HIV Won't Stop Me: 2012 T-Shirt and Blog Campaign: Jordan: The Teacher Learns His Lesson

HIV Won't Stop Me: 2012 T-Shirt and Blog Campaign: Jordan: The Teacher Learns His Lesson: I own exactly two t-shirts that don’t say “HIV” on them.   Having worked at the AIDS Project of Central Iowa for 13 years, I gathered quit...

Kissing Babies. Earning Votes.

I don't think it is a secret that I support the Obama presidency. And no, it isn't just because he held my nephew as a baby or subsequently signed the photo for Keyni's first birthday. I support Obama because he has done so many things as president that I honestly never thought I would see, at least not this soon, in my lifetime. 

I know some of my friends feel he has made mistakes and they di

sagree with some of his decisions. Honestly, I expect mistakes. I expect disagreements. But at his core, Obama has shown that he is on the side of equality and he has rallied the country to not only implement civil rights legislation, but to shift our hearts and minds in directions that will make us better. He consistently addresses the isms (not just select ones) that have caused deep divisions and marginalization in our country. And he does this work by building structural change; leveling the playing field so that all-not just those born into privilege based upon unearned status- may have access to a quality life. Healthcare, equal pay, education, civil rights...all of these make my life chances about as good as yours. These policies and programs break the cycle of poverty and give opportunity-NOT handouts-to all. If this was not enough, Obama has invested in the infrastructure of our country in an environmentally responsible way. From investing in wind energy to incentivizing energy efficient appliances and doing away with gas guzzling, smog-producing "clunkers", our planet is better off.

It takes a relatively self-less person to invest in these issues that will not likely produce their intended results for many years to come. But I can say that each time I am involved in a societal cause, whether that is HIV, anti-violence, or racial equality, I often hit a wall. At some point when I am deep into implementing the strategies of the day, I realize that in many cases I am paddling upstream and losing ground quickly. I back up from the issue and the same old solutions and see the underlying current that makes me feel I am in over my head. How can we successfully prevent HIV without also empowering women to take control of their bodies, without also instilling worth in our youth, without also providing healthcare for people living with the virus, without also addressing racism in the medical system, without also sanctioning love in all of its forms, without also preventing homelessness, without also...? Quickly, I am overwhelmed. But when I hear Obama speak, and this is equally true of both President Barack and First Lady Michelle, I feel hope. I feel they "get it" in a way that no other presidential team has. They see the connections between all of these issues and are working toward true solutions that likely won't even be attributed to their work because the impact will be felt gradually over the course of many years. But based on my experience and everything I believe, this is the way forward.

For these reasons, I hope you will join me in supporting our president today. I firmly believe our future will be better for it.

3000 Pounds of Maple and Metal

It is, by no means, the first time I've brought home what others considered trash(y). For most of my adult life, college move out, Goodwill, curb clean up days, and garage sales have been as fruitful in producing "finds" as have Target and Ikea. Seconds, thirds and forths are littered throughout my home sharing space with the likes of West Elm furnishings, Apple products, and professional-grade appliances.

So it is, perhaps, fitting that my driveway is now home not only to the newest vehicle that I've ever owned (2011) but also to my newest (oldest) camper. Formerly empty space, now enclosed by 3000 pounds of maple and metal, the 1959 Yellowstone Sunset is my prize from a lengthy search for the right vintage travel trailer.

"Right" is, admittedly, a subjective term.  In fact, before I invested my $1000 and the slice of homemade pie that I promised the owner of a borrowed tow vehicle, I received some very well-meaning and cautionary comments.  Before bringing home my new project, I heard and ignored one honest opinion from dad, one declaration of our different styles from my sister, one emailed link to a newer camper from mom, and a very loving (what-are-you-getting-us-into) "sure, let's get it" from my spouse.

My parents, in particular, can talk me out of or into most things. "Are you sure you don't want more tomato plants? But these are the Brandywines you like.  You could plant these three in back and then ten more right there in your front yard where you still have some space left. Come on, I'll help you make salsa." To avoid overuse of my poetic license, I should state that I don't really have tomatoes in my front yard.  But I do have a moss garden, a row of Barberry, two Peonies, a rock wall of sedum, a bunch of day lilies up close to the house...and so far I've put my foot down to the notion of adding a terraced garden.  That's just the front yard.

