La Mujer Salvaje: Sonia Velasquez

Here's another remarkable "Wild Woman" in the media, though I may need a translator.  Sonia Velasquez,  originally from Colombia, refers to herself as a philanthropic journalist and a social activist: "I make a TV segment to create social awareness showing the initiatives that are making a difference in different parts of the world." 

In her own words (Source: Creative Caribbean Network):

I currently produce and present the radio show "Uniendo Mundos" "Bridging Worlds" aired on Caracol Radio Miami 1260 AM every Wednesday at 1:30 PM interviewing people who work to alleviate the pain of others.

In 2010 I produced the lifestyle series 'Dolce Vita a lo latino' TV Show, an adventure with the spirit of the Latin people building their dreams and changing the world. Stories with style and intensity presented with action, surprises and more. 'Dolce Vita a lo latino' was broadcasted in HolaVision, 12.2 digital in Palm Beach, USA.

As a Colombian journalist I am devoted to helping others. I am a peace activist who advocates for a fair world working from social media using video as a tool to express my vision.


While I saw no reference to personal information (such as any damage to her left eye), it's clear she embraces a patch lifestyle.  Seems like an understatement, she OWNS it!

Check out her cute logo:

I did see a testimonial add on the Eye Patch Store website, so if you'd like to order a similar black patch, she claims they're the most comfortable.  

From her website:

From YouTube:

Ellie likes this one because it has horses:

Photo Credit: http://www.soniavelasquez.com/
Video Credit: youtube.com

Strawberry Friday: Tree

Tree

I am no longer afraid of mirrors where I see the sign of the Amazon,

the one who shoots arrows.

There was a fine line across my chest where a knife entered,

but now a branch winds about the scar and travels from arm to heart.

Green leaves cover the branch, grapes hang there and a bird appears.

What grows in me now is vital and does not cause me harm.

I think the bird is singing.

I have relinquished some of the scars.

I have designed my chest with care given to an illuminated manuscript.

I am no longer ashamed to make love.

Love is a battle I can win.

I have a body of a warrior who does not kill or wound.

On the book of my body, I have permanently inscribed a tree.

Mom writes: Someone in AVANTA gave me a great poster picture of a bare breasted woman who had apparently had a mastectomy and then a beautiful vine tattooed all across her scars.  I loved it and hung it in my bedroom.  Sometime, over the years, I would hear my kids explaining my strange collection of art to their friends while they were passing through my room.

[yes, I can confirm the poster was hung prominently and proudly, and took some getting used to]


Photograph by Halla Hammid, words by Deena Metzger, poster design by Shiela Levrant de Bretteville.
Image credit: Deena Metzger, as viewed on http://www.fawi.net/BC/heroines.html
Text viewed at http://www.donnellycolt.com/catalog/humrightposter.html

Strawberry Story: Do not stand at my grave and weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there I do not sleep

Do not stand at my grave and mourn

I am not there I have been born

I am the four strong winds that blow

I am the diamond glint on snow

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there I do not sleep

Do not stand at my grave and mourn

I am not there I have been born

I am the sunlight on ripened grain

I am the gentle autumn rain

When you wake in the morning hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight

I am the soft starlight at night

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there I do not sleep

Do not stand at my grave and mourn

I am not there I have been born

I LOVE this poem.  I first learned it as a song in Silver and Burgundy Singers at Blevins Junior High.  I heard it again at Virginia Satir's memorial in Crested Butte in 1988 (photo above is from her balloon releasing in 1987 one year earlier from http://satirtraining.org/training/general_information).  And of course I think of it every time I see a diamond glint on snow or need my own morning uplifting rush.

Authorship of the poem is an interesting divergent story.  Read website of authorship debated for more information.

Wild Women: Lily Charles

An agoraphobic, alcoholic, ex-synchronized swimmer.

One of the most creative characters to don a patch was Lily Charles, aunt of Charlotte "Chuck" Charles on Pushing Daisies.  The show's protagonist was a boy who discovers his gift to bring the dead back to life.  The gift has rules, one being he can never touch the re-living again or they will drop dead from the slightest contact with his skin.  The plot thickens as Ned grows up and brings his childhood crush "Chuck" back to life.  Then what else, but they run around solving crimes. 

