The day is nearly here! There is finally going to be a monument to Nina Simone in her home town!
Not long after I moved here, I discovered that, not only was this was the birthplace of this amazing woman, but that I was living in her old neighborhood. I began to look for her history here, any sign of her, and but for word-of-mouth from old friends, neighbors and relatives, there was no sign of her. How could such an important figure in the music (and political) world have come from such a small town and not be honored? It inspired me to write this poem, and that seemed to start a little spark. I was invited to various events - including the dedication of a new park in this town, specifically to read this poem. People wanted other people to hear it, including Nina Simone, but I was too scared to send it. It turns out that there was a long story behind the lack of any kind of connection between her and her home-town, and I didn't want to rock her boat. When her mother passed, I drove by the cemetary behind my house, just to see her from a distance, but I would have never stopped. (The beginning and end of my celebrity stalking career. :)  And then she too was gone from us.
When Crys Armbrust took up the banner. He began this amazing project not only to correct the lack of monument to Nina, but to do other great things in the name of Tryon's Brightest Star, including festivals, scholarships, fund-raisers, and the archival preservation of her material record.

This weekend is the dedication ceremony for the beautiful sculpture by Zenos Frudakis. There will be several events related to the dedication, and since my hubby is in charge of filming all this historical, monumental fun, I am hoping that he will need an assistant. :) I have been lucky enough to be able to help here and there, and so when Nina's daughter Simone came to visit Tryon and begin to heal the breach and bring her mama home, I was invited to come and meet her and give her a copy of my poem. This is what she had to say about that:

"Sam,

Thank you for the poem and for being unafraid to ruffle a few feathers. Mommy would be proud!

Love, Simone."

(This is Simone, who looks very like her mom, posing for Zenos so he can get the movement right.)

Crys, and all involved with moving this project forward, thank you, bless you. Thank you for proving, once again, that you CAN make a change - a HUGE change - if you really want it bad enough. In your self and in the world. I think that was the heart of the whole message Nina left us.

(Photo of Zeno Frudakis and scultpture from the Crys Armbrust collection)

Backseat bus kids, represent. :) 

