Twittering will make you witty...

I have been distracting myself lately with Twitter and Facebook. Just other names for Internet crack. Lots of fun - but I am finally writing more.
Amazing what 140 characters and pithy comments will do for your mind.

I will not raise my children to kill another mother's child

I am just a mama who supported Codepink's Radical Act of Knitting by sending in hand knitted pink and green squares for the giant Whitehouse Cozy with the message, "I will not raise my children to kill another mother's child." It was an exhilarating experience to do the knitting in public in my community. Great teachable moments.

Today, I had Mother's Day Surprise. Myleftwing.com named me their Mother of the Year. They reprinted a piece on me titled, "The Coffeehouse Pediatrician" written by Hurricanedean and published in Broowaha an online citizen's newspaper, http://myleftwing.com/showDiary.do?diaryId=24859. In February, Rose-Anne Clermont wrote a piece about me called, "Living One Day at a time in Economic Crisis, the new face of the middle class" http://thewip.net/contributors/2009/02/living_one_day_at_a_time_in_th.html#more.

I know that my struggles are no different than countless other mothers globally who are single parents. I have the great fortune to have been well educated, formally and in community organizing. I hope I can continue to advocate for those who don't have a voice. My goal is to empower others to become Amazon Advocates for themselves, their families and their communities. Looking to continue to support, mentor and nurture.

A special shout out to my mother, Dr Norma Miller Poinsett who celebrated her 60th year anniversary of graduating from Tougaloo College. Her sisters celebrated with her: Merdis Henderson (60), Willette Lynn (57th) and Charetha Powell (50th). My cousin Lenice Lynn DDM, PhD is also a Tougaloo Alumnae who was present. Without the foresight of my WWII veteran uncles who persuaded my maternal grandfather, Chalmas Miller, to move his 11 children to the campus of Southern Christian Institute (a private high school for blacks in Mississippi that at the time had no public high school for blacks), this legacy would have never happen. I have many more relatives who attended Tougaloo and other colleges as well as many who never went beyond high school. All showed me by example the value of doing one's best, standing one's ground and fighting for what is right.

Doing for other's is just "rent" one pays for being on earth.

Onward,

Pierrette Mimi Poinsett aka the Snapdiva

4 juice glasses...not enough

My son and I have been in transition over the last three months. October, the townhome I owned finally short saled after 4 months of walking through inches of paperwork with my lenders, the buyers lenders and snafus galore. Short sales are very complicated, designed to push one over the edge if not persistant. I am grateful that my home sold instead of foreclosed. I lived with recurring dreams of the sheriff coming one morning and putting my stuff on the street....

That has been the issue. We have way too much stuff. Ever since our move from Central Valley California to the North Bay, I have been in a massive downsizing mode. I grew up with parents who spent their childhoods in the depression. Folks who resused stuff, stored stuff like chipmunks. They always worried about a rainy day. Good for when you have storage space... not so good for smaller spaces.

I moved three years ago from a 1800 sq foot home in the Central Valley. My dream home with 24 windows, copious basement and garage storage space. Before moving, I had the requisite garage sale, gave away all sorts of stuff. Could barely fit everything into the moving van and my small SUV. We were moving into a 1500 sq foot rental before buying the 1300 square foot townhome. Both had built-in storage, AKA garages.

I knew that decluttering was a necessity. Did I really need 6 Feng Shui books on decluttering? Was every scrap of paper from my closed pediatric practice necessary? 12 boxes of books sold to the local used bookstore, many more books donated. Office supplies donated to community clinics in my town and overseas. The process of downsizing continued as my employment situation became more unstable. More bartering, more selling of furniture to make ends meet.

When we finally moved out of the townhouse in October, a 12 foot PODS and a 8 x 12 foot storage room held the bulk of our belongings. Dear friends opened their home to us so we had a place to stay for 5 weeks until finding a rental. I knew again that I STILL had too much stuff. Past travel to Japan and Germany reminded me that 'Mericans live in too large places with more stuff than families overseas. Every moment I thought about complaining about my "plight", I remembered that I could leave my home with more than the clothes on my back, without bullets flying and family intact. I have much to be grateful for.

