The Golden Thread of Life

 

When thinking about life, it is easy to understand why so many cultures have stories and legends about gods, goddesses, and all sorts of beings invested with power over the human life.  In times when diseases were not understood, it made perfect sense that someone, or something evil, caused afflictions.  Recently, it has been The Fates that occupied my thoughts. One Fate to spin the thread of life, one to measure that thread, and one to cut the thread to end life. Their work seemed capricious, taking down both good and evil gods, as well as mortal humans. In fact, their power over life and death made them the most feared and the most powerful of all the magical deities in both Greek and Roman mythology.

Three weeks ago, I was given health news that made me think of my own golden thread. How Atropos may have been sharpening her scissors not so far behind me. Meanwhile, Cotho, the spinner and Lachesis, the allotor, would continue to spin and measure until the scissor performed its duty.

 

I spent anxious days waiting until the "as soon as possible" test would confirm what I had already been told - a 90% chance of a heart attack — soon. I learned how capricious life is. Within two weeks I lost two friends. One who had called me to tell me she was going to die, and there was nothing to do for it, so she was at peace with it. She said she specifically called me to “make her laugh,” using my Laughter Wellness powers. And laugh we did.  We made plans for a short visit, depending on how her day would be going, but the Fates had other plans. On the day I was having my nuclear scan and stress test, she passed away in her sleep.  

 

This news came right after there was an unexpected turn of events for me. Had this been Ancient Greek, I would have sworn that Zeus intervened for me. After the testing, my doctor had called me and said, despite the frightful calcium score, my heart was just fine — not just fine, but strong, and there were no restrictions to blood flow. As he had originally predicted from my first visit, he instructed me to continue with my cholesterol meds, stay on the baby aspirin, and come back in six months. Atropos would have to wait.

 

As I was processing mixed emotions, three days later, a long-time friend died suddenly and unexpectedly. I could not comprehend it. My grief-stricken brain kept playing out the “why” and “what if” scenarios. As humans, the only guarantee is that you will die — your golden thread of life will run out. 

 

I know in my heart that there are no Fates pulling the strings. The world is full of religions, beliefs, theories, and superstitions. In times of grief, heartache, and loss, we seek out to make sense of tragedy through our beliefs.  Well-meaning friends offer condolences, prayers, meditations, hugs and helping hands. But in the end, Death holds all the threads, and leaves behind the scars of loss. Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy said it best:

 

“It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”

 

May all our wounds gently rest as scars, and memories of shared smiles and laughter weave a golden thread around our hearts, to bring us comfort.

We are frightened, but not alone.

“In the darkest times, hope is something you give yourself.”

Read more at: https://www.blinkist.com/magazine/posts/15-enlightening-darkness-quotes-illuminate-path?utm_source=cpp

 

 

“It's like the great stories, Mr. Frodo, the ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn't want to know the end because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad has happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing this shadow, even darkness must pass. A new day will come, and when the sun shines, it'll shine out the clearer. I know now folks in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going because they were holding on to something. That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for.” 

Samwise Gamgee,  The Return of the King, JRR Tolkein 

 

Links to things I need to remember: 

 The Political is Personal

And Now I March for Science

Hiroshima

 

 

Family History Comes to Visit

 

Every time I go to a doctor, I am asked to fill out a form that, at some point, will ask me about family medical history. I list my father’s death at age 23, recently adding that it was most likely from contaminated water at Camp Lejeune. I mention my mother’s alcoholism and heart attack death at age 56, and my grandmother’s deadly aortic aneurism. In my younger years these reports were of interest to me, but not necessarily pertaining to me. I rarely drink and never smoked. As I got older, there were concerns about blood pressure, cholesterol, and most recently type II diabetes. Currently, all those issues are under control with meds, diet and exercise. I’ve been patting myself on the back for controlling my blood sugar so well that I don’t need any medication for that. Recently, after reading about a female runner who didn’t start running races until she was 70, I decided to start training myself. I was excited about completing my first race. Who knew I was walking around with a heart that would soon be described as having a 90% chance of a heart attack.  

