In Malachi's Own Words...Priceless!

DESTINY AWAITS!
Timeless
Timeless. Just like music, my experiences in Europe will last forever. Music is a part of me, and when I am without it or not involved in creating it, I feel like a part of me is missing. I always want to find a way to incorporate music into what I do, because it gives me a sense of comfort. When I go to Europe I plan to take music with me, so I have to start here. Envisioning myself in Europe while creating music always gives a different feel to my music. It comes out sounding nothing like anything I've created in the past few weeks. A lot of the time my music gets created on "accident". I find myself like random tinkling on the keys as I start a new project. This beat, duly entitled "Timeless" happened just that way. Sitting in front of the computer with my fingers on the keyboard, I tinkled a melody and then a cord, and stumbled upon something I liked. After that, there was no looking back, as everything I added to the chords seemed to fit perfectly. Music is a part of me, so it will go where I go. To school, to practice, and even across seas to a country I have never been before, where the experiences will be timeless.
#FriendsofMalachiMaxwellGlass
Timeless

"DON'T MAKE ME COME IN THERE."

I was in kindergarten when this picture was taken.  It's one of the very few of me that I like.  I wish I could be inside that child's head again, just for a moment.  I need to recall what it's like to live without the kind of soul-numbing discouragement I face every day.  I came onto G+ for my son, whose capacity for discouragement and disappointment falls far short of his mother's.  Maybe that's the metaphysical trade-off that comes with being popular and making friends easily.  Neither of these things was true of me when I was in school.  I'm still not really sure who likes me at any given moment.  That's why I figured I'd better learn to enjoy my own company a looooong time ago.  Now I'm at the point where I don't need everyone to be my friend, or to be liked all the time.  I just really, really want to be a part of something positive.  I thought helping my son get to Europe with People to People was gonna be the thing. But no.  No.  The boy is churlishly certain that he should just give up NOW and avoid the rush.  His brother came in here just now, bowed his head and asked God to PLEASE help his brother "quit whining his way to Europe!"  Made me feel somewhat better.  I told you all that I was going to ride herd on my son who makes commitments and then just abandons them.  I DO NOT RAISE QUITTERS.  He can fail all he likes, but you don't put me on this kind of mission for you and then casually indicate you can't be bothered.  He doesn't realize I'm gonna make him write a post EVERY DAY for the next month.  He damn well better improve from today's offering, believe it.

The journey between these two pictures was not an easy one. It had its share of disillusionment and disappointment.    I wanted to
join "Up With People" the year this was taken.  Some girls made sure I overheard them laughing at me while I was speaking with a member of the troupe, and I let their ridicule keep me from a life-changing adventure. "Don't let them do this," the Dutch kid said, with real feeling. They pushed harder, teased louder, and I gave up on the spot. I can still see the glow fading from his face when he realized what was happening. Why did they bother? I didn't even know them.  I can't get that opportunity back.

I had no cheerleader at home. ("Go outside with that violin. You can practice out there. Your sister can't hear the television.") I recall becoming very still.  "You really think I'm going to stand outside and practice the violin."  It wasn't a question. My mom made this little choking sound that still sounds like suppressed laughter in my memory. It's not good to see your mom smirk your dreams. It is what it is. I'm all right.  I thought this would be different. I thought what I could do now is knuckle down with Malachi and get this done for him.  I told him, "The only thing better than me getting to go to Europe is you getting to go," and I meant it.  Every time I asked that boy if he wanted to go abroad he said yes until the day before yesterday.  I want to jump on him.

I find this picture of me with the violin really hard to look at. Those loose bowstrings anger me.  Every bow on the wall in that store is strung too loosely to work properly.  Maybe it's to make you think you need lessons.  I don't like it because I'm not as young as I used to be, although I'm looking pretty good for my age.  I don't like it because that is as happy as I've been in a long, long time.  I see a bit of the sparkle in my eye, and that's good.  The joy of living has been on hiatus for me for a while now, however.  I don't see the sweet spirit that shines from the child's and the teenager's eyes anymore.  When I look at pictures of me now, all I see is someone whose eyes look tired and sad.

