And it came to pass one day that I was representing someone accused of littering. The deputy, with a straight face and in all seriousness, said he found an envelope with my client’s name at the bottom of the pile of garbage. I burst out laughing. The deputy looked at me as if he had no idea why I was laughing. “Alice’s Restaurant.” He was still confused. “Arlo Guthrie” He was still confused. I gave up.
In order to use photos at a trial, the prosecution (that would be the deputy) had to disclose the photos to me 10 days in advance. Except he didn’t.
“I’ve got photos,” he told the judge. And he showed 27 4 by 6 colored glossy photos maybe with circles and arrows on the back. The judge wasn’t going to look at the photos.
I never saw the deputy again.
When I was in law school, I wanted to join the JAG corps. I was given a piece of paper with questions on it. I was supposed to explain, with four part harmony, the details of all my crimes, the arresting officers’ names, and any other thing I wanted to say about the crimes. They wanted to know about my parking tickets! MY PARKING TICKETS!!! Even the ones I beat!!! I got rejected.
I keep meaning to go up to a recruiter on campus and sing: You can get anything you want at Alicve’s Restaurant. And walk away.
I saw Arlo Guthrie in 1970 at Kleinhan’s Music Hall in Buffalo, NY. Tickets were $5. Arlo sang Alice’s Restaurant. I saw Arlo again in 2015 in Mesa, Arizona. Tickets were $50. It was the 50th anniversary of Alice’s Restaurant Massacree. Arlo had given up on singing Alice’s Restaurant, but he made an exception that year for the Alice’s Restaurant 50th anniversary tour.
My grandmother was a diehard republican. According to her, there was never a good democrat nor a bad republican. Only once did she say anything positive about a democrat and only once did she criticize a republican. I was a little kid when we talked about Truman dropping two atomic bombs on Japan. Even then I knew what we had done was wrong. My grandmother insisted atomic bombs were the only way to end the war. Many years later, she expressed her fury that Bush went to Hirohito’s funeral.
I’m from a suburb of Buffalo, NY but have lived in NM for the past 26 years. I retired from the NM Public Defender Dept. 10 years ago. On 9/11/01, I spent most of the day in a state of shock and disbelief. When I arrived at work, a colleague said a plane had hit one tower and the second plane was timed to be reported live. Another colleague told me the towers were gone. I was scheduled to be in court that morning. Partway through the docket, the courthouse was abruptly closed.
When I went home for lunch, I made the mistake of watching the news and seeing people who had jumped from the towers falling, falling, falling as they waited to die when they splattered themselves on the sidewalk.
The following day, I went to work and was asked several times if I knew anyone who had died in the attacks. I wanted to ask what I had done that gave them the impression I am so cold that I would come to work the day after someone I knew was blown up by a terrorist. But I didn’t. Instead, the following day I wore a tee shirt that I had purchased when I had been in New York City a few years prior. The tee shirt had drawings of tourist attractions in New York City including the twin towers. I had seen the towers and considered them incredibly ugly buildings. Unlike the romance and hope built into the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building, the towers were huge, black cracker boxes devoid of personality or imagination. I considered my tee shirt a warning: say something I don’t like – such as suggesting I’m so cold I’d come to work after a friend had gotten blown up by a terrorist – and I’ll respond from my gut.
My emotional responses to 9/11 were about two weeks behind the rest of the people in the office. While my coworkers were recovering from the trauma, I was starting to feel the trauma for the first time. It was a weird disconnect that I felt I couldn’t discuss with anyone.
A few weeks after 9/11, I met with a juvenile client in my office. I had my law licenses and law school diploma on the wall behind my desk. The client saw I had graduated from law school in Buffalo, NY. The client said something about 9/11 and me being from New York. I don’t remember what I said. I do remember telling myself not to react or to say how I felt. That was harder than the times I couldn’t react when juvenile clients disclosed they had been raped by pedophiles.
I didn’t process the trauma I felt until 2021. Twenty years to carry trauma is an incredibly long time. That September, I watched all the documentaries I could find about 9/11. I thought I was done processing.
This year, I realized I am not finished processing the trauma. Last night, I was binging on episodes of Bones. The episode I saw was about 9/11. I cried through the entire episode. Then, I watched, for the third time, The Looming Tower – a documentary about how the CIA knew well in advance of the attack that an attack was coming but withheld the information from the FBI.
