sing it, Etta...

Some time ago, I did a presentation on Etta James. She was born in the late 30s; and, from the start, her life was tumultuous. A negligent, transient mother; unknown father; and rotating guardians all served to create chaos in her life and led to a lifetime of drugs and abuse. For a short period of time, though, while Etta was young, a woman she referred to as Mama Lu cared for her until Etta found her unconscious in a bathroom, having suffered a stroke that led to Mama Lu's death. Later on in Etta's life, she wrote Sugar on the Floor, and it described how she felt about Mama Lu. Etta had thought of her as the sweetest influence in her life, and Mama Lu's passing was like sugar fallen and swept away.

The lyrics indicate a troubled loneliness that Etta must have carried throughout her life...

Sugar on the Floor

You're a stranger to me

Still you give me your life

I toss it to one side

Still you're sweeter to me

When will I be sure

Etta had persistently been drawn to her illusive and beautiful mother, even through the deep neglect. She always knew that Mama Lu was not her real mother, but Mama Lu was the one that poured out a maternal love on her...still you gave me your life... 

Yet, the draw to her real mother was strong... I toss it to one side.

It's warm where you are

But my lips just don't burn

I feel so insecure

When you try to be kind

Could I, could I ask for more?

Feel like sugar on the floor

Sugar on the floor

Sugar on the floor

Mama Lu consistently provided warmth and love. 

Tender, intimate lips... just don't burn... Is she saying she never really let Mama Lu into the most intimate part of herself while she was alive? Does she recognize that she never really reciprocated the love while she was young?

Here there's also a transition to feeling like the sugar on the floor herself. Was she starting to see how little her mother valued her? And, maybe others in her adult life?

Looking at you now I know you only want to find me

Still I need a reason to leave the past behind me

There is no easy way

There is no easy way

To learn how to fly

I hope that I could care

When I turn around you're there

Should I, should I ask for more?

I feel like sugar on the floor

I feel like sugar on the floor

Sugar on the floor

Mama Lu and her husband were the first ones to take Etta to church and introduce her to her gift of song through the church choir. I know you want to find me... Does she feel Mama Lu's presence many years after her passing? They were the ones to "find" her as a child. Does she feel guilt about her drug-induced life?

By this point, she was heavy into drugs. There's no easy way indicates the hold that the drugs had on her, and she knows it; but she doesn't really care... I hope that I could care.

Should I ask for more... Does she even value herself? Probably not. Yet, she inherently must, as she refers to herself as the sugar being swept away.

Oh, oh, ooh

Ooh, It's warm where you are

But ooh I wish we could be closer

'Cause I'm living in a dream

And I can't show you

Still you're sweeter to me

When would I, when would I be sure?

I feel like I'm sugar on the floor

Feel like sugar on the floor

I wish we could be closer... 'cause I'm living in a dream... Mama Lu had been dead for well over thirty years at this point. It appears that Etta suggests that Mama Lu provided stability before the dream of a life she was currently living in. A part of her wants that stability back again.

All I need,

all I need is somebody to love

All I need,

all I need is somebody to care about me

So I won't be wasted

Oh, wasted on the floor

Oh I, oh I

I feel like I'm sugar on the floor

Surrounded by so many admirers, and, yet, she says she needs somebody to love. Is she suggesting that she didn't really love anyone like she loved Mama Lu?
She sounds so very lonely. 
Somebody to care about me suggests that no one cared for her like Mama Lu; and, if nobody does, then she will be wasted too. 
I feel like I'm sugar on the floor... Is she insinuating that others treat her like she treated Mama Lu--unappreciated completely until she was gone? Will others appreciate her more when she is gone? Will she, one day, be seen as someone's sweetest thing, swept away? 

aim a little higher than this, girls...

Upon thinking about what to include here, I thought, how about I take a closer look at the lyrics of a song? 

Ooo, my girls are going to a One Direction concert in a few weeks, I thought; I should take a look at one of their songs. Conversation starter with my girls... They're going to think I'm so cool. 

I came across the song "Na Na Na". I'm sure there'll be something to digest, right?

Hmm...

