well, am happy to say i got some SAM things done this weekend. !@#$in' YAY! i certainly didn't get as much done as i wanted and needed to, but hey. everything is everything.
page is updated, house civilized a bit, working on yard, started painting a dress i've meant to get to, and worked on making my deadline list of "10jillion Things I Have to Do for Other People." sigh.
i also had a GREAT memorial day dinner, got invited to the goree's for steak and grilled corn on the cob, sweet potatos, aspara-goose, and TEQUILA! woo! have been reading a FANtastic book (on tam's reccomend) - "Snow Crash" neal stephenson i believe. really incredible cyberfiction. i haven't read any of that in a while, and now i'm on a run.
that's about it. sorry to be so lame. but you know what? i'm DUE some damned lameness, thankyouverymuch.
:D
xoxox
-sam
Tuesday, May 27, 2003
Sunday, May 25, 2003
after yesterday's rant, i am happy... no, delighted - practically wiggly with pleasure to be able to tell this little story.
i have a friend, a very young one - the, uh, graduate fron the 5/20-21 rants - who is, by all appearance, a typical man's man, and quite young, to boot. we all know how inadvertantly dumb young guys can be (yadafoc), bless their little hearts... this fellow gives me hope, though.
yesterday evening, he had to call on me to ask if i would come with my truck, pick him up and go with him to pick up a table.
now, i don't know too many girls with trucks, but there is a definite mystique and 'secret society' attitude about us and our trucks. (they were talking about "girls with pickups" on the bob and sheri show earlier this week. it's a "phenomenon".) needless to say, we - g.w.t. - know this, and we like it. it sets us apart. makes people wonder about us. that's ok. it also makes you into someone that people call when they want something moved or need to haul a lot of stuff... it's a power tool, in more ways than one. :)
so, of course, i said yes. i'd be happy to help him. i'm sure he knows buckets of boys with trucks - he's a redneck guy. but he called ME.
when we got to the spot, someone had already picked up the table, so we just had a nice little afternoon drive. there's no way this good friend of mine could have known what was troubling my mind, but as i pulled up to the light, hit the clutch and downshifted, he shook his head a little, in that very country way, and said "there's just somethin' about a woman who drives a straight-drive pickup."
my rantworthy mood was still on me and i said "whaddaya mean? is that BAD?" and he cocked his head, gave me a VERY nice and telling smile and said "nah. HELL nah." and then he gifted me with a grin that let me know that DESPITE what all those OTHER guys think and say, i'm doing just fine with myself. just fine.
there definitely is something about a woman who drives a straight-drive pickup truck. and i should count my blessings that i don't have to deal with the men who are too afraid to find out.
big hugs to all my sister-girls who drive trucks and play softball and aren't too crazy about dresses and draw their own houseplans and do their own plumbing and know that fake nails are a waste of money and go barefoot and arm-wrestle and can break down their gun in under a minute and fire it dead on and can catch AND clean a fish (a whole mess, if you give them time) AND raise kids (even other people's) and can cook and sew and look like a movie-star in ten-minutes flat and sing like angels (or not, and sing anyway) and paint and draw and write and keep a man MORE than happy... and the biggest props of ALL to those men out there who are smart, lucky, badass and beautiful enough to CATCH and KEEP one of these amazing women!
A-MEN!
i have a friend, a very young one - the, uh, graduate fron the 5/20-21 rants - who is, by all appearance, a typical man's man, and quite young, to boot. we all know how inadvertantly dumb young guys can be (yadafoc), bless their little hearts... this fellow gives me hope, though.
yesterday evening, he had to call on me to ask if i would come with my truck, pick him up and go with him to pick up a table.
now, i don't know too many girls with trucks, but there is a definite mystique and 'secret society' attitude about us and our trucks. (they were talking about "girls with pickups" on the bob and sheri show earlier this week. it's a "phenomenon".) needless to say, we - g.w.t. - know this, and we like it. it sets us apart. makes people wonder about us. that's ok. it also makes you into someone that people call when they want something moved or need to haul a lot of stuff... it's a power tool, in more ways than one. :)
so, of course, i said yes. i'd be happy to help him. i'm sure he knows buckets of boys with trucks - he's a redneck guy. but he called ME.
when we got to the spot, someone had already picked up the table, so we just had a nice little afternoon drive. there's no way this good friend of mine could have known what was troubling my mind, but as i pulled up to the light, hit the clutch and downshifted, he shook his head a little, in that very country way, and said "there's just somethin' about a woman who drives a straight-drive pickup."
my rantworthy mood was still on me and i said "whaddaya mean? is that BAD?" and he cocked his head, gave me a VERY nice and telling smile and said "nah. HELL nah." and then he gifted me with a grin that let me know that DESPITE what all those OTHER guys think and say, i'm doing just fine with myself. just fine.
there definitely is something about a woman who drives a straight-drive pickup truck. and i should count my blessings that i don't have to deal with the men who are too afraid to find out.
big hugs to all my sister-girls who drive trucks and play softball and aren't too crazy about dresses and draw their own houseplans and do their own plumbing and know that fake nails are a waste of money and go barefoot and arm-wrestle and can break down their gun in under a minute and fire it dead on and can catch AND clean a fish (a whole mess, if you give them time) AND raise kids (even other people's) and can cook and sew and look like a movie-star in ten-minutes flat and sing like angels (or not, and sing anyway) and paint and draw and write and keep a man MORE than happy... and the biggest props of ALL to those men out there who are smart, lucky, badass and beautiful enough to CATCH and KEEP one of these amazing women!
A-MEN!
Saturday, May 24, 2003
you know what? there are few people on this planet who love boys more than me. i think they are wonderful, well-made, entertaining and useful. they can be practical, pretty, thrilling, pleasant-smelling, helpful, friendly, loyal, trustworthy, and brave. in general, they just rock. i wish i had a whole army of them just to amuse and assist me whenever i desired... oh, wait...
but here's the dealie-o. they can also be so ridiculously insecure that it is painful. i just don't GET it! how can they not know how great they are? how much we need, appreciate, and adore them? i suppose it's because they're too busy wondering if we just got something over on them, or fretting about some time, twenty years ago, when someone ELSE got something over on them. or worrying that someone might, in the future, might get something over on them - or god forbid, even worse, make them feel like they look dumb.
they are tired of us being "bitches". they are tired of us using emotion or frailty as an excuse, they are tired of our double standards and illogical nature, they are tired of us hating fart jokes. ok. so am i. but I am tired of being treated like crap because i don't fit in a little girlie box. because i make them wonder about themselves. because i am happier being alone that putting up with insecurity and ridiculous, out-dated ideas of "relationships". men ARE generally physically stronger, and women ARE generally more creative. but i have met a LOT of good people who have proved that this is often a load of crap.
i am also proud to say that i know a LOT of men who are not like this, who are secure in themselves and their whole gender, who appreciate women for all of their strengths and surprises, and who know when they are just being dumb monkeys.
the few who don't know better, they hurt my heart. and the worst cases are always the men who are SO fabulous in every way - except for their intensely ingrained sexist views. guys who are jerks in all departments just don't seem like such a loss...
i know i am a very unconventional woman. and despite that, there are bits of me that are girlie-girlie - BINK TO THE BONE! and frankly, in my dreeeaam romance, i would meet a guy who was tougher than me, who could make me think, who could not only protect me when i was scared, but let me ADMIT that i was scared in the first place, without holding it against me forever. a man who could be smarter than me without rubbing it in*, who didn't think cute stuff was stupid, who didn't need me to look like jheri ryan to impress his buddies, who got the whole "shoes" thing, who not only didn't mind when i was right, or when i won, but was really PROUD.
they're out there. i know some. i wish they would make a tv show about you, or that y'all could teach classes at universities all over the country.
there is, of course, something that has happened to me recently that has caused me to feel this way, but honestly, it happens to me all the time. it effects my personal life very deeply. i have had several men, some that i cared for more than i'd like to admit, leave me because i was "too much", because they wanted to be with someone who "didn't do eveything better than [they] did", and who needed someone who "wasn't so much of a challenge"... i had a boyfriend who got angry because i picked him up, one who got mad because i caught more fish than he did, one who got mad because, when he tried to beat me to death i broke his jaw and never spoke to him again. go figure. there are men who tell me that what i need is a man around - policemen and strangers; there have been men who warned me that if i kept on being so "independant", i was going to end up a lonely old cat lady... and on and on and on... all in this category.
guys. either wake up, or leave me the hell alone.
for those of you who have worked and struggled to rise above, goddess bless you! may you be blessed with sons to pass it on to and with daughters to spread the gospel in their own powerful way. and if you are not one to have either, then may you live a long and prosperous life, and set an example to those around you.
amen.