No matter what, I won't give up.  The next month is gonna be an ugly one around here, because I don't tolerate quitting.  Fail, get knocked down, fall apart, do what you have to, but don't quit.

Thanks for taking the time to read this blog.
#FriendsofMalachiMaxwellGlass

BLOOD FROM A TURNIP: SEE IT HERE.

Life is an endeavor. Determination is a trait most all people want but not all people have. with any task or difficulty that is thrown in your way in life determination to overcome it is a must. That kind of determination is the same determination that i must have if i am to be successful in going to Europe. Unfortunately, at this moment, i do not have that determination. I wish that i did. But when life sets in front of you continuous let downs and setbacks, it's hard to have determination when you face a strenuous task. it has been hard for me to muster up the will to even want to go in the last few weeks. I just do not see it coming forth. With that said I have to find the will somewhere within me, wherever it may be.

Because I Said So.

Malachi is GOING to Europe next summer.  He's discouraged, but I'm not.  He may not like me very much for the next few months, but he'll thank me later in life, Lord willing.

If you want things, you have to work for them.  You have to sacrifice.  You have to take chances.  There are risks; risk of failure, risk of disappointment, risk of distraction.  Risk can paralyze you with fear or galvanize you into action.  It's up to you.  I've been known to start things with a big fanfare, and then get discouraged, distracted, disoriented.  Not this time.  Today is January 31.  This is the last day Malachi gets to lollygag.  He doesn't get to fail.  He doesn't get to quit.  He doesn't have to like me.  I am not Malachi's friend.  I'm his mother, and I am not letting him flake off on his commitment.  I haven't flaked off on mine.  You see fewer posts because it's not about me anymore.  I've done what I needed to do to prove I'm in it for the long haul.  90 days of blogging once a week or more without fail.  For the first 30 days I blogged every day.  It was easy, because I had plenty of angst to be shed.  I stuck my toe into the SEO pool and found it to my liking. I'm going back, so get out your sunblock.  A sizzling-hot day is about to dawn on you all.
But Malachi.

This blog has plenty of readers and no followers, but I'm not giving up on it.  I'm going to keep building it up.  I know it's going to help me get my son to Europe.  I haven't got much time, but I've got plenty of faith.  I've got to teach my son to keep the faith.  He needs to put in the work, so he can understand how to reach a goal that seems beyond his capability.  He's ready to let himself down, and ready to be angry with me for not permitting him to do it, but again, I am not this boy's friend. If I were his friend, I might tease him about wanting to go abroad.  If I were his friend, I might undermine his confidence every chance I got.  If I were his friend, I might tell him that he shouldn't be expecting his mom to raise that kind of money for a trip when so much other stuff is called for.  It's a good thing I am not his friend.  He would never accomplish anything with me reassuring him that mediocrity and the status quo are all he should hope for.

Malachi is a fine son and a strong person.  Our Lily got into a bad scrap and was bleeding profusely from the healed wound you see there.  Malachi is the one who kept her from bleeding to death at 10 pm on a Thursday night, and she hasn't forgotten it.  Nor have I.  He kept calm and packed the wound with cobwebs to stop the bleeding.  It worked.  He then bound her up with black electrical tape, which Miss Lillers removed herself three days later.  Nice work.  Now why doesn't this kid have more faith in himself?  I ran around and collected spiderwebs from behind the washer in the laundry room, but he calmly washed the puncture, packed and bound it.  Blood was everywhere.  His brother was caterwauling. I wasn't so good, either.  Malachi took charge and saved his friend's life.  Now, like Erica Jong, I've got to teach him how to save his own.

