Blog Archives

#Skin

5/27/2015

I feel everything. Not just the breeze on my cheek. Or the #sun's warm touch on my hand. Your pain. Your grief. The apathy of the world invading yours. The infectious laughter of a happy child. Your fear. Anxiety. And relief washing over you when you glimpse a sign that a second chance is possible. Every emotion you have, is also mine. Like every breath. And every heart beat.

Life takes us down many roads. We often have to part ways with people we #love to walk our individual path. The goodness of humanity--it's saving grace--is the ability to #love deeply. That kind of #love allows you to take the road less traveled, knowing that when your paths converge once again, it will be as if you never parted. I feel that, too.

Do you feel me? Could you hear the echoes of my screams? My sorrow as I drove down the road, bleeding from the inside out? The world would shake if it did. Cower before me, dropping to its knees.
.
Yet even with all my power, I cannot fix things. I cannot heal your world completely. I can only fix moments here and there. Stop a child from going hungry for a few nights. Or provide enough hope to get someone past a small obstacle. Point you in the right direction when you're not sure where to go. Give strength and courage to make a decision. Inspire someone to wait to die, at least for another day. Keep a confidence that saves a relationship or a job or a life. Or listen when all confidence is lost.

I give away pieces of my #Light when someone needs it more than I do. I sometimes share well-placed knowledge and wisdom, empowering others by inspiring them to do the same. It's why I exist. My ultimate purpose. I'm the countermeasure to doubt, restoring your faith. Inch by inch. Turn by turn. One day at a time. That's why I can feel you. It's why I feel everything.

Sometimes, though, I'm all-too human. My skin crawls with insipid microscopic parasites. And I can grow tired. Being on the front lines of humanity's war against itself is a heartbreaking task. Because I know I can't really help you, unless you are willing to help yourself. My lot is to experience many endings, surviving all. That is what immortality means. I would not wish it on my worst enemy, and unlike most, I actually have one.

There are a few built-in escape hatches, in case I get overwhelmed and my spirit begins to crack and bleed as much as my body. The world will be a sadder place without me in it.

But I don't have to tell you that. That much, you already know....

#Skin

1 Comment

#Dreamtime

5/26/2015

0 Comments

The dream was of an open playing field; I was designing an obstacle course and activities for it. "The man" was there, impotent as usual; he tried to cover up his lacks with a designer suit. To no avail. My sisters kept my secrets, gave me things like luck, speed, strength, and the power to remove any obstacles. There was fire, too--but mine. It was controlled, part of the overall design. Even my enemies helped spread the word of my success, hoping to somehow be included.

The evening before, a double-rainbow appeared in the sky. My time in #ATL has led me here. To a synchronous #Universe. The #cosmic movement of that event created a ripple effect that is taking me from my beloved mountains to the heart of the city itself. And what a city it is!

#Atlanta embraced me when I was down; she helped me dust off the broken pieces of shattered heart and refill the holes left by jealous, fearful arrows. Where I had no family, no friends, I now have an entire tribe. The running joke is that, in less than six months, I met half of Greater Atlanta. I certainly don't know 3,000,000 people...but it sure feels like it sometimes!

The South has always felt right to me; it was always home, even before I moved here. Of all the beautiful #Southern cities, and there are many, #ATL is my favorite. It feels like #Boston in some ways, #San Diego in others. Sometimes, I get a taste of my beloved #FingerLakes in #NewYork. There's a little #Nashville, too. And when you head to where I will wake up every morning come September, I even get a hint of downtown #LosAngeles. It's not just the diverse cultures, the music, the incredible food, the mountains, or the sunshine...it's the colors. They're more vibrant. Every sunrise and every sunset belongs on a postcard. Vivid and full of life, #Atlanta is also full of something else: Magic.

When a fog thick as pea soup rolls in, or the moon shines full and bright as big as you please, you have to wonder if you've stumbled into a fairy tale or ghost story. There's a rhythm to the people, the city, the roads that is totally unique. I fell in love last January when I first arrived. I'd sit at this Starbucks perched on a hill and look out at the mountains as the sun set low in the sky. When I'm away, like right now, I miss it. Home. I've been all over the world, literally. But the city I would choose to live in isn't #London or #Sydney or #Frankfurt--though I love all three dearly. The place I would choose to put down roots will always be #Atlanta. I'm very proud to call her my city. And look forward to doing so for a very long time.