*i know, dream ON, sister girl. i also dream of world peace, complete environmental renewal, and an effective diet and exercise program that i could really, happily stick with.
but here's the dealie-o. they can also be so ridiculously insecure that it is painful. i just don't GET it! how can they not know how great they are? how much we need, appreciate, and adore them? i suppose it's because they're too busy wondering if we just got something over on them, or fretting about some time, twenty years ago, when someone ELSE got something over on them. or worrying that someone might, in the future, might get something over on them - or god forbid, even worse, make them feel like they look dumb.
they are tired of us being "bitches". they are tired of us using emotion or frailty as an excuse, they are tired of our double standards and illogical nature, they are tired of us hating fart jokes. ok. so am i. but I am tired of being treated like crap because i don't fit in a little girlie box. because i make them wonder about themselves. because i am happier being alone that putting up with insecurity and ridiculous, out-dated ideas of "relationships". men ARE generally physically stronger, and women ARE generally more creative. but i have met a LOT of good people who have proved that this is often a load of crap.
i am also proud to say that i know a LOT of men who are not like this, who are secure in themselves and their whole gender, who appreciate women for all of their strengths and surprises, and who know when they are just being dumb monkeys.
the few who don't know better, they hurt my heart. and the worst cases are always the men who are SO fabulous in every way - except for their intensely ingrained sexist views. guys who are jerks in all departments just don't seem like such a loss...
i know i am a very unconventional woman. and despite that, there are bits of me that are girlie-girlie - BINK TO THE BONE! and frankly, in my dreeeaam romance, i would meet a guy who was tougher than me, who could make me think, who could not only protect me when i was scared, but let me ADMIT that i was scared in the first place, without holding it against me forever. a man who could be smarter than me without rubbing it in*, who didn't think cute stuff was stupid, who didn't need me to look like jheri ryan to impress his buddies, who got the whole "shoes" thing, who not only didn't mind when i was right, or when i won, but was really PROUD.
they're out there. i know some. i wish they would make a tv show about you, or that y'all could teach classes at universities all over the country.
there is, of course, something that has happened to me recently that has caused me to feel this way, but honestly, it happens to me all the time. it effects my personal life very deeply. i have had several men, some that i cared for more than i'd like to admit, leave me because i was "too much", because they wanted to be with someone who "didn't do eveything better than [they] did", and who needed someone who "wasn't so much of a challenge"... i had a boyfriend who got angry because i picked him up, one who got mad because i caught more fish than he did, one who got mad because, when he tried to beat me to death i broke his jaw and never spoke to him again. go figure. there are men who tell me that what i need is a man around - policemen and strangers; there have been men who warned me that if i kept on being so "independant", i was going to end up a lonely old cat lady... and on and on and on... all in this category.
guys. either wake up, or leave me the hell alone.
for those of you who have worked and struggled to rise above, goddess bless you! may you be blessed with sons to pass it on to and with daughters to spread the gospel in their own powerful way. and if you are not one to have either, then may you live a long and prosperous life, and set an example to those around you.
amen.
*i know, dream ON, sister girl. i also dream of world peace, complete environmental renewal, and an effective diet and exercise program that i could really, happily stick with.
Thursday, May 22, 2003
Depression and memory are devious bedfellows*. Throw in weeks of continual gloomy rain, in a landscape that is hostile to your nature in the first place, and you have a ménage a trois from Hell.
The faire and all that was going on at the time did so much to keep me distracted. But now I have time and opportunity to hide and think again. Don’t get me wrong – I know I was complaining about being surrounded by too many people and having too little time to myself, and believe me, depressed and restless beats homicidal ANYday… but I am back to square one again. Ok. Square 2,036, 972, but that’s not the point. The point is that I should be off of squares and on to some more interesting geometry.
Actually, I think geography more than geometry is the issue. Of all the interesting and conflicting personality quirks I’ve inherited from my family**, my mother’s charming blend of manic restlessness and Hughes-like reclusiveness combined with my father’s rather mundane (but preferable) mix of exuberant extroversion and nigh-sloth-like laziness makes me… well, mad and worthless a whole lot of the damned time.
It is shameful to blame one’s upbringing for one’s adult faults, yes. And if I didn’t know me so well, and know how veryvery hard I work to conquer all of this, I’d feel a lot worse about saying all of that. I think it’s just the fact that I have to work so hard. My father couldn’t help passing his fat genes, but he certainly could have stuck around a little more and tried to be a better example, tried to teach me to work harder, exercise and eat properly. My mother can’t help that she’s a complete and utter psycho sometimes, but she could have put me in a sack and tied a rope around the top and thrown me in the lake rather than let me live with all the memories, lies, denial, and lack of her.
Harsh. True. Partially metaphorical – if you need to believe that.
So. This piquant gumbo of nature and nurture has made me into a person that wants to intermittently run-like-hell, bite people, and then stop and lay in the sunny grass for a time. Maybe I was born in August by design.
I think part of what’s wrong today – other than the fact that it’s been raining so long that everyone’s brain (along with everything else in the world) is mildewing – is that I am filled with an equal desire to run away from home and lay in the bed and sleep, they are both even, and so passionate that they exclude the possibility of my wanting to do ANYthing else that I’m supposed to be doing. My house looks like hell, my yard is knee high in dandelions (where it isn’t just jungle), I can’t even THINK about all the deadlines I have, and I am fantasizing about blowing the Courthouse to smithereenlets.
Anyone else feel like this? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?
Maybe I’ll use the $$$ I make from my upcoming (AUGH! DEADLINE!) “Day Off” store to run away from home. I KNOW y’all would all contribute to THAT!
Much love, and more rain,
-sam
*soap-operatic, even.
** whether by genetic lotto or the lovely process of socialization I endured at their clever/clumsy hands. I dunno, Henry. The verdict is still out.
The faire and all that was going on at the time did so much to keep me distracted. But now I have time and opportunity to hide and think again. Don’t get me wrong – I know I was complaining about being surrounded by too many people and having too little time to myself, and believe me, depressed and restless beats homicidal ANYday… but I am back to square one again. Ok. Square 2,036, 972, but that’s not the point. The point is that I should be off of squares and on to some more interesting geometry.
Actually, I think geography more than geometry is the issue. Of all the interesting and conflicting personality quirks I’ve inherited from my family**, my mother’s charming blend of manic restlessness and Hughes-like reclusiveness combined with my father’s rather mundane (but preferable) mix of exuberant extroversion and nigh-sloth-like laziness makes me… well, mad and worthless a whole lot of the damned time.
It is shameful to blame one’s upbringing for one’s adult faults, yes. And if I didn’t know me so well, and know how veryvery hard I work to conquer all of this, I’d feel a lot worse about saying all of that. I think it’s just the fact that I have to work so hard. My father couldn’t help passing his fat genes, but he certainly could have stuck around a little more and tried to be a better example, tried to teach me to work harder, exercise and eat properly. My mother can’t help that she’s a complete and utter psycho sometimes, but she could have put me in a sack and tied a rope around the top and thrown me in the lake rather than let me live with all the memories, lies, denial, and lack of her.
Harsh. True. Partially metaphorical – if you need to believe that.
So. This piquant gumbo of nature and nurture has made me into a person that wants to intermittently run-like-hell, bite people, and then stop and lay in the sunny grass for a time. Maybe I was born in August by design.
I think part of what’s wrong today – other than the fact that it’s been raining so long that everyone’s brain (along with everything else in the world) is mildewing – is that I am filled with an equal desire to run away from home and lay in the bed and sleep, they are both even, and so passionate that they exclude the possibility of my wanting to do ANYthing else that I’m supposed to be doing. My house looks like hell, my yard is knee high in dandelions (where it isn’t just jungle), I can’t even THINK about all the deadlines I have, and I am fantasizing about blowing the Courthouse to smithereenlets.
Anyone else feel like this? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?
Maybe I’ll use the $$$ I make from my upcoming (AUGH! DEADLINE!) “Day Off” store to run away from home. I KNOW y’all would all contribute to THAT!
Much love, and more rain,
-sam
*soap-operatic, even.
** whether by genetic lotto or the lovely process of socialization I endured at their clever/clumsy hands. I dunno, Henry. The verdict is still out.
Wednesday, May 21, 2003
well, i made it to "congratulations" (as indi said today - "did you make it to congratulations?" moo!) last night and i was SO glad i did. baby vin got his walking papers, and none of us cried TOO much. i wouldn't trade anything for the look on adam's face when he looked up in the stands and saw me sitting with his mommanem... :) i had an extra big surge of pride (mixed with pain) when his principal commended him and one other young man - detroit dawg - for signing up to defend their country. afterwards, he got choked up when he asked us, his closest friends, to look out for his baby brother while he was gone, asked us to make sure he grew up right...
don't get me started.
he presented me with his gown, so i can pretend EXTRA well when i have mississippi mass choir dining room concerts - awww! and showed me off to his buddies...
i was glad to be there and be a part of it. it felt like family. i miss that, and need it more than i like to admit.
i hope you all are getting enough warm fuzzies in YOUR diet.
much love,
-s
don't get me started.
he presented me with his gown, so i can pretend EXTRA well when i have mississippi mass choir dining room concerts - awww! and showed me off to his buddies...
i was glad to be there and be a part of it. it felt like family. i miss that, and need it more than i like to admit.
i hope you all are getting enough warm fuzzies in YOUR diet.
much love,
-s
Tuesday, May 20, 2003
SO much to do. SO much of my life is on loan or rent to other people. maybe i should have kids just so i have a good reason to say no to people.
NOT. (besides, it doesn't work for buffy. :)
i need a mom. or a secretary. or some clones. CLONE SAM! YEAH! if i had enough clones, i could rent them out for parties and low-key loan-sharking, knee-breakings and that sort of fing. "pay me back or i'll send my rent-a-sam over there to talk to you about vin diesel and gormenghast until your nose bleeds!" yeah!
whaddayathink? i could charge, oh, 2, 3 dollars an hour - plus coffee and pork-rind budget. not too shabby. maybe i could get a Pork Rind Council endorsement deal... i could be the poster child for CDM coffee... "SAM DRINKS CDM, AND IT MAKES HER GO 'WHEEEE!'"*
oh, lordy. i am getting restless again. watch out world.
adam graduates tonight. i am gonna bust firestone to get there and see him walk the walk.
i will keep y'all posted on the adventures as they unfold.
much love (and WHEE!)