Na Na Na

[Verse 1]
[Liam]
We've got a bit of love/hate
You take me to the edge then you hit the brakes
I say it's over one day,
But then I'm crawling back begging you to stay
We make up and we break up all the time

I'll say that I hate a song,
Then you'll go request it the whole night long
Some people say it's so wrong but even when we fight,
Girl, you turn me on
We make up and we break up all the time

[Chorus]
We're like na, na, na
Then we're like yeah, yeah, yeah
Always like na, na, na
Then we're like yeah, yeah, yeah

[Zayn]
No, we can't make up our minds
'Cause when we think we've got it right
We go na, na, na, na
Na, na, na, na
Na, na, na, na
Na, na, na, na

[Verse 2]
[Liam]
You wanna party too late
But when I do the same all you do is complain.
You know that it drives me insane
When I get with you girl you make it okay.
We make up and we break up all the time.

[Chorus]
We're like na, na, na
Then we're like yeah, yeah, yeah
Always like na, na, na
Then we're like yeah, yeah, yeah

[Zayn]
No, we can't make up our minds
'Cause when we think we've got it right
We go na, na, na, na
Na, na, na, na
Na, na, na, na
Na, na, na, na

Na, na, na, yeah, yeah, yeah [2x]

[Zayn]
Oh oh oh... It drives me mad, oh

Na [20x]

[Chorus]
We're like na, na, na
Then we're like yeah, yeah, yeah
Always like na, na, na
Then we're like yeah, yeah, yeah
We're like na, na, na
Then we're like yeah, yeah, yeah
Always like na, na, na
Then we're like yeah, yeah, yeah

[Zayn]
No, we can't make up our minds
'Cause when we think we've got it right

We go na, na, na, na

Nice. 

First, nothing quite gets to the heart of a pre-teen like a good love/hate song for couples. 

You take me to the edge then you hit the brakes
I say it's over one day,
But then I'm crawling back begging you to stay
We make up and we break up all the time

You take me to the edge of what?? Are these kids toying with sex and he can't handle her saying no? He breaks up with her, but then keeps coming back for more? Lovely.

Off to a great start.

I'll say that I hate a song,
Then you'll go request it the whole night long
Some people say it's so wrong but even when we fight,
Girl, you turn me on
We make up and we break up all the time

No words... except, Listen to the people who are telling you it's so wrong!! Ugh!

You wanna party too late
But when I do the same all you do is complain.
You know that it drives me insane
When I get with you girl you make it okay.
We make up and we break up all the time.

Just peachy. 

Girls, here's the sum of it all (according to our friends, One Direction): 

Step #1: Do whatever you want. 

Step #2: Give him a hard time when he does the same. 

Step #3: Use your wily, girly ways to lure him back (he won't be able to help himself).

Step #4: rinse, and repeat.

I think I should've picked a different song...

[Chorus]
We're like na, na, na
Then we're like yeah, yeah, yeah
Always like na, na, na
Then we're like yeah, yeah, yeah
We're like na, na, na
Then we're like yeah, yeah, yeah
Always like na, na, na
Then we're like yeah, yeah, yeah

I'm a little hard pressed to find meaning in this chorus. 

no, yes, no, yes. 

we're like... always like... we're like... headache.

Looks like there might be a little debriefing after this concert...

Analysis: Absence of depth in the message leads the listener to deduce an absence of depth in the messenger.

Maybe I'm not that cool after all...

detroit, you have my heart...

Maybe it's because it gave refuge to a father fleeing a stifling environment. Maybe it's because it's where he realized that he really could pursue dreams far beyond his eastern European roots. 

Maybe it's because I can still picture myself as a little girl looking up at big letters on bright Saturday mornings.

Maybe it's because of the rollerskating memories through that very market... more likely because of the bratwurst pita sandwiches, though.

Maybe it's because of the long and slow drives down Woodward, my dad sharing stories about adventures in a new country during the late 60s. Maybe it's because of the sadness in his eyes over how much it's decayed.

Whatever the reason may be, I see images like this and I want them to come true with all my heart.

It can happen. Right? So many dilapidated buildings... ashes everywhere, suffocating every surface they envelope.

Will officials start doing right things and stay away from pocket-filling things?

