the road not taken

What are your thoughts on "the road not taken?" You know, when we make a conscious choice to change directions or stay the course, choosing one path over another. There are positives and negatives to all choices. What are your experiences? No incorrect answers--just a query for those interested in sharing their perspective.

In the Ring aka Fight Song

Cancer seems to be hitting from all sides--family and friends. When I heard about my brother's wife being diagnosed with cancer three weeks after she gave birth to their third child, I cried. I cried because I was afraid of what might happen and afraid of all the implications. Later I talked with my brother. In the context of our conversation, I wrote this after we hung up. My brother is the man with blue eyes.

You wish you could breathe, but the news is too fresh
A kick in the gut, the words just don’t mesh.
How could this happen with a newborn son?
How could this happen? You know you’re not done.
Swirling and whirling your mind knows the path
Crying and trying you give baby a bath,
Feeling the water on his soft skin
Helps you to find your strength within.
But nothing you do makes it all make sense
Your hands feel tied, your body is tense.
The phone rings again, this call you’ll take
Maybe the doctor made a mistake.

You take a drive that very next day
One sharp turn, and you find your way.
In the wrong neighborhood, or so it seems
For feeling hope and finding your dreams,
Past the pawn shop and across the street
You follow the rhythm of a different beat.
Punk outside bouncing a ball
Girl in heels breaking her fall
Kids scoping rims around your car
You know you’ve driven much too far.
But the address is clear with gloves on the sign
And the doctors told you that you’ll do just fine,
So you steady yourself and try to look tough
You push open the door ‘cause enough is enough.

Hoping and groping for something familiar
The scene in the room becomes much clearer.
A beating sound meets your questioning eyes
Making you wish for a better disguise
They see right through your emotionless stare
Your perfect clothes and skin so fair.
A nod from one and then another
As if they knew you like a mother.
How could they know?
How does it show?
Did they feel this way
On their first day?
With fear and some doubt you don’t feel like a fighter,
You take a step forward and hold your gear tighter.

You bought it all, the day you found out
“I’m ready to go,” to your doctors you shout.
Your bag, your gloves, and all of your fear
“I’m ready to go,” you hope they hear.
They all just keep punching, bobbing and weaving,
You decide to step out, but a man sees you leaving.
“You gonna fight or what?” growls a deep voice.
“You fight or you leave, it’s really your choice.
Why come all this way just to look and to run?
No lattes here, missy, you’re not done.
Make no mistake, it’s all about you
You fight this fight, ‘cause watching won’t do.”
By the look on your face he instantly saw
You weren’t gonna hope for the luck of the draw.
You take off your coat, then he wraps your wrists
You lace up your boots, pull gloves on your fists.

You don’t feel like a fighter,
So you hold your gear tighter.
But getting in the ring it’s the only way
Getting in the ring is a price you’ll pay
For love, for hope, for buying time
‘Cause cures and courage they don’t stand in line.

Eyes steel blue and a convincing glance
The man with the voice teaches you to dance.
He says, “I’ll be in your corner to coach every move
I know how to fight, I’ll match every groove
No matter the odds, I know how to win
But you’re a survivor
You’ve got it within.
You’ve won many battles
You needed to fight
But this is the one, girl,
You must win it tonight.”

You don’t feel like a fighter,
So you hold your gear tighter.
But getting in the ring it’s the only way
Getting in the ring is a price you’ll pay
For love, for hope, for buying time
‘Cause cures and courage they don’t stand in line.

The man with blue eyes, he watches you dance
He guides you into a fighting stance.
He says, “I’ll be in your corner to coach every move
I know how to fight, I’ll match every groove
No matter the odds, I know how to win
But you’re a survivor
You’ve got it within.
You’ve won many battles
You needed to fight
But girl, this is the one, this is the one,
You’ve got to win it tonight.


Update: Last week, they found out that the surgery got all the cancer out, but she will have to have CTs and MRIs every four months on her lungs for 3yrs to make sure it doesn't metastize. We are very relieved, with caution.

The Happy Playground

For those who prefer to sit in the sandbox facing the wall with your own toys (specifically, Bryan), here's a quick edit for you of the previous post. :) I can be uplifting, I just choose to face reality now and then--something that happens when you're a teacher for about, well, 2 days. Fortunately, even though most of us lose hope in the system, we never lose hope in the kids.