Something is going to break.  Opportunity will come.  Faith is not just for church.  It's for standing firm.  Not just against ideological bullies, but for standing up to your circumstances and changing them from sheer force of will.  Will begins with a transformation of mind and heart.  It is a refusal to accept defeat, rejection, and ridicule and continue to go hard for you goals.  Will looks beyond circumstances; past situations, through intrigues, and  across shifting tides of favor and locks on to its desire.  My desire is to show my kid that his dreams are worth having, and I will not be denied.

Thanks for taking the time to read this blog.
#FriendsofMalachiMaxwellGlass

ATTENTION DEFICIT

Malachi was able to get sound out of a sax the first time he picked one up.  I told him how remarkable that was.  He wasn't with us the day we went to the music store.  He got to hang out with his friends, but I saw a wistful expression cross his features for a second as he looked at my pictures of all the gleaming instruments.  That the place is not thronged with a Scarborough Fair of people making music at all hours is a mystery to me.  I wanted to run around like a six-year-old and tootle and honk on everything!  I wanted to hear someone play!  Musicians are withholders.  You gotta pay to hear em play, and who can blame them?

There is not enough music for our children anymore.  No one is teaching them how to use these precious instruments.  Music lessons were of no importance in my branch of the family.  At all.  So I was completely and hopelessly cut off from them.  I don't want the same thing to befall my children.  Shoot, I haven't given up on me.  I don't like that picture of me I posted, but my goofy, joyful expression tells me I'd better dare to look dumb some more.  We've forgotten that our kids want to learn to make music.  We're not investing their limited, finite resources of time and attention into music, art, dance, poetry, the humanities, at anywhere near the rate we ought  to be.  Not everyone will wind up on a production crew for Ang Lee, or Peter Jackson.  We cain't all be on Glee.  But kids need music.  To learn with.  To live with.  To grow and develop with.  They can be emotionally stunted without it.  A plugged outlet.  I know how that feels.

Creativity bubbling like steam in a pot with a tight-fitting lid.  Your kid is wilding out and you don't know why.  Maybe he needs to paint.  He could have a frustrated tap routine bothering his brain.  Might need to sculpt or carve something, and never even know it. 

What if your child would love to create in wrought iron? How would you know?  I remember the Polish ironworkers in Riverhead.  Some of those men could craft the most delicate forms in iron--fence finials, balustrades, porch railings, and a special form of ironwork whose intricate patterns indicated to fellow Poles where they would be welcomed and understood.  Sometimes interlocking circles, always three birds in flight, articulated within confining bars, somehow.  I remember suddenly coming to grips with this visual symbol on a street full of Poles, (on my way to Pulaski Street Elementary) and how two or three of the eldest women turned, startled, to gape at me.  I had been looking at the intricate form of the low iron railing in front of an old Polish doctor's office, Dr. Bryzcynzski, I believe.  I looked at that awesome collection of consonants every day on my way to school, and the funny little ironwork rail, just above ankle high, that outlined his little slab of pavement near the corner of Ostrander and Roanoake. I had seen the elderly ones lining up to get into his office, and their bright head kerchiefs stood out in the new morning air as I approached.  It was springtime, and the snap in the air was just pleasant enough to remind them of home.  All of them.  As as happened to me since before I knew it did not happen to other people, I was overcome by a sense of limitless ocean, and the birds suddenly appearing on the horizon, indicating land, America, in fact. Beautiful  Land at the end of a long and arduous journey.  Many of the ironworkers, barkeeps, beer-truck drivers, grocers, and cobblers in my hometown were Polish Jews.  Some were Greek Jews.  Some of them were Italian and German Jews.  Even then, I took it all in through the eyes of a writer--with an eye toward memory, place, time, and recall.  I cannot tell you what I had for breakfast last Tuesday, but I do know that Polish craftsmen also make fine chocolates and exquisite violins. And pastry. And cold cuts!

