The People Without a Country

When I was eight years old (1959) the U.S. created a pact with Vang Pao and the Hmong people after North Vietnam began carving the Ho Chi Minh Trail through the jungles of Laos to send its soldiers and spies southward. In the final days of the Eisenhower administration, the CIA began shipping weapons and military materials to the Hmong, the mountain tribe whose members were an isolated minority in Laos. Gen. Van Pao’s army grew to some 39,000 Hmong guerillas over the next eight years. This is a picture of him in 1961. Thousands of Hmong died throughout the 60s. This remains one of the least-known chapters in the story of the Vietnam War.

I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve been completely ignorant of all of this until this past year, when our son, Jason, began dating a Hmong woman in Denver. And now she’s my daughter-in-law. Her story will be a significant part of my grandchildren’s history some day, and I’m eager to understand it and share it with others.

You can read an in-depth story about this in yesterday’s New York Times Magazine. (which also has an interesting story about what sports are doing to young women....)

I’m not well enough informed to figure out whether recent charges against 78-year-old Vang Pao, indicting him as a terrorist, which resulted in his imprisonment, and even house arrest following his release, have any legitimate foundation. The indictment charged that “Vang Pao led a conspiracy aimed at the overthrow of the existing government of Laos by violent means, including murder, assaults on both military and civil officials of Laos and destruction of building and property.” It might take a year or more before the case comes to trial… but meanwhile, Hmong people in the U.S. see this as an attack on them, and many are frightened.

A young Hmong musician is putting the story into rap music so the younger generation will learn about it and try to help their people who are still trapped in Laos. At one point on the video, he collaborates with his grandmother, who teaches him a form of Hmong oral poetry which he combines with his rap music. You can watch it here.

Reading all this and commenting on it makes the other things I was going to share today seem unimportant. But I’m leaving for New Orleans early tomorrow morning, and I did want to share something a little more upbeat before leaving. One of the agents I’ve queried about my memoir asked to see the full book proposal today (yes!) so I’m about to put it in the mail to her. She requested more sample chapters than I’m ready to send, so I plan to do lots of revising while I’m on my trip.

My husband and I are often seen at our “dueling computers” … sitting back to back in our tiny office… him working on medical lectures or articles, and me working on essays or my memoir. Yesterday he was reading the Sunday comics and started chuckling aloud. He handed me one of our favorites, “Non Sequitur.” It was so apropos, I decided to share the entire comic strip here.

Why Non Sequitur? I looked up the definition and found two, that kind of explain it, together:

An inference or conclusion that does not follow from the premises or evidence.

A statement that does not follow logically from what preceded it .

So, I tried to cut and paste the strip, but it's so tiny, but if you click ON THE COMIC a larger version will appear, or you can CLICK HERE to see it full size on its web site.

But then I started thinking about the memoirist in the comic strip, and about the chapters I need to revise in my own memoir, and a quote by Oscar Wilde came to mind:

“Life imitates art far more than art imitates life.”

I’ve heard that criminals copy the shows they see on television, and that people tend to become emboldened to pursue behaviors they might not have otherwise, when they read about them in a book. So, maybe those are negative aspects of life imitating art.

But for me, personally, good fiction, and good narrative nonfiction (like memoirs) both imitate and reveal life. They show people at their best and their worst, struggling with their beautiful, flawed humanity, to find meaning and purpose in life. And sometimes forgiveness and redemption.

Hopefully I’ll send some posts from New Orleans this week. I haven’t been there in about 25 years, so it will be a journey of discovery. One of my favorite blogs is "A Good Blog Is Hard to Find." A recent post by Kimberly Willis Holt is called, "Escaping to the French Quarter." Reading it got me in the mood for New Orleans! Kimberly has several published books--her first was My Louisiana Sky. I'll be looking at that sky tomorrow afternoon, God willing.

The Spice Girls and Uncle Oscar

Tonight my husband asked me, “Do you know what Sunday tomorrow is?” He was referring to the Sundays in the calendar of the Orthodox Church.