-s
*hee. that even made me laugh.
NOT. (besides, it doesn't work for buffy. :)
i need a mom. or a secretary. or some clones. CLONE SAM! YEAH! if i had enough clones, i could rent them out for parties and low-key loan-sharking, knee-breakings and that sort of fing. "pay me back or i'll send my rent-a-sam over there to talk to you about vin diesel and gormenghast until your nose bleeds!" yeah!
whaddayathink? i could charge, oh, 2, 3 dollars an hour - plus coffee and pork-rind budget. not too shabby. maybe i could get a Pork Rind Council endorsement deal... i could be the poster child for CDM coffee... "SAM DRINKS CDM, AND IT MAKES HER GO 'WHEEEE!'"*
oh, lordy. i am getting restless again. watch out world.
adam graduates tonight. i am gonna bust firestone to get there and see him walk the walk.
i will keep y'all posted on the adventures as they unfold.
much love (and WHEE!)
-s
*hee. that even made me laugh.
Sunday, May 18, 2003
well, i can be a little less ashamed today.
the universe gifted me with bruffy therapy again. i have spent the whole day so far with some of my favorite geeks in the world, working on a top secret project* involving scissors, sand, sticky things and burger king. don't ask.
we've played and been creative, watched some FANTASTIC chinese cinema (courtesy of MY latest serious obsession**), ran some fun errands... i've gotten to see a couple of folks that i DEFINITELY do not get to see often enough. there's more yet to come, too. we are waiting for brett to be released from White Collar Overtime Hell and then we will all go see The Matrix together. yay, us.
life goes on. i don't hate this world very often, and on days like today i realize that broken heats are like taxes and death. inevitable, annoying and painful, but thank god they don't come around very often, and you can forget about them most of the time.
i hope you all have folks around you who help you forget the bad stuff and make you remember the good.
much love.
-s
*don't worry, we're not taking over the world. none of us want that much damned responsibility.
**for those of you who don't know, i am building a collection of period chinese martial arts and fantasy films on dvd, starting with all the movies of jet li and donnie yen - all set pre-1920. yes, i'm a weirdo. so what. you won't be calling me a weirdo when you want to borrow "hero" :)
the universe gifted me with bruffy therapy again. i have spent the whole day so far with some of my favorite geeks in the world, working on a top secret project* involving scissors, sand, sticky things and burger king. don't ask.
we've played and been creative, watched some FANTASTIC chinese cinema (courtesy of MY latest serious obsession**), ran some fun errands... i've gotten to see a couple of folks that i DEFINITELY do not get to see often enough. there's more yet to come, too. we are waiting for brett to be released from White Collar Overtime Hell and then we will all go see The Matrix together. yay, us.
life goes on. i don't hate this world very often, and on days like today i realize that broken heats are like taxes and death. inevitable, annoying and painful, but thank god they don't come around very often, and you can forget about them most of the time.
i hope you all have folks around you who help you forget the bad stuff and make you remember the good.
much love.
-s
*don't worry, we're not taking over the world. none of us want that much damned responsibility.
**for those of you who don't know, i am building a collection of period chinese martial arts and fantasy films on dvd, starting with all the movies of jet li and donnie yen - all set pre-1920. yes, i'm a weirdo. so what. you won't be calling me a weirdo when you want to borrow "hero" :)
Saturday, May 17, 2003
i can't really say what happened or why (don't you hate that?) but it is still the most important news i have to report today. suffice it to say that my heart was broken* by someone who doesn't even know it**. good thing i'm used to that. one less thing to wonder about, one less hope to hang on to, one less star in the sky. maybe that will just make the others shine brighter and clearer. maybe.
some days, i really hate this world.
shame on me.
-s
*i guess i should be glad that there's still enough of it left whole that i could feel this way.
**bad for me, but good for them. accentuate the positive.
some days, i really hate this world.
shame on me.
-s
*i guess i should be glad that there's still enough of it left whole that i could feel this way.
**bad for me, but good for them. accentuate the positive.
Friday, May 16, 2003
I missed the beginning of the show last night, because it was raining, and the sky was a solid cloud. That was actually a gift from The Lady as well, though, because it seemed that the Universe needed me elsewhere for those first couple of hours.
A dear friend called me, “please come to a small graduation party”. I went at 8, two hours until the Moon really began to do Her thing – perfect. I told them I could not drink with them – last night did it for me for another year or so – hopefully. But I ended playing kickball in the yard with all of them (high school boys, football players, Blessed Be!) and my host’s PRECIOUS five-year-old brother until the light left us. MUCH more fun than drinking, I must say, and a MUCH more effective distraction.
After the game, the rain came the gents came inside. We ended up talking about life and God and sex and rap music, all the things that make the world go ‘round. And then it all got deeper, and they began to tell about their hurts, about the things that life handed them before they were old enough to know what to do. And I realized I was there for a reason. They felt free to tell all around me, maybe through me. Talk to each other about things they might NEVER mention to anyone else, and all I had to do was listen and accept. I didn’t have to say a word. In the end, they told themselves and each other that God didn’t hand them these things – life did. But God gave them the strength to get through it, and Adam said “As bad as it all was, the hate, the pain, the fear, if it hadn’t happened to me, I wouldn’t be who I am.”
And then, I went home, lit my candles, got some good food, read and snuggled with Lu until the rain stopped, and then went out to see what the Moon had to show me. I brought my quilt and pillow out and laid on the cool, wet grass. The eclipse was about halfway through and though half the sky was brilliant stars, where the Moon sat was thick with clouds. The clouds swept by quickly, though, and the eclipsing Moon was like the fanciest fan-dancer in the history of tease. One moment there would be luminous, roiling cloud, eerily lit with that strange light that only eclipse brings and then suddenly, a brilliant flash of near-full Moon, half dark. It had the feel of peek-a-boo with a child, but only if that child was Buddha ancient, tiger-bright and God. I drifted in and out of sleep – feeling safe in that strange dark because of my little moon, Luna there beside me. I thought of other moon-shows, moonshadows, remembered another eclipse, years ago, in my backyard back home with Cat purring on my chest… that night at Pablo’s farm… swimming alone in Lake Crawford, swimming in that full reflection… I remembered my father saying that I was moon-obsessed as a child. He said I knew the moon before I knew my parents names and faces**, and that he feared that I would be “moonstruck”* as an adult. I think he was right.
She did not disappoint me last night.
Wendi wrote, and it seems that she and I got treated to our first views at the same time. She was out on the road, driving under that lovely phenomenon. Heading south – the best direction.
I’d love it if any of you would write and tell me where you were, what you saw, what you dreamed.
Much love,
-s
*Moonstruck:
Adj.
1. in a daze: acting in a rather irrational, dreamy, confused way, often out of love (informal humorous)
2. wildly confused: behaving in a wild or confused way (dated literary)
[Late 17th century. The two senses of the word came from the romantic associations of moonlight and the popular belief that the Moon has an effect upon mental stability.]
**the prayer I’ve known the longest, even longer than “now I lay me down…”:
”I see the Moon, the Moon sees me. God bless the Moon, God bless me.”
A dear friend called me, “please come to a small graduation party”. I went at 8, two hours until the Moon really began to do Her thing – perfect. I told them I could not drink with them – last night did it for me for another year or so – hopefully. But I ended playing kickball in the yard with all of them (high school boys, football players, Blessed Be!) and my host’s PRECIOUS five-year-old brother until the light left us. MUCH more fun than drinking, I must say, and a MUCH more effective distraction.
After the game, the rain came the gents came inside. We ended up talking about life and God and sex and rap music, all the things that make the world go ‘round. And then it all got deeper, and they began to tell about their hurts, about the things that life handed them before they were old enough to know what to do. And I realized I was there for a reason. They felt free to tell all around me, maybe through me. Talk to each other about things they might NEVER mention to anyone else, and all I had to do was listen and accept. I didn’t have to say a word. In the end, they told themselves and each other that God didn’t hand them these things – life did. But God gave them the strength to get through it, and Adam said “As bad as it all was, the hate, the pain, the fear, if it hadn’t happened to me, I wouldn’t be who I am.”
And then, I went home, lit my candles, got some good food, read and snuggled with Lu until the rain stopped, and then went out to see what the Moon had to show me. I brought my quilt and pillow out and laid on the cool, wet grass. The eclipse was about halfway through and though half the sky was brilliant stars, where the Moon sat was thick with clouds. The clouds swept by quickly, though, and the eclipsing Moon was like the fanciest fan-dancer in the history of tease. One moment there would be luminous, roiling cloud, eerily lit with that strange light that only eclipse brings and then suddenly, a brilliant flash of near-full Moon, half dark. It had the feel of peek-a-boo with a child, but only if that child was Buddha ancient, tiger-bright and God. I drifted in and out of sleep – feeling safe in that strange dark because of my little moon, Luna there beside me. I thought of other moon-shows, moonshadows, remembered another eclipse, years ago, in my backyard back home with Cat purring on my chest… that night at Pablo’s farm… swimming alone in Lake Crawford, swimming in that full reflection… I remembered my father saying that I was moon-obsessed as a child. He said I knew the moon before I knew my parents names and faces**, and that he feared that I would be “moonstruck”* as an adult. I think he was right.
