My answer went something like this: I am currently training for a half marathon, not a huge deal for some, but a big undertaking for me.  I am approaching it like I approach everything in life:  I break it into manageable steps and accomplish one step ...

My friend, Helen, posted this thought-provoking poem on our writing circle page this morning: One Hundred and Eighty Degrees Have you considered the possibility that everything you believe is wrong, not merely off a bit, but totally wrong, nothing like things as they really are? If you’ve done this, you know how durably fragile those phantoms we hold in our heads are, those wisps of thought that people die and kill for, betray lovers for, give up lifelong friendships for. If you’ve not done this, you probably don’t understand this poem, or think it’s not even a poem, but a bit of opaque nonsense, occupying too much of your day’s time, so you probably should stop reading it here, now. But if you’ve arrived at this line, maybe, just maybe, you’re open to that possibility, the possibility of being absolutely completely wrong, about everything that matters. How different the world seems then: everyone who was your enemy is your friend, everything you hated, you now love, and everythi...

As uncertainty leads to worry, your rock solid plan crumbling--grains of sand escaping your grasp-- the fragility of it not escaping you, remember this: Tomorrow the sun will still rise.  As triumph leads to celebration, your successful climb continuing--a solid mountain of promises beneath your feet-- the durability of it encouraging you, remember this: Tomorrow the sun will still rise. As messages from the universe lead to realization, reminding you the journey is yours but not all yours--a path of dizzying heights and steep descents-- the irony of it both amusing and frustrating you, remember this: Tomorrow the sun will still rise.  As greedy desires give way to greater purpose, your load lightening--a formidable weight lifted by cosmic powers-- the freedom giving you new hope, remember this: Tomorrow the sun will still rise.  As the sun melts into the horizon, your day ending--a lesson in triumphant or defeat-- the emotions preventing you...

Dear AJ, As we hugged goodbye, you told me you'd make me proud.  I hope you know you already have. Repeatedly. I know you're not a perfect person, and I am well aware of some of the stupid stunts you've pulled over the years. Not all, but some. But, I chalk these up to the foolishness of youth and view these missteps as necessary as you figure out how to navigate the world and develop your own sense of morality.       Here are just some of the things about you that make me beam (in no particular order): You're kind-hearted.  You're empathetic. You're open-minded. You're skeptical. You treat women with respect. You're witty. You're a leader.  You have a great sense of humor. You're open to new experiences. You seek opportunities.  You know when to keep your mouth shut. You know when to speak up.  You're non-judgmental. You're your own person.   As  your 19th birthday approaches, I need you to know I'...

OK, confession time: I don't drink sweet tea. I don't own a cowboy hat. I do have boots, but they are not two-steppin' worthy. I only have the country stations on my XM presets because my husband set it up for me. In other words, I am not much of a country girl.  Until I moved to Florida in 5th grade, I called soda "pop." To get the full effect,  you need to insert a super nasally voice here with lots of emphasis on the vowel sound. Yet, I had the best freaking time at a recent Dixie Chicks concert with friends.  I was even stomping my feet when they jammed out a bluegrass instrumental. Slightly out of character for this Michigander. Honestly, when it came up, I only said "yes" because I love the group of ladies planning the trip, and I knew a few Dixie Chicks songs that struck a chord with me. Their recording of Stevie Nicks' Landslide  brings me to tears. Every time. Wide Open Spaces  is another one. It didn't used to make my eyes leak, but...

     This morning at my house was like an episode of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. In the wee hours of the morning (since sleeping in is not an option with a dog), I was reading a friend's blog when I decided to glance out my kitchen windows to catch the morning sky.  I saw a reflection of a deer in my pool and called my husband over. I see deer virtually every morning when walking Semi, but John doesn't get to see them much. He crept out on the patio to discover a family of four happily munching on our shrubs.  It didn't take long until they spotted him and took off to the open area a few houses down.      Coffee in hand, dog on leash, I ventured out.  Another frequent visitor we have is a hawk. I used to feel like the hawks were eyeing Semi when he was small, but at 19 pounds, I think he may be safe from being snatched. This particular bird loves to quietly perch on the peak of my second-story roof. The blue jays who must have nests clo...

I saw a red flower, a fiery blaze among a wasteland of twigs and dead grasses. Its petals like miniature trumpets, blasting out the sound of red, unapologetically announcing its presence. A lesson in resilience. I saw a dusty path leading nowhere, yet leading me somewhere, to a window carved in between bent trees. Its view like a portal to a watery world with hidden treasures and unknown wonders. A lesson in curiosity. I saw a piece of barbed wire, rusty and mangled, restraining the remains of a tree. Its spikes like a crucifix crown, digging into the already dead tree, a warning to those who passed. A lesson in obedience. I saw a congregation of fish, growing from three to eight, all waiting for something. Their fluid movements keeping them in place, moving, yet not going anywhere, all eyes affixed on one spot. A lesson in patience. I saw a patch of vegetation, jutting out from the water, rebelliously rooted in the glassy water. Its blades like unruly hai...