I think #Atlanta feels the same way about me, too. On a recent road trip up #North, my GPS kept trying to get me back to the #South. It got so bad, I had to turn the darned thing off! Between that, and random sticky notes appearing out of nowhere from a friend in Atlanta, the trip to #NewYork has been interesting. No matter where I am, all roads lead to #TheSouth. Might explain a few other things as well....

Real life moves as if I'm in #Aboriginal #Dreamtime when in #ATL. I got to know #Aboriginal culture better during my three years at University of New South Wales in Sydney, #Australia. I have two paintings hanging in my #ATL home right now made with #Aboriginal hands. One is of two lovers meeting; the second warns about extinction. Though I was a good decade away from my move to #ATL, those painted moments hinted at what was to come. So much has. Thanks to the #Magic of #ATL, I find more meaning in every day life, taking even less for granted than I did before. I am also more connected to #Nature than ever, evidenced by my brown skin. Always outdoors more than in, but not always in a bikini.

Thanks to #Atlanta, I'm truly happy. There are still miles to go before I sleep, and so many question marks ahead on my long road. But the road meanders a bit. That is, until I decide I'm ready for the home-stretch. I've asked for five more healthy years to get things done. Fingers crossed!

After all, I do live in #TheSouth....

0 Comments

#Georgia

5/14/2015

0 Comments

A year ago today, I had just arrived in #Atlanta for a three-week stay to pursue my dreams. My home-base was New York yet I was looking at houses here for a July move to embark on a new journey in August. But once a New Yorker, always a New Yorker…unless you’re originally from Boston. Like me.

And yet, my car still carries New York plates. And I still go “home” to New York every month. Though I’ve been living in Atlanta for almost a year. Some habits are harder to break than others.

During my May 2014 stay in #ATL, my mentor, Maya Angelou, passed away. I cried and cried when I heard the news. Borrowing her voice, I wrote a piece to celebrate her life of words through mine. She inspired so much of who I am. The way she loved without apology. Or limits. How she acted with complete conviction. Her loyalty. And that amazing heart! I strive to keep her spirit alive in mine. Even though she was a Yankees fan….

My future seemed clear a year ago, but I could feel the murky waters rising, and rising still. Fate was taking over. Because I stopped making choices and started listening to circumstance instead. In truth, bad faith has nothing to do with religion. That’s when Maya Angelou and Dr. King visited me in a dream. I wasn’t sure what it all meant at the time. But Dr. King had given me advice before he died. And his wife, Coretta, had asked me to talk about it at an event to commemorate him here in Atlanta. It was 1969. James Earl Jones was there. So was Maya Angelou. And a whole crowd of famous faces. Then, I heard my name being called to the podium. That’s when I woke.

Dr. King’s advice was not one of his famous quotes. But it was meant to inspire me, to move me forward by facing my fears, and to reassure me that even though I felt like a leaf being blown about in a wind storm, it wasn’t so.

Those were not his words. They’re mine. His exact words will stay my secret. At least, for the time being….

Last night, one year after I drove for 15-hours to begin my three-week Atlanta-adventure, a friend called needing relationship advice. She stood on the same precipice I had a year ago. I didn’t even think about the timing until today. I went over my last year with her. But now I wonder if the Universe was just giving me the chance to review in a way I would understand. As a teacher. Though we typically make poor students, I have always loved the benefit of learning through teaching. And, indeed, I learned a great deal.

Earlier today, as I enjoyed the sunshine in my backyard, a dreamy place that sits on the edge of a forest, I ate breakfast on the patio of my beautiful home, a home I had only fantasized about one year ago. Today, that dream is a reality. And recognizing that prompted me to reflect on the last twelve months again, but this time, without a social filter.

My life is infinitely better today than it was at this time last year. Even if there were some unexpected twists and dangerous turns in the road. Despite the anger, sorrow, grief, and pain, there was love. There was unexpected friendship. And a renewal of faith in myself. Faith, you see, is what #Georgians are known for. Every soul I’ve encountered here has strengthened mine. I feel lucky—no, #blessed—to have had the opportunity to learn in what has become a magnificent natural classroom.