When I was little, about 6 or 7 (it was the 1st or 2nd grade, at New Augusta, which then was still K-12 i think) we were living out in the woods beyond 8 Mile Road* somewhere, out toward Avera? We were the last stop on the route, first stop in the morning, a fact for which any other kids might have been very sorry indeed, but we were grateful. I still remember those bus rides fondly and often. When I'm in the car on even a short trip, I love to look out the windows, and it almost always reminds me of other window-gazings from the all the road trips of my life.**
The morning ones were the best. Not only because we were leaving the house, headed to food, warmth, order, kindness, knowledge, art supplies, possibility, but because it was so early that I got to watch the day come to the beautiful Mississippi back woods.
I can still see spider webs cradling dew, and mist over frosted grass, the feeling of the cool glass against my cheek or forehead. My dad said from the day I was born, I would sleep in a car, so at night if I was restless, he would hold me and drive those same back roads. I still love river roads best, to this day. Dad said if the moon was out at all, I would find it and then follow it with my eyes until i went to sleep. He said he was afraid that I would be "moon-struck". Sorry Dad.
The motion of the bus over those roads, some really smooth (mostly thanks to thePark Services and National Guard, I think. thanks y'all!), some dirt and gravel, I didn't care.
And I loved the bus drivers who made everyone be quiet.
There was a boy who got on not long after us, so he was on most of the trip every day, start to finish. He sat on the opposite side of the bus, toward the middle. He was quiet too, I think he was truly shy, and several years older than me. He was cute, in a midwestern-looking way, tall and blonde, not usual for our area, but that's not why I had a crush on him. He was also polite and seemed smart, quietly and practically maybe, but obviously so. But it wasn't that either. The boy was tall for his age and  handsome, I thought, and his father was a dwarf or a midget, and though I can't really remember, it seems that his mother might have been too. I don't remember.I don't know if he was their natural son, the details weren't even clear to me then, though I'm sure I asked around. (nosy). Every day his father waited with him in the morning when the bus came, even though he must have been a young teenager or preteen by then, even in bad weather and he was waiting for him every day when he got home. If he wasn't it was noticeable and caused concern. He always looked as if he'd stopped work to come down the dirt lane from their house out to the road. The boy was never embarassed, and even though he didn't show much outward emotion about anything at all beyond shy smiles and looking tired or concerned at times, like anyone, i could tell that he looked forward to it too.
School itself was a mixed bag of pleasant and un. My clumsy and annoying attempts at sharpening my wits and honing my gregariousness were not popular with some of my classmates and  teachers. I was already learning that I wasn't a fan of dumb and/or mean people, crowds, being forced to do things I didn't want to do or being picked on,so that caused conflicts of interest, but teachers and students have been dealing with those issues since the dawn of public school, so it was manageable. I think it's an important function of schooling, testing how well you can mesh with others and finding out who you really are in regards to that in the process.
I didn't really have any friends then. There was one girl who was very nice to me and I could tell that she wanted to be friends, but she was even more shy than me, she reminded me of a deer, and by the time we finally got up the nerve to attempt a friendship, my parents split up again and we moved to another town, another school.
I remember standing on the basketball court one day during recess, on a day like today. It probably wasn't as cold as it is here, but it sure seemed like it. The weather was the same, bright sunny sky, cold, sharp wind. I was wearing a hand-me-down coat from my cousin that I dearly loved. It was fake suede and had fake fur cuffs and collar. Long and warm and Leo stylish, it was a treasured posession. The other memorable thing is that I had chocolate milk.
Mississippi was on top of the welfare situation in those days. As angry as it makes so many of my friends from home, it lets me know (and I'm grateful for it) that their family never had to have it. We always were. I get compliments on my smile a lot, and I always thank the Mississippi Head Start Program. There were many times when there would have been no food at all if it had not been for those generic canned goods (tinned rabbit even. it was my favorite.) and blocks of cheese. Gardens and hunting (legal and un) helped too, but sometimes circumstances just didn't allow. The public school also took an interest in childrens' health and nutrition, and so we were able to have good breakfast, lunch and milk each week day, no matter what. I craved milk most of all. I remember how old I was when I first came to live in a place where I could have as much milk as I wanted, as often as I wanted. I was 12, and I have no idea how many gallons I must have gone through a week, at first.  I also loved and craved sweets of course, and chocolate was, is, will always be The One, so chocolate milk was heaven. I always requested a chocolate milk for my recess treat, and like magic, it would come. The happy crate full of cold, sweet goodness. Of course there was a stigma attached. Everyone in a classroom (school, town, county, even) knows everyone else's situation. If a childs' family paid for their lunches/milk/school pictures, etc. was open knowledge. And children are far more honestly cruel about such things than adults usually are. That's one of the reasons I was standing alone on the basketball court on such a cold day, my back to the wind, the sun on my face, my hands freezing on the milk carton, but it felt so good. The sun, the milk, my warm coat, even the cold and being alone were all just felt and tasted so good that for at least a little while, none of the bad stuff mattered. So good that I still remember it like it was yesterday, I remember it often and smile.

Love, peace and cold, sweet, free (from cost AND judgment :) chocolate milk to all of you.
-s



*Marshall Mathers ain't the only one with an 8-mile. ours was Highway 15, going from Beaumont to Richton, if i remember correctly.  Teenagers and older (and sometimes younger, like me) - people who looked VERY like rejects from Dazed and Confused - went out to 8 Mile on weekend nights (and probably week nights too) and drank beer, smoked pot and drag-raced some really beautiful cars. Even the old beaters were pretty to me. I could see their potential. That's where I first heard Led Zeppelin, Queen, Journey, Boston et al, while sitting in the car* waiting for various relatives to get their whatever on. Not bad memories. :)
[folks from our clan drove Thunderbirds and Monte Carlos for the most part, though my uncle had a cherry bumblebee GTO and of course Hitlers' Revenge, my mom's orange beetle.]

**Jones County Junior College bused students to school from all over this same area. Beaumont, New Augusta, McLain, even distant lands like Waynesville, Quincy and Piave. I was a McLain girl (my hometown, i think - either there or Beaumont) at the time and so it was a pretty long bus ride every day too. Loved it. Riding with friends and neighbors, time to sleep, read, think, LOVED our bus driver, he was one of my brothers' best high school friends. I remember seeing snow dusting Jones county fields, making the hay bales look like Frosted Mini Wheats, knowing I was going to be spending the day with my best friends... those were good times too.

