Archive for Thoughts
Their Muchness
I think it’s hard to know how we will respond in a situation until it happens to us. We can speculate, sure. We can imagine ourselves strong or weak, but we can’t know what would happen if faced with certain events in our lives.
My friends Jim and Karen had something life-altering happen to them. Jim is a school teacher where I live and he was in an auto accident that left him with a spinal cord injury that has changed his life. And by his side, his wife Karen who has been thrust into the role of caretaker in a way she probably never imagined.
Karen getting choked up during thanks at the end of the fundraiser banquet. She is standing next to Jim, who promised "less blubbering" when he took the microphone.
We haven’t seen Jim and “Sweetie” (as Karen is known to some of her friends) in months. We are in Maryland and they have been away at the Shepherd Center in Atlanta, Georgia.
Some of their friends arranged a fundraiser to help with medical expenses and the costs involved with making their home more accessible to Jim. That fundraiser was on Friday and it is the first time many of us had seen them in months. And the first time a number of us had seen them at all since the accident.
It’s hard to describe the way I was feeling knowing that I would get to see them again after such a life-altering ordeal. I was a little nervous. And also sort of removed from the situation. A bit outside of myself. It was a sensation I’d not really experienced before, so it’s difficult to describe. I made a joke about feeling like I was about to meet a rock star after the show. The joke was awkward, I think my delivery was a bit off, but perhaps the sentiment was understood. I was excited to see them and to be around their energy. I didn’t know exactly what to say or how hard to hug Jim or if it was ok to hug Jim. I followed his lead. I just wanted to be there, to show I care.
Jim made several jokes during my time there that were very, well…Jim. He had Jade laughing and when we got in car Jade said, “I’m glad that Jim hasn’t lost his Jim…” And if ever there was a person who could make it through something like this on attitude alone, it would be Jim. Sometimes I think he is helping Sweetie as much as she is helping him. They are a force of nature together. They are inspiring. They make me believe in the kind of love that goes beyond the fluff of romance and digs down to the core of loving a soul, not just the vessel.
Through all of this Jim and Sweetie have not lost their muchness. I feel privileged to know them.
***
Jim and Jackie - aka "Wondertwins."
Please read my friend Jackie’s website that was inspired by Jim and Sweetie. It provides insightful thoughts for anybody who is a friend of a person who has had something like this happen to them. You will also find useful links and information there.
Kids These Days
It’s impossible to go to our mall in the summer without encountering bands of roving, bored and snarky teens. They walk on the benches, laugh too loud, do all sorts of horrible things to their bodies, and still look full of rosy-cheeked energy. It’s annoying.
There are reality TV princesses receiving $25,000 birthday parties and kids who have their own posh apartments at fifteen. Does it occur to anybody else that if a poor person dropped their teen off to live by themselves, it would land them in some trouble? Solid gold birthdays won’t make up for the missing time and love from these kids lives. As a result they walk around feeling like we all owe them something. You can hear it in the click of their Manolo Blahniks as they trot by with their noses in the air.
There are plenty of annoying things about young people. When I say, “young people,” I don’t mean the adorable 7 year old missing her two front teeth and loves fairy coloring books. I mean the kid who has hit puberty and has suddenly decided that 1) Nothing can really hurt them much as long as they have plenty of Red Bull or Rock Star on hand and 2) That all of the important knowledge of the world has been imparted to them and that once somebody hits 25 years of age, all of this, like, amazing knowledge, like, falls out of your ears. That’s why they know everything and you are so, like, lame.
Now 40 years old, I have been annoyed by teens for well onto fifteen years. Their carelessness makes me crazy; sitting in the tiny car next to me with their stereo vibrating everything in a one-mile radius and none of them are buckled. Sometimes I have the urge to follow them all the way home and tell their mothers.
But I’ve realized in recent years that the most annoying young people are the ones you don’t really know. That is, if you get to know some of these kids, they are full of thoughts, ideas and curiosity. Not all of them. But there is as large a range of younger people as their are older ones. Some are self-absorbed, materialistic brats. Others are interesting, caring, creative and responsible individuals.