It started with my younger sister. Eager to take an early retirement, she decided to get a complete physical and check-up while she was still employed. Within a short period of time, she learned that she had an elevated calcium score, was catharized, and had two stents put in. One of her arteries was 95% blocked. She encouraged me to get checked. Suddenly, our mother’s deadly heart attack at 56 could have been caused by more than her alcoholism. Family history is important.

I started the tests. At first, things appeared good, excellent blood work, especially regarding triglycerides and cholesterol. The cardiologist told me that once the tests were finished, I’d probably have to see him once a year. Until yesterday.

The day before I had a calcium score test. The technician told me that it would take about a week to get the results. I went on my merry way. I even missed the early morning call from the cardiologist. He left a message about some elevation, and I should start taking baby aspirin and call the office. While I was driving to work, I called his office (hands free, of course! Safety first). What they told me almost caused me to drive off the road.

“Elevation” was a mild word for my results. My score was way higher than my sister’s, putting me into the 90% chance of a heart attack category. Suddenly, everyone at the cardiologist’s office knew my name. They fast-tracked me for a Nuclear Myocardial Perfusion Scan, transferring me to the scheduling department with instructions to remind them this was an urgent situation. Well, I didn’t have to do that. As soon as I said my name, she replied, “Oh yes, I was just reviewing your paperwork.”

And despite the urgency, I will still have to wait a week to get the test done. As a person with anxiety issues anyway, it sounded like an eternity. I spent the rest of the day alternately crying and sleeping. Dale, the love of my life I have written about before, was supportive. He has his own calcium score burden, thankfully much lower than mine. It was a comfort to feel like we were now on the same team. We were horrified to discover how much salt contributes to these issues (we knew about cholesterol, and rarely added salt to our food – but it is in practically everything!)

As my anxiety quieted, I realized that my sister’s issue and my issue have a common denominator – family history. We have to take it seriously. 

 

The "Retirement" Conundrum

 

The reality of retirement vanished for me the day my divorce was finalized. I didn’t understand the implications at the time, as I was too busy learning how to support four of us on 50% of what five had previously lived with. I needed to replace a home, a car, and unhappily, a different job that paid more.

The concept of living “paycheck to paycheck” was my daily reality – even with child support. My eyes still burn with tears remembering how I had to sell the townhouse I bought for us. As small as it was (my “bedroom” was actually in the unfinished basement), the mortgage, HOA fees, and utilities quickly overwhelmed me. I added a second job, which created some amount of chaos for my teenage children who were already suffering from the loss of security.  The house I intended to buy was even smaller, but at least it was a single family with a yard. But again, only an unfinished basement would serve as an additional bedroom. Still, we had plans.

The night before the closings on the sale of the townhouse and the purchase of the bungalow I got news that our “new” home was actually not available to buy. The title was not clear, the seller had no right to sell the house, but according to law, had 30 days to solve the legal issues. I stood in the empty townhouse, with our dog, and the sleeping bag I had used the night before, in shock.

First came the uncomfortable conversation with my ex-husband, who had agreed to let the kids stay with him for the transition from one home to another. Then came the call to the movers, who already had all our furniture, to not deliver it, but now start to store it.

I got in my car with the dog to go to the closing of the townhouse and realized that I was homeless. Sure, there was some profit from the sale of the townhouse, but that was supposed to be the down payment on the bungalow. Eventually those funds would decrease significantly over the next months, in order to board the dog in a kennel, pay for a room for myself in a motel, and the storage fees for all our belongings. Feeling put-upon for housing his children, their father stopped paying child support without notifying the court, who later on would not look favorably on that. In the meantime, my children and I had no legal addresses or residency. They were in an educational vacuum zone.

Four months later I closed on an even smaller house. This one didn’t have a basement, so my bedroom became a daybed in the living room. The house needed lots of repairs. It was a roof over our heads and a legal address for school, but I don’t think my kids ever called it home. I called it the Money Pit.

Looking back on those years, I recall watching every dime. All of my kids took part time jobs during high school so they could afford things they wanted or needed. Prom clothes, cell phones, sneakers. I found a better-paying job but was still living paycheck to paycheck. Eventually I was back to having two jobs.