I thought about it and said, “Hmmmm, well, it’s the second Sunday after Pascha, but I can’t remember who we commemorate.”

He smiled and said, “the Spice Girls.”

I got it. It’s the Sunday of the Myrrhbearing Women. (You have to know him to appreciate his sense of humor!) But he's leading the services and giving the homily (sermon) at an Orthodox Skete (small monastery) tomorrow morning, so I doubt he'll use The Spice Girls for humor... the nuns probably don't know who they are! But they know who the Myrrhbearing Women are.

You can read a wonderful homily by Saint Gregory Palamas about the Myrrhbearing Women here.

Here’s my favorite part:

The Myrrhbearers are all those women who followed with the mother of the Lord, stayed with her during those hours of the salvific passion, and with pathos anointed him with myrrh. After Joseph and Nicodemos asked for and received the body of the Lord from Pilate, they took it down from the cross, wrapped it in a cloth with strong spices, placed it in a carved out tomb, and closed the door of the tomb with a large stone…. they went and bought spices and myrrh; for they did not yet clearly know that he is truly the perfume of life for those who approach him in faith, just as he is also the odor of death for those who remain unbelievers to the end. They did not yet clearly know that the odor of his clothes, the odor of his own body, is greater than all perfumes, that his name is like myrrh that is poured out to cover the world with his divine fragrance.

Wow. Jesus is “the perfume of life for those who approach him in faith.” And “the odor of his own body is greater than all perfumes, and his name is like myrrh that is poured out to cover the world with his divine fragrance.” Imagine what the world would smell like without Him.

We miss this earthiness in much of today’s funeral practices, with the body usually being prepared by a stranger, a professional mortician, rather than by “myrrhbearing women.” Ten years ago this summer, when my father died (July 9) at home, I was blessed to at least bathe him before they took him to the funeral home. And then when my Goddaughter, Mary Allison was killed in a car wreck (in September) the time I spent helping her mother comb her hair and apply her makeup before the funeral was a time of tender “anointing” in a sense.

I started thinking about these deaths yesterday, when my cousin Kathleen called to tell me that her father, my Great Uncle Oscar, had died. He was my grandfather’s brother. My father’s father’s brother. Uncle Oscar was 96 years old, and his brother, Papa Willis, died at half that age, at 48. I barely remember him. He died of a heart attack, probably with undiagnosed heart disease back then. Uncle Oscar was a sweet, dear man, who never smoked, drank or ate meat his entire life. Years after retiring from his “day job,” he worked outside in his garden and his mind was sharp. He lived in Star, Mississippi, hometown of Faith Hill .

I’ve lost a brother, an aunt, an uncle and a father to lung cancer caused by smoking. They were all between 58 and 68 years old. Uncle Oscar was 96. I think I said that already.

Forgive the digression from my post about the Myrrhbearing Women… but this smoking thing has been on my mind this week. Today I read an article in The New Yorker by David Sedaris called “Letting Go” … it’s his story of quitting smoking. It’s not at all preachy… mainly his reflections on smoking as a social phenomenon over the years, and how he was finally “finished with it.”

Made me also think about The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell… the book about social trends and how they become epidemics, like teen smoking. (fascinating book, by the way… you can read a good interview with Gladwell here.

So now I’m rambling… and I’ll close with a nod to my husband, the biggest anti-smoker I know. One of the hats he wears is Dr. William Cushman, doctor of Preventive Medicine… so he’s all about healthy lifestyles. Our neighbors are used to seeing him jogging through the neighborhood with his white beard and baseball hat. He’s been a runner since high school.

So, yesterday he received this award at the VA Hospital here in Memphis where he works. It’s the 2008 Memphis Metropolitan Area Federal Employee of the Year award—specifically the Outstanding Scientific/Professional Employee Award. He got this beautiful plaque, so I made him pose for a picture when he came home from work with it.
Maybe he’ll live to be 96, like Uncle Oscar.

