Hearts Wide Open

[idasantana]

Cuba Landing

My brother in law Thomas Dixon died from cancer in 1998 when I was a 23 year old Med Student in Memphis. I had a 1979 Toyota Celica I’d bought when I turned 16. It had lasted me through high school, college, and was on it's last legs in Med School. I remember my godmother Michele suggested I buy a bus ticket home for the funeral because I was worried the car wouldn’t make the three and a half hour drive home. Leaving for the funeral I felt like a bird flying. I bought a giant bouquet of lilies and off I few, no overnight bag packed. It was an unseasonably warm end of March, with a big orange sun setting behind me, I started the two mile descent over The I-40 Tennessee River Bridge and my car sputtered and died. I put it in neutral and coasted as long as I could go. Dressed in a denim button up maxi dress and sandals and short hair for the first time in my life, I was so optimistic. I was skipping down the Interstate, spied a house a across a field a ways off, I climbed through brambles and underbrush and made my way to the brick house. And old White man was outside in overalls, and he said “If you’d ‘a been a Nigger, I’d ‘a got my shotgun and shot you dead.” ‘Glad I’m White’ I thought to myself. They let me use their phone to call my family. My mother answered and answered for my father that he couldn’t come get me, I’d have to find someone else. They were in the middle of putting Thomas’s body in the casket, and my Sister Jordana, Thomas’s wife, was crawling into the casket with him. “Your dad’s other daughter needs him more than you right now,” Mom said and hung up. So I called my godfather Collier, and he came to get me. It was dark now, and the old couple were huge fans of the TV show Alf, which I now know is a racist show. A Bounty Hunter showed up with a tow truck and they made me ride in the front of the tow truck with the Bounty Hunter to identify my car. He’d just gotten out of prison and I was really nervous that he’d try to rape and murder me, but he didn’t. He just told me all the horror stories of people he’d bounty hunted. Collier finally came, and because he’d served as a Public Defender for so many Counties in the surrounding area he knew all the murder trials like the back of his hand. As we were driving past the field at Cuba Landing on the TN River Collier pointed out that a man had been murdered and pointed to where his severed head had been buried in the field at Cuba Landing. We drove through Lewis County and he pointed out houses where a women had been murdered and then recanted the gory details of their deaths. “Thanks Collier, I’ll have nightmares for years to come.” The guy who towed my car said he couldn’t tell if I was super brave or crazy dumb for driving such an old car all the way to Memphis. I guess I was both. My friend in Med School Joe Austin heard that every day my father would say a little prayer for my car, and my car rattled so much Joe told me “Your Dad should say more than a little prayer for the Idster; he needs to say the whole Rosary!”

[idasantana]

[idasantana]

Southern Literature Remembered

My last year in as a senior in college for my undergraduate degree was by far one of the happiest times of my life. I grew up and went to college in Tennessee at MTSU. I was a Chemistry Major and had a double minor in Biology and English because all my electives my Senior year were in English. My Senior year was mostly electives so I choose to take Children’s Literature, Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, Russian History, and Southern Literature. 

My Southern Literature Professor was Dr. Robert Herring. He was a relic from a bygone era. He had been best friends or maybe just drinking buddies with William Faulkner back when he was in college in Mississippi. He had stories of helping Faulkner clear out Faulkner’s mother’s home in Oxford, Mississippi, after she’d passed away. Dr. Herring said he moved a bureau or old desk in Mrs. Faulkner’s home and etched on the wall behind the old piece of furniture was a master plan, a map of all Faulkner’s characters with a timeline of who’s who. 

I had tried to read The Sound and The Fury for a number of years in high school, in college, and in medical school. My mother spoke of it often through my childhood, of Benji the mentally impaired child who was really the most astute one in the bunch. I tried to read it year after year maybe seven or eight times and gave up again and again a few chapters in. 

John Seigenthaler hosted a TV show for authors on Nashville’s local PBS station called A Word on Words back in the 80′s and 90′s when I was in high school and college. I remember an episode where he and his guest were debating whether Faulkner’s books should be banned from schools. John proclaimed that if one were to be so lucky as to have a child who were able to read and comprehend Faulkner, then the correct response would be to fall on one’s knees and praise the Lord.

I finally finished The Sound and The Fury after I’d moved to New York City as a Pediatric Intern at St. Vincent’s. I had to have a knee reconstruction surgery midway through my Intern year which left me unable to walk or climb six flights of stairs to my tiny SoHo walk up apartment. I was very depressed, semi suicidal, and stuck working for months in the Pediatric ICU where my knee was just getting worse and my spirits were more and more broken. Finally I took a two week leave of absence in January to go to DC to stay with my best friend and do Physical Therapy and recover. Somehow in my very depressed state my mind was open to all the sorrow and angst of Faulkner and I read The Sound and The Fury cover to cover on Amtrak going to DC. After years I finally understood what the uproar was about. It was incest that made people want to ban the book.

Dr. Herring gave us a list of over 150 titles he considered essential reading for Southern Literature at the start of the semester. I am a keeper of papers and mementos, but somehow I don’t have his list. I remember some of the titles- Brother to a Dragonfly, Tobacco Road, Look Homeward Angel, and James Agee’s A Death In The Family. There was one where a little old woman in the deep South decided to live out the Biblical principle Love Thy Neighbor As Thyself.

Dr. Herring and I had ongoing debates over racial issues. He referred to the Civil War as “The War of Northern Aggression.” He claimed it was unjust to see slavery through the lens of modern morality and that it wasn’t considered to be immoral back in the day. “Au Contraire Mon Frère!” I exclaimed. “Miss Santana, to whom do you refer?” he asked me.

“Dolly Madison Quaker Girl,” I proclaimed. I’d read Dolly Madison Quaker Girl over and over when I was seven years old and it left a profound impact on me. When she was a little girl Dolly’s father converted to Quakerism freed all their family’s slaves because the Quaker faith required freedom for all. Their Mammy staid with the family because she loved them so much and he paid her as a servant.