Georgia’s State stone is quartz. Amethyst quartz, actually. But if you dig in the red clay a bit, you can easily find hunks of the clear variety. I have multiple such specimens, all gifts. I’ve built a cairn out of them. Cairns were markers along trails. They date back to prehistory, used throughout the ages to convey some sort of knowledge to man. Fitting for me to mark my road less traveled to Georgia with a quartz cairn. Like the dream with Dr. King.

King was born in Atlanta but educated in Boston. It was the opposite for me. But no less profound. I can only pray—yes, pray—that my education might enlighten others as well as King’s did.

By the way, Dr. King was a Red Sox fan…did you know???

#Georgia

0 Comments

#Endure

5/13/2015

0 Comments

On this chilly Atlanta morn, I awoke at 5:15am. Why? I'd been dreaming again. Vivid dreams. It was, in fact, the dreams that woke me mere hours after first falling asleep.

When I wake from a vivid dream, and remember it, I think of it as a message. A genuine connection between two minds is never severed, not even by physical death. It's like a giant root system, connecting us across space, time and memory. A psychic network of sorts.

When you experience de ja vu, you are tapping into that network. Like when you feel someone watching you even if you can't see them. We call it "instinct" and often treat it like an evolutionary left-over. The emotional equivalent of a vestigial tail. Or, the appendix. But it's actually the opposite. You have to be open, observant, compassionate, and intelligent to "feel" anything at all, let alone glimpse slices of the human psychic continuum. You have to be...evolved.

As I stood outside the other night, gazing into infinity to glimpse the stars, I felt it. A pair of eyes lurking in the shadows. Watching me. My movement. It was pitch outside. The woods behind my home were completely still. Not a sound could be heard. Until a neighbor's dog began barking, likely catching the scent of a stranger in the forest. I called out, too. Then, we both listened:

Heavy footsteps made between long strides could be heard rustling through the bed of dead leaves strewn amongst the tightly clustered trees. And they were in a hurry, too....

Today, after hours of dreaming tumultuous dreams, I sat in the peace and quiet of the sunrise. I watched the wind play amongst the exceptionally green-leaved trees--the same ones that protected me from uninvited eyes the other evening. I looked up at thick, white wisps of cloud that seemed to form giant hearts against an azure sky. Vivaldi's Four Seasons played through my open door while all variety of birds flew hither and tither in a flurry of frenetic activity. There were no eyes on me this morning, outside of the trees. But I almost wished there were. I want to talk to those eyes. I want to see them. See through them.

Who are you? And, where are you now? Will you have the courage to step out of the darkness, and into the light? I already know you're there...what's the point in continuing to hide???

Because you see me peering, you believe I can't see you. But I can. And I have. Though you will not be able to see me for much longer.

The moon, reflecting but a crescent of the Sun's #light, told me in sotto voce that the purpose of a lifetime, any lifetime, is to #endure. To watch the sunlight dapple the leaves in a shaded forest. To see clouds change shape and size in an unyielding expanse of space. To love. To unlove. To break hearts. And mend them all over again. To sleep. And dream. Remembering all that's past and forgiving the future in the present. To boldly go where no one has gone before. To paint your nails pastel yellow with a "mermaid" glitter top coat. To make friends. Lose friends. Break rules. And eat candy whenever you want. To interview celebrities. Become a celebrity. Write best-selling books. And believe in astrology and red strings. To want the same thing your whole life, see it, feel it, dream it...only to catch a fleeting glimpse before losing sight of it again for what seems like infinite reflections upon reflections, two mirrors facing one another. A forever-loop. Until someone moves.

Winter is here. Even in #Georgia. And it comes again. And again. And again. Despite what may seem like an endless summer in a week of #Boston skylines and Cape Cod sunsets. "Endure," the Moon whispers. Her name is Sahara. But only a few know this. I am one of those few. And now, you are, too.

"Endure, endure, endure...."

0 Comments

For Grandpa

5/7/2015

0 Comments

His name was John Morgan Housel. He was my father-in-law. But more importantly, he was my friend. The moment we met, his eyes lit up. It really was love at first sight. For both of us. The number of times Grandpa and I stayed behind at the kitchen table to talk while everyone else left to watch TV in another room was innumerable in the 24 years we knew one another. We'd have spirited discussions about books, history, culture, theology, and most important of all, family. His loyalty to his children was unsurpassed. As was his jovial spirit.