Will The Spirit of Detroit really be able to lift up a wheezing city from its ashes?

When I see this:

And this:

A mini-beach in the city?  Who woulda thought?

And this:

Roasting Plant

I think, maybe, just maybe, enough others will care to see this city flourish again.

And then maybe, just maybe, generations to come will have memories to daydream about as well.

behind the art...

Another trip to the DIA... always a treat.

After having taken an art appreciation course, my curiosity about the stories behind pieces of art has increased. I often find, though, that much is unknown. The following is one of those cases; nevertheless, the time period fascinates me.

This particular piece is by Charles Harry Eaton and was purchased by the DIA in 1889. Eaton was born in Akron, OH and also lived in Detroit for a while. 

The Lily Pond

The piece is large, crisp, clean and so very true to life. The intricate details draw me to sit and gaze every time. How does one make it look so real?

Each time I'm at the DIA I love to peruse through the Modern collection, as that gallery also houses art from the French Impressionist period, my favorite. I've always thought it a curious thing that this piece, and a few others, are amongst works by Degas, Gervex, and even Renoir.

Recently I did a little digging to see what I could find out about Charles Harry Eaton. Instead, what I found was that I had gotten so enamored with French Impressionism that I subconsciously (maybe?) thought impressionist art was the only thing going on in the art world in the late-1800s.

Interestingly enough, Eaton's work was exhibited in the very Paris Exposition from which most impressionist artists were banned. His artistic circles were primarily in the United States, far from the shakeup in France during that time. It appears that he was well-respected and part of a very supportive art community along the east coast throughout his career. He was described as a lover of nature; and, indeed, most of his pieces capture beautiful landscapes.

I couldn't find much about him, so I can't help but wonder about a couple things: What did he think of the impressionists? Was he aware of the stir they made in France? 

The Lily Pond seems to be one of his more crisp and clean pieces. Was he influenced by the shift in France? Was he also interested in capturing fleeting moments in nature like the impressionists, as some of his other works seem to suggest?

The internet doesn't seem to be much help to me today. No answers.

Maybe a library trip is in order...

breaking tragic news...

I ran across a blog post from Letters of Note, and I was struck by a letter Charles Dickens wrote back in 1851 to his wife, notifying her of their daughter's death. His wife was away from home at the time, and, during her absence, their eight-month-old baby became ill and died. The following is the letter included in the post:

Devonshire Terrace 

Tuesday Morning
Fifteenth April 1851

My dearest Kate.

Now observe. You must read this letter, very slowly and carefully. If you have hurried on thus far without quite understanding (apprehending some bad news), I rely on your turning back, and reading again.

Little Dora, without being in the least pain, is suddenly stricken ill. She awoke out of a sleep, and was seen, in one moment, to be very ill. Mind! I will not deceive you. I think her very ill.

There is nothing in her appearance but perfect rest. You would suppose her quietly asleep. But I am sure she is very ill, and I cannot encourage myself with much hope of her recovery. I do not—and why should I say I do, to you my dear!—I do not think her recovery at all likely.

I do not like to leave home. I can do nothing here, but I think it right to stay here. You will not like to be away, I know, and I cannot reconcile it to myself to keep you away. Forster with his usual affection for us comes down to bring you this letter and to bring you home. But I cannot close it without putting the strongest entreaty and injunction upon you to come with perfect composure—to remember what I have often told you, that we never can expect to be exempt, as to our many children, from the afflictions of other parents—and that if—if—when you come, I should even have to say to you "Our little baby is dead", you are to do your duty to the rest, and to shew yourself worthy of the great trust you hold in them.

If you will only read this, steadily, I have a perfect confidence in your doing what is right.

Ever affectionately, 

Charles Dickens

I thought, wow, I can't even imagine having to break that sort of news to my spouse! In my wonder, though, I was also struck by his approach with his wife.

Did he know her tendencies to jump to conclusions and need to be slowed down in her reading? Or, was he oblivious to the maternal drive that would not be slowed by words in order to reach the information of her child's plight?

It was a curious thing to read his "reassuring" words.

"There is nothing in her appearance but perfect rest.
You would suppose her quietly asleep. 