Several years of watching, "Clean House" and "Clean Sweep" helped me to break through the denial of being a clutter diva. My hot mess needed transformation.
So as I am unpacking in our new 1000 foot sq rental (without garage), I am confronting reality.
How much stuff do we really need? How many things sit unused in my home that could be used by someone else?

I made a few severe choices-- decided that if we had fewer dishes and pots to clean, the sink would stay cleaner:) I gave away more than half of my kitchen, refrigerator and washer dryer to friends who helped us to pack and move. I made a bit of a strategic error. 4 juice cups.... probably not enough. I have had an epiphany. If I bring one thing in, two things have to go out.
Repair first rather than replace. Reuse and Recycle among friends and local community groups.

Feeling lighter already.... and my carpet is showing empty areas:)

Soccer Mama for Obama

Time to put it out there!
With less than 5 weeks to the election, I have decided to make sure there is no confusion about where I am coming from.
No need for a disclaimer. I was born and raised in Chicago by activist parents who covered the Civil Rights and Black Power movements. My idea of fun was going to the local A + P to participate in a boycott to change discriminatory hiring practices, marching in Chicago and Mississippi. I was old enough to meet many of the powerhouses of the movement in my parent's living room and at many a hall.
For me, community activism is not a dirty word but what you do to pay rent for being on earth. In medical school, I was energized by the Harold Washington campaign for mayor of Chicago, I worked with my Latino grad school colleagues to forge a Black Latino alliance that was part of Washington's success. I immersed myself in the peace and solidarity movements of the eighties, stayed abreast of the Anti Apartheid movements.
At times I have "retired" from activism to focus on just making my local piece of the world a better place. Three years in the National Health Service Corps working with patients in need in Nevada and Central Valley California convinced me that I need not go overseas to find third world health conditions. Becoming a mother of a child with special health care needs has highlighted for me the failures of our educational and health care systems. Every child deserves to be cherished and nourished. No throw away kids. We must redirect our focus on coming together and giving a hand out to those in need.
So on the brink of turning 51 (October 3rd), I know it is time to stand up and be counted. My 11 year old said it best during the California Primary, "mama of course you are voting for Obama!"
Hope is not a dirty word; social change and bring diverse people together is not just a pipe dream.
Vote Obama, vote in your local elections. Don't stop the day after the election....
We need to keep on keepin' on...
I don't need no stinkin' lipstick.... but a manicure/pedicure and massage will do me just fine...

Saving the good stuff for submissions or....

having massive writers block while experiencing a bit of life on life's terms.

Yes, it has been 9 months since writing on this blog. Many work changes- short term part time work, looking for full time work without success, filing for unemployment and medicaid for my son. Hearing more often than not, "you are a doctor, why are you unemployment."

My son has several chronic mental health problems. Psychiatric hospitalization number 4 during June of this year. Number 5 first two weeks of September. 2 and a half years of sorting out what he has, (bipolar disorder, Tourette's disorder and partial seizures with a bit of asthma). Spending much of my waking hours advocating for resources for school, after school and home, often settling for "hurry up and wait." I am making the hard decisions about residential placement as he is nearly 12 and increasingly out of control.

So, I have dabbled a little with my writing. One of my poems was published this fall in the 2008 Vintage Voices and Vines Anthology by the Redwood Writers Guild. I submitted an essay called, "I believe in coffee" to the NPR program, "This I Believe." It wasn't selected for reading, but was put on the NPR website.

I am hearing the several times weekly refrain from my bibliotherapist,Art, my sisterfriend, Aurora and several others to write, write, write.

Just letting y'all know, I have heard and am making that commitment! My stethoscope is a bit dusty since March 08. Gettin' that 'puter and pen warmed up.

Let the games begin!

It's a hair thing you wouldn't understand

It ‘s a hair thing you wouldn’t understand….