The thing that made Grandpa happiest was being around his grandchildren, the little "shavers" as he called them. He had lots of funny ways of talking. My nephew Dan, a few months younger than my son, became "Choppers." I'm not really sure why. I always associated it with Dan's constant movement; he was everywhere at once, as if flying. That may not have been Grandpa's intent, but neither was passing on his gift for silly sounds. "Moo-jee" was my sister-in-law, Mary. My brother-in-law, Jim, was "Gig-gee." "Gig-gee" is now a patent attorney and judge in DC.. But that lofty position hasn't prevented Jim from taking a page out of Grandpa's book, dubbing his oldest brother, John, "Dar Dar."

I can't help but smile, and laugh just a little, as I remember Christmas's past. Grandpa would rile up Jim, who would in turn rile up the kids--up to five of whom would be riding on "horsey" Uncle Bob--and it wouldn't take long before the volume in the house would multiple ten-fold. Grandpa would call out "Baat baat baat" and it would echo from mouths big and small for the rest of the day.

All in all, Grandpa had 17 grandchildren, including a great granddaughter born in December. He also had six children, six daughter-in-laws, and a son-in-law. He treated all of us like family. He used to sit in a rocking chair in the kitchen, rocking away, a big smile on his face as he watched the veritable tribe that came from him fill the house time and time again. Like me, Grandpa had a lot of #light. He was beloved by the #Universe and as a result, could create realities as easily as he doodled extraordinary art in the margins of books.

Grandpa was an alum of Niagara University as well as Rochester Institute of Technology (RIT). It was a fellow student of Grandpa's from elementary school, Sister Mary Sullivan, who hired me years later at RIT, where I spent a decade of my teaching career. She recognized my last name, and with a smile that lit up her eyes, asked, "Are you related to Johnny Housel? I went to school with him." There were many such moments, where someone in the community would tell me with a happy face and bright smile about my beloved father-in-law. Grandpa's joie de vivre was known far and wide. As was his energy level. In his 60's and 70's, Grandpa would volunteer at Monroe Community Hospital and the Jewish Home. His physicality marked by that incredible pep in his step, friendly smile and easy laugh made him one of the most likable men I've ever met. Or anyone ever met, for that matter.

He loved his wife, Carolyn. Used to say how lucky he was that a woman as beautiful as her agreed to marry him. Carolyn said it wasn't luck...it was because he made her laugh. He made all of us laugh. He loved life. He loved family, He took joy in everything he did. Grandpa was very easy to not only like, but to love.

My son was born before I married Grandpa's son, Bob, who Grandpa saw as a taller version of his own father. Grandpa would be rocking away in his chair and look off, as if deep in memory, and say with great pride, "Bobby is so much like my father...he's better at the business than I am."

"The business" is our small, home-grown real estate company. What Grandpa always seemed to forget was that, even if Bob looked like Grandpa's dad, it was Grandpa who taught Bob the skills that support our entire family, wherever we end up. That's quite a legacy. One I hope Bob can pass along to our son as well. Four generations of Housels who help people find the homes where they will raise their children, hold their grandchildren for the first time, and make milestone memories to treasure for a lifetime.

One such milestone moment included the first time Gary and I came home to New York after leaving the city of our birth, Boston, Grandpa welcomed us with open arms. We never felt like strangers in a strange land; we always felt like we belonged. Recently, I was watching a video of Grandpa and a three-year old Gary, walking in Grandpa's backyard, talking about the trees and flowers that Grandma so carefully cultivated over years of Mother's Day gardening gifts. My son had to deal with tremendous difficulties from the moment he entered the world. As a result, he was a very discerning child (and now, a very discerning adult...good luck to anyone who gets on the wrong side of that 6'5" frame). Gary did not trust anyone, besides me. For him to have been walking alone in the backyard with Grandpa at that age was quite a feat. The relationship Gary and Grandpa had was very special. Even though Gary did not share any of Grandpa's DNA, when Grandpa saw Gary, his entire face lit up with pride. Grandpa would beam over Gary. In Yiddish, the word is "kvell." Grandpa would even come to the point of tears when he spoke about Gary. But he loved all of his many grandchildren. And you could see just how much during family gatherings. In the picture insert from December 2012, Grandpa's face has registered bliss as he holds his youngest grandchild at the time, JP. It was a party I hosted for my very handsome, very determined, and very talented nephew, Chris, who had just graduated as a Marine.