Ari and I and the bog snorkeling.

I told (big) Ari (15ish) that when I turn 50, she and I will go to the World Bog Snorkeling Championships together. It's in August, so I can use the old 'celebrating my birthday' excuse. :) We really only want to do it for the trip and the excuse to legitimately wear a shirt that says "I'm a Dirty Bog Snorkeller". Since it's so hard to wait for almost another decade (and we did discuss the possibility of 45...) we decided we could legitimately wear "Bog Snorkeler in Training' shirts. Yes!

WANTSSSS IT! my prrreeeciouussssss!!!

lesley a. karpiuk - thepinktoque.com

This is an Elsie Marley pattern for "boy belts" that is easy, practical, cute, would be fun for anyone of any age or gender to do, involves recycling, could give you reason to learn a useful new skill (grommeting*) and could be used to make jewelry like collars and bracelets. plus, it's a good, sharp blog with LOTS of original art and ideas and beautiful photos, gorgeous style. And she's an Etsy girl too. :)

*sorry, i really just wanted an excuse to say "grommetting".

It would be so much easier to be a less logical person.
I think the really important thing is continuing to have faith in the acceptance and understanding of logic. Despite knowing the ... more realistic facts... you still believe.

I have two followers now! After 7 years and 377 posts (including this one!) Woohoo! 

This gorgeous photo courtesy of John Kennan, BBC, of the British Musical Fireworks Championship (!!!) of Liverpool. I WILL see this before I die!

The Archaeology (Sociology, Anthropology, Biology...) of Joy

It feels like that. I am discovering/uncovering deeper joy, and it is amazing. I am learning more about the way I work, with myself, others, the world. I am trying to understand and be more... efficient.  

I've always taken IMMENSE pleasure in sensory things. So much that I have learned to try to hide how much, though I am generally unsuccessful and people comment on it often. "You look so happy." "Every time I see you, you look happy!" "You always have a smile." "Gosh, you must really be enjoying ______!" etc. Socially and emotionally, I am almost always a wreck. I have to fight depression and self-loathing every day, anger and homicidal/genocidal/suicidal/matricidal/fratricidal/CATricidal feelings more often than I would ever want to honestly admit, and no one would believe how many days I take bad hits or flat-out lose (well, not on the 'cidal. YET.) But continue to fight I do, of course. 

"It is fair to judge peoples by the rights they will sacrifice most for. Super-cat-men would have been outraged, had their right of personal combat been questioned..."

But the happiness is not faked*. Everything i see interests me. Even on the coldest day, a stray sunbeam can trap and fascinate me and turn my normal constant small smile into a truly stupid grin. Even at my unhappiest, a bird on the porch or the movement of the pine trees in the wind or the sharp sparkle of sun on the ripples of the river can just turn me to warm sensory goo. I am immensely grateful for this propensity, it has probably been a key factor in keeping me and my possibly victims alive this long. 

"They will probably not even notice you; but if they do, you are lost.  They take offense in a flash, abhor strangers, despise hospitality, and would think nothing of killing you or me on their way home to dinner."

But it causes me to seem to put on a false face. I look so friendly, happy, peaceful, and so many people take this literally at "face value" as it were, and that puts me in a lot of odd and tricky spots. I would like to be this content  in all aspects of my life. It doesn't seem very efficient, but it does seem pleasant. The problem is that I am intrinsically NOT this way. Perhaps when I am fascinated by a sparkle or leaf-shudders, - i am also watching every single movement within my periphery, ready for whatever. When I am smiling so contentedly, I could be thinking about something you said on Facebook - or putting your favorite thing in the driveway and running over it (in YOUR car) until I feel it is small enough. Usually, I am not. Usually I AM thinking about how actually tasty licorice can be sometimes, or that sweet smooch i got on the eyelid yesterday, or how weather is god-love. My squishy, colorful personage combined with my expression of stupid pleasure often seems irresistible to all but the most sour or busy, and sometimes even them. Yet, my real nature, at least socially, is incredibly reserved, at least as far as connecting emotionally with others. my level of trust in the average person is VERY low, and even with my closest and most trusted friends, i have certain points beyond which i NEVER relax. I feel awkward around other people, even my closest friends (everyone but Chris, really) 100% of the time.