She did not disappoint me last night.
Wendi wrote, and it seems that she and I got treated to our first views at the same time. She was out on the road, driving under that lovely phenomenon. Heading south – the best direction.
I’d love it if any of you would write and tell me where you were, what you saw, what you dreamed.
Much love,
-s
*Moonstruck:
Adj.
1. in a daze: acting in a rather irrational, dreamy, confused way, often out of love (informal humorous)
2. wildly confused: behaving in a wild or confused way (dated literary)
[Late 17th century. The two senses of the word came from the romantic associations of moonlight and the popular belief that the Moon has an effect upon mental stability.]
**the prayer I’ve known the longest, even longer than “now I lay me down…”:
”I see the Moon, the Moon sees me. God bless the Moon, God bless me.”
Thursday, May 15, 2003
well, for all my big talk, yesterday - last night - was still pretty damned bad. i drank a lot last night. i called an ex, and luckily it was the right one, someone who was there with me through the first of this bad time. he was sympathetic, he remembered with me - some good things out loud, some bad things in silence. and we made each other laugh. (thank you, jah. we are bound by more than ink and memories of swimming.)
i worked, i wandered around the house looking at her pictures and crying. i was mad, i cried, i wished death and hell on the "people" who did this... i FINALLY fell asleep after writing a silly drunken missive to james and trying to read some pratchett... and when i woke up i thought: "i made it through this night. she didn't."
i am coming to terms with the fact that it will never go away. not until my memory or my life is lost. some things you CAN let go, some things, you can't. the next week will be rough, but the worst is over. memory can reclaim the place where my imagination was trying to roam last night. thank god. i just have to be grateful for the fact that it's only this bad a few days a year, that it hasn't stolen my whole life, driven me crazy or helpless. that i have the strength to get through it. let go? no. go on? yes. that's something. that's a LOT actually.
tonight i am going to watch the eclipse with my best friend, love of my life, moon-doggy herself and try to think of good times. think me good thoughts, i will do the same for you.
much love,
-s
i worked, i wandered around the house looking at her pictures and crying. i was mad, i cried, i wished death and hell on the "people" who did this... i FINALLY fell asleep after writing a silly drunken missive to james and trying to read some pratchett... and when i woke up i thought: "i made it through this night. she didn't."
i am coming to terms with the fact that it will never go away. not until my memory or my life is lost. some things you CAN let go, some things, you can't. the next week will be rough, but the worst is over. memory can reclaim the place where my imagination was trying to roam last night. thank god. i just have to be grateful for the fact that it's only this bad a few days a year, that it hasn't stolen my whole life, driven me crazy or helpless. that i have the strength to get through it. let go? no. go on? yes. that's something. that's a LOT actually.
tonight i am going to watch the eclipse with my best friend, love of my life, moon-doggy herself and try to think of good times. think me good thoughts, i will do the same for you.
much love,
-s
Tuesday, May 13, 2003
these days are like ghosts, but at least they get thinner and paler with each passing year.
i try not to dwell, not to think about what these days mean in the whole scheme of things, but my memory* brings me back to those days with painful clarity. the memories are odd and queasy, because so much of that week was a soggy, drugged-up sick haze. i had vertigo the worst i've ever had it, i think from crying so much. i was on antivert and sedatives, and i remember people - mainly steve - steering me around like a little black cloud on a string. i slept with a damp towel and wouldn't take off dad's shirt - they ended up buying me a new one that resembled it to wear to the funeral so i would at least be clean.
the worst is when i look at the clock and i remember specific events that happened at those times. on may 13, i was still just miserable, missing my dad, oblivious to the fact that the worst was to come. aunt sue's phone call, police questions, dragging the river, and all that just the very beginning of the awful all of it.
one more week or so to go, and i'll be through it. i lay in bed last night and looked at the pictures of her on my wall. thought of the ones on the mantle, in my albums. i thought of how old she would be, what her life might be like. and i thought of the people who murdered her claiming and appealing because they've been "treated unfairly". i wish i could let go of my anger there. it might be the last tie to the ghosts. they should be dead, painfully, tortured, like she was, and she should be alive.
there's no sense in "if" and "should" here, not really - unless those murderers ever manage to get set free...
i know, i know, shut up already sam. but even those of you who are close to me don't know what i go through, what these ghosts do to me, all the billions of thoughts that spin off of days on the calendar and hours on the clock. the pain gets better, but the thoughts multiply.
thank y'all for going through this with me, year after year. it helps.
love,
sam
*highly doubted and disputed by those who don't want me to remember, celebrated for it's eerie accuracy by those who know me well and have nothing to lose
i try not to dwell, not to think about what these days mean in the whole scheme of things, but my memory* brings me back to those days with painful clarity. the memories are odd and queasy, because so much of that week was a soggy, drugged-up sick haze. i had vertigo the worst i've ever had it, i think from crying so much. i was on antivert and sedatives, and i remember people - mainly steve - steering me around like a little black cloud on a string. i slept with a damp towel and wouldn't take off dad's shirt - they ended up buying me a new one that resembled it to wear to the funeral so i would at least be clean.
the worst is when i look at the clock and i remember specific events that happened at those times. on may 13, i was still just miserable, missing my dad, oblivious to the fact that the worst was to come. aunt sue's phone call, police questions, dragging the river, and all that just the very beginning of the awful all of it.
one more week or so to go, and i'll be through it. i lay in bed last night and looked at the pictures of her on my wall. thought of the ones on the mantle, in my albums. i thought of how old she would be, what her life might be like. and i thought of the people who murdered her claiming and appealing because they've been "treated unfairly". i wish i could let go of my anger there. it might be the last tie to the ghosts. they should be dead, painfully, tortured, like she was, and she should be alive.
there's no sense in "if" and "should" here, not really - unless those murderers ever manage to get set free...
i know, i know, shut up already sam. but even those of you who are close to me don't know what i go through, what these ghosts do to me, all the billions of thoughts that spin off of days on the calendar and hours on the clock. the pain gets better, but the thoughts multiply.
thank y'all for going through this with me, year after year. it helps.
love,
sam
*highly doubted and disputed by those who don't want me to remember, celebrated for it's eerie accuracy by those who know me well and have nothing to lose
Saturday, May 10, 2003
i do not, by ANY means intend to undermine the opinions of my girlfriends here. i think that my girlies, in particular, have FABULOUS taste, but ladies - we all know that when we make a drastic change to our appearance, we want to know what the BOYS think, right?
i love my new hairdo, and i think all my girlies will, too. the local ladies have proclaimed it "Daaaaarlin'!", "SO cute!" "Pixie-ish!" and have said it makes me look younger - rave reviews, in my book. and ladies, we also all know how men react when we cut all our hair off - IF they even notice (sheesh). this cut was so drastic that even the most, ah, typical of blokes couldn't miss it, and of course i had the fear that i would look (even MORE) like a boy, but what the hell. well, today, the PUBLIC OPINION polls are in.
it's saturday, which means the cutest boy in saluda might come in, so i always dress up a little. i have on my favorite black swirly spotty dress and (*gasp!*) even a little make-up and some sandals. i took my lunch stroll downtown, i had a little pink plastic shopping bag - yeah, i was lookin' cute. i walked by the store where my ex works and oh, just stopped in to get a pack of gum. he noticed. i will spare y'all the gorey details of our conversation, but lets just i could tell that he liked it... :) i continued on down the street, and when i crossed over to the bakery, the owners' brother and a couple of young guys were getting into a car. i waved and as i walked by i heard somebody holler "OWWW!"* real loud. THEN, when i got back from lunch, my friend jeff walked in, did a double-take at the hair and said "you look like SOMEbody with your hair like that, now who is it...?" i said "jeff, this better be good..." then i told him about the "OWWW!" and grinned real big. when i grinned he said "i got it! i know who it is! you look like a bleached-out HALLE BERRY!"
you know what i have to say to that?
"OWWW!"
thanks guys - i needed that. :)
xoxox
-s
*not like "owww!" as in pain, but "owww!" as in cute, cheesy, 70's appreciative wolf noise! :D
i love my new hairdo, and i think all my girlies will, too. the local ladies have proclaimed it "Daaaaarlin'!", "SO cute!" "Pixie-ish!" and have said it makes me look younger - rave reviews, in my book. and ladies, we also all know how men react when we cut all our hair off - IF they even notice (sheesh). this cut was so drastic that even the most, ah, typical of blokes couldn't miss it, and of course i had the fear that i would look (even MORE) like a boy, but what the hell. well, today, the PUBLIC OPINION polls are in.
it's saturday, which means the cutest boy in saluda might come in, so i always dress up a little. i have on my favorite black swirly spotty dress and (*gasp!*) even a little make-up and some sandals. i took my lunch stroll downtown, i had a little pink plastic shopping bag - yeah, i was lookin' cute. i walked by the store where my ex works and oh, just stopped in to get a pack of gum. he noticed. i will spare y'all the gorey details of our conversation, but lets just i could tell that he liked it... :) i continued on down the street, and when i crossed over to the bakery, the owners' brother and a couple of young guys were getting into a car. i waved and as i walked by i heard somebody holler "OWWW!"* real loud. THEN, when i got back from lunch, my friend jeff walked in, did a double-take at the hair and said "you look like SOMEbody with your hair like that, now who is it...?" i said "jeff, this better be good..." then i told him about the "OWWW!" and grinned real big. when i grinned he said "i got it! i know who it is! you look like a bleached-out HALLE BERRY!"
you know what i have to say to that?
