Identity Crisis II
Why Rosie? Here's the story behind Rosie. It's a long story, but completely appropriate in a blog about a real identity crisis.
I thrive on keeping very busy. I also like to take care of people. But a couple of years ago I tore my ACL and because they did the graft from my patellar tendon, I lost my entire quad muscle and couldn't walk at all. The rehab on a patellar graft is pretty long. And I had never experienced anything so physically debilitating--not even after spending a week in the hospital with serious double pneumonia and coming home on oxygen for 3 weeks. I felt completely useless. I couldn't do anything. And because people were so kind to take in my youngest child while the rest were at school, I was home alone much of the time. As a result, I got really absorbed by what I felt I'd lost--all the things I couldn't do--and became really depressed. I do try to be one of those people who are more tied into being than into what they do, but part of who I am involves what I do, so I was at a complete loss.
One of my best friends is an amazing poet. During this time she wrote the following poem and dedicated it to me (I left in the original spelling, because I liked it that way):
Materna
by Melody Newey
September 2003
for Dalene
Rosy the Riveter's got nothing on you
Someone put children to work in factories--
Mother stopped industrial
revolution smashing innocents.
Engineering masterpiece Mona Lisa
doesn't just sit. Neither does
four-bedroom-rambler
domestic royalty
Maternity, machinery,
fine-tuned, flannel-lined
perfection.
Flesh and blood
mammary.
Power doesn't come from a biceps.
Initally the Rosie image was used as a bit of an inside joke--to evoke the image was to evoke the the poem. But eventually she somehow sort of became an icon to me in a rather ironic way. And yet she still works for me because I come from a long line of strong women who weren't afraid to do whatever it took. In fact, would you like to meet my grandmother? Yet they are all women not without heart. The biceps is there and these women are not afraid to roll up their sleeves; but they will take you in and embrace you within their flannel-lined arms any time. I love the inherent dualism of it all and I aspire to attain that sort of greatness someday in my own small way.
I thrive on keeping very busy. I also like to take care of people. But a couple of years ago I tore my ACL and because they did the graft from my patellar tendon, I lost my entire quad muscle and couldn't walk at all. The rehab on a patellar graft is pretty long. And I had never experienced anything so physically debilitating--not even after spending a week in the hospital with serious double pneumonia and coming home on oxygen for 3 weeks. I felt completely useless. I couldn't do anything. And because people were so kind to take in my youngest child while the rest were at school, I was home alone much of the time. As a result, I got really absorbed by what I felt I'd lost--all the things I couldn't do--and became really depressed. I do try to be one of those people who are more tied into being than into what they do, but part of who I am involves what I do, so I was at a complete loss.
One of my best friends is an amazing poet. During this time she wrote the following poem and dedicated it to me (I left in the original spelling, because I liked it that way):
Materna
by Melody Newey
September 2003
for Dalene
Rosy the Riveter's got nothing on you
Someone put children to work in factories--
Mother stopped industrial
revolution smashing innocents.
Engineering masterpiece Mona Lisa
doesn't just sit. Neither does
four-bedroom-rambler
domestic royalty
Maternity, machinery,
fine-tuned, flannel-lined
perfection.
Flesh and blood
mammary.
Power doesn't come from a biceps.
Initally the Rosie image was used as a bit of an inside joke--to evoke the image was to evoke the the poem. But eventually she somehow sort of became an icon to me in a rather ironic way. And yet she still works for me because I come from a long line of strong women who weren't afraid to do whatever it took. In fact, would you like to meet my grandmother? Yet they are all women not without heart. The biceps is there and these women are not afraid to roll up their sleeves; but they will take you in and embrace you within their flannel-lined arms any time. I love the inherent dualism of it all and I aspire to attain that sort of greatness someday in my own small way.
Comments
If I didn't die from the pain of ACL surgery, the mind-numbing drudgery and aloneness, not being able to get up and move around would kill me for sure.
Again, my hat is off to you and many other women who are as tough as nails, yet gentle enough to sooth everything from a scraped knee to a tormented soul.
And now back to the totally irrelevant. We are still in the middle of a round of "Dress up Dalene's blog." (See Identity Crisis) Tune in tomorrow for something new. And then we will have a vote. By the way, Lorien, I know you like to dress Guy. In the middle of making fabulous flan, did you have try your hand at dressing Kevin?
Does my registration to vote in Texas qualify me to vote on your blog dressing? :-)
Here is your third choice. So now you get to vote between
#1 the green (Monday's)
#2 the awfully brown (Wednesday's)
#3 the grey/red (today's)
I already have a preference, which shall remain secret until the voting is in. (I am also putting out another request for technical advice. I want to adjust the title and the description to be centered... or at least to have the title divided a certain way when it splits into two lines.)
o the awfully brown
o the grey/red
Jeopardy music plays in the background....
For the luck of the Irish, Lyle pokes a hole next to "Green", checks carefully for hanging chads, and drops the ballot into the box...proud to do his duty for the blogging community
Compulsive needs your votes a.s.a.p.
I love the green too, even if I didn't vote in time for the final decision. G'day, mate!