Marie Louise Brown's Open Salon Blog

Every Dollar Spent is a Vote for Something

Mon, 18 Jan 2010 11:01:21 -0500

Perhaps it’s because I’m entering the ‘thicker’ part of my mid-life years that I find more time to care. In my twenties the drive to acquire and achieve collided with failure in just about every attempt as I found with each passing year just how little I knew. Over and again it seemed circumstances culminated to shine the spotlight on the previous year’s ignorance. Once year 30 rolled around I was at least able to fully accept I didn’t know everything. This was a tremendous help. It meant that I had regained my ability and desire to learn. Now in my forties, though I still have a fair amount of trouble listening (a real deterrent to learning); I find I’m more eager than ever to test the boundaries holding my comfort zones in place.

Satisfaction is the name of the game. Light infiltrates the cracks of my opening mind and I discover all kinds of things. Frightening reports of the earth’s destruction via plastic bottles, methane gasses, and corn over-consumption are just the beginning. I begin to feel anxious wondering what can possibly be done to change the current status to anything better.

After mulling this around for several months I found myself making small decisions based on bits of information stuck in my memory. Going out on a limb and not buying fabric softener when usually I’d purchase a new batch on auto pilot having run out of the previous bottle. Fabric softener is not only toxic to our oceans as it’s used and pumped through our sewage systems, but it’s highly toxic to the wearers of the softened apparel. Children are most susceptible to disease through exposure to fabric softener as their brain and organs are not fully developed, highly ironic given our children are the ones we generally want the softness for. In that moment the softness of my clothing meant less to me than the welfare of the earth’s oceans and my family’s health. Since then the makers of fabric softener have had to live without my monetary endorsement of their false advertising and overall irresponsible behavior.

This same activity has perpetuated itself in my life throughout the past few years. All product ingredients are quickly reviewed to rule out the purchase of parabens, phthalates, formaldehyde, and other commonly sold toxins where household soaps, personal hygiene, and cosmetic products are concerned. Until recently, I’d allowed myself the ‘luxury’ of using bleach to really clean and whiten what desperately needed cleaning and whitening. Just today I learned bleach is the number one common denominator linking to breast cancer in women; looks like bleach is on its way out.

Of course, change has a way of rippling through our lives. One move leads to another as we make our ways up the ladder of knowledge, receiving constant open invitations to greater heights.

Last week my oldest daughter sat in the dining room and thanked me for switching our family to whole grains. She went on to praise me for not buying sugary cereals and processed snacks. By the time she got to how my disapproval of fast food had positively impacted her personal choices, we were both smiling with gratitude and esteem for each other. You see, I never forced the issue in my family. I did advise however, that if I was the designated shopper, these were the selections I was going to make. If anyone in the household wanted anything further, they’d have to pay for it themselves. Every time my teenagers had a couple of bucks on them they’d run to 7 Eleven for a bag of chips and a Slurpee! I persisted with my personally satisfying choices nonetheless.

Our food choices have gotten more and more selective over the years. I find myself being encouraged by all members of my family to stay on this path; we all participate and share information as we learn it. Overall I continue to discover how increased simplicity leads to greater satisfaction.

I believe every dollar we spend is a vote for something, and these votes count for much more than our votes at the ballot box every few years. Within a capitalist society I find it reasonable to hold ourselves accountable for each choice our dollars spent represent. The only way for us to ensure our very freedom, and maybe freedom and peace throughout this global economy, is to exercise responsibility to the fullest extent of our knowledge where spending is concerned. Were your pants made by a child in a third world country making two dollars at the end of a dangerous 16 hour day? Do they really look THAT good on you? If low cost is a factor, are they still THAT good of a deal? Even at the cost of a poverty stricken child?