"OWWW!"
thanks guys - i needed that. :)
xoxox
-s
*not like "owww!" as in pain, but "owww!" as in cute, cheesy, 70's appreciative wolf noise! :D
Friday, May 09, 2003
sssSSSOOooo tired... bluh! :) but catching up, slowwwwwly, but surely. i tried to kick everybody out of the libob an hour early tonight (COMpletely by accident, of course!). oops. i got my hair cut reallyreally short, too. shorter than ever before, i think. i love it. i thought it might be nice to warn y'all though. :)
otherwise, am hanging in there. mothers' day politely falls in the middle of my worst week of the year. kinda' nice to get it all crammed in together, get it out of the way. it gets easier every year. i think luna is gonna treat me to a nice long walk this year and i think i am gonna treat myself to a sushi dinner and a movie that night. yeah!
i am deliciously, decadently enjoying having my house to myself again. i can run around in nothing but my holy socks and sing loud and eat bad stuff and watch movies till 2 am and leave dishes in the sink and fling things everywhere. i can be MONKEY GIRL* again! yay! i really don't think i could live with ANYbody - not even vin - for any length of time, unless we had a HUGE house, with multiple bath rooms and kitchens. GOT THAT, VIN?! :)
i think luna is sad. she misses her day company, so i just have to work harder to amuse her. maybe i should get her a little friend...
i just found out today that i will be getting an ENORMOUS (to me) raise in january, so maybe i could afford a new friend. it's also possible that this will just be "KY" $$$, so the other possibility is that i'll be inspired to go ahead and start my own business and work from home. we shall see how things unfold...
i will keep you posted - y'all do the same.
bunches-a-skwunches!
-sam
*i am so much like a boy that i SCARE me sometimes...
otherwise, am hanging in there. mothers' day politely falls in the middle of my worst week of the year. kinda' nice to get it all crammed in together, get it out of the way. it gets easier every year. i think luna is gonna treat me to a nice long walk this year and i think i am gonna treat myself to a sushi dinner and a movie that night. yeah!
i am deliciously, decadently enjoying having my house to myself again. i can run around in nothing but my holy socks and sing loud and eat bad stuff and watch movies till 2 am and leave dishes in the sink and fling things everywhere. i can be MONKEY GIRL* again! yay! i really don't think i could live with ANYbody - not even vin - for any length of time, unless we had a HUGE house, with multiple bath rooms and kitchens. GOT THAT, VIN?! :)
i think luna is sad. she misses her day company, so i just have to work harder to amuse her. maybe i should get her a little friend...
i just found out today that i will be getting an ENORMOUS (to me) raise in january, so maybe i could afford a new friend. it's also possible that this will just be "KY" $$$, so the other possibility is that i'll be inspired to go ahead and start my own business and work from home. we shall see how things unfold...
i will keep you posted - y'all do the same.
bunches-a-skwunches!
-sam
*i am so much like a boy that i SCARE me sometimes...
Thursday, May 08, 2003
Hello, all. I know everybody wants to hear about the faire, and I do have LOTS to tell - and will, but something else is on my mind - one of the main reasons why I joined the faire in the first place.
My mind plays funny tricks on me. Even though I KNOW the days, the time of year, my mind has always been good at shuffling time so that I forget important things, important days, how many years have gone by since... but this morning, while I was getting ready for work, I looked in the mirror and I saw my parents - like I do some days - and I remembered precisely what today is.
Every year, at this time, I sink myself into something big, bigger than me and all my potential for sadness. I must say that the faire and the art show were DEFINITELY that big (thank you ALL), but here I am back at this week of anniversaries and the tide rushes in.
This year, my own sadness is soft and gentle. It seems natural for the first time since it all came to pass - dad's death (may 8th, 1995) and my cousin Robbie’s murder (may 14, 1995), maybe because of time's passage, and maybe because of the fact that the bastards who did this to Robbie have finally been convicted*. Maybe it's because I’m growing up a little, too, because now I hurt more for my siblings, and for the rest of Robbie’s family. I wonder how they are, and wish that I could be with them right now. If I were home, I would take a trip to Beaumont, visit lake Perry, where we scattered** dad's ashes, and then gone to Van Gundy hill to visit Robbie’s grave and light a candle. This would have just comforted me, made me feel close to them again for a little while. But what I really want to do is be with the survivors. Sit down at Mrs. Frances' table, hug my brothers, and tell my sister a story or ten. Remember that life goes on, and that as long as I can see Mandy’s face and feel Jeff’s hands, that dad is still with us. Robbie was so young, but I have a great legacy from her - a well of strength that I was never truly aware of, one that - so far - has proven to be immeasurable and unbreakable***. I wish that I could be with the others and see how time has treated them. I wish I could do them some good.
As it is, I’m here, and I just have to put all my efforts into other places, and hope that the flow of the Universe brings it all around to my folks who need it. And maybe you’ll read this, and know that I am thinking of you this week.
All my love and strength,
-s
*Though I have just read of their latest attempt to appeal, due to having been treated "UNFAIRLY".
**Ok, PITCHED - well, the game and fish commission was chasing us, and we were doing it illegally, of course, with Luna, who was no bigger than a cat then, trying to swim out to us and us trying to remember a prayer - any prayer. I may have even said "ominous biscuits"... sorry dad. Wait, who the hell am I kidding, dad would have laughed his ASS off!
***Bendable and flexible, though – woo!
My mind plays funny tricks on me. Even though I KNOW the days, the time of year, my mind has always been good at shuffling time so that I forget important things, important days, how many years have gone by since... but this morning, while I was getting ready for work, I looked in the mirror and I saw my parents - like I do some days - and I remembered precisely what today is.
Every year, at this time, I sink myself into something big, bigger than me and all my potential for sadness. I must say that the faire and the art show were DEFINITELY that big (thank you ALL), but here I am back at this week of anniversaries and the tide rushes in.
This year, my own sadness is soft and gentle. It seems natural for the first time since it all came to pass - dad's death (may 8th, 1995) and my cousin Robbie’s murder (may 14, 1995), maybe because of time's passage, and maybe because of the fact that the bastards who did this to Robbie have finally been convicted*. Maybe it's because I’m growing up a little, too, because now I hurt more for my siblings, and for the rest of Robbie’s family. I wonder how they are, and wish that I could be with them right now. If I were home, I would take a trip to Beaumont, visit lake Perry, where we scattered** dad's ashes, and then gone to Van Gundy hill to visit Robbie’s grave and light a candle. This would have just comforted me, made me feel close to them again for a little while. But what I really want to do is be with the survivors. Sit down at Mrs. Frances' table, hug my brothers, and tell my sister a story or ten. Remember that life goes on, and that as long as I can see Mandy’s face and feel Jeff’s hands, that dad is still with us. Robbie was so young, but I have a great legacy from her - a well of strength that I was never truly aware of, one that - so far - has proven to be immeasurable and unbreakable***. I wish that I could be with the others and see how time has treated them. I wish I could do them some good.
As it is, I’m here, and I just have to put all my efforts into other places, and hope that the flow of the Universe brings it all around to my folks who need it. And maybe you’ll read this, and know that I am thinking of you this week.
All my love and strength,
-s
*Though I have just read of their latest attempt to appeal, due to having been treated "UNFAIRLY".
**Ok, PITCHED - well, the game and fish commission was chasing us, and we were doing it illegally, of course, with Luna, who was no bigger than a cat then, trying to swim out to us and us trying to remember a prayer - any prayer. I may have even said "ominous biscuits"... sorry dad. Wait, who the hell am I kidding, dad would have laughed his ASS off!
***Bendable and flexible, though – woo!
Thursday, May 01, 2003
well, people have complained about no new rants (thank you - i am NOT complaining. it's nice to know they're missed.) so i thought i'd take a few precious moments (hur hur hur) to let everyone know what's up.
the rennfaire starts on saturday - AAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! ok, ok, breathe girl, breathe.... i have been so busty - haha ha, BUSY (busty too, my bodice looks GREAT - thanks jen!) that i haven't had time to be too freaked out... until yesterday or so. i cannot even BEGIN to list all that i've been doing to prepare for this, but i tell you what, if anybody EVER calls me lazy* EVER again, i am gonna think back on this last few months and then SOCK 'EM IN THE SCHNOZ! :)
on top of all that, i have an art show opening on the day after the faire closes**. normally i would have said no to ANYTHING (except maybe vin diesel) during the final heat of faire season, but my good friend carol lynne came to me about a month ago and said that Steps to Hope (the same folks i did the "lecture" for - the center for aiding the victims of domestic abuse) was offered a space in which to promote the shelter and the work they do there. she asked if i could help design the show and if i would put some of my pertinent art and writing in the show. i couldn't - wouldn't - say no to that. or vin diesel. :)
i'm unbelievably busy, my personal life is non-existent (what's new. sheesh. :) i don't even really have time to rant or moo!, but hey - I'M BUSY! I DON'T HAVE TIME TO RANT OR MOO! yay, me! and yay, all of y'all, too. :) thing is, i have no shortage of things to do, i am using ALL of my skills and abilities, and best of all, i am helping people. i feel like i have been blessed with more than one grand (and fun) opportunity to devote myself, my time and my gifts to my truest, deepest purpose. until recently, i wasn't even sure what that was, but i am beginning to get a clue.
our charities for this faire are two homes for children that have been removed from their own homes because of violence, abuse, neglect, or abandonment. Presbyterian Home for Children and Elida Home for Children. i definitely don't follow any of the true traditional religious doctrines, but i DO believe in fate and destiny and that everything has a purpose and a reason, that the universe is a very finely tuned and complex machine/organism/being/
THINGY(god. :), and that i have a place in that - a responsibility to that. and i just need to feel that i can make a difference, that i AM
making a difference - and THIS is the place where i want to make a difference. to these kids.
wish us all luck, and i promise, when this is all over, i will come back to bugging y'all with my opinions, gripes and "whees!" with annoying regularity.
much love,
-sam
*this includes me, too. though i probably wouldn't hit myself in the nose. i'd probably just berate myself soundly. maybe send me to my room.
