A bit of background for this week’s post and its foundation – Last week, the alumni association of a North Georgia college – University of North Georgia [UNG] -put out letter for “love stories of alumni” that involved the old NGC [North Georgia College – It was a military school) .
FYI – maybe 8 or 10 years ago the Board of Regents of the University of Georgia [my alma mater] combined North Georgia College with Gainesville College [where I was Chairman of Humanities for three years- called Gainesville Junior College [GJC]at that time] and all the other campuses of each ranging from Oconee (near Athens) to Dawsonville( which is now an Alpharetta suburb) making UNG 2nd largest in GA.They were interested in campus stories, alumni who may have met on the way, etc. My friends’ story will be a part of Valentine Day on UNG’s social media.
“Gates, Class of 1957 and Kay , who attended 1956, 57 and again in ’68, but never graduated
You might say one teacher was responsible for our romance! Gates was a senior at NGC and I was a sophomore. He was in advanced German while I was a beginner. We had met very fleetingly my freshman year but both of us had other sweethearts. It happened that neither of those sweethearts had returned. That set the stage for some interesting German lessons. We would meet at the Canteen to review my homework and work on vocabulary. By the end of the quarter both of us made A’s in our separate levels of German. But that’s getting ahead of things.
During fall break Gates brought back his fraternity pin from his first year and half at UGA. He pinned it on me as we sat on the concrete bench behind the old Science Building. The last time we were on campus that bench was still there. At Thanksgiving, I went to Thomasville and picked out an engagement ring. Then at Christmas Gates put the ring on my finger and we were engaged! Pretty fast moving for a marriage that has lasted almost 65 years. The photo below was made at the Military Ball just before Christmas break in 1956.
Winter quarter went by and both of us had made the Deans list. Of course we had studied a lot because three times we were on a weeks room arrest for such a sinful thing as holding hands on campus. Since my roommate worked nights at the library, she could find us some place to really study and it paid off in good grades. Then we’d have the nice walk back to Lewis Hall that made it all worthwhile. Plans were in the making for an early June wedding in Gainesville.
During spring quarter Gates got infectious mono and NGC insisted he withdraw from school. That meant no graduation with his class in June. He made a fast recovery and we continued plans for a June 2 wedding. We were married in the chapel of the old First Baptist Church in Gainesville on June 2, 1957. Registering for summer school, Gates was able to arrange to be tutored in organic chemistry by a Professor and by a Captain in Military making it possible for him to graduate at the end of the summer session. I went back to school too. We rented a little apartment on Sunset Drive just behind the infirmary. In fact, Aunt Sara taught me to make corn bread! At the end of the session I pinned Gates’ 2nd Lt. bar on in the military building along with 3 other couples.
Gates’ first duty station was with a Nike Hercules battery in the Philadelphia Air Defense. During the next twenty years, a dozen locations followed. Some were good, some not so good and some great. Early in those years we had one daughter an one son.
After retirement we spent 18 years on the Florida Gulf Coast enjoying life there until the hurricanes and mosquitoes became too much.
Just after Gates’ 60th birthday in 1996, we moved to North Georgia near Lula in Banks County. The first NGC friend we found just a couple of miles down the road at Adamson’s Hardware. Gardening, antiquing and going to the casino were fun in those years. We have been here nearly 26 years. Our son lives in Gainesville and our daughter in Murphy, NC. Two of our grandchildren have graduated from North Georgia.
Gates will celebrate his 86th birthday on February 9 and I have my 85th in July. His health isn’t good as he has had lots of heart problems along the way. Foot, knee and back problems make a walker necessary at all times. He depends on his Kindle and iPad but typing is difficult. That’s why I am writing “our story”. We celebrated our 50th anniversary at the Alumni House in Dahlonega but plan to celebrate the 65th on June 2, 2022 at home.
I live in Paris, France. In the 16e. The Auteuil. Inside myself, I am “Janet” from Gainesville. Or “Jay” from Los Angeles. I love both of them.
I am just living in Paris. What does that mean? Taking down garbage, getting mail, paying the housekeeper, buying groceries. Except you must know what that means. You must know how to pay utilities and how to start and stop them, if necessary. You must know how to set the phone if you are going for a walk. You must know what to do if you are going to the doctor or the prefecture or to get your identity card and your vaccination. And it is important to know what to do in a restaurant or café or bar. Each one has its own way of doing things. It is not for the faint of heart. You cannot be helpless. One blogger calls it “adulting”. You must grow up. Visiting is different. It is all different from the USA. And it helps if you can speak French. Oops.
Music is known to extensively activate the human brain, and increased blood flow can help the brain recover by helping to restore the blood vessels and synaptic connections damaged by stroke. Meet Daphine. This is the new name for my piano. I used to call her “Bessie” but that was not French enough.
Dr. Google – “Functional magnetic resonance imaging activation patterns correlated with rapid movements of fingers in each hand separately and together demonstrating that subcortical and cerebellar pathways were activated during skilled motor function of the piano player’s left hand. Contralateral cerebral and cerebellar activation occurred with both left- and right-hand movements. During tapping of the left fingers, there was bilateral cerebellar, parietal, and left premotor strip and left thalamic activation.”
SO – I am a former piano player who needs recovery from brain strokes. I must help my piano heal my brain. How?
This will be an experiment. Puzzle to solve. I need help. NOW – New beginning new life now. Post pandemic problem Am I up to the task? Can I do it? YES . I am willing to be.
Right now I have a piano sitting in my living room and it is REALLY out of tune. It needs a lot of repairs.
For SALE BY OWNER AS IS. 18000 euros. Steinway piano that my family has owned since 1947 – Gainesville, Georgia USA. Steinway built by Steinway in NYC. Serial Number is 323432, AS IS. I inherited it from my mother the 1980s when I was living in Los Angeles (Pacific Palisades) California. I retired from practicing law in California and moved to Nice, France in October 2015. I am now 84 and living in Paris, France, since February 2020. I live in the 16e of Paris. 18,000 euros AS IS.