You know how there's always that one  person who has to make some comment that just pisses you off? It may be face-to-face, in a text, or on your social media page. But, you know you can count on one thing: this person will make a comment. And, you really want to comment back something like: "What exactly do you mean by that?" Or, more often, "What the fuck is your problem?" Add to the frustration that said person puts "lol" at the end of every passive-aggressive quip. As if that suddenly makes it hilarious.  It reminds me of the quick "just joking!" people throw out after saying something cruel or bigoted. No, you weren't joking. Your intention was to irritate, hurt, or anger. Well, from now on, it's falling on deaf ears. I am learning the best defense against this is not to comment at all. Leave their comments floating in the air, a silent refusal to assign importance to the ignorance. Leave them hanging.  Because I believe th...

Yesterday, the Laverne and Shirley   theme song popped into my head: Give us any chance, we'll take it Read us any rule, we'll break it We're gonna make our dreams come true Doin' it our way I've never considered myself a risk-taker. At all. Yet, I took a big chance in December when I walked, no ran, away from a job with an organization that had proven it didn't value me as a person. The words flowing out of our top leaders' mouths tried to convince me I would be a "hero," but I felt more like a pawn in a chess match. The first call I made, oddly enough, was not to my husband. It was to a friend who had boldly stuck both middle fingers in the air as she walked, no marched, away from a situation she didn't like to strike out on her own. "Now will you come work with me?"  she implored. She had been asking for a couple of years. We have a great synergy, and although I helped her with her venture for free throughout the summe...

Here's how much of a rule follower I am: When John has repeatedly suggested walking on the golf course path in our neighborhood (after hours), I always point out the sign that clearly states that only registered golfers are allowed. No walkers or bikers. He usually responds by saying "screw it," and I end up following along, biting my nails the whole time lest the Stoneybrook security force or the course ranger bust us.  Other times, he rolls his eyes at me and keeps walking on the designated walking path, half amused/half annoyed that I am such a square. Of course, the consequences wouldn't be that harsh--a verbal warning, maybe a citation with a fine (if they're even allowed to do that). But, it's breaking the rules, and I am completely uncomfortable with that. I try to be rebellious.  I wrote for a blog that called out our failing school system for what it has become. At the end of last year, I quit a job when I felt slighted for the umpteenth time. I wen...

Lately, I've been trying to pass myself off as a chill, mellow woman, one who is letting things go, getting more Zen-like by the minute. My body tells me it's all a lie. What I mistook for a couple of bug bites from an awesome connect-with-nature morning at Lover's Key Park on Saturday have grown in number and intensity, the tell-tale burning-from-the-inside feeling signaling the angry, itchy bumps spreading all over my arms, back, and neck are not a result of pesky mosquitos or noseeums. A quick Google search had me fearing bed bugs, especially since I've been in 3 different hotel rooms in a span of one week (sounds more exciting than it is), but frantically searching my mattress, sheets, and husband abated that panic. While I long to be calm, go-with-the-flow, and carefree, my mind and body prefer to be more dramatic. Stressed? How about a few clumsy accidents to leave you with some burns and bruises? Didn't get those hints? Maybe hives will force you to s...

My friend, Laurie, shared a poem,  The Invitation ,  by Oriah on our writing circle page yesterday. I decided to use it as a mentor poem to create an invitation of my own. It doesn't matter to me where you came from. I want to learn  where you plan to go and who you want to join you on your path to this destination.  It doesn't matter to me if you have a sordid past. I want to discover  what you've learned  from your missteps  and how you help others  avoid the same pain you've felt.  It doesn't matter to me if you're rich or poor. I'm more interested in  the wealth of your spirit, the bank of your kindness and capacity for self-sacrifice.  I long to uncover your secret hopes, your hidden fears; and, if they happen to match mine, I hope we can link hands and face our demons united. No preconceived notions. No judgment. I need to hear  how you justify your feeling...

I saw a red flower, a fiery blaze among a wasteland of twigs and dead grasses. Its petals like miniature trumpets, blasting out the sound of red, unapologetically announcing its presence. A lesson in resilience. I saw a dusty path leading nowhere, yet leading me somewhere, to a window carved in between bent trees. Its view like a portal to a watery world with hidden treasures and unknown wonders. A lesson in curiosity. I saw a piece of barbed wire, rusty and mangled, restraining the remains of a tree. Its spikes like a crucifix crown, digging into the already dead tree, a warning to those who passed. A lesson in obedience. I saw a congregation of fish, growing from three to eight, all waiting for something. Their fluid movements keeping them in place, moving, yet not going anywhere, all eyes affixed on one spot. A lesson in patience. I saw a patch of vegetation, jutting out from the water, rebelliously rooted in the glassy water. Its blades like unruly hai...

