Cry baby has trouble saying bye lately
Always needs mama to stay
To hold her fingers and sing her a song
While wishing her troubles away

Mama loved lilies and roses and tulips
Forsythia and calla and coxcomb
She named her baby girl Aster
And imagined she had petals for eyes

Vibrant colors bloomed in June and
Faded away every fall
Mama brought them back each spring
But last June she didn’t come home at all

So crybaby stuffed her mother’s flowers in a vase
before the Tall Hats knocked on the door
The glass was smashed by the wheels of the carriage
And her petals wept and cried some more

Whisked away to the edge of the city
Away from the rats and the fumes
In the carriage she combed her hair
and sniffled while her tears bloomed

Crumbling derelict walls of stone
Decorated by shriveling vines
And the only flower anywhere in sight
Was the boiling sun in the sky

Five hundred girls ate porridge for breakfast
Four hundred ninety nine slept in five rooms
Crybaby curled up in the apple barrel
To dream of red aster and gloom

Nadine was seven but claimed to be eleven
She stole seeds from the market to grow
Crybaby grew lilies and balsam and aster
And dreaded the day it would snow

A lily of the valley was her mother’s spirit
Azalea was her mother’s blue eyes
She put a flower under her head each night
It was dead by the time the sun would rise

Cry baby has trouble saying bye lately
Says mama can’t be too far away
She’ll smell the flowers and walk for hours
To the garden where her Aster must stay

Yes, my name is a noun.  And yes, my mom’s name is an adjective. That does not mean that every time you see my name on a sign or hear it in a song, you should feel free to chat me up about it.  I don’t look like a flower, my mom isn’t the most joyful person in the world, and yes, my dad’s name is Steve.  Why couldn’t I have been named a name?  Like Eleanor or Louise or Kayla or Caroline.  I just want a name that can’t be worn out by children’s books or greenhouses.  Although I wish I wasn’t a noun, I’m happy that my noun has no connotations or double meanings.  Poor Molly, poor Cliff, poor Rebel and Hunter and Mills and poor, poor Mary Jane.  I guess maybe I should look favorably upon my noun name.  I am featured in songs of Jimi Hendrix, The Who, Stevie Nicks, Sinatra, Bob Dylan, and many more among greats. The problem isn’t that my name is a lyric or a flower. The problem is just that anytime my peers hear those lyrics or see those flowers, everyone stares at me and expects something.  Like, what do y’all want me to say?
“Hey everyone, my name is Lily, and YES! You did just hear my name in that song! I’m so glad you’re all staring at me and notice that I, like a flower, am alive.”

I have come to talk about Mitsy and all that she means.

Mitsy is old. Mitsy is 92. Mitsy lives in a retirement home.

This is not an blog about a spunky old woman who taught me how to live fully, or how a wise woman showed me what it means to be happy through pain. This is about Mitsy. A woman who is quiet and kind and and wears dresses with pockets and she’s changed me only because she’s awakened my quietness and ability to be comfortable in my own silences. She prefers her walker to the wheelchair because she plans to leave soon, and she wants to practice progress. We don’t have a very deep connection, Mitsy and I. She remembers my name and I remember hers though, and that is more than I can say for most people in the world, most people that I’ve met.

I think that’s really all it is.
I get filled when I hear that someone has remembered my name.

All the people I have met have given me a reason to think even softer than usual. Nora was asked if she would behave for an aid today, and she responded, ‘I guess today I will’. How silly it is to think that being 80 equates to being out of control, out of patience, out of things to say.

There is another woman, who strikes me as beyond beautiful, who said she only came here because she wanted her children to quit their worrying, but she had to leave her beautiful balcony, her pots of peonies, but she keeps her pink and yellow dresses and big paper earrings.

I wish I remembered her name too.

I wonder if she remembers mine.

Note: the following is an excerpt from a diary discovered in the ruined manor at 1362 Van Sylvington Road in Shaker Heights, Ohio. It was dated October 29, 1953. The author’s identity was never confirmed

My father says I have to be very careful with what I eat. They say he had a disease, a sickness of some sort, that is said to have consumed him. He tells me it wasn’t a disease, but a blessing. He says that without it he never would have found a reason to live.

So, this blessing of his. No, he never laments over it, never complains. Ever since it took him, he’s been right here with me, to keep me company, especially now that mother is gone, gone, gone. He’s grateful for me, oh yes he is.
Dear mother, I miss you terribly! You truly made such splendid meals, the kind of which I rarely find these days. I’ve had to settle for far inferior cuisine, once you were gone. Recently––