It’s not about perfection, but it is about reflection. I know that for many Americans too much time is already spent on survival over enjoyment; I raise my hand for landing in the survival category more often than not. What if we bowed out of the rat race just long enough to discover what we can live without? Without a healthy earth and body what good is time saved anyway? And what of the money spent to ‘save’ time? Who’s creating the need for us to be so busy surviving and spending?

We American Consumers are a very powerful bunch. Unfortunately we’ve been passive; believing that what the corporations have to sell us is for our benefit and convenience. They claim to have sold us everything we wanted over the past fifty years, while introducing tens of thousands of never before used toxic chemicals into everything from toilet cleaner to lipstick. Cancer rates have sky rocketed. Fifty years ago a woman’s overall risk for breast cancer was 1 in 20, now it’s 1 in 8. I’m not sure white grout or shiny floors are worth it. Did we really choose this? I don’t think so. Are we choosing this now? Judging from what’s stocked on the aisles at all the big box stores, I’d have to answer yes. Women typically purchase and use more household cleaning products and cosmetics. The math is glaringly obvious to me.

Last year high fructose corn syrup accounted for twenty percent of the American diet. Diabetes has reached epidemic proportions in adults and children, and yet we’re still providing Lucky Charms to our children for breakfast, and consuming ninety nine cent double hamburgers and slamming sodas like its actual food.

Look, I’m sure I’ll continue to swing through a fast food establishment every once in a while. I still have half a bottle of bleach to use up before committing to not purchasing another; and I’ll buy toilet paper made from non recycled product when in a pinch. But now, as purchases generally go, I’ll spend more for cage, antibiotic, and hormone free chickens and eggs because I want to support responsible and sustainable ranching to the best of my ability. I’ll vote for no MSG or Nitrates in my food every time. Enriched white pasta, rice and bread (except for the occasional sour dough treat) are out, whole grains are in. It’s not a sweeping commitment. Every lasting change we’ve made started with baby steps and a willingness to experiment with something new and potentially better for us than what we’d grown used to.

Here’s to responsible spending in our capitalist system! Health and power to the people!

It's Christmas/Holiday/Winter Vacation, Already??

Sat, 19 Dec 2009 10:12:42 -0500

It’s officially seven hours and twenty four minutes into the first day of 2009’s Winter Holiday Vacation. So far the teenagers have engaged in six arguments over television channel selection, four somewhat vulgar quarrels over computer sharing, two fiery debates regarding hot water consumption, and while the smell of burnt toast wafted through the air; one very pointed comment on the inability of this family! to keep ample supplies of bread on hand.

Normally these disputes and complaints are ignored, amounting to no more than slight disturbances, easily overcome by the fact that these people will return to school on Monday. But there isn’t school on Monday, and there won’t be until January fourth of next year! Two weeks and three days! I don’t mean to be dramatic, but my otherwise quiet atmosphere is disappearing along with my patience. My only recourse is to buy or bake enough Christmas cookies, cakes, breads and pies to send these feisty teenagers into a sluggish sugar coma for the next two weeks.

We’re in close quarters. There are five of us cohabitating in a less than 1,200 square foot, second story apartment. As long as the refrigerator door isn’t open, two people can be in our kitchen at the same time. Despite our small space, we’re happy to work within our physical boundaries and find comfort being together. I’ve mentioned moving to a larger dwelling, but the people I live with insist they love it here and don’t want to move. Close to downtown, and smack dab between two BART stations less than two miles from each other, the teenagers are irreversibly tethered to the outside world from this, their home base.

Because our walls are so close to each other Christmas decorating is delayed until the last possible moment. For example, it’s now December 18^th, and the idea of any holiday preparation is just starting to take hold. At this point I’m far from imagining a tree in the room; but I know resistance is futile. Each year I’m curious to revisit the precious keepsakes of years gone by. Old Christmas cards sent long ago from those who’ve passed serve as reminders of how much we’re loved, along with mix-matched ornaments marking our lives through the years. That sentiment is the only thing that could spur me to tolerate red and green clutter everywhere, and I would, except my Christmas style opts for lavender and silver, or burgundy and gold. There’s some red, but it’s muted. As for green, I’m a huge fan. Green thumbs, green clothes, green leaves on green houseplants, green lamps…I’m all for it. Just not with red; except in nature and maybe a small plaid.