Dr. Herring wore dark glasses, died his hair, and constantly spoke of his “Itty bitty liver” which was shrunken from all the hard liquor he’d imbibed. 

We were asked to pick a book from his list of Southern favorites to do an oral book report for the class. There was a lovely young black woman who raised her hand in class and asked him if he’d be able to recommend an African American woman writer for her to do her book report on. He replied there were no African American writers whom he’d recommend. I raised my hand and suggested she read Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God which she did. But he wouldn’t allow her to give her report. Racism is the scourge of this country’s existence and seems like it will never die.

I did my report on Shelby Foote’s novel Shiloh about a man who fought in the Civil War. The book was unreadable, but I understood that for my report I had to say what was good of the book, it would be insulting to our Professor and to Southern Literature for me to be harsh and critical. 

Dr. Herring included Edgar Allen Poe in our reading assignments, Baltimore being south of the Mason Dixon line, but seemingly quite a stretch in my mind. Dr. Herring thought Poe’s writing was cheap, jangly, and all fluff with rhymes. His favorite Poe bit was every time the word ghoul came up was to sing Barbara Streisand’s “People, People who eat people are the luckiest people in the world.”

We read Faulkner’s The Bear which was exquisitely lyrical. There’s a part in the middle of his quest to conquer the bear where he put’s down his weapon and stop watch as a sign to the bear that they are equals and the world and the center of the universe starts to spin around him and the bear. This passage is the most vividly beautiful description of becoming one with nature/god/spirit that I’ve ever read.

Then for our semester finale Dr. Herring read Faulkner’s description of the death of Thomas Wolfe. It was over the top, completely fantastical, and ludicrous. The closest comparison to his death is Aliens when the alien baby erupts out of his abdomen. I was very focused on comprehending what Dr. Herring was reading when all of the sudden I burst into laughter causing Dr. Herring to stop reading and ask “Miss Santana, would you care to share with the rest of the class what you find to be so amusing?”

“He’s making this up!” I said, calling BS on Faulkner’s whole description of Thomas Wolfe’s death.

Then Dr. Herring proceeded to explain the difference between truth and reality, and that something can be true that never have happened. “Take love,” he said. One’s experience of reality is fickle and really undefinable. His rap was eerily similar to Eckhart Tolle on Oprah’s Super Soul Session explaining our perception of reality is all dreamlike anyway. 

When I lived in Memphis in medical school I was an avid reader of The Memphis Flyer their local free weekly. I remember a photo in The Flyer of a sanatorium on Jackson Ave where Faulkner had stayed and received strychnine treatments seventy years ago. The old sanatorium hadn’t ever been torn down which was classic for Memphis. There were vines overgrowing the second story veranda. Time stretches in the South and somehow the past is much more intimate there. 

Dr. Herring passed away years ago, and I wish I could find his required reading list for Southern Literature. Being from the South is like being tethered to the ghosts of the past. How could a culture that’s so rich be so marred by racial and social injustice, how could those same people be so kind hearted and poignant? Dr. Herrings suggested reading list feels like Faulkner’s map of his characters. If I could only find that list maybe the answers to why my Southern upbringing both haunts and enchants me. Maybe the list would help me bend time and see into the hidden blueprint of my Southern soul.  

[idasantana]

Daddy Turns 70! And I’m off to TN or Hippie Las Vegas as Frank calls TN

I got Dad this Ralph Lauren Polo Golf shirt for his birthday. It was supposed to be red, but looked fuscia in real life and purple in photos.

Sofia Casini’s family reunion on the Farm inspired Amy, Theo, and me to join Sofia in Tennessee June 4-8. This is Sofia getting to meet Theo and see Amy for the first time in nine years since Amy moved to London. We are so happy they’ve moved back to the States.

Daddy turned 70 on June 6th, and it was my birthday June 7th, so we had a big Gemini Twins birthday brunch. Dad said it felt like being at his own funeral where all the people he loved were there and they got to tell him how much they love him.

Birthday brunch- Santana family. Brother Anthony, Daddy, Mama, Sister-in-law Ms. Holly Santana, Theo, and me. Theo decided he’s an honorary Santana.

Theo loves Miss Dolly which is what he calls Jude’s wife Holly. Theo knows how to say Holly; however, he insists on calling her Miss Dolly with the most adorable British accent ever. Such a charmer that Little Thelonious.

Mama & Daddy- still crazy in love after all these years.

Birthday cheesecakes and Priya made me the most delicious Strawberry Pavlova, recipe from Nigella Lawson. Thanks Priya!

Jessa and I singing Wheels on the Bus with Theo.

The Itsy Bitsy Spider

Mama, Holly, me, and Priya.

Mama Rosa and Jessa giving me birthday loving.

Theo and the Ladies- Amy, Holly aka Miss Dolly, me, and Priya.

Sofia and Turner at the birthday brunch sipping mimosas. 

Friday evening Priya hosted a dinner at her home in Hohenwald which I call her Bollywood Palace. 

Me getting Theo dressed for dinner at Priya’s.

The bridge that goes between the fountain and the lilypad pond with lots of frogs at Priya’s.

Priya’s best friend Megan came from Nashville for the dinner at Priya’s. Megan and Priya know each other from 8th grade boarding school at Sewanee. And that’s Priya’s helper and former nanny Nita who helped at our birthday brunch.

Amy, Theo, and Sofia in the Swimming Hole.

Amy chatting with Sofia’s Aunt Terry and Uncle Jay.

Sadie, Liberty (Charlotte McMurray’s daughter) and Sadie’s middle son Ethan.

Sofia and Amy swinging Theo walking up from Swimming Hole.

Theo asking “Auntie Ida swing me.”

Ramon and Tamami in Japan with Lucas and little Edgar. Tamami’s family had this portrait taken of their family. 