Life is an Audition: One Little Song

Tuesday I watched Barbara Walters on Oprah, talking about her new book/memoir, Audition. Barbara says the title of the book comes from her sense that her entire life has been an audition. "As a child, I felt that I didn't belong—I was auditioning. I kept going to different schools—I was auditioning. Most of my professional life, I've been auditioning," she says. "I think for a lot of us, life is an audition."

I remember telling someone, quite a few months ago, when they asked me if I felt that I had something to prove by my writing/publishing, that yes, I do feel that way. It was both sad and heartening to hear someone of Barbara Walters’ reputation say that she felt that she was always auditioning in her life… for acceptance. Her book is now on my “to buy” list.

With the plethora of memoirs on the market, a writer like me, with a memoir-in-progress, can either get discouraged and think, like the writer of the book of Ecclesiastes, “There’s nothing new under the sun,” or choose to take encouragement from the popularity of the genre. One of the literary agents that I've queried recently replied to my email today, requesting to see the full book proposal, so here's hoping he finds something original, something new, in what I have to say.

One of my Goddaughters, Katherine, gave me a Gillian Welch CD as a Pascha gift. I’m loving it. It’s called “Soul Journey.” My favorite song is called, “One Little Song.” You can listen to it here, or watch the video here.
The lyrics are yummy:

There’s gotta’ be a song let to sing

Cause everybody can’t of thought of everything

One little song that ain’t been sung

One little rag that ain’t been wrung out completely yet

Gotta’a little left

One little drop of fallin’ rain

One little chance to try again

One little bird that makes it every now and then

One little piece of endless sky

One little taste of cherry pie

One little week in paradise and I start thinkin’

There’s gotta’ be a song left to sing

Cause everybody cant of thought of everything

One little note that ain’t been used

One little word that ain’t been abused a thousand times

In a thousand rhythms

One little drop of fallin’ rain

One little chance to try again

One little bird that makes it every now and then

One little piece of endless sky

One little taste of cherry pie

One little week in paradise and I start thinkin’

Gotta’ be a song left to sign

Cause everybody can’t of thought of everything

One little song that ain’t been sung

One little rag that ain’t been wrung out completely yet

Till there’s nothing left.

So, as I continue reading memoirs and querying agents, I choose to believe Gillian Welch, that “everybody can’t of thought of everything,” and that there’s gotta’ be “one little word that ain’t been abused a thousand times”…. Even in the world of the memoir.

Two of my recent favorites are:

The Mistress’ Daughter by A.M. Homes and The Liar’s Club by Mary Karr. You can read a great interview with Karr here. I’ve just finished this first volume and am about to begin her sequel, Cherry. Great stuff.

The Mistress’ Daughter is about an adopted woman’s journey to her past, and her efforts to heal her brokenness by embracing both her birth family and adopted family. The Liar’s Club is about Karr’s childhood in southern Texas… an often rough and tumble ride through lots of craziness, but also tenderness.

As I continue with first drafts of the next chapters of my book, it’s so enlightening to see the courage and the craft of these talented women. With Gillian Welch’s earthy tones playing in the background…. reminding me to find that "one little word that ain't been abused a thousand times."

Behold, Your Mother

Today is one of two feast days for the Holy Apostle John, the Theologian and Evangelist, in the Orthodox Church. (The other one is September 26.) We had Divine Liturgy at Saint John Orthodox Church here in Memphis this morning. I took some of my peonies, put them in a Ming vase that my husband brought me from China last year, and placed them in front of the icon of Saint John on the solea in the front of the church, asking Saint John’s intercessions for my family and offering him this gift of love and gratitude. (By the way, a good source for info about Orthodoxy is a booklet called The Door to Paradise. You can read it here.)

Father John Troy’s homily was about our beloved patron, often called the Apostle of Love and the Disciple Whom Jesus Loved. He reminded us that when Jesus was on the Cross, he looked at his Mother and at John, both standing at the foot of the cross, and he said to John, “Behold, your Mother,” and to His Mother, “Behold, your son.” And he asked the youngest of the disciples to take care of His Mother after he was gone. He entrusted Her care to John. The icon of the Crucifixion (right) is one I saw on the island of Patmos.

