Author: Linda Wright

Linda Wright, author of "My Turn: When Caregiving Roles Reverse," now lives in Florida. She has served on the boards of organizations serving people with rare, genetic bleeding disorders like hers. As a writer, she has contributed to several anthologies and is a member of the Tallahassee Writers Association. Linda is married to the Reverend Ms. Robin Gray.

Full Speed Ahead!

~ Linda Wright ~ 2 Comments

The older I get, the longer it takes me to get ready for vacation. No matter how far in advance I start making lists of things to put in the suitcase, I forget something. My great uncle Eustace said he could stick a toothbrush in his shirt pocket and be packed, ready to travel. He claimed that he did this routinely when he flew to visit his daughter, Connie. I was envious and somewhat dubious that he was telling me the truth.

This year I put together a grab-it-and-go bag for our family, including our cat and our dog. It is for emergency preparedness, hurricanes, floods, and other disasters that could force us to leave our home quickly. This bag contains just the essentials: a change of clothes, underwear, toothbrush, comb, pet food and a week’s supply of medications. What is challenging is determining the basics. Can we survive without a cell phone charger? What toiletry supplies are most critical? Do we really need duct tape?

It took me two weeks to get that bag packed and I am still thinking of things I have forgotten to include. The decision making process slowed me down. Planning for disaster feels like making out an advance health care directive or buying car insurance. I don’t like thinking about the worst case. I have discovered over the years that what I think might go wrong, often does not happen.

I carry some metaphorical baggage in my head. When I was a young adult I kept a weekender bag packed in case I was hospitalized. Pregnant women were the only other people I knew who did this, but their suitcases were emptied after the baby was born. I went to the hospital each time I required a transfusion. My hospitalizations were unpredictable and sporadic. The overnight bag included things like deodorant, toothbrush and a pair of special pajamas, which I designed and made myself so that I would not have to wear a johnny gown. When I was released from the hospital, I packed the luggage again for the next time.

Because of my bleeding disorder, I have done a lot of thinking ahead. I keep my vision focused a few steps in front of where I walk; my thoughts are directed towards problem solving. The Girl Scout motto, “Be Prepared,” echoes within me. Even so, something completely unexpected is likely to make my plans meaningless. No amount of preparedness will give me control over my future. President Dwight D. Eisenhower said it well, “In preparing for battle I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable.”

In my heart though, I am a person who wants to live for today and let tomorrow take care of itself. I would like to be as free as Uncle Eustace, able to get away with nothing but a toothbrush stuck in my pocket.

Clown Face

~ Linda Wright ~ 1 Comment

When the Shrine Circus came to town, we stood on the sidewalk along the parade route and watched the clowns zigzagging their way down Main Street. The bright red and dazzling white face paint, fuzzy wigs and baggy costumes exaggerated the smiles on their faces. Some squeezed into tiny cars, their knees almost touching their chins, other frolicked and tumbled into each other, pinching their bulbous red noses to make a honking sound.It was hilarious entertainment.

They were much happier clowns than Clarabell, the silent partner on the Howdy Doody television show. Clarabell’s painted face had angular shapes and his grin could turn to confusion or despair. The Elizabethan collar he wore looked uncomfortable, I imagined that he was relieved when the show was over and he could take it off. I had empathy for him that I did not have for the other clowns. Clarabell had a wider range of emotions. Some times he looked as sad as I felt. He also got angry and enjoyed revenge. When he sprayed Buffalo Bob with seltzer everyone laughed. I wished I could get away with that behavior.

When I heard that Clarabell was going to be appearing in person at one of the city parks, I begged my mother to take me. Mom invited two other mothers and their pre-school aged children to come with us. I didn’t get to see Clarabell though because as I was running across the gravel path with my friends, I tripped, scraping a knee. The injury, which would have meant nothing for the other children, required a trip to the emergency room for me. I would be jabbed with a needle. It was as if the world had played a practical joke on me; I did not find it funny. I wasn’t allowed to show my resentment.

I felt like a bumbling buffoon. Unlike the clowns, I paid a price for my hyperactivity. Tears streaked my dusty face when the pediatrician entered the cubical at the hospital. What made me cry though was that I had missed seeing Clarabell.

My knee was scrubbed clean of city grime and the disinfectant had left the abrasion stinging. Blood oozed in tiny droplets soaking one bandage after another. The doctor decided to start an infusion of fibrinogen concentrate that would allow my blood to clot. I put on my bravest happy face. I had a feeling Clarabell would understand.

Silly Goose

~ Linda Wright ~ 1 Comment
 

Stopped at a traffic light, I watched two small clusters of geese meandering their way through the divided city street. They strolled leisurely, appearing to be completely unaware of the cars facing them in all directions. Taking a rather diagonal approach to their destination, they plodded step by web-footed step. The cars were streaming off the highway at the start of rush hour. The southbound vehicles were temporarily stopped, waiting at the light. With some concern for their safety and a bit of amusement at their single-minded determination I observed the progress of the gaggle.