Barb bursting with pride showing Ramon and Tamami’s Japanese family portrait to me, Amy, and Sofia.

Nana Joanne reading Neil Gaiman’s book Chu’s Sneeze to Theo in their matching Amish rocking chairs. Mom is delivering Amanda Palmer and Neil Gaiman’s child on the Farm in September, and they sent her a box of their books.

Theo loves Mama’s Baby Doll she had when she was little. He loves that her eyes close when she goes to sleep.

Amy wanted a photo of this sign on Highway 20 because she’s heard about Hohenwald and Summertown forever. I thought she wanted a picture of a road sign with bullet holes. Ahh Tennessee!

The Littlest Casini- Miss Adriana Martinez Casini, Michelle and Fernando’s Bambina.

That’s one sweet baby girl Miss Adriana. Frank immediately made up a song for her that her Mexican name is Consuela. 

Father and son- Fernando and Luca.

Me in pure baby bliss with Baby Adriana sleeping on me and melting my heart.

Sofia and Amy- Reunited and it feels so good.

Michelle, Fernando, and Adriana in the sun dress Amy gave Adriana. This is the Gemini birthday party at the Farm store under the Dome.

Holly’s first time on the Farm. Jude is off in Alaska training to climb Denali. Amy and I were Holly’s partners in crime- taking her to the Farm while Jude’s away. When the Cat’s away the Mice will play- or dance and frolic on the table as the saying goes in German. This is the only lick of German Dad remember from his college German class.

Rosa’s Tortilla Espana and Veggie Paella dinner on Saturday on Dad’s actual birthday.

Excitement building for Rosa’s Paella!

Polly is Rosa’s friend in the blue top with the white neckline. Her husband Bill passed away in January, and Rosa wanted to invite Polly to help her socialize and be around people again.

Best conversation at Rosa’s dinner table was: 

Polly: Well this is the first time I’m here without Bill.

Dad: Where’s Bill?

Polly: I don’t really know where Bill is, but his ashes are in a jar on the mantle in my office. 

Daddy thinks to himself: (Open mouth, insert foot!)

 Jessa, Rosa, and Priya.

Rosa and her girls.

Theo & Auntie Ida- I call these ones Drunk on Love. Theo wanted me to take selfies of us after the birthday party.

Rosa showing Theo a trick with his arm that ends with her tickling him.

Barb and Candace

Barb planting Dad spinach for his birthday in Dad’s garden.

Dad, Leslie, and Pamela.

Mama & Pamela, midwives, friends, crones.

Neal Bloomfield and Dad.

Pamela and Holly.

Theo’s future’s so bright he’s got to wear shades. He left his sunglasses in a dogwood bush in Mom & Dad’s backyard.

Amy, Hashton, Ida, Theo, Matt, and Cannan.

Barb’s mother M’Lou turned 96 on Friday, June 5th, and Barb’s brother Ken Swift came. Ken is quite possibly the nicest man I’ve ever met. Happy Birthday M’Lou!

Jordana gets back from Florida with Gayla and Jordie’s little sister Angel Rene Gonzalez who just graduated from high school and is going to the University of Denver on scholarships. Go Angel!

This is the first time I had met Angel and that Jordie was together with both of her sisters. I thought Angel looked like Jordie. Angel thought I looked like Jordie.

Theo gets to see Sadie’s baby ducks.

Theo & his Auntie Ida in Mr. McGregor’s garden.

Gina, Jer Lee, and Phil Switzer.

Ezra on the new cedar deck Sadie is building.

Sadie’s clematis are blooming their hearts out.

Eating sweet peas from Mr. McGregor’s garden aka Sadie’s garden. Every garden or backyard is Mr. McGregor’s garden for Theo.

Marissa and Imogene. Marissa kept saying she looks after a “itty bitty baby,” and when I met Imogene, I said “Imogene isn’t itty bitty, she’s a chunky monkey.” Marissa runs a little nursery out of her home.

Theo on the drums, and Evy Boyer and Chris Cheyney’s little man Emmett Wolf or E. Wolf as Emmett calls himself. The boys didn’t really hit it off. 

Are you exhausted looking at the photos?! Imagine seeing all these these people in the span of four days. Phew, was I ever glad to be home.

And when I got home Frank had birthday roses and Vosges chocolate truffles waiting for me which is what he always gets me for my birthday. What a mighty good man that Frankie is. 

And back at my office I’m admiring the friendship bracelet Ms. Holly got me for my birthday, and the yellow orchid Dan Ryan gave me for my birthday last year is still blooming! #AllBirthdaysAreSelfBirthdays as my hypnotherapist friend Dan Ryan said when he gave me the yellow orchid last year.

[idasantana]

Sayings I never liked as a child

Sayings I never liked as a child... 1. People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. I would wonder "Who are the people who live in glass houses? I've never met anyone who lived in a glass house. And why would someone be throwing a stone at the people living in a glass house?" 2. A rolling stone gathers no moss. I actually like this saying, but I couldn't figure out if gathering moss was a good thing or a bad thing. It falls under the Non Dual yoga philosophy- neither good nor bad just is, and this was confusing because I loved the song "Papa was a rolling stone, wherever he laid his hat was his home, and when he died all he left us was alone." I loved their Papa, but I felt bad for the children he left behind.

[idasantana]

Rising Appalachia Hoedown Throwdown

Frank and I and a bunch of friends went to see Biko’s band Rising Appalachia. It was sooo much fun. 

That’s Biko with the Ganesha shirt on. I grew up with Biko on the commune, The Farm, in Tennessee. And he lives in Asheville, NC, and is in a band Rising Appalachia who just played the Bowery Ballroom in NYC last Friday.

Leah and Chloe are the sisters who formed the band, and Frank was super impressed with their upright bassist.  

My friend Priya was visiting from Hohenwald, middle of nowheres-ville, Tennessee. Biko went to high school in Hohenwald and he was literally speechless when Priya said she lives in Hohenwald, dumbfounded that someone so gorgeous could still be living in Hohenwald, or Hole-In-The-Wall as we used to call Hohenwald.

