I read a book last night. Everyone should read this book, but for reasons I cannot fathom it is rare and mostly forgotten now. The Book of Alfred Kantor is the book of a young man in a horrible situation. Devastatingly real and heartbreakingly non-fiction, this book is a pictorial memoir of Nazi Germany and Fredy Kantor's personal living hell.
Published in 1971 and, as far as I know, never reprinted, this book has the impact of video without lending us our usual ability to suspend disbelief. For every person who can deny the atrocities of Nazi Germany, this book is the remedy. Drawn from memory only days after being liberated, Mr. Kantor uses his prodigious recall (though the images were likely seared into his brain) to quite literally draw us a picture of something even Dante could not -would not- have imagined. His eyewitness testimony in drawings may be the best recollection of all - for all.
I wish I could posts photos from the book to illustrate their amazing - almost photographic - quality. What struck me most profoundly was not the story - I am familiar with work camps, Nazi crematoriums, death camps and ghettos. But striking to me was the profound and eloquent drawings of "Super Men," SS officers in uniform and guards, all of whom Kantor manages to draw in detail. He gives us clear understanding of the "badges" inmates were forced to wear- not just the Star of David, but the Pink Triangle for homosexuals, the black triangle pointing down for "fancy man" (which I understand to be butch women,) among others - including political prisoners and even hardened murderers. But what he doesn't do is show us details of the inmates. Instead, almost all of the prisoners are drawn to appear the same. This is the power of his message. He has in these illustrations depicted the amazing ability of the Nazi regime to dehumanize millions of people. And even the inmates themselves must, for the sake of their own sanity, wrap themselves in denial and false hope in order to somehow keep going in the face of death and fear of death every moment, for years.
I would like to say that this is a history of a time never ever to be repeated; but sadly, while the amazing machinations and systematic destruction of an entire race of people and other unwanted elements is unlikely to the degree the Nazis managed it - it still happens. And, as long as governments continue to place the value of some over the value of others- as long as religions continue to pronounce other religions anathema, and as long as parents tell children not to play with those who are not like their children - we will live under the threat - and reality - of the dehumanization required for these atrocities to continue.
We need only to look at the last few weeks for proof - even here in our First World country- children are literally bullied to their deaths. Gangs sodomize a boy with a plunger handle and torture others. The language of "other" permeates a Mormon Elder's language. Every Sunday in houses of worship across our country, millions are told certain people are not loved, certain people are going to hell, certain people should be shunned. And all in the name of a God who is supposed to be loving and forgiving and welcoming - to everyone.
I saw this book discussed somewhere not long ago and decided to buy it mostly because of the depiction of the "badges" prisoners were forced to wear. But what I found while reading it, was a contemporary criticism unbelievably valuable to our society at this very moment. Yes, it gives a terrible and heartbreaking history of a moment in history. But it brands our own moment in time with that same intensity.
Lest we forget.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
The Pear Tomatoes that Took Over the Thunderbird Trailer Park
So when I was five and a half my mom died. (That is a whole other series of posts so I won't go into that now, but really I will get to it. Eventually.) What is important for THIS post is that when my mom died, my older sister and I went to live with my maternal grandparents in Farmington, NM. What is also important is that we, my sister and I, were pretty devastated by our mother's passing and neither of us was very outgoing or interested in much.
Farmington was a typical little city in the early seventies. Kids could roam where they would and it was fairly safe. We lived in a nice trailer park and I know it was nice because there was a trashy one behind us and ours didn't look like that at all. We had sweet little yards inside three foot chain link fences, well kept sidewalks, old willow trees and speed bumps. There weren't a ton of kids in the park owing to the fact that is was probably 75% populated by old people (by that I mean people in their fifties. Oh how perspective changes things.) Anyway, it was a nice place to be, even though I was pretty much catatonic from the fallout from losing my mom.
But I digress, this is supposed to be about tomatoes.
So, one day in what I seem to remember as the depths of winter, though Farmington is hardly Alaska or even Maine, I was walking down the frozen tundra of a street and lo and behold I found a frozen pear tomato. Okay, I have no effing clue what that tomato was doing in the street in January or February of 1974, but there it was. Being the inquisitive and highly annoying 6 year old I was, I picked it up and took it home to my grandmother. (Now my grandma was about the most amazing plant grower I have ever seen. Really, I am totally not kidding here people, she looked at stuff and it turned green. Really, she had over 200 African Violets while I was growing up. AMAZING.) So I took the frozen pear tomato home and told Grandma in no uncertain terms I wanted to do an experiment and could she help. She pulled out a snackpack can (yes, she saved snackpack cans.) I went out to the yard and scraped some topsoil up and put it in the snackpack can. I then squished up the whole now less frozen tomato and stirred it into the topsoil in the snackpack can. I added just enough water that it was thick and gooey, kinda like the pudding that came in the snackpack can and stirred some more. Then we put it in a window and I watered it every couple of days.