I take classes at New Mexico State University. I sit in classrooms filled with people who were born after 9/11. To them, 9/11 is history. To me, 9/11 is personal. To me, Pearl Harbor is history. To my grandmother, Pearl Harbor was personal.
Now I understand why she was furious that Bush attended Hirohito’s funeral.
Brady and I went on an adventure last week. We went to the farmers market.
Her pouches contain her vaccination record and poop bags. Some of the businesses in southern New Mexico have started asking to see proof of rabies vaccination before letting a dog onto the premises. Because rabies vaccination is required by law, this is a legal way of keeping out dogs, including service dogs. We’ve got a horrible problem with people buying a certificate on Amazon, putting a vest on Fido the Family Pet, and saying Fido is a service dog. There is no certification for service dogs in the United States. While certification is good in theory, it’s unworkable in real life. What tasks get certified? What if I need my dog to perform a task to assist me with my disability but the task isn’t on the certification list?
Part of going to the farmers market is exercise for me. I’m working on building up my endurance. I’m getting better, but I can only stand for a certain amount of time and can only walk a limited distance without my walker. I want to visit Santa Fe which would require a whole lot of walking. Plus, shops in the older buildings have stairs, narrow aisles, and are miserable to navigate if you need a walker.
I stopped at a stand advertising Yemeni Chai. I got to taste the tea, and bought some. I found some tomatoes for sandwiches. We stopped in a bookstore and I found a book on wire wrapping jewelry.
I am working my way back to healthy by going to the gym and working out, doing exercises at home, and riding a bike. I am prone to vertigo so a two-wheel bike is a horrible option. So I got a tricycle. An electric tricycle with pedal assist. I got an expensive helmet and flashing lights so people would see me when I’m riding my tricycle. I took my trike for a ride. Everything was going great until a telephone pole jumped out in front of me. When I hit the pole, I rammed the handlebars into my abdomen and slammed my tailbone against the seat. I put a serious scrap on my shin. Although I was bleeding, my sock never ripped. This getting in shape business is tough work. The shin is healing, the bruises are starting to disappear, and my tailbone hurts. Fortunately, my helmet had a great warranty. Because I fell, I got a new helmet for free.
I got the little person sewn down. I was doing hand quilting along the bars, but if it hurts to sit, I’m not going to get much done. I do want to translate this into a painting.
I’ve added some jewelry to my online store, Deb Thuman Art. I’ve got a pile of jewelry that I made and I need to get it all in my store. If I put three items into my store each day, in about a month, I’ll be up to date. Maybe. Provided I don’t make anything new.
These are all in my store here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com. There’s a necklace to match the blue/green earrings.
The photos are a tad odd because I had to crop them like crazy to use them in my store. Now when I put them in a blog post, the background gets a little weird. It’s always something.
We lost power for a couple hours because we had a rollicking thunderstorm with pouring rain. This made for some rain photos.
I hate buying what I can make, so soap is hardening on the patio. Jim has an allergy to fragrances, so I have to keep smelly stuff away from him. I use melt and pour goat milk soap, add almond oil, and tea tree oil. Yes, I’m 72. Yes, I STILL have an acne problem. I need to use soap with tea tree oil in order to stop acne before it starts. I use a moisturizer with retinol – a substance used to treat acne. If I use a regular moisturizer for a few days, I break out.
The acne was supposed to stop after I finished going through puberty. It didn’t. It was supposed to stop if I took oral contraceptives. It didn’t. It was supposed to stop after I went through menopause. It didn’t. It was supposed to stop after my face stopped producing more oil than an oil well. It didn’t. Maybe it will stop after I’m dead. I want to go to medical school when I’m dead and the med students might be in for a surprise if my corpse keeps on making pimples.
Hearts.
Pigs.
Fish.
After the soap hardens, I’ll put it in a plastic bag to keep under the sink until I need to use the soap.
I’ve been working out at the gym at least once a week. Stop laughing. That’s better than the once a month I had been pushing myself to go to the gym. I feel stronger after each workout although I’m still limited to how long I can stand or walk before I’m in pain. I’ve been doing exercises that help with the hip pain. I’ve been riding my exercise bike.