The years went on. The layoff of my whole department after 8 years at that “new job” I took. Almost lost the house, terrified to be homeless again. Finally got another full-time job at a huge pay decrease. This job provided a 401K and I did my best to contribute something. The little something then had to be taken out when the crawl space under the house filled with water and I had to have a complete draining and sump pump system installed. I would tell friends they could come visit my newest home improvement under the house.

The years went on. A new car, and car payment. A new roof, a huge dead tree, fixing the kitchen, fixing the bathroom – no luxuries, just basic home maintenance.  Age 60 passed. Age 65 passed, and I started to get social security. I continued to work the full-time job as well as freelancing. For the first time in my life, I did not feel like I was living paycheck to paycheck. Had some vacation time at the Jersey Shore. Visited my adult children who now lived very far away. Built a porch on the back of the tiny house with the understanding that, it is actually home to me, after 27 years of denying it.

At no time have I ever consider being able to fully retire. I still have a mortgage and property taxes to pay.  I dreamed that my freelance work would grow enough that I could at least leave the full-time job. Right now, it looks like I need to sunset that freelance work and get rid of all the books, paperwork, and paraphernalia. I need to empty my house via garage sales and donations. Age 70 is months away. Reality is HERE. There is no more time left for dreaming of “someday” leisure. It ain’t gonna happen.

 Image by jodeng from Pixabay

 

 Thoughts Along The Sunset Road

I’ve done it. Finished another personal project and sent it out into the world. I have great satisfaction in seeing it through. Yet, there is a nagging part of my brain that is getting louder and louder. The realistic part that lays out my years of creative work and how it really hasn’t amounted to much – just a combination of dreaming and ego-stroking. And yes, I have felt pleasure and a sense of accomplishment. However, as I see the sun setting over my road, there is a certain reality that cannot be ignored.

In 2010 I started on a path that was fueled by the discovery of the importance of laughter. Over that summer I attended 3 events that lit a creative fire in my brain. I threw myself into it, eager to share what I had found out. There was fun and there was joy. However, trying to elevate the work into a profession was hit or miss. Numerous unpaid presentations were offered to me. In my eagerness to please I ended up spending money on signage, giveaways and travel. I spent additional money attending expensive conferences and taking tables at local events – both promoting my laughter programs and selling books. Well, the books were for sale. Few sold. I can’t remember anyone booking a program from these efforts either, although, through intense efforts, I have a handful of paid presentations every year, and a few probono events.

Meanwhile, other creative efforts surfaced. There is my digital art photography – some of it award winning. A few sold.  However, I have probably spent hundreds, maybe even thousands, to support my “creative endeavors,” including publishing my own books. All have given me satisfaction and a sense of pride. None have paid the bills.

It may be possible that the speaking pinnacle was achieved with a Keynote Speakership in 2022, and I am now heading down the other side of the mountain, my backpack full of creative tchotchkes.

Originally, the dream was, this “business” would allow me to retire from full-time work, providing enough income to supplement social security and savings. As I approach my 70^th birthday some of that wisdom that comes with age is bearing fruit. If I died tomorrow, what would be done with all these mostly useless piles of unsold artwork and books, as well as the truckload of research materials, posters and promotional materials? Who would ever be interested in my multiple terabyte drives full of PowerPoint presentations, handout materials and websites? I've had a fun run with this stuff, but unlike my distant cousin, Ray Bradbury, no one is going to take everything from my office and rebuild it in a museum. And with my children scattered in various parts of the country, with families and creative interests of their own, there is not going to be a sentimental family gathering to divide up Mom's "stuff," especially all the things in what I call my writing office.

I am now contemplating the idea of bowing out on my own terms rather than letting illness, senility or death decide how the story ends. A garage sale, a shredder and a dumpster are going to be my best friends.  Maybe I'll have a big bonfire on my 70^th birthday.  Stay tuned. 

 

"What Gets You Out of Bed in the Morning?" Renewal, Revision, Reinvention:

Press Release for "What Gets You Out of Bed in the Morning?" by Noreen Braman

 

 

 

PRESS RELEASE

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

CONTACT: Noreen Braman, CLWI

732-874-2845

 

 

“What Gets You Out of Bed in the Morning?

