A good poem by Martha Medeiros

This poem by Martha Medeiros--You Start Dying Slowly--resonated with me........

You start dying slowly

if you do not travel,

if you do not read,

If you do not listen to the sounds of life,

If you do not appreciate yourself.

You start dying slowly

When you kill your self-esteem;

When you do not let others help you.

You start dying slowly

If you become a slave of your habits,

Walking everyday on the same paths, 

If you do not change your routine,

If you do not wear different colours

Or you do not speak to those you don’t know.

You start dying slowly

If you avoid to feel passion

And their turbulent emotions;

Those which make your eyes glisten

And your heart beat fast.

You start dying slowly

If you do not change your life when you are not satisfied with your job, or with your love,

If you do not risk what is safe for the uncertain,

If you do not go after a dream,

If you do not allow yourself,

At least once in your lifetime,

To run away from sensible advice.

Inclusive workplaces?

One of the trends/ideas that surfaced in my former workplace around fifteen or so years ago was the idea of having the workplace be inclusive. I googled the term 'inclusive workplace' recently, and this is what popped up as the first link: Inclusive Workplace - Canadian Association for Supported Employment

An inclusive workplace is more about culture than anything else. It is about creating a workplace where everyone is treated with respect and valued for their contributions. In an inclusive workplace, colleagues and customers are treated with dignity, respect and equality, and these values are reflected in the company’s mission and vision. Policies and procedures are implemented and managed so that employees’ rights are preserved.

It sounds nice, reads well, and leaves a good taste in your mouth. My question is what happens when workplaces are not inclusive even when they purport to be so? When it's all talk and no action? When there are no consequences for treating employees disrespectfully? What then? What happens when a disrespectful culture is what defines a workplace? What happens to employees' self-esteem and sense of self when they are not valued for their contributions?

I bring this up because today I met with a former colleague whom I haven't seen in a while. She still works at my former workplace but wants to retire soon. It's been three years since I left my workplace behind, and I don't miss it. More specifically, I don't miss the workplace culture. I don't miss the lack of real interest in employees, the lack of interest in their contributions, the many indifferent leaders, or the unending talk about change and how employees should just acquiesce to leaders' wishes. I don't miss the tasks that were assigned to me that ended up stranded halfway because they were tasks that required the collaborative efforts of several individuals. In other words, they were not tasks that one person alone, without personnel or a budget, could perform. It was sad, really, because I poured my heart and soul into several of them, but without support from above and below, they ended in limbo. Luckily, I could focus on my cancer research projects, and they were successful because they were well-designed and supported. I wouldn't have had it any other way, since being a research scientist was my chosen profession. I did not study science for many years and pursue a doctoral degree to become an administrator, but that's what my department would have preferred I ended up as. But had they really wanted that, they would have supported me with personnel and a budget. As it was, I had to supply my own budget for a specific department activity by writing a grant proposal for it. That was my initiative and I got grant support, not for myself, but for my department. All well and good, but this is not how things should have been run. Money should have been appropriated by my department for the task at hand. My department never had much money to spare. It was chronically overstaffed with mediocre leaders and understaffed with competent employees who knew what they were doing and who were willing to work with me on solving some of the departmental issues. In the end, we concluded that the department talked a good fight but couldn't 'put their money where their mouth was', as we say in the States. Sad, because some of the tasks could actually have been successfully accomplished and finished. 

My point with this post is that my former workplace was not really interested in inclusiveness. You were left on your own, left alone, to work it all out. Emphasis on alone. I spent most days alone in my office. I don't envy others as a rule, but when I hear people describe their workplaces in glowing terms, I envy them. I wish I had had another type of experience during the past decade; I wish that I hadn't felt abandoned, ignored, bypassed or irrelevant. I have gained a perspective and understanding now that I no longer work there. How much of it had to do with age and how much of it had to do with a dysfunctional workplace, I'll never know. I do know that the turnover rate among lower-level employees was high. I do know that there was a lot of dissatisfaction among many employees. Many of them said and still say (when I meet them socially) pretty much what I've written here; they did and do not feel appreciated by their leaders, and many of them worked very hard, so laziness was not an excuse for the disrespect. It's odd how a dysfunctional culture can gain traction and then end up permeating every aspect of one's work life. It's odd when you gain perspective after no longer working there--that the workplace wasn't an inclusive one. Had it not been for one leader (a friend of mine) who worked there briefly and tried her best to change the culture (and failed) during the last four or five years of my work life, those years would have been among the loneliest ever. I have a friend here, in her early sixties, who is still working and feels that she still has a lot to give. She doesn't want to retire. But she is treated poorly by her workplace (not my former workplace); she is bypassed, ignored, and frozen out of major decisions. She calls it harassment. I think it is. But nothing will change and she will end up leaving that workplace because as one person, she cannot fight a team of indifferent leaders who don't care about her or whether or not she is happy at work. It's pervasive, the non-inclusive workplace. But it's more common than one might think. 

