Jaki Jean & the Calming Jar from Sarah Jane

This is my Calming Jar.

I have a calming jar because of something my niece, Sarah Jane, posted on Facebook.

Sarah Jane is an old soul.  She is my youngest niece & she has amazed me from the first moment she formed words.  And sentences.  Sentences followed quickly after words.  

She was a child who heard an adult use a word in a sentence & within ten minutes, Sarah Jane formed a sentence, using the word in its appropriate context for what was being discussed.

A little scary, but at the same time marvelous & exciting.

 

Sarah is an intern with Hoof Prints & Heartbeats Equine Assisted Therapy.  It is a non-profit, amazing program, headed by her mother Brenda & her mother’s life partner Julie, working with children with autism, ADD, ADHD, Cerebral Palsy, PTSD, special needs.

HP&HB also helps out adults with trauma, addiction & PTSD.

In addition to being a gifted musician, a gifted poet, an amazing mind, Sarah Jane has a connection with all living things.  I know that she hears & understands what living things she encounters have to say.

She is also passionate about educating the public about the wonder of people with special needs.  About fighting the discrimination that so many with challenges experience in this, our enlightened world.  

Sarah doesn’t fear the Other or Difference.  Instead, she reaches out, embraces it, respects it, defends it.  And celebrates it.

Sarah shared a post by a mother about how she used a Calming Jar with her daughter:

CALM DOWN JAR Written by contributor Melissa Allen of Green Owl Art. If your child is like mine and time-outs only cause a bigger eruption of emotions and never seem to work the way intended this can be a great tool. When Emma needs a moment to herself (to put in nicely) I ask her to sit with her calm down jar for a few minutes and come find me when she sees most of the glitter fall to the bottom. She usually starts off by giving it a good shake, this helps get some of that frustration out. Then she sits memorized by all the glitter falling to the bottom. By the time I get my over tired and emotional child back, she is ready for a cuddle. Yes, it’s not magic, but it seems to help smooth things out. It is actually pretty relaxing for me to watch as well. I had Emma help make it and explained to her what her special calming jar was. This was a good opportunity for us to chat about feelings and good ways to express them. CALM DOWN JAR MATERIALS Small jar- make sure it’s one that will hold liquid tightly 2 tubes of glitter glue Half a tube of glitter A few drops of food color Water This is pretty simple: just add everything to the jar. Use warm water and give it a good shake to get the glue mixed in well. I had Emma help me by adding all the materials and of course the shaking. Bring on the peace! http://familysponge.com/parenting/artkids-calm-down-jar/ ‪#‎ripplekindness

I thought to myself, What a wonderful alternative to forcing time outs in a chair or a corner.  I wished I had given my sons a Calming Jar.

My sons will be 30 & 24 this year – a bit late to introduce a Calming Jar into their lives.

But not too late for me.

So, I went to the dollar store, rummaged through my scrapbooking materials, sacrificed my favorite size Mason jar & made myself a Calming Jar.

It came out a bit more purple than I planned.  With color, I am always aiming for cobalt.

I shake it when I stress out over a conversation with a health care worker, or an insurance company, or a doctor’s office, or Fox News on Sunday.

I shake it & I breathe slowly & watch the glitter & the light & the sparkle as it moves with gravity.  And then I smile.

Sometimes, during the day, I walk past my Calming Jar & pick it up.  I shake it & I set it down & take time to watch the bits of lightning flicker as bits of purple & silver & blue follow gravity.

Next Wednesday, we meet with the surgeon to discuss flap surgery on Jean’s wound.  It will mean a week at Methodist Hospital in Sugar Land, five to six weeks at Kindred Hospital in Sugar Land. 

And I will take my Calming Jar with me.

Thank you, Sarah Jane.  For the Calming Jar & for the moments of clarity & serenity it brings.  I love you.

Jaki Jean & The Little Prince & Watches

For some time now, I have opened the New York Times & found an advertisement featuring Antoine de Saint-Exupėry’s The Little Prince.  Only in the ad, unlike the novel there is a plane of the vintage of Saint-Exupėry’s classic crossing the sky.

Engineered for men who dream the dreams others chase.

So, the rebellious feminist in me asked:  Don’t women dream the dreams others chase?

Naturally, I followed the ad’s link to a most extraordinary web site.

