echoesofpastwisdom

A Woman's Rite

By Laura McCollough

Try to understand

it's still fresh you see

this hurt

this pain

that you see in me

feeling guilty

blistering shame at what I've done

I was raised better

wouldn't hurt

anyone

But I did

someone who needed me

to survive

 I was more concerned about

the appearance of things

He drove me there but

didn't stay

I was all alone

to face the choice we made

Country hick

I'm sure they thought

don't they teach them

about this there?

Intern came

examined my breasts for the longest time

smirked and pulled

the gown back down

I was that naive

and scared

Sure that I deserved the worst

 they had in store

I called home the night before

We couldn't talk long

 make the boys suspicious

They came for me

no turning back

The older roommate gave a knowing glance

I laid on their gurney

and swallowed my pride

none of them knew what went on inside

After I woke felt sick

threw up yes that's it

you should be miserable

That's when she

placed a cool hand on my forehead

held a basin in front of me

spoke softly

I was confused

how could she treat me this way

did she know?

Today I know she did

she saw

the innocence, the fear

the regret

and still cared for me

That angel nurse

don't think I ever knew her name

but she inspired me

to go on and make the most of my life

I've gone on to touch

understand

soothe and comfort

but I am always atoning that scar

December 17, 1979

thankfulwisdom

The Grateful Un-dead

By Laura McCollough Moss

Good morning

wake to see another day

Stretch

Let's hear those feet hit the floor

Glad

to take dogs out

find clothes

shower

This ordinary routine

do you know how many

face life's explosions and would give

Anything

to feel normal

travel that familiar route?

Take this gift

pick up the scattered socks

stop for milk

make your deadlines

kiss those foreheads
 and

Thank your lucky stars.

taketheplungewisdom

What makes a forty-nine-year-old woman feel the need to join a Polar Swim? Having done no formal study, I would assert that no less than 98% of adults think it is nuts. I feel reasonably confident making this assertion because in the weeks preceeding the event, whenever I try to recruit plungers they invariably decline; adding "You're nuts!"

Due to the popularity of reality television, I am taking a gamble that readers will take voyeuristic pleasure in my first-hand account of the experience. A raw, un-edited version that can be relayed only by a seasoned veteran of three years in the sport.

I'm sure your first thought and most overwhelming concern when you consider jumping into a frozen lake is the obvious; could you tolerate the cold? We'll get to that, but I assure you that for middle-aged women, the bracing water ranks toward the bottom of priority in terms of preparation.