Perhaps the construction that was widening the highway blocked them from a remembered watering hole. My human brain was struggling to find a rational reason for this late afternoon promenade that was compelling my attention. Why would they choose to walk rather than fly? Of course, they are hefty birds, bottom-heavy creatures. Still I knew they were capable of great flight in their magnificent V shape formations. Each autumn in New England I had heard these birds honking their way southward for the winter.

Now I have migrated south to Florida. It was a hot and humid July afternoon. The first cluster of geese reached the grassy median strip just as I realized the red traffic light in front of me was about to switch to green. I held my breath in anticipation, wondering what would happen if the geese made it to the asphalt street just at the moment the drivers stepped on the gas.

Each webbed foot continued t march forward. The geese clearly expected the right of way.

But just before the first goose was about to step into the road, the light turned to green. There was a slight flutter of wings, but no injuries or fatalities. Like the other drivers, I accelerated and continued home.

Still I was curious to know the end of the story. What happened after the light turned to red again? Would the second cluster of geese make it to the grass strip before the traffic facing them moved forward? Did the geese find what they were looking for on that hot afternoon?

Watching the saga reminded me of how small and vulnerable I can feel against the larger world. Like the geese, I can slip into the assumption that nothing else around me is as important as where I am going. The questions that compel me are similar to the ones that come to my mind as I observed the geese crossing the road. How did something that seemed so simple turn out to be troublesome? Do the rewards still outnumber the risks?

On a larger scale, I wonder what might have happened if I had taken another path along my life journey? What would have been the consequences if I had made different choices? Where would that have led me? But when I stop brooding on my own silly goose questions, I simply pick up one foot and put it in front of the other.

Election Day

~ Linda Wright ~ 1 Comment

As long as I can remember, my father never missed casting his vote on Election Day. It was Dad’s habit to sit in his armchair reading the daily newspaper after he came home from work. On Election Day, however, my Dad would first walk to the elementary school that was the polling place, before he settled comfortably into his chair.

It was the same elementary school that I attended for six years as a child. For me, the school basement was the place where we went when the air raid siren blasted the warning signal during the Cold War years of the 1950’s. We didn’t have to practice for World War III on Election Day. The basement rooms were filled with voting machines.

My mother couldn’t vote. She wanted to vote, but she was a resident alien, a citizen of Canada. She had married my father just a few years before the United States entered World War II. When Mom applied for citizenship, she was told that she would have to swear allegiance to only the United States of America. She could not bring herself to sign the form. It seemed ridiculous. But, still she could not bring herself to sign the oath that she would take up arms against Canada.

Mom, however, felt as much of a personal obligation to be informed about politics and government as my father. She was a woman with strong opinions. While politics was a subject avoided by other mothers, my Mom would introduce the topic with gusto. Our kitchen table was frequently a place for lively debates. In hindsight, I wonder if she tried to counter her frustration at not being able to cast her own vote by persuading as many people as possible to vote the way that she would if only she could.

Each of my parents taught me about the responsibility that comes with a democracy. Voting was not some thing to be done without being informed and knowledgeable. It is something that requires time and commitment.

Paradox

~ Linda Wright ~ 1 Comment

Calliope, the calico cat, woke me up at 5:00 a.m., as she energetically chased her elusive tail around at the foot of our bed. Some mornings, it appears to be a tail out of her control. She whirls, spins, and then catches the tail with her own front paws. She looks surprised when it escapes her grasp. Sometimes, I wonder if she understands the tail is a part of her. It has been a year since we welcomed Calliope into our home. She is a muse in her own right and inspires many a good tale. She likes to spoon the back or belly of a sleeping 2-legged or four-legged family member, melding herself into another body. I view these as contradictions in her nature. She is able to be detached from her own physical self and also to merge with another being almost as if it was a part of her.

Calliope came to live with us several months after Dixie, a tuxedo cat who was part of our household for16 years, died. She was a lesson in contrasts as well: the seeming opposites of black and white in her coat that defined her. Dixie never learned to fully retract her claws and often inflicted injury on others. At times, she seemed gleeful in the way she could tease and torment Penny, a mixed-breed of part Beagle and part Brittany spaniel family member. At these times, we described her as the evil stepsister. She also had a keen intuitive sense about where my aches or pains of the day were located — choosing to sit right where it would hurt the most. The irony was, she would leave her usual solitude to be present with any family member who was experiencing grief or loneliness. At one time or another, all the other family members told her their sorrows and fears. At these times, she would settle not on a lap, but by the person’s feet appearing to watch and listen with attention.

My thoughts drift to observations about aspects of my life that seem incompatible. There are things that are difficult for me to admit, even to myself. There are parts of my life that bring up sadness. I would prefer not to experience these or to move away and beyond quickly to happier times or thoughts.

Now, I work to see my life more as I view Dixie and Calliope. The pleasant and the unpleasant are simply a part of the whole. Furthermore, it is the contrast, which gives meaning and forms the holy in my life.

For me it is doubt that allows me to have true faith.

It is the awareness of death that allows me to fully understand the value of life.

It is the sorrow in my life that enhances my joy.

The suffering has helped me to understand that healing can occur in many ways.