Fast forward a month, and it is late February or early March and suddenly I have a bazillion seedlings, which my grandmother, God love her, helped me put in cardboard milk cartons cut in half. (Yes, she had saved several just for this purpose - Remarkable what growing up in the Great Depression will do for you.) Another month goes by and it is late March or early April and we now have HUNDREDS of seedlings in cardboard milk cartons, which we now can put in the yard alongside one of the chain link fences where she didn't have any other flowers.
By June of '74 my little tomato experiment had turned into "the summer the pear tomatoes took over the Thunderbird Trailer Park," and my love of tomatoes has never waned. I wish I could find the picture of my 6 year old self just about to bite into the pear tomato, but alas, it is MIA at the moment.
Just know that I was an adorable blonde headed, pigtailed little girl whose life had been completely turned upsidedown by the death of her mom and whose luck at finding the frozen pear tomato gave her something to do in the dark of winter when nothing seemed possible or likely to live.
The unlikely tale of "the Pear Tomatoes which took over the Thunderbird Trailer Park" has fueled my love of tomatoes to this day, which is why I spent most of my day yesterday cutting up and cooking down gallons of tomatoes which I will can as sauce today.
Farmington was a typical little city in the early seventies. Kids could roam where they would and it was fairly safe. We lived in a nice trailer park and I know it was nice because there was a trashy one behind us and ours didn't look like that at all. We had sweet little yards inside three foot chain link fences, well kept sidewalks, old willow trees and speed bumps. There weren't a ton of kids in the park owing to the fact that is was probably 75% populated by old people (by that I mean people in their fifties. Oh how perspective changes things.) Anyway, it was a nice place to be, even though I was pretty much catatonic from the fallout from losing my mom.
But I digress, this is supposed to be about tomatoes.
So, one day in what I seem to remember as the depths of winter, though Farmington is hardly Alaska or even Maine, I was walking down the frozen tundra of a street and lo and behold I found a frozen pear tomato. Okay, I have no effing clue what that tomato was doing in the street in January or February of 1974, but there it was. Being the inquisitive and highly annoying 6 year old I was, I picked it up and took it home to my grandmother. (Now my grandma was about the most amazing plant grower I have ever seen. Really, I am totally not kidding here people, she looked at stuff and it turned green. Really, she had over 200 African Violets while I was growing up. AMAZING.) So I took the frozen pear tomato home and told Grandma in no uncertain terms I wanted to do an experiment and could she help. She pulled out a snackpack can (yes, she saved snackpack cans.) I went out to the yard and scraped some topsoil up and put it in the snackpack can. I then squished up the whole now less frozen tomato and stirred it into the topsoil in the snackpack can. I added just enough water that it was thick and gooey, kinda like the pudding that came in the snackpack can and stirred some more. Then we put it in a window and I watered it every couple of days.
Fast forward a month, and it is late February or early March and suddenly I have a bazillion seedlings, which my grandmother, God love her, helped me put in cardboard milk cartons cut in half. (Yes, she had saved several just for this purpose - Remarkable what growing up in the Great Depression will do for you.) Another month goes by and it is late March or early April and we now have HUNDREDS of seedlings in cardboard milk cartons, which we now can put in the yard alongside one of the chain link fences where she didn't have any other flowers.
By June of '74 my little tomato experiment had turned into "the summer the pear tomatoes took over the Thunderbird Trailer Park," and my love of tomatoes has never waned. I wish I could find the picture of my 6 year old self just about to bite into the pear tomato, but alas, it is MIA at the moment.
Just know that I was an adorable blonde headed, pigtailed little girl whose life had been completely turned upsidedown by the death of her mom and whose luck at finding the frozen pear tomato gave her something to do in the dark of winter when nothing seemed possible or likely to live.
