Not That Riviera

On Friday the 13th, my phone rang at 7:00 a.m. with a plea from my step-mother, Tina, to please come help her move my 300-pound father from his bed to his wheelchair. I jumped out of bed and into the shower, then packed an overnight bag and drove the 30 miles from Ontario to Montebello, during Friday morning traffic. Upon arriving at their house, Tina was frantic, but Dad was lying on his hospital bed in the living room, like a large lump of bread dough covered with a brown and orange afghan. His right foot was uncovered, revealing a soft cast there to protect his right ankle that was fractured when he fell down the porch stairs three days ago.

Most of the day was spent waiting. First we waited for the case worker to connect with a coordinator. Next we waited for Nurse Monique to come evaluate the situation and make the decision of what action to take to help Dad. In the meantime, the decision was already made that he should go to rehab for physical therapy to strengthen his legs and ankles enough to support himself enough to move around.

Before Monique came, we spent about an hour getting Dad from bed to potty chair. First we swung his bad right ankle over, then his left, until both legs were dangling over the edge of the bed. It took us several attempts to get Dad to stand because he needed to rest between tries. Tina supported one of his arms and I supported the other while Dad tried to help himself up. He winced with the effort because of the pressure on his bruised ribs and the weight on his ankle. Eventually he was standing, supported by the arms of the chair. Step-by-step we worked together to rotate his body around to sit on the potty chair, Tina pulling his shorts down before he sat. It must have been uncomfortable for Dad to have to sit on a hospital chair naked from the waist down with his adult daughter in the same room with him, because he lost the urge. 

We spent some more time turning Dad on the chair in a better position to see the television. The television was Dad's lifeline. He was most secure holding the tv remote, but somehow we lost the it twice. We watched several cooking shows and Perry Mason in black and white. Next up was Ironsides, but we didn't get to watch the back-to-back Raymond Burr shows, because a message came on the tv screen that the company did not receive their bill payment. This led to the photo above when I brought Dad his laptop so he could get online to see if other checks were unpaid. You might think he felt undignified, but he said the situation didn't bother him and the cable company said the they were good payers, so not to worry. 

Monique bounded into the room, took his vitals, and gave us the low down. She said that she had arranged for a bed in the nearest convalescent hospital and that an ambulance was going to transport him to the facility and it was also arranged to pick him up and return him for his orthopedic doctor appointment on Monday morning. She warned us that the facility was understaffed and it was a good idea to be friendly to the nurses and spend as much time as possible next to Dad.

An ambulance was scheduled for 4:45 but when it arrived, the two EMTs wanted to call for backup to hoist Dad onto the gurney. So we waited some more. The second crew arrived  around 6:00 pm.  The four of them rolled Dad onto a crisp white sheet, and with an EMT at each corner and Tina holding his cast, they lifted him onto the gurney 1,2,3. 

We followed the ambulance to the Riviera Convalescent Home, just ten minutes away. There was some confusion about the room. I thought, "We waited all day to get into a bed there and it still wasn't ready?" An old guy in a wheelchair, whom I secretly dubbed Super Vet because of the large American flag sticking up from behind his head, was hovering in the hallway. The ambulance crew wheeled Dad into the room and one of the female EMTs immediately raced out saying, "There's a naked lunatic back there." We could hear constant moaning and the steady beep of an alarm. We followed the bed into its space and were assaulted by the stench. Three nurses filed by carrying towels and plastic bags. They passed our small curtained off area between the naked guy and Super Vet to clean up the mess completely nude man had made on the floor. Nurses continued coming in and out, each with their own explanation of John.  "He's not right in the head," "He's like a baby," "He's a little touched," they explained as the moaning started and stopped and the alarm continued. Finally, one of the nurses turned off the alarm. 

Tina went straight to a supervisor to see about a room change. The supervisor apologized for the mistake. The hospital had put Dad into the nursing home side because he is 86 years old. At his age, they assumed he was senile or had other long term problems. They found him a bed on the convalescent side where he belonged. He was there to gain strength through physical therapy for 2 to 3 weeks, not move in. We asked to see the room first. If it was unacceptable, we were moving hospitals. Thankfully, the other side of the hospital was completely different. There were only two beds in that room; it was clean, had a closet, a television, and most importantly, no lunatic. 

While the hospital staff prepared the room and the paperwork, we waited between the lunatic and the super nosy vet. Super Vet lived in the curtained off section closest to the door. He was obviously long-term and acted like king of the old crazies hallway. His section of the room was decorated with a large American flag behind his bed, personal mementos on the other wall, and big blue butterflies on the outside of the door. As soon as the nurses were done with John, Super Vet rolled his flag-wielding wheelchair into our space to find out what was going on and warn us not to leave anything out because there were thieves in there. He was more annoying than the lunatic because we couldn't ignore him. 