When it comes to Christmas shopping; I simply don’t participate. For me, it’s not really necessary since I have teenagers who love to inhabit malls! If I can lay some Christmas cash on them, not only will they get super bargain prices, but I’ll get at least two (or maybe even three!) peaceful days back. Also, I think I lost interest after learning of Wall Street measuring, estimating, and banking on the over expenditure of American Consumers, formerly known as American Citizens. It was then I understood why I’d always get nauseous when entering a mall or department store. I understand the joy found in the purchase of something meaningful for the ones we love and appreciate, and items for young children most especially! But when being in a mall starts to make you dizzy, when you start to wonder if what you’ve bought is enough, then it’s time to leave and severely limit future exposure. I OD’d back in the nineties, and have had only a few relapses since. The most recent attack resulted in a fifteen dollar monkey vase that I couldn’t stand two days later. I’m not sure what any of this really says about me. Not the monkey vase, that’s too sick to examine. I’m talking about my cynicism. Maybe its age, maybe its clarity, or maybe I’m clouded. I’m just glad that so far I’ve never felt sick at a Farmer’s Market.

Back in 2000, a little bubble burst. I like to refer to it as the .Com Implosion because it felt more like being sucked into a black hole than being blown out of a fireball. That Christmas was particularly difficult. My family endured several financial blows. Job loss in tandem with a large home lease payment resulted in the fact that I couldn’t afford to spend one red cent on Christmas, and reasonably hope to keep a roof over our heads. I cried incessantly about my inability to provide any gifts for my then young children. I felt guilty, irresponsible and worthless as a person, but worst of all, as a mother. If I’d known then what I’ve learned since, I’d have spent less time lamenting what I couldn’t have, and more time appreciating the riches found in simplicity. Without our wants being stripped away, we would scarcely identify what our needs truly are.

For one thing, that year, some money surfaced to purchase the ingredients for one of our favorite meals: green enchiladas, rice and beans. I remember the anxiety easing up the moment I realized we could afford some level of merriment. Up to that point, things seemed quite dire. My spirits lightened so much I actually considered purchasing a Christmas tree. It was Christmas Eve, so the chances of finding some marked down holiday décor seemed pretty good! Unfortunately, the markdowns weren’t significant, and the change I got back from the cashier was even less so. I left the store back at square one, like amnesia hit and I’d forgotten how happy I was just a moment before. Funny how one hurt left untreated creates other aches and pains. Buying the food was like a band-aid that wouldn’t stick. With the groceries in the car, my face reddened as I fought back stinging tears. “I’m not allowed any happiness this year”, I told myself.

Try telling yourself you aren’t allowed any happiness and having gratitude for anything at the same time. It’s impossible. When you’re let down and frightened, when you’ve done your very best and everything goes the opposite direction, it’s hard to see what there is, instead of what there isn’t.

That said, we weren’t committed to becoming part of a rebellious criminal element; it’s never been part of our intention to participate in any iniquitous activities. The facts are: 1) the tree lot was mostly abandoned with no surrounding fences or locks, 2) the sun had set, and 3) we were so broke we couldn’t have possibly paid attention even if there were ‘no trespassing’ signs posted. To be fair, we scoped out several lots, noting the ones left open, and we did wait for the sun to set, but that’s as far as our criminal intent went. The consensus wasn’t that we deserved a tree; the idea was that as long as they’re there, cut and unappreciated, why shouldn’t we pick one up and give it a home? Help the tree to become what it was meant to be and lift our spirits too. That night we stifled our adrenaline packed laughter as best we could, and ran onto the lot toward the tallest trees. We quickly scanned them for bald spots, argued over which one was best, made our final selection, piled it into the back of the truck, and sped off like Robin Hood with his merry band of mischief makers! I think it took us all of thirty seconds! We laughed all the way home (three blocks maximum) recounting who slipped in the mud, and who’s face contorted the best, and what we’d say to law enforcement should we be caught. It was a tall Douglas fir, a grand Christmas tree.