I was helping at the theatre, painting with an old pal and some new pals, just helping out a tiny bit for Port Tobacco Players Producers. I didn’t arrive until 10pm and Jade and I ended up working until nearly 4am. During that time several of the younger members of the theatre were talking about everything from the art on the Led Zeppelin cover to Disney executives. They were playing and thoroughly enjoying music from shows, Cole Porter, newer alternative bands and even some music from the 1930s. As they verbally danced with each other, quoting Monty Python, talking about Star Trek and ideas for performance art pieces all the while they helped paint and cobble together the set stuff, I just marveled at them. When I was their age I was not that witty and creative. Admittedly I was already a mom at 15 years old, so much of my time was spent working and tending to a child, so I couldn’t spend time watching Monty Python or doing volunteer work because I was busy watching Sesame Street, doing homework and changing diapers. However, these people really were, well, pretty damned cool and interesting. They all easily kept up their ends of the conversation with people twice their age. Their interests were diverse and they kept making me think of all the other younger folks I know who just keep impressing me with their witty banter and endless imaginations and impressive talents.
Lately I have been lamenting a little about my age. Not my age exactly, but how old Will and I were when we met. And still, it isn’t about the age so much as it is about what we missed out on together. You don’t get your youth back. You can stay young at heart, but there are things that will never happen for you past a certain age. It’s kind of a wistful feeling sometimes. I’m not “old” really, but I am older than I imagined being when I was twenty years old. You hear yourself say things that you only equated with old folks. And sometimes you laugh at yourself. Other times, you feel a little pang of loss.
I won’t spin my wheels on it too long, because really I am lucky to have met Will at all. I am lucky that I am basically healthy. And besides, we can visit all parts of ourselves in conversation and then the world is timeless. It might make a good story. Something to write about. We can’t really go back. Or can we?
Thoughts at 3:37 a.m.
It’s 3:37am. I woke up full of thoughts and couldn’t keep myself still. Yet my eyes are so tired everything is blurry and my head keeps drooping while I stop to take breaks from a torrent of thoughts rushing out of my fingertips. I cannot keep up with all of the feelings, emotions and thoughts I want to write. I am frustrated at the inability to make my body work fast and long enough to get this flood of emotions out onto paper. All I can do is simply write with my sleepy hands and slow-blinking eyes and be human. Write down what I can and just allow what remains to reside inside of me.
***
He is a foundation for my heart. A place to build and a place to rest: home. I have never felt so free to be myself and shine my light outwards. At times I have felt like I should hide the intensity of my beams. Or as though my beams had shorted out. Faded away. Broken and ruined from the storms.
I felt this happen – the fading. Like an old flashlight you shake to see if the batteries are dead, I wondered if there was any new source of energy for me to recharge.
But he is like a sacred healer and keeper. Mending and tending to my spirit and my heart. Recharging me, filling me with current and potential energy.
His soft hair smells of spices and memories. The lines by his eyes are joy and beauty and proof of the tangible and temporary beauties of this world that leave their traces upon us and I wonder, if any of those lines have my name.
His hands are full of caresses that chase away the monsters and protect me from myself and my self doubt. Yes, I have self doubt. It creeps in like a virus and slowly infects and before you realize it you are weak and feverish.
I take his tonic – his reassurances, his kisses, his petting and soft spoken words of wisdom. The medicine rushes to all of the parts of my injured soul. And I am whole again.
Somehow things are less scary when he is there. And his calm and his strength is quiet and deep, like a mighty tree. A place I can lean and rest and find shelter and shade. But also alive and beautiful, full of color and texture and life-force.
There is no jealousy. No fear. Only trust and love. Our love is a solid place to put a pile of bricks and make them into something sturdy, beautiful and long-lasting. We will both live in this place and love as long as we are able.
Dancing Butterfly
She is like a butterfly– wild, beautiful, curious, and unplanned. She alights upon my cheek and I bask in her presence. It is a moment I can admire her fragile and bountiful existence, and then she is gone.
I think of her this way. How lucky I am when her grace us upon me. When I can bounce her from finger to nose and she lifts and lands, flits and rests and I am a part of her world and she is part of mine.
Then she flies away, dancing on the breeze, off to some unknown place, where she will rest and share her beauty. And I smile thinking of the joy that may bring her; and others. And though I wonder how she is and miss her when she is gone, I know that she will return when she is ready. Because nobody owns her, not even this earth. Not the wind. Not the skies or the flowers. She comes and goes like warm summer breezes and makes you believe in the miracles of this world, like rainbows and the aurora borealis– full of color and excitement, but elusive and fragile.
I will see her again, in the soft pink glow of a setting sun, bouncing and flitting on the air and returning to me for a while. And that is a gift I am glad to receive.