The supervisor quickly took care of the room change and apologized for the misunderstanding. The whole situation was something I never would have imagined. The staff at the facility was very understanding of our panic. They were friendly and helpful. Two nurses arrived to move the bed to the other side of the hospital. They got Dad settled, inventory taken, and brought him toiletries and a welcome bag with a little bear in it. It was now 9:00 pm and I was ordered home with love and appreciation.

I was so glad to have had that experience because it opened my eyes to the issues surrounding old age. I saw how much room all the necessities of age take up. In my parents' small living room sat a hospital bed, a potty chair, a walker, and a wheelchair. Any movement took some rearranging.

I never knew the end of life could be so dramatic; that there were places where there are moaning naked men and people walking their wheelchairs down the hall past others who sat slack-jawed holding onto teddy bears. I saw the difference between where they put the people who lived the rest of their days on county dollars and those who were there to rehabilitate their bodies. 

On this ominous day for bad luck, we felt blessed. My folks were very appreciative of the service provided by CareMore, the emergency technicians, and the Riviera staff. Everyone was extremely helpful. polite and matter of fact. I think they all understood what we were going through and were respectful of our needs.

What Feminists Look Like

 

 

 

Super Man





It's a bird, it's a plane, it's Superman!

My "final" for the Mementos & Metaphors poetry workshop series at the Ovitt Community Library with David A. Romero was a reworking of the Week 1 assignment to write a poem about a family member using an object closely associated with that person. I chose to write about my son Ben and called it Super Man.

My son is a hero.
The boy who idolized Superman in his youth
Now fights for truth, justice and the American way
For the non-Americans in the Inland Empire.

My son is a hero to the latino and latina immigrants.
He flies to the street corners
To hold up his cape-like banners
In peaceful protest of racial profiling.

Faster than a speeding bullet,
My super man will rush to heed the call
Of the disempowered and downtrodden among us.

He will race to the police check points
To protect the rights that we all uphold:

     The right to be treated as human beings
     The right to live in community without violence, and
     The right to have economic justice and no abuse of power.

My son is a hero
Who knows that truth and justice are not the American way,
That capitalism promotes the separation into classes,
That the white patriarchy has caused social and economic imbalance
That has lasted for centuries.

So now, he is a hero to the anarchist way
With x-ray vision to a world that is
More egalitarian, more spiritual, and incorruptible.
Look! It's a bird, it's a plane,
It's Equality for All!

 

Silly Starters

Writing a poem is discovering.

~ Robert Frost

 

 

I bought a book at the teacher store to allow the students to choose a daily journal topic. Last week was the first time I sat down to write with them. Two days in a row the assignment was to write a poem. Here are the two I wrote.

 

Day #1: Write a poem about a puppy that wants to be a person.

I'm a little puppy

Who owns a little girl

I love to run and jump with her

More than anything in the world

 

But what I want the most in life

Is to be just like my friend

Because if I could talk, I'm sure

Our chats would never end

 

We'd speak about the flowers

or what dresses we will wear

We'll sing about most anything

And dance without a care

 

I'm a little puppy

Who wants to be a girl

So I can run and dance and play

And wear my hair in curls

 

Day #2: Write a poem about a monkey that cannot stop laughing.

 

I saw a monkey in a tree

Laughing so hysterically

Ha ha ho ho hee hee hee

 

He chortled and giggled

Until there were tears

I think he had been

Laughing for years

 

That poor monkey

Could not stop his glee

Ha ha ho ho hee hee hee  

 

 

I actually had a hard time writing the second poem and so did the kids, but I shared my strategies. First I brainstormed about the most important elements of the assignment: monkey and laughing. Some of the words I thought of for monkey were: banana, tree, tail, swinging on a vine, and ooh ooh. For laughing I wrote down hysterical, chuckle, giggle, laugh until it hurts, cry, tee hee, ha ha. Then I thought about the words that went together. The students usually have about ten minutes to write and they can be very creative. I'm glad they like to share with the class too. They let me share my poems last week and it was fun to read them.



 



Voice for the Voiceless

Where does discipline end? Where does cruelty begin? Somewhere between these, thousands of children inhabit a voiceless hell.  ~ Francois Muriac

Because of the Coffee House Writer's Group Meetup, I started attending a 4 week poetry workshop at the Ovitt Community Library in Ontario. As I told my fellow CHWGers, my poetry usually runs in the veins of romantic love or children's poetry, but these workshops are expanding my repertoire. I respect the fact that the first presenter advocated poetry with a social conscience. And, although I have written rhyming children's poetry that is meant to be read aloud as a performance piece, David Romero's idea of Spoken Word Poetry is new to me. His concept is for us to write long poems and then memorize them to be performed and judged by an audience.