We’ve lived in our little apartment for eight years this spring. Most of those years have been lean, but 2009 rivals 2000 with a nearly zero fat ($$) content. Current circumstances could be construed as identical to those of the .Com Implosion. I wouldn’t know. The panorama changes constantly while I continue to keep worry and loss out of focus, and love and gratitude in full view. I’m thankful that my teenagers are in good health, fully able to disturb my quiet atmosphere, and burn what little bread is around. I’m thankful my husband is open to driving the getaway vehicle in our continued Christmas tree capers (now a family tradition). But more than anything else, I’m thankful to be here making new memories; willing to be reminded always that happiness is a choice, not a situation.

Barack! Wake Up and Smell the Cheney!

Mon, 26 Oct 2009 12:10:14 -0400

Wake up Barack! Cheney’s crapping in the oval office again and needs to be smacked with last weeks rolled up Waterbury Republican. Too mean? I don’t think so. After all, this guy condones water boarding among other “interrogation techniques” that are all torture. What should we do with those who have condoned or assisted in water boarding? Well upon their day in court, of course, they should be sentenced to death. Hey, it worked to stop the Japanese from ever water boarding another American soldier. In the meantime those implicated should be jailed. If this fear mongering pompous blow hard isn’t put down and put down soon, he’ll continue to spew about “national security” and paint a vista so dire it could stand to benefit Halliburton billions. Do we really want that?

Unlike foreign policy of the very recent past, Obama is much more confident and respectful in his approach of other nations. This is what it means to take the high road, also known as “doing unto others as you would have them do unto you.” This means extending gestures of respect as opposed to extending the attitude “We’re Number One!” which is generally reserved for high school football rallies. You can probably tell I’m one of those Americans who can’t fully appreciate the “God Bless America” bumper stickers. I’d prefer that God Bless Us All.

Perhaps Cheney is a man full of pain and fear. Maybe his earthly experience has taken him down darkened paths of fruitless challenge, joyless relationships, and dissatisfaction in general. If this is his condition, and I’m pretty sure it is, then I do feel badly for him. I wish I could show him what a fruitful, joyful, and satisfied life looks like. Then maybe he’d be happier, and the world could be a safer place with a Cheney who could feel safe in it. Maybe then he and his daughter could have a father/daughter relationship instead of a foundation building to keep daddy out of prison kind of relationship. See www.keepamericasafe.com, where anti Obama ads are a big perk as the real effort here is to keep Cheney out of a cage, or a high voltage seating arrangement.

Obama has his hands full. Unlike the previous administration, our current president isn’t focused on conquering defenseless nations in order to promote their American corporate rebuilding within years long government contracts. Halliburton and KBR have profited long enough off the American taxpayer. Wasted money pales in comparison to the loss of life and limb suffered by our troops, and other innocent victims of greed. It seems it’s always only corporate interest that energizes the GOP.

The Republican Party hasn’t put forth one decent policy since it worked with Clinton on the Welfare to Work programs. These are highly efficient programs that invest in the vocational education of parents receiving welfare. Clinton wanted to raise the income for welfare recipients to keep women and children in shelter and safety, and the Republicans always want an end to “entitlement” programs, so the magnificent and empowering Welfare to Work Program was born. So much for the sweet aroma of bipartisanship!

Cheney’s stinking up half full conference halls with small droppings of fear that when inhaled by humans, (particularly right wing Americans) go straight to the hypothalamus and kick up swirling visions of turbaned heads carrying AK47s and storming the neighborhood. There’s nothing like imagining fear in the future to put the kibosh on any amount of peace being achieved in the present.