**lazy, no. insane, yes.
the rennfaire starts on saturday - AAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! ok, ok, breathe girl, breathe.... i have been so busty - haha ha, BUSY (busty too, my bodice looks GREAT - thanks jen!) that i haven't had time to be too freaked out... until yesterday or so. i cannot even BEGIN to list all that i've been doing to prepare for this, but i tell you what, if anybody EVER calls me lazy* EVER again, i am gonna think back on this last few months and then SOCK 'EM IN THE SCHNOZ! :)
on top of all that, i have an art show opening on the day after the faire closes**. normally i would have said no to ANYTHING (except maybe vin diesel) during the final heat of faire season, but my good friend carol lynne came to me about a month ago and said that Steps to Hope (the same folks i did the "lecture" for - the center for aiding the victims of domestic abuse) was offered a space in which to promote the shelter and the work they do there. she asked if i could help design the show and if i would put some of my pertinent art and writing in the show. i couldn't - wouldn't - say no to that. or vin diesel. :)
i'm unbelievably busy, my personal life is non-existent (what's new. sheesh. :) i don't even really have time to rant or moo!, but hey - I'M BUSY! I DON'T HAVE TIME TO RANT OR MOO! yay, me! and yay, all of y'all, too. :) thing is, i have no shortage of things to do, i am using ALL of my skills and abilities, and best of all, i am helping people. i feel like i have been blessed with more than one grand (and fun) opportunity to devote myself, my time and my gifts to my truest, deepest purpose. until recently, i wasn't even sure what that was, but i am beginning to get a clue.
our charities for this faire are two homes for children that have been removed from their own homes because of violence, abuse, neglect, or abandonment. Presbyterian Home for Children and Elida Home for Children. i definitely don't follow any of the true traditional religious doctrines, but i DO believe in fate and destiny and that everything has a purpose and a reason, that the universe is a very finely tuned and complex machine/organism/being/
THINGY(god. :), and that i have a place in that - a responsibility to that. and i just need to feel that i can make a difference, that i AM
making a difference - and THIS is the place where i want to make a difference. to these kids.
wish us all luck, and i promise, when this is all over, i will come back to bugging y'all with my opinions, gripes and "whees!" with annoying regularity.
much love,
-sam
*this includes me, too. though i probably wouldn't hit myself in the nose. i'd probably just berate myself soundly. maybe send me to my room.
**lazy, no. insane, yes.
Saturday, April 19, 2003
Friday, April 18, 2003
WARNING: EXTREME SERIOUSNESS ALERT.
It’s been a weird week. Among other things, I’ve discovered the heart of the reason why I can’t live with anyone. It’s a bit disturbing, but at the same time, it’s ME, and I like me and understand me, so… the world, myself include, has to just like it or lump it*.
It seems that my need for isolation is more than just a spiritual, mental thing. I’ve always had a lot of fear-driven anger. The hyper-vigilance that comes from being a victim of abuse for the first 20 years of ones’ life instills a sub-conscious and “unpredictable” (but obvious) pattern of reactions to any given situation. Anytime anyone else comes into my space, no matter where I am, my brain gives signals to my body – I actually ALWAYS have to THINK about how I hug someone. It is always an awkward process (except maybe with Aunt Sue and dad, my oldest, safest hugs). When I enter a new place, without even really being aware of it, I “case” it for dangerous looking people and escape routes. I notice all ‘odd’ things, I remember numbers, times, descriptions – just in case. It seems sad, sometimes it feels sad, but is completely ingrained in me, it has kept me alive, and it is quite interesting to have a mind like this – IF it has a safe place to rest and doesn’t get ‘carried away’.
My home has been now, for years, my sanctuary. The one place where I felt both secure and could just be as, well, WHATEVER as I wanted to be. When I discovered that my neighbor was
watching me, stalking me, I suppose, I nearly went over the edge. I was no longer safe. I no longer had a space for the all of me, a place where I could lay down my sword and shield for a few hours.
Then, a friend moved in, and – and though that should have counter-acted the fear of this neighbor’s intrusion, he was just a possibility (of intrusion and danger). Now I have another presence in my cave all the time. It is like being a kid again… guarding my privacy, listening for every sound, pretending to be asleep, desperately trying to find any way possible to be alone, even if it is just within my head. I didn’t realize how badly it was affecting me until three incidents occurred this week.
The first was when I had to move my own refrigerator in order to unplug the fan I carry around the house. Part of it was that I was EXTREMELY tired, and frustrated at having to do this, the other part was that my house-mate, in trying to be helpful, had pried open the window DIRECTLY across from my bedroom and put the fan there. I am vulnerable because of this window – I hate to sleep (or do ANYTHING with closed doors, I don’t even like to close the stalls in public bathrooms…) behind closed doors – and this window faces the side yard nearest to the public road, with a direct view into my room. So in order to close this window, I had to go to a good deal of effort. Before I knew what I’d done, I’d hit the window frame so hard that my knuckles are still bruised, and I missed the window by inches.
Then on Monday night, I was with a Gentleman Friend, of many years’ acquaintance. We were having a nice evening, getting skwoochy, and then – in an awkward moment – he laughed, and I thought he was laughing at me. Without ANY thought at all, I felt my anger and “cagedness” spring out of me, and I hurt him. I have never hurt him before, and have not done anything like that in years. Let me add, just for the record, that he was a gentleman, even then. He was not angry, heartbreakingly, he admitted that he was simply scared.
The following morning, I was at my local convenience store, paying for gas, when a man who works there came up behind me and put his arms around my neck. He’s a VERY big man – and he is married with children. I have confronted him VERY clearly, publicly, and not in a “sweet way” about touching me and LEANING on me before. The last time was LOUD, in the McD's.
When he surprised me this way on Tuesday morning, I snapped again, and within seconds, I had pinned his hands, kicked him twice, ducked under his arms and punched him three times in the ribs. I realized what was happening in time to pull the punches somewhat, but I was utterly humiliated and very angry. (But I was also RIGHT.) This has happened to me before, but not for years, and always in moments of real fear or pain. To have three incidents like this in just three days is something I can't rationalize**. Someone close and dear to me has been struggling with something similar for years and now I am
beginning to understand.
Take time for yourselves people. Take time to unwind, do WHATEVER YOU NEED TO DO to have your own space. Do not ignore your hurt monkey self, or you might end up hurting someone else.
Wish me peace and luck.
-s
*what an odd expression. I’ve always liked and used it, though.
**that is the worst pun i've ever accidentally written.
It’s been a weird week. Among other things, I’ve discovered the heart of the reason why I can’t live with anyone. It’s a bit disturbing, but at the same time, it’s ME, and I like me and understand me, so… the world, myself include, has to just like it or lump it*.
It seems that my need for isolation is more than just a spiritual, mental thing. I’ve always had a lot of fear-driven anger. The hyper-vigilance that comes from being a victim of abuse for the first 20 years of ones’ life instills a sub-conscious and “unpredictable” (but obvious) pattern of reactions to any given situation. Anytime anyone else comes into my space, no matter where I am, my brain gives signals to my body – I actually ALWAYS have to THINK about how I hug someone. It is always an awkward process (except maybe with Aunt Sue and dad, my oldest, safest hugs). When I enter a new place, without even really being aware of it, I “case” it for dangerous looking people and escape routes. I notice all ‘odd’ things, I remember numbers, times, descriptions – just in case. It seems sad, sometimes it feels sad, but is completely ingrained in me, it has kept me alive, and it is quite interesting to have a mind like this – IF it has a safe place to rest and doesn’t get ‘carried away’.
My home has been now, for years, my sanctuary. The one place where I felt both secure and could just be as, well, WHATEVER as I wanted to be. When I discovered that my neighbor was
watching me, stalking me, I suppose, I nearly went over the edge. I was no longer safe. I no longer had a space for the all of me, a place where I could lay down my sword and shield for a few hours.
Then, a friend moved in, and – and though that should have counter-acted the fear of this neighbor’s intrusion, he was just a possibility (of intrusion and danger). Now I have another presence in my cave all the time. It is like being a kid again… guarding my privacy, listening for every sound, pretending to be asleep, desperately trying to find any way possible to be alone, even if it is just within my head. I didn’t realize how badly it was affecting me until three incidents occurred this week.
