LIBERTY LET GO

“Liberty Let Go!”

That was the cryptic headline on the cover of the New York Daily News. Rather blunt and dismissive, but to the point and that is how I found out about the end of my career. It felt like a punch to the gut, seriously shaking my feelings of self-worth and deflating my ego like Spider-Man after the Thanksgiving Day Parade.

I know that December 26^th is the traditional day for returning unwanted gifts, but I don’t think that I want to wait that long. It was rare that I received mail and considering my celebrity status, probably why the park ranger took her time delivering it to me. The letter was brief and to the point, but at least I had not been let go by tweet. It was a beautiful day and the line of people waiting to enter my pedestal was long. Suddenly a little girl pointed up to me and said in a loud voice, “She got fired and doesn’t belong here anymore!” It hurt more than I can put into words. Nobody likes the feeling of being unwanted and the talent to give gifts that will be appreciated and cherished is a rare one indeed. Like the party guest who overstays their welcome and wears  a hole in the welcome mat, I had overstayed mine.

I realize now that coming here with 214 suitcases was a little excessive, but a girl needs to have her things – and in proper order – to feel comfortable and put together in her new home. Well that is all in the past now and there is no use crying over spilled dairy products as the Americans say. Living in the past makes one look like a laughing stock. It is preferable to pack up ones belongings without any fuss and disappear rather than turn oneself inside out changing the very core of what you stand for to please others.

Severing off six of the seven points on my crown, retaining only the one pointing to Europe would be ludicrous. I would look like an asymmetrical unicorn! How absurd welcoming only European immigrants rather than the whole world and desecrating my beautiful diadem in the process.

Looking back now, I guess it was rather presumptuous of me, a recent immigrant myself to take it upon myself to welcome other immigrants to these shores. I never complained though through those many years standing at the entrance to the harbor holding that heavy 100^th birthday tablet with my left arm and the giant torch in my right in all sorts of weather, my arms aching in pain. It wasn’t as though I had the Colossus of Rhodes to fill in for me on long weekends or for the occasional holiday. We were about the same size and if he kept his feet together, Helios would have fit on my pedestal nicely. No, it was all me 24-7-365, but enough of feeling sorry for myself.

I will miss the children screaming and laughing as they traverse my entrails, finally poking their heads out of my crown to be amazed by the majesty of New York Harbor. Do you know that they saved their pennies bringing them to school and paid for my pedestal!  Not to mention the men who literally put me on a pedestal. I always held them in the highest regard carrying a torch for them and all Americans. I will miss the seagulls squawking in my ears as they search the ocean for their breakfast and the smell of hotdogs and onions sizzling and boiling on the food trucks below my feet. The smell of the sea in my nostrils will be hard to do without. Emma Lazarus who wrote me such a beautiful poem will always be in my heart as will Freddy Bartholdi who spent countless hours crafting and sculpting my beautiful gown and persona. Who can forget Gus Eiffel who made me so strong to withstand the sea, wind and cold of New York Harbor. I will miss the look of hope on the faces of the new immigrants as the harbor comes into their view.

I will need a new gown; this old thing is worn and discolored. I am not sailing into Marseille wearing a 133 year old dress. It was once beautiful burnished copper and showed off my figure, if I may be so bold. The new gown will cost me a fortune. I’ll be on Super Easy Pay with QVC for the next 300 years! Just try to coordinate an outfit with patina. Even Este Lauder has forsaken me, but don’t get me started. My complexion was beautiful; now I look like Elphaba Throop from WICKED. I haven’t seen the show yet, not  fitting in the seats. Few of us do these days! There are so many details before departure, what with booking a cruise and packing alone. I am definitely downsizing on the suitcases!

Suddenly I can’t wait to go home. It is time now to snuff out my torch, putting it and my tablet down, and stepping carefully off this pedestal. I haven’t even seen Gus’s Eiffel Tower yet.

           France is beautiful this time of the year.