Maybe that’s why Barack isn’t responding to Cheney’s incessant gurgling murmurs. He, Joe Biden, and many others understand that to pay any attention to him at all would be a total misuse of their time. Face it. It would be completely wrong for Barack to head a campaign to get torturers within the Bush administration tried. He’s too damn busy. Tune in: This is a matter for the people to decide, and we all know it. Are we going to listen to this soul withering war profiteer, really? Isn’t it enough he continues to freely walk the streets? Is it possible that Dick Cheney is incapable of comprehending that the people he led have nearly choked to death on fear? When an average citizen, sane or insane, leads others to commit atrocities, we as a society stop them. We owe it to our military.

Please contact Attorney General Eric Holder and tell him to get a serious move on indicting all of those responsible for ushering in a new age of torture.

Email:

http://www.justice.gov/

Or call:

202-353-1555

Or write:

U.S. Department of Justice

950 Pennsylvania Avenue, NW

Washington D.C., 20530-0001

The side against justice:

http://www.keepamericasafe.com/?page_id=63 Cheney’s Online Public Plea as supplied by seven former CIA directors.

Take your hypocrisy temperature:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waterboarding

http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2007/11/29/politics/main3554687.shtml

Corporate Values Replace Family Values

Fri, 23 Oct 2009 01:10:07 -0400

What ever happened to the golden rule “Don’t believe anything you hear and only half of what you see”?

In the eighties (right after the rebellious sixties and sexy seventies) an American icon rode onto the set of American politics to audition for the starring role: President. He was hired and gave commanding performances. His show was a smash hit, running for eight consecutive seasons. I wish I could say this man’s name was George Carlin, George Burns, or even Don Rickles; not that it matters much because the lines had already been written, but maybe they could’ve at least had a funnier delivery.

Like most world leaders, Ronald Reagan was a figure head. A mouth piece for a conservative agenda supported not only by the Republican Party which he represented, but by Democrats who found themselves surrounded by social, scientific, and technological change moving too fast and too far from their comfort zones. His campaign, along with his time in office, was not only comforting as it dumbed the citizenry down with “old fashioned American values”, but it was utterly refreshing to have a spokesman who seemed to have emerged straight out of 1945. It was like we were trying to relive the fifties all over again. It might have actually worked, but the mouth piece was never really in charge. New things like HIV/AIDS, and older issues like expanding equal rights kept chugging along, chipping away at our profound fear of change.

The Reagan years set the stage, and in general the population seemed willing to play their respective parts as supporting cast and extras. Some enjoyed the warm throw-back blanket of conservatism, while others secretly crept backstage to do a line of cocaine, or express their sexual identities in a way they couldn’t while onstage in front of the audience.

The late eighties with Bush number one were somewhat uneventful. We had Operation Desert Storm which was widely supported. Basically, it was a quick four year stint where conservative values were appreciated, yet not shoved down our throats as our American pork filled bellies were still satiated from Reagan.

Enter: Bill Clinton. We knew we were in danger of not moving forward with the democratic agenda when he stated that he didn’t inhale. It was apparent that conservatism was ready and waiting for this guy to inhale, or not be enough of a Christian, or whatever the criteria was for that week. Hillary playing the part of an intelligent, outspoken and independent woman surely didn’t help things. Let’s just admit it. The Republicans, with their Conservative Base, were on the Clintons like white on rice.