Grandpa served his country, too. The family would often roll their collective eyes as Grandpa regaled us with tales about combat and subsequent injuries, like a modern-day William Faulkner. Though he served proudly, he never saw any action. The scar he often pointed to was actually a childhood injury.

Grandpa was just an awesome man. He wasn't even 5'10", yet he was larger than life. He loved the Sun, like me. And like Gary, was a huge fan of Florida and the beautiful beaches its known for. Grandpa would go to Florida every year with Grandma reluctantly in tow. If it were possible, I think he'd have camped out on the beach. Gary and I agree. It just goes to show how we aren't so much born into a family...we choose them.

Sometime last spring, Grandpa and I were sitting at the kitchen table again, discussing all sorts of interesting things, when he stopped rocking in his chair and looked at me thoughtfully: "Rebecca," he said, with his usual emphasis on the first syllable, "You look like the Virgin Mary...." It was probably the nicest thing he could think to say, a sign of his love for me. Grandpa was a man of faith, you see. He believed in something greater than himself. He believed we all had a purpose, that there was a plan. He never waivered in his belief, even when darkness closed in around him.

Making Grandpa an 80th birthday party was something I knew he'd love. It was a surprise party, a beer-themed surprise party. Grandpa was a connoisseur; he called it having a "tasty." I'm smiling big as I write that. Because Grandpa was more than surprised when he arrived at my New York house, expecting to have a small family barbeque on that beautiful September day. When he walked out into the backyard, he was greeted by a lifetime of friends and family. As we sang happy birthday to him, Grandpa dropped to his knees and thanked God for all the people he loved, for the beauty all around him. It was spontaneous and with a genuine sense of love and joy.

When I left New York for Atlanta last July, Grandpa actually cried. He truly loved me. And I loved him. He didn't want me to leave. He was proud to have me in his family. Proud of my accomplishments. Proud of all I'd survived. Grandpa's deep care for me meant a great deal; he was like a father. Always supportive, never critical. He believed in me, even when others didn't. And his faith never waivered.

Grandpa and I had breakfast before I returned to Atlanta in January, not even two weeks before he fell ill. Grandma and Bob were there, too. Grandpa and I always sat so we could talk to each other. We had a great conversation about family, how proud he was of his grandchildren, of Gary, of me, of Bob. How impressed he was with his daughter, Mary, and her three sons--the beloved nephews who often appear with me in photos. He spoke of his youngest son, Joe, and what an amazing doctor and father he is, how beautiful his wife Kim is, and their four children--"the girls and JP." He mentioned "Eddie", his second son, and my niece Katrina as well as her new daughter, Jireh. He reviewed all of my older nephews and their goings-on: Nate, Dan, Jonathan, Joe, Chris, EJ, and Matt. He spoke of "Johnny," his oldest boy, now almost 60 himself. And did I know "Jimmy" was thinking of moving back to New York? It was almost as though he knew we may not see each other again; he also knew I'd write this piece. He was an avid reader of my work and followed this very blog. He knew his words would one day be conveyed to his family, even if he wasn't here to say them himself.

Grandpa passed away three weeks later. And I am 100% confident that when he arrived in Heaven, Jesus greeted him at the pearly gates with a tasty in hand. A tall, cold one.

0 Comments

#Musings

5/7/2015

0 Comments

Do you know what I miss? Stargate. Richard Dean Anderson aka "MacGyver" not only starred, but was an Executive Producer. That show just rocked. That, and ANY variation of Star Trek: Voyager, Deep Space Nine, Enterprise, or Patrick Stewart, a beloved fellow Comic Con tour alum, as Captain Picard in TNG.

Where has all the good sci-fi gone???

Television today is a dismal collection of over-saturated "reality" tv shows (that are so ridiculously scripted, "reality" is no longer real...), day-time talk shows and late night variety talk shows (ever notice how late-night hosts are all dudes???), shows with supernatural teens (translation: 30-year old actors playing 17-year olds...ugh), or, the new focus on female-centric rom-commy storylines, like Jane the Virgin, where almost every woman who "stars" in each show is still connected to a man in some way, or, even better, down on her luck because she isn't. Le sigh.