The first was when I had to move my own refrigerator in order to unplug the fan I carry around the house. Part of it was that I was EXTREMELY tired, and frustrated at having to do this, the other part was that my house-mate, in trying to be helpful, had pried open the window DIRECTLY across from my bedroom and put the fan there. I am vulnerable because of this window – I hate to sleep (or do ANYTHING with closed doors, I don’t even like to close the stalls in public bathrooms…) behind closed doors – and this window faces the side yard nearest to the public road, with a direct view into my room. So in order to close this window, I had to go to a good deal of effort. Before I knew what I’d done, I’d hit the window frame so hard that my knuckles are still bruised, and I missed the window by inches.
Then on Monday night, I was with a Gentleman Friend, of many years’ acquaintance. We were having a nice evening, getting skwoochy, and then – in an awkward moment – he laughed, and I thought he was laughing at me. Without ANY thought at all, I felt my anger and “cagedness” spring out of me, and I hurt him. I have never hurt him before, and have not done anything like that in years. Let me add, just for the record, that he was a gentleman, even then. He was not angry, heartbreakingly, he admitted that he was simply scared.
The following morning, I was at my local convenience store, paying for gas, when a man who works there came up behind me and put his arms around my neck. He’s a VERY big man – and he is married with children. I have confronted him VERY clearly, publicly, and not in a “sweet way” about touching me and LEANING on me before. The last time was LOUD, in the McD's.
When he surprised me this way on Tuesday morning, I snapped again, and within seconds, I had pinned his hands, kicked him twice, ducked under his arms and punched him three times in the ribs. I realized what was happening in time to pull the punches somewhat, but I was utterly humiliated and very angry. (But I was also RIGHT.) This has happened to me before, but not for years, and always in moments of real fear or pain. To have three incidents like this in just three days is something I can't rationalize**. Someone close and dear to me has been struggling with something similar for years and now I am
beginning to understand.
Take time for yourselves people. Take time to unwind, do WHATEVER YOU NEED TO DO to have your own space. Do not ignore your hurt monkey self, or you might end up hurting someone else.
Wish me peace and luck.
-s
*what an odd expression. I’ve always liked and used it, though.
**that is the worst pun i've ever accidentally written.
Saturday, April 12, 2003
WOW - almost a week since the last post! well, i have a VERY good explanation/excuse - IT'S FAIRE SEASON!!! yep, i am participating in the Mountain Renaissance Adventure Faire again this year and we are at it FULL TILT! we had SO much fun last year, as you can tell from the photos...
and this year's schedule is shaping up to be quite a doozy...
i will be playing Mam'selle LaFitte, Chieftan of the Rogue's Gallery and Head Troublemaker... jen has done a BEAUTIFUL job on translating my costume design into reality... i hope to have pics of that, soon!
i will try to find and make time to come here and hit y'all with the rantage, but i just wanted y'all to know what was up - and to tell you to COME TO THE FAIRE!!! :)
many apologies to those of you that are waiting for letters from me, Bryan, Bo, Mandy... i'm thinking about y'all (Bryan it looks like i'll have a chance to SEE you in july!!! oh, and Rory says "Hi." - heard from LEANN ALLEN this week, too!!! whoa! 'nother happy blast from the past!)
much love - and "HUZZAHS!",
-sam
and this year's schedule is shaping up to be quite a doozy...
i will be playing Mam'selle LaFitte, Chieftan of the Rogue's Gallery and Head Troublemaker... jen has done a BEAUTIFUL job on translating my costume design into reality... i hope to have pics of that, soon!
i will try to find and make time to come here and hit y'all with the rantage, but i just wanted y'all to know what was up - and to tell you to COME TO THE FAIRE!!! :)
many apologies to those of you that are waiting for letters from me, Bryan, Bo, Mandy... i'm thinking about y'all (Bryan it looks like i'll have a chance to SEE you in july!!! oh, and Rory says "Hi." - heard from LEANN ALLEN this week, too!!! whoa! 'nother happy blast from the past!)
much love - and "HUZZAHS!",
-sam
Sunday, April 06, 2003
so this site has got a 'daisy duke' vs 'ellie mae clampett' for title of "Hottest Hillbilly Honey" vote... puhlease! don't get me wrong - donna douglas was a gardenia, a pretty blonde - a sweet girl... but daisy... whoa.
mind you, i have to set my essential southerness aside, here. i believe donna was really a southern girl*, and i think catherine is from some cold place, hang on - googling... OHIO. go figure. but we are talking 'hotness' here, and face it, daisy has that long-legged, blue-eyed, healthy brunette (linda carter, bettie.) thing going on. you could imagine being ellie-mae's big dumb cousin, helping her hatch plots against 'them thar varmints', helping her find rocks for her slingshot, and chasing off her million city-slicker suitors, but just TRY having "brotherly" thoughts about Daisy Duke. g'head. make your own day. and do check out retrocrushes awesome Babe Gallery, while you're at it. they have good taste.
love from your very-own wanna-be pin-up queen,
-s
*yup, louisiana. and she dated elvis. whoax2. she may not be the hottest, but she is by FAR the coolest.
let me point out, too, right here and now that a BIG part of what was so lovely about all the screen goddesses i've mentioned here today is that all of them were HEALTHY girls with ACTUAL figures. no little sticks with ribs in goochy gowns, thankyouverymuch.
mind you, i have to set my essential southerness aside, here. i believe donna was really a southern girl*, and i think catherine is from some cold place, hang on - googling... OHIO. go figure. but we are talking 'hotness' here, and face it, daisy has that long-legged, blue-eyed, healthy brunette (linda carter, bettie.) thing going on. you could imagine being ellie-mae's big dumb cousin, helping her hatch plots against 'them thar varmints', helping her find rocks for her slingshot, and chasing off her million city-slicker suitors, but just TRY having "brotherly" thoughts about Daisy Duke. g'head. make your own day. and do check out retrocrushes awesome Babe Gallery, while you're at it. they have good taste.
love from your very-own wanna-be pin-up queen,
-s
*yup, louisiana. and she dated elvis. whoax2. she may not be the hottest, but she is by FAR the coolest.
let me point out, too, right here and now that a BIG part of what was so lovely about all the screen goddesses i've mentioned here today is that all of them were HEALTHY girls with ACTUAL figures. no little sticks with ribs in goochy gowns, thankyouverymuch.
Saturday, April 05, 2003
this song gets me, good.
“Father and Daughter”
If you leap awake in the mirror of a bad dream
And for a fraction of a second you can't remember where you are
Just open your window and follow your memory upstream
To the meadow in the mountain where we counted every falling star
I believe a light that shines on you will shine on you forever
And though I can’t guarantee there’s nothing scary hiding under your bed
I'm gonna stand guard like a postcard of a Golden Retriever
And never leave ‘til I leave you with a sweet dream in your bed
I'm gonna watch you shine
Gonna watch you grow
Gonna paint a sign
So you'll always know
As long as one and one is two
There could never be a father
Who loved his daughter more than I love you
Trust your intuition
It’s just like goin’ fishin’
You cast your line and hope you get a bite
But you don’t need to waste your time
Worryin’ about the market place
Try to help the human race
Struggling to survive its harshest night
I'm gonna watch you shine
Gonna watch you grow
Gonna paint a sign
So you'll always know
As long as one and one is two
There could never be a father
Who loved his daughter more than I love you
you can hear it here. if you're like me, get the kleenex box.
xo
-s
“Father and Daughter”
If you leap awake in the mirror of a bad dream
And for a fraction of a second you can't remember where you are
Just open your window and follow your memory upstream
To the meadow in the mountain where we counted every falling star
I believe a light that shines on you will shine on you forever
And though I can’t guarantee there’s nothing scary hiding under your bed
I'm gonna stand guard like a postcard of a Golden Retriever
And never leave ‘til I leave you with a sweet dream in your bed
I'm gonna watch you shine
Gonna watch you grow
Gonna paint a sign
So you'll always know
As long as one and one is two
There could never be a father
Who loved his daughter more than I love you
Trust your intuition
It’s just like goin’ fishin’
You cast your line and hope you get a bite
But you don’t need to waste your time
Worryin’ about the market place
Try to help the human race
Struggling to survive its harshest night
I'm gonna watch you shine
Gonna watch you grow
Gonna paint a sign
So you'll always know
As long as one and one is two
There could never be a father
Who loved his daughter more than I love you
you can hear it here. if you're like me, get the kleenex box.
xo
-s
Friday, April 04, 2003
I’ve been studying and trying to understand the art of haiku. It’s the first time I’ve ever really studied and tried to learn any particular poetic form. I also love the redneck haiku I’ve seen on the ‘net – how can you not, especially if you’ve lived it? And it’s funny.
So. I’m trying to meet in the middle. Serious haiku, but coming from the heart – well, at least the liver - of the American South.
These four are called ‘Bulletin Board’
Dusk light, dogwood glow,
silk of shift from fourth to third,
tar to dirt, river road.
Beloved Gramaw
puts sliced ripe homegrown
tomatoes on the table.
Still dark – wake to coffee smell.
Men in kitchen laugh.
Soon, white-tail will fall.
Scent of wintergreen,
pine, Vap-o-rub, I sleep well.
I will wake to warmth.
“One may be the loneliest number, but it’s also the least likely to lead to homicide.”
Xo
-s
So. I’m trying to meet in the middle. Serious haiku, but coming from the heart – well, at least the liver - of the American South.
These four are called ‘Bulletin Board’
Dusk light, dogwood glow,
silk of shift from fourth to third,
tar to dirt, river road.
Beloved Gramaw
puts sliced ripe homegrown
tomatoes on the table.