Like "Heart to Heart" meets "Murder She Wrote" meets Grease.

The Darling Mermain Darlings.  I'd have taken Ellie to see them!

Enter Chuck's aunt Lily Charles, one part of the ex-synchronized swimming duo the Darling Mermaid Darlings.  Lily, played by Swoosie Kurtz, lost her eye to a cat box accident and wears beautiful, decorative patches. 
At the end of the series (spoiler alert) I find I have more in common with Charlotte.  Lily is not her aunt, she's her (dum dum dum) MOTHER!  Let's hear it for the one-eye moms!  Alright, this mom is fairly twisted.  And to be a nit pick, mom could never put her head underwater without an industrial strength facemast for fear her ocular cavity would fill with water and she'd drown.  That aside, the Darling Mermaid Darlings have elegant style and fluid moves that would have filled mom's eye with envy. 

Check out the cool patches:

Lily Charles before Early-Mid-Middle-Morning Prayer.

Shock at seeing Chuck alive.

Mom never saw the show, but one thing she would have loved was the frequent treat of Kristen Chenoweth or Greene bursting into song.  Mom loved herself a musical.  Check out the Sound of Music, Birdhouse in Your Soul, or Morning Has Broken to fall in love with the show yourself.

Swoosie Kurtz on playing one-eyed, agoraphobic, vodka-holic, "Bette Davis meets Clint Eastwood":

Video of Birdhouse in Your Soul (can not RESIST a They Might Be Giants reference):

I can't get the Morning Has Broken segment to link, but you can find it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jv0klnEAZmM

Strawberry Story: The Little Prince

Taming of the fox.

It's cheating to use a whole book for Strawberry Friday, but I can't help it.  Mom introduced me to the book, and I have made it required reading of my friends in my twenties. I don't just read the story, I collect it.  I have purchased or been gifted translations from all over the world inclding the original French, Mandarin, Hungarian, Swedish, Spanish, and Hindi.  With Joann Sfar's version, I am now able to share it with my daughter who loves it in her own right. 

Ellie's favorite part, introduction of the rose.

This graphic version of The Little Prince is by Joann Sfar, adapted from the original by Antoine de Saint-Exupery.  Transplated by Sarah Ardizzone and color by Brigette Findakley 2010.
For our wish list- check out this video of a cute pop-up version!

Ribbon Check: What Color Are You?

I had no idea there were so many ribbons to promote cancer awareness....

From the Choose Hope website:



Ribbon colors and meanings from http://www.choosehope.com/

 So mom could have chosen from lavender, pink, gold, burgundy/ivory, and I'm not sure about her neuroblastoma.  At first I thought grey, but thanks to the exhaustive awareness list on the Personalized Cause website, gold should cover it.   Come to think of it, considering the spread by the end I might as well order up the color wheel. 




From http://www.choosehope.com/ 


Reminds me too of all the colored bracelets we wore in school, stacked up our wrists almost to our elbows.  Madonna: early supporter against Melanoma?

More than raising awareness, these kinds of products let people feel like they're doing something, part of something, that can often feel so helpless.  In the spirit of deliberating over this new information of so many causes, pardon as I share some random musings.

1.  Not a fan of the black.  If I had to pick a cause, I'd want it to be bright and beautiful.  Melanoma = black?  Murder?  How bleak! 

2.  Ditto for grey.  Brain cancer = grey.  Seems like grey matter issue, so makes sense.  Grey can also be for lead poisoning, allergies, or diabetes. 

3.  There is a lot going on for orange.  Putting world hunger and feral cats into the same band category doesn't seem like a good idea.  Is there peer review for these colors? 

4.  Pearl, you are a cheater and are gray (lung cancer).  Same goes for you silver.  Interesting that you can combine them for different meanings, ie pearl next to white for non-smoker lung cancer awareness.

