By Esther Bender
In a special number of brief writings, meditations, poetry, own images, and laptop photographs, the writer stocks with readers the way in which she copes with the disabilities concerned with Parkinson's illness. She recommends writing mishmash in an effort to care for any emotion-laden occurring in existence. She stocks along with her readers the discouragements and highlights of a lifestyles with Parkinson's affliction and claims that existence continuously has that means. images of pottery by way of Lynn Lais aid to hold the metaphor of the grasp Potter shaping the clay--human beings.
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Additional resources for A Cry from the Clay
Does she remember when she had rheumatic fever and we read about a boy who grew a Christmas tree in Shantytown? She taught me to sing a tune on key, and to sing alto. She drilled and drilled our trio by piano until we knew each note no muddling through our parts. Now she lives at the nurses' commands: Eat breakfast now, sit up now, lie down now, eat supper now. She never dreamed that she'd submit to someone else's times and whims. But there she is, and sometimes glad to be there. Shantytown! That story still haunts me.
I still have the habit of thinking in the future: in five years, I will do this, I will do that. Someday, I will travel, write letters, visit people. I say to myself, Stop that. There is no better time than now. Especially with Parkinson's. My attitudes must change. Now I must judge: Is this money for the spending? Is it still the time for saving? What am I saving for? Is it time that I am hoarding? Time that's passing through my fingers? Will I regret I haven't given it away? Or will I say I frittered it away?
I don't see any trembling. Everyone shakes. See, I can make my body shake. The doctor stiffened his body until he shook. Then he said, It's nothing. It s probably nothing, I repeated to myself. Probably nothing. Probably nothing. Then why must I keep repeating while my insides crumble? In the deepest part of me, I knew the truth. The hummingbird sits for a time in kind hands. Then it flies away. I repeated, repeated: Probably nothing. Probably nothing. Probably nothing. Parkinson's unbalances body chemicals; shock unbalanced the chemicals in the hummingbird.
A Cry from the Clay by Esther Bender