Monday's workshop was titled "The Voice of the Voiceless." Presenter Matt Sedillo performed his work called "Gerald Ford" that was really a look at the life and wisdom of a homeless man. In his very powerful voice, Sedillo contrasted the sorrow the American people felt over the death of our former president, Gerald Ford, and the lack of compassion and the fear we feel for a homeless man, although at any moment, any one of us could be in the same tattered shoes.

Our assignment was to write a poem for any voiceless person. My partner wrote about an old man whose family put him into a nursing home. I have always tried to give voice to the children. My poem was inspired by the upstairs neighbors I had in Colorado Springs, Colorado, when I lived in some government projects there. It is called:

Mom and Dad on Crack

 

I get to stay up as late as I want and jump on the bed until I collapse from exhaustion.

Mommy and Daddy are busy doing their own thing.

They go into the bedroom and tell be to Stay Out because I am not allowed to

play with lighters, and besides, the smoke is not good for my lungs.

 

In the morning, I get up and make my own cold cereal

And then I wake up Daddy to take me to school.

Sometimes I wish I could have a hot breakfast, like pancakes or eggs.

But at least,

I get to stay up as late as I want,

I get to wear whatever I want,

and

I hardly ever get yelled at because

Mommy and Daddy are in the bedroom

doing their own thing.

So now I have this memorized and plan to present it next week. If you are interested in attending the last two workshops, here is the information from the Ontario Library website.

Poetry Workshop- Mementos & Metaphors

Posted Date: 3/6/2013 7:00 AM

David A. Romero will present his four week workshop "Mementos & Metaphors": Poems of Family and Identity. April 8, 15, 22 and 29 from 7:00 - 8:30pm in the storytime room.

 

And thank-you to my new writing friends at CHWG!

http://www.meetup.com/CoffeeHouseWritersGroup/

 

Nickname Queen

Today’s Quote:

”The harder I work the better my luck seems to be.”

            ~Thomas Jefferson

My number 2 son says I have more names than a rapper.

It all started with my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Elam, at Cleminson School in Temple City. She called me Giggling Gertie and embroidered a smiling Gertie onto my embroidery sampler project. When we moved to Covina, my school nickname became plain Giggles. A lot more kids at Charter Oak Elementary knew me by Giggles than I knew by name.

 

In high school, my mother was constantly rhyming everything, so I became Diana Banana, Banana, Banana-Butt, or plain BN. Alex Kristofka, my neighbor, never shouted anything but Diana Banana at me. Banana-Butt is strictly reserved for Bettina-Butt. Most people called me Banana, because I have a-peel. Get it? Pam’s family always called me Banana Caboose or Caboose because it was close to my maiden name, Cobos. I even utilized my nickname in my sophomore presidential campaign with the slogan, “Vote Diana for Top Banana.” I worked my brand and won!

 

I think you get a lot of nicknames if your given name is three or more syllables. Some people just can’t handle more than one syllable at a time. That means I’ve been called both Di and D. Those got morphed into Big D, Lady D and Lady Di. I like being associated with the good-hearted former Lady Diana Spencer who later became a Princess. I skipped princess status to become Queen of Outer Space. One year, I even wrote down Queen as my occupation on my kids’ Emergency card at Hawthorne Elementary. I didn't think the office ladies would notice, but they did and made mention of it a time or two.

 

People always confuse the names Diane and Diana. This is irritating for both of us. One time it created a problem when I took a temp job working with a Diane at a Colorado Springs cemetery. People would call and ask for the wrong Diane/a, so they suggested I use a nickname. Shorten my name to Di? Clients might be reminded of dying; not a good choice. How about my initials? D.C. didn’t work either. They stand for Death Certificate. Finally, they suggested using my middle name. Well, my middle name is Cleil. You are supposed to enunciate each letter sound in my name, but no one in the office could say that final “L”so they called me Cleo.

 

Because I was a competitive swimmer, I became Diana Dolphin. I used Dolphin as my Camp name and in every situation where I work with kids outside of a regular classroom. At my current job as an after school program leader, I am Miss Dolphin. And because Diana was the goddess of the moon, I chose as both my e-mail name and my brush name dolphinmoon.

 

I had hoped to establish myselfin the teaching profession as an innovative thinker with the name and logo Mrs. Bubbletree. I even wrote a little poem and put it on a profile brochure with the byline, "Grounded in standards & bubbling with ideas." People either love the name and remark on its creativity or they say that is childish and unbecoming of a serious professional.