The world of IWC watches.  Yes, watches.  Watches designed particularly for men.

For men who don’t need a co-pilot.  I thought to myself, Self, not having a co-pilot is probably not a particularly good idea for a pilot.

The more I explored the IWC site, the more the feminist in Jaki Jean began to roar.

  Here was a company that marketed specifically to men.  Without commodifying the female body.

Instead, IWC commodified a beloved classic. A work of children’s literature. A work whose text & illustrations still speak to readers of all ages seventy years after its original publication.

I don’t remember when I first discovered The Little Prince.  But I remember writing a short story called “Joshua & The Drooping Star,” inspired by Antoine de Saint-Exupėry’s classic.

There are, in Jack & Jean’s house where I live, two copies of The Little Prince.  One I bought for my Alpha son Nicholas.  There is no date attached to the inscription:

Dear Nick,

Because you are my prince & because I hope you

are never reduced to losing the child within you.

It is our strength -  and our hope.

All my love,

Mommy

The other copy in Jean & Jack’s house contains a bookplate featuring what I envisioned at the time as a Hobbit.  The binding is finer than the edition I bought Nicholas, from earlier days of publication.  An image of the Little Prince & the book’s title are etched deeply into the binding cover.  The template reads, in lower case because I was going through my e.e.cummings phase:

Ex Libres

jason alexander ettinger

for christmas 1975

The inscription is from a time when I was very much a part of a couple, a participant in the state of matrimony:

dear jason,

this is a very special story. 

we just hope that over the years

as you grow older

and more precious to us, that

this book will come to mean

as much to you as it has

come to mean to us.  it is the

kind of story which can be

read again and again – and

each time you read it,

it will tell you something new.

merry christmas, little one.

we love you,

don and jaki

The more I thought about a corporation usurping a beloved book to market watches exclusively to phallus bearing consumers . . . my outrage escalated.  

I obsessively googled IWC ad campaigns.  And then I found the pièce de résistance – the final piece to turn me against all things IWC Schaffhausen:

Seriously, seriously? Who are these people, these watch makers?  

Hands off our IWC, hands off our watches, hands off our jobs, hands off our property, hands off our schools, hands off government, hands off education, hands off our position as the Ultimate Signifier. 

Exactly in which alternative universe are motorcycles, cigars & really fabulous scotch the exclusive rights of phallus bearers?

I personally have ridden a Harley around Austin, Texas.  While I have not sampled a Havana, I have been offered & declined.  As for Glenmorangie – it was my drink of choice for much of my young adulthood.

But I still explored the whole idea of a beloved children’s classic (which every adult should read) as an advertising medium for watches designed for men.

Of course, the little prince never asks the stranded pilot to draw him a picture of a watch.  A sheep, but not a watch. 

But the IWC website devoted to its “Celebration of The Little Prince’s Finest Hour” has a video of the pilot (absent from the scene) drawing an IWC Le Petit Prince commemorative watch,

And the prince asking for one more.  ( http://www.iwc.com/en/news/iwc-celebrates-the-little-princes-finest-hour/)

After the watched are displayed & the images from the novel fade, the caption reads:

IWC.  ENGINERRED FOR MEN.

AND DREAMERS.

IWC SCHAFFHAUSEN

According to the IWC website, “Since 2006, the Schaffhausen luxury watch manufacturer has maintained a cordial partnership with Saint-Exupéry’s heirs and their charitable organization, the Antoine de Saint-Exupéry Youth Foundation.”

Still, I wonder how many little boys across the world, especially in France & the United States, have sat down & read The Little Prince of their own volition. It is not the feminist in me, but the mother of two sons & the woman & the girl who cannot help wonder how many more little girls read this classic & held it dear.  And understood its wonder.

There are, no doubt, women who wear IWC watches.  It is not a watch that one picks up in a department store.  The price tag varies, culminating in six figures.

I don’t know what a classic piece of literature, which has transcended generations of difference for seventy years, has in common with a watch company that advertises to what surely must be an archaic stereotype of the cultural construction of a man.

When I was fifteen, my father gave me a Mickey Mouse watch.  I no longer remember why I wanted one, but it was the sixties & it seemed necessary.