Swimming involves the donning of minimalistic apparel. Any attempt at modesty- as in wearing a full-coverage track suit- is not going to work. The more you have on, the more there is to get heavy and wet; thereby padding your odds of drowning or freezing.
No, Ladies, you have to bite the proverbial bullet and put on a bathing suit. I have tried to make cover-up gestures in prior years in the form of tank tops, t-shirts and nylon shorts. It seemed only fair to the innocent spectators, but who was I kidding? Wet clothing of any construction or design clings to every lump and bump for dear life; I have the video to prove it. Besides, we all know that the shivering, well-bundled on-lookers aren't there for support. They are standing by to see flabby, plucked-poultry-looking weekend warriors make fools of themselves. Of course there are young, fit, unreasonably tanned participants, but they don't reap nearly the viewing satisfaction.
That said, a woman-of-a-certain-age still wants to put her best foot forward. Did I mention the videos?
First thing in the morning, I wake up and check my phone. "WTF have you looked outside?" is the text waiting from my friend and polar partner. This prompts me to get up and look outside at the debris left by the howling winds that blew through the night. It's snowing, which is aptly polar. My resolve briefly wavers before I feel a stab to my street cred. I've boasted to anyone who would listen, for weeks, about my intent to repeat this nuttiness. I can't back out now. This feeling is confirmed when I text Denise about my apprehension. "Why should logic enter into this now?" is her message. We do this dance annually; pep-talking back and forth until we meet in our water shoes, ready to go.
More texts ensue; is there a rule of etiquette on this? How many texts can you lob between you before you should get on the phone and talk it out?
This vital communication centers around general grooming and hygiene. I'm frantically giving myself a pedicure; why, I can't be sure since I wear my trusty Keens. I think it has something to do with a dark fantasy in the back of my mind; that I'll succumb to a heart attack, and they will haul my lifeless body from the icy water, hurriedly pulling off the shoes in order to, I don't know, initiate some kind of pedal resuscitation and exclaim, "Sheesh! Lookit those nasty toenails!"
Next comes cleansing, depilitarization and moisturizing. Suffice it to say that after several months of a North American winter, a gal can let herself go. There's the leg shaving to contend with (to the knee only. I'm jumping in the lake; not getting married!) before addressing the bikini line. Yes, I will go there. This is reality journalism after all. How to put this delicately... why do they primly refer to these devices as 'trimmers' when the situation calls for something with 2-cycle oil and a pull cord? Cellulite is one thing. Cellulite in combination with a 'bat-wing' is out of the question. Just one more source of embarrassment should it appear in said video or, worse yet, to the aforementioned rescuers.
Once everything has been tamed and slathered with lotion, there's nothing left to do but grit my teeth and put on the suit. It's a nice one, smartly shaded in darkening degrees toward the bottom in order to make the belly and hips 'disappear'. They lie; you still know they're there, but they do look better. Some adjustment to get the 'girls' at the preferred height. For those not in the know, the bustline should assume a position halfway between the shoulders and the navel (a fact that I was dismayed to re-read, having forgotten the precise details and feeling that mine fell satisfactorily halfway between shoulder and hip). I steel myself and check the mirror, making a stern attempt to remain objective. Yes I'm chubby but the suit is cute, I'm enthusiastic, and I'm a good person with a clean bikini line. I pull on yoga pants- no need for anyone to get the full picture until it is absolutely necessary. Then I go downstairs and blow-dry my hair, going the extra mile and lifting the roots with pomade to achieve a pleasing height at the crown. I whip up some coffee and whole-grain toast. An athlete has to fuel the machine, after all.
After that, I have only to put on my pink robe, earrings and glasses.
Let the games begin!
My husband corrals the dogs, gathers appropriate foul-weather gear, and grabs the camera. With that, we are off to Mayville, NY, the site of the Winter Ice Festival. We stop and pick up my father on the way. He hasn't missed one of these jumps yet (see 'spectators' above). My mom, who was present for the first two, died in May. She remains with us in spirit, and is literally taking part since I'm wearing her swimsuit. One thing is certain; she would not want us to miss this.
A crowd waits at the Lakeview Tavern. We laugh, shout, flash one another and chug a beer before walking over to the place where we will take the plunge. The pathway to the lake is frozen, rutted and icy. The wind has not stopped its howling. As we make our way toward the area cut out of the ice, maybe fifty yards from the shore, a flock of unrecognizable people in hats, scarves, puffy coats, gloves and boots assemble to watch. The mood is convivial, with cheers and words of encouragement. "Good luck!", "You rock!", "You're nuts!!" It is freezing cold. There are already a handful of young, fit, unreasonably tanned boys and girls emerging from the water; gasping and swearing. There are three men in full rescue gear standing in the water. "Who's next?" one calls. Denise looks at me; there's no turning back now. I peel off the yoga pants and drape them around the neck of a friendly woman standing next to me. Last year we threw things on the ice, and they got wet, so no more of that. I pull off the robe, stashing my glasses in the pocket,  and she extends an arm, having established herself as my valet. One thing you learn at forty-nine, despite all of the unfortunate things that can happen over a lifetime, people are wonderful. I'm sure she checked out my cellulite, but she was kind.
Denise and I step to the edge, holding hands. I look for my husband and spot him across the waterhole, at an optimal photographic distance. Where's my dad? Not sure, but he must be somewhere near. A guy standing in the water gives us our instructions.
"Be careful, there's a rail in here. We're standing on it." They're about three feet in front of us. An eight-foot metal ladder stands in the water to the left with two or three rungs visible above the surface. The crowd is lively, with cold, wet, laughing post-plungers all around, and more waiting behind us. I look once more at the black, swirling water before going for it. Denise and I tandem-jump and the water hits us like a million icy needles. I've heard it described this way countless times and wish I could come up with a more artful description, but that is exactly what it feels like. Any thoughts of taking a few strokes to clown around are dashed; I can barely breathe! Of the three years, this was by far the coldest. I move forward to give one of the men a spontaneous hug- there is jubilance in meeting this challenge- and he says "Get to the ladder", knowing, I'm sure, that these are not the conditions to linger for even a few seconds. I've lost all track of Denise; at this point it's survival on my mind as I bolt up the ladder and onto the slushy, slippery ice. My wonderful valet helps me into my robe and hands me my pants, saying "You did great!" I'm aware of Denise behind me. She did not have benefit of the ladder and was thus pulled out onto the ice by event volunteers, sustaining bruising and bleeding abrasions to both knees. Badges of honor, we decide.
I must say, once you've been in that water, the outside air does not feel as bad. My feet never get cold in the Keens. This year, though, I get an 'ice cream headache' in my forehead for a few minutes, my ears are on the verge of frostbite, and I touch my hair to find it frozen stiff. Remember the scene in Titanic, when Rose and Jack are waiting in the Atlantic to be rescued? That's how it feels. I pull gloves from the robe pocket and turn up the collar. We should head in but we are having too much fun watching the remaining jumpers. One guy who had not planned on taking the plunge before he arrived wears boxer-briefs and black loafers. Everywhere there are crazy people in tropical swim trunks, underwear, bare feet, bikinis, with and without shirts; you name it, swept up by the fun. I am sure some of those bundled-up spectators wish they had done it, although they protest. Denise has been given a cup of coffee by a friend and offers me a delicious sip. We did it! Again! Street cred intact!
There's a lot of picture and video-taking that we won't remember but will turn up on facebook and you tube over the next few months. We will look at them in horror, unable to believe we did that, wearing that.
 I look at it this way; the unfortunate people of this world are the ones who allow their perception of their appearance to stop them from enjoying life. I look like I do and everyone knows it. Does it really make a difference? It has taken me half a century to realize that it does not. I've adopted the same opinion regarding others; checking any deeply-ingrained criticisms or judgments that spring to my mind. To coin the song, everybody's beautiful in their own way. After observing good grooming and hygiene, which is nothing but self-love and good manners, we owe it to ourselves to let it go and have a good time.
We walk back to the Lakeview and change into dry clothes, emerging from the bathroom to cheers and laughter. Then we drink, have lunch, and re-live the plunge with the other patrons. There are more pictures.
It is an awesome day.
Can't wait til next year!