Big Jim

Sept. 2019

THE QUIET

          I long for that moment of quiet. That moment of interlude after the frenzy. The frenzy of thoughts always make my head hurt. Sometimes it makes my throat tight and my breathing too quick.
         Often I close my eyes and try to slow everything down. More often than not, however, the solution escapes me. It’s like trying to grab onto fog and watching it slip through your fingers, fully knowing it’s pointless. But I attempt it anyway, because I want the quiet.
          I need the quiet.
          I suppose the human mind can only handle so much, because, after a few agonizing minutes of the frenzy, it finally fizzles out like a short in a circuit. My breathing settles down. My heart beat returns to its normal pace. My thoughts reduce their quantity and no longer overlap.
         The quiet is so peaceful.

Jessica S.

Sep 2019

Saved (by Saving Yourself)

How many times have we looked to a person or belief or religion or substance or cause to save us from those invisible, incognito feelings of fear, self-loathing, and undefinable agitation?

The world is built on self-avoidance. We are plummeted with advertisements about instant relief from anxiety and lightning fast methods leading to boastful self-esteem. Only to be disappointed over and over that these seemingly split second, twinkling flashes of being saved have not worked, we think it is us, we are not smart enough, not brave enough, missing the message because we are cursed.

We are all desperate to be saved. Saved from the pain and disappointment of unfortunate events, unexpected delays, and self-recrimination, not feeling worthy or good enough.

Here’s the bad news:  No one is coming to save you. Yes it is unfair but it’s a reality.

Here’s the good news: No one is coming to save you. This is ultimate freedom for you. You are free to create your own “saving”

At this very moment, as you consider your existence and choices with honesty, you are immediately “saved”.

Will your journey of saving yourself be easy, nope; it will be difficult at times, unbearable, unknown, and questionable, but as you process these steps and come out on the other side, your being saved will amount to the information you need to know yourself so well that no one, no person, no god, no curse, no cause and no belief can take from you.

You will stand saved in yourself, as yourself and with yourself, saved from mindlessly following what everyone else does to creating a one of a kind unique, individual life just for you.

The message is: You are so worth the effort of being “saved” by saving yourself.

Sending all of you buckets or gardenia, wisteria and lilies on your very own self-discovery journey

Georgia P

Sep. 2019

The Lesson

Ben H

SAVED

Once upon a time there was a little girl who had a wonderful family but who also grew up to learn that these people all had turbulent pasts.  As a very little girl nothing touched her because she was innocent as children all are at least for a little while.  Life was exciting and beautiful.  Her aunts, uncles and cousins were loving and kind.  Other people slowly but surely came into her circle of awareness. 

As long as her inner circle kept her safe, the outer one never came close enough to really touch her.  Then as she began to go to school, little by little the protective shield began to erode.  At first there were little holes in the protective shield.  Then, over time, those openings began to widen and there was less protection and more exposure to the outside and more frightening circle.

One day the little girl was standing and waiting for the school bus down the block from her house.  The other children went to a different school.  Their bus had already picked them up and she stood there in wait by herself.  Out of the corner of her eye she spied a man on the opposite side of the street looking at her so hard that a shiver went through her.

When he was out sight and saw the bus approaching, she felt safe even though the school bus driver, Frank, made her feel as if she didn’t deserve to be picked up. 

“If it weren’t for you, I could go straight down Broadway and not have to go out of my way,” he announced in his booming voice. 

Since she was only six years old, she dared not utter the words Frank needed to hear.  Nor did she tell her family or teachers about the way the bus driver greeted her when he came to get her.  Neither did she mention to anyone the man who stared at her menacingly.

A pattern began to form.  Every school day since First Grade started a few days ago, her mama fed her a delicious breakfast then got her ready with a sandwich for lunch.  Instead of a lunch pail, the little girl used her doll’s suitcase and instead of a school bag she had a leather rucksack. 