But not this time.  Their kind attempts to save me from taking on more than I can handle left me further convinced that, if I could dodge their doubts and still feel good about the decision, it needed to be made.

So this is my first photo of the sunset as we make our way home.  I'm curious how things will look in tomorrow's new light.

Turning Right

I've kind of turned my life crazy rightside out. I quit my job and re-enrolled in grad school, trading a fiscal year for an academic calendar. I even bought my first Mac in over 15 years. It should be noted, I'm not going back to school for a law degree or to become a doctor. Nope, I'm studying design. Art 212 to be precise. But these are Surface level changes, truly. The real change is happening beneath as plates in my brain shift to the right and creative magma seeks an outlet.

It all started with stress, specifically, my desire to reduce it. No one seemed to be doing this on my behalf, so I took it upon myself to make OM. I had help, of course, and urging- mainly from my mother. She is a pusher of all things that make me uncomfortable. How many ways can you tell someone you aren't interested in trying meditation? Multiply that by ten and you are close to the number of excuses I have been forced to concoct. No to yoga. No to Tai Chi. No to drumming, crystal bowls, sound healing, Chi Gong, chakra balancing and acupuncture. And NO to "it's not Yoga, it's stretching".

I did try, and actually liked, her offering of Reiki. I attribute this modality to my relative sanity that characterized the past four years. But the kicker in the butter was art class. It's not that I didn't say "no" a hundred times. I did. But I, one time, said "yes". And that was the time I realized how much I needed the neurons firing on both sides of my brain. My belated arrival at this conclusion might be less ironic if the rest of my family wasn't skilled in various art forms.

So, yes, I was shocked when I agreed to let my mom show me how to use the pastels she had sitting out on her table. It was the gradients of color and perfectly shaped rectangles that awoke my undiagnosed OCD and lured my hand to their smooth surface. What kept me hooked, however, was the emancipation they brought from my left brain's persistent work to figure things out, show no fear, fight the good fight, attain perfection, and fry my sanity while doing it...all. For the moments I used them, the pastels allowed me to narrow my focus singly to the residue left behind on the sketch paper.

With art I entered a dark room as if it was the first for a photographer with years of undeveloped film. The anticipation of the developing memories, visions, and compositions has put me in my right mind. And it is good.

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38 of 59

My dad is 59 today.  I've known him for 38 of those years, and so far, I'm pretty impressed.

We celebrate birthdays in my family.  I didn't realize that not everyone does. A birthday is not to be missed.   We get our day, and within limits, get to pick where we eat and what we do.  By "we", I mean my mom, dad, sister, brother-in-law, nephew, spouse, and I.  When we were younger, the birthday meal choice was mom's lasagna or chicken and noodles over mashed potatoes.  And dinner was always followed by cake served, for the birthday celebrant, on the ceramic birthday cake-shaped plate that I made when I was a kid.  My parents still have the birthday plate glazed in white, yellow, pink, and blue, but these days it's easier to go out to eat somewhere.  Pity.

Although I appreciate that someone gave it some thought, I'm not a fan of sorting through the hundreds of birthday cards written  for some stereotype of a dad.  Father's Day cards are worse.

• A. I didn't drive my dad to drink, prematurely grey, or otherwise behave in a way that would compel me to annually apologize for the hardships I caused.  
• B.  My dad is not a cartoonish buffoon who can no longer see properly, bathe independently, or tell single-ha! one-liners without Hallmark's hand.  
• C. Although he is pretty cool, and despite the faded 1980s SuperDad undershirt that reminds him just how awesome he is, I can't do hardcore, full-blown sap.

So I choose D. None of the Above.  Skip the card all together and write a blog instead.

So Dad, on your birthday, I do want to pick just one bone with you as I think about the 38 years we've shared.  It has to do with Peter Pan, the little boy who didn't want to grow up.  Of course "suffer" is a relative word, but Peter Pan Syndrome is no Neverland.  How many people had the kind of childhood they wouldn't mind living over and over?  Not many people can relate. I'm kind of ostracized  because of the childhood you helped shaped for me.  So I suffer on, and I watch as the cycle is perpetuated with my (poor) nephew.

I don't know if you would want to live those years over.  You had to fix a lot of cars, buy me a lot of candy bars, hunt for real food, point out the Elm Trees, and spend countless hours teaching me which wildflowers tasted sweet and which were sour.  I don't know if you would.  But I would.