The Jump



ain'tlovegrandwisdom

Love You Long Time

By Laura McCollough Moss

We're not kids

it's just another day really

Hallmark holiday

gone commercial

I'd kill you if you

spent money

out of obligation.

What's real love anyway?

Not construction paper hearts

with doilies on top

or the latest jewelry craze.

It's getting up with babies

making homemade soup

bringing home new boots when the old ones

crack and let the water in.

 We don't have to jump

through adolescent hoops

to know what we have here.

Still,

would it have killed you

to pick up a dollar card

and a candy bar?

I mean really.

What are you doing out there?

So this is what it's like

to sit in the living room

and smell something cooking.

Here you come with a plate

of noodles with the chicken

shaped perfectly on top.

"I can give you more but I didn't want to spoil the heart."

God I'm lucky

You've always known just what I needed

And I cry

Oh, Honey,

You shouldn't have.

grownmanwisdom

My Son

By Laura McCollough Moss

Can I tell you

to trust your heart

When you are battling doubt

and struggling with faith?

Can I ask you

to put that faith in me

When I model

a flawed foundation?

Can I help you

to learn and grow

When what I taught

may have dimmed your light?

The questions start early and

are not easily answered.

How dare I be disappointed

when I've left you

wanting-

 unprepared?

I believe you hold the answers,

 have all along

And if you search

just a little while longer

They will rise to the surface,

mend the longing in your soul and

 free your wounded spirit.

My wise and wonderful boy

then you can tell me,

Ask me,

help me,

With mine.

ItGoesOnWisdom

Freestyle

By Laura McCollough Moss

I started to cry on the I-190

Just before the dreaded exit

"What's the matter, Honey?" she asked,

rhetorically.

"Don't do this, Laura."

The number 6 off-ramp loomed

and threatened.

"I'm going to be fine."

Where did it come from

the strength, the calm?