Each morning she was apprehensive to the point of anxiety because of the man who walked on the opposite side of the street where she waited for the bus.  He always leered, not that she knew what leering was, but he never approached her.  When the school bus arrived, she would move as far away from Frank as possible which wasn’t far at all because she got on last.  Then she sat and felt angry and ashamed to be such a burden.  The real danger was supplanted by the emotions Frank caused her to experience.

The next week, again waiting in front of the frame house with the big old-fashioned porch, she noticed the same man.  Today he looked directly at her with a very sinister glint in his eyes.  He walked by and then pivoted.  As he was about to cross the street, she ran up the wooden stairs to the porch where the cranky lady who lived there sat in the afternoon. Her finger was pushing the door bell and when the lady opened the door, she was kind and listened to the child who was apologizing for ringing her bell.

In a moment all her fears about the man who stared at her every day and who had crossed the street today for the first time and the shame she felt because Frank had to go out of his way to pick her up, came pouring out as if a dam had just broken.  The lady called her mother.  Both of the girl’s parents came and wanted to know why she never told them about the man who frightened her.  Her daddy was particularly interested in what she had told the lady about Frank. 

To this day the little girl, now a woman, is grateful to the lady who answered her door that dreadful day and saved her from who knows what.

Yvonne A.

Sep. 2019

It's Not Easy Being Six

Today is beach day! I’m so excited! The sand feels good in my hands, but weird all over my feet. Mom is telling me to calm down because I’m so angry.

I don’t know why I feel like screaming but the stupid sand should stop going on my feet. Mom is helping me make sand castles. Hers are better than mine. Now I’m so mad that I’m shaking and I start to cry.

Mom grits her teeth, “Aubrey, stop it. It’s not a contest!” I don’t understand her. We’re close to the water and it’s very loud. The sand is still all over my feet. And why is she telling me to stop a contest? I won’t win if I stop. This doesn’t make sense and there’s so much happening now. I yank my hair.

Aiden runs up to us, showing us things that are crawling around in his bucket. He talks loudly and covers my voice. Why does he always do that? I shout, “Aiden, shut up!” He pushes my arm too hard and calls me a “brat.” I want a new brother.

Then I spot a seashell and some green stuff that my mom calls, “seaweed.” I begin using them for my castles. I feel really happy again. I wipe my tears with my hands. I like when the happy feeling comes so fast. I hate it when the mad feeling is even faster.

Oh no. I just got sand in my eyes. I scream again because it hurts. Mom asks, “Aubrey, what’s wrong now?” I know what I wanna say, but the words won’t come out. This makes me even angrier. Screaming helps me feel better.

Mom is rubbing my back, “It’s ok, Aubrey. Please use your words so I can help you.” But my skin feels like there are bugs crawling under it. I shake her off and smack her hard in that arm. Why doesn’t she help me? It hurts so much.

Now Mom looks at me like she’s worried. What is she worried about? She doesn’t have sand in her eyes. Aiden splashes water in my face and I feel better. He rolls his eyes at Mom, “Mom, she had sand in her eyes. Didn’t you see that?”

Aiden is a nice big brother. I love him so much. And I feel really happy again. I hope this feeling lasts longer this time. I’ve heard my mom and dad talk about Aiden a lot. They took him to special doctors and he took a test.

Now they say that he has a few things that make his brain work differently. I can’t remember what they are. They think I might have one of those things. So my mom took me to those special doctors.

They were nice to me and let me play with their toys. They showed me pictures and asked me questions, but I didn’t take a test. Tests are boring. This was fun.

My mom looked sad when they told her that we have to come back again. But I’m happy because I like going there. Maybe there will be new toys next time.

I’m finished with my sand castles now. Mom smiles at me, “Great job, Aubrey!” I want her to smile like that more often. I hug her and give her a huge smile back. Aiden sits down with us and so does my dad. I feel happy, still. But the sand is itchy on my skin. And my skin feels tight. I’m shaking again.

Jessica S.

Sept. 2019