The Cleveland Cavaliers take on the runway with children of all ages to raise money for pediatric cancer.  On October 18th, the Cavaliers along with other athletes from the Lake Erie Monster, or “Big Shots” were each partnered with a “Little Star” which is the title for those children fighting against cancer.  The event not only raises money to cure cancer but also gives these children a night they’ll always remember with some of their heroes.  Lebron James JR Smith, Dwayne Wade, Kevin Love, you name it, and they were there with a smile on their face, ready to meet the kids that would eventually change their lives.  The Arena was transformed into a whimsical world of Alice in Wonderland for the annual fundraiser.  Flashes of Hope is an organization whose goal is to capture the good memories of children fighting cancer and funding research for a cure.  This event brought out 1,000+ of Cleveland’s business leaders and community figures.  With surprise guests such as the Mad Hatter and Queen of Hearts there’s it’s no surprise that all of the photos are filled with joyful children and adults alike.  One of the most well-known and inspirational children on the runway was eight-year-old Maisie Nowlin, a confident and positive little star.  She has a rare blood disorder so her life depended on a transplant.  Doctors took her within an inch of her life to save her it.  After the transplant, she got better then worse, then even worse. Maisie’s parents had to speak with her about dying. “We were going to have to tell her we are trying everything,” says Maisie’s mom in an interview.  Just then, Maisie turned the corner and headed back to school.  So she stood brave and proud on the 2017 runway to accept the Cleveland Clinic courage award.  This event does something powerful and admirable for the kids, it creates a night they’ll never forget.  As for the Cleveland Cavaliers, they make lifelong friends and role models of kids a third of their age.  Go Cavs for partaking in such a wonderful event, but go little stars, for being the people we all look up to every day of our lives.

This past week, I found myself with a lot of free time. I baked a few batches of brownies, created a few boards on Pinterest, and picked a couple of knitting projects to work on this winter (I’m seventeen, I promise). I also found myself on the App Store, perusing some online multiplayer games. I decided to download Stop!, Words with Friends, and Jeopardy!… and I’m hooked. Although the time I spend isn’t productive in a tangible way, all three games improve my ability to produce “quality” work under pressure. In addition, Jeopardy! improves my knowledge of trivia and Words with Friends improves my vocabulary and strategizing skills.
Beyond the educational aspects, these online multiplayer games allow me to connect with family and friends around the world on a purely competitive level. Unlike other online ways to connect (like Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram), there’s ‘virtually’ no way to reach a point of contention about politics. Beautiful.

Everyone has different ways to deal with stress. Some people write, some exercise, others eat their feelings; I color. As a creative person with an extremely limited artistic ability, I have found that coloring the intricate black and white pictures in adult coloring books to be the perfect median to relieve my emotions. Sitting cross legged on my floor, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket with a vanilla scented candle lit beside me, with acoustic music playing from across the room and a colored pencil in my hand, I feel control and calm. The pressure of whatever was stressing me has been long forgotten as I add color to the page in front of me. I found coloring to be a cure to anything that was upsetting me. Stressed out? Color! Feeling overwhelmed? Sad? Nervous? Color! No problem could not be solved by adding color to a blank page. I colored when I was happy, and excited as well, I was constantly coloring. I loved to do it, and the art always put me in a better mood.
Tonight, I finished my first coloring book ever. The newly completed book, titled “Secret Paris”, was an impulse buy from Barnes and Noble two summers ago. It quickly became my favorite coloring book of my collection, and I spent all of my stressful and emotional moments of the past couple years adding color to the blank pages. The book, previously consisting of dull white pages displaying the fashion, food, and architecture of Paris now filled with bright colors.
A strange feeling washed over me as I realized that an image of a food truck serving crepes, methodically colored with a pastel color scheme, was the last page I would color in the book. I had dedicated so much time into each page of the book, some pages taking me weeks to complete, and I had finally finished. I felt a strange mix of satisfaction and sadness, as I would never get to color in this book I enjoyed so much again. The book encompassed my life, every page telling a story of where I was and how I was feeling when it was worked on, like a journal.
This  marks the end of the “Secret Paris” era. It’s time for a new coloring book and I will continue to transform my stress and emotions into a beautiful picture in whatever coloring book is next.

“It’s all in your head.”
“Just get over it!”
“Stop moping around.”
“All you need is a pair of running shoes and some fresh air!”
         Anyone with a mental illness has most likely heard these phrases at least once during their battle with their illness. They are dismissive statements that invalidate the struggles experienced by the people who must live and cope with mental illnesses, and are rooted in the stigma perpetrated by our society.
         Mental Health Awareness Week, established by the US Congress in 1990, is a week that can serve to educate members of our society about the myriad of issues concerning mental health. According to Mental Health America, over 40 million American adults struggle with mental illness, but 44% do not receive treatment. Often people are deterred from seeking out treatment due to the stigma and shame surrounding mental illness and the expensive cost of profession healthcare. Our society’s negative views concerning mental illness prove detrimental to the people it affects by spreading the idea that those affected by mental illness are ‘weak.’ In reality, mental illnesses are no different from ‘physical’ illnesses in that they are caused by the body; produced by a malfunction in the brain’s chemistry. For example, clinical depression is often related to a change in the brain’s level of serotonin. You wouldn’t hesitate to go to the doctor for a broken arm, so why is a problem in the brain any different? We need to educate students and citizens of all ages that mental illnesses are real illnesses that need to be treated by medical professionals, just like any other disease or sickness. Part of this process will be training people to recognize the signs of mental illnesses, since many people don’t even realize they themselves are suffering from one. The normalization of lifesaving treatment for mental illnesses will allow more people to seek the help they need to prosper. Chipping away at the stigma that prevents discussions about mental health is crucial to reaching those who feel like they cannot get help for their illness.