Soon, I’ll be riding an electric tricycle. Because I’m prone to vertigo, it’s not safe for me to ride a two-wheel bike. I live at the top of a hill and just the thought of having to pedal manually up that hill after a workout is enough to keep me off of a bike. This bike has a pedal assist. I’ll have to pedal up the hill, but the motor will make that much easier for me. In theory, the tricycle will go 16 mph on a flat surface. I’ve no intention of discovering if that’s true. At least not right away. Jim hit a snag putting my bike together and he has to call the company on Monday for advice. I eventually will have one of those big flags for the back of the bike. I want to be visible. I think I still have some flaming orange dye so I can dye a tee shirt and be more visible.
Along with being more stable than a two-wheeler just because there are three wheels, this bike has a lower center of gravity to add even more stability. There’s a basket for the back of the bike. I’m looking forward to doing some exploring with this bike. Of course I’ll need to have something pithy embroidered on the front of a tee shirt now that I’ll be a bad-ass bike rider. Perhaps a flaming skull.
I’ve discovered my health insurance gives people an incentive to be healthy. I got $25 for my annual checkup and $25 for having a mammogram. I don’t get actual money, but I can trade the “money” for gift cards. I chose a Barnes and Nobel gift card. I can get “money” for working out. I can get a whole lot of reading done this way.
Independence Day. In the movie, when the mother ship explodes, Will Smith says: Elvis has left the building.
Independence Day. The Bill of Rights has left the building. We have a concentration camp in the Everglades. It’s not there because of the alligators. It’s there so We The People can’t see what’s happening to the people illegally seized and incarcerated there.
We have a president who claims to love Jews. I never believed that for a minute. That’s the same president who said there are good nazis. Okay, there are good nazis – and every one of them is dead. Now, the same president claims some bankers are shylocks. Shylock is the name of the money lender in Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice. The character is a Jew who wants a pound of flesh if he isn’t repaid the money he lent.
We have a suspension of due process. We have idiots in charge of the Department of Justice and Health and Human Services. We have a psychopath in the White House.
We have a congress that passed a horrible bill designed by a psychopath and voted on by degenerate politicians who would rather bow to a dictator than do what’s morally right.
Nobody living can ever stop me as I go walking the freedom highway Nobody living can make me turn back This land was made for you and me. Woody Guthrie
Pete Seeger was hauled in front of the House Unamerican Activities Committee for singing that song. During the same time, I had a music teacher who taught us a folk song. I lived in a republican town. Mother Theresa couldn’t get elected if she ran as a democrat. The teacher taught us This Land Is Your Land and told us it was written by a famous folk singer. She put her job on the line when she did that.
But this land is still troubled by men who have to hate. They twist away our freedom and twist away our fate. Law is their weapon and treason is their cry. You can stop them if you try. Phil Ochs, Power and The Glory.
This verse was left off for the commercial recording. Ochs wanted to make a patriotic song and thought that verse was inappropriate. Wrong Phil. It’s damned appropriate. It’s the First Amendment in action. We must speak out. We must stop them.
If we don’t stop them, the constitution and the Bill of Rights will leave the building.
I can either wait, and wait, and wait until this passes, or I can try and draw myself out of the muck. Nothing is rolling around in my brain. No images demanding to be made. No feelings demanding a voice. Nothing.
I sat down with my iPad and started drawing. It didn’t have to be good, just an idea. I’ve often made quilts (and paintings) about my inner turmoil. Maybe it’s time to make a quilt about my foot.
I thought about showing physical pain from peripheral neuropathy. I thought about showing pain from the surgery I had to put my foot back together after I broke it, and the marbles I have to pick up with my toes. The marbles are part of the physical therapy that will strengthen my arch. The foot looks weird because when I broke my foot, the arch collapsed. After the surgery, my food is weird looking.
The brown, oblong things with the holes are the plates attached to my bones. The silver thing is the screw that holds the plates in place. The screw may or may not be removed in a few months. The triangles are like the pain from the neuropathy. Sometimes sharp, sometimes dull. The coral round things are the marbles I need to pick up with my toes.
Surgery left me with a foot that looks like it merged with an erector set. I no longer have pain from the surgery, but I do have pain from the fallen arch of my foot.
I’ve no idea if this drawing is something I want to make into a quilt. I do want to keep playing around with my iPad and try and come up with something.
I will be starting EMDR on Monday. Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. EMDR has been quite successful treating PTSD and CPTSD. Maybe some of the very hurt, scared and confused child can come out in a quilt.