I tried to sell it but no luck because people are holding on to their money and then I read about music and the brain. I have had several brain strokes. In the fall of 2020. I blame high blood pressure and lots of upsets and anger. But I am still writing and doing for myself. So I am better but I need to get better. I have difficulty walking and the pandemic and bad weather in Paris are not good. I hesitate to practice because of my neighbors but I have been doing scales anyway. I need to practice to get my fingers to work again. So, I decided to get bids on fixing it. And, I will do scales while I wait for the bids. So far, I have had one man look at it. I am waiting to see what he bids.
Isn’t it gorgeous??? I love that piano very much. It goes where I go. Until now. I don’t think I am supposed to sell it.. I used to be very good. I never could sight-read, but I practiced diligently. When Daddy bought the piano, it was for the family. All three children played it. Mother just got us to and from lessons. Barbara was the most advanced but when she got sick with ruptured appendix, that stopped everything. And she and Patricia moved out of the house, so I kept taking lessons and playing the piano. I did a private recital when I was a senior in high school. I was a Music Major in piano at the University of Wisconsin for a minute but my professors were too hard. I inherited [early inheritance] the piano in the 1980s and now it is MINE!!!!! Ok, it needs repair. Here are some more pictures.
So, this is my post pandemic project/experiment for the next year. Wish me luck.
What is on my mind this morning? A short one. Welllll, during the week I examined my friends that are no longer part of my journey at this time (because of holding a grudge), and I had certain friends not like my pursuit of positivity (because I am working with brain strokes) and I found out that my daughter is still alive. Life is good. So, today I want to ramble some more. Today’s subject is about my lifelong pursuit of beauty. My sister teased me about all the pictures I had of myself. I had pictures of myself all over the house. Welll…..
Everyone has a story. Some of us tried to be parents. Some chose not to be. We built our foundations during life, according to what we knew and/or what we think we learned. I can only talk about what happened to me. You know what happened to you. FYI, if this is too personal, stop reading ! I am working on solutions and this might not be for you.
I did not want to be like my mother, so I built my foundation differently from hers. So, I thought. (sigh) she’s 15 in this photo
I don’t think my way worked any better than hers, even though I thought so at the time. Now, my kids did not want to be like their parents and each child is doing it differently. And so it goes. But now, I need to reconstruct everything and take risks. Each child is still alive so there is still hope.
What happened? Let’s look. This is what I remember. It may or may not be accurate.
Dr Davis delivered me at home. He was the general practitioner who did it all. One stop shopping. And he was my family doctor for years after that. In later body work, i was told that my skull had problems – possible birth damage. Lopsidedly off in a way not fixable. Oops. My birth certificate says 11:30 a.m. but it was done from memory and after the birth. Tuesday, March 30, 1937. So accuracy was not important at that time.
I don’t think mother wanted another girl. She did not want to be pregnant. Daddy wanted a son. So I was another girl with a lopsided skull. Oops.
So I was raised to be a son replacement. He taught me how to shake hands, make speeches, work in his office as a clerk. He introduced me to the farmers and groomed me to take over the business one day. He did not care what I looked like. Mother did. Darrell did. The neighbors did. Hollywood did. I did. Still do.
How perfect you were when you were a tiny baby. Babies do not have to do anything to become perfect; they already are perfect, and they act as if they know it. They know they are the center of the Universe. They are not afraid to ask for what they want. They freely express their emotions. You know when a baby is angry— in fact, the whole neighborhood knows. You also know when babies are happy, for their smiles light up a room. They are full of love. Tiny babies will die if they do not get love. Once we are older, we learn to live without love, but babies will not stand for it. Babies also love every part of their bodies, even their own feces. They have incredible courage. You were like that. We were all like that. Then we began to listen to adults around us who had learned to be fearful, and we began to deny our own magnificence.
Nothing was ever good enough for Mother. I will let you think about what I remember –
Don’t judge. They wanted to be good parents. They wanted to love each other. Mother did what she thought was right.
Earliest Memory: I had a pink blanket with white reindeer that I loved. mother and daddy decided I needed to let go. One day it disappeared. Mother told she had burned it in the trash can. It was gone forever. I was broken-hearted. I got over it. Later I was looking in the dining room chest of drawers and discovered that blanket stuffed in a drawer. Mother had lied. She could not be trusted. I no longer cared about the blanket. I learned – NEVER trust anyone! People lie. No love. No trust.
ANOTHER EARLY MEMORY: Someone was going to get us children and take us away and harm us. He had a name «peeping Tom», so look under the bed and fix the blinds and shades to prevent cracks and spaces EVERY NIGHT to be sure no one was under there before going to bed for the night.
I WAS NOT PERFECT ENOUGH FOR A GIRL: I had certain imperfections that had to be fixed – a space between my two front teeth, and I sucked my right thumb and might have buck teeth. THAT WAS NOT OK. So I had a wire thumb guard taped to my right hand at night with adhesive tape. That did not work. Medicine that burned my mouth was put on my thumb. Lots of begging me to stop . Something worked. I stopped sucking my thumb. But my teeth had to be fixed to get rid of the space. Surgery to remove the cartilage in the middle. Uvula. That was done. Then braces to correct. And a retainer for years to maintain correction.
NOSE IS WRONG: And my nose had a bump. Oops. Someone called it Roman and that was not a compliment to Mother. She took it personally. She did not like her nose. And it looks like she had a space between her teeth. OOPS. Put on list to fix in the future. But teeth come first.
DON’T TOUCH GIRLS. EVER. I don’t remember getting touched by mother I was touched by Mamie (the hired help) but mother fired her for having an uppity attitude and Daddy NEVER TOUCHED ME. Daddy only touched me to lift me up on a truck for a show. And down he taught me a speech to do, he thought I was cute doing his speech. Mother only would touch me in church and let me put my head in her lap. AND, I had to take Miss Hosch’s elocution class to be ready for the recital. I had to do a speech “I m Just a Raggedy, Raggedy Doll” and go limp in the performance. Perfection was the goal. So, I learned to hide the truth, pretend not to read the truth, and not to speak the truth. Bury the truth, show off to please.
