Saturday over Elsewhere :-)

 

She let it in

 She let it in. 

A review of Letting in Air and Light by Teresa Tumminello Brader. 

By Cathrine Lødøen. 

 

Letting in Air and Light is the story of how:  

“the difficulty of accommodating an erratic family member while protecting young children, .. ” (117) can define a family history and identity. 

It is the story of Brader’s art forger uncle and how his deceit impacted the whole family and the stories they told or did not tell. It beautifully brings to light how a life of lies and deceit can lead to truth. Airing stories can bring about healing for all involved. It is an unfolding, leading to a refolding with fewer emotional creases.  

It is a homage and respectful apology to the victim. Clementine Hunter: “a Black artist from the Can River region of Louisiana.”  

“... my uncle, a White man, intrudes into Hunter’s story, ..” (x) 

 

At the same time it is an observation without judgement of her uncle’s mental health. 

Humbly she claims to not hold nor own the truth, to merely wonder and observe, along with the reader … still in no way justifying his crime. 

 

It is a reflection on memory. 

“Already my memories seem fraudulent, yet they are true to the child I was. Memory is unreliable; it might as well be fiction.” (12) 

“... I needed both memoir and fiction to get at the truth, ..” (x) 

 

We are a generation that grew up in a world where certain stories could and should be told and others, god forbid, could and should not. Appearance was important. What the neighbors thought defined your worth, your sense of self. Silverware should be polished and degrees received. To be a good human was to appear to be so. To be a good human was not to be kind, it was to be of a certain kind. In order to be this, dust must be swept under the carpet. Shameful stories hidden. The stories we were told defined who we were and are …. The stories we were not told did just the same.  

What happens if windows are opened and light catches hidden dust … what if the air from the window blows the dust into plain sight and we are forced to face it. Can we rewrite what we know as we sweep? Are we brave enough? Who and what are we left with at the end …. ? Teresa Tumminello Brader was brave enough. She also helps the reader to be so. To remember without ego. To ponder without shields.  

Once in a rare while along comes a book that dares you to pose these questions and shine this light onto your very own life story. “Letting in Air and Light” by Brader is such a book. 

“Watergate wasn’t the only cover-up happening at the time.” (85) 

“I would’ve been hoping to help break the chain of secrecy, the one that breeds more secrecy and grows unwarranted shame.” (115) 

 

That which I remember was it so? Just so? Could it be that I hold just a fraction of the truth of that which I claim is my story. The one I remember. A fraction of the truth of who the others were and what they did?  

This can be a sour pill to swallow. What makes the pill sweeter this time around is that the author of Letting in Air and Light does so in the most empathic of manner. She is kind to the souls of the past. She is kind to her herself and her own story. She is kind to the reader. She holds your hand through out it all with no level of judgement. She writes with deep empathy for all involved. Herself included. Her own story was in many ways painted or rather forged by the enclosure caused by his actions. She displays empathy even for her uncle, something which is beyond admirable as she writes she is “repulsed” by his actions (122).  

No one is bad, no one is good. Everyone is merely human. The villain, who no one was to know of, was in some ways a victim. She pulls us out into the fresh air and standing there with light shining on the stories we are at a safe distance. All the while as we bathe in beautiful prose. I am so grateful to have found this book. 

The author is brave and has made me so as well.  

Memory is “a perpetual puzzle,” ….  

There is impressive distance in her closeness. There is fresh air and light. She let it in.

 

Coming home 🥰

 

Light on skin

 This is happiness 🥰🌸

You see

all the books she ever read

all her stories

he knew them

he’d read them too.

No one else has. 

It was only through him that she 

could know them

completely.

Through his perspective

of them.

Her stories.

Theirs.

Just that.

Nothing to blind me.

 leaf through it …..

 

thoughts on dealing with the unspeakable.

The undealable, the undoable.

 

Yesterday I stepped into a swap of … too much.

Someone in my life who is in such a way that we are a poor match.

Yet we have to communicate.

Three conversations yesterday filled my cup with it.

I’m going to drown if I do not deal with this now.

 

So I went home.

I wrote the conversations down.

Then I put them infront of me and read them as if I were not a part of them.

As if I were to listen and give advice.

I found the thread, clear without my own sight in the way. Nothing to blind me. 

There, do this, say this … it will help.

 

Ease.

Relief.

Energy.

 

Then I went to the setting where this takes place.

And in a different head space all together I heard myself speak: “Hey, hi, … listen …

I need to share something with you directly ….”

 

With the kindest words, kindest intentions.

I shared.

Then I met the other only with curious intentions, the other’s reality.

With no fences, nothing to blind me.

Oh … this is me, this is you … let us be aware of this from now on?!

 

Ease …..