Last summer, I was salivating for the highly anticipated seventh and final season of True Blood--many of the cast members I know or have worked with during my recent three-year Comic Con tour. I had also corresponded with both Charlaine Harris and Alan Ball for my book, True Blood and Philosophy. So, it was a real pleasure to see my friends have the time of their lives ending what felt like 21st century Shakespeare on crack. A totally unique and all-consuming experience. Delicious storylines, a beautiful cast, magical realism the way it should be, witty political and cultural commentary, and the cherry on top of this Sunday-night HBO-star? A strong, independent woman at the creamy center of every single episode.

But summer 2015 feels like a television let-down before the season's even gotten started. As Jupiter completes it's historic rotation around the Sun this July/August, scheduled to return again in 2026, it feels as though the rest of the world is waning, too. Dare I say it? Things in the Entertainment world have gotten, well, boring.

My one bright spot was the discovery of Showtime's Penny Dreadful, named for the "Penny Dreadfuls" sold on the streets of Victorian England. The pamphlets, purchased for a penny, featured "dreadful" tales like "Varney the Vampire." In this steam-punk monster mash-up, Victor Frankenstein, Dracula, Dorian Gray, and a host of other Victorian ghouls, all exist in the same time and place, despite the fact that there is nearly 80 years between the publication of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and Bram Stoker's Dracula.

Timothy Dalton (whom I loved in the British parody, Hot Fuzz) plays an Allan Quatermain-type a la Haggard's 1885 novel, King Solomon's Mines, as he leads the main cast of characters, which includes Eva Green, Josh Hartnett, and Broadway's own Spider-Man, Reeve Carney (who I naturally have girl-wood for...at 32, he's right in my wheelhouse). Something about the way Carney pulls off a perfect London accent, or stares intently at Green's character, Vanessa Ives, as if she is the only woman on the planet, or, how he positively nails the unreserved nihilistic joy (and pain) present in Gray, that makes him irresistible as both a man and an iconic legend of human immortality. Eva Green is equal to Carney in her intensity as a psychic medium helping Dalton's character, Sir Malcolm, find the more monstrous vampire common to the second decade of a post-9/11 21st century narrative. Malcolm's beloved daughter was stolen away by the pointy-toothed beast; much of the plot is driven by Malcolm's obsession with hunting down his latest and most complex prey. Josh Hartnett, however, is the surprise amongst them all.

Hartnett plays a Buffalo-Bill-like character named Ethan Chandler. For those who aren't fluent in Hebrew, the word "Ethan," pronounced "eitan," means" fortitude. And Hartnett certainly brings that to the table, and then some. As the #PopCultureProfessor, I've literally seen it all. It is not easy to surprise me. But a few weeks ago, during a weekend in #ATL where I battled mightily against my on-going struggle with depression, I caught up on Season 1 of Penny Dreadful. The intrigue kept me from going into my garage and never coming out again. Because, quite frankly, Hartnett managed to surprise me. Three times. In one season. Yes, folks, it's true. Some men have the stamina of a god. Hartnett, therefore, is a marathoner after my own heart....

So, despite the glaring absence of any good sci-fi on television this summer season, Penny Dreadful will keep my head above the threatening waters, giving me hope and purpose after favorites like Supernatural, featuring my beloved friend and fellow Comic Con alum, Curtis Armstrong as Metatron, go on hiatus until fall. Oh yes, and of course, there is HBO's Game of Thrones, too. But betrayal and slaughter do become rather tedious after a time. Though, one must admit, there are excellent examples of spirited women being oppressed by men in a variety of new and imaginative ways. Unequivocally, the best part of GoT is Peter Dinklage. Period.

Tune in to Penny Dreadful on Sundays at 10pm Eastern on Showtime; if you have nothing better to do, and need a fill-in for the 9pm hour on Sunday nights, check out Game of Thrones on HBO. And always come back to RebeccaHousel.com to see what's new here on the blog. Please #Follow me on Twitter or IG: @DocHousel #PopCultureProfessor

You may also wish to consider #Following the official Twitter accounts of these talents (and friends):

Reeve Carney: @reevecarney #PennyDreadful #DorianGray #YoureGorgeous
Curtis Armstrong: @curtisisbooger #KingOfTheNerds #Supernatural #Metatron   #MissYou
Sir Patrick Stewart: @SirPatStew #StarTrek #TNG #CaptainPicard   #AhabLives
Denis O'Hare: @denisohare #TrueBlood #AmericanHorrorStory #RussellEdgington   #YouRock
Sam Trammell: @SamTrammell #TrueBlood #Shifter #SamMerlotte   #WhiteRabbit

#Musings

0 Comments

#Done

5/1/2015

0 Comments

I give #love but don't always get it back with consistency. Am I not good enough? Not pretty enough? Not smart enough? Not funny enough? No, despite the claw-like scars on my body, I'm not the one who is damaged. Humans are. Fear rules their world. But because I have kept company with Death for 24 years, no one rules mine but me. It sets me apart. Makes me different, even when I look like everyone else.