Feelings Are Reality
“Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings – always darker, emptier and simpler. ” ~Friedrich Nietzsche
***
Aragorn: I swore to protect you.
Frodo: Can you protect me from yourself?
(from LOTR)
***
In the arguments for my own boundaries and rights this past year I was presented with a maddening and stupid philosophy: Feelings aren’t reality, Heather.
This lone philosophy has both intrigued me and has made me so, well…irritated, that I proposed it during conversations to get the reactions of others. And it goes a little somethin’ like this:
Me: I have to tell you this because I simply don’t understand it. I need to know your opinion: “Feelings aren’t reality.”
Other Person: (wide eyes – blink, blink)
Me: (eyebrows raise a little)
Other Person: (furrow brow slightly) pause (shudder)
Me: I know, right? (shudder)
Something about that philosophy really gets to people. Also, nobody who I have spoken to about it can explain to me what it means. They often start out with: “Well, maybe it means…um, well no I don’t see how….” and other such struggles to identify how feelings aren’t reality.
What further elevated my irritation at this impotent bit of pop psychology is that the people saying it to to me had turned a world – make that several worlds – upside down, disrupted a life and family based on THEIR feelings. So, I doubt that not only will I never understand this particular bit of erm…”wisdom”, but I don’t believe those who are espousing this philosophy have any clue the violent impact their “feelings” have had on the reality of the lives around them. Or rather, they choose to scrape for a philosophy that absolves them of their infliction of pain on others. If the feelings aren’t real, then the infliction of hurt can’t be THEIR fault. How convenient.
If feelings aren’t reality, then why am I writing about them? If they weren’t real, could I even write about them?
Sure, I Googled it! But I get a lot of the same, “Just because you think you suck right now, doesn’t mean you do…” sort of “depression” discussions. But I will tell you this – even THOSE feelings are reality. If you are feeling like you suck and you are nothing and it makes you sit on the couch all day watching infomercials and not painting or writing or building houses because you feel like you can’t – YOU CAN’T. Your feelings ARE making your reality. But a few people say “buck up” and you maybe get on some meds or just decide, “YES I CAN” then your feelings make your butt get up and make things happen and guess, what you can do it suddenly. How is THAT *not* reality?
So, even of the people who buy this shi– er, STUFF, they don’t really look at it for what it is – feelings MAKE our reality.
If I had all good and warm and fuzzy feelings at the moment, I wouldn’t feel the need to write about this, or ask questions about it. I would simply just wash dishes, do laundry, paint a shoe maybe and move on. It may be impossible for me to ever really “get” this concept about feelings not being reality. Do YOU get it?
My next blog is going to be a positive one. My FEELINGS are that I have blogged a bit of negative, next I will tell you about my awesome birthday and trip to New York. And my FEELINGS about those trips.
Peace!
Just Doing It
I’ve been in a pit of despair for months, unable to create. Some of what is happening with me can be found at my Weighting blog.
I am ready to create again. I finally decided I need to use my writing and art therapy rather than hold it in and let it rot.
Without explination as to why, I am going to leave you with two things today, a definition and a video link (with lyrics). The two aren’t related, except that they both have meaning to me in the past few months. To see the video with her in it go to the link below.