5.  When in doubt, wear red.  Seems to cover the most causes.

6.  I did not realize that Native American Repatriation had an awareness band: turqouis.

7.  Indigo seems to be wide open.  If you have a cause, claim it now!

8.  I didn't think about it before, but are these bands international?  There are many national interests represented for some of the colors.  For example, Save Darfur (green), Ukranian Orange Revolution of 2004, and Canadian Cancer Society is yellow.

9.  Brown, I have some issues.  Anti-tobacco causes seem to go for brown.  I get it, but again, if you're against tobacco something brighter might do.

10.  Whatever I think of the color band/ribbon system, it gets points for being open and inclusive.  I like the move towards combination colors.  How about patterns?  Maybe leopard print!

Me?  I'm a plum. 

What color are you?

Chapter 5: I Am Woman Hear Me Roar

Mom says, "I went around the house the next week singing Helen Reddy's "I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar."  What follows I find hard to believe and understand.  Maybe others can empathize.

In her own words:

Somehow part of it was exhilarating.  I began a water aerobic exercise program at the YMCA just days out of the hospital.  The dressing flowed out of the top of the bathing suit as I swam with my head above water.  Two weeks out of the hospital I began the masters program and a counseling internship placement in nearby school systems.  I felt I had no more time to give the medical world.  I did very well in my classes that were in the evening; the girl next door would come over to babysit my school-aged children.  Being in a counseling milieu is a great place to be during a major life transition, and I felt I handled all of my issues up front the best I knew how.

Now this I sadly believe, and so timely to our own time:

I did not pick up a dating and social life afterwards, and it was clear that being in the midst of a divorce during a mastectomy was a tricky process in terms of self esteem and body image.  I had to stop the divorce proceeding because I was not insurable without the military, and could only begin it again after I had been hired the next year as a school counselor. 

Strawberry Story: Lyrics to an Unknown Song

If I lie inside the covers
With the darkened warm of breathing-only me
And I curl up like a kitten,
Closing all the blankets very carefully,
Perhaps the goblins will not find me,
Will not touch me, maybe even go away

If I climb onto a tree limb
With the shiny leaves in bunches
Hiding me
And I never move to stir them,
Sitting motionless and waiting quietly,
Perhaps the bullies will not find me,
Will not touch me, maybe even go away.

If I watch a funny movie
With lovely couples all surrounding me,
And I eat the salty popcorn
And the candy
Till I'm laughing painfully,
Perhaps the worries will not find me,
Will not touch me, maybe even go away.

If I only talk politely
To the friends who never fair
Inviting me
And I skim the paper lightly,
Glancing at the news reports just casually,
Perhaps the questions will not find me,
Will not touch me, maybe even go away.

If I tumble in the grasses
With another who pretends he's loving me,
And we exchange the little gesture,
Little phrases of the way
Love ought to be,
Perhaps the loneliness won't find me,
Will not touch me, maybe even go away.

If I lie inside the covers with the darkened warm of breathing-only me,
And I curl up like a kitten,
Closing all the blankets very carefully,
Perhaps my life will jnot find me,
Never touch me, Maybe even go away, go a way.

** This is a song mom heard in South Dakota in the late 1970s.  She didn't know who wrote it, but included it in her book as it represented to her the option of hiding from life, in her words "the choice that is always there and that at painful times often looks the most inviting."  Do you recognize it?  Let me know!

Chapter 5: Lightening



 Lightening by Ramona Handel

"Lightening won't strike in the same place twice.  Janet won't have cancer.  If I think positive, it won't happen."

These were the thoughts repeating through my mind like a mantra as Janet and I waited for her biopsy results.

WRONG!  Cancer can strike twice or more in the same person and positive thinking isn't enough to change the diagnosis.

Janet's Air Force doctor advised a radical mastectomy.  I knew a modified radical mastectomy was just as effective and less disfiguring with fewer medical problems later.  I also believe the military medical system was behind the private medical system in the "latest treatments" available.

Get another consult, outside the military.

The diagnosis was the same, the surgery was modified, and performed by one of the best surgeons available in the community.  It was well known in the private medical community that he had no personal support to offer a patient but instead had great surgeon's hands.

As I visited Janet in the hospital during her recovery from surgery, a tape recorder playing chanting in the background, little did I know I would walk a similar path in the near future.