But I am sure she is very ill... I do not think her recovery at all likely."

As if to give her a picture of a perfectly restful baby, yet at the same time, in an irreversible crisis. What a fearful thing it must have been to receive this letter!

I also wondered if, as he was concluding the letter, he was struck by the fear of his wife coming home and becoming completely undone. Knowing that it must have been unspeakably difficult to wrap his mind around how to "prepare" her, I can't help but sense an insensitive thread throughout his last paragraph, as if the fear of her losing herself prompted him to scramble to give her something to focus on. 

Was he being selfish and insensitive or was he guiding her toward a focal point through the horrendous storm that lay ahead? Did "perfect composure" mean something reassuring in the mid-1800s? Would she have really found that reassuring and helpful?

Would it not have added more pain and guilt to reassure her of his "perfect confidence in your doing what is right"? 

Such a tragic story. It must have been so painful.

As an aside... I found it a curious thing that the blog facilitator considered Dickens' approach "gentle" and "delicate." I would be interested to know how he concluded that. Maybe the "my dearest" and the "ever affectionately" were enough for him...

Some answers we will never get; nevertheless, my heart went out to this woman from so long ago, as if holding my breath for what awaited her.

the pleasure of a joke...

I read the story of Hessy Levinsons Taft a few days ago and it keeps coming back to mind. The innocent baby image prompted me to read through an article posted by The Washington Post.

What a precious baby girl, I thought. 

As I began reading the article I found that the photo had been submitted in 1934 to a Nazi-run magazine that was in search of the "perfect Aryan baby." It was one among dozens of photos submitted, and it was the one chosen.

(Over the years, the more I read and hear about the Holocaust, the more horror I feel about the sort of evil so many people were forced to endure.)

At first, I had a visceral reaction to the type of magazine is was. I felt sorrow for the evil that would be passed down to that precious child. As I continued on, though, I found out that the little girl in the photo was, in fact, Jewish! What?!

The true identity of the little baby girl was hidden for over fifty years until Hessy Levinsons Taft, herself, decided to share her story with the United States Holocaust Museum in 1990.

The article revealed that the photographer had been commissioned by Hessy's parents to take a picture of her. Shortly after he took the liberty of submitting the photo to the Nazi-run magazine even though he knew she was Jewish. Her parents knew nothing of the submission and, when confronted, the photographer told them...

"... I wanted to allow myself the pleasure of this joke. And you see, I was right. 

Of all the babies, they picked this baby as the perfect Aryan..."

... the pleasure of a joke... 

This is the part that my mind keeps coming back to. 

I understand that stories get distorted with time, but, even if partly true, that is some motive for placing the lives of already-targeted people in possible life-threatening jeopardy. 

The family ended up escaping Germany before harm came; nevertheless, I'm struck by the flippancy of the photographer. I imagine it would have taken a minimal amount of digging to find the true identity of the baby. Maybe that speaks to the blind hatred behind the magazine itself, having not sought out truth. Maybe it speaks to the blind drive to purport a hideous doctrine.

Either way, after having read the whole article, the photo now evokes maternal, protective gratitude that this child was kept from harm... even though so many others were not. 

For more on the article...

more than just a ride...

Sam has owned a motorcycle for several years now. Riding has always been something he enjoys. Apparently, like many things, there are all different types of riders. He would fall in the camp of leisure riders; not looking for an on-the-edge danger or speed thrill. 

He gets that from jet-skiing... well, and snowmobiling. 

Finally having gotten the kind of motorcycle he loves just a couple years ago, he began to take pleasure in finding any excuse to go out for a ride. 

It's not an odd thing to have him offer to go run an errand for me, just as long as whatever I need can fit into a saddlebag. hmm...

Over the years he's asked me to ride with him and, for one reason or another, it hasn't worked out. I agreed to a ride down the street and through the neighborhood, but nothing more than that. Also, with young kids at home, it wasn't convenient to leave them at home... just to go for a ride. I was always more than happy to stay home and give him the space to enjoy his thing, not really getting what the big deal was. 

Over the past couple years we've tried to be more intentional about spending time together and support each other's interests, as they usually fall on opposite ends of the spectrum. 