"A race of civilized beings descended from these great cats would have been rich in hermits and solitary thinkers.  The recluse would not have been stigmatized as peculiar, as he is by us simians..."

It's a bad enough punishment that I often disappoint others with my disparate demeanor and nature. But being actually human and not a super cat person (darn.),  what really makes a daily difference to me is how disappointed I am with myself and all my annoying flaws and mistakes. Like a cat person, my dignity has a very hard time suffering the constant blows. Which reminds me what a vain, selfish, wussy b@$t@rd ape I really am, etc. - thus the cycle continues. But continue to fight I do, of course. :)

"Like ants and bees, the cat race is nervous.  Their temperaments are high-strung. They would never have become as poised or as placid as--say--super-cows.  Yet they would have had less insanity, probably, than we.  Monkeys' (and elephants') minds seem precariously balanced, unstable.  The great cats are saner.  They are intense, they would have needed sanitariums: but fewer asylums.  And their asylums would have been not for weak-minded souls, but for furies."

Figuring out how to make the balance is not easy. Especially when you're as easily distracted and antisocial as I am.

"They would have been strong at slander.  They would have been far more violent than we, in their hates, and they would have had fewer friendships.  Yet they might not have been any poorer in real friendships than we.  The real friendships among men are so rare than when they occur they are famous."

I have always been very analytical, and enjoyed it for the most part. It has served my survival instinct well. I am quite critical and quite judgmental, and so whatever my opinion, it is never garnered lightly. I have found that society generally frowns on this, no matter what they say, and I understand that this is often deemed inconsistent with my outward appearances.

"They would have been personally more self-assured than we, far freer of cheap imitativeness of each other in manners and art, and hence more original in art; more clearly aware of what they really desired; not cringingly watchful of what was expected of them; less widely observant perhaps, more deeply thoughtful.

Their artists would have produced less however, even though they felt more.  A super-cat artist would have valued the pictures he drew for their effects on himself; he wouldn't have cared a rap whether anyone else saw them or not.  He would not have bothered, usually, to give any form to his conceptions.  Simply to have had the sensation would have for him been enough."

This nature also makes me feel definite and determined about my personal tastes and opinions. I think I'm pretty open-minded about other people's gigs. As long as no one's being hurt (unless that's their gig) and it's all mutual and consensual, I say, have fun. But I have spent a lot of time considering my own interests, and I feel like an expert on them.

"...to the west is a beautiful but weirdly bacchanalian park, with long groves of catnip, where young super-cats have their fling, and where a few crazed catnip addicts live on till they die, unable to break off their strangely undignified orgies.  And here where you stand is the sumptuous residence district.  Houses with spacious grounds everywhere: no densely-packed buildings.  The streets have been swept up- or lapped up**--until they are spotless.  Not a scrap of paper is lying around anywhere: no rubbish, no dust.  Few of the pavements are left bare, as ours are, and those few are polished: the rest have deep soft velvet carpets.  No footfalls are heard. There are no lights in these streets, though these people are abroad much at night. All you see are stars overhead...

Follow one of them.  Enter this house.  Ah what splendor!  No servants, though a few abject monkeys wait at the back-doors, and submissively run little errands.  But of course they are never let inside: they would seem out of place.  Gorgeous couches, rich colors, silken walls, an oriental magnificence.  In here is the ballroom. But wait: what is this in the corner?  A large triumphal statue--of a cat overcoming a dog.  And look at this dining-room, its exquisite appointments, its--daintiness: faucets for hot and cold milk in the pantry, and a gold bowl of cream.

Some one is entering. Hush! If I could but describe her! Languorous, slender and passionate.  Sleepy eyes that see everything. An indolent purposeful step. An unimaginable grace.  If you were her lover, my boy, you would learn how fierce love can be, how capricious and sudden, how hostile, how ecstatic, how violent!