January 1981 I saw the same doctor for a lump on my breast.  He examined me, my mammogram was negative, so was the diagnosis.  I skipped out of his office into the sunshine of that crisp Dakota day with feelings of joy and gratitude.  I did not follow my own advice and get a second opinion, after all the news was good and what I wanted to hear.  Why would I ask for a different diagnosis?  I was making a mistake.

My focus was elsewhere.  I had been divorced for a year now and still adjusting to such a huge shift in our family.  I was beginning a life long process of coming out as a lesbian and staying sober.  My immune system was weakened from high stress and in retrospect I was a candidate for cancer or any stress related illness.

Eleven months later a needle biopsy of the lump showed cancer.  I had a mastectomy and my recovery was enhanced by the love and support of friends and family.  Two months before I surgery I had met and fallen in love while on a trip to Mexico.  That was a strong healing factor through my surgery, recovery, and life.  Love has a way of making life instantly more previous, as does cancer.

After the surgery and three months of chemotherapy the cancer has stayed in remission.  Not because I have made great efforts to avoid carcinogenic substances.  I eat anything and quit smoking many times each year.  In that sense I am a terrible gambler and most definitely addicted.

Cancer has been a challenge and I have been more challenged by accepting my homosexuality, accepting my parents' nonacceptance of my sexual orientation, and the resulting periods of depression and despair.  I believe I have learned to cope in better ways and the despair is in the past.

My family has come to a form of silent acceptance in sixteen years and although they do not talk about my orientation I occasionally say something about a gay or lesbian friend and there is obvious discomfort and a change in subject.  We have stopped fighting over the issue that should be a non-issue in a healthier system.

My sons are of another generation.  My younger son has come out about his lesbian mother to his friends and has talked about how difficult that is.  My older son talks freely with me about his homophobia and that he can't tell anyone about "it."

I think it is not my faith that has carried me thus far but rather the caring of friends, lovers, and family.

What I am grateful for was best said by Yeats.  "Think where man's glory most begins and ends and say my glory was, I had such friends."

Chapter 5: The Paprika Pixie - Round 2 Begins

I'm going to skip ahead here.  The important thing to know is that at then end of Chapter 4 mom is feeling like a top, brand-new VW model fresh off the factory floor.  She's got her man, her children, her purpose, and her spiritual quest.  A page into Chapter 5, she feels like this:

My Body Looks Like Our Beat-up Old V.W. Bug
[she writes in pen below "But I'm still running"]

In Mom's own words:

I felt a lump in my breast while taking a shower soon after we settled into Rapid City, and I called the base medical hospital that still covered me until the divorce would be complete in the next few months.  They answered that it would take a long time for a new patient appointment, so I dropped the wildcard of having had terminal cancer as a child, and got an immediate appointment that day.  I was smiling to myself how clever I was to have learned how to work the system.

I went in for the appointment, had a biopsy the next day.  As I stayed over night the surgeon came to talk about how it was undoubtedly benign from its type, and we talked as two colleagues while I described what I had done for the military medical group in the Philippine Islands.  The next day, as my friend Ramona came to pick me up, I was taken completely by surprise with the news of the lab report of cancer.  My friend Ramona was picking me up; she and her radiologist husband helped set me up with consults in the Rapid City medical community once the young military surgeon said he would do a radical mastectomy immediately because that was the surgery he knew best.  My friend Ramona, who was picking me up, made an intervention at this point.  She recommended getting other medical opinions ASAP.

The surgeon I chose found that the medullary carcinoma was not in any of my lymph nodes and didn't require follow-up treatment.  So, I again felt that the ordeal was over and probably a by-product of the divorce and living in a foreign country under immense tension for the last two years.

After the surgery I came home and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror without the bandages on.  I had staple marks across the left side of my chest where a breast had been.  I was turned-off by my appearance, but I had two saving thoughts.  One was that I looked like our beat-up old Volkswagen bug that we drove for years [affectionately named the Paprika Pixie].  It, too, had been scarred, survived many close calls, looked like a mushed aluminum can at times.  But this vehicle of my body was still getting me where I wanted to go, still delivering me to what came next.