Amanda-Leigh and the Wrath of Mother Nature

My state has been criticized by the world-wide media. Living in Tornado Alley should be a shameful act. We should be ashamed of ourselves for living in high risk natural disaster state. Pat Robertson went further and blamed Oklahoma for not praying hard enough. The Westboro Baptist Church plans to protest funerals of children because Thunder star Kevin Durant donated a million dollars and supports gay marriage. Toby Keith gets criticized because he does not publicly announce his good monetary donations to help the victims.

As I sit here typing and listening to thunderstorms, I am reminded of the two strong people who lived through the Great Depression and storms. For cows, my Granddaddy built metal barns in his fields. For shelter, my grandparents had a cement shelter to sit in during tornado season. Each Spring, watching Mike Morgan’s forecast was the norm for my grandparents. I learned the tradition early on. I am not able to know another culture. This is a culture Oklahomans live with. We learn from past tornadoes.

I do not take the media’s criticism of Oklahoma at face value. One reason I dismiss the criticism has to do with the simple fact that news reporters criticizing live in other states. The criticism would be more valid if the news reporters could shed personal insight supporting their points. Do some of their family members live in Oklahoma? Do they feel sympathetic to the people and animal who have lost their lives and possessions? Do the reporters understand the traditions of living in Tornado Alley? If none of the questions apply to news reporters, then we should take the criticism lightly. If no news reporter can provide absolute reasoning of personal ties to Oklahoma, then kindly move on with other news.

I have broken the family tradition this year. I broke my faithfulness to a news channel that was dear to my grandparents. This has eaten me up inside the way Romeo’s poisonous drink touched his lips. The meteorologists simply were not covering important weather in my viewing area. What if an E5 tornado had formed in Northern Oklahoma and that had remained ignored? Southern, Eastern, and Western Oklahoma would have been in the same helpless open boat. Under these circumstances, I have a feeling my grandparents would have understood.

I am not ashamed to be a native of Oklahoma and continue to live her. Being born in the Grady Memorial Hospital thirty three years ago was not chosen by me. At the time of my birth, winter had arrived. Goodness knows that I am not a winter person! In fact, I don’t like the intensity of the heat in the scorching summer. Why I live in Oklahoma is a good, thought-provoking question. Perhaps the answer goes back to Baptisms at church as a young person. As a congregation, we vowed to support our loved ones in their faith as disciples of God. I never said, “I will” without hesitation. Nobody else did either. We followed our Christian faith and lived by example.

We are unable to control the wrath of Mother Nature. What man can (or should) control a woman? According to recent tornadoes in my state, we are aware that Mother Nature can be a moody woman. She can be downright mean and ugly. Her ways are not our ways. Mother Nature strikes and leaves. Mankind has to pick up the pieces of her wrath. Mother Nature shows her temper in the Spring. What a temper! Mother Nature shows no mercy on her people.

Mankind shows mercy through his acts of generous kindness. I did not forget women in this. When a tornado strikes, houses and facility get destroyed. People, pets, and cattle are swept up into the chaos. The mother cries as she realizes her child is lifeless in the cold, heartless destruction. She curses at Mother Nature for this unforgivable act as the act is inhumane. Mankind will rebuild, but he will never forget this tragedy. Nobody else will either. We are still praying, Pat Robertson, faithfully. In God, we must always trust. 

Amanda-Leigh and the Alligator Plague

I suffered from the one and only Alligator Plague at an early age. That Alligator Plague was one of the most miserable life events I can ever recall. This along with getting my hand swept into a cow’s mouth. The cow’s mouth did not poke holes in my skin the way of the Alligator Plague. Almost every child gets the Alligator Plague.

The Alligator Plague began with me scratching all over! I could not stop scratching. The more I scratched, the more the Alligator Plague showed. Red spots marked my skin from head to toe. I was kept under a cover away from everybody. The Alligator Plague had struck hard! For days, I scratched. For days, I was told not to scratch. When a little girl has to scratch her Alligator bites, no one can be there to tie her hands down night and day. I scratched those bites as if they had become a daily ritual. Scratching more felt good!