Try to put yourself in her place,

Lying expectantly in your backless gown

and paper hat,

Terry gripper socks on your feet.

The pre-op IV flowing in but they tell you

they can't give you anything 'good' yet.

The waiting, waiting, waiting

"Why don't you guys go have your lunch?

I'll be fine here. There's no

reason for you to hang around."

And we left her there

glad to be spared the going-away party.

Shedding tears at the ATM,

morose over the day's special.

Eight-and-one-half hours they worked

She had plainly expressed her disapproval of

 such an aggressive procedure.

"If you can't get it all, I want you to close me up."

They forgot

or hoped against hope

or took advantage of the teaching opportunity

Whatever the reason it got ugly but they did their best.

She was a ten-day girl.

Ten days at Roswell,

Ten days at Rehab. and a little while in between before

Ten days of Hospice.

She's gone now

gone

And I'm preparing to trade the Freestyle.

Her chariot of fire.

She was there in the passenger seat,

Lamb to lion

and I didn't know it would be so hard to

let it go.

"She wouldn't keep the old thing,"

Daddy Mike consoles me and I have to laugh.

That's the point.

pretzelliteratureSweetStory

-1-

I always knew if I had any chance of meeting a boy, it would happen in winter. Not to be conceited, but I look prettier when it's cold out. During the summer, you know, the sweat, the greasy hair, the shiny face. In the winter, my skin dries out and looks really nice. My hair is bouncy and fresh, and I can wear sweaters and boots and hats, which makes anyone cute.
I remember it was January ninth and I skipped school. Fredericks was having some kind of Chemistry encounter, and it was too soon after winter break to get into anything that elaborate as far as I was concerned. I texted Lexi to see if she wanted to hang out, but she was on academic probation for missing too many days first semester. She was doomed to suffer through acid/ base titration hell.
I left the house at seven-thirty because my Mom was running late, again, so I had to play it like a normal day. Then of course she had to bitch about what I was wearing and send me back upstairs to change. I mean, what's so obscene about a miniskirt if you wear tights under it? I came back down in skinny jeans with holes in them and the tights still on. Little purple kneecaps. She shook her head but let it go, standing there in her poop-colored Worthington suit. At least she was having a decent hair day was all I could say. I let her give me lunch money before I took off.
Seriously, does anybody shovel their freaking sidewalks anymore? Walking on the side of the street slushed up my new UGGs, my jeans were splattered by the cars going by, and I was feeling totally annoyed.
I heard someone say "Watch it!" and this guy pushing a snow blower practically ran me over. He was a kid, maybe eighteen. He had on a rad trapper hat, and his cheeks were red. His nose was running a little, but Mr. Toro was babe-alicious, and he was checking me out
"Sorry about that," he said.
I read his name on the Ridgeway Panthers letter jacket.
"Hi Luke," I smiled; glad I'd taken a few extra minutes with the flatiron.
"How did you know my… Ohhh," he laughed. "You're pretty smart!"
I put my hands in my pockets so I wouldn't twist my hair.
"Oh, yeah, I'm a genius!" Lame!
Luke wiped his nose on his glove. "What's your name?"
"Iris."
"Like the part of the eye?"
"Like the flower. I know, right? My parents thought it was cool; 'Retro'". I made quotation marks with my fingers.
He kicked the snow blower, knocking the snow off his boots. "I think it's nice."
Ohmigod was he kidding me? "Thanks."
We stood there staring at each other.
Luke looked at my backpack. "You go to South?"
"Yeah, not today though. I was on my way to Perks."
"Skipping school?" he said, like he couldn't believe it. "I'm a freshman at RCC. We're still on break for another week-and-a-half. I just came over to clear out my grandpa's driveway."
"That sucks. Did your parents make you do it?"
"What? No... He can't drive anymore and he lets me use his car. I like to help him out." Was he blushing?
"Man, I don't know anyone as nice as you! I rag about doing dishes for my mom."
"My mom has MS, so I do dishes, laundry, grocery shopping, lots of stuff."
Yeah, I felt like a total ass. He turned around and started pushing the snow blower to the garage.
"Hey!" I hollered, "Want to go to Perks?"