I went to first grade with a delightful little girl whose first and only words to me in flawless American English were: "I've come too far ever to be an outcast again.  I come here and find out I look completely American.  I can never look back.  I will always value your friendship.  I will always know you are my friend.  But this will be our only conversation!"  And it was.  I'm still her friend, too.  This was in spring; 1969 or '70.  She'd arrived from Poland the previous fall not speaking a single word of English.  I'm a Q, and she was an S, so she was seated in the row across from me.  I watched her enormous china blue eyes on that first day, taking in the big warm, room, me, the other kids, Mrs. Leahy, the teacher, me again...I am terrified, she thought. I wish someone would take my hand. So I did. It was ice cold, so I held it until it warmed up, and then just dropped it.  She decided not to faint, and that it was all going to be ok.  A Brit's riff on Paul Revere brought beautiful Anna Stremsky to mind again, with her bright, blonde, Dresden-doll curls and rosy cheeks--how close she came to missing freedom altogether.

Creativity will have its expression.  It will impose itself upon you and  make you see it.   It seethes like lava under a restless volcano, in places closer than we'd care to admit.  It will usurp the goodwill of others to get its point across.  We would be unwise to ignore this.  I like good grafitti.  I sure wish I knew where the tagger Search was right now.  Search tagged throughout Raleigh, Apex, and Chapel Hill through most of the 90s.  "The Search is ON" rolled by on countless rail cars on their way through my back yard in Cary, North Carolina.  I wonder if there's still a tag hidden somewhere.  Let me know if you find it.  On the other hand, this LI chick is aware of disaffected youth and the mayhem they can cause.  Creativity and Destruction are siblings.  One is always alongside the other.  At any given moment, one or the other is dominant in a situation.  I choose blogging as a form of creativity.  I thereby intend to destroy poverty, inertia, and lack of ambition in my worldview and circumstances.  It's happening.  Sometimes I put a foot wrong, but I'mma keep trekkin' forward.
Thank you for taking the time to read this blog.

#FriendsofMalachiMaxwellGlass

Easier Said Than Done

We all know the definition of insanity: "Doing the same thing in the same way and expecting a different outcome."  Les Brown always says, "If we knew better, we would do better!"  Well, I've no idea how to get my kid to Europe on a shoestring, so I have got to build a bridge from what I do know outward.  I've got to stand on what I know, and reach out toward the unknown.  It's scary.  Malachi is too afraid even to attempt it.  We've tried this before.  He remembers what happened.  I remember him dropping to his knees when he found out he would not be going on an educational retreat because I had not raised the money, and the scholarship application had closed.  Educational marketing is such that I was forced to do a fundraiser in order to be eligible for the scholarship.  The scholarship closed unexpectedly a day or so after I'd raised $300 to send them.  I had to tell Malachi.  I did not know it would break his heart.  Seven years later, his apathy tells me it's STILL broken.  He won't even try.

I've been tryna help myself and this kid a long time, and I'll never stop.

His non-involvement is hard on me.  I feel like I'm plugging away on his future without any input from him.  I vacillate between wanting to chuck the entire endeavor and stage-managing this whole thing without him.  He's got some awesome music on my hard drive.  I've been asking him for permission to shop it so he can pay his OWN daggone way!  He has slow-walked me since OCTOBER.  If he went to school one day and could not take a step for the throngs of people complementing him on his most recent beats, he would think I've done him wrong.  Even if it turned out for the best.  I know him.  This is what I mean by the convenience of stuck-ness.  That boy knows I respect him and his intellectual property so much that I won't administer it without his permission, even for his own good.  What he doesn't seem to comprehend is that I know what I'm doing.  No pedophile or perpetrator or poseur wants to take ME on. Not anymore, anyway.  I can destroy your credibility by means of a single hashtag, and I have done it.  No more posting black women bound with ball gags on my kid's profile for YOU, Dr. Cyanide.  I know the Godfather.