So one day last summer, in an attempt to be supportive, I agreed to a long-ish, leisure ride. We'd be gone for no more than 20 minutes... he promised. And, we could even stay within a few miles from home... words to put me at ease, I suppose. I was really not all that nervous about riding, just didn't get the draw. 

After several miles, I began to settle back into the seat, loosen my grip of him (so much for not being nervous) and start to look around. What I found surprised me. I started to notice the city in all sorts of new ways. How had I not ever noticed all the vibrant colors, bustling sounds, and pleasing smells? 

Within a few short miles the familiar had turned into something new; exciting and new.

Over the course of our following outings I discovered another treasure in the riding. The wonder that slowly unfolded as we would weave through the city was the calming effect of the ride, as if the cares of the day were carried away with the wind. All the tensions and deadlines and expectations would ease more and more from my mind with each passing mile. Why hadn't anyone told me that wind could ease burdens?

As an aside... living with an introspective, introverted mind can get wearying. 

I had found a new brain break! 

Yay, for new brain breaks!

Fast forward, a year later... guess who's asking to accompany errand running?

Yup. Who would've thought?

embracing chores...

Oh, the dreaded chore chart that surfaces every summer...

Before the girls have a chance to lean back into the leisure of no-school days, I bring up the summer chore conversation, hoping to get us all on the same page. It's usually met with moans and groans and rolled eyes. joy.

The summer chore chart is not all bad news. It's coupled with an incentive: A little cash for each chore completed (no grumbling used to be a stipulation but now I'm just thrilled when it gets done... oh, the temptation to just do it myself.). Since they don't receive a regular allowance, this incentive has been enough to keep them plodding along through the summer.

Quite honestly, I haven't done a great job of being a strong enforcer. Many days I capitulate to the pleading to overlook responsibilities not yet scratched out and do fun things instead. So end-of-the-week chore charts often have many things left undone. Oh well, I think. We'll *hopefully* get to more things *next* week... maybe...

Well, a curious thing has been stirring in this little (not-so-little) one over the past year:

(mmm, I think it's time for another trip to Give Thanks!)

Over the past year my youngest has taken a liking to lists and checking them off, time management and making sure we ARE NOT LATE TO ANYTHING, wanting to turn her homework in on time, and even making sure she has a water bottle for swim each practice, because her coach said needs one and WE CAN'T NOT HAVE ONE THEN, MOMMY!  (hmm, I wonder if there's a deeper issue that needs to be addressed... oh well, back to the chore connection...)

So with that checking-off-her-list mindset before her this is what getting to chores has looked like for Emma over the past few weeks of summer:

(who wouldn't feel like vacuuming with a little music, right?... right?)

Don't get me wrong. She's not singing and cleaning all the time. By no stretch of the imagination. 

I'll take what I can get, though.

It's just been so neat to see her growing into her own, figuring out what she likes and doesn't like, taking some responsibility for herself, and gaining some self-control. little bits at a time. Thank you, Lord! Many prayers later and seeing glimmers of the lovely young girl she's being shaped into is a delight!

As we grow together and wait for divine intervention to mature the both of us, I'll just continue to sneak pics of her whenever I can.

first days...

Why is it that first days of class are so unnerving? Stepping into a new class always takes me right back to elementary, middle and high school.




"Uhh... is there a vel... veleen... valonk... uh.."


(heart thumping)


"Uhh... udink... Udeek..." (looking up for help)


(sweaty palm raised)


"Uhh... yes?" (expectantly hoping that the 10 year old with her hand raised in the back of the room will unravel the mystery of a name) 


(hesitantly... quietly) "velinka udicki"


"What? Can you say that again?"


"Velinka Udicki" (red face, neck)


"Oh, thank you! Well... that sounds foreign! (awkward pause) How *did* you get a name like that?"


"Umm, well... it's a family name. My grandma... and, umm, my aunt had the same name..."


"Well, how special!" (relief written all over, moving on)


Even though decades have taught me hard-earned lessons about not allowing others to determine my value, there are still bits of that nervous young girl that squirms inside as my thirty-nine year old self crosses another threshold of yet another classroom thinking, ugh, here I go again.