He held up his finger for me to wait while he ran inside the house. Ten minutes later he was back. The first thing I noticed was that he had taken off the snow pants, and he looked slammin' in his jeans.
The second thing came along behind a walker. Luke stopped and waited while a really old man tottered down the sidewalk.
"Iris, this is my grandpa, Sid Sherman. Grandpa, this is Iris. She asked us to go for coffee."
Did I? What would I say to him? "Hi," I gave him a little smile.
"Good morning, young lady,"
Sid let go of his walker and bowed. Then he took my hand and kissed it. I know it sounds pervy but it was kind of cute. He had his hair all slicked back and he smelled good; like aftershave.
"I hope you don't mind my tagging along."
He pulled a sweet fedora out of the walker bag and put it on, running his fingers around the rim, and held his arm out to me.
"Shall we? Luke can pull the car out for us."
Luke pulled on the heavy garage door and there was this huge light blue Caddy inside. You know the ones with the big hood ornament and the fins? He got in and drove it out and the thing looked, seriously, like, half-a-football field long. Sid opened the front passenger door and I tried to get in.
"Sorry Iris," he said, "but the Old Guy has to ride shotgun. I can't bend my legs enough to sit in back."
This was not going the way I wanted it to! Luke made a 'sorry' face at me, and I helped Sid get in the front seat. He told me how to fold up his walker, and I put it in the back and got in.
When we got to Perks, Luke pulled the car in front of the door, and Sid and I got out and waited. There was no lot, so he had to parallel park across the street. Between the size of the Caddy and the snow, it was a nightmare. Sid stood on the sidewalk yelling directions.
"Cut it left, Lukie! That's it, now straighten it out. HOLD IT, you're gonna hit that rice burner!"
After Luke parked perfectly, we went inside. He pulled Sid's coat off and hung it on the rack; then he grabbed another hanger and held his hand out for mine. Such manners! I was impressed.
That's when he pulled off the trapper hat and I saw his hair.
"It's weird, I know," he kind of rubbed his hand over it. "My mom cuts it, and she can't do it like she used to, but I hate to say anything."
"She also doesn't realize you're not four years old. Dude, sometimes you have to be honest even if it hurts. You look like that kid on the paint can!"
"You tell him, Iris," Sid laughed. "He won't listen to me. I offer all the time to take him to my barber."
I looked him over. "Not sure that's the answer Sid, with all due respect."
"I ain't had any complaints," he winked at me. Yes, he did.
We sat down with our coffees; black for Sid, cream and sugar for Luke, and skinny mocha latte for me.
"That's not coffee you know," Sid blew on his before taking a sip.
"Leave her alone, Grandpa." Luke smiled and looked through his choppy bangs at me.
Sid chuckled. "I'm just a big tease. I don't mean any harm. Once you two drop me off, you can do whatever you like."
I liked the sound of that!
He picked his hat up from the seat beside him and put it on.
"I guess that means we're leaving," Luke followed him to the door and helped him into his coat. He looked back at me.
"Are you coming?"
I crawled out of the booth and caught up with them.
We dropped Sid off at Off-Track Betting in the plaza. Luke got the walker out and took him inside.
When he got back in the Caddy, he fastened his seatbelt.
"I don’t have to pick him back up until four. Do you want to do something?”
I had to ask. “Sid gambles? No way!”
“Yes way,” Luke said. “He actually won this car on a bet.”
“Honestly? You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope, I wish I was. He’s lost a lot more than he’s won, but he’ll never stop. It used to drive my Grandma crazy. She died a couple years ago.” He looked sad and uncomfortable talking about it, so I didn’t ask any more questions. He revved up the engine. “Anyway, do you know where you want to go?”
I didn't even have to think about it.
"Pine Hills."
"The mall? What're we gonna do there?"
I gave him my mysterious look.
“You'll see..."
Fifteen minutes later I was spinning around in an empty barber chair while Luke got his hair cut. He looked at me in the mirror as a girl named Wanda transformed him into a certified hottie.
Wanda stood back and admired her work. Luke leaned toward the mirror and frowned.
"I look like that kid singer."
"Exactly!" I said, feeling very happy with the result.
"All the young guys are getting that cut," Wanda reassured him. "It looks good on you."
Our compliments were working. Luke kept looking at himself, and I could tell he liked it.
