• Left of East- An Introduction

    In the summer of 2013, I embarked on a solo backpacking adventure across Northern Michigan. With no one to talk to along the way, my journal became a powerful and necessary companion. I wrote journal nearly every day, sometimes many times a day, to capture the events and insights of my time on the trail […]

  • One Cry Fix All

    My submission to The Moth Detroit StorySLAM topic: “Blood Sweat and Tears” When you go through a difficult time in your life, your body naturally deals with it by going into shock. This is a beautiful response because it allows you to go on with your life and get through every day when you’re not […]

  • A Real New Yorker

    They say you’re not a real New Yorker until you’ve cried in public.

  • CH@NGE

    The mathematical symbol for change is a neat little triangle Δ. I can remember drawing it on my notebook with a pencil. The teacher told us what it meant, and we took her work for it, but I wondered why, if we were describing change, did my pencil end up back where it started. There has […]

  • Light on Blight

    I grew up in a sweet, serene, safe community: a bastion of purity in small-town Michigan. We had no world-class issues. The police blotter in the local paper was comedically innocent: “raccoon topples garbage can,” “local man double-parks van.” But not too far away, trouble loomed large. Detroit, with its towering tombs was a shame to […]

  • On Solitude

    People, like deer and celebrities, tend to cluster amongst themselves. Anytime you should encounter a sitcom star, be still! Lower your gaze. Chances are good that his Emmy-winning girlfriend and the whole supporting cast will come trundling after.

WhyWhy

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A Monday night.

We got back to Holly House after a visit in Clio. Ada fell asleep in the car, Mark talked about his Dad. Louie was in a good mood and didn’t stop us from talking or make us play his music. As we pulled up, we spotted two wild turkeys in the yard and, as soon as Louie was free from his car seat, he chased after them, barefooted, and threw his hands up in confusion when they ran away.

Jeff hopped on the tractor, and then the lawnmower. I changed Ada’s diaper and put her in a sweet white nightgown that’s too long on her. I nursed her, hoping she’d fall back asleep while reading “The Diggers” with Louie while he sucked down a “whoa ha.” Really, we read it together, since he has a few lines on every page. Tonight, he also noticed the starfish for the first time, and therefore, so did I.

Ada wide awake, Louie wide awake, we went outside. Mark was grumbling about the weed whip, the kids and I headed for the pond. Louie jumped on the dock two feet at a time and squealed when a nearby frog took cover. He got his frog stick, proud to find it leaning against the big oak where he’s stashed it earlier, and we quickly found three big bullfrogs near the shore in their usual spots. Louie was gentle enough with the stick, and sent them jumping and swimming away one after another. Continue reading →

Ode to Ada

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Photo Credit: Eleanor Oakes

I am built from an egg that formed in the womb of my grandmother,
which contained instructions for my forming, birthing, growing, and even my ability to support life.
Different parts of me have been slowly unfolding all my life without my knowledge or permission;
and even though I don’t know about them, I believe they are there;
and even though I can’t understand them, I believe they are there for a reason.
Like the first and last keys on a piano, sitting untouched for most compositions,
they stand ready for rare songs on certain days when the moment strikes.

Yesterday, the instrument of my body played notes it’s never played before.
I felt sensations I’ve never felt as my body guided my daughter from my womb.
I let out low guttural bellows that resonated in my very bowels.
My skin stretched like a drum, plucked to the point of rupture as her head passed through;
there was function even in its failure,
and maybe even a note no human ear could perceive.

My highest keys strummed when my arms held a child still attached to me from the inside,
and felt the ecstasy of witnessing and participating in a miracle.
Amidst the tears and laughter, my body silently released her placenta and tapped liquid gold.
My body knew to do all this and more, even though that knowledge lives in a place so deep I could never truly see or explain it.

Today I am so proud.
But most of what I can take credit for is not what my body did, but that I let it.
I trusted that this body, that once knew its own way out of my mother, could reciprocate.
I looked beyond the fears of the well-meaning doubters,
I stayed home in bed with my husband, sisters, mother, and midwife around me,
and with their help, let my body lead.
My body and hers, that is.
We worked together as we have as long as she has been a seed in her grandmother’s belly.
And here we are now,
together at last,
ready to play all the other notes that life has in store for us.

Half Full

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There is no coping yourself

when you make new life.

You cannot pass on without combining. 

You cannot combine without diluting.

There is no gain without loss

You can be sad about the loss, but do not grieve it too long.

It is inevitable, it is right, and it is good.

Child, you will be of your mother, you will be of your father,

but you will be yourself.

Leaving Eden

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You are never hungry
But you cannot taste
You are completely safe
But you cannot see
You are always warm
But you cannot feel the sun

The closest to utopia you will ever be is in the womb of your mother.

If you had a choice, would you stay?
Maybe you did chose, and maybe you decided to leave the garden
and enter the bright, cold, abundant, stark, world of color and flavor and pain.
Welcome darling, we cannot promise you it will not hurt,
but we’re so glad you are here. 