Happy gardeners and birdwatchers

Apropos my previous bird post(s), I saw this on one of the Facebook groups I follow--Happy Gardens, and got a real laugh from it. I've been following their posts for a while, but I didn't know that the same people who have the Facebook group also own Happy Gardens, a family-run company based in Northbrook, Illinois. I checked out their website (Happy Gardens - Yard Decorations, Garden Decor, Rain Chains, Ornaments) and I'll definitely be ordering some things from them in the future. 

Winter darkness

The darkness of winter is beginning to descend upon us now. Saturday December 21, which is the winter solstice, will be the shortest day of the year. We are already beginning to experience shorter days, with today's sunrise at 8:39 am and sunset at 3:28 pm. I remember when I first moved to Oslo in the late autumn of 1989. It was difficult to get used to the shorter days, even though the days get shorter in New York too. But not as short as in Oslo. For example, in Manhattan, today's sunrise was at 6:54 am and the sunset will be at 4:30 pm. In other words, sunrise is almost two hours earlier in NYC and sunset about one hour later in NYC compared to Oslo. Of course that makes a difference to your body. 

I remember that I was tired a lot during the first winter I lived here. The darkness didn't bother me in any other way. I didn't suffer from SAD (seasonal affective disorder), which is a kind of winter depression. But I missed the longer days, or at least my body did. And now, having lived here for over thirty years, I finally understand why Norwegians are almost sun-worshippers once the summer comes. I've become one as well. The summers are the complete opposite of winters--long days with a lot of light. That too took some getting used to. If we were out on the town partying until 1 or 2 am in the 1990s, we'd come home and try to sleep, and it was hard because at mid-summer, the sun was already starting to shine. For example, on June 20 of this year, which was the summer solstice and the longest day of the year, sunrise in Oslo was at 3:53 am and sunset at 10:43 pm. And even when the sun goes down at almost 11 pm, the light in the sky doesn't really fade away until around midnight. That's the nice part of summer, because if the weather is nice and warm, you can sit in the garden until at least 11 pm if you want to. 

I hope we have fewer gray days this winter than last winter. Last winter was one of the worst in memory, and I'm not the only one who feels that way. Many Norwegians I know feel the same. It was a cold, icy, snowy and gray winter that began in mid-October. This year we've been lucky; we've had a mild autumn, with temperatures around 50 degrees F throughout most of October and well into November. It's only really the last week or so that temperatures have dipped below freezing. Today we were back up to around 50 degrees F. 

Whatever this winter brings, I'm prepared. I bought several down-like vests, a new long outer down-like coat with a hood, new studded boots so that I can walk on the ice (I can flip the studs in and out as needed), and thermal gloves. But I'm still hoping for a mild winter with very little snow. I can't do much about the darkness though. 

Caring for the birds in winter

The natural world keeps our hearts and minds calm and sane. In this poem, it is a crow that changes the mood of the observer, who is having a bad day. The simple act of shaking snow down onto the observer saves the rest of his otherwise bad day from being a total loss. Nature has a way of doing that. Of course the crow has no way of knowing that nor did it shake down the snow deliberately. Birds are interesting creatures that open a window onto the natural world. I love watching them in the garden during the summer months, as I've written about before. So many different birds--sparrows, magpies, crows, small robins, blue tits, bullfinches--the list is long. Sometimes seagulls show up, but not often. 