Since that gift, I have worn over forty Mickey Mouse watches.  I still possess the original gift from my father.  For years, when it broke down, I would pay a small fortune to get it repaired, until there were so few people who repaired a wind up watch that I retired it.

While I no longer remember why I wanted that original gift of a Mickey Mouse watch, I do know why I kept wearing it & trying to replace it on my wrist.

It was not about dreaming the dream others chase, or about not needing a co-pilot; or about proving I could ride a motorcycle or smoke a cigar or drink really fine Scotch.  It may have been a bit about touting convention. 

The truth of it is that wearing a Mickey Mouse watch over the last fifty four years is, for me, about memory & connection.  It is about my relationship with my father Jack.  It is about who I am, about how the very best of me was shaped by Jack & Jean.

I cannot imagine any circumstances when I would replace a Mickey with an IWC, even a special edition Pilot Little Prince edition.  Even if I could get beyond the advertising.  It simply would not be the same.  

Jaki Jean on Failing to be the Cool Aunt

Felicia Marie's hand 1983, on a Mother's Day bag I made for Jean.

Years ago, when my brother John was still alive & his eldest child Felicia Marie was in middle school, he brought her over, along with his son Johnny Alexander (who I called Clyde because his parents could not agree whether to call him John or Alex & Clyde suited him at the time) during one of his custodial weekends.

John took the kids in to see their Grandma Jean, who was not yet bed-bound, but was taking a rest.  Then John asked me to join them.

He looked at Felicia & said in an angry voice:  Show that note from the school to your Aunt Jaki.  Maybe she can deal with you.

Felicia, her head hanging low, her hair covering her beautiful face, handed me a piece of paper.

A suspension notice.  From the principal of her school.  For three days.  For fighting.

I went into shock mode.  Nothing about the principal’s note resembled the Felicia Marie I knew.  There had to be a story, an explanation.

So asked her Who were you fighting with & why?

I was fighting with another girl about a boy.  She murmured from behind her hair.

I did not breathe, I did not take a moment to think.  While I don’t remember the word by word of my rant & horror & disbelief, it went something like this:

Are you fucking kidding me?  You got into a fight over a phallus bearer?  You jeopardized your permanent record, which will follow you to high school, your relationships with your teachers – over a phallus bearer?  At your age, a phallus bearer is a boy, not a man.  We do not fight over men, much less boys.  If you have to fight, that boy, that man, was never yours.  I cannot believe this – what did your mother say?’  What were you thinking?  Violence, suspension, over a boy? 

My ranting & raving was going nowhere.  Everyone else in the room stood silent, waiting for me to continue, & I was going to continue until I noticed that my niece was giggling.

Infuriated, I screamed,

Do you think this is funny, young lady?  You think this is funny?  You are going to stay with me this entire weekend & we are going to talk & before I get through with you, you will realize none of this is funny.

My niece finally look up from behind her hair, her beautiful eyes sparkling with laughter & said,

April Fool’s.

I could have strangled her lovely neck.  Instead we all fell over ourselves with laughter.

This past Monday morning, Felicia Marie, home from the USS New York for the holidays, arrived with flowers & chocolates for Jean.  She also arrived with an entourage:  her brother Clyde, her step-brother Colin, her mother Sheila, her cousin Caylee & a young man named Matt.

I know about Matt from Felicia’s Facebook pages.  He, too, is a sailor & I have seen him tagged in photos for a year now.  A very short while ago, Felicia updated her status to “In a relationship with Mat Adams.” 

Of course, I was not anticipating meeting Mat or Matt or however one spells this young man’s name while in my red silk Victoria’s Secret night shirt with a missing button.  I was literally getting ready to step into the shower in preparation of an early lunch date with three girlfriends. 

I am thankful that I did not meet Mat or Matt through a shower curtain.  The downstairs bathroom has no door – we removed it & widened the doorway to accommodate Jean’s wheelchair.

Standing around in a Victoria’s Secret nightshirt with three young men, only one of which is intimately related to me, is not Jaki Jean’s idea of an ideal situation. 

As the clock ticked, I grew more awkward, more nervous, not my charming, scintillating self.

So much so that my nephew asked his maternal grandmother Virginia:

What happened to my Aunt Jaki?

Nothing, Virginia replied.

Something happened, he insisted.  Her body is here but her mind is somewhere else.