I’d asked my friend Hima who lives in NY if Priya could stay with Hima last weekend, and even though they’d never met, they were fast friends. I just met Priya in April at a meditation retreat in the Bahamas, and it turns out we grew up 20 minutes apart and are long lost soul sisters.

This is me and Priya in the Bahamas.

And my cousin Lilly Green was in town last week. She’s only 20 years old and a college student at USC. Lilly has been living in London this semester studying abroad and wants to get a MBA at NYU next year in International Relations.

This is Frank, me, and Lilly having lunch at the French Roast last Thursday.

So Hima, Priya, and Catherine come to dinner at our place. Then we walk a few blocks to the Bowery Ballroom.

I had been trying to lower everyone’s expectations for Biko’s band, worried that it would be bad hippie banjo music and Frank would end up heckling them with Peter Gabriel’s song “Biko!” 

When we got there, a really awful warm up band was playing so loudly we were hiding out downstairs at the bar.

Then my favorite redheaded darling Farm girl Ms. Faith Hutchens who I used to babysit when she was a cherub toddler joined us. Then Cousin Lilly came with her boyfriend Rob. 

It was a constellation of friends who had never each other before, and everyone turned out to unexpectedly really like each other. When Biko’s band started playing, the sweet sound of Sirens singing lured us upstairs. The Sisters, Leah & Chloe, form the front people for the band and sound like the O’ Brother Where Art Thou soundtrack. 

Frank and pretty much everyone else kept buying rounds of drinks. 

Lilly was in love with my friend Catherine who is her idol, got a MBA from NYU which is what Lilly wants to do, has paved the way, and is an all around incredible person and Badass Blonde.

Everyone ended up dancing. 

Lilly danced with Frank who was totally smitten that a 20 year old attractive woman would be dancing with him. We left our place in a rush and Frank was still wearing his house slippers. Oops! No one noticed anyway.

This is the Encore of Rising Appalachia and one happy audience.

 And this is the band. At one point Frank was explaining to Faith who has known Biko all her life that Biko got the part playing drums in the band because of how good looking Biko is. Biko is a fantastic percussionist, but Frank insists Biko is riding off of his good looks!

This is the scene on the street after spilling out of Bowery Ballroom. 

Me, Catherine, and Priya with Catherine & I teasing Priya because she didn’t want to show her sexy body.

Lilly and Catherine become new besties for life. 

Catherine tries to convince Rob there’s a brunch place in Brooklyn that will make him love Bloody Marys and says the secret is that they soak the beets in vodka. 

I’ve taken to calling Rob our very own Eli Manning. He definitely has the puppy dog Manning eyes and could easily be the third Manning brother.

And then we all duggled home. (German for waddle) 

I told Faith that Friday night was like a Farm hippie Brigadoon, only with the best parts of The Farm- the love, connection, and lots of group hugs.

[idasantana]

Rosa’s Yoga Therapy for Pain Graduation

Rosa took a four day course on using Yoga Therapy to treat pain. It was a great opportunity for her. Sue and Joe, who rode to the ashram with us on our first day of arrival were in Rosa’s course and we became fast friends.

This is my favorite graduation poem which I shared for my Integrative Medicine Fellowship graduation in Arizona. 

Graduation He told us, with the years you will come to love the world. And we sat there with our souls in our laps, and comforted them. -Dorothy Tanning 

First we waited for over half an hour for the graduation certificates to be signed by one of the Hindu head honchos who happened to be giving a talk and couldn't be interrupted.

More waiting... 

Neil’s blessing.

Priya remembered to bring a shawl.

Rosa offering the flower to the altar. 

Rosa receiving a blessing.

Rosa receiving her diploma from her Yoga Therapy teacher Neil. 

Neil’s reading.

Getting ready for the group photo.

[idasantana]

Kaffeeklatsch- la deuxième partie

Rashiah hosted Sara, Rebecca, and me for our second doctor lady luncheon. 

I took pictures of the skyline from the back of a cab to Williamsburg, from the Triborough  Bridge in Rebecca’s minivan, and going back across the Willamsburg Bridge going home.

Downtown Brooklyn skyline with a view of the Manhattan & Brooklyn Bridges. That patch of greenery is apparently Corlears Hook.

Rebecca’s baby Hugh is possibly the most mellow little guy I’ve ever met. 

Osiris The Little Prince in his very own little red thrown. I can hear Rashiah laughing.

Sara & Rami. Rami’s on the move and almost walking. Go Rami!

Rebecca changing Hugh’s nappy. Osiris says Hugh could be his baby brother.

North Manhattan from the Triborough Bridge.

And a tiny glimpse of the Empire State on the W’Burg Bridge going home.

[idasantana]

Bloomfields Brooklyn Dinner

Neal & Barb visiting their adorable grandsons in Brooklyn. This is at a Mediterranean restaurant in Williamsburg called Dar which is just down the street from Ramon & Tamami’s place.

Left to right Baby Edgar and Lucas on Tamami’s lap, Ramon, Ida, Faith & Ben, and Neal & Barb

[idasantana]

Brunch at Casa di Lupo

Joey & Jules brought a beautiful bouquet from Williamsburg of ranunculus and and a tiger tulip. The flowers were wrapped in paper tied with burlap string. Frank says it's our hipster bouquet. I love ranunculus; they're my favorite flower.

Felix sucks on his thumb when he's not quite certain of things. One never quite knows what Uncle Frankie is up to.

Frank and Felix have the audience's full attention.

Felix & Uncle Joey

How do you make a baby- 101? Uncle Frank's so funny and inappropriate for small children. #Frankisms

Uncle Frank giving Felix his first guitar lesson. Frank says he can tell how smart Felix is and that Felix learned how to strum with his right hand. Frank says Dana and Florian are the smartest couple friends we have. 