Recently, New York started allowing adoptees to get a copy of their original, pre-adoption birth certificate with the names of the birth parents. When I joined ALMA – Adoptees Liberty Movement Association – in 1987, pre adoption records could only be obtained on the black market. The price all throughout the east coast and as far west as Texas was $1500.00. I thought it remarkable that the entire black market had the same price. That smacks of an organization controlling access.
Instead, I spent hours and hours in Erie County Hall looking up property records. I spent hours and hours in the basement of Erie County Hall looking at jury records, immigration records and anything else that I could find. I discovered that my family on my mother’s side isn’t from Germany. On my great-great-grandfather’s immigration papers, he renounced allegiance to the kind of Prussia. They were from Dittersdorf, East Prussia.
I found my great-grandmother’s marriage records and discovered that she was several months pregnant when she got married. When I was born, my great-grandfather, perhaps remembering his own history, put a silver dollar in my hand.
For $45, I got documentation that originally I was not only not allowed to have by law, but was also not allowed to even know existed..
This is my original birth certificate. My mother made up my father’s middle name. What she didn’t know until I found my father and later told her is that my middle name, Lee, is a Harmon family name. It’s also my father’s middle name. It was the name of my great-grandfather. He died in the Chieftain Mine in West Virginia on his first day of work. My great-grandmother was pregnant. She likely was thrown out of mine company owned housing. She went back to live with her parents and never remarried.
I didn’t know that birth certificates were two pages. I didn’t know that my mother was tested for syphilis while she was pregnant. I’ve no idea if that was something only done to single women or if all pregnant women had to be tested for syphilis.
This is the last page of my order of adoption. It was all but impossible to get records unsealed. What shocks me is that my mother and The Drunk would have had to agree to let me see my own records.
And to Judge Jacob A. Latona, here’s a single finger salute. I got my records and I didn’t need a judge’s permission.
Why is all this important? Have you ever filled out a medical history that included you, your parents and your siblings? I used to just write: Pursuant to NYS Domestic Relations Law sec. 100-140 inclusive, I am not allowed to know the answers to any of these questions. My knowledge of my medical history came from finding my father and requesting death records of his father, brother, and grandmother.
Have you ever tried to do a family history perhaps through Ancestry? If you’re an adoptee, there’s no history. No story about where your family came from. No finding out about family heroes and family embarrassments. Every family has both.
After I found my father, I discovered I’m Scott-Irish on his side. That explains all the times I have been asked if I’m Irish. All that searching showed me I’m Polish on my mother’s side. Further searching and a chance reading of a novel showed me my grandmother’s horrible German was Yiddish. We aren’t just Polish, we are Polish Jews.
I worship in a temple, I celebrate Jewish holidays, and I treasure Hibernian Heritage Day (March 17) when I can celebrate who I’ve always been….a Scott-Irish, Polish Jew.
The statute of limitations on the second hate crime that was aimed at me is approaching. This was the hate crime where a number of masked terrorist wannabes rushed at me while I was a good 100 yards away, surrounded me, pushed me, shoved me, told me to leave although none of them had the authority to do so, and then the wannabes called the campus police in an attempt to get me arrested. Although the university has video from the university’s security camera showing I was attacked, the campus police refused to arrest anyone. I can only identify one of the masked attackers. Although I was clearly the victim, the campus police gave the wannabes my home address. I had to increase the number of security cameras around my home and notify the sheriff, who lives next door, of what happened. I also needed to formulate and institute a safety plan so I could be in my own home with less fear of being attacked by these wannabes.
Eventually, the wannabes stormed the administration building at New Mexico State University and 11 arrests were made – including the arrest of the one attacker I could identify. Of the 11 arrested only 5 were students. The term “outside agitators” appears to be appropriate.
Attorneys are required to attend continuing legal education seminars each year in order to keep our licenses. At least I get to pick what legal education I get. Rarely is there anything I don’t already know in any of the seminars. In 2014, being intensely bored, I started writing a novel during a seminar. Recently, there was a nugget of information. Although I had requested assistance from an assistant district attorney and from the campus police, no charges had ever been brought against any of the wannabes. I was reminded that the US Department of Justice handled hate crime prosecutions. Perhaps the feds would listen to me and prosecute at least one of these wannabes.