Along with big pieces of my heart, my baby girl is gone. I would have been due in the next month or so if shock hadn't sent me into what was essentially early labor. My other child is gone as well. He's a grown man now; I was all of 17 the first time I became pregnant. Much followed. Including #Bob.

#Love may conquer all, but that doesn't mean what you think it does. Only took me 27 years to learn that. But at least I learned, even if I was slow of study....

Speaking of #love, cancer has been my paramour three times in 24 years. Doctors pried my skull open three times, too. I lost the use of my left leg as a result and my immune system has never fully recovered. How do you stay sane after physicians "treat" you with toxic chemicals for a year, telling you in 20 you'll likely get Leukemia? And, the secondary cancer isn't anything to be too concerned about...your prognosis says you'll die in two years anyway. Fourteen later, not only am I still here, I've had the opportunity to experience scorn and degradation in new and imaginative ways.

I went to college full time while surviving multiple cancer diagnoses, running a household, raising my son, coaching sports, volunteering, being a room parent, and, working. Amidst it all, I managed to achieve the highest level of degree known to man. I've also published 11 books in nine languages (now sold in 30 countries, including China) and written over 200 articles and essays on everything from superheroes to poker to narrative medicine. I even earned 11 teaching award nominations for excellence, receiving five. But my accomplishments were kept in the shadows. The #Karma for which thrust me into the spotlight.

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction....

The year 2015 kicked off with a #bang as multiple arrows careened into my Atlanta home. The primary suspect? A psychotic stranger who had been cyber-stalking me, breaking into my home when I wasn't there, and parking in front of it when I was. Police mentioned the criminal was also a defendant in a recent wrongful death case. Yup. That happened. And, when I hired people to come repair the damage, one of the repairmen made a pass at me. To the extent where I had to knee him in the chest to get him off my exhausted body. All of it occurring mere weeks after I lost my baby. Luckily, the Grim Reaper and I have been braiding each other's hair for decades. Takes more than...well, all of the above, to make me flinch. Although, I'm likely just numb after the last two-and-a-half decades.

No matter what has happened to me, I am not a piece of furniture to be moved about hither and tither. I've got errands that need to be run. Not exactly a bucket list--more like professional goals I'm suddenly very close to achieving. I want to leave a legacy, not climb K2. Though, admittedly, I wouldn't mind jumping out of a moving plane before finally going home.

We only suffer when we submit to #Fate, like cattle on a moving train headed to the slaughter house. #Destiny is different. #Destiny is a choice.

#Done

0 Comments

About the Author

Rebecca Housel, Ph.D., known as "The Pop Culture Professor" (TM), is an international best-selling author and editor in nine languages and 100 countries. Rebecca, listed in the Directory of American Poets & Writers for her work in nonfiction, was nominated by Prevention magazine essayist and best-selling author of The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, Rebecca Skloot, to the National Association of Science Writers for her work on cancer. Rebecca has published with best-selling author of The Accidental Buddhist, Dinty Moore's literary nonfiction journal, Brevity, and with commercial publications like Redbook magazine and online journals like In Media Res. Her recent interviews appear in publications such as the LA Times, Esquire, USA TODAY, The Huffington Post, Inside Higher Ed, Woman's World magazine, and Marie Claire as well as on FOX news, and NBC. Former President of the New York College English Association, Housel was a professor in both Atlanta and New York, teaching popular culture, film, creative writing, literature, and medical humanities. Dr. Housel currently works on the Editorial Advisory Boards for the Journal of Popular Culture and the Journal of American Culture; she has also worked as a reviewer for Syracuse University Press and Thomson Wadsworth. A writer of all genres, Housel has written and published both fiction and nonfiction in over ten books and 398 articles, essays, book chapters, book reviews, and encyclopedia entries.

#Skin

#Dreamtime

#Georgia

#Endure

For Grandpa

#Musings

#Done

About the Author

Archives

Categories