He reached in his back pocket for his wallet at the register.
Wanda rang it up. "That’s twenty-four for today, Hon."
Luke paid her and we went out into the mall.
"You should have tipped her."
"Are you kidding? I'm a poor student! I'm lucky I could pay at all. That was an unexpected expense."
"Well, it was a good investment!" I ran my hand through his hair and he blushed, again.
"Stop it!" he laughed. "How'm I gonna face my mom?"
"Is she home? Let's go show her," I dared him.
He shrugged and I dragged him toward the car, trying not to get peeved by all the girls making eyes at him. Get your own Dutch-boy and make him over, I wanted to say.
Luke lived across town in the not-so-good section. He turned into the driveway of a sad little house and we parked under a carport full of leaves and litter. The Caddy looked totally out of place in the neighborhood. I got out and closed my door before I noticed that Luke was still sitting in the driver's seat. I went over to his side and he rolled down his window.
"Iris, I'm not sure this is such a good idea. My mom is... well... not like other people."
"Whose is?" I wondered what could be so weird about his mom; I mean, weren't they all a little whacko?
"C'mon, it's no big deal."
Luke unlocked the back door and a little dog came at us yapping his brains out.
"This is Chico," he said, picking up the chubby brown Chihuahua. He let the dog lick his face and put him down.
The place was kind of dark and stuffy and cold. There was a drainer full of clean dishes next to the kitchen sink.
"You really do the dishes, don't you?"
"Every night," Luke said, looking nervously around. "Mom! You home?"
"I'm in the sunroom, Lucas," a woman’s voice said.
I followed Luke through the messy living room to a doorway that had one of those bead curtains. He pulled it apart and I saw a small woman with light brown hair down to her waist, sitting on a pillow in the middle of the floor with her eyes closed. The smell was different in there. I'd gone to enough concerts in City Park to know why; she was smoking weed! The joint burned away in an ashtray in front of her. Luke tapped her on the shoulder.
"Mom, I brought someone home to meet you."
She opened her eyes and waved away the smoke so she could see me.
"Hi, Sweetheart!" She tried not to act completely blitzed, which she was. "What's your name?"
"This is Iris, Mom," Luke answered for me. "We met this morning over at Grandpa's. Iris, this is my mother, Dawn."
Dawn spread her arms out wide. "Iris! What a fabulous name and you’re so pretty! Please don't get the wrong impression of me, Darling. I suffer from Multiple Sclerosis and use medical marijuana. It really helps me.”
Luke picked up a medicine bottle and opened it.
“There’s only four left. We just picked these up yesterday, Mom.”
Dawn rubbed the sides of her forehead. “It’s been a bad day, Lucas. Don’t get on my case please.” She pointed at me and almost fell over. “We don’t need to talk about this in front of your friend.”
Luke left the room and I followed him back to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and pushed stuff around, and then he closed it again.
“I don’t have much to offer you, sorry.”
I was starving, but I could tell he felt embarrassed, so I said “that’s okay”.
“Well I’m really hungry,” he opened a cupboard door and looked inside. He started pulling things down.
“Tuna noodle it is!”
I sat at the vintage red kitchen table and watched him while he cooked. He was shaking a bag of noodles into boiling water when Dawn walked in.
“Honey, I would have made you something,” she tried to hug Luke and he gently shook her off.
“That’s okay. I’ve got it under control.” He was stirring tuna, mushroom soup and peas together in another pan. The guy clearly knew what he was doing.
Dawn grabbed a box of crackers.
“Leave some of those here,” Luke said. “I need to crunch them up on top.”
She handed him a handful and one fell on the floor. Chico scarfed it up, and Dawn gave him another one.
“That’s a good boy!” She scratched him between the ears and went to watch TV.
Chico stuck around hoping for more dropped food.
Luke brought me a bowl of tuna noodle, and sat down with his across from me.
“Looks good!” I lied. It looked like throw-up, but it actually tasted okay. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. It turns out better with potato chips on top, but you have to use what you’ve got, right?”
Dawn stood in the doorway, looking shocked.
“Lucas, your hair! You got it cut?!”
We cracked up!
He was even cuter when he laughed.