One might think it would be easy to file a report. One would be wrong. I started with the US Attorney’s office in Las Cruces. They weren’t interested and referred me to 575-339-1120. I’m not sure who I called, but I was a bit surprised to hear the person I was talking to found two reports I made to the FBI about possible terrorist activity. The person I was talking to decided that the two prior reports plus what I was calling to report were the same incident. No. Those were three separate incidents. Rather than help me, I was told to go to nm.doj.gov to file a report. I did. I’m not expecting to get help, but it’s useful to have additional places to file a report.
I decided I would move anything blocking , my embroidery machine, load the patterns I purchased onto the USB drive, and do some machine embroidery.
One of the sets of patterns I bought was a set for free-standing-lace earrings. I decided this was a small enough and easy enough project that I could manage. I still can’t put more than 1/2 my weight onto my Erector Set Foot. But I can take a shower by myself and I can use the Big Girl Toilet rather than the potty chair. I’m going for physical therapy and I can’t wait until I can do things again – like drive and bake.
I need to soak these in warm water so the water soluble stabilizer disappears. Then, I need to hope I can get near the tool box with my earring findings so I can turn these into earrings.
This was going to be a pair of earrings, but I ran into difficulty making the second one. So it’s a pendant.
I decided to take a little walk to see how the irises are coming along. I had to fold up the walker to get it out of the sliding glass door. Then, I needed to navigate around rocks, art and plants to get to the iris. All that, and the new iris aren’t blooming yet. Last fall, I happened to be at the mall when the local iris society had a sale.
Here’s one of the irises we’ve had blooming since we moved in 24 years ago.
I’ve had a couple Spoonflower sales this week. I wish I could see what people make from fabric printed with my designs.
Passover starts at sundown tomorrow (April 12) when we celebrate freedom. May you have a joyous, enlightening Passover.
I am taking a painting class, but I can’t manage going in to the painting studio. The class is crowded, and having to get around on the Fully Manual Motorcycle knee wheeler contraption is hard enough when there are no obstacles like easels, other students, stools. It would be impossible to manage in a crowded painting studio. So I’m painting at home. This is easier than it sounds. I’m using Shiva paintsticks. They come in lots and lots of colors plus iridescent colors. You can use them like crayons and dry brush to blend colors. Or, you can use the colorless blender stick that acts like a wonderful medium and you can work with the paintsticks the same as you would work with oil paint. The paint is supposed to be dry to the touch in 24 hours. I like not having to use mineral spirits in the house. I have two cats and a dog all of which have little lungs. What might not pose a problem for me can be a huge problem for them.
Here’s what I’ve done so far. I can see I need to clean up some brush strokes. I was working with thalo green, thalo blue and ultramarine blue.
I’ve been working with wire wrapping and it’s a whole lot harder than I thought.
I’ve been able to do some mending so I found out I can sew with my left foot. This is good because there’s a lot of sewing I need to do. At least one pair of jeans and several bras.
I had a CT scan and an MRI this week. Next week, I find out about surgery.
I thought my foot was sprained. My doctor wanted me to see a specialist and get an x-ray. I forgot that I didn’t go to med school; I went to law school. I decided that I wasn’t going to pay for a specialist and an x-ray because I was sure my foot was sprained. After hobbling around for five weeks with no improvement, I decided I should see a specialist. My foot isn’t sprained. My foot is broken. My arch has collapsed. I likely will need surgery but won’t know for sure for another two weeks. Imaging is set for next week and the follow up with the specialist for the week after.
For the next 4-5 months, I’m not supposed to put any weight on my broken foot. So I bought a knee wheeler thing that I call my Fully Manual Motorcycle. It’s got disc brakes and a shock absorber. I’m not planing on knee wheeling along the Appalachian Trail, but I do want to be able to navigate parking lots, sidewalks, and getting into and out of buildings. I’ve discovered that the slightest decline is enough to send me flying wild down the sidewalk.
The Fully Manual Motorcycle will not turn on a dime. Or on a silver dollar. I’m learning how to make a 15-point turn. I’m also learning that my shin is not designed to hold my weight. Going to the mall is out. So is going to Sam’s Club or Walmart. Or even the grocery store.
I cannot drive for the duration because it’s my right foot that’s broken. I can’t use my left foot to drive because I’m short and have to pull the seat all the way up. That means I can’t get my left leg around the steering column to reach the gas pedal. The other problem is I drove a standard for more than 20 years. My left foot only knows how to use the clutch. It doesn’t know how to be subtle when stepping on the gas or the brake.
Failure to follow the specialist’s instructions can result in my foot being amputated.