Why I Want a Home Birth

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I am 38 weeks pregnant with my second child and I am planning on having a home birth. I have loved the idea of a home birth for many years before I was ever pregnant but it has been the most difficult decision of my pregnancy. It took a long time to arrive at this answer and I feel an urge to write down the thinking behind it because, if it goes well, I want to remember the courage it took before I knew it would, and if it doesn’t go to plan, I want to at least retain the seeds of the vision.

Here is something hard: ultimately, this decision falls on me. Of course, my husband Jeff and I share in the responsibility, but the burden is not shared equally. It is my body, my labor, it will be chiefly my triumph or my blame. While a home birth may be safer and healthier the majority of the time, there are risks associated with being farther from medical care in those rare extreme cases. If anything were to go wrong, it wouldn’t just be “society” that placed the blame on me, I would do the same. That’s why I have to dig and wait and listen so much to figure out where this desire comes from. That’s why I can’t hold it too closely, or make it out to be mine alone. 

Continue reading →

42 Weeks

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These days, I am shucking time,

running my hands over every moment, 

I feel them as they pass

and I ask each one-

are you the Now where it begins?

 

So far, they are silent,

I let them fall beneath me.

And because I am made to wait,

I have made contact with more time than ever before.

I have lived a month of Christmas Eves. 

 

We are connected, about to separate.

We are separate, about to connect.

You are not late, dear,

I just do not know the time.

 

Anxious, hopeful, excited- I settle into patience.

Because this is not Amazon and this is not Zoom,

this is a ship crossing an ocean toward a foggy shore.

Where I wait,

a bit blind,

ready when you are, for the moment you arrive.

Hamtramck Goodbye Letter: A Reflection on Leaving the Place I Got to Call Home

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Originally published by the Hamtramck Review 7/1/22

I will be moving from Hamtramck soon. This is a move with a reason, this is a move on purpose, this is a move toward the life my husband Jeff and I are trying to build. But for all the reasons my head understands, the thought of it still hurts my heart. Moving is something I used to do like a knight in a game of chess- jerking across the board in a mixture of defense and offense without any obvious direction. It was casual and often easy. This move feels more like a transplant. I’m wincing already in anticipation of the roots I will have to rip and tear to leave this place. I am mourning both my memories of the past and my dreams of a future here that will never be. After years of wandering, I let myself make a home in this house, so no wonder it hurts to leave it. As one of my favorite authors, Thomas Lynch, says: “grief is the tax we pay on our attachments.”

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A Lifeline for Low Income Hamtramck Homeowners

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Originally Published in the Hamtramck Review Feb 20, 2022

For the past two years, Hamtramck homeowners with delinquent taxes have had a reprieve from tax foreclosure. But, this year, tax foreclosure is back, and the March 31 deadline will soon be upon us. 166 Hamtramck properties are at risk of tax foreclosure this year, including 86 owner-occupied homes (by my best estimation). The stakes are high, but we have never had such good tools to protect the homes of the most vulnerable. A poverty exemption for low-income homeowners has the power to STOP foreclosure, and reduce tax debt with a new payment plan called “Pay As You Stay.” These tools are nothing if residents aren’t aware of them, so please read on and consider becoming an advocate for your neighbors to spread this information before it’s too late.

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In Memoriam of dear Alto

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Originally published in the Hamtramck Review

Beloved tabby, En Voz “Alto” Oberholtzer passed away this week in front of his home on Trowbridge street. He was approximately 5 years and 9 lives old. Alto met his demise fleeing from the neighbor’s uninhibited dog,  only to collide with a car that failed to slow before (or after) impact. So ended a lifetime of unabashed independence roaming the streets of Hamtramck with more freedom than a songbird, which he was quite fond of.


Alto is survived by his loving caretakers, Michele Oberholtzer and Jeff Zimmerman, who called him theirs, but knew he was actually everyone’s, and no one’s. 

Alto was likely born somewhere near the Highland Park-Detroit border. He joined Michele’s family by serenading her in the parking lot of Detroit Unity Temple Church in a convincing display of orphanhood. He has subsequently used that move on approximately 35% of the residents of Hamtramck, who have alternately pet him, fed him, and temporarily adopted him depending on their generosity and/or gullibility.

Alto did not experience boundaries. His turf ranged from Burger to Evaline, from Gallagher to Lumpkin, traveling solo or following Michele from his personal kitty sidewalk along the curb. He explored basements and scaled rooftops. He navigated city street and wooded forests. He frequented many local establishments including Whiskey in the Jar, Olomon Cafe, Planet Ant Theatre, Best Deals Furniture and once, surreptitiously, Al Haramein. He loved few but was affectionate toward all. He rarely deigned to wear a collar.

Alto may or may not be a casualty of the excessive speeds on Hamtramck streets, maybe it was just bad timing. But, we who love him hope that his passing will be a reminder for all pedestrians to be so so careful, and to all drivers to slow down as though life was fragile, because it is.