Uncle Frankie playing Johnny Rotten & The Sexpistol's "God Save the Queen." Felix is not so sure of this.

Auntie Ida on her phone admiring admiring pictures just taken of Felix and Uncle Frankie.

Felix taking stock of his crazy Uncle Frankie post baby guitar lesson.

Felix Der Akrobat!

Juliet & David. Juliet is looking very Cleopatra here.

Florian, Dana, and Felix getting tired. Nap time is nigh.

Florian und Felix Der Astronautin in his spacesuit snowsuit. Felix was mesmerized plucking my stockings with holes in them.

It's a bird! It's a plane! It's Super Felix! 

*Babies are so photogenic!

**Frank thinks German babies are cuter and smarter than other babies, and Frank refers to Baby Felix as Das Kleine Führender (The Little Mastermind).

Me, Juliet, & David. Gute Nacht!

And bonus Sunday brunch with my favorite redhead, Ms. Faith.

[idasantana]

Journalism Died This Week

Back story/ full disclosure: Little Joan of Arc: I wanted to be a journalist from the time I was five years-old. I love news, newspapers, storytelling, politics, and the impact of journalism. I was sure I'd grow up to be a muckraker. When I was 9 years-old and we left the commune in Tennessee where I was born, we started receiving the Wednesday edition of the local Maury County Tennessee newspaper, The Daily Herald. I would sit in the hammock out on our lawn under those massive trees and ravenously read every page of the The Daily Harold. My older sister would admonish me that The Daily Harold was a throw away crappy newspaper and that I was wasting my time and should read more important newspapers. When I was 10 years-old I spent six weeks one summer with my older sister in Colorado Springs. She was 17 and had graduated high school and had a number of Air Force Academy cadets who fancied my sister and often came calling. I would hold court at the kitchen table debating and arguing my liberal principles in regards to President Reagan's Iran Contra drug smuggling scandal with these Air Force Academy cadets who were super conservative and twice my age. They didn't know what they were up against. I had watched all the televised Oliver North hearings and these 20 year-old Air Academy cadets couldn't believe a 10 year old girl could be so fiery, opinionated, and knowledgeable about world politics. I could see them thinking "Me thinks this girl doth protest too much." 

Monday: Trouble in Paradise:  This no good very bad week in journalism started with Brian Williams being suspended from NBC Nightly News. He's so likable. I'd easily forgive him his transgressions in truth telling or mis-remembering at The Atlantic explains. So what if he wasn't in the helicopter that got shot down, but rather he was in the helicopter behind the helicopter shot down by a grenade missile launcher in Iraq. I think he's funny and witty, and yes he tries too hard, but it seems like a bum deal that after George W and all of his henchmen concocted endless lies about Weapons of Mass Destruction that cost over 4,000 American lives, Brian Williams goes down in flames for exaggerating an Iraqi war story.

Tuesday: Oh Captain My Captain! Jon Stewart announces he stepping down from The Daily Show. I cried. Frank couldn't understand. "But I thought you didn't like Jon Stewart," he said because sometimes I thought he gave too much airtime to conservatives. But as David Carr said when asked who could replace Jon Stewart, "Jon's irreplaceable." Yes, it'd be nice if a woman or non-white man were to replace him, but that probably won't happen. Tina Fey and Amy Poehler are already busy, and anyone else doesn't have the clout and credibility to stand up to Fox News' lies and tyranny. Somehow I feel tremendously abandoned going into the 2016 Presidential election. Not that Jon would have swung the tide for the Democratic ticket, but for all these years he's been the lone voice of sanity and reason in the wilderness of Koch Brother election buying and Corporations are people nonsense. And it's salt in the wounds after Stephen Colbert stepped down from The Colbert Report in December. I just don't think Jon is as effective in the movie business as he is at The Daily Show, and I don't think Stephen will be as effective at Late Night either. Here's five of his greatest takedowns, althought I think his Mike Huckabee takedown should be included. 

Thursday: West Side Tragedy: Thursday morning I found out Bob Simon of 60 Minutes died in a horrific taxi accident on the West Side Highway.

I broke down weeping again. What a gentleman he was, genuine and not afraid to look away. I watched a video he'd filmed of Israeli soldiers savagely beating Palestinian young men who were wearing bags tied over their heads. The Pro Israel new bias drives me nuts. I had to stop listening to NPR because I couldn't stomach all their Middle East coverage. Mike Wallace is terribly mean, but Bob Simon was such a descent human being, captured and tortured for being Jewish and he came out changed but not bitter or cynical. He wasn't done. I went back and watched last Sunday's 60 Minutes Bob Simon piece on Selma and Ava Duvernay. He was a mensch. RIP. *Footnote why the hell hasn't Selma's Edmond Pettus Bridge been renamed?! It's still named for the Grand Dragon of the KKK. It's 2015?!

Friday: The Capers End: Then this morning I awoke to Lena Dunham's Instagram tribute to David Carr. How can this tide of newscaster tragedy not be over?

I watched David Carr and AO Scott's NY Times ArtsBeat Sweet Spot video blogs religiously, and I appreciated David Carr coming out against Cosby for raping all those women. I been worried for years about how skinny David's neck was and that his health wasn't good after having "a bit of cancer." And now that I'm working in Addiction Medicine, I am blown away by how honest and open he was with his story of addiction and redemption. Here's David's story in the NY Times Me and My Girls. Wow. It's humbling. And supposedly he launched Lena Dunham's career. Here's a bit of his fierceness and the power of his pen. 

And the quote at the end of his memoir The Night of the Gun “I now inhabit a life I don’t deserve, but we all walk this earth feeling we are frauds. The trick is to be grateful and hope the caper doesn’t end soon.”

[idasantana]

The Blizzard that Wasn't

I came home in the snow yesterday and Frank had made veggie stew and I made cranberry salsa cornbread which Frank said was the best cornbread I've ever made.