 

Every time I make a new group of friends, I get a new nickname. Besides my long term names, like Banana and Giggles, I am also part of the Bitchen' Chicks (I'm number four, B4). I am also La Giggles, Flower Girl, Sugar Toes, LL, Thumper, the combo Mama/Sister/Friend, COBOS, and my grandma name, Mimi.

 

 

One time I met a person who felt that nicknames were insulting. I think nicknames are endearing. They mean that someone really understands you in a certain way and makes a pet name for you as an intimate reminder of your bond. What's your favorite nickname? 

             

                         

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                  

Everton

     The town was near the ocean. There was a fountain in the middle of the concrete square that was surrounded by office buildings. Around the fountain were vendors hawking their wares from folding tables. Some of the vendors had umbrellas to shield them from the sun. People milled around the tables, ate from food carts or sat upon the many benches spaced around the center. I noticed a photographer coming toward me. I watched as he took a picture of a young woman. He talked to the woman for a minute and then as he was taking the photo, she vanished.
     The photographer then came up to me and said he needed my help. He wanted me to take pictures of people to save them from the disaster about to strike out planet. I had been chosen and we didn't have much time. He explained that I must take the photograph, while speaking each person's name and telling them that they were going to Everton. He stressed again how urgent this project was and said I would know who to photograph. I grabed my camera and began to take pictures. Each time I would ask the person's name, push down the button on my camera and hold it down as I spoke to him or her, and then watch them disintegrate into nothingness. No one seemed to notice what I was doing in the crowded square. I wondered where Everton was. I wondered if the people I photographed were safely transported. A sense of urgency began to overhwhelm me. I wondered why I could not take pictures of two or more people together thinking it would be much quicker. I saw a family sitting on a bench. I went to the youngest girl and asked her her name. "Gloria," she said. I told her, "Gloria, I am sending you to Everton." I walked around the square choosing others and repeating the process with each one. I searched out my own family and sent them all to Everton. I left the square and walked to the shore. I wanted to find more people to photograph. I was on the sand now and I saw the swells begin. "A tidal wave is about to begin" I thought to myself. How could I get to safety? In answer, I watched a dolphin swim towards me. It scooped me onto its back and we rode the crest of the tidal wave until the dolphin deposited me onto a concrete riser with a tall steel rod sticking out of its middle. I stood on the small circle of concrete, holding on for my life as the water swept past me with great force and rushed all the way to the mountains. I stood there clinging to that pole for long hours waiting for the water to recede. The water finally settled into a large lake covering the basin between beach and mountain. When the water started to sink into the ground, I went back to the town center. I wanted to find out if there was anyone left who I needed to photograph and if anyone else had been left behind. And, I wanted someone to photograph me.
     It was strange how the town square looked unaffected by the tidal wave. It was dry and sunny. The tables and the vendors were in exactly the same places, only now the vendors seemed somehow different. Every vendor seemed distant and cold. A man called out to me from behind his table, "You have beautiful hair!" I thought about my shiny straight auburn hair as I looked his way but soon realized that he only wanted me to buy the hair care products he had for sale, so I just said, "Thank-you," quite tersely and walked on. I thought that everyone was out here just to make money and they would say anything to trick others into buying their products. The atmosphere was so different now - it seemed heavier or something. I wanted to get out of there! I wanted to get to my family. I started asking people to take my picture but now I couldn't remember the name of the town I sent everyone to. The first woman I went up to seemed nice. She was browsing at a table. She was pretty in her flowered headscarf and dark sunglasses. I hoped she would remember the name of the town. I hoped she wanted to go with me where the others had gone. She told me that she had wanted to go but it was too late now. "Besides," she said, "the camera won't work now because it has gotten wet." I looked at the camera. It was clear now, not black. It did look like it had water in it. But when I walked up to a man, the camera was black again. Relieved,  I told him I needed to get my picture taken, that my family had gone to another town and I wanted to go be with them, but I couldn't remember the name of the town. I asked him if he remembered the town and asked if he wanted to go too. He said that the name of the town didn't matter. I could choose any name I wanted when I got my picture taken and it would whisk me out of here. I didn't believe him. I wanted to go to the same place as everyone else, not to someplace by myself. The people here knew about the camera's ability to transport me, but everyone had a different reason as to why they could not take my picture or have theirs taken by me. Finally, one woman told me that if she took my picture when she wasn't supposed to, she would be destroyed. I was getting frantic and decided that the only way I could escape this planet was to take my own photograph. I didn't know if it would work or not. If I just could remember the name of the town. And then, it came to me. I remembered that when I first was asked to take photos of other people, I was unsure if my teacher was saying Eberton or Everton. I figured out he was saying Everton, like we would be safe for ever. I held my camera at arm's length, said "Diana, I am sending you to Everton," and snapped the picture.