Local Speaker and Author Releases Handbook for Finding Purpose

 

(Jamesburg, NJ) September 1, 2024 – Noreen Braman, an author from Jamesburg New Jersey, who grew up in East Brunswick, announces the release of her newest book, “What Gets You Out of Bed in the Morning?” a handbook and self-contained independent study for discovering, or rediscovering, your personal mission and vision.

Braman is an Instructor at the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at Rutgers University, providing well-being subjects for participants aged 50 and older. She learned that many participants were taking classes at OLLI-RU to experience new things, return to interests previously left behind and for some, attain some skill or knowledge about maintaining meaning in life.

“No matter what our stage of life, from being a young career striver through retirement years, we face life changes, some of them coming about without your choice or control. Especially, the journey through midlife and beyond can be an unsettling time. For some, the intense career striving has cooled, or the twists and turns of life may have led to a very different place than originally planned. Feeling adrift may lead to depression, during a time most expect to be flourishing. As parts of life slow down and change, it creates the perfect opportunity to re-examine one’s sense of meaning and purpose, to create fresh vision for the road that lies ahead,” Braman writes in her book.

She also notes that the title of this handbook takes inspiration from the Japanese word “ikigai,” which is sometimes loosely translated as “a reason to get out of bed in the morning.” The cover of the book reflects a humorous depiction of a stick figure jumping out of bed into the light of a smiling sun. As a Certified Laughter Wellness Instructor, and a Chief Well-Being Officer candidate, Braman uses an encouraging lighthearted touch all through the book.

Previous work by Braman includes “Treading Water – The Pandemic Edition” and “A Bouquet of Roses.” Other work can be found on Medium.com, 30seconds.com, and smilesideoflife.com. She is a contributing author to the recent book, “UNSHELTERED-None of Us Are Home Until All of Us Are Home (Unsheltered Book Series).”

Braman’s books are available at Amazon,  Everand, Lulu, and others.

For more information or interviews, Noreen Braman can be reached at info@njlaughter.com or 732-874-2845. Please leave a message if no answer. The website for both Braman’s books and Well-Being services, go to: www.njlaughter.com.

When You See It, Is It Really Porn? Or Something Else That Offends You

I worked in a library children's department for a long time, without coming across an inappropriate book, unless it was In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak, which did cause a stir back in 1970. Little Mickey losing his PJs and flying all around naked. (Actually, who hasn't had that dream?) 

By the time I was doing story hours, no one gave it a second look. Just another children's book, like Strega Nona (banned in some places) or Cat in the Hat (Not this book, but Dr. Suess is not exempt from having some banned books). I've seen books deserve to be retired for out of touch content, and others that may need to stick around just to remind us of our past. (Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain comes to mind.) Never came across anything else that we had, or in catalogs of childrens books to buy, that could have been considered pornography. But "porn in the library" is just a code phrase. And while I've been thinking that it is about a lot of new-age, "woke" (shuddder!) books, and they do get on the lists, I am seeing books of 40 or 50 years vintage on banned book lists. And yes, there are some books of yesteryear that showed misogyny, lack of diversity, or historical inaccuracies. But quite a few are old classics, such as Where the Wild Things Are (Maurice Sendak takes another hit - "too dark") and Charlotte's Web, (because of animals thinking and talking like humans). What's up about that, Doc? Disney, Looney Tunes and Hanna Barbera (to name a few), watch out - you hold the largest corral of thinking and talking animals. (Well, perhaps not Wile E Coyote - Super Genius.)

 I think the real controversy is about what some people describe a "family," and how there are children's books that illustrate differing family structures, as well as depict varying beliefs. Some contain elements of fantasy. There seems to be intense fear in some circles that even just the existence of books outside their parameters can morally corrupt their children. That their own ways of raising and teaching their children can come to naught because a child was exposed to a book that depicted other worlds outside their own definition. 