After nightfall the snow accumulation was around 2.7 inches, and Frank started saying "Bah humbug!" to all the Blizzard hoopla. 

This was my favorite Tweet last night from the New Yorker cartoonist. 

Did all the Instagram and Facebook Blizzard postings crash their systems?

The nurse Kim at the methadone clinic where I work called me at 4:58 am this morning to tell me that she would not be going in to the clinic, but then she walked from Chelsea. The Clinic Director Tom spent the night at the clinic last night so that he could open it. My boss called me after 7:00 am and told me to go in and she'd reimburse my cab fare. 

There were no cabs to be had and the subways were not yet running, so I walked through the snow. It was pretty but cold, windy, and snowy.

I walked by the old Police Hall which I somehow think was in Ghost Buster. 

And since no one from Security showed up to operate the elevator for the two patients who showed up at the methadone clinic, I made a sign telling them to call us and we'll come down and get them. But it was too cold for the tape to work outside by the elevator. So I put the sign on a pile of garbage bags near the elevator. 

One of my least favorite parts of snow storms is when garbage pick up stops.

I did an admission for a patient at the methadone clinic today. 

Ain't no dedication like Greenwich House methadone clinic dedication. I love these patients.

[idasantana]

Little Black Man in a Big White World

Fresh Air's latest interview with Scott Paul about his book Becoming Richard Pryor is wonderful.

The clip Terry Gross selected of Richard Pryor explainging why black people have problems with white police is incredibly relevant to what is going on today with #BlackLivesMatter

In the wake of Ferguson and all the struggle against police brutality and racial injustice, I can't help but wonder how things would be better if Richard Pryor were alive to make us think about race in a different way and help heal these terrible wounds of racial prejudice by making us laugh at it all.

I've always loved Richard Pryor. I remember seeing Stir Crazy and Silver Streak as a child. I grew up on a hippie commune where racial tolerance and Pryor's comedy were wholeheartedly embraced. Then in the 80's when the commune fell apart and Pryor descended into drug addiction and lit himself on fire freebasing cocaine, the funny just seemed sad. 

When I was ten I watched Richard Pryor's comedy comeback. I remember how painful and horrible his burn scars looked, and yet he could still find the humor in the tragedy, lighting his matchbook and pantomiming himself as the matchbook on fire running down the street.

My husband Frank is from Germany and he grew up listening to Richard Pryor. Richard Pryor was a big reason Frank fell in love with America and wanted to move here and become an American.

I love John Oliver's story of being a pasty white 10 year old English boy doing Pryor impersonations in his underwear in his bedroom. 

Mad Men's Don Draper is an homage to Pryor, the protagonist coming from a chaotic upbringing in a brothel, not belonging to the "regular" world, and never being able to outrun the pain of his past. 

Frank and I moved this past July, after Frank had lived in our brownstone in the West Village for 20 years. Our move was super traumatic, and there were three things on television which helped soften the blows of moving. One was watching Blazing Saddles the night before we moved. When Frank came from Germany and was in college at Berklee College of Music he'd go to Thanksgiving out in Arizona with his friend Alex. Frank said all of Alex's family would roll on the floor laughing watching Blazing Saddles, and Frank didn't get the humor. The German was phony German, and Mel Brooks' humor didn't translate to a German fresh off the boat from Germany. But over the years the movie grew on Frank, and now it's one of our favorite movies. I had an epiphany watching Blazing Saddles that the black Sheriff, Sheriff Bart, was a precursor to Obama, the dignified black orator who's a statesman progressively leading the townspeople forward. Obama subconsciously adopted Sheriff Bart's intonations and mannerisms, and Richard Pryor was who wrote and created the character of Sheriff Bart. It's too bad the motion picture studio execs didn't allow Richard Pryor to play the roll he'd so beautifully written.  

I remember listening to NPR interviews with Richard Pryor after he had multiple sclerosis and was in a wheelchair before he passed. Then a few years later I remember listening to another NPR interview with Richard Pryor's daughter who'd written a book about her father. It was hard to hear how violent and abusive Pryor was to the women in his life and his children. 

Frank and I have a number of times gone back and forth about the n word in relation to Richard Pryor. I am glad that Terry Gross addressed this in the interview, explaining how Pryor came to the conclusion that using the n word is dehumanizing. But Pryor's epiphany didn't last, like all of Pryor's life, it's nuanced, complicated, and he ended up using the n word in his work again later. 

Vintage Saturday Night Live replayed the episode from SNL's first season in 1975 with Richard Pryor hosting the show. Pryor's stand up piece about the debilitating effects of alcohol on the black community was incredibly poignant and timeless. He mentions that his grandmother and sister are in the audience. He's so magnificent, and yet all that honesty, vulnerability, and humor are dancing on the edge of a world of pain, whittling away at dynamite. When the credits roll on the SNL episode he starts our alone, and the cast rushes him, embracing him, his tall lanky frame, his sweet face, and I cried, wanted to go back in time and hug him and help heal his pain. 

[idasantana]

A Tennessee Thanksgiving

Frank and I went to Tennessee to see my family for Thanksgiving. We had not been to Tennessee for Thanksgiving in eight years since 2006 when I brought Frank home to meet the family.

It was a really sweet time.

Here are some of the photos.

There was a beautiful sunset as Frank and I flew from New York to Tennessee.

Frank playing guitar at Chris & Vicky's condo at the Encore in downtown Nashville.

Chris & Vicky gave me this crystal vase that has been on their porch for over 30 years and belonged to his grandmother Baba. My Dad picked the Christmas berries for a Thanksgiving bouquet in the birth house/ guest house near my parents' where Frank and I stayed.

Jude brought his girlfriend Holly to meet the family. Holly was super excited and happy to be part of the Santana Clan.

Santana family picture. Left to right- Sister Jordana, Brother Matt, Mama, Niece Gayla, Nephew Cannan, Frank, Brother Anthony, Nephew Hashton, me, Nephew Eric, Holly, Brother Jude, and Papa.

