Lisa the Tower of Pisa

 I recently learned my childhood crush, the youngest of three rambunctious boys, passed away. Since his rascally ten-year- old face is the only one I can conjur, it is
extra hard to believe he is gone.

He lived across the street. His father, a very loud man who knew nothing of

pig-tailed little girls, had composed a song in my very young honor:

Oh, Lisa, the Tower of Pisa!

She bends and she bends, but she never falls down!

It was shouted at me over the years, until this father retired and moved away.

The song always made me feel a little uncomfortable. Maybe it was the shouting.

Maybe I sensed subtle innuendo. But it also made me proud to know I was the

subject of someone’s original ballad.

The song has different meaning now, some 60 years later. It is a song of resiliency,

of survival, of flexibility in the face of gravity and a lifetime of leaning, bending,

straightening, bending again.

I’ve not fallen once. Nor do I plan to anytime soon.

Once Black, Never Back

 I can no longer do what I once did. My energy and strength have waned. Yet, at 65, I can still dig into the earth, still kneel to plant, still carry 40 pound bags of dog food and mulch. I can push the behemoth vacuum cleaner through at least three rooms at a time, before stopping to catch my breath. I can wrangle two energetic dogs on leash, without letting go. I can walk a few miles without fainting.

Once, maybe 15 years ago, when I was going to the gym on a regular basis, my friend (who was a personal trainer there) confided in me. He said, "I asked a client what her optimal goal was coming to the gym. She immediately pointed to you, and said, "I want to look like her."

I no longer look anything like this person's goal, yet still, I am happy with the body I have. I can walk unruly dogs. I can run if I have to. I can lift 40 pounds of dog food. And while my biceps have become the saggy bottoms of my upper arms, I still consider myself the Black belt, badass mama I once was. 

We are, not only what we see today, but a compilation of all we have been and
done. Like the black-belt martial arts community says, "once Black, never back." 

The Walk

 I took a walk tonight. It was just after sunset in south Florida, where the sunsets are particularly beautiful. It is January 21, the day after Joe Biden was sworn in as the 46th President, and Kamala Harris, the first women of color to be our Vice-President. Yesterday, I watched the swearing-in, with all its wonderful songs and poems.

Tonight, I take stock. I have been lucky to have received my first COVID vaccine, and am scheduled for my second. My kids are healthy and weathering the pandemic storm bravely. I am surrounded by those who care. I am safe, for the moment.

Tonight, in this south Florida walk, I remember my brother, who did not quite last until the pandemic hit, I celebrate my kids who are stoically weathering these hard times, and empathizing with my neighbors, whose houses still light up with Christmas decorations, or whose houses are dark and still, because their residents are old or sick. Some of these houses had proudly displayed Trump signs, and a few, Biden signs. 

A month ago, we were awakened to sirens and flashing lights. Our neighbor's brother had passed away in the night. All of us came into the street to talk to, and comfort the family. No one spoke about politics, or beliefs. We all gathered (masks on) to offer comfort to our grieving neighbor.

Let us go back to this time. This raw reality is real America. We come out in the middle of the night to comfort our neighbor. We do not ask about religion, race or political alliance. As often as needed, no questions asked. Always. This is my America.