authenticity – Mary Dessein

Bob & Mario & Camille

Posted on January 12, 202315 Comments

“Like a rock. I was strong as I could be.”
Remember Bob Seger? I enjoyed his music in the 70’s and 80’s. His style, his lyrics, he found the right combination for millions of us. Back then, I felt like I ‘got’ the meaning of the lyrics, it is now I am relating to them in a deeper way. Yeah, what thirty+ years will do, eh? Kids, jobs, betrayals, mistakes, accomplishments, moves, spouse(s), adventures, lessons learned, opportunities lost, learning to live with gratitude.
“20 years. Where’d they go? I sit and wonder where they’ve gone.”

You, too?

Bob is 77 now. I found my copy of his “Greatest Hits” CD from 1994, which got me hearing the lyrics of several of the songs in an up-close-and-personal way. And think of some of the people in my past.

I wonder where many of them are now.
In first grade, there was this sweet kid in Ms. Winans’ class with me, Neil Gibbs. His family moved away at the beginning of second grade. He was so kind to me, little Miss Not-sure-what-to-do. I have often wondered how and where he is.
“I’m older now but still running against the wind.”

Mario Taveri. My boyfriend when I lived in Brindisi, Italy. Lots of stories from that year, o la la. I was twenty-three and naïve. He was thirty-six, or so… He got me a job in the ticket agency where he worked part-time which sold tickets for the ferry boats to Greece. Backpack and all, I had gotten off the train in Brindisi to catch the boat to Corfu and Piraeus, Greece. He and several other men were latching on to us tourists as we stepped onto the depot platform. No missing that all of us were tourists and many Americans. After a short time working there, I too, learned to tell what country a traveler was from just by seeing and hearing them for a minute or two.

Mario proceeded to tell me the boat workers were on strike and no boat that evening. Did I know where to have dinner? “No,” I shook my head. He knew a great place. “Okay,” I said. Off we went. My first calamari. Wonderfully delicious.
I found out later there was no strike, he had ulterior motives.
I didn’t make it to Athens for some months, and then it was a work trip, related to moving part of the ticket agency owner’s furnishings. I got a good look at the Parthenon as we drove by. “I was livin’ to run and runnin’ to live.”

Stories. There was the young, slim Mid-Eastern man with a bodyguard. He was trafficking men from the Mid-East up to work in Europe who had no papers or passports. His bodyguard was built like Joe Greene or Dick Butkus and carried a wad of $100 U.S. dollar bills bigger that his fist. There was the Scottish woman, Anne, living there with her boyfriend, Gianni. He was no more faithful to her than a mosquito, I didn’t know why she stayed. She missed her family and home in Penrith.
There was the trio from southern France: Helene, Michel, her husband, Camille, Helene’s sister, approximately late 20’s in age. They were traveling in a van. They stayed a couple nights in Brindisi, which has historical significance: the Appian Way ends in Brindisi, Spartacus was captured near Brindisi, Cicero visited regularly, and the poet Virgil died in Brindisi. Lots to see.
One afternoon, I am coming back with a latte’, when I see Mario coming to the agency from one end of the block and Helene from the other. I knew in that second what they’d been doing the last couple hours.
Mario made a big fuss about getting me a calzone to go with my latte’. I just looked at him.
About an hour later, I heard cries and whacks from the back room. I opened the door to investigate. Mario said, “Stop. You might get hurt.” However, I saw Michel kicking Camille as she lay on the floor, trying to protect herself. I rushed in, yelled at him to stop. He looked at me, kicked her again, and stomped out to the front office.
I helped Camille wash her face, put some ice on her bruises, and sat with her awhile. Where was Helene?

Then early that evening, the three of them got in the van and drove down to the ferry dock, smiling and waving at Mario and I as we stood on the sidewalk and watched them go. As they were leaving, Camille gave me a long hug. “Remember me,” she said and pressed a small jade heart pendant in my hand, kissed me on both cheeks, and got in the van.

I would love to know what happened to Camille and where she is today. And Mario. And Neil. And Anne.
“Like a rock. I see myself again.”

Thank you for reading~
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I Forgot I’m a Genius

Posted on October 31, 202027 Comments

A favorite caveat of mine over the years has been, “How hard can it be?”

The two story, split-level 2,324 square foot home my family was living in at the time very much needed painting. I said, “How hard can it be?” It took me two years, I got it done.

Play the harp? “How hard can it be?” I went to Dusty Strings, rented a harp and bought a teach-yourself book. Yes, I did make progress, yet I needed a teacher and found the amazing Harper Tasche, who’s been with me many a year patiently teaching me. It has taken me decades, I’ve done it. Okay, it is ongoing yet I’ve got the basics~

Over the years, in watching people, in being involved in the legal system and social work, I noted that Justice is like Truth, it depends on who you ask. There’s a loaded statement. I could ask the prosecuting attorney, the parent of the young offender, or even myself, “What is justice in this case?” and get three very different answers.