This winter, I'm going to go to the garden every other day to feed the birds. I haven't done that before, although I do feed the birds that land on the balcony outside our kitchen window. Those birds are mostly pigeons, although we do get a few magpies and sparrows too. They all love sunflower seeds. I bought a nice and presumably sturdy standing bird feeder station on Amazon (where else do you get such a wide selection?) and am waiting for it to be delivered. I'll find a good place for it in the garden once I get it. Here is a link to the feeder if anyone else is interested in buying something similar: Urban Deco Bird Feeding Station With Feeders - Bird Feeders Hanging Station Heavy Duty Bird Feeder Pole With Bird Feeders For Small Birds - Bird Feeder Stand With Bird Bath Tray And Bird Feeder Tray : Amazon.co.uk: Garden

Caring for the birds in winter is important for so many reasons. They are little creatures who grace our lives with their beauty and their antics. They make us laugh, but they also make us ponder nature's ways. A world without birds, without their squawking and chirping and singing, would be a dead world. They make us forget ourselves, forget our trials and tribulations, for a few moments. It is worth taking care of them just for that alone. 

Will Smith - Men In Black (Video Version)

Fun movie and fun video! One of the best ever movie songs.......

Like I've written about so many times before, there are always connections between things, whether it's songs, books, films, or a combination of them. 

Patrice Rushen - Forget Me Nots (Official Video)

Another trip down memory lane, and another favorite! Will Smith made the song his own in the film Men in Black.....

Another poem--Dreams Like Smoke-- from my collection Parables and Voices

Dreams like Smoke 

The many misconceptions 

That love would somehow 

Answer many unanswered questions, 

Fill the void-- 

Free them from unwanted deception. 

But deception in man is eternal 

And unyielding, they fool themselves first, 

Not each other. 

For they brought to love themselves, 

And the expectations of a lifetime. 

But dreams drift silently onward-- 

Dissipating upward like the rings of cigarette smoke 

In one of the many rooms they inhabit. 

They don’t stop dreaming, they just navigate 

The aimless drifting with another kind of care, 

Or lack thereof.

copyright Paula Mary De Angelis 

All rights reserved 

My poem--Train from Michigan

This is a poem from my first published collection of poems entitled Parables and Voices. You'll find it on Amazon if you'd like to read more of my poetry (Parables and Voices: A Collection of Poems 1973-2009: De Angelis, Paula Mary: 9781452838762: Amazon.com: Books). 

Train from Michigan

I dreamed then of my father, I was 

On the train; outside a yellow moon 

Full-light circle against the blue-black sky. 

His face came into memory 

As I drifted in the sleep of transit, 

That is uneasy and unsettled. 

We crossed, from Michigan into Ohio, 

The train's whistle blowing lonely 

As though miles ahead of us-- 

Yet ever with us through the night. 

I thought the thoughts of transit-- 

My father, dead these three years, 

Perhaps traveled this same train 

Bound from Michigan to New York. 

He knew people in the north of Michigan, 

Farmers and ultimately life-long friends. 

I see his face, with me always. 

My head rests lightly against the train window-- 

When I awake it is because my head has banged  

And fallen against the window, jarring me. 

I visit friends, they live in Michigan now 

Having moved there from New York; hence my trip's purpose. 

I meet new people on the way to visit old friends, 

And think about old friendships as I make my way home. 

New people I am always letting in; they find me or 

We find each other--one in particular spoke of kindred spirits 

On our way out to Michigan; his words surprised me. 

Do they, these spirits, find each other? 

Are we all in search of one? 

About trains, I know they draw me so, 

Luring me with the call to adventure, 

Like a call to arms. 

I boarded one, bound for Michigan, 

And then one back, to New York. 

Time spread out over hours of track-- 

Moving me, my life, along, 

From one point to another. 

Spreading me out, thin, fluid, 

Over time which is suddenly the merger 

Of past, present, future. 

Like liquid spreading I see my life 

Moving over these tracks, out and beyond, 

Expanding to assimilate Michigan 

As I have before incorporated other states 

And other countries, American and European. 

A fear that I can never belong to someone-- 

How could one keep me from flooding 

Past the walls and out into the open spaces? 

It is an abstract love of world I feel, 

A pull to know what is unknown, but knowable. 

To care for it, about it, accept it for itself,  

The planet, the globe, its rivers and its land, 

The farms and their greenness in the summer-- 

The land you pass through while travelling on a train. 

Small towns and the people in them, suburbs and large cities, 

Unknown, but knowable. 

I look out, I know this river-- 

I grew up along it, knowing it stretched 

For miles, out of my reach--I see it now 

In places I never knew before 

And feel the vastness of its beauty. 

Back in New York, I grew up here, 

But I have grown beyond it.

copyright Paula Mary De Angelis

All rights reserved 

Heather Nova - Aquamarine

And another one from the same compilation. Easy listening.....