We watch cheerful children on flourishing playgrounds
Under blue ceilings painting possibilities beyond our hopes
Beyond our dreams
Opportunity and freedom flowing from coast to coast
From suburbia to ghetto
From heartland to barrio
Where children play on junglejims of opportunity to choose their Destiny

The morality of our forefathers guards our playgrounds with the promise of equality and respect for all
A sandbox filled with harmony and innocence reminds us of where we all began
And of where we are headed because of this playground

Just like our playground--
After-school NBA and Julliard are provided for free by politicians keeping promises
They find resources to change graffiti into art and anger into passion
Here ignorance becomes knowledge and generosity warms our hearts like summer sun

What a beautiful playground--
Custodians dole out balls like jelly beans on Easter, with leftovers
And Congress cuts checks for gymnasiums and P.E. teachers because our children’s health is more important than re-election

This is America’s playground
Where diversity and individuality jumprope without argument
Where academics and the arts hold hands
Where discipline is a virtue not a verb

Under these blue ceilings painting possibilities beyond our hopes and dreams
Knowledge is power
Learning is accessible to all
And teachers hold the tools they need to shape a well-rounded child on a safe, well-equipped playground.

The Playground

We watch angry children on forgotten playgrounds
Under blue ceilings painting possibilities over grass greener on paper
In books
In Congress
With morality forgotten on swings
Sand crunching underfoot
A reminder of where we began
And of where we end up depending on our playground.

This used to be our playground--
After-school NBA and Julliard for free
Changed by politics crumpling good ideas into smaller spaces,
Safer places,
Crafting smiling faces between graffiti art that stabs conscience in the gut.
Ignorance pleads innocence and greed finds no need
No need.

Where is our playground?
Custodians dole out balls like precious coins
Cashed before recess
Cashed in Congress
And there is no change
No change.

Where is our playground?
Here polarities jumprope without argument
--Refineries and writing
--Murder and math
--Toxins and teachers
--Risks and reading

Under blue ceilings painting possibilities over grass greener on paper
Ignorance finds rest
Greed finds peace
And reality finds a playground guarded by teachers without ammunition.

Special Place

"Why don't you write something funny?" said my husband, as if humor grows on trees.

"Why don’t you?" I said, and he stared at me with a funny look, like I had just said, “What are you fixing for dinner?” It's the same look he gives me when I can’t find my special place, you know, the one where you put stuff so you don’t forget it? Although mine keeps moving like opinions on election day.

Every special place appears to be the perfect place at the time, a place I’ll never forget, a place logical and obvious, until I look for it. I’m sure I’ll find everything one day, even myself, and it will be in a very special place.

Hat people

Berkeley is full of hat people, you know, the ones walking to a different drummer, even when there's no music playing. I went to a poetry reading in Bezerkley last night. I expect an eclectic mix of people, and I'm never disappointed, but last night I wondered if one woman, probably in her early 60s, had dressed up for Halloween a little early. Since she wasn't dressed up, I won't go into detail, because I don't want to make fun of her as a person, but suffice to say, she wore a large button on her shirt that said, "Weird and proud of it!" Her jester-type hat with a straw tassel was the most normal thing about her. Her poetry, however, was as spectacular as she was weird.

To Paint or Not To Paint

We need to paint the house. Nothing like using equity for home upgrades. Why not clothes or vacations! So the first contractor came by to give an estimate today--probably mid-late 60s, reasonable shape, I thought, until he started lamenting that his house has two stories and it is hard to climb the stairs. I'm thinking, Do you know you need to climb a ladder? How long has it been since you did this anyway? Then he said he didn't like to drive his 67 mustang fastback, with its recent 12k paint job, because it isn't automatic and he has neuropathy in his feet. He just can't feel'em or they hurt like hell. He said some days are so bad he doesn't even want to be alive. I'm still thinking, What about the ladders?

Next estimate pleeease!

Did you know it costs 4-6k for a furnace and duct work? I couldn't breathe for about 5 minutes after I heard that!

Coming Undone

Sometimes we just need to come undone in order to get put back together. After I wrote this to someone else, I realized that I needed to hear it, too.

Coming Undone

Shattered dreams
Cutting at your feet
Broken schemes
Dying on the Street
Always running sideways
Never knowing
It’s okay to come undone.

Don't you know?
You're a mosaic in the making
With rain in bottles breaking
While Destiny keeps on taking
It’s okay to come undone.

Your knees on the ground
So many pieces scattered ‘round
You find familiar faces
Sweeping their own spaces
Fields of loss and pain
No one’s to blame--
Don't worry, you can't drown in this rain
It’s okay to come undone.

Remember--you're a mosaic in the making
With rain in bottles breaking
While Destiny keeps on taking
It’s okay to come undone.