Once, for a child like me, the public library was a wondrous place, and I freely wandered from the children's department to the young adult area, to the fiction and non-fiction shelves - grabbing any book that caught my eye. I am not naive to think that there aren't books there that are not suitable for children. Or books that have pictures more suitable for the medical college library. But again, parents have the responsibility to instill the values they live with, to steer their young minds in the direction they think is best, and to understand that their children will encounter all sorts of materials in the world that may shock or upset them - even challenge some of the beliefs held in their own home. It is inevitable. Banning a children's book is not going to stop that, in fact, it could inflame curiosity.

So, especially in the children's department, parents should be near their children to help them choose books that they think are suitable. Nothing wrong with telling a small child that "this isn't for you," but a lot wrong with telling all children that. A parent can also go to the library without the child, select books they approve, and still be able to provide free books to their children. Books are expensive - a library in your town is a precious thing.

As the children get older, they will find that some of the titles in the young adult sections include serious works about unpleasant, and horrific things. They also show teenage issues, including the emotional obstacle course they run, just to become adults. If you have laid the groundwork of encouraging thoughtful curiosity, you will be able to talk about what ideas and stories your children and teenager may encounter in the world. 

 As a young adult reader, I came across real life things that I could not believe went on in the world. Some of them shook me deeply, like The Diary of Anne Frank (banned in some places), yet it inspired hopeful poetry, that many years later, as an adult, I would be honored to read, alongside several child poets, when the traveling Anne Frank Exhibit came to my state.

But I also read beautiful and uplifting books, both truth life and fantasy, especially all the Tolkien books - and learned valuable lessons from them. I spent my high school senior year in Independent English and I spent lots of time with Vonnegut. Humor and satire became a source of creativity of my own. Still later, my family tree revealed connections to Mary Perkins Bradbury, who was accused of witchcraft in Salem, (who somehow got out of jail, no one is quite sure how) and Lizzie Borden, who - well you know the story. If anything, should I be concerned about the effects of their inherited genetic tendencies. Sound ridiculous? The gene pool is true. People whose ancestors survived the plague pass down resistance to it. Lots of genetic disorders lurk in inherited genes. And sometimes, genes just go rogue. I am not sure if anything my ancestors read or heard as children is imbedded in my genes. What a wonderful science research paper that could be.

The point is, if there was porn in my libraries (maybe in the medical dictionaries), I didn't encounter it, or have forgotten it. Yes, I think there were some teenage giggles way back in the stacks. Yes, some books have explicit text. I leave it to the librarian - an educated, skilled expert on book classification to place such materials in the correct place.

 Because recently, I've seen book bans that horrify me more than seeing Mickey naked In The Night Kitchen.

Restoring Your Resilience

 

Sometimes it seems like the hits just keep coming. You are caught in a seemingly endless loop of emergencies, disasters, mistakes and just plain old daily responsibilities. You are stressed, exhausted, and barely coping. People who know you are worried. Their offers of help may be met with resistance, even hostility. Your brain no longer has the resilience needed to manage.

Although you feel like it, you are not alone. Recently I reconnected with some high school friends at a reunion. Conversations turned to high school life, and all of us complimenting each other on how successful they were. Each of us envied the other for their perfect life lives. Then came the true stories. Abusive homes, illnesses, mental health issues, substance use issues, and a common denominator of lack of self-confidence. As teenagers we rarely shared our issues. In those years, even reaching out to school for help was met with dismissal, even derision.

In one respect, it made some of us self-reliant. Others of us suffer psychological repercussions to this day. Add managing present day life, and it is no wonder our resilience often resembles a tattered flag desperately trying to hang onto the pole.

The biggest reason for sagging resilience is how the brain works. The brain – including the amygdala – stores not just trauma, but also positive experiences. However, these experiences are not given equal priority. There is a debate on the ratio of how many positive experiences offset negative ones.

This might explain why, during testimony at Brett Kavanaugh’s Supreme Court hearings, Christine Blasey Ford described sharp memories of derisive laughter and physical abuse, but less sharp memories of other events during that time period. Trauma take priority.