Nephew and Niece- Eric & Gayla. Eric's getting an engineering degree and wants to be a Sound Engineer like his Uncle Frank.

Post Thanksgiving dinner walk- Gayla, Jude, Holly, Jordana, and Frank.

Frank, me, Jude, & Holly.

Me, Jordie, & Gayla.

Mother Daughter Duo- Jordana & Gayla

Gayla is looking very Cat Woman these days.

The Ladies- Mom, me, Jordana, & Gayla

Frank made mimosas at the Casini's on Friday morning after Thanksgiving. This is Sofia and Turner who looks very college professor-esque these days. I told Turner "Wow, you look like Jerry (Turner's father)." Turner says he look like a younger taller version of Jerry.

Biko, Turner, and Turner's daughter Isabella who's such a lovely young lady.

James Eagle came by to hike through the woods with Biko to the Swimming Hole.

Michelle & Fernando's six year old boy Luca busy watching a video.

Michelle & Fernando- and Michelle saying "No pictures please, I'm pregnant and still in my pajamas."

Casini Hutchens group hug- Biko, Isabella, Luca, and Turner.

Frank, Sofia, and I showed up on time to the Swimming Hole Polar Bear Potluck, and we were the only ones there. Sofia looked at her watch and wondered if she had the time right and then realized everyone else was running on "Farm time."

Hubbs and Chris Cook and M'Lou knitting in the background.

Mark Hubbard and Chris Cook embracing. One of my friends used to say that The Farm was where it was ok for straight men to hug other straight men.

Gathered round the fire at that Neal built at the Swimming Hole to stay warm.

Margaret Cook at the Swimming Hole picnic. Barb's mother M'Lou who's 92 and came to our Bloomfield Santana Thanksgiving brings her knitting everywhere. Frank calls M'Lou "The Knitting Factory."

Mark Hubbard's son Jaden is so beautiful. Mark grew 1,500 lbs of sweet potatoes on The Farm at the Unity Garden this season. Jaden is sitting on a cooler with warm baked sweet potatoes in it which I helped myself to.

Barb made veggie stew for the Swimming Hole Polar Bear Challenge. Neal drained the water after the Polar Bears swam.

Flynn-Goodletts' Post Thanksgiving Merry Making- Mother Daughter Duo #2- Michele and Rebecca

Me and Jessica at her new house in Nashville.

Our Carmel car waiting for us at JFK. I took this because it makes Frank happy that Carmel gets our married name right, and since I never changed my ID's after we got married, they're pretty much the only ones.

[idasantana]

The Time My Dad Crashed a Spaceship in Kansas City

The Moth is often recorded in Brooklyn, although these two stories are from Portland, OR, and Seattle. The Moth's requirements are that the story has to have happened to the person telling the story and it can't be pre-written. The second story in Ireland reminds me of my favorite Irish Cousin Colm and my brother Jude who's a mountain climber and had misadventures camping in Ireland. 

At the Sherpaa office last winter, Jay was on his way to The Moth's Grand Slam and there was a one-up-man-ship at the office among us of who would be able to out-tell the other to win The Moth's grand prize. I of course am sure I'd win by telling the story of how my husband Frank thinks my Dad crashed a spaceship in Kansas City when he flipped the station wagon on the ice when I was six months-old in my Mama's arms in the front seat of the station wagon sans car seat. After watching too many episodes of Ancient Aliens, Frank is convinced that my father and I come from a special planet called Mushoid where there's a race of extraterrestrial beings who are extremely tenderhearted and mushy. Frank is convinced that I, my father, and my brother Jack are all aliens from the planet Mushoid. 

So here's the story of the station wagon spaceship landing in Kansas City. In December, 1974, when I was six months-old my mother and father finagled being loaned a station wagon on the commune where I was born on The Farm. In the early days of the commune there were no privately owned vehicles.  They got a communally owned station wagon and agreed to sell books for The Farm's Book Publishing Company along the way to make gas money for the trip from Tennessee to California. They packed up their four young children and set off for California so that we could see our grandparents and family for Christmas. They were bringing me to meet my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins on both sides of the family for the first time. In St. Louis the people they sold books to mostly paid them in checks, and as was the story of much of my young life, without a bank account the checks were worthless and couldn't be cashed. After selling books in St. Louis, we were penniless. On one of the later trips to California that my family made, we made it back to The Farm with a dime left in Dad's pocket. There was a forced sense of frugality and my father prized himself in knowing the cheapest places to by gasoline the entire way across country.

Because they had no money for a hotel and it was too cold to camp on the side of the road, Dad wanted to drive through the night from St. Louis to Denver, where Richard Gonzalez, my mother's first husband lived, and Richard would always take us in. But that night there was an ice storm, and my brother Anthony who was all of 4 years-old, felt responsible to stay awake to make sure our Dad did't fall asleep. Anthony remembers fighting sleep and knowing that Dad was also fighting sleep, and the next thing Anthony remembers was waking up as the station wagon was sliding upside down along Interstate 70. Jude who was 2 years-old in the back seat with Anthony remembers the sound of roof of the station wagon screeching against the pavement. Everyone got out of the car except my sister Jordana who was six years-old and sleeping in the way back of the station wagon and was buried under a pile of the books they'd been selling. Mom started to worry because she could smell gasoline, and the back window of the station wagon was made of a piece of plywood. Good Samaritans stopped on the Interstate to help us, and they helped pulled Jordana out unharmed. Now it was past midnight, in the middle of an ice storm, and we had almost lost our lives, have no car, are a stranded family of six with no money and no place to go. One of the guys who'd stopped offered that we were all welcome to come home and stay with him, the only catch was that he was a drug dealer. My parents being hippies were not afraid of drug dealers and were completely dependent upon the kindness of strangers at that point. So they said "yes" to the drug dealer's kind offer, and he got them food, helped them get the station wagon towed and fixed, and had plenty of weed to help calm their nerves. My mother said this man was an angle. 