All the things I cannot do is causing me to be depressed. Depression is causing me to be frozen. I have to force myself to get out of bed. I have to force myself to take a shower and brush my teeth. I have to force myself to get dressed. I’ve had to increase the dose of my antidepressant. I’m trading being frozen for brain fog. That’s the problem with psych meds. They work, but a dose high enough to give relief causes brain fog.
I’ve done embroidery on the two long sleeve tee shirts I have. I was going to dye them, but it’s very cold and I’m too depressed. So I have a white tee shirt with a Star of David and another white tee shirt with a pink flamingo. I don’t need to use my foot when I use my embroidery machine. Press the green button, and the machine does the rest. I’d take photos, but it’s very cold out. Too cold to hang the tee shirts on the clothesline while I take photos. Too hard to get the Fully Manual Motorcycle out through the sliding glass door. I haven’t tried using my sewing machine yet. I suppose I can learn to sew using my left foot with the pedal.
We had a full moon while I thought my foot was sprained. So I hobbled around the yard to take these shots.
The postal rates have become such that I will have to raise the prices of my work in my store, Deb Thuman Art http://www.DebThumanArt.com but I’ve decided to keep prices as they are until the end of February. If you’re looking for a Valentine’s Day one-of-a-kind jewelry gift, please visit my store.
I wish it were that simple. Send a card, everyone is nice. No bad memories to haunt me. It’s not simple. It’s a complex collection of traumatic events. Being an over achiever, I didn’t get regular PTSD. I got the hard-to-treat complex PTSD. It won’t go away. The memories won’t go away. The pain won’t go away. Worst of all, the depression won’t go away.
I’d like to go someplace today to cheer myself up. But it’s Christmas and everything is closed. Except for the Asian Buffet – overpriced, underwhelming, greasy all-you-can eat before the heartburn sets in restaurant. For the past few years, the reform temple to which I belong has made reservations at the Asian Buffet and members can come and enjoy the heartburn, and everyone pays for their own meal. I’ll skip that. I don’t know anyone who shows up and even the rabbi doesn’t attend the greasy festivities.
Hanukkah starts tonight, but I’m too depressed to make latkes.
I’d like to soak in the tub, but I’m too depressed.
I’d like to take a shower, but it’s too late in the day.
And so I eat cookies and worry about my weight. Maybe I”ll skip the tub and the shower and just get dressed.
I’d get up and take my psych meds, which includes an antidepressant, but I’m too depressed.
I have aches and pains that would be cured with exercise, but I’m too depressed to do a fitness routine that would take 15 minutes. Besides, my foot is sprained and the plantar fasciitis is back. And that’s why I can’t go for a walk which in my case would be going for a hobble.
Christmas is a collection of horrible memories. One Christmas, sometime between the ages of 4 and 8, my mother and The Drunk brought a Christmas tree into the house. I saw white stuff on the tree and asked what it was. My mother looked at The Drunk and said, “She’s so stupid she doesn’t even know what snow mold is.” I remember being confused by that.
There was the Christmas when The Drunk didn’t like the way I threw an apple core into the fire. He kept digging the apple core out of the fire place and making me throw it back in telling me he hoped I’d learn before I got burnt. He never tortured my three siblings like that.
There was the Christmas Eve at my brother and sister-in-law’s house. My brother said the advice he got from The Drunk was to have fun but be careful. I said that was horrible and that my brother could get a knock on the door in 20 years and find an adult child he didn’t know about. The Drunk said that could happen to him. That’s when I knew The Drunk wasn’t my father. A non-returnable Christmas present.
Another year, I didn’t hear from my mother and called my brother on Christmas Day asking if Ma was going to do Christmas. Yes. And then Ma bitched at my brother because she expected me to just know enough to come over. Actually, that’s not what happened. She wanted me to skip Christmas so she could say how peaceful it was without me and have an excuse to bar me from all future festivities including First Communions and baptisms. Which is what happened after the Thanksgiving that I skipped. I got an “invitation” from my brother’s wife to come but only if I promised not to fight with my mother. I initially accepted. A few. days later, I called her and said I wasn’t coming because we couldn’t trust my mother to behave. That’s when I stopped getting invited to family celebrations.
The Drunk is dead. He died 22 years ago. A friend sent me an email which is how I found out he was dead. My mother is dead. She died 9 years ago on my birthday. I subscribed to Legacy.com and got a copy of her obit in my email. Otherwise, I would never have known she died. I haven’t talked to my brother or sister, The Fruitcake, since. Actually, I didn’t talk to The Fruitcake then. Just as well, we have another to say that the other one wants to hear.