Well that does not work for me for me anymore. I am not sure what does. It must be reconstructed new. In PARIS. NOW or in the future – hopefully.
I am contemplating what I want to work going forward in the post pandemic time ahead. Saying YES to life and taking risks and playing and writing and discovering new things and people and breaking my own rules. Yes. I am starting over, and I begin again every day
I have started writing at random and so I will post something at random. There will be no rhyme or reason to it. Today’s post is random. I plan to start another session and want to get this one up on JAYSPEAK. I enjoy doing it, and I am following the joy. And, it is dedicated to love.
“The quality of mercy” is a speech given by Portia in William Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice (Act 4, Scene 1). In the speech, Portia, disguised as a lawyer, begs Shylock to show mercy to Antonio. The speech extols the power of mercy, “an attribute to God Himself.” The quality of mercy is not strained.
Portia speaks in Act 4, Scene 1 of Shakespearean comedy, “The Merchant of Venice.”The quality of mercy is not strained;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
‘T is mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown:
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway;
It is enthronèd in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God’s
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this,
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much
To mitigate the justice of thy plea;
Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice
Must needs give sentence ‘gainst the merchant there.”
I spent time in my birthday book this morning because my family and a lot of my friends have birthdays coming up for the next few months including me. I want to give myself reminders. No problem. I have everything on the refrigerator and at my desk on my daily guide. And I am adding to my book every day. I now have a mishmash of 71 pages with a working title of “The Black Swan’s Song “. or TBSS”.
And I continue with my work releasing resentments , criticism, guilt, and fear. I usually wake up with fear and need to work on that immediately. And this morning I woke up with Portia’s speech in my head. I love that speech and wanted to play her in the University of Georgia’s main stage production but I did not get the part. I memorized it anyway and performed it as a scene from time to time. There were three of us lead actresses in our Drama Department and another girl got that part. I got Juno in Sean O’Casey’s “Juno and the Paycock”. Wonderful years in graduate school. Mornings are better than afternoons so I do important things in the morning, if possible. I love breakfast and my cereal with blueberries.
I am also watching SAG movies on my Eurobox at dinner time because I have a lot of included movies and I always vote on the SAG AWARDS. I watched CODA and THE EYES OF TAMMY FAYE and KING RICHARD and five more. I am amazed at the quality of the work. I am so proud of my colleagues. THE MORNING SHOW was good and HALSTON. I won’t watch the awards because of the time difference but I will read about it online. And watch bits and pieces on social media.
I had a rough night last night. I woke up very negative and forced myself to positive. I was thinking about people who bother me. And my irritation with people who hold grudges for a lifetime. Even perceived grudges. Hearsay grudges. The reason for the grudge does not have to be true. I used to think that was a southern thing but now I think it is a human thing the world over. Portia’s speech speaks today. Shakespeare- whoever he really was- was an amazing, insightful person. But, I want to talk about grudges. They seem to run through my family and my friends and many associates. HMMMMM. A recurring theme through my life. Is Life trying to teach me something? I have heard lots of people talk about people who don’t talk to them anymore. Distance yourself? What if you prefer the relationship?
Grudges, – For example, after my sister’s death, my niece posted something I did not think was appropriate about my brother in law on Facebook. I objected when I could have ignored it. I spoke up. She told me to mind my own business. I got angry and unfriended her. I got over it and apologized and tried to ré friend her. No. Holding a grudge? I think so. Does that tell me something ? About social media? My family ? My niece? How to behave ? Do I forgive and forget? Hold à family grudge? Another family grudge? I prefer the relationship.
I have several friends who don’t speak to me anymore because I wrote a journal and mentioned something about my thoughts about life and them in it. I don’t think they even read the book. Gossip was all that mattered. I was told that I must never name names. I did it anyway. What does that teach me? Several more lifetime grudges? Does it matter? Fictional names? I prefer the relationship.
And I have managed to make enemies by expressing my thoughts. And all that happened before Donald Trump and Fox News.That was before people wrote blogs. And people in my past said what they said and did what they did and I felt what I felt and it is what it is.
Steve never held a grudge. Ever. He always got over things. But, if he decided to leave, he was gone forever. I learned good lessons from him. I miss him. I treasured our relationship. I have a girlfriend Barbara who is the same way. I treasure our relationship.
I miss my people holding lifelong grudges. But I am still hoping to resume relationships in the future. Maybe. Who knows? I think that friendships are more important than grudge. But, I may be wrong. What do you think? It is easy to distance myself. But, I hope I am wrong. I am not saying to forget. Of course, you don’t forget. But, move on. Or Grow up! Is that being grown up is?
“No one is ever free until they tell the truth about themselves and the life into which they’ve been cast. Write it down; tell it to a friend in need, or a stranger who needs diversion. We are all here to be a witness to something, to be of some aid and direction to other people.”–Tennessee Williams #FolliesOfGod
So many people i love are dying. Rose, Betty, and lots more. I find that extremely frustrating. Checking out. Goodbye! Well, right now, I am still hanging in there. So I want to write my thoughts today and wander around my mind. Lots is going on inside there. I am frustrated with the pandemic and my fears. I am frustrated with my anxiety and my difficulty walking. I want to go and see and do. And I am waltzing around limitations galore. Sigh. But things are still working and are still okay and working with me and not against me. I am forgiving and letting go every day. And I am feeling successful. YES!! So this post is for fun! If you are not interested, one day you will be. Or not. As for me, I am interested.
I still have resentments. I still criticize and think a lot of people and things are stupid and tacky but I persist in the day to day practice of starting over. Sigh.
I still feel guilty about a lot of things that are in my past and gone forever. Sigh. But I am better.
I am afraid most of the time. You name it and I am afraid of it. BUT most of the time, I do it anyway unless I can avoid it.
I have been informed that 4 things cause physical damage to the brain- and I am challenging my brain. They are resentments, criticism, guilt and fear.