Working on trauma is important, and therapeutic options should be utilized. A loving partner or a good friend to talk to, can be invaluable. There are also habits you can develop that helps build back your resilience. Here are my 5 favorite habits to try:

The first habit Mindfulness. Mindfulness meditations are useful to calm and soothe and can be very helpful during times of stress. The other way to use mindfulness is to actually be “mindful” during your daily life. How many things are you doing “mindlessly?” Do you have a feeling of time passing and you don’t remember what you were doing? Are you thinking about what you were doing this morning or what you have to do later rather than focusing on the task at hand? Take time to notice this and redirect yourself to the present moment.

Habit 2 addresses Gratitude. Recent studies using functional MRIs have shown exciting changes to the brain that coordinate with enhanced happiness as a result of purposeful gratitude activities. Make time for gratitude journals, gratitude letters and simple gratitude gestures to others. Thinking of 3 things you are grateful for each evening is a great habit – with the understanding that there will be times the only thing you feel grateful for, is that the day is over. Remind yourself tomorrow can be different!

A sense of Purpose is the focus of habit 3. Having a “reason for getting up in the morning,” is arguably one of the most important and powerful factors in happiness, health and longevity, even if your career work is not exactly aligned. Consider writing your own personal mission and vision statements. A simple example of a vision statement – a perfect you in a perfect world – could be “All shelter pets will find happy homes.” While your mission statement sets out how you would help accomplish this. For example: “My mission is to help out at my local shelter one day a week to re-home pets.”

Anthropologists now believe that Laughter, the subject of habit 4, is a survival mechanism existing in humans before language, or even a sense of humor, developed. Laughter is so powerful it can both lift up the oppressed when used for healing or take down oppressors when used as a weapon. There are laughter exercises (laughter yoga, laughter wellness) that introduces the concept of laughter as a well-being exercise that does not rely on jokes or humor. Laughter releases endorphins and is one of the few habits that benefit both physical and mental health.

Habit 5, Happiness is both as a state of being and a much maligned “pursuit.” What is happiness and why is global society so focused on it that some countries are using it instead of a GDP? Yet, happiness doesn’t fall out of the sky, and in reality, it can be a very fleeting feeling. A better way of thinking of happiness is to have a sense of contentment and life satisfaction in the present moment. Including some of the previous habits above can help you achieve these feelings, and at the same time, restore your resilience for when life is more difficult.

Noreen Braman

Coming soon: "What Gets You Out of Bed in the Morning?" A handbook for finding personal purpose, mission, and vision after age 50. Watch for availability on the books page of: www.njlaughter.com

The Importance Of Using the Right Word at the Right Time

 

Fireflies and Lightning Bugs - They have returned!

 Tonight I witnessed fields full of lightning bugs - fireflies - and actually cried to see so many. 

It has been a few years since I've seen any in my neighborhood. And so, I can again share this.

 

"Fireflies" ©2014 Noreen Braman

 As dusk darkens my yard, hundreds of tiny lights rise from the grass, like silent fireworks. The yard is alive with light. As I watch these little stars twinkle, it is hard to remember that this is the magic of an insect, not some ethereal spirit.

I am awed by the evolutionary miracle that has taken place so that fireflies can find a mate in the summer darkness. Suddenly, I am aware of the mystical importance of it all — primeval life going on amid the suburban rubble.

As humans, we can feel that only our own existence is important, that somehow we have the power over life. And yet, nature is there, gently reminding us that life goes on, with or without us. As long as I can see fireflies doing their dance on a hot, summer evening, I'll know there is hope for the world.

©2014 Noreen Braman
 updated from my previously published version that appeared in Sunshine Magazine.

A Letter to An Airline Regarding Treatment of People Who Need to Carry Medical Items With Them

 

Here is a letter I had to write to a certain airline, yesterday. I am withholding the name of the airline, pending their response. Has anyone else been treated like this?

June 16, 2024, 3:49 PM

June 21, 2024 - I've not gotten any sort of response, so I will now reveal the airline that treated me so badly. It was Delta. 