Sunday is Mother’s Day. Most of us are sending flowers or purchasing gifts, visiting, or at least sending cards to our mothers. I’m sending a card, and then taking gifts when I visit her next Tuesday, two days after the actual day, but en route to New Orleans and Gulf Shores for a medical meeting and then a vacation with my husband and daughter. I’m thinking of how much time and care went into the choice of my mother’s assisted living home when she could no longer live alone. I asked her to come live with us in Memphis, but she wanted to stay in Jackson, so I honored her wishes. But I entrusted her care to the people at Ridgeland Pointe after touring several facilities and interviewing lots of people, because I love her.

Imagine how much greater Jesus’ love for His Mother is. And he entrusted her care to John. This is the same John who said, “Little children, love one another.” His words were inscribed on the inside of our wedding bands in 1970: “We love because He first loved us.”

As we celebrate his feast day, I’m reminded of our trip to the island of Patmos, Greece, this past October. I will never forget worshipping in the cave of the Apocalypse, (that's Fathers Basil and Paul by the door to the Cave) of touching the place on the inside of the cave where John placed his hand to pull himself up after hours of sitting and dictating his Gospel and later the Book of Revelation to his scribe, Prochoros.

When John was over one hundred years old, he asked his disciples to dig him a grave and bury him alive. Later, when others heard of this, they dug up the grave and John was gone. The sick were healed there by a fragrant dust that the grave produced once each year. This is the miracle we celebrate today.

When Father John visited Patmos a few years ago, he brought me back an icon of Saint John, a print that was mounted on an old piece of wood. While we were in Greece, we saw the original of that icon, in the monastery museum. Between these two experiences, I used the icon as the prototype for one that I painted at a workshop in Pennsylvania. Here’s the work in progress, and finally completed. It was the first icon that I wrote using an original drawing, rather than tracing the prototype. I think the process of drawing (albeit copying the original) helped me get to know the saint’s features better, enabling a more enlightened end result. I hope it blesses you as I share the icon here.

Holy Apostle John, pray to God for us!

And here’s a BIG P.S…. just before posting, I received a phone call from Jason in Denver… he and See officially tied the knot today. May God grant them many years! (If you didn’t read about their engagement, scroll down to Tuesday’s post.) What an awesome Mother’s Day gift! They’ll be planning a traditional Hmong wedding celebration in Denver in the coming months, and we can’t wait to welcome Jason and See Cushman (wow!) to Memphis for an old-fashioned “Meet and Greet!” If you’d like to send your congrats, contact me via email for their email and snail mail addresses: susanmaryecushman@yahoo.com.

Rocky Mountain High

It was my first trip to Colorado since 2000, when my husband and I went to Estes Park to celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary. So the beautiful mountains of Colorado provided the perfect backdrop for another romantic celebration... my son Jason's engagement! When Jason told us he was going to ask See to marry him, his little sister Beth immediately said, "We gotta' meet this girl!" Her name is See Vang. She's Hmong... I'll share more of her family's story later in the blog....

So off we flew to Denver last Friday, the day after Beth's last exam (first year of architecture grad school) for a weekend of art, street festivals, dining and mountain views.

We actually met See at our hotel in Denver.... We had drinks together in the bar first, and then we decided to stay "in" for our first night of bonding.... eating at the New Orleans-themed restaurant (complete with Mardi Gras beads), swimming in the heated pool and hot tub, (sans photos) and ending the evening with a scary movie in one of our hotel rooms! Lots of Cushman togetherness for See's first night!

On Saturday we drove downtown where the Cinco de Mayo street festival was in progress... we made our way through the colorful displays and music to the Denver Art Museum. See is also an artist--she showed us several of her pieces, done in pastels and acrylics, but I didn't get any pictures - they are really good, though!.Beth was fascinated by the architecture of the museum itself. We were all intersted in the Asian section, and especially loved this mandala, made of sand by Tibetan monks.