Okay I do ALL of them. And I daily stop. And I fail and succeed and fail and succeed. My brain is still working but my fear comes and goes. I am not watching much news anymore. That’s panic attacks for the present and future and some past. This is a problem because I want to be informed. Okay maybe I don’t need to be informed.
I am still working on my mother’s voice in my head telling me that I am mean and bossy with a mean streak down my back and nobody will ever like me. That not true but I am having difficulty reprogramming. Each day I begin again.
I am going to try to write an “old person’s book”. Okay I am going to try to work on another book . This was an amazing idea a friend of mine shared on Facebook. I like the idea. But first another thought I like
“This body of mine will disintegrate, but my actions will continue me… If you think I am only this body, then you have not truly seen me. When you look at my friends, you see my continuation. When you see someone walking with mindfulness and compassion, you know he is my continuation. I don’t see why we have to say “I will die,” because I can already see myself in you, in other people, and in future generations. Even when the cloud is not there, it continues as snow or rain. It is impossible for the cloud to die. It can become rain or ice, but it cannot become nothing. The cloud does not need to have a soul in order to continue. There’s no beginning and no end. I will never die. There will be a dissolution of this body, but that does not mean my death. I will continue, always.”
The Spirit
The final stage of life is the spirit stage. In this stage, we realize that we are more than what we have accumulated – be it money, friends, possessions, good deeds, or milestones in life. We are spiritual beings. We realize that we are divine beings in a journey of life that has no real beginning and no end. The spirit phase is characterized by a sense of “getting out of your own mind” and focusing on what is waiting for us beyond our physical beings. The philosopher Lao Tzu proposed a question over 2500 years ago that perfectly describes the spirit phase: ““Can you step back from your own mind and thus understand all things? Giving birth and nourishing, having without possessing, acting with no expectations, leading and not trying to control: this is the supreme virtue.”
These are concepts that intrigue me but I am still letting go of resentments and criticism and guilt and fear. I may be staying there for now.
So. About the book I am going to do,…My friend wrote, “I stumbled on a New Yorker article by my hero, John McPhee. So I kept the light on and dug in to McPhee’s Piece. He calls it “TABULA RASA volume one.” McPhee is 88 years old and, due to his age, hesitated to undertake to write a long book or begin a research effort for fear of dying before it was over. Then he realized it was a good idea to start “an old-people project”. He says: “Old-people projects keep old people old. You’re no longer old when you’re dead.”
He remembered that Mark Twain’s “old-person project was his autobiography, which he dictated with regularity when he was in his seventies….Repeatedly, he tells his reader how a project such as this one should be done—randomly, without structure, in total disregard of consistent theme or chronology. Just jump in anywhere, tell whatever comes to mind from any era. If something distracts your memory and seems more interesting at the moment, interrupt the first story and launch into the new one. The interrupted tale can be finished later.” McPhee then says, “That is what he did, and the result is about as delicious a piece of writing as you are ever going to come upon, and come upon, and keep on coming upon, as it draws you in for the rest of your life. If ever there was an old-man project, this one was the greatest. It is only seven hundred and thirty-five thousand words long. If Mark Twain had stayed with it, he would be alive today.” I am gearing up for my own old person’s project. Thanks Samuel Clemens and of course thanks to John McPhee. P.S. If you’re old, elderly, long in the tooth, past your prime, in your dotage and bored out of your mind, you could probably use an “old person’s project”. Mine is writing my autobio – like McPhee’s. But you might have other old person’s project ideas. If so, please share yours so other people can glean ideas for their own old persons’ projects.”
Doesn’t that sound like fun? I have already started my project. Untitled for now but I have some ideas. And I also have it formatted and dumping words and memories into it.
Welcome to 2022! We cannot go back to what is “normal”. It does not exist. Normal is different for each one of us. And — LIKE IT OR NOT – most of us are victims. I don’t need you to agree. BUT – Although all of us have been wounded and without choice in what happens to us, we can select now how we will Respond.
This is what I believe – I have been a victim all my life. I have sacrificed myself time after time to get what I want. You name it. I chose to be the victim. And now I am not. I am loving myself more. It is as simple as that. If not now, when???
Bottom line – we are all victims of victims, and our parents could not possibly have taught us anything that they did not know. If your mother did not know how to love herself, or your father did not know how to love himself, then it would be impossible for them to teach you to love yourself. Victims with secrets and hidden agendas.
They were doing the best they could with what they had been taught as children. If I did not know how to love myself, I could not possibly teach my kids to love themselves. Instead, I chose to sacrifice myself throughout my life “. I had made my bed, and now I must lie in it.”
So, my kids did not and do not know how to love themselves. How can they teach their children ? They are finding answers on their own as they sift through the confusion. doing the best that they can with what I taught them – that discipline and hard work make the day. Lots of criticism. Rough seas make good sailors. They don’t care where my rigid patterns come from. They just don’t want to be like me – frightened and scared like a cat chasing its tail. I am now suffering the consequences of that life of discipline, self -control, and hard knocks that I was taught by my parents.
Who or what have I “resented”? Who or what have I criticized? About what do I feel guilty? What am I afraid of? Am I making myself sick? Can I heal? I need to change my way of thinking. WHAT??????? Hang in there and just listen to these ideas that I am tossing out there to my JAYSPEAK readers.
Meet my sister Barbara. Every January 14th, I know that it is my sister Barbara’s birthday. I celebrate this date every year. To know Barbara was to love her. She was witty, intelligent, an accomplished pianist, beautiful, and a lover of all peoples and their cultures – popular and adored by all who knew her. (Plus, she had long eyelashes, naturally-curly hair, and a figure to die for.) She was not only my older sister but also my hero. When Mother or Patricia would get mad at me, Barbara was always there to take my side (even if undeserved – because I liked “making waves”). In her late teens, when we were vacationing in Daytona Beach, her appendix ruptured. We did not think she would survive. She did, but after that, she developed rheumatoid arthritis and struggled with her health from then on. At the time, she was attending Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tenn. She had to move to Tucson, Arizona, where she lived for the rest of her life, eventually graduating and getting her Masters Degree at the University of Arizona. She died in 2000. Her memory lives on. Lots more to her story, but this is enough for now. I will always love you, Barbara. Happy Birthday. She died February 9, 2000. She was my sister, my friend, my confident, and my inspiration. I miss her very much. But, I did not really KNOW her. I did not listen to her. I thought I knew. I am posting pictures today in her honor.