The Alligator Plague was at its peak. The Alligator bites had taken over my body. No need for Calamine or anti-itching medication at this point. I also do not believe any home remedy could have cured the Alligator Plague at this point. My tiny, vulnerable body was a statistic to the Alligator Plague. One in a million children suffered from the Alligator Plague world-wide. The Alligator Plague had struck.

The itching continued. The scratching did not ease up. I was a bad child. I did not know how to get rid of these Alligator bites. This remedy was not simple as pouring sweet pickle juice over my face to cure freckles in the summertime. I could not poach the Alligator bites on a hot stove to de-sensitize the itch. I could not swim across an ocean to lose the Alligator bites at sea. Would this have been fair to the aquatic animals? I could not pour baking soda on the Alligator bites. I simply could not get rid of this annoying itching business!

As the days passed, the Alligator Plague got to the point that I did not want to be itching anymore. Imagine turning five with having  Alligator bites all over! Classmates would have understood. Adults would not have. The Alligator Plague is only for children! Adults have learned the remedy of the Alligator Plague. Their wisdom skips children. Children can itch, scratch, itch, and scratch until the Alligator bites appear. Children wait anxiously for the Alligator bites to disappear.

 As an adult, I do not hear about the Alligator Plague much. Since I am not around children much, I am not aware if this still happens. i do not post this plague to my timeline on Facebook. I do not tell many people about getting the Alligator Plague. The Alligator Plague hit me hard as a child. I had Alligator marks all over my body that can still be thoughtful shameful in modernism. Without falling victim to the Alligator Plague, I would not be writing this today. The Alligator Plague and I sure did have our daily battles the way Edmund Burke and Mary Wollstonecraft fought over the education of women and Ezra Pound fought over Imagism with Amy Lowell in 1835. The Alligator Plague seemed to win at times. The itching was a vile and toxic part of my young existence in a world that was not shaped for the Alligator Plague. The little girl did not fall for the itching after days of peaceful harmony the way Alfred Lord Tennyson changed his literary expression style to suit the harsh literary critic, John Stuart Mills.

Before, in between, and after the Alligator Plague, I thought and behaved like a child. The Alligator Plague did not rob me of my innocence. The Alligator Plague did not land me in the hospital. The Alligator Plague tempted me into the childhood sin of scratching uncontrollably. The Alligator’s jaws became shut as the days passed. The Alligator no longer struck hard or at all.  This liberated me as a small child. I no longer felt empowered by something I could not control about my body.

Why am I sharing my experience of the Alligator Plague? I believe the Alligator needs to be set free back into the wild. After thirty three years of hiding the Alligator Plague, parents can be aware of my experience. Every Alligator belongs in his or her natural habitat. When an Alligator is taken out of the wild, its teeth will strike. The Alligator is confused, upset, and does not know how to behave well in society. This makes an Alligator bite the innocent, sweet skin of small children. Children do not know how to run from the Alligator Plague. The only way a child knows how to survive the Alligator bite is to scratch after itching. Until Alligators are able to remain in their natural habitats, children will continue to suffer from the Alligator Plague. 

Amanda-Leigh and the Art of Humanity

I have two more weeks until the summer semester begins for college. On the home front, my husband and I are doing better. My husband and I have been raising our son, Luigi, and getting ready for summer to approach. As I write this, I do not feel as if I have been a faithful writer. At the beginning of the year, I had a goal of writing daily. I don’t know what happened to that goal. Too much stress came along and made the goal seem small.

Six months ago, I started a goal of losing weight. This goal has been an active part of my life. The second week of May caused me more stress than usual, so I ate more. This is where I can confess my sin. I noticed I gained a few pounds in pictures over the past couple weeks. Plus, the Oklahoma State adaptive sports program closed. The horse slaughter bill was passed on Good Friday. Everything added up. The world seemed to close in.