My husband Frank loves to retell this story, except in Frank's version of the story it wasn't a station wagon that crashed in Kansas City, it was a spaceship from the the planet of Mushoid. Who am I to argue with that? I'm sure I come from the stars, and my Daddy, my brother Jack, and I are undeniably mushy.

[idasantana]

26 Weeks- A Midwife to the Dying

My dad told me in hushed tones on Sunday that my mother who's a midwife had a pregnant lady who'd just had a "fetal demise, and please don't tell your brother because it would make him too sad." My mother has been delivering babies at home for 35 years with The Farm Midwives. 

Mom has delivered many hundreds of babies at home, and this was the first stillborn delivery she's been part of. 

Lauren had called her Saturday night saying she hadn't felt the baby move for a while. Mom told Lauren to eat a brownie and lie on her left side for half an hour. Lauren did this and felt nothing. So Mom told her to go to the nearest hospital which happened to be in rural Alabama. In the ER, they did an ultrasound and told her what she most feared, they were sorry but the baby had no heartbeat. The baby had died. My mother called around to a few different local hospitals to ask who would be able to deliver Lauren's stillborn baby. One hospital refused. The doctor there said he wasn't comfortable doing that sort of thing. So Mom spoke with another ObGyn at a different hospital, and he said "Bring her in, and we'll take care of her," which were the magic words. 

Lauren and her family were coming from hours away. Lauren has a 5 year-old daughter Gracie from her first marriage. It took almost three days for the baby to be born. Lauren didn't want to use Cytotec which is a prostaglandin used to induce labor and induce abortions. Ina May Gaskin one of The Farm Midwives who wrote Spiritual Midwifery has been working on The Safe Motherhood Quilt Project, similar to the AIDS Quilt. Ina May and other quilters make quilt squares commemorating women who've died as a consequence of childbirth in the US. Ina May noticed a correlation between the use of Cytotec and maternal deaths. 

So Lauren refused Cytotec, but she accepted Cervidil. They put her on Pitocin, and she asked for an epidural. She dilated from 2 to 3 to 5 cm's. Then when the nurse came to check her dilation, the nurse found the baby's head had already delivered. "He just slid out," my mother said.

They estimated he had died a week and a half before. He had a cleft lip. At first Lauren and her husband Adam wanted an autopsy. Then when the doctor spoke with them, the doctor said the baby had most likely died from genetic anomalies and he didn't recommend an autopsy. 

Both sets of grandparents had come to wait while Lauren had the baby. Lauren only wanted my mother and her husband with her when she was in labor for two days. 

Then her husband Adam went to get Gracie. He picked Gracie up and told her that the baby had died, and Gracie sobbed in his arms for over five minutes. Then Gracie asked to see the baby. Both sets of grandparents came in the room to see the baby. Lauren's best friend came with a nice camera. And everyone was able to see the baby and to say goodbye to him. Lauren wanted a photo of the baby with both sets of his grandparents which they were able to do. Christian was born at 5:00 pm and my mother was there with them until 10:00 pm. They had five hours to bond with him and say goodbye.  

Mom said the baby was coming apart. He was so fragile his skin was sloughing off. 

Gracie's kitty cat had been run over a few weeks ago. So Gracie had a premonition of death before her baby brother died. Gracie had brought a stuffed kitty to give the baby. Gracie asked her Grandma "Do you think the baby is in heaven with our kitty?" 

"Yes, I do," her grandmother said. 

"Do you think in heaven he's a baby or is he a kid?" Gracie asked. "What do you think he is?" her Grandma replied.

"I think he's a kid in heaven," said Gracie.

"Then that what he is," said her Grandma.

Mom said all the nurses and staff at the hospital were extra nice to Lauren and all her family. The Hospital Chaplain came. They brought extra meals for her husband and free Coke which Lauren doesn't drink.

The nurses offered if they wanted to stay another night at the hospital they were all welcome to or if they wanted to go home, they could do that as well. My mother was so honored to be a part of Christian's birth.

I did a fellowship in Pediatric Palliative Care, and I know firsthand that things very often don't go this well.

To walk away from the death of a child feeling honored, respected, and treated well felt exceptional and moving for my mother and this family. 

We know now that being allowed to be with the baby after baby dies is crucial for the grieving process of the family.

My "Little Sib" in medical school at the University of Tennessee, Memphis, was a young woman named Sarah. I was always giving her hand me down medical books and study materials. I remember her coming to collect books from my apartment, and me telling her about the autopsy I'd witnessed as part of my Pathology class. It was a stillborn baby girl. She was so perfect. This baby girl was wheeled into the morgue in a white Christening gown, and I cried to my mother later that we'd taken her perfect little body and cut it into pieces. I was so traumatized by witnessing this, I remember swearing that I would never encourage parents who lost their baby to have an autopsy. So I was telling this story to Sarah, my med school Little Sib, and Sarah started to cry and told me that her mother had a baby girl who died in childbirth, and her mother wasn't allowed to see the baby, hold the baby, take pictures of the baby, keep any of the baby's baby clothes, or talk about it ever again. Sarah's mother was just supposed to bottle it up, swallow it down, and pretend that it all hadn't happened. And of course that grief just ate away at her mother's inside. And the thing about grief is that it's malignant. It spread to Sarah, and Sarah had carried this grief all her life. Twenty five years later Sarah was crying for the grief her mother was never allowed to express. Even though Sarah's mother had another beautiful daughter who grew up to go to medical school, her mother had never gotten over that loss or processed her grief. I wish that Sarah's mother had had my mother with her when her baby girl died to help carry her over that ocean of grief. 

"I was a different kind of midwife this time," my mother said. "I was a midwife for the dying."

[idasantana]

Happened upon this little waterfall behind #WanderlustBrooklyn in the rain (at Prospect Park)