This is her daughter – the miracle baby – Anna Beth. Janet and Anna Beth! Never a dull moment when Anna Beth was around. She inherited her mother’s wit! Lots of good times and good memories!!
The Junior League (Barbara was a member) had a member who was interviewing Barbara. Barbara was still alive at the time. She said that interviewing someone she had have admired for many years is not an easy task. Barbara Jewell Asmussen is an inspiration to all who know her. Born in Gainesville, Georgia, she studied history at Vanderbilt University for three years. Then, crippled by rheumatoid arthritis, she became bedridden and was taken out of school.
Barbara came to Tucson primarily for medical reasons and soon was well enough to attend the University of Arizona where she received her bachelor’s degree in 1954. She was introduced by a mutual friend to young Richard Asmussen, a Hughes Aircraft employee and graduate student in the U of À’s MBA program. Following their wedding, Barbara decided to return to school for her teacher’s certificate. She taught fourth grade for a year at Government Heights Elementary High School’s Mardi Gras School. But she found the regime too strenuous and switched her energy to volunteer work. In 1960, she became a League provisional and the very next year had a daughter – Anna Beth. This was a miracle pregnancy and miracle birth.
After a severe health setback, Barbara became more involved in the League where she served as vice president. She was active with Planned Parenthood and served as its president, as well as serving as the president of the YWCA residential intervention center.
Uppermost in her mind was helping others, SO Barbara returned to the Universitv for the third time to take her master’s in rehabilitation counseling. She did her internship at St. Mary’s Hospital and continued to work there tor ten vears. But last year, she was moved to St. Joseph’ Hospital temporarily but found that being next door to her home was most convenient and has since made St. loe’s her permanent office.
This lady always seems to look beyond herself and has worked diligently for the handicapped, although she does not seem to fit into that category. Barbara’s philosophy of life is that wholeness is within. Although all of us have been wounded and without choice in what happens to us, we can now select how we will Respond.
Barbara was convinced that we had been emotionally abused as children. We were. Long story that I don’t want to share. Besides, they are all gone now and I have my memories and realize I had so much good happen along with the pain. I love my family. I love me, Janet. Outstanding little girl.
Did I need to show off in order to be accepted? Yes. That was the only time I got my family’s attention.
This is not to say that I did not love my family. I did. But I am wanting to feel whole and complete just as I am – with all of my imperfections.
Just something to think about during this pandemic. Welcome to 2022! Be happy. Be present. Get with the program. If not now, when.?
What is on my mind this morning? WELLllllll, a lot. I have made it a resolution not to complain in JAYSPEAK and to be positive. (sigh) But that is NOT on my mind. So, I will distract us both by posting an article that was a memory on Facebook. It may or may not be interesting, but I am frustrated that we lost a lot of people of late – Betty White, Sidney Poitier, Peter Bogdanovich and others. Plus, I am not inspired by inspiring stories or memes of late. I did a detox and am now detoxing from the detox and forgiving myself for making a lot of mistakes. But I am making a lot of decisions right now. I of course remember fondly my acting career. I was practicing employment litigation and entertainment law at the time, So this lets you pause with me for a moment to reminisce with me. In keeping with the the theme that the glam and fame dies with me, i reminisce and apologize for the inability to read it. But maybe you will enjoy the pictures ….you can read the article here
How is that for a “lede”? Did I get your attention?
If so, get a coffee. This may take a few minutes.
I HAD A DREAM. As an early age, I knew that I wanted big things for me. What? I did not know, but it was big.
I used to dream of Europe, living somewhere in Europe. And anything that came between me and my dream, I eliminated.
In college, I had the opportunity to study at the Sorbonne for a year. Mother would not let me go. Too many foreigners to do me wrong. That is what foreigners do. (Sigh). That was when I knew that I had to get to Paris, one way or the other.
LOTS of passages. Men, careers.
And one by one, I moved on. And now I am here!! I am so happy. Not all of us are still alive. I AM!!!
Now, it is not my idea of a good landing in the middle of a worldwide pandemic, but here I am. I will admit that I feel late to the party. But I AM HERE! Paris.
OK, it is/was not everyone’s dream, but it was mine. IT propelled me all my life. Not Gainesville. Atlanta. Not Nice. PARIS. And all of the stops in between.
THE PROBLEM IS I am a small town girl, needing to embrace a city. How? Like I did Los Angeles?
No. This is different.
How?
I don’t know yet. I am going to try to find out. From my point of view, they say that every great city has a pulse. San Francisco has one, so does Boston, London, and New York to be sure. But to have a pulse, one must have a heart. This town has a heart and it beats like a kettledrum. The traffic is still just short of frantic. And the people still walk with a pace and a purpose. It is possible to tour without a car, a taxi, a bus or even the Metro. The great cities are the ones you can walk in – say hello to a great city Police with sub-machine guns walk the streets, but there are no scars, there is no fear. Life goes on. This place was here long before the terrorists and it will be here long after. That said, Mister Porter had it right. “I love Paris every moment!”–
And a big shout out to my teachers en route. When a student is ready, a teacher appears IF the student is willing to learn. I am expanding my Universe. And, in 2022, I plan “to embrace” Paris.
How? I don’t know yet.
December 22, 1933 was Hadidjah’s birthday. Hadidjah was an important teacher in my life. Here is the beginning of a list that I made of my “teachers” of important life lessons. And, I don’t have confidence in Karma. I am not sure that most students are willing to learn. And life may or may not force it upon them. I count myself in among those willing to learn. PLUS, life most time insisted a lot of times. Haha.