Indeed.  I did not know how to move the entourage from Jean’s room so that I could take my shower & make it to La Madeleine on Westheimer by 11:45.

Then Virginia touched my arm & asked me if I had taken my meds, all my meds.  I assured her that I had, that I knew I was babbling – too much caffeine.  Virginia, her hand still on my arm said Felicia had something to tell me.

Felicia moved toward Mat / Matt & I thought Oh, God, she is going to tell me that they are getting married.

Instead, something unexpected came out:

I am going to have a baby.

For a moment time stopped & I did not breathe.  This was not April Fools Day.  It wasn’t what I expected.  It never occurred to me. 

I suppose that in my mind, she would get out of the Navy, finish her education, maybe move in with a significant other, have a career, eventually get married & have children.  I suppose I thought she might break the family pattern & get married first, then move in, then have children.

I have no idea of everything I said.  I know I spoke slowly.  I know I tried to breathe. No rants, no raves.  Standing there in my red Victoria’s Secret nightshirt in front of a young man I had never met, I murmured something like well, it is a good thing that you have excellent health coverage.

Of one thing I am sure – at that moment, my reaction was not what Felicia expected.  I was not Felicia’s liberal, free spirited, crazy aunt. 

Instead, I bumbled my way through some of the very same questions her mother asked.  How does this work in the Navy?  She is reassigned to the base for her pregnancy.  Is there day care on base?  Of course there is.

I mumbled something about babies arriving in all kinds of circumstances.  All the while thinking they are too young, they need to finish college, they have only been a couple a short time, they are just babies themselves.

I did mention that as a woman who had two babies out of wedlock & never bothered (or particularly desired) to marry either game donor, I had no right to an opinion on how this baby was being brought to the rest of us. 

Of course, I did not remind them that I had my first son at 29, & my youngest at 36.

Or that I had lived a wonderful, adventure filled life by the time I decided I wanted to become someone’s mother.  I had been in love in Paris.  I had witnessed a first snow fall in Connecticut.  I had visited major museums in England, France, Spain, Italy, Germany, Austria, Denmark, the Netherlands, Norway, New York.  I had experienced sunsets & sunrises in the mountains of West Texas & the fleeting color in the desert after rain. 

By the time I was a mother, I had been married & divorced, in & out of love & lust several times.  I had learned when to stand independently, when to accept help & support.

But that was me.  And this is about a young woman I love.  This is about Felicia Marie.

Felicia has traveled the world with the Navy.  She has stood proud with her shipmates of the USS New York at the dedication of the memorial at Ground Zero.  She has learned to be a team player while still standing strong against those good old boys resistant to women in the military.  She has experienced & values the love of family & extended family.

She is fierce, a true woman warrior.  Beautiful and kind.

Felicia knew she would have love & support from her family & extended family when she chose to have this baby.  Just as it never occurred to me that this would be the trajectory of her life, it never occurred to her that her crazy aunt would not embrace her in shared joy.

So I failed at being the liberal, open-minded, free spirited aunt.  It is not my first failure as a woman.  I have failed at being the good & obedient daughter, I have failed at being the best sister alive, the best friend alive; I failed in the roles of girl friend, wife, mistress, lover, friend with benefits.  I have failed more that once at motherhood.

Each of these failures gnaw at me – I won’t pretend that they don’t.  But recently, my friend Raquel Caylor, during a discussion about God & faith & behavior, said:

God does not expect us to be perfect.  God knows we aren’t perfect.  God expects us to strive to be the very best loving people we can be.

I am no longer that fearless, liberal, open-minded young woman who believed she could conquer all obstacles.  Oh, I am still fearless & liberal & open-minded.

But I am fifty-nine, with a lifetime of experience & several decades to examine & assess my decisions.  I was, I continue to be, the author of the trajectory of my life.  And I try to remember to strive to be the very best & most loving person I can be.

My brother John’s daughter Felicia has historically been the author of the trajectory of her life – from the color of her hair to her choice of friends to ink on her skin to choosing to join the Navy.  And now she has chosen to have a baby.

A baby who is welcomed by her / his parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, uncles & aunts & cousins & one crazy, liberal great-aunt.

For this event, for this beloved young woman & her baby, I will learn to knit.  

My brother John would expect nothing less.