The unlikely tale of "the Pear Tomatoes which took over the Thunderbird Trailer Park" has fueled my love of tomatoes to this day, which is why I spent most of my day yesterday cutting up and cooking down gallons of tomatoes which I will can as sauce today.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
So it's day two
So it's day two of the blogging thing and I just got back from a "health fair" for the employees at a local Rehab Hospital. Not that I have anything to do (anymore) with health care, but a pal of mine is an Acupuncturist and she needed someone to poke little needles into for show and tell. I agreed 'cause I don't mind having tiny needles stuck in my body and I like her fine and it was free healthcare! How the hell do you turn THAT down? So I went and she was really nice and I watched an elderly lady break down when she saw the display of tar in a jar from smoking for only 1 year. It was really gross but she broke down and started tearing up because her husband smoked and had died from it. The person at that table was CLUELESS why the woman was so sad. I don't think she heard the "my husband died from smoking" comment. But how sad is that? You wander into a health fair pushing your little 2nd generation walker and you expect to get a banana and a blood pressure check and maybe some bling; but instead, you get reminded of your dearly departed husband and no one gets it, and you just stand there and the stupid girl at the table is saying you'll win a prize if you can tell her how long it would take for that much tar to accumulate in your lungs.
...I did finally get my acupuncture treatment and only my pal knows what she was treating 'cause I filled out the form and gave it to her and she started putting needles in but didn't want to have much of a conversation in the public space which I totally appreciated. Over all, I liked it and will go back for a second treatment at her office. But I totally can't pay after that so I will stick to my regular Chiropracter for which my insurance pays, and my LMT, who gives me a great deal, even though I really can't afford that either, but it is the only thing that keeps my body moving without a lot of pain which I really am tired of experiencing.
As for current events or what's in the news... some uber Republican came bounding out of the closet yesterday and said, get this, "there is room for gays in the Republican party." and then proceeded to say it took him this long to come to terms with his gayness. Well, here's my dig on this.
Are you fucking kidding me? First, apparently everyone except him knew he was gay when he was serving at the right hand of Bush II. Second, he worked his ASS off putting anti-marriage equality constitutional amendments on every ballot in every state he could. And finally, just where should the gays fit in his "Republican party?" Should they hang out with the rabidly homophobic religious zealots who live in the ultra right wing of the party? or, instead, should they stay in the closet and continue hating themselves and all others like them until they get CAUGHT or only until they get out of politics when it won't matter (like he did)?
As long as gays in general do not have complete equal standing in the eyes of the law, others will continue to take advantage of folks who have consistantly been told "you are not the same as me" and "not only are you not the same, you are less than me - less valuable, less worthy of love, or protection."
I am not speaking hypothetically here folks.
I nearly died. I took a bunch of pills and I nearly died because a group of old white men hauled me in front of them and kicked me out of my church. They said there was "no place for me in this or any other church." I was never told why, just that I was not to come back, I wasn't even offered the option of repenting. How could I? They wouldn't tell me what I had done wrong. That is because up to that point I hadn't done anything "wrong." It was gossip, innuendo. The only thing they said was I was UNNATURAL. I hadn't even come out yet. I was 15.
Every one of them was an "upstanding citizen," conservative, and most likely to vote the Anti-Abortion ticket back then. Yeah. Right. Gays are completely welcome in the Republican party - right along side those guys in the First Baptist Church, Southern of Butt Fark, Colorado.
No thanks, but welcome to the gay community Mr. Idontcarewhatyournameis, it's good to have you along for the ride. Now that you don't have to risk anything.
...I did finally get my acupuncture treatment and only my pal knows what she was treating 'cause I filled out the form and gave it to her and she started putting needles in but didn't want to have much of a conversation in the public space which I totally appreciated. Over all, I liked it and will go back for a second treatment at her office. But I totally can't pay after that so I will stick to my regular Chiropracter for which my insurance pays, and my LMT, who gives me a great deal, even though I really can't afford that either, but it is the only thing that keeps my body moving without a lot of pain which I really am tired of experiencing.
As for current events or what's in the news... some uber Republican came bounding out of the closet yesterday and said, get this, "there is room for gays in the Republican party." and then proceeded to say it took him this long to come to terms with his gayness. Well, here's my dig on this.
Are you fucking kidding me? First, apparently everyone except him knew he was gay when he was serving at the right hand of Bush II. Second, he worked his ASS off putting anti-marriage equality constitutional amendments on every ballot in every state he could. And finally, just where should the gays fit in his "Republican party?" Should they hang out with the rabidly homophobic religious zealots who live in the ultra right wing of the party? or, instead, should they stay in the closet and continue hating themselves and all others like them until they get CAUGHT or only until they get out of politics when it won't matter (like he did)?