So, I have been thinking about “teachers” in my life – that magically appeared, or I happened to meet by accident. Synchronicity? Maybe. There have been a lot that made my list over the years. Some are good memories. Some are painful memories.
Daddy (both good and painful)
Ruby Parks (good)
Barbara Jewell (my sister) (both good and painful)
Miss Bessie (painful)
Jane Hulsey (painful)
Bertha Turner (painful)
Dr. Kahan (good)
Dr. Leighton Ballew (both good and painful)
Josiah Crudup (both good and painful)
Lou Pilgrim (both good and painful)
Hadidjah (good)
Audrey Boehn (both good and painful)
And more throughout life and others who continue to this day.
Have you had “teachers” in your life? Each one of us has teachers appear from time to time because life is a process that is ever-changing if I/we am/are alive. And, recently, I have discovered that I harbor grudges. Oops. AND, I am in Paris, trying to enlarge my universe and get healthy. And money is a problem. BIG OPPS.
So, I am on a crash course heading to find out why I think I am here and letting go of my mistakes in the past and forgiving bad experiences. And, if you have a problem with that, STOP READING THIS BLOG. And, by the way, HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYBODY. NEW YEAR, NEW LIFE for all of us. Every moment is brand new.
ON MY MIND THIS WEEK, expand your UNIVERSE. Learn something new every day, no matter how small and how insignificant it is.. We are STILL IN THE WOODS!!!! and we are going to be there from now on. Get used to it. And create your own universe. What do I mean and…..
What am i learning?
I am very interested in the politics of my country. I don’t write about it, but I follow what is happening with great interest. And I follow several historians who describe what is happening in terms of the historical in America. And in France, I read the French newspapers online and I am succeeding in detaching myself emotionally from American history and European history. My memory is so-so but some of it sticks. It keeps me busy during these Covid times. Today, I was surprised to learn that this has all happened before. These were the first lines in a pamphlet called The American Crisis that appeared in Philadelphia on December 19, 1776. If I ever learned this, I did not pay attention. Now, I am paying attention.
Quotes that I like today are these:
“These are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman.”
“These are the times that try men’s souls.”
“Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered,” Paine wrote in that fraught moment, “yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives everything its value.”
I then looked up “dearness” and this is what I discovered. It is a noun. Duh.
er, dear·est
1.
a. Loved and cherished: my dearest friend.
b. Greatly valued; precious: lost everything dear to them.
2. Highly esteemed or regarded. Used in direct address, especially in salutations: Dear Lee Dawson.
3.
a. High-priced; expensive.
b. Charging high prices.
4. Earnest; ardent: “This good man was a dear lover and constant practicer of angling”(Izaak Walton).
5. Obsolete Noble; worthy.
6. Heartfelt: It is my dearest wish.
n.
1. A person who is greatly loved. Often used as a form of address.
2. An endearing, lovable, or kind person: What a dear she is!
adv.
1. With fondness; affectionately.
2. At a high cost: sold their wares dear.
interj.
Used as a polite exclamation, chiefly of surprise or distress: oh dear; dear me.
When I was a young student at the University of Georgia, I took a course in European history. I had learned a lot about American history and Southern history, but never European. I think that I avoided it because there was so much of it. And, everything was in a different language – people, leaders, and places. All wars were significant for one reason or other, and I did not understand any of it. My grade point average was very important to me, and I did not know how I could make a good grade in so complex of a subject. But it was a requirement for my degree, so I did not have much of a choice. So, I signed up.
My professor was a man in his 40’s who was pleasant. He smiled a lot. But I did not look forward to his lectures. My main worry was taking notes and not knowing how to spell anything. It was difficult at first, but I soon decided that I had to be selective with what I wrote down. He planned to have pop quizzes frequently. And, I had to use phonetics for spelling. Lots of problems with complicated solutions. But he seemed to understand that we would have problems. So, he helped us out.
After he had made a factual point, he would say “and the significance of this battle (or this man, or this whatever….). THAT WAS what would be on the test!!! Take a note. And that is the way I learned European History, what little I know. France is complicated enough, much less all of Europe.
I don’t remember his name, but I will ALWAYS remember that course. And today, I find myself saying “And the significance of that is……” Try it. It helps you understand life and living in these busy, confusing times.
Last week, a friend asked me if I liked living in Paris in my 80’s, and was I glad I moved from Nice in 2020?
My answer is a resounding YES and YES.
Why? You are living there in a pandemic with lots of rules and you don’t speak the language well. You are in an apartment on the edge of the city.
I cannot write about that now. But I am changing BIGTIME. Chapter 11 is amazing. I have no idea where it will lead, but I am engaged in all of it. And, the significance of all of this is…….. JAYSPEAK now has stats that are booming. 50,000 views, 14,000 visitors. From all over the world. Thank you very much.
Happy Holidays to all of you.
Stay tuned. I am expanding my universe and the significance of that is I am changing, like it or not. It gives new meaning to “kaleidoscopic shift”
This is a pitch for my book that I transcribed from the Journal that I wrote at that time in my life. It can be bought on Amazon. I tried to edit the entire book, but I cannot continue. I have had minorbrain strokes and am doing the best I can. I can write my blog but not edit a book, haha. So the Journal will remain as it is. I like it. I rewrote the unpublished preface for you to read in this blog. But, I won’t be publishing it. Here is the NEW Preface that I wrote before the strokes. Word of warning- I still have a lot to say and strong opinions so stay tuned…..
Preface
This is based on an intensive daily journal that I wrote when I got to Los Angeles, California in July 1968. I arrived from Gainesville, Georgia, after having a lot of problems getting out of town. I was a junior college professor. Actually, I was the Chairman of the Division of Humanities. That was a PhD position and I needed to get my PhD. I was accepted in the Theatre History doctorate program at UCLA in Los Angeles. But there were other considerations that propelled me to travel cross-country. In my heart, I wanted to be a professional actress in film and television. AND I was married to a guy I didn’t like but was sexually attracted to and had gotten pregnant, gotten married for my family’s reputation, and had three small children by the time I was 27. Oops.