Naturally, the fevered branch of conservatism hit back after eight years of sinful Clinton rule, leaving the left with a bruised lip, and George W., who coincidentally also claimed Christianity as his saving grace. What a hay day it was for ‘Family Values”, or so it seemed. By this time, the American population had been so saturated with righteous moral indignation they couldn’t tell the difference between liberty and a hole in the ground. Prior to September 11, 2001; abortion, homosexuality, the legalization of marijuana, along with some labor and immigration issues, were the major causes lighting up the American conservative psyche. Then the terrorists showed up – brazen, and in our front yard. For some, the tragedy of 9/11 became a unifying factor once the initial sadness and anger dissipated. For others, it was God’s wrath justly enacted on a country struggling toward too much equality, too much choice. Unification is difficult at best when the world outside is viewed with suspicion, through a lens of dissatisfaction and judgment. Later the dissatisfaction grew.

It’s not necessary now to list the possible criminalities and general mistreatments which may be attributed to the Bush administration. If you’re not paying any attention at all, you know that some political officials gave the big thumbs up on water boarding. Maybe what you don’t know is that after WWII our country’s judicial system sentenced Japanese military officers to death for water boarding. Because of the unfortunate misguidance of our previously elected officials the conduct of military enemies will for a long time be perilous. In other words, we totally lowered the bar. And so the bar was lowered, and later, deregulated.

It remains to be said that Jimmy Carter was first on the scene (in recent history anyway) claiming Christianity as a value to his possible presidency. After that went pretty well for Carter, Reagan showed up and the Republican Party climbed into the sack with Christian Conservatism. Candidates have been publicly clarifying their religious affiliations and moral beliefs since. This makes about as much sense as verifying ones preference for chocolate over vanilla. Who cares? Since when do Americans want their elected officials to vote their own consciences? We don’t vote them in to be their own voice. We elect them to be OURS. If we change our minds, then so should they. ‘Wishy-washy’ makes for the perfect politician. They SHOULD be our puppets.

The hypocrisy and the irony; “when you point a finger at someone else, there are three fingers pointing back at you”. Who was surprised to find the Clinton impeachment seekers were having sordid relations of their own? Many of us weren’t startled in the slightest. Some people’s assumptions were validated. Others, who didn’t trust Democrats to begin with, decided to widen their scope of disapproval to all of government - which is silly since we the people are actually, the government. If our government doesn’t work well, it’s because we allow it to not work well. A right to vote, a right to say what you want out loud, and the right to own a gun; seems like each American individual is their own little government already!

One person’s morality is another’s sin, so how can ‘family values’ be distributed? It’s a bill of goods, a lightweight bag full of empty promises sold for votes. Republicans, obviously, aren’t the only ones who’ve lied to benefit from associations with religion. Plenty of Democrats are quick to promote their good natures by identifying with Christianity also. And so what if abortion funding is cut, or if gay rights are denied? The greed feeders who forgot why they got into public office in the first place don’t care one iota about pro-life agendas, illegal immigration issues, prayer in public schools, or crosses placed on public lands. These are only hot topics used to tap into the conservative voting pools. They get the attention desired by using the honest convictions of thoughtful Americans, make promises based on common ground, and then live and die for corporate campaign contributions to enable them to do it again the next day, week, month, and year. It is increasingly clear that corporations are the ones, who in the end decide the value of nearly all our families where political benefit is concerned. Until now that is.

With this recent history behind us how can conservatism, not to mention ultra- conservatism, last? After all this time when will the family value policies materialize? They are realized by our own actions, taking responsibility for how we treat each other in our families, and in our communities. Family values will never be successfully legislated. Can acceptance, kindness, or respect be legislated? Equality for each American in every function of American life is on its way, because it’s the right thing to do; the evolved American thing to do. The ideal way to live brought to you by fairness and equitable division of our country’s resources and rights. Let’s toast with a tall cool glass of Democracy!

My Old Friend Nauget

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 05:10:35 -0400

Aunt Gigi’s house was old. You know, with those black, push button, toggle-type light switches. A special room had to be added to the house to accommodate the late forties, early fifties refrigerator and equally old washing machine. Aunt Gigi didn’t have a dryer, she had a clothesline. There were hardwood floors throughout the house. When you walked through the living room a furnace vent in the floor made a deep “ching-ching-ching” sound with every step you took past, over, or around it.