UPDATE

June 25, 2024 - Got an email apology from Delta. Seemed sincere, they would forward the letter up the ladder. That should have been the end of the letter - but for some reason, they thought financial compensation was in order. A refund of the cost of my flight? Nope. A $75 coupon for a future flight. SMH

 

I am writing to inform you of the cruel and embarrassing treatment I was subjected to in trying to board a flight from Atlanta to Newark. I was booked for 2 flights from St Louis to Newark. The first leg of the flight was wonderful. The gate attendant did not call groups until the jetway was mostly clear, and volunteers were requested to check bags, if they could. I had one small bag with wheels that I have been using for many years, with other airlines. This bag has been placed under the seats of large and small airplanes, and sometimes put in the overhead when there was room. The bag is important because I carry certain medications and items related to health conditions. It is important to repeat that this bag has never been checked in, only on occasion, taken on the jetway and returned to the jetway after the flight. This was my first time using Delta Airlines, and I have to say, after the way I was treated by the second Gate Crew, I don’t see myself using Delta Airlines again.

 

 The flight was already delayed, so the crew was attempting to get people on the plane quickly. They asked for volunteers to check bags, as was done on my first flight. Unlike the earlier flight, groups were called too fast, creating a long, long line. As part of section 7, I was near the end of the queue. Suddenly, a gate person started to separate " no bag" people from "bag" people. I was confused, as many of the “no bag” people had 2 or more bags bigger than mine. Apparently, she was choosing people with bags with wheels to be tagged and taken away. She grabbed my bag by the double carrying handles, and tagged it with the adhesive label (which prevented easy access to opening the bag), just as I was telling her I am diabetic and need my medications and other related items. She then accused me of not listening to her announcement about taking medications out of bags. However, that was part of the volunteering your bag speech. I was not prepared in any way to remove my medications, my glucometer AND my laptop. I had only a small zipper bag over my shoulder that just held my wallet and cell phone. No huge purse, no tote bag. She had nothing for me to put everything into. She expected me to squeeze my hands into the small opening left by the tagging label, and hand carry at least 7 things plus my laptop. She told me to keep moving in the line, and that I had to deal with it on the jetway.

 

I thought maybe there were bags or baskets down there there to put medications in for this kind of situation. But there was nothing, and no one to help. So, I had to remove my sweatshirt,(thankfully I was wearing one, otherwise, was I supposed to remove my shirt to use as a "bag?") kneel down on the jetway, and with wind blowing in my face through the open door, try to get everything I needed out of that bag, with all the passengers in line staring at me. Another gate attendant then began yelling that I couldn’t be on the right side of the jetway, and then she stood over me, telling me I had to give up my bag immediately. I finally was able to tie my sweatshirt around my medications and equipment, get my laptop, and then walked past all the same (now seated) passengers who had witnessed me kneeling on the floor trying to tie up my belongings like Huckleberry Finn. 

 

Only this wasn’t a funny story. I was demeaned, embarrassed, and a line full of strangers was allowed to hear me having to explain private medical issues. My privacy was violated, my health care items were placed in jeopardy, having to be rolled up in a sweatshirt and put on the floor under the seat in front of me. Not one Delta employee offered me any help other than to stand over me to tell me to hurry up. If this is how you treat 69-year-old people with medical issues, it should be made known to others like me so we can avoid your airline.

 

BTW: My bag is identical to this

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Smile Side of Life Presentations

For Memorial Day: In memory of the father I never knew, and his mysterious death

 

As Memorial Day approaches, I realize that it is 69 years since the day in May when my father died. A USMC Corporal, who served his country in several places, including Camp Lejeune, who died mysteriously at age 23. He left behind my grief struck grandmother, my devastated newlywed mother, a brother, a sister, and me, a 3-week-old baby. The pain and trauma was so deep that I grew up learning very little about my father, and what little came my way was mostly inaccurate. I was told he died from inhaling airplane exhaust. I was told he died from tonsillitis. I was told he died from a cat scratch.

I found a drawer full of memories when my mother, then my stepfather, passed away in 1988. The drawer had photo albums, receipts from a young couple’s married life, wedding cards, and many, many, cards expressing sadness and grief over William Johnston Braman’s untimely death. His death certificate, typed on paper so thin you can see through it, revealed his cause of death – Uremia. The dictionary definition is  “a raised level in the blood of urea and other nitrogenous waste compounds that are normally eliminated by the kidneys.” The origin of the word means “urine in the blood.” The National Institute of Health states that uremia “develops most commonly in chronic and end-stage renal disease.” Those words would become important to me.