The problem was – I thought the grass was greener somewhere else even though Daddy kept telling me that it was not! In disgust, I decided he did not know because he was trapped. That was why he drank so much. No wonder! I would drink, too, if I were married to Mother. But he had ‘made his bed; he must lie in it.:” Oh, for goodness sakes, life was not a bunch of clichés. Life was to be lived! And, I must leave Gainesville before I, too, got trapped because “it was the early bird who got the worm”, and I was “already late to the party”. Life was passing me by.
It was not until I was in my early 30’s that a psychiatrist helped me realize that I did not have to accept things the way they were. Yes, I had made my bed. I DID NOT have to lie in it. What????? What a concept!! Well, I definitely did not like the way things were. I then chose to do something else. Move. Where? New York City? Broadway? No. Not with three little kids. California? Hollywood? Hmmmm. Maybe. There was grass there. Plus, an ocean. My friend in theatre, Jimmie Ralston, had moved there. Hmmmm.
How would I get outta’ Dodge? I knew. I would try to get accepted into UCLA Graduate School – get my PhD in drama. And, at the same time, try to break into the film business without telling anyone. That would work. I wouldn’t tell them I planned to stay if I made it happen. I could take a year’s leave of absence from my job. I needed my PhD, anyway. I’d come back if I didn’t like it.
At that point, I started taking steps – writing letters, sending applications, doing research – to move to Los Angeles. I applied for and got accepted into the PhD program at UCLA. I applied for and almost got a Fellowship to the program. I also subscribed to the Los Angeles Times, having it mailed to my office address, in order to become familiar with the City. Needless to say, life became chaotic. Events became unpredictable and unfathomable while I was making life-altering choices that would affect the lives of those around me for years to come. Now, later in life, I painfully regret some of the choices I made. But, at the time, I forged ahead making changes right and left, believing I knew what I was doing. I was convinced that I could not grow into the person I wanted to be by staying where I was. I was destined for bigger things. Thus, I must position myself where opportunities could arise.
Who is to say that I was wrong? Maybe I was right!! I am glad I had the courage to take risks. I am proud of my children. It is all a matter of “perception” – how I perceived things then, and how I perceive things now – and how other people perceived and perceive things. The same set of facts is different for each one of us. And each of us can believe what he/she wants to believe. Most interpretations are on the surface and misconstrued, anyway – accumulated from bits and pieces of information and observations that lead to right or wrong conclusions that are hardly ever the same. It wasn’t until I went to law school in my late 50’s that I began to learn the difference between perception and facts. What happened. As an actress, I acted SUBTEXT. As an attorney, I needed FACTS.
That said… I am not focusing on facts in this Journal – well, sort of. This Journal is filled with my perceptions, my obsessions, my goals, my fears, my thoughts, my loves, and my hates – in my search for the “real ME’. I went through a LOT of changes. It is especially hard to relive all I went through during the years 1969 through 1971, because I was young, vulnerable, naïve, and very Southern. I have chosen those years because my entire family went through a “crash course” in living. I was not ready for what came at me. Neither was my husband Darrell. Or the kids. As a result, we all “grew by leaps and bounds.
1969 was the year of Woodstock, of the Beatles breakup, of the start of the draft lottery for the Vietnam War, of the trial of the Chicago Seven, or of the horror of the Manson Family murders in California. Neil Armstrong walked on the moon; the Internet was born; the first artificial heart transplant was performed; the personal computer revolution began, and the world’s largest airplane – Boeing 747-100 – took flight.
In 1970, Paul McCartney announced the Beatles had disbanded, and the Apollo 13 mission to the moon had been abandoned. 100,000 people demonstrated in Washington D.C. against the Vietnam War. A fire at a nightclub near Grenoble in Russia trapped night clubbers leaving 142 – mostly teenagers – dead. California became the first state to adopt a “No Fault” divorce law.
1971 saw China admitted to the United Nations and NASDAQ debut. The Sylmar earthquake hit the San Fernando Valley, and Walt Disney World opened in Florida. The N.Y. Times began publishing sections of the Pentagon Papers starting on June 13, showing the U.S. Government had been lying to the American people.
I was oblivious to most of that. I had just arrived in Los Angeles, California, from Gainesville, Georgia!!! I was making changes! Big changes! How? Well, in 1969, I began writing in a journal to help me “think”. And, this is what I wrote (sorta). Actually, I began writing in a journal at that point in time and have continued writing in my journal ever since. I enjoy writing. The wonder of it is that I have “published” some of it – the beginning years.
In 1971, I wrote in my journal: “I will write a book. My [working] book title will be ‘This Woman’s Search’. The gist of it will be – OK, here is the story. This is what I did and what has worked for me. I’LL TELL YOU. All you have to do is listen and see if you can use any of it. Hopefully something will hit you, and you will be motivated to do it, to begin it [write in a journal]. I could also call my Book “A Search in Progress”.” “Janet Tallulah” is somewhat of an edited transcription of my first journals – the time when I made major changes in my life journey that still remain. My search is still progressing. I am now in my 80s.
First, I want to build a foundation [“attorney-speak” for giving my readers some background]. I was born at home on Cleveland Road in Gainesville, Georgia, with Dr. Davis in attendance. It was a Tuesday, March 30, 1937. Mother and Daddy named me Janet Tallulah Jewell. Daddy’s mother was named Mary Tallulah Dickson Jewell-Loudermilk, so I was named after her. I grew up in Gainesville. My father was in the chicken business, and my mother was a housewife: Jesse and Anna Lou Jewell. I had two older sisters – Barbara and Patricia. We moved to Green Street Circle when I was four, and that remained our family home until Mother died in 2002. I loved school from Day One. As a result, I got good grades. I was a leader from the git-go. I participated in school activities, extra-curricular activities, and First Baptist Church activities.