Comfortable as I am
I need your reassurance
And comfortable as you are
You count the days
But if I wanted silence
I would whisper
And if I wanted loneliness
I’d choose to go
And if I liked rejection
I’d audition
And if I didn’t love you
You would know
And why can’t you just hold me
And how come it is so hard
And do you like to see me broken
And why do I still care
still care
You say you see the light now
At the end of this narrow hall
I wish it didn’t matter
I wish I didn’t give you all
But if I wanted silence
I would whisper
And if I wanted loneliness
I’d choose to go
And if I liked rejection
I’d audition
And if I didn’t love you
You would know
And why can’t you just hold me
And how come it is so hard
And do you like to see me broken
And why do I still care
Poor little misunderstood baby
No one likes a sad face
But I can’t remember life without him
I think I did have good days
I think I did have good days
And why(why) can’t you just hold me
And how come it is so hard
And do you like to see me broken
And why do I still care
***
From Wikipedia – Crocodile Tears
Crocodile tears are a false or insincere display of emotion such as a hypocrite crying fake tears of grief. The expression comes from an ancient anecdote that crocodiles weep in order to lure their prey, or that they cry for the victims they are eating. This tale was first spread widely in English in the stories of the travels of Sir John Mandeville in the 14th century.[1]
| “ | In that country and by all Inde be great plenty of cockodrills, that is a manner of a long serpent, as I have said before. And in the night they dwell in the water, and on the day upon the land, in rocks and in caves. And they eat no meat in all the winter, but they lie as in a dream, as do the serpents. These serpents slay men, and they eat them weeping; and when they eat they move the over jaw, and not the nether jaw, and they have no tongue. | ” |
An alternate explanation for the expression’s origin is that crocodile tears cannot be authentic because crocodiles cannot cry; they lack tear ducts. Yet this is a myth: Crocodiles possess lacrimal glands which secrete a proteinaceous fluid, just like in humans, though tears will only be visible after a crocodile is out of the water for a prolonged period of time, and the eyes begin to dry out. However, while crocodiles can and do generate tears, they do not actually cry.[2]
One prominent use of the expression is by Shakespeare in Othello Act IV, Scene i
I have to say, that Maria Mena reminds me of my oldest daughter and myself (a much younger thinner myself) – her lips and pouty face, just the whole video reminds me of a very specfic time in my life.
Under My Umbrella
When Jade got into the car this morning she realized she’d forgotten her umbrella. I said, “I wanted to remind you about it, but I felt I’d reached my reminder limit with you.” At 15 she doesn’t like to be reminded not to forget things. Then, she sometimes says, “Why didn’t you remind me?” This particular feature of my little angel is something that must be genetic, because her daddy is the same way. She said, “I hope Courtney didn’t spend too much time on her hair.” This perplexed me since Courtney was not in our vehicle and nor did she even ride the bus home with Jade. It turns out that Jade shares her umbrella before a certain class in which she has a trek from the school to the outside classroom. I say “outside classroom” but they are trailers. I know there probably isn’t a school in America these days that doesn’t have one. Anyway, I thought that was sweet. I imagined her holding the umbrella as she and Courtney walked together to class.
I’m slightly miserable today. Each time I cycle I think it can’t be worse the next time, but sometimes it’s worse. Heating pads and ibuprofen – the badges of a real woman. Oh, and don’t forget the chocolate. I’ve already be-headed a darling dark chocolate Dove bunny. Will also got me these adorable bug truffles. Aren’t they just the cutest?
The bugs actually had little molded faces, which was a kind of neat surprise. They also had little crispy bits inside and it made me wonder if Lindt did that on purpose for a nice light buggy crunch? HAHA!
I am playing Chocolat in the DVD player. It’s in the other room, but turned up so I can hear it. Sometimes it’s too quiet and I am not in the mood for music, but rather just voices. Chocolat has today’s bloggy themes of chocolate and gypsies, which makes it a perfect choice. When it is over, perhaps I will listen to the disks from my “Enchanted” collection I got for my birthday.
I am wishing for sunshine. It’s been raining so much here.
I often wonder about moving to Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, New Mexico, Arizona or California. They seem like mostly sunny places with artsy towns here and there. I wonder.
I am wishing for a big tree in the back yard where Will could build his treehouse.
And I’d cherish a pond with a koi. Or, I’d settle for goldfish.
I suppose I should find more delights in what I already have. Indulge in the sumptuousness around me, yes? Well, sometimes with the dog holes gaping at me in the back yard and the pile that needs to go to the dump on the side of the house and the evidence of my woeful gardening abilities are so glaring, they are hard to ignore. So, yes, I find my dainty pleasures where I may, but there is still much to fix and do that sometimes can be a joy suck.
Day before yesterday I lay on the hammock, my head hanging off of the side and marveled at the brilliant clear blue of the shameless sky. It made the perfect backdrop for something I had not even noticed the day before – buds on the trees. The trees beyond the rusty chain-link fence. Oh, if I could only learn to love chain-link. But in my upside down position I could hardly see the chain-link and only the peachy-yellow buds asserting themselves on the branch tips against the backdrop of that crystalline sky. Here is a photo of what I saw. I wish you could have been here – it was lovely.
Other wishes: I am wishing for a lovely gypsy tent in the yard as soon as the weather is dry and balmy for two days in a row, and since I will not soon have my dreamy vardo.