Over the weekend, I printed off ADA accommodation forms for my college. One responsibility I have is to get in contact with my professors to let them know I have a physical disability and will need them to work with me. I have already completed my responsibility and tried to get in contact with my professors. I have had to e-mail the Dean of English to help me with contacting my professors. Still, the professors did not respond. My husband has called both of my professors on my behalf. One professor provided a brief reply. My other professor has not bothered to contact me. I am interested to see how my first semester will go. As long as I am doing my part, everything will be fine as far as I am concerned.

I am looking forward to begin working on my Bachelors of Arts in Liberal Arts. I am aware art programs in my state were at risk for losing funding. As long as I can remember, the arts have been an important part of my life. For a person with a disability, a horse can also be considered an art as well as the adaptive sports program at Oklahoma State University. Combined, the arts provide us with talents and opportunities the majority of society may not understand. The arts have been taken for granted in my state.

For a woman in my late twenties, wheelchair basketball at Oklahoma State University made me want to go back to college and finish up. I researched the sports team to see how the members were doing and what made them change as individuals. Before I found out about this great team, I was merely surviving. I suffered from bitterness, resentment, and confinement. I survived by the false friend of depression. When I saw this team online, something powerful shot through my body. Cupid’s arrow had struck!! I fell in love with this new concept of being a born again woman. Thus, the disability became accepted in my life. This group of athletes showed me that I could become something larger than accepting life as it came. The old way of living was the same as taking a bite out of a chicken sandwich that already has a bite taken out (that really did happen to me).

I learned to not settle for anything in this world. By this time, I had begun to take an interest in my old flame, literature! The books I chose from the local library spoke to me. From literary characters, I learned more about life. I learned valuable life lessons. I never believed lessons in life could be taught in college. At the time, I was anti-college. College was about taking out student loans and going into financial debt, learning about historical figures who had no relevance in modern society, and a length list in my mind. This anti-college movement off and on during my twenties really led me nowhere. I do not even know where this trail of thought originated from.

I am not impressed with the thoughts I had during my anti-college movement days. As I look outside the window and reflect on the woman I was, I wonder where I would be today if things had happened differently in the past. One particular instance, what would have happened if a horse owner in Anadarko had really taught me how to ride a horse? From an early age, I enjoyed watching old shoot ‘em up Westerns. The horses carried people from town to town as they rode in carriages. The horses won races. Horse patrol was used by England law enforcement and early American law enforcement. Before rail way and telegrams, people heavily depended on horses. Horses were an active part of the culture and media.

 At camp at an early age, I witnessed first-hand how riding a horse could bring strength to a person with a physical disability. With assistance, riding a horse is liberating the same way of swimming. When I rode a horse, I felt more in control of my life. i had to be careful to not have muscle spasms while riding. I felt disciplined in my ways. Being on a horse made me want to take care of an animal the way horse owners groomed the one I rode on. Riding on the back of a horse showed me how to be more humane and understanding of animals needs and wants.

As I turn from the window of memory lane, I admit I was wrong about my thoughts in my early years. I remember the summer of 2001 when I entered Composition II and Responding to Literature. That summer, literature took on a whole new meaning. From watching the play, “A Doll’s House,” I learned about the role of womanhood in the home and society. I was mad at Torvald referring to Nora as a “spend-thrifter.” But I also asked why Nora let Torvald degreade to that level. I learned family traditions should be kept alive and active. I learned the ghettoes of New York City were hard to survive living in. I learned about the joys of learning how to drive. I learned that a marriage needs to have communication in “The Cathedral.” I experienced realism that summer in both courses. In Composition II, my professor enjoyed teaching the concept of “rhetoric.” That seemed to be his favorite word to use. I remember my fingers typing assignments left and right that summer.

Education is an important part of taking care of humanity and society. Being educated on alternatives to horse slaughter houses can save thousands of innocent horses. Oklahoma State University could have provided the adaptive sports program with a portion of income from regular sports activities and student tuition fees. There are other alternatives that should be considered before reaching the breaking point of giving the axe.