Aquamarine 

Aquamarine

All that glitters lies beneath

Deep blue,

Shallow green

I won't let it go

Aquamarine

You're my sexy little daydream

Deep blue,

Shallow green

I don't make it sound

Now there's a dream

Aquamarine

Send it up into the gulf stream

Deep blue,

shallow green

I won't let it go

Now there's a dream

Now there's a dream

Aquamarine

Source: LyricFind

Songwriters: Alexander David Puttnam / Christopher John Mellor / Heather Allison Frith

Aquamarine lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

Goloka - Give Me Loving

Another really good song from the Ibiza Summer Chillout Classics from 2009. 

SLEEP by Amanaska

One of the many good songs on a collection of chillout classics from a compilation called Ibiza Summer Chillout Classics from 2009. 

Listening to the songs on this album relaxes me and puts me in a good mood......What else can you ask for in these troubled times? 

Sleep

A sign drawn in the sand

And a touch of a stranger's hand

I wonder what it means

Time spinning round and round in this space

Then it's gone without a trace

I wonder where it goes

Deep in the night when I hear no sound

I feel my heartbeat slowing down

My mind's released and free to wander

As I sleep

The past buried deep inside my head

All the words that have gone unsaid

I just want to let them go

Life on a distant star

Or a boat to where the wild things are

I just want to let it flow

Deep in the night when I hear no sound

I feel my heartbeat slowing down

My mind's released and free to wander

As I sleep

If you're quiet you'll hear the sound

Bits of the world as it spins around

We feel lost and we feel found

When we sleep

When we sleep

Sleep

Two worlds colliding in my head

I watch you as you sleep

Two worlds colliding in my head

Two worlds colliding in my head

Two worlds

Colliding in my head

Source: LyricFind

Songwriters: Simon Lewis

Sleep lyrics © Sentric Music, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Are you a dreamer or a realist or somewhere in between?

Today's Pearls Before Swine by Stephan Pastis..... 

Perhaps better to be a realistic dreamer? Or an optimistic realist? Are they 'realistic' possibilities in our black-and-white, have to choose one side world? Probably not, but they should be, since most people are dreamers sometimes and realists at other times, or somewhere in between.

 

 

My new poem--Friday afternoon

Friday afternoon

Friday afternoon

Sitting on a park bench
On a hill overlooking the river
Watching the autumn sky
The shifting colors of the clouds
From gray to blue to white and back to gray
The world looks inviting on a Friday afternoon
People hustling and bustling here and there
Voices of schoolchildren in the background
Playing happily
Crows and magpies hopping about on the wet leaves
Looking for an insect or two 
In the mild autumn weather

I think, isn’t life a beautiful gift
To hold in one’s hands
A fragile one to be sure but beautiful just the same
Being this age, knowing that most of life is behind one
Not a care in the world, really
I can sit on a park bench 
On a Friday afternoon
After a long walk
Free these past three years
From the stresses of a worklife
That I do not miss
That I grieved the loss of years ago
The loss of something that made it work 
Until it no longer did

I think, this is the way to live life
To be able to be outdoors, to walk
To appreciate the ability to be able to
To have gratitude
Is it such that we must age
In order to be grateful
Or can we learn gratitude 
At any age
It would behoove the world
To learn gratitude
To get on its collective knees
And thank the divine for all that it’s been given

The world is not very good at that 

Copyright 2024 Paula Mary De Angelis 

All rights reserved 

The series My Brilliant Friend has come to an end

As I have written about in previous posts, the Italian author Elena Ferrante wrote a brilliant series of books, My Brilliant Friend, The Story of a New Name, Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay, and The Story of the Lost Child (the Neapolitan quartet), that were turned into a television series called My Brilliant Friend that currently airs on MAX (formerly HBO Max) (A New Yorker in Oslo: Elena Ferrante's brilliant Neapolitan quadrilogy; A New Yorker in Oslo: My Brilliant Friend is a brilliant HBO series). 