I am not an overly sentimental or sappy person. But, this quote from a video poem by Sandra Beasley, "The Story," shared by my friend and fellow writing circle member, Helen, got me feeling all gushy: I As soon as I read it, I thought of John and me. Maybe it's because our 25th wedding anniversary is coming up Wednesday. I'm guessing that's it. Lately I've felt this rekindling of early relationship phase feelings. Five years ago on our 20th anniversary, I presented John with a platinum wedding band (to replace his original since he had replaced my original 5 years earlier). He knew he was getting it because I wanted to make sure he loved it before I had it engraved. I looked up our favorite song lyrics. I hemmed and hawed over what small phrase to have permanently etched on the inner circle of the band. And, then, when I wasn't hemming or hawing at all, it came to me: 20 to life. It's so "us."  We had joked around about serving li...

If my skull had a hinge and you dared open it at the moment, you would be buried in an explosion of unfinished business, looming unknowns, unfounded fears, and endless "to do's." That's where I am today. And, I know I am not alone. So, here's a little poem for anyone at the base of a snow-covered mountain, waiting for the avalanche to bury her: To Do Do cut yourself some slack, woman      even as your list of responsibilities and tasks explodes,           especially when you feel incapable and overwhelmed. Say to yourself, "I'm capable." Say to yourself, "I'm worthy." Say to yourself, "I'm strong." Do allow yourself time to breath, lady      even when you're breathless from the demands of life,           especially when you feel like your breath seems to be running out. Tell yourself, "I got this." Tell yourself, "It's temporary." Tell yourself, "Just breathe." ...

"Life isn't linear, people aren't linear, and so we do ourselves a huge disservice when our expectations are linear." Carolyn Hax (columnist for The Washington Post) I saw this ingenious statement while reading an advice column this morning. And, I haven't stopped thinking about it, probably because it's so applicable to life. Every part of life.  Relationships with ourselves and others, decisions we make, hurdles we run up against, unexpected events, etc.  I remember when I was young, particularly in church youth group, people using the term "straight and narrow" when speaking of the path one should choose. Upon doing a little research, I found that this idiom is most likely an allusion to Matthew 7:14: "strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life." It implies that there is just one path to take; one road to follow; one way to reach a destination.   In theory, it's a great idea.  In practice, ...

For some reason, the idea of mirrors keeps presenting itself to me. Planted by movie trailers and songs, the word mirror  whispers in my ear. It made me think of Sylvia Plath's "Mirror"   (linked for your reading pleasure). The first time I read it was the year I taught English II for the first time. I was instantly drawn to it, but couldn't help but wonder what the publisher expected a bunch of 15- and 16-year-olds to take from it.  I tried anyway. I failed. Not an epic fail (I think a couple of girls related, but my class was boy-heavy), but not a roaring success. Yet the poem always sticks with me. I am not cruel; only truthful.  I know that the mirror is an inanimate object, a simple reflection of what stands before it.  But, add the human element, all of the vanity, the obsession with looks, the self-deprecation, and it comes to life. Confession time.  Although now I try so hard not to pass judgment on people's fashion choices, I have in...

I remember, back when my kids were in their Nickelodeon phase, watching the Amanda Bynes show. She was a younger version of Carol Burnett. One skit that still cracks me up is Procrastinator  .  Her signature line is, "I will get to it, e-v-e-n-t-u-a-l-l-y!" Oh, Amanda. We have lots in common.  I have two sides: the rip the bandaid off side and the ultimate procrastinator side. I've come to the realization that when something is undesirable but relatively quick to accomplish, I just rip off the bandaid and wash my hands of it. But, when the task is large and looming, I wait until I don't have a choice and then work feverishly to get it done. And, get it done I do. I work well under pressure. But, a few problems do arise from this modus operandi: I put myself in stressful situations, unnecessarily; I squander precious time; and I make stupid mistakes that I have to backtrack to fix. It's something I really need to work on. And, I'm sure I...

"Rock And Roll" by Led Zeppelin It's been a long time since I rock and rolled, It's been a long time since I did the Stroll. Ooh, let me get it back, let me get it back, Let me get it back, baby, where I come from. It's been a long time, been a long time, Been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time. Yes it has.  The rest of the lyrics to this awesome song don't really fit my current situation, but it's the song that came to my head as I thought about how long it's been since my fingers tapped on my keyboard to write something---anything---for this blog.  It's been a long time. I can't blame anyone, anything, but myself. Yes, I've been busy, but I have also squandered many an opportunity to write when I had some down time. Instead, I chose to sit on my couch watching re-runs of my favorite shows.   So, today, a mere 20 minutes before I am expecting a client, I sit in my office, tickety tapping away....

Sometimes you just need a perspective check. And, most of those times, you probably won’t even realize it.   Enter serendipity. Today, my partner and I got our much needed reality check. Right upside our heads. It was a particularly rough morning, and after feeling pretty defeated and beat up, we jumped in the car to head to Pathways to PACE to hear more about the center and the impact it has on girls’ lives.  Ten minutes into it, we knew in our hearts that we had to be a part of this program. Before the girls even came in to speak, we were circling supplies to donate from the Amazon wish list, taking notes on the impressive stats, and scratching ideas down. I got teary-eyed a few times. I figured Kathleen was doing the same  but couldn’t even look at her for fear of losing it. As the director announced the girls were ready, I grabbed a tissue from my bag in anticipation of the waterworks.  Thank God I didn’t bawl, but I did have to wipe away a...