As long as gays in general do not have complete equal standing in the eyes of the law, others will continue to take advantage of folks who have consistantly been told "you are not the same as me" and "not only are you not the same, you are less than me - less valuable, less worthy of love, or protection."
I am not speaking hypothetically here folks.
I nearly died. I took a bunch of pills and I nearly died because a group of old white men hauled me in front of them and kicked me out of my church. They said there was "no place for me in this or any other church." I was never told why, just that I was not to come back, I wasn't even offered the option of repenting. How could I? They wouldn't tell me what I had done wrong. That is because up to that point I hadn't done anything "wrong." It was gossip, innuendo. The only thing they said was I was UNNATURAL. I hadn't even come out yet. I was 15.
Every one of them was an "upstanding citizen," conservative, and most likely to vote the Anti-Abortion ticket back then. Yeah. Right. Gays are completely welcome in the Republican party - right along side those guys in the First Baptist Church, Southern of Butt Fark, Colorado.
No thanks, but welcome to the gay community Mr. Idontcarewhatyournameis, it's good to have you along for the ride. Now that you don't have to risk anything.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
here we go
Okay, so I have been reading a ton of other blogs, okay maybe not a ton, but one really amazing blog all the way back to the beginning of time. Okay, maybe not the beginning of time but the beginning of the blog and I was struck by www.theredneckmommy.com 's Tanis who must be one of the most resilient human beings on the planet and while I was reading it, I realized I am pretty fucking resilient myself. Also, she is really funny. Yeah, me I am not really that funny even though I was voted best sense of humor for one of my yearbooks. But it was a tie between me and someone else and since I worked on the yearbook committee and the other person didn't I won. Well, maybe that is not the best way to start a blog by announcing I may have totally stolen an election when I was a freshman in HS, but considering how freaking mean people were to me then, I think I had it coming. Anyway...
I was reading about Tanis the redneck mommy and thinking how crappy her fucking life was and I realized mine was at least as crappy as that and I really hadn't done much to change it, so I decided I SHOULD WRITE A BLOG too. 'Cause apparently it worked out really well for her and well, maybe it could work out well for me - though I really don't want to live in Buttfark Alberta Canada. I would really rather not live in the north at all but here I am.
So, you may wonder how on earth I could compare my miserableness to a woman whose 4 year old child died and I would agree that really fucking sucks, SERIOUSLY. But as I am sure she would agree there are all kinds of misery and I think it was Carol Burnett who said comedy is tragedy plus time, so maybe I will occasionally bring the funny accidentally, even though she (and by she I mean Tanis the redneck mommy, NOT Carol Burnett) means to bring the funny when she talks about her boobs and dildos and her dead little boy. 'Cause my GAWD if you don't find the funny eventually you just shrivel up and die. I can totally attest to that! I have nearly done it. Really. Over and Over. 'Cause I have a hard time with the funny.
Mostly I am going to let this blog be my stream of consciousness blog. Miz Reenie Neal taught us that in High School and I haven't done it in a really long time. Maybe I will get the funny, or maybe Poetry will pop out of my head and land on my blog - that would be nice since I haven't been able to write poetry since well, it's been a long time. And we will get to the stories of my misery eventually, but tonight, I am just getting started with a few basics.
For now let's suffice it to say, nope, I haven't had a kid die on me. Instead, I will eventually tell you about my son Chandler who is not dead but who I have not been allowed to see for 7 years now. I will also tell you about my mom who did die on me and my older and younger sister and the long drawn out story of that struggle. I will probably tell you all about being in a mental hospital or two and how that totally sucks the big weenie not to mention makes it hard to convince folks you aren't crazy when really you are, a little bit. And finally I will talk about making it through all this fucking shit in my life and ending up living with an ex girlfriend, sharing a dog and a cat and doing paperwork for a dog rescue and canning tomatoes and cukes for the first time in my life and whatever else I end up doing to keep from falling off the edge of the sanity couch.
Oh and I will probably talk a lot about politics. How I roll- serious lefty-and what pisses me off about the right wing nut jobs who make up lies that other people are completely willing to believe. Okay, maybe that will be where I start, but I need to start tomorrow because I have totally got to go to sleep now even though I had that cup of coffee at 4 pm which I SHOULDN'T have done.
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