The series is one of the few television series that manages to capture the intricacies and the emotional depth of the books and to describe the complicated and often warped friendship between Lila and Elena. It also manages to capture the heavy and claustrophobic atmosphere of the Naples neighborhood where they live, in an almost perfect way. Each book was filmed as one season, so there were four seasons in all. Each season, with the exception of season four, consisted of eight episodes; season four was ten episodes long. We watched the last episode tonight, which was an emotional experience for me, knowing that the story of Lila and Elena's lives has now come to an end. We will never know what happens to Lila; she disappears from Elena's life without a trace. Elena, now in her sixties and living in Turin, has had no contact with Lila for a number of years prior to her disappearance. Apparently Lila had not wanted that, even though they parted as good friends when Elena left Naples with Imma to move to Turin. Lila's son Gennaro is understandably upset about his mother's disappearance, and calls Elena to ask if she has heard from her. She has not. It is at that point that Elena decides to write the entire story of their lives together--when she knows that Lila has left her life for good. She is angry at her for disappearing, but at the same time I think she realized she was finally free. 

There are several ways to interpret the ending. One afternoon, after Elena has been out walking her dog, she returns home to find a medium-sized package in her mailbox. When she opens it, she finds the dolls that she and Lila had when they were children, and which they threw into a damp dark cellar at Lila's prompting. When they went to retrieve them a day or so later, they couldn't find them. Lila said at that time that she knew who had stolen them, but as it turns out, it was likely Lila who had retrieved them and hidden them away for many years. Why, no one knows. The motif of the hidden doll reminds me of Ferrante's other book--The Lost Daughter--where the protagonist, a middle-aged woman, finds a doll on the beach and hides it away in her vacation apartment, fully knowing that there is a little girl on vacation with her parents who has lost that doll. There was an evil streak in Lila that surfaced from time to time; she could be mean and spiteful, and then suddenly nice and even kind. She pulled Elena toward her and then pushed her away. It was that kind of friendship, and Elena let it evolve that way, even accepting her role in its evolution. She rarely stood up to Lila, choosing more often to observe and reflect on the ups and downs of their friendship (and to eventually write about them). So if it was Lila who sent the dolls to Elena, why then? It was Lila's way of admitting that she had lied all along to Elena about what happened to the dolls. It was Lila's way of letting go of the past, of apologizing, of moving forward with her life after all the suffering she had been through (the disappearance of her daughter Tina) and all the suffering she caused others. But what happened to Lila? Did she 'disappear' in order to live the rest of her life on her terms? Did she commit suicide (she had talked about wanting to be deleted from society)? Did she meet an unhappy end? Did she reunite with Enzo and did they live 'happily ever after'? Did she spend the rest of her life wandering around Italy searching for her daughter Tina? Or did she accept that Tina was probably dead? If so, then she could move on with her life, live and travel without the burden of grief. And to be a bit provocative, is Elena Ferrante (a pseudonym) really Lila, or Elena? I have always thought Elena. We'll never know the answers to these questions.  

I think that with the arrival of the lost dolls, Elena understood that she and Lila were now free of each other, free to pursue their lives independently of one another. It was a strange complex friendship and a rather unhealthy one. They were both dependent upon each other for different reasons; Elena on Lila because Lila encouraged her to write and forced/challenged her to have confidence in her abilities, even though she was envious of her. Elena was also driven by fear--fear that Lila would capture Nino's heart, and a fear (that she never completely shook) that Lila was (or would have been) the better writer. Lila needed Elena because Elena provided her with emotional and mental stability and a sense of normalcy. She could depend on Elena. Lila was emotionally-unstable, whereas Elena was more rational and cold in the sense of being the observer. 

I will miss this series, miss the depiction of women's lives in Italy over many years, starting in the 1950s when Lila and Elena were children in Naples. How painful it was to see how difficult it was (and still is) for women to write and raise a family under a patriarchal system (personal and societal) where men ruled, and the often disturbing family dramas and conflicts. Elena, despite her success as a writer, is foolish when it comes to her love for Nino, who is nothing but a shallow womanizer like his father--an intellectual pretender. Nothing I write here can really do justice to either the books or the series; they have to be experienced in order to understand the depth of the emotional lives of two Italian women who each considered the other to be the more brilliant friend. But it was Elena who wrote the books, and who considered Lila to be her brilliant friend. Lila was fiercely intelligent, even brilliant, but her talents were thwarted from a very young age by an unsupportive and abusive father and by the subsequent mistakes she made as she grew up. Watching the series, you realize how important it is that children get a supportive and loving start in life and the chance to amount to something. Without that, their lives are often stunted and damaged. Elena's father gave her that chance despite the patriarchal rigidity of their generation, Lila's father did not.