Things changed once I left Gainesville to go to college. I chose the University of Wisconsin because I wanted to experience something different. But I was not prepared for what happened. The somewhat sheltered existence that I had lived for most of my life began to disintegrate. Everything was different. I tried to be the leader that I had been in high school, but that was not to be. I made a lot of wrong choices. I was miserable. I missed the comfort of the familiar.
In my second year of college, I met Darrell William MacIntyre. He was a Phi Gam from Madison, Wisconsin, and very good looking. He was considered a “real catch”. I was very attracted to him. I was a Kappa Alpha Theta. We dated all that year, eventually getting “pinned”. That is when a fraternity guy gives a girl his fraternity pin. It is like being engaged – college style. And, by the end of my sophomore year, I discovered that I was pregnant. So, after deciding that I did not want to get an abortion AND facing the fact that I had “ruined” my family’s good name in Gainesville, I made to decision to marry Darrell, knowing that decisions come with consequences. My life had changed forever! I cannot say that we were ever in love. We had a strong physical attraction to each other that continued for many years until he died in 1986.
All of that is a long story that I will save for another book – maybe, but I married Darrell William MacIntyre on August 17, 1957, and became Janet Jewell MacIntyre or Janet MacIntyre. Many people called me “Jan”. Still do. I think it was a Wisconsin thing- shortening names. In the fall of 1957, we moved to Madison to live until Darrell had to report to duty [as a Second Lieutenant] to Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio, Texas, in January 1958. He was stationed in Special Services at Fort Sam for two years. And that is where our daughter Tracy Lee was born – on February 23, 1958. She was a beautiful little girl. I was so happy. So was Darrell.
After Darrell got out of the service, we both enrolled in the University of Georgia, Athens, Georgia, to continue our college education. Darrell was accepted into law school, and I was accepted into a Bachelor of Arts program with a major in drama, graduating Phi Beta Kappa. That is where our son Craig Dickson was born – on April 5, 1961. After college, Darrell and I, with our small family, moved back to Gainesville, where Darrell began practicing law and I began teaching speech and drama at Brenau College.
In 1964, while teaching at Brenau, I got pregnant again, so I resigned from teaching at Brenau. I stayed out a year, giving birth to our son Blake William – on December 11, 1964. During the spring of 1965, I was hired to serve as Chairman of the Division of Humanities at a junior college, Gainesville Junior College (“GJC”) that was opening in Gainesville as part of the State University System. It was a PhD position, and I got the position on the condition that I would obtain my PhD at some point in the near future. I was the only woman in the State of Georgia to hold such a position.
So, in 1968, after discovering that UCLA had a PhD program in Theatre History, I took a year’s leave of absence from GJC to move with my family to Los Angeles to work on my PhD. I applied for a Fellowship and it looked promising. Darrell got a job as a prosecuting attorney with the U.S. Justice Department in the Criminal Division. And we rented a home in the Huntington area of Pacific Palisades, California. I did not get the Fellowship, missing it by one person. Darrell had difficulty passing the California Bar Exam. And, the children were unhappy and missed Mother and their friends in Gainesville. Life was not good. The truth be known, I did not want to go back to Georgia. Georgia itself was/is beautiful. But I had grown to hate much about my life in Gainesville. I wanted more. I LOVED California. I wanted to give my children more and better. So, I begged all of them to be patient so that I could establish residency and still get my PhD. Meanwhile, I began exploring the possibility of a career as a professional actress in film and television. Gregory Peck offered to help me. He helped me get into The Actors Studio where I started training with Lee Strasberg and his “method acting” right away.
That is enough background. This book begins in 1969. I am 32; Darrell is 35. Tracy is 11. Craig is 8. Blake is 5. All of us were young and vulnerable. AND, naïve. Darrell and I separated for a short period of time, and I had an affair during that time with Norman Russell, a good-looking, smooth-talking con-guy, who got me to loan him a lot of money. Just in time, Darrell returned and kept me from giving Norman a LOT of money. He threatened Norman with a gun, telling Norman to stay away from me. After that, we moved from Pacific Palisades to Brentwood, renting a home on North Bundy. Meanwhile, while I was “establishing residency in California” to get lower tuition at UCLA, I got an agent, Harold Swoverland. I got professional headshots taken by Max Factor’s son. I was happy.
Now, a word about “The Journal”. I began writing in a journal in 1969. A friend of mine, John Prince, told me about a weekend retreat in San Jacinto, California, that was conducted by a man named Ira Progoff. I discovered that Ira Progoff was an American psychologist who had studied under Carl Jung. That didn’t mean a lot to me, but I didn’t care. I was unhappy and trying to change my life, confused as hell. I discovered that Ira was best known for his development of the Intensive Journal Method. His main interest was in depth psychology and particularly the humanistic adaptation of Jungian ideas to the lives of ordinary people like me. He founded Dialogue House in New York City to help promote this method. So, I started attending his weekend retreats in 1969, with John Prince.
The first weekend was a confused mess. I didn’t understand much of what I was hearing. First of all, Ira said the main idea of journal-writing was to provide a total program for the inner life to discover what is taking place inside of a person. Well, I did not know that I had an “inner life”, much less need to discover what was taking place inside of me. Ira said that The Journal was the hub of a wheel – a person must use it not only in privacy but also in a group because a group and group contact opens one up. In a workshop, each person was like a well in a circle of wells. If that person went down into his own well, there was a great benefit in hearing himself say something he wanted to say. The Journal was structured to prevent the self from going in a circle.
In the Journal, one wants to dialog with all the important things in his life. The aim is to get seriously involved with the dialogue. Plus, one wants to keep enough daily entries for a week to give a sense of what is happening and do dreams and dream extensions. It is important to get started without waiting in order to get started. There is a process that works within the depth of a person – it must be given the opportunity to work for that person. Basic dialog is the dialog that works between one and one’s inner self that will keep one in the “eye of the hurricane.” Forgive me for not explaining everything to you. I am still learning myself. And, as I said before, I am now in my 80s.
Books, games, music, and life — filtered through the mind of a writer, drummer, and philosopher who thinks too deeply about all of it. If it moves something in your chest, I'm interested.
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