But Uremia was not a final diagnosis. Below, as a contributing factor was written “pending chemical.” No matter how much I searched, I found no report of what those chemical tests revealed. I closed the box, confused, but I was a busy young mother, with 3 active children who would all have to deal with our own trauma in the years to come.

But when I began to see solicitations by lawyers, looking for persons harmed by contaminated water at Camp Lejeune. I submitted a request to the Veteran’s Administration. Yes, he had been at Camp Lejeune in the 50s. His death occurred at the Brooklyn VA hospital. His death certificate was incomplete. Something felt wrong.

I asked the City of New York for another copy of his death certificate and checked the box to included cause of death paperwork. What I got back was a clearer version of what I already had. No chemical testing reports.

The TV lawyers were not interested in helping me figure this out. Did my father die from contaminated water? Renal failure is listed as something caused by this contaminated water. Did he actually die from serving his country? How in the world could anyone ever compensate me and his last remaining sibling for his loss?

I called and called the Brooklyn VA Hospital. Calls were misdirected, voice mails never returned. As a government hospital, it could be possible that records from the 50s were still in some rusty file cabinets. But no one even called to say those records had been destroyed. Nothing.

I approached my Congressional Representative, sending copies of everything I had, service records, death certificate. No answer, no answer, no answer. Finally, in late 2023, I was told that a request had been made to the Brooklyn VA Hospital, and to allow 30 days for a reply. No answer came. Not from the Hospital, not from the Congressional Office.

Meanwhile, there is a timeline ticking down to make the government aware of those who were harmed by this contamination. Currently, staff at one of my state senator’s offices has stated they will try to get info from the VA, to find out if the records still exist. And if they don’t, what does that leave?

Should I go on without ever knowing, or should I start believing that the words on his death certificate are proof enough that his death had a “chemical” cause?

I was born in April 1955. My father died in May 1955. Thanks to his 14-year-old sister, who snatched me out of the baby carriage while my mother argued with nurses who refused to let a baby into the hospital, my father was able to hold me. He wept uncontrollably and died soon after. My eyes fill with tears as I write this, just as they filled with tears when my father’s last remaining sibling, his sister, told me this story, just a few months ago.

And now I am desperate to fill in the blanks. To pass on the story of a man who died young, but whose genes live on in me, my three children, and my seven grandchildren. A man who may have given his life for his country.

 

Diabolical Electric Hypnosis

Communication Dilemmas

(Replace the technology terminology
as this poem becomes glottology) 

 

Don’t write me a letter, send me a text, 

Don’t text me, give me a call, 

 

Don’t call me, message me on Facebook, 

 

Don’t use Facebook, set up a zoom,

 

Don’t use zoom, in fact skip the internet altogether,
with its diabolical electronic hypnosis. 

Send me a letter, but don’t write in cursive. 

©2024 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO April 28, 2024

 

The Feeling That Shall Not Be Named

the brain holds the archive
of all the stories lived,
and daily shuffles through them
randomly projecting a memory,
in whispers, shadows and echoes
that manifest in the body,
as the physical state of anxiety
all of the fear, but none of the context,
only waves of existential dread

 

©2024 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO April 24, 2024

 

The Name Game

So many of us want nom de plumes,
not as in-disguise authors
or shielded government witnesses,
just a cutesy handle for social media
with a wink and a nod to some inside joke.
Nick-names from high school
your mom’s pet name for you
Some adult language that makes you laugh -
until someone quotes you in a serious forum
And your double entendre falls flat.
So if you just want to avoid hackers and pests
use your middle name.
Then when it is quoted as your last name
it just ends up looking like someone else
has stolen your wisdom,
but saved you from meme-dom.

©2024 Noreen Bra Man (hey, wait a minute...)
With a wink and a nod to Lioness Magazine

 

 

 

 

NAPOWRIMO April 23, 2024

 

Decades Unfinished

the twenty-year old book

just an exercise in vanity

a collection of words

around daily complaints

and  adventures

memorializing a landmark year

that never solved the issue of

asking myself, “Now What?”

 

©2024 Noreen Braman