I came to realize that we each choose a belief system. We can accept the one handed to us by parents, adapt it as we go to school, get married, enter a workplace, or a social community. Yet our beliefs are still a choice, even as they change.

Autumn Snohomish River. Photo by MDessein

‘Freedom comes in many forms’ is one I am just stepping into. Living in America, I definitely appreciate the freedoms I have to live where I choose, vote for whom I choose, work where I choose, and so many other freedoms. The deeper personal freedoms I am learning about are my freedom to say no when asked to do something, my freedom to simply be for a while, not listening to the ‘Mary, you should be doing xyz and being productive,” from my inner critic, and my freedom to be kind to myself.

A wonderfully generous contractor was here at my home recently helping me resolve an issue. I offered to help him with a literary project of his. Then I smiled and offered to play the harp for him on a family occasion. He smiled and said nothing.
“Everyone needs a harpist at some time or another, they just don’t know it yet,” I told him.
Indeed, don’t we all need a comfort, a balm, a beautiful experience to soothe us, to celebrate, or to enhance a moment we are in?

In packing and sorting recently, I found my graduation cap from the University of Washington-Bothell and the commencement program. Out of a class of 450, I was one of the top 20, the cum laude graduates. In telling my son about this, I remarked, “I forgot I was a genius!” He laughed for a full minute. “Mom, how could you forget that? I’m using that line!”

Are there times you have forgotten or had a stellar accomplishment pushed aside as the river of life had you surging along with family, work deadlines, financial obligations, neighborhood friction, local and national politics, and the list goes on. Remember your stellar achievements~

My daughter’s Siberian Husky had 11 puppies two months ago. Gorgeous little creatures. I’m getting a puppy!
How hard can it be?

Toothpaste and Survival

Posted on February 28, 201918 Comments

Most people would throw it away.
I take the seemingly empty toothpaste tube, cut it open, and get every bit of toothpaste out of it, easily five more uses before I throw the absolutely 100% empty tube away. The stick of deodorant is seemingly empty, the container is flat across the top of the stick. No… I scoop out the remainder inside the stick, clearly a couple weeks more deodorant still in there.
And the lipstick tube? Why it has a good 1/8th of an inch of usable lipstick in the bottom. I thought these were normal practices, until it was brought to my attention that not everyone does these things.
We won’t go into Christmas bags and bows…

I was born a good twenty-five years after the Great Depression. Yet my parents were raised during those years.
It appears my, shall we say intense, frugality was carried forward from them.

Another belief that I have struggled with since I was a teen is ‘men are authority figures and are to be obeyed.’ The struggle was that the belief was firmly implanted, yet my intuition resisted all the time. Looking back as I recognize this falsehood, I am lucky to be alive as being obedient included backseats of cars, saying yes when all my insides shouted No, getting in a VW bus and driving to Yugoslavia with a stranger from the Venice train station, not asking questions when dicey situations were presented, allowing abusive behavior to go on yet saying nothing.

Here’s one for you: food is solace and comfort for whatever troubles you. Oh my. I have dealt with overweight since I was young. Something that tastes good will make the problem and uneasy feelings go away, right? Related to that, here is another recipe for life-long eating issues: “There are starving children in China – you must eat every morsel on your plate whether you are hungry or not.” These over-rode a child’s natural response. Kids are truth-tellers and instinct-followers: they make candid reports (“You smell funny. You have a big nose. I don’t like that.”) to avoiding people and situations they are uneasy about.

So who’s stories were those? Old stories happening through me? If they are not my stories, what are mine? I have a right to my own stories don’t I?

In thinking about my parents this morning – my mom, Josette, gone three and a half years and my dad, Kenney, gone thirty-three and a half, I wonder what they would tell me now that they’ve had a long distance view.
Then a mental shazaam followed: what would my sister tell me? She died fourteen and a half years ago at the age of forty-nine and four days of “undetermined causes” as there was no clear explanation for why her heart stopped. What would Rosie tell me? Was she living her own story, or someone else’s? I have often wondered since that difficult time, was she looking for her own path, what was her dream? She had drifted along, trying various occupations such as working on fishing boats in Alaska, photography, office work, and was in optician school when she died.

Virtuoso pianist in Montreal playing Bohemian Rhapsody

What I am learning about my own story and my own path is that I create it, albeit standing on the shoulders of those before me. I watch the magnificent thousands of geese arching above me and the hummingbirds flitting about my porch at the feeders even as it is snowing. True to one’s self, true to one’s heart really is survival. The ‘shoulds’ are falling away as I recognize them. Byron Katie’s work is reflected here on being with what is.

Being true to myself and true to my heart’s calling is my survival and the path to writing my own story.

I Just Had To…

Posted on June 18, 201814 Comments

“I stayed in from recess to make this for you.”

She reached out tentatively to hand me a water-color drawing she had made. She being a 6th grade student who had been in the first class I performed for that morning.

