Blog Manifesto

Blog Manifesto


This blog is dedicated, as the title would suggest, to the qualities of being young. We are young writers. We are playful and sensitive, fluid and changing. We are unashamed with our art. We wonder at the world, puzzle over the meanings of things and twirl in delight at images and ideas that float by, grabbing at them as they pass. We are curious and constantly inquiring and prying concepts open and taking assumptions apart. We are on the ground, close to the earth. We have bare feet and wiggle our toes into nature. We carry our blankies still and wrap up cozy and comfy with each other and tell ghost stories and shiver at creepy things. We laugh and we cry and we take a lot of naps, drained from our outings and exertions.

We write as gifts to each other, tying them up in ribbon and leaving them around for each other to find, hiding and waiting for the person to wake up and read. Surprise! We weave our stories together to create a bond. One writes, then the other. then another again. We have a shared reality that we have crafted, bit by piece by patch, by string. We write simple, honest authentic things, with our unique voices. You can tell each one of us from the other, without knowing who wrote what. Our voices are clear and gentle and original. We whisper and our personalities roar! Like children, our feelings are strong, our passion for what we write shakes us. We are moved and sometimes left breathless, by our own words or the words of each other. We cannonball into each others spaces. We fall backward into each others writing, like into a pile of leaves or a soft bed. We gobble and grin and ask for more. (footnote kudos to JC)

Then we go to bed, wake up to a new day and do it all over again!

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Brush With Death 3


Brush with death-three

This story is appropriately told from the point of view of Rajan, my son, who was 15 at the time.
 Anticipating his license, but not yet able to drive, Raj bought a ’67 Mustang and was busy turning it into the car of his dreams. (His dreams would later turn to a 2001 Acura.  But, at the time this was his dream car). He had paid for a paint job, changing the puce green to a deep blue. At 2500 dollars it was a great investment he assured me, as it came with lots of extras. There were two sets of little M U S T A N G  letters in chrome along with two boxes of really good ‘parts’.  And, it ran well. But, he couldn’t drive it yet.
So, we found ourselves jumping into the car for a late lunch.  I knew it was late because I was getting shaky and my stomach was growling.  “We may have waited too long for lunch”, I said.  And that was the last thing I remember about that drive.
As a recently diagnosed diabetic I was adjusting to new medications.  The insulin was a recent addition to my regimen and I thought I understood how it worked. But I had more to learn.
This is how it happened for Raj.
He got in and I mentioned being hungry. But, mostly he noticed I was mad! And swearing, and not making much sense. And driving poorly! Within one block he knew there was something very wrong. And, he was in a car that was going to crash taking out any number of parked cars.  “Mom, pull over. Stop driving! Or let me out!” And I did pull over another block down after much arguing. Raj stepped out and started to slam the door but decided to try to help his crazy mother some how and sat back in. It was a very frightening decision.
I drove to the end of our quiet sub-division and started out onto Pruneridge Avenue. Pruneridge Avenue is a busy thoroughfare. On one end, ten blocks away, is the mall in Santa Clara.  Seven miles at the other end  is a hotel complex in the next side-by-side town of Cupertino.  In between are major roadways taking Silicon Valley workers to their high-tech jobs, North and South in the Valley. Although most drivers on these roads are in a hurry, my impaired self was not.  I was doing 10 to 15 miles per hour and driving without seeing stop signs or traffic lights. Raj was yelling, banging on the sides of the car, panicked and with no idea of how to stop me as we went through the red warnings. Drivers swerved, stopped, stared, cursed and honked as I plowed through Lawrence Expressway, and De Anza Boulevard, oblivious but quiet now. Sweating, tremoring and unconscious, I was nearing the end of this ride.
Of course, later, Raj thought of some ways he might have helped; turning off the engine, getting the keys, physically fighting me. But, instead he did what he could after I passed out falling forward on the wheel.  He managed to turn the wheel toward the curb next to a bank where he hoped to go for help. Taking the keys he ran to the bank. It was Saturday! Closed! The nearest building was a block away. A hotel!  It would be open surely.  And, it was. The desk clerk got 911 quickly. The emergency operator took the info and asked if his mom was still breathing.  In shock, Raj put the phone down and ran back to the car to see. At that point he was sure I was dying as a seizure was working through my body and sweat was pouring off my skin. In the distance he could hear the fire engines and an ambulance. But he thought it might be too late.
I awoke in the ambulance after being administered a special glucose injection used for diabetic coma.  I actually had cogent brain function right away, remembering my last words about eating.  I also remembered I had been driving and asked if I had hurt anyone. And, where was my son?  No, I had not hurt anyone and my heroic son was enjoying his first ride in an ambulance up in the front seat!
The rectangles of lights on the ceiling sped by in the hallway as I was wheeled into the ER. Recovery begun on the way to the hospital continued with an IV glucose solution and re-hydration.  Within minutes, I felt like myself and listened to this story as my son told it to me. I was lucky to have had him with me. He saved my life.




10/8/2010

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