I am trying to psyche myself up for tornadoes and stormy weather. I don’t know if this will work. I still remember a tornado taking the life of a great bus driver and friend last year. I do not believe a person can ever be ready to hear (or read) that type of news. I have also been praying for a friend of my husband and mine who entered the hospital last week with fluid in his lungs. I have been praying for a few friends who are battling with cancer. I have been praying for innocent animals to be loved and cared for, especially horses, dogs, and cats. I have been praying for my son to be taught humanity towards other animals so he can make friends.

Amanda-Leigh and the Power of Love

A month has passed since I have written on here. My first priority is to serve God in any way possible. My second priority is to keep the marital flames sparking on the home front. My third priority is to educate men and women of my modern society. Combined, these priorities help me stay busy and active. I have a few weeks left until college begins for summer. Everything has been on my mind lately.

I want to let my readers know I am doing better now. During my absence, much has happened. Things in my neighborhood were slowly getting back to normal after my neighbor’s parents moved their son out. After I wrote my last piece, all havoc broke loose. Another neighbor began having early morning arguments and shady guests visiting our area. This created anxiety for my husband and me. We began to argue more due to the negative environment along with one of my husband’s medicine.

My husband stopped attending Celebrated Recovery. After my husband was told to keep everything from me in the form of progress, he decided to stop attending the meetings. One day, my husband approached me to help him with a piece of homework. I provided my husband with some thoughts to jot down. I never read what my husband wrote in his books. In fact, I began to feel my husband slipping away from our marriage. I was home alone the night of Easter. I was home alone on Sunday and Thursday nights. I did not feel as if I had an active role in my husband’s life anymore. I began to felt like Nora in “A Doll’s House.”

I believe in full honesty in a marriage. No man should be telling a group of men things he cannot tell his own wife. When my husband took me before God, he promised to honor me. This means my husband provides me with anything he feels I should be aware of in his life. I am aware of everything surrounding his mental illness, from the terrible voices in his head to the Jehovah Witness nightmares. My husband credits me with having the mind to rationalize for us what should happen. Withholding important information within a marriage is a selfish act of mankind that should be stopped. A wife is to provide ideas and thoughts that will benefit a marriage.

The step we have taken to help our marriage blossom has been counseling. This was a mutual decision. If a patient does not leave an office with tears at first, the counseling session must not be effective. As I partook in the intake process, there were questions over suicide. Did I ever feel suicidal in my life? Yes. Did I have a history of suicide in my genes? Yes. Did I have a history of depression in my genes? Yes. Where were the “no” questions at? I will admit, I did have the normal flighty response at first. But, I never thought of food or drinking a Dr. Pepper to help me survive the intake process. This is something I can honestly discuss.

Normally, when I think of the subject of suicide, I feel like eating more. This is the most uncomfortable topic to discuss aloud and with anybody. You get stereotyped as being insane if you open up about suicide along with how suicide affects other people. This is a socially taboo subject. The truth is that suicide hurts many people. How many people have been affected by suicide?

In literature, suicide for women was the only available option. Women were morally unfit for society if they sought a divorce. Husbands were able to beat their wives, cheat on their wives and bring home venereal diseases that made their wives suffer, and divorce only in the Biblical form, which was committing adultery. Therefore, these women were oppressed and suffered greatly at the hands of bondage for the Church of England. These women were unable to become liberated through education. Pioneer women like Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Catherine Beecher, and Louisa May Alcott were fortunate enough to be taught in the luxury of their inner circles. These women found an outlet besides suicide. Suicide was not an option for their lives.

I do not believe suicide is an option for my life. God delivered me from blood clots twice in my past. I was provided with the opportunity to go back to college and graduate. I will be going back for more literature and humanity parties. There is too much to live for than to be empowered by suicide. I do not want to be empowered by a concept. I want to outrun suicide the way Forrest Gump outlived his braces as a child. I want to feel like a radiant dove with depression locked inside a glass window the way the J.D. McCarty swimming was in 1985. I want more in this world than to be defined by these conservative roles of womanhood. Strong men and women of literature and the arts have taught me this. And, from childhood the lyrics, “He’s still working on me” is right. Not a day passes where I do not feel God working on me. This is a great feeling to have and share. My strong and wonderful “sheroes” are great enough to share!