It's time to order a passport.  I'd have done it by now, but as you see, I'm panhandling this thing on my own.  Another few weeks and I won't be able to get it done in time.  I don't want to fail Malachi, even as he is busy failing himself.  He has insulated himself from reality.  If he doesn't do anything, there's no disappointment to be felt.  If I don't pull this off, he can tell himself it was never meant to be.  I've been listening here on The Plus.  I cannot allow my son to embrace this pattern of avoidance!  It will ruin his life.

I don't give up.  I don't back down.  I try to learn from Disappointment and Defeat.  One thing those two will never willingly teach you is how to WIN.  You have to FIGHT to wrest that knowledge from those two old instructors.  Their class is free, and you can enroll on a minute-to-minute basis.

Thanks for taking the time to read this blog.
#FriendsofMalachiMaxwellGlass

Happy New Year! My Life's a MESS.

Jack Frost is looking toward the future, as always.

I didn't make any New Year's resolutions, so I don't feel bad about that.  I feel bad because everything's so messy!  I have been diligently building social presence online.  It is amazing how quickly an internet connection can eat up your day!  I looked around after the holidays and asked myself how I got so far behind whilst struggling so hard to get ahead.  Like I tell my workaholic man-friend:

"YOU ARE ONLY ONE PERSON.  YOU CANNOT DO MORE.  YOU MUST DO BETTER."

I can't do any more than I'm already doing!  I've gotta find a way to do better.  A New Year is always a good time to evaluate relationships.  None of my relationships are helping me keep my house in order.

Folk will be very shocked or hurt when the means to walk away finally fall into place.  I won't be able to hear them say "ungrateful."  I'll be too far away.  If your situation is not all it should be, it's daunting how people expect you to accept whatever they toss your way, whether it's their closet castoffs or the overflow from their flea market addiction.  "I thought you might need this," means one thing when that thing is a $100 bill.  It's something else entirely when it turns out to be one more thing I've got no real use for.  If I so much as hesitate, trouble ensues.  I'm supposed to be a willing repository for whatever people don't want to think about or deal with, in exchange for whatever assistance they ever gave me.  I don't have any right to say, "I don't need it.  I don't want it.  I can't use it.  Please don't bring me anything else without checking first."  Oh, really?  I'll just hang on to this $100 I was planning to give you.  Might add to your clutter.  That is being held hostage to your conditional love, and I'm saturated.

I need some clarity.  I need some reframing.  I need to clean my emotional filter.

I had the pleasure of attending +Les Dossey 's inaugural "Getting Unstuck" HOA, and I am now one of his biggest fans. He discusses some of the darkest places people can inhabit, and still walk and talk.  Many of us come online and act like there are no problems in the background, and many more doan wanna HEAR about any problem you have, so this offering and his earlier one with +Christine DeGraff were like a lifeline to me.  I didn't know how to name what was bothering me before now.  No one wants to be perceived as ungrateful.  Most of us don't want to actually BE ungrateful, either.  I get that epithet thrown at me a lot, mostly by people who have a vested interest in me never getting unstuck.  Who might that be?  Any person in my life for whom my predictable actions and reactions have created convenience they'd rather not relinquish.  This includes my kids, who will be amid the first to suffer flashburns of Shock and Awe when their maid gets a JOB.  I asked the Good Lord to send me back to the drawing board years ago, after I'd made the biggest mess of my life, and he did. I wanted to give my children a childhood; if I couldn't give them a dad, I wasn't gonna be checked out working all the time, either.  I decided that I would retire in reverse.  How would I know when my retirement was concluded?  I prayed to know.  "When it's clear they're taking you for granted," was the response that was laid down in my meditative state. THAT DAY IS HERE.
When my professional goals take precedence in my priority stream, maybe they'll get a clue, and stop making me point to each bit of trash I would like them to pick up. Stop filling an empty sink with dishes one plate, glass and cup at a time. Stop messing around online instead of trying to figure out how to get to Europe this summer.  Stop taking mom's sacrifices as their due.

Maybe they'll finally deliver that Message to Garcia!  He's been waiting a long time.

Thanks for taking the time to read this blog.