After enjoying Colorado beer at one of the ourdoor cafes along the downtown mall, and listening to "street music," like this young performer was offering (she reminded me of a softer version of Amy Winehouse) we drove over to Boulder, so See could show us the University of Colorado, Boulder, where she went to school. We explored more shops and restaurants, ending up on an upstairs patio for tapas and sangria and sunset-watching with the Rocky Mountains in the background. The kids will think this is corny, but I couldn't help but think of John Denver's "Rocky Mountain High"... which he recorded back in 1974! (click on the video arrow if you really want to listen!) It's funny listening to the lyrics, "He was born in the summer of his 27th year...." Jason will be 27 this month.




On Sunday we met See's parents, Ia and Cher Vang, for lunch at a nearby Olive Garden Restaurant. Here I go with the corny stuff again... thinking as we walked in, of the ad the restaurant runs that says, "When you're here, you're family!" And our families began to blend, to share stories, to bond. The Hmong people fled Laos after the Vietnam War... after they helped us fight the North Vietnamese. Thousands of them were killed in the process. The ones who were lucky enough to make it out alive, like See's parents, lived in a refugee camp in Thailand for a few years before departing for the States. Ia showed me photographs of their history, which you can read more about here. (One of many sites.) Later at Ia and Cher's home, we meet two of See's brothers, Ping and Tai, and Ia gives me a beautiful gift. This hand-embroidered wall-hanging, made by Hmong women, which tells stories of traditional Hmong farming community life, is beautiful. I can't wait to frame it.

Beth and I flew home Monday afternoon, and this morning I couldn't wait to take this picture of my peony bush, which, like my family, has grown over the weekend. Who would have thought that a freckle-faced girl from Mississippi would end up with so many Asian beauties! I am, indeed, a blessed woman.

May Day and Cooper Young Night Out

May Day! I'm just getting this post in under the wire (before midnight) on May 1... and it will be mostly photos, as I don't really have time to write much. I haven't started packing and I leave for the airport at 7 am tomorrow! (to visit Jason in Denver).... so.... Here it is. My peony in bloom...unfolding her softness for my lens and now for you, my readers. There are actually two of them blooming... with dozens more still in their buds. Maybe they'll wait 'til I get back from Denver. Where the high tomorrow will be in the 40s! Brrrr.

So tonight was the second Cooper Young Night Out... with folks strolling up and down the sidewalks, music everywhere, and at Burke's Books, an amazing reading by the poet, Beth Ann Fennelly. There was this great photo and article about her and her husband, Tom Franklin, in today's Commercial Appeal. And I had fun with Fredric Koeppel on his blog today, arguing with him about Beth Ann's poem, "First Warm Day in a College Town." You can read my comments and his reply here. It was fun to meet him tonight at Burke's Books.
Beth Ann's reading was wonderful, as usual.

And it was great being with friends from the Yoknapatawpha writing group, like Herman, from Hernando... who used to live near the new location of Burke's in Cooper Young. Here he is meeting Corey Mesler, owner of Burke's.

and Sue and her husband John, and Cindy. And Katherine, who was at the summer workshop at Ole Miss last June when we first met Beth Ann.

I loved having Julie and Sally there, of course.

And what a treat that my daughter made it in time for dinner at Tsunami's and got to meet Beth Ann's who was dining at the table next to us. And yes, the sea bass was phenomenal.

Here are the two Beth Anns with me... I was so proud to be with both of them! Beth finished her first year of grad school in architecture today!

Okay, so I'm pretty tired and still need to pack, so I apologize for not posting anything literary tonight... maybe I'll get inspired in Denver. See you all next week! (no more posts until next Monday or Tuesday)

Oh, and if you want Beth Ann's latest book, Unmentionables, I recommend you get it at Burke's Books if you're in Memphis, Square Books in Oxford, or your local independent book seller.

Congratulations to Cooper Young for a great Night Out!

Hope to be back over there on June 5!