Yes, I still have vardo dreams – in fact, they have spawned a new artsy idea. Though some of my research makes the concept seem overly daunting, I can’t help but be optimistic. With some help from Willo (that is the dreamy name I will call him when I speak of art and gypsies) I think it won’t be too technically overwhelming. All of those things will have to wait though, until the Body Politics installation is, well, installed at Artomatic.
Also, the Baltimore Playwright Festival is looming. Gotta clean up Delia and get her submitted. I might submit my short diner play too. We’ll see.
Look at this band of gypsies, they need a little spot to relax, wouldn’t you say?
Cry Baby
I watched this video – which also happens to be a T-Mobile commercial…and cried.
There is something about it that makes me get choked up.
The last couple of days I’ve been shedding a lot of tears. You can blame it on “Aunt Flow” if you want, but it’s more than that.
I feel alive with ideas, yet burdened by them at the same time. How can I possibly make this body do that many things?
I am inspired with all the talented people out there. Each blog I visit lets me peek into another magical world. I actually found this video on a blog that had me crackling with inspiration already.
It all started with me just looking at various blog layouts – but that is dangerous work for me. When I like the layout, I linger. When I linger I get distracted from the task at hand.
Some days I have to simply walk away from the computer, even though some of my art lies there. Some of my undone tasks are dangling there. But, it’s good for me to step away and focus on another aspect of work at times. Today, I am cleaning the studio up. Yes, it was recently cleaned, quite well I might add, but it’s a tad messy now. Nothing like before – before it wasn’t even organized, right now it’s just needing a tidy-up. So that will be my chore for the day. To tidy, so I may then get some work completed.
The level to which I have been distracted by tangential indulgences this past week are unsurpassed so far this year. I have been wholly indulgent in my path meanderings. Facebook also encourages such behavior to a degree at which might be frightening if I had to actually leave my home for a daily job. Yesterday I was totally obsessed with finding out if I could buy local eggs that looked like the eggs I had gotten from a particular farm a couple of years ago and much like an entry here on Maya*Made. Of course, it being Sunday and a holiday to boot, I couldn’t find out squat. So, today I made did a little research and made a phone call and later this week I’ll hopefully have some lovely, colorful and local eggs.
Currently I am preparing Body Politics for Artomatic. That will be keeping me occupied for weeks to come. After Artomatic opens, I will be ready for more indulgent artful activities. I’ve come up with several ideas that I’m excited to get started on right away, so maybe I will get started on them in small ways – to have some works-in-progress that I can come back to and finish.
One thing is for certain – I am very glad to be past many of my self-improvement techniques and exercises and onto who I am. I know who I am. I have worked past many obstacles and have arrived at my creative place. And even in times of uncertainty and when despair rears its ugly head from time to time, I have great sources of support that I have cultivated. Great friends. Great family. Great loves. I hope I can always be as wonderful and supportive as my friends have been to me.
Clever Girl
I want to be so obviously clever that somebody will call me “clever girl.” It always sounds better with a British accent, too. So, it would be extra special if somebody British said it to me.
I am bubbling with ideas right now. Too many to make happen. It’s frustrating having only this one body and two arms and ten fingers to get all of my ideas out with. There are so many things to create, I can hardly finish one before I’ve begun another.
I love clay.
I love paint.
I love words.
I love love.
There is so much to absorb. There is so much to care about. Don’t you just have to turn parts off sometimes, just to quiet everything long enough to focus? How can I ever get one thing all the way done if I am constantly interrupted by myself? I have managed to knock out a number of things the past two weeks. Some medical tests, lots of photos processed, blogs I’d been meaning to write. Each one is a stone I’ve removed from the bag I’m dragging behind me. They are a burden, but they are also pretty and shiny and cool. They are only a burden because I want so badly to share these things. Then as each idea fires, it sets off sparks and new ones ignite. I write down the ones I don’t have time for now, so I have them for later, when the idea well is a bit drier.
You are so beautiful to me…
Did you ever know somebody who seems to have no idea how wonderful they are?
This world we grow up in, it’s a strange place isn’t it?
Some people don’t understand that their light is what helps make the world a little less dark and desperate.
How can they not know this? How can you shine so bright and brilliant and not know it?
I think sometimes we don’t believe in our own superpowers. Superman could fly all along, he just didn’t know it. When he understood his power, well, he was virtually unstoppable.
I wish those beautiful lights out there knew how much they do to make the world a brighter and better place and how they shine that light down a path for us.
You really don’t know how amazing you are, do you?
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