I stayed with Aunt Gigi daily, and often overnight, from the age of one until I was old enough to attend kindergarten at age five. After that I visited her on many weekends during my school years, and spent most of my young summers in that old Fresno neighborhood with those old Fresno houses.

There were a lot of children in that neighborhood to play with. Like me, they were there under the loving supervision of their grandparents, aunts, uncles, or some other family member available to watch over them while their parents were at work. The reason we were there made no difference to us. All that mattered was the fun we could create all day, every day. There was so much to do.

The Kaisers next door had three grandchildren: Kim, Lisa, and Erik. Kim was the biggest, oldest and bossiest of us all. She may even be described as being a bully from time to time. Lisa and Erik were younger than I, but in physical size we were all much smaller than Kim. The Kaisers had a jungle gym and a swing set in their front yard for all the neighborhood kids to play on. That is, of course, unless Kim was there. If Kim was around you could count on being told exactly which swing you could use (if you were allowed to swing at all). She’d also control which section of the jungle gym you could sit on (which was usually one of the lower rungs). A day with Kim meant: gum in your hair, games of hide and seek that always ended in an unforeseen and terrifying scare, and being chased down the street only to eventually be caught and tortured in some capacity. Pinching, pulling hair, and pushing were all tactics Kim employed. We all simply accepted it as what we’d have to contend with if we were to take a chance on having any fun at all.

There were many other children around to endure Kim’s wrath also. This was good because if somebody new showed up, Kim’s focus could be directed toward them. There were Stephanie and Beatrice form the new apartment house across the street, Joseph next door, and Stacy and Diane from further down the street.

We were a rowdy bunch. Nobody’s ‘adult supervisor’ in our crowd had a decent working television. And by decent I mean color. It didn’t matter much, though, because in 1971 there were only five stations broadcast in Fresno, and every one of them were dedicated to soap operas. B-O-R-I-N-G. We weren’t allowed to use the telephone. It was for emergencies only, or for when our parents called to ask if we were behaving ourselves.

So what did we do with those precious seventeen hours of summer sunlight? We did what anyone under the age of nine would do! We ate frozen “Otter Pops” continuously, we played hopscotch on the sidewalk, we ran wild in games of tag, we fought over the swings and for the top of the jungle gym, and we begged endlessly from nine in the morning until nine in the evening to have the sprinklers on while we did all of this. There were spooky basements to search, and crazy attics to find old treasures in. We cooled ourselves while resting on strong cement porches because we were too wet to be allowed inside. Those cement porches had stairs that led down to backyards covered in Bermuda grass that seemed to go on forever, and we’d run through the sprinklers in those backyards hour after sun soaked hour.

The absolute crème de la crème of those summer days had to be the public pool at Dickey Park. The pool there was a very large blue rectangle. It ranged in depth from only one foot to three and a half feet. Needless to say, it was almost solely created for children. And all of us neighborhood kids gladly filled it with splashes of laughter, while the adults lined the sides by sitting near with their feet in the water. What a complete relief it was during those 110 degree days!

Dickey Park’s public pool in the old Fresno neighborhood is where I first encountered Nauget. She was an African-American girl who’d recently moved into a home on our block. It was no surprise we hadn’t met earlier. Back then white kids were, for the most part, discouraged from playing with black kids, and vise versa. That’s why the public pool was so special to me. I could see everybody. There were no denials about the existence of another.

Nauget was my height, which equated to short, no matter how you looked at it. She was a lot like me. She was sensitive and careful. We were both generally shy, but able to speak up in important situations. Her skin was medium brown, not the darkest or the lightest of ‘black’. This was fine by me because I was medium brown too, not the darkest or the lightest of ‘white’. She had large round brown eyes that stayed that way when her full lips revealed her glowing and reliable smile. Nauget wore her hair in several braids around her entire head, and always in the exact same pattern – one on top of her head, and three in equal sections around the back of her head. She had enough hair to hold those heavy plastic marble-ended rubber bands at the end of her braids. I loved Nauget’s hair. My hair was always so thin I didn’t have enough to make one braid let alone four. I used to beg her to let me brush her hair, and give her a different style. I was always denied. She’d shoot me down with, “Are you crazy? Mama made me sit still all morning getting my hair like this!”