“I just had to do this. When you told the story about the two sisters with one’s name like mine and the harp made of bones, I had to draw this.”
What a picture: there was my harp, me, and three of the stories I’d told! She’d heard, she’d listened, she’d thought.
No wonder I do this.

When I was in Juvenile Detention last week, the jail facility for kids under age eighteen, I was in the library waiting for my first class of kids. One of the boys saw me from the hallway and snapped, “Oh f—.” Not the usual response when kids see me, I am happy to report, however, it was his that morning. The boys trooped in and sat down in the semi-circle of chairs facing me. He pulled his tee shirt up to below his eyes, crossed his arms, and looked down at his feet, legs stretched out in front of him. Thirty minutes of stories and music later, he was sitting up asking questions, and forty minutes later he was telling me how he would have changed one part of the folktale from Ecuador I had just told them. After the Haitian tale, “One My Darlin,” he made a comment about forgiveness, which started a discussion among the boys.

No wonder I do this.

Jill Johnson, an accomplished writer, teacher, storyteller, and actor, wrote about when she was telling to and with elders in Auckland, New Zealand in February of this year, that when she saw the elders tell family stories, the youth listening, and the priceless connection being made, she said, “THIS …. is why I do this work.”

I get it more clearly every time I perform lately – telling and making music for elementary school kids, incarcerated kids, or my neighbor. The connecting, the re-discovering the truth that people have common elements of being human be they from China, Patagonia, Egypt, Saskatchewan, or Iceland. You never know what will reach someone. My part, and privilege, is to deliver the story, keep out of the way the best I can, and let the story spin out its storyness.

Wrinkle in Reality

Posted on March 20, 201817 Comments

A wrinkle in time. Sure, I’ve had one of those… okay, several of them. One fold happens when I look at the framed photo of my eighteen-month old curly-topped son hanging in my hallway. Then I realize he and I haven’t talked in three weeks. Oh yeah, he lives 2,500 miles from me and is thirty-five years old. My starz.

My wrinkles are not as remarkable as Madeleine L’Engle’s. Even though it was fun to remind my son of when I drove with he and his dad to Portland, Oregon when he was about four years old in order to hear Madeleine speak, he didn’t remember the trip or Madeleine L’Engle. However, it was a lovely reminder for me of the seats we had up in the curved balcony in a huge old church to see her, to hear her talk about her father’s health condition and her spending time as a little girl living in a castle in Europe. Remarkable is barely the beginning to describe her.

Ava DuVernay’s recent movie version of A Wrinkle in Time is worth seeing. It is as much about love, family, loyalty, community, belief in one’s self, and tenacity as it is about science fiction and interplanetary space travel.

In part, what launches A Wrinkle in Time is an inadvertent consequence, an unpredicted result to a pursued goal (Dr. Alex Murry, who is the main character, Meg’s father, achieves his goal of finding the tesseract and successfully tessering, however he gets trapped on a planet far away and cannot escape.) Oh my, I’ve had one or two of those unpredicted results. Haven’t you? Such as getting the promotion then getting transferred and having to leave all the co-workers who helped you get it and whom you trust. Or bringing your spouse with you to volunteer at the Food Bank, who then falls in love with one of the other volunteers, and a year later you find yourself divorced. I know, I know, “one door closes and another one opens;” and the ever popular “life presents us with opportunities for personal growth.” I do endorse those beliefs, it just takes me a little time to get back in the saddle.

In the three deleted pages from A Wrinkle in Time, released by her granddaughter in 2015, pages which the publisher perhaps thought too political or controversial, Ms. L’Engle talks about the dangers of pursuing security, that security is a seductive thing, and that the sick longing for it is a dangerous thing, and … insidious.

How are we manipulated by supervisors, credit card companies, politicians, retailers, spouses, neighbors, perhaps even our children, by their threatening our security or offering to enhance it? By dictators and autocrats? Yee gods, that list is endless and will continue to be so. Fascinating that Ms. L’Engle called this out in a conversation between a father and daughter. The father attempting to show his daughter a larger view, that questioning, exploring, and taking risks are what move us forward.

My regrets in life, the few I have, are related to what I did not do for my children. Sometimes it was that I did not set limits. My most lamentatious ones are when I did not protect them, or did not stand up for them. I was unable to de-stabilize my alleged security. In hindsight, I say alleged as it really wasn’t stable. With their dad, with my employer, with my sense of obligation to others, or that nebulous entity: what I thought others thought of me.

And another wrinkle – security and safety are not the same nor interchangeable.
None of that was within my grasp twenty-five years ago.

“Maybe you have to know the darkness before you can appreciate the light.” Madeleine L’Engle.

Posts Tagged with authenticity

Bob & Mario & Camille

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I Forgot I’m a Genius

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Toothpaste and Survival

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I Just Had To…

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Wrinkle in Reality

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