I want to be a good, generous, thoughtful, helpful person, and be kind to, accepting/forgiving/loving/understanding of every person I meet, but I also think most people are complete !@#$ idiots, and that many of them are hateful, selfish b@$tards, and that we'd all be a lot better off if they'd get abducted by aliens and used (gently) for test subjects or space janitors.

"In the circus, superlative acrobats.  No clowns."

I feel like, in a way, this is my life's work. Becoming the best person I can be, for my own sake and for the sake of the people who care about me - the true treasures I've found in this semi-scientific dig of my self. And there's that whole 'cidal thing too. Best to do what I can to keep from breaking that commandment at least, no matter how you - haha - slice it.

We cannot escape the fact are born to, eventually, fatally, fail. We are none of us more special than the other. We will age and die. We will make mistakes. We will break hearts and have our hearts broken. We will spend time in pain. We will never be perfect. We will often not get it right. 100% of us, no matter how we dissect and work on ourselves.

"The trouble is, it would defeat itself in the beginning. It would have too bitterly stressed the struggle for existence. Conflict and struggle make civilizations virile, but they do not by themselves make civilizations. Mutual aid and support are needed for that. There the felines are lacking. They do not co-operate  well; they have small group-devotion. Their lordliness, their strong self-regard, and their coolness of heart, have somehow thwarted the chance of their racial progress.

Luckily, I've obsessively pondered all that too, for most of my life.

I believe I started off with enough of a handicap that I don't stand much chance of reaching enlightenment in this go around. But I'm ok with that. I have plenty of work to do here. And I'm having a LOT of fun anyway.

 Whatever happens, I usually land on my feet (or at least my @$$, which is built for the eventuality. :)

"In literature they would not have begged for happy endings."

Love, peace and roasted fresh Seattle salmon-skin skin grease,

-s

*"They [Super-cat men] would not have been a credulous people, or easily religious. False prophets and swindlers would have found few dupes..."

All excerpts from This Simian World, Clarence Day. My kinda' self-help book! :)

**or gathered up and recycled for art supplies.

“None but the lowest dregs of such a race would have been lawyers spending their span of life on this mysterious earth studying the long dusty records of dead and gone quarrels.”

Hurray! Back to the blog! 
Because i have a follower (and when it's a follower like Jen, one is enough - though i welcome you all.:),

because it's therapy for me, and i believe it helps others too,

because i have things to say, and i love to share the words and art of other people who have things to say, because here you have a choice, and on FB you don't (sorry about all the daily clutter)... This way i can post and rant to my hearts' content and not feel like i'm junking up the airways (ok, ethernet, wtfever. ;) so much. Plus, i feel like i can let my hair down (or in my case, up) a little more here. FB is a little too public and varied for some of the things i'd like to express and share sometimes. Because i have this blog and even though sometimes i've gone ages 'twixt postings, i've still managed to keep it going for years. It's like my peace lily and aloe vera. even though i've nearly killed those guys more than once*, i have managed to keep them alive, and they give me clean air and oxygen and soothe my burns. yep, that's a very good metaphor indeed.
Love, peace and aloe vera gel,
-s



(thanks to X's mum and dad for the lovely amaryllis bulb. :) it was my macbeth prezzie. :)

*last year i thought i'd finally really killed them, but in the spring, i dug tiny little rhizomes out of their dirt and brought them back from that. they used to be HUGE. the spathyphillum (peace lily. see Hot Fuzz!) was like a small shrub and the aloe once filled this whole pot. :( but hey, they're still here, so there's hope! :D

The Optimists' Creed
worth reposting, worth saving, worth reading again every day!

Promise Yourself
To be so strong that nothing can disturb your peace of mind.
To talk health, happiness, and prosperity to every person you meet.
To make all your friends feel that there is something worthwhile in them.
To look at the sunny side of everything and make your optimism come true.
To think only of the best, to work only for the best and to expect only the best.
To be just as enthusiastic about the success of others as you are about your own.
To forget the mistakes of the past and press on to the greater achievements of the future.
To wear a cheerful expression at all times and give a smile to every living creature you meet.
To give so much time to improving yourself that you have no time to criticize others.
To be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear, and too happy to permit the presence of trouble.
To think well of yourself and to proclaim this fact to the world, not in loud word, but in great deeds.
To live in the faith that the whole world is on your side, so long as you are true to the best that is in you.