I did the mama happy dance on Sunday when my son came through the door—he had a sleek short hair style like many NBA basketball stars—short fade that needs no maintenance. Just the day before he had left as a boy channeling buckwheat. Now I love my son’s curls but they had become a wild boy thing. He wanted braids—with his half Ethiopian Hair cornrows and his constant patting resulting in braids that had only lasted 2 weeks. 2 weeks for a 2 hour process of pain and tears—too expensive for a 10 year old head. So the compromise for a while was to let it grow for it to “hang down” as little man put it. Only problem is that it would get combed at best once a week. Non deliberate semi dreads… a virtual birds nest in the back of his head.

Now I love dreads, have many friends with dreads…. But dreads are not a simple thing. They require TLC and daily care that the short human wouldn’t cotton too. Per him, stuffing his head daily in his bike helmet was the prime reason he didn’t need to comb it. I thought a visit from Grandma would stimulate a little change. Surprise…. She liked it… other people liked it…
I thought we were doomed to a life of every which way hair that be a daily battle. Then something special happened. Cousin Dex said let’s have the short human come up for the weekend in Sacto. Now you must understand. We live in Petaluma—a gorgeous place but not exactly a nexus of African Americans. So few that I have let my hair grow out since I cannot find someone who can properly cut it. Short human’s favorite place in Sacto—The Kings and Queens Barbershop. A Shrine of great hair styles, wonderful conversation and…..many black folks. On his own without prompting the short human said, I want a hair cut momma. I just smiled.. no need to overreact. He might change his mind.
So Mr. Man came through the door a different boy. Gone were the wild curls, replaced with a more mature and cool look. Dex had treated him to a Sacramento Kings game and new threads. He was decked out.
Sometimes the best way to change your son’s hair is to let him make a choice….
Just a snapdiva happy to be nappy with her every which way hair pulled back in a short pony tail….more on my hair later…

It's been a long, long, time...

Back staying in my own lane doing my personal blog. I have been distracted for several months blogging on a private on line physician community called Sermo. Sermo has about 30,000 MD's and DO's posting on just about everything from clinical cases, the future of medicine, politics even a few jokes. It has been helpful to me to stay current in medicine and break some of the isolation I feel practicing medicine only part time.

I continue to be called to my personal muses, the yayayarndiva and snapdiva. Ms Yaya is convinced that my life must be centered on yarn, knitting, crocheting. Balls of yarn appear from virtually nowhere, calling me with their seductive fibers. I had to do a major stash reduction to find some quick cash, but I see my stash returning. I have discovered yarn in resale shops and second hand shops. All sorts of gems that other yarndivas have given away. A few dear friends also gifting me with yarn. So now I a wonderful stash to make creative scarves, felted purses, baby hats and my new passion sachets. Just in time for the end of the year holiday season...

Ms Snap, now she is another story. Girlfriend wakes me up in the middle of the night. She is not speaking to me in dulcet tones. Rather the screech of WRITE, RIGHT now. I've have been ignoring her until lately. The anxiety, headaches and tummy pain have returned as a result. So I am back to giving in. Opening my laptop and pulling out my notebooks. I have found a Peet's Coffee nearby where I can write in relative peace. So I have been able to complete several lectures for my pediatric teaching. A chapter for a science fiction story came out of a stream of consciousness. I am in a Women's Buddhist monthly study group called Sophia. Now some of my writing is inspired from a commentary on the Lotus Sutra, "The Wisdom fo the Lotus Sutra, A discussion, Volume 1 by Daisaku Ikeda, Katsui Saito, Takanori Endo and Haruo Suda. This has stimulated a an endeavor to study Burton Watson's translation of the Lotus Sutra.

All timely stuff. I am due February 1st to give a grand rounds talk on Buddhism and Medicine at the residency program where I teach. However my memoir cookbook continues to percolate more in my brain than on paper. My "bibliotherapist", Art, a used bookstore manager, continues to cajole me to at least write for a half an hour every couple of days. The last several weeks have been crazy with work and my son's activities. The universe has created an out for me-- very little work in December.

So now I have no excuses but procrastination.

Time to boogie,

Dr. Mimi