Whistle sounds
Get off the ground
Time to stand
You’ll keep it together, man,
All on board are hiding pain
All masks are on the train
If not now, you’ll catch the next
No penalties, no regrets
It’s okay to come undone because

You're a mosaic in the making
With rain in bottles breaking
While Destiny keeps on taking
It’s okay to come undone.

If you’re gonna keep it together, man
You need to come undone,
Find a time, find a place
A friend, a familiar face,
Surrendering this mask
Is a humble hero’s task, brother,
You’re not the only one,
You’re not the only one,
It’s okay, it's okay to come undone.

ADR copyright 2006

Awesome Day

I approached the bike store with a few butterflies in my stomach. I wasn't sure who I was supposed to report to, but eventually, a stereotypical mtn biker/surfer dude with orange sunglasses and out-of-control curly hair said, "Hi, I'm Michael, you must be Andi?" I said yes and he proceeded to hand me an information sheet of my duties for the day. "Sign one of the pages on the back and date it when you're done. Oh, and we'll need your fingerprints and your checking account number." I'm so nervous I just kind of nod and give a nervous laugh. And then he says that he's just kidding, and I feel really stupid. But he's cool. He gets me helping with the bikes right away. We need to test them (all 20 of them) before we take 20 inner-city kids on a mtn bike ride. About an hour later we're headed off to meet the kids. The entire day was wonderful. No falls. And one 14-year-old boy learned to ride a bike for the first time, ever. It was so much fun to see the smiles on their faces after the downhill, and again after the uphill because they felt so proud of themselves for doing it.

As we ate our lunch at the beach, I realized most of these kids have never even been to the beach even though they live only 15-30 minutes away. For the kids who have bikes at home, they rarely ride in their neighborhood because it is too dangerous. Here they are safe. Here they are just a bunch of middle-school kids having fun. They're being kids. No attitudes, barely. Lots of smiles. They're even encouraging each other. It was amazing. I also thought about all the Saturdays I spend at home just doing chores and sometimes being lazy, when I could be out doing something like this.

I know what I'll be doing next Saturday. I'll be going for a ride. Not my usual solo ride through the hills near my house, but a ride where I step outside of my comfort zone and help someone learn something as simple and wonderful as riding a bike. Most likely, I'll learn something, too.

If you want to comment on Welcome to Disneyland post

For some reason, I can't get the comments option to show up for my first post. If you care to comment, feel free to post a comment on The Red Box here.

What's Your Favorite Ride at Disneyland?

What's your favorite ride at Disneyland? Matterhorn? Teacups? Dumbo? Pirates? Personally, I don't like Disneyland. I don't know if it's all the people or the standing in line, but the ride is never worth the wait. Roller coasters are great, but they just go up and down and around and it's over so fast you're not sure it happened. "Sorry ma'am, no do overs. Get back in line. " Even if no one was standing in line, I think I'd choose the flying dumbos so that I could fly... soaring in midair over all the details below--no seatbelt--not caring what the parents with 3 year olds are thinking about a 40-yr-old woman on a kid's ride. Usually, I end up on the Monorail out of necessity--it gets me where I should go. Afterall, the elephants just go round and round and round. But in a world without shoulds, I'll be riding the flying dumbos everytime. The teacups just make me want to puke and Pirates without Johnny Depp is just creepy!

Welcome to Dandiland and poem

This is my first post. I finished a poem today that somewhat sets the stage for this blogspot. While this one is serious, there are many sides to a box, some with a much lighter bent. We've all built boxes for ourselves and have had others try to fit us into a certain box. It is a lifelong struggle to live outside of the box without stepping into another one that is possibly more confining than the first. Most of all, we all just want to have at least a little say, a little control, about what happens in our life. Feeling powerless can be suffocating.

The Red Box

If I must run your race
If I must color my face
Within lines drawn by you
If I must cry without tears
And be brave for your fears
I’ll be gray in no time.

So if you’re going to stuff me
Into a box
At least let me paint it red.

If you want me to fit into this box
Much too small if you had looked at me lately
If you want me to crawl in willingly
And endure this pain silently
If you want me to enjoy my view of nothing
Craving light more than life
Living without a fight
I’ll be gray in no time.

So if you’re going to stuff me
Into a box
At least let me paint it red.

This box was built for you
By those who never knew you
Now you want it for me
You think it will keep me free
From bad choices?
Within this box
Inside these locks
My only choice is whether or not to breathe.
I can barely breathe--
I’m sure I’ll be gray in no time.

So if you’re going to stuff me
Into a box
At least let me paint it red.

ADR copyright 2006