This semester, the painting class was about identity. I spent the semester painting about child abuse. For the final project, we had to do a painting only we could do. So I did a quilt. About being Jewish.
After the disastrous election, I saw a design in my. head: a Star of David and a hammer. In the Hanukkah story, the Jews were ruled by a powerful, evil king. Jews who didn’t pray to the collection of the king’s gods were killed. Finally, Judah had enough. He gathered a band of warriors and they defeated the king’s vast army. End of rule by evil king. Judah was called Judah the Maccabee. Maccabee means hammer.
I thought about how people have been trying to wipe us out for about 6000 years. So far, they’ve failed. I saw my quilt as an expression of hope and perseverance. Since October 7, 2023, the Anti-Defamation League has received reports of more than 10,000 acts of antisemitism. Jews on college campuses have been physically attacked, muzazahs have been ripped off dormitory door posts, hamas supporters have called for the elimination of Israel and the killing of Jews. This is nothing new. We are still here.
I used matching thread to write out my feelings because I wanted people to look at my work. “We are still here” “Am Yisrael chai” (it means the people of Israel live and it’s a battle cry). The shin (Hebrew letter) has an “sh” sound and is frequently put on a mezuzah. It’s the first letter of the prayer: Listen Israel. The Lord our God, the Lord is one. That’s what set us apart from all the other nations which had many gods.
“Fighting for our right to exist”
My family hid. I refuse to hide.
This was the first time I had used my embroidery machine with a quilt. It was an interesting experience trying to get everything straight. I didn’t always succeed.
I looked forward to the final critique until the day of the critique when I received an email saying my class would be combined with another painting class for final critique. That means we would rush through each person’s work. No one would have the opportunity to really look at my work and see what’s there. No one would get to hear my reason for using the images I used. I was horribly depressed and sent my teacher an email explaining why I wasn’t going to be attending critique. That was last Thursday. I haven’t heard from my teacher and I don’t expect to ever hear from him.
I’m depressed enough that I’m not looking forward to taking another painting class. Actually, I’m not looking forward to much of anything.
I am devastated by the election results. I am frightened by the election results. The last time the narcissistic sociopath was in office, every hate group in the country came out of the closet. Suddenly, hate became a national value to be celebrated. This culminated in an armed attempt to overthrow the government on January 6, 2021.
The Anti-Defamation League received more than 10,000 reports of antisemitic acts since October 7, 2023. Jewish students are not safe on college campuses. It’s going to get worse.
After the election, I saw a quilted piece in my head. My painting teacher said our final assignment was to make a painting only we could create.
Deb: Does it have to have paint?
Teacher: It has to have pigment and a binder. That’s paint.
Deb: That’s also fabric dye.
My teacher has agreed to accept a quilted piece.
I had picked out fabric when I picked up my sewing machine. It needed to be serviced and lots of lint was removed from deep in the guts of the machine. I’m good for another year.
These are the fabrics I picked out. The purple is going to be the background. The yellow will be for the images and the binding.
I laid out the pieces.
I’m letting it sit for a while. I want to make sure I’ve got the pieces the right size. The appliqué in the middle is something I bought on sale from 1-800-dreidle. When I ordered it, I had no idea what I would do with it. I’m thinking it would go with with this design. I’m thinking I will need to make the star and the hammer smaller. They seem out of proportion with the appliqué.
It’s not really a Hanukkah quilt even though I’m using Hanukkah imagery. In 164 BCE, Judah the Maccabee gathered a handful of warriors and led the fight against a mighty army, Judah won. The temple was cleaned out, the eternal light was lit, and someone was sent to buy olive oil. It took eight days for the person to find, buy and return with the olive oil. Meanwhile, there was just enough oil in the temple to keep the light lit for one day. That little bit of oil lasted for eight days.
Maccabee means hammer, which is why there’s a hammer in the design. I saw the quilt as a symbol of how people have been trying to wipe us out for nearly 6000 years. We are still here. We’ve always been a tiny minority. We are still here. The quilt expresses my hope that we will again prevail. We will triumph over antisemitism again. Jewish students will no longer be attacked on college campuses. I won’t have to be on the receiving end of hate crimes any more.
Deb's Art 