Nauget, I discovered, lived only about four houses down. Her house was a lot like Aunt Gigi’s, except the old fashioned light switches and “chinging” furnaces had been replaced with modern equipment. Her mom was tall and beautiful, with the exact same smile as Nauget. She had two older brothers that were hardly ever home. I don’t remember them much, but I do recall that everybody in Nauget’s home was kind and welcoming.

The outside of Nauget’s house was celery green. This pleased her immensely because green was her favorite color. She wore green dresses, green shorts and shirts, and had a dark green bathing suit. The only things of a different color she wore were her white summer sandals.

Nauget wasn’t visiting the old neighborhood. She lived here, went to school here. She was different from every other friend I had on that block. For one thing she wasn’t white. For another, her guardians were her young parents. Her mom was definitely less uptight about us jaunting through the house wet, or going through the attic, and the snacks there were far superior to the ones at Aunt Gigi’s or the Kaiser’s: chocolate chip cookies, Three Musketeers Bars chilled in the fridge, and even REAL popsicles with sticks in each side! Otter Pops couldn’t hold a candle to the smooth texture and the rich flavor of Popsicles. Cups of Kool Aid replaced drinking water straight from the garden hoses. What a life of luxury I’d come to know as a result of befriending Nauget!

We didn’t get into trouble much. We tried to steer clear of Kim and the gang as much as possible, being careful to play with them only when we detected a mild temperament.

I recall one particularly important day in the history of our young friendship – a day of universal importance, a day for science, and finally a day of fresh salsa and fly swatters. My Aunt Gigi made enough fresh salsa for everyone in my entire family. She did this once or twice monthly, as demand dictated. She would spend almost and entire Saturday roasting and skinning peppers, stewing tomatoes, and putting various ingredients together in small containers to freeze for later consumption. There’s no real explanation for it, but one day this concoction she’d created got the best of my imagination. Looking back, maybe I just wanted Nauget to have as much fun at our house as I always did at hers.

The idea was born – sneak into that specially built room, into the late forties refrigerator, get the salsa, and begin the experiments! We conducted various tests: salsa with dirt, salsa with chopped ivy leaves, with minced clover, and finally salsa with rose petals. I know there were other elements used in these experiments, but I can’t remember what they were. We didn’t have time to write our findings down. Before we could record a thing, we heard the holler and felt the fly swatter! I remember us bolting over the side of the back porch and running to hide for our lives – two budding scientists cut off due to lack of proper salsa funding and support! Nauget kept asking if we were in big trouble; I do remember that.

I’ve always enjoyed recalling those long, hazy, summer days. I don’t remember ever saying goodbye to Nauget. I don’t remember when she left, or who left first. I only know she was gone by the time I’d reached ten years old.

About three or four years ago, I was visiting my sister Loni. Loni is seventeen years my elder, and she remembers things about my young life that I can’t. We were talking about my childhood friends and Aunt Gigi’s old house at dinner one evening when she asked, “Do you remember Nauget?” Before I could answer, she added, “Your imaginary black friend who lived down the street?”

I was stunned….crushed….speechless. This had been a real person as far as I was concerned, as real as anyone else. She was warm and dear to me. In those first moments I mourned the passing of Nauget. Later I recognized that I could remember and love her as I would any other friend – she could hold her place in my soul, imaginary or not.

Kim, Marie & Gigi, April 1968

Aunt Ginger & Marie Louise, August 18, 1970

Kim & Marie (Before Kim realized her evil powers) 1970