Still dark – wake to coffee smell.
Men in kitchen laugh.
Soon, white-tail will fall.
Scent of wintergreen,
pine, Vap-o-rub, I sleep well.
I will wake to warmth.
“One may be the loneliest number, but it’s also the least likely to lead to homicide.”
Xo
-s
Wednesday, April 02, 2003
Today has been a good day, and yay, because yesterday kinda’ sucked like a Lousyana’ mosquito.
Today has been almost HOT - the sun has shone all day. The Bradford pears are shedding their blooms and so the street outside the library window looks like one of my beloved Chinese films… I keep expecting Jet to come strolling along, queue and robes fluttering in the breeze…
… … … *sighhhhhhh* :)
Although our computers were down and the kids were out of school, that particular combination kept the kids out in the pleasantly fragrant air (where I DANG sure would be if I was 13 and out for Spring break!). And the weather was so pretty that all of the adult patrons who came in to use the ‘net seemed ok with the fact that it wasn’t working.
My back is hurting today for some reason – I think the home- and “Newsweek Special Report” stress is playing a big part in that… but all I can do with that is be patient and pray. Oh, and of course, do my back stretches.
I hope that all of you get some loveliness and warmth in your world today – and in the days to come. I hope that the people who were shown and listed in the Newsweek Special Report are able to have some again someday. For those who will never see another day like this here on earth - and that list was the longest - I hope that their families are able to feel the sun and watch the blossoms glitter on the breeze and feel some comfort come to their shattered hearts. Some day.
And most of all, I hope and pray that this comes to an end, soon, soon, so that we can all begin to get to this place. I see the realization dawning on the faces of the men who made this decision, they are beginning to see the horrible cost, to see how rash they were – and my anger turns to deep sadness. I can only hope that this is what they are feeling, too.
Wishing you blossoms and visions of peace.
-s
Today has been almost HOT - the sun has shone all day. The Bradford pears are shedding their blooms and so the street outside the library window looks like one of my beloved Chinese films… I keep expecting Jet to come strolling along, queue and robes fluttering in the breeze…
Although our computers were down and the kids were out of school, that particular combination kept the kids out in the pleasantly fragrant air (where I DANG sure would be if I was 13 and out for Spring break!). And the weather was so pretty that all of the adult patrons who came in to use the ‘net seemed ok with the fact that it wasn’t working.
My back is hurting today for some reason – I think the home- and “Newsweek Special Report” stress is playing a big part in that… but all I can do with that is be patient and pray. Oh, and of course, do my back stretches.
I hope that all of you get some loveliness and warmth in your world today – and in the days to come. I hope that the people who were shown and listed in the Newsweek Special Report are able to have some again someday. For those who will never see another day like this here on earth - and that list was the longest - I hope that their families are able to feel the sun and watch the blossoms glitter on the breeze and feel some comfort come to their shattered hearts. Some day.
And most of all, I hope and pray that this comes to an end, soon, soon, so that we can all begin to get to this place. I see the realization dawning on the faces of the men who made this decision, they are beginning to see the horrible cost, to see how rash they were – and my anger turns to deep sadness. I can only hope that this is what they are feeling, too.
Wishing you blossoms and visions of peace.
-s
Tuesday, April 01, 2003
I’ve realized a few important things today:
• My biological parents have a LOT of explaining and apologizing to do if we ever meet again.
• There is a common denominator among holy men, peace-seekers, hermits, monks, priests, wise men, those little old guys who meditate on mountain tops in loin cloths, the guys who take vows of silence and live in monasteries and Lost Cities*... they are all avoiding PEOPLE.
• I really do have some sort of mental block or failure when it comes to certain topics of discussion. It’s not that I don’t hear or TRY to understand these words, but that they actually cause my brain to short-circuit so that I am unable to.** For example – Wendi attempted to say “Equity” and “Escrow” to me in conversation… it stopped hurting when she figure out to say “some of my money” and “hold it back for me to cover the cost of…” Poor Unky – who just doesn’t KNOW this about me unwittingly sent me a copy of this stunner***(regarding the CROSSOVER that we’re doing) today. Behold:
“Hi Stewart. Sorry to bug you about this, but the file is coming through as a .hqx. I'm on a PC. Can you make sure it's saved with the .psd file extension or save it as a maximum quality jpg?
Thanks a lot. Marc”
Eek. I’m feeling better. I can see out of one eye completely now.
Hang in there, folks.
Xo
-s
*OTHER than the fact that they all appear to be MALE.
**they have strange roots.
***that makes TWO stunner e-mails that I’ve gotten today. The first one was basically BSE**** via digital correspondence, unky’s was just like thinking you were gulping water and gunning a pint of tequila…
****”Mad Cow Disease.
• My biological parents have a LOT of explaining and apologizing to do if we ever meet again.
• There is a common denominator among holy men, peace-seekers, hermits, monks, priests, wise men, those little old guys who meditate on mountain tops in loin cloths, the guys who take vows of silence and live in monasteries and Lost Cities*... they are all avoiding PEOPLE.
• I really do have some sort of mental block or failure when it comes to certain topics of discussion. It’s not that I don’t hear or TRY to understand these words, but that they actually cause my brain to short-circuit so that I am unable to.** For example – Wendi attempted to say “Equity” and “Escrow” to me in conversation… it stopped hurting when she figure out to say “some of my money” and “hold it back for me to cover the cost of…” Poor Unky – who just doesn’t KNOW this about me unwittingly sent me a copy of this stunner***(regarding the CROSSOVER that we’re doing) today. Behold:
“Hi Stewart. Sorry to bug you about this, but the file is coming through as a .hqx. I'm on a PC. Can you make sure it's saved with the .psd file extension or save it as a maximum quality jpg?
Thanks a lot. Marc”
Eek. I’m feeling better. I can see out of one eye completely now.
Hang in there, folks.
Xo
-s
*OTHER than the fact that they all appear to be MALE.
**they have strange roots.
***that makes TWO stunner e-mails that I’ve gotten today. The first one was basically BSE**** via digital correspondence, unky’s was just like thinking you were gulping water and gunning a pint of tequila…
****”Mad Cow Disease.
Monday, March 31, 2003
Well, you'll be happy to know* that i met some of my blue-meanies head on today. I actually drove to The City today and met the Internal Revenue Service on their own turf. It was actually a big help. I felt really bad for the security guards, they are reduced (or re-enforced) to having to basically make every person who comes in pee in a cup and swear allegiance to the flag. i could tell that they were stressed. Going to their offices actually helps. Seeing REAL people - not a voice** on a phone after a 15 minute hold. I'd expected to be there all day, took my art box and a notebook. The number i pulled was '80', the sign said "now serving #77". Niiice. There were a lot of Mexican folks there. i began a caricature of a nino muy bonito y dulce. I had only sketched in the top lip when they called '80'. I was so stunned that I didn't even really register that they'd called. The VERY nice-looking (behatted AND be-mulleted, y'all - woo-ee! ;) uncle of my subject had to ask me ¡80?¡¨ - d'oh! The family of the child waited until I¡¦d gotten my assistance under way (five minutes maybe?) even though they were finished and could leave. While I waited for the lady behind the counter to type in my info, I finished the sketch. ¡§Tio Buenito¡¨ held the baby so that I could look at him while I drew.
The IRS lady who helped me did everything for me, asked for my license and social security card***, asked if I had w2's and proper forms***; so I ended up standing there and sketching a very pretty brown-eyed boy while this lady filed my last years' and this years' taxes in about ten minutes, for free.
Admittedly, that was just the preliminary round. I still have to go a full quarter with them on a BIG SCALE before the week is out, probably tomorrow. I just had to have my returns filed so that I could try to take care of the Big Issue. Wish me luck.
I still have dragoons and blue meanies to face, but the governmental/$$$ issue is a big, and super-unfortunately important one. And I have them to thank for one other thing ¡V they let me know that my ex-husband is about to have or has recently had another child. Thanks guys, ¡¥Preciatcha.
What fueled this fire? Whoever of you said this prayer for me, thank you. My oldest
brother called me late last night (midnightish) and talked to me for almost 3 hours. I was so happy that he felt like he could talk to me the way I usually talk to him, for a change. For those of you who know me, who know what this means to me, what I've been going through lately, I hope you feel a little less heavy today, as I certainly do.
Hang in there folks, and DON'T watch 'Signs¨.
Xo
-s
*i damn sure am.
**an inevitably yankee voice, for some reason.
***of which I had BOTH! ¡Vtouch ME!
The IRS lady who helped me did everything for me, asked for my license and social security card***, asked if I had w2's and proper forms***; so I ended up standing there and sketching a very pretty brown-eyed boy while this lady filed my last years' and this years' taxes in about ten minutes, for free.
Admittedly, that was just the preliminary round. I still have to go a full quarter with them on a BIG SCALE before the week is out, probably tomorrow. I just had to have my returns filed so that I could try to take care of the Big Issue. Wish me luck.
I still have dragoons and blue meanies to face, but the governmental/$$$ issue is a big, and super-unfortunately important one. And I have them to thank for one other thing ¡V they let me know that my ex-husband is about to have or has recently had another child. Thanks guys, ¡¥Preciatcha.
What fueled this fire? Whoever of you said this prayer for me, thank you. My oldest
brother called me late last night (midnightish) and talked to me for almost 3 hours. I was so happy that he felt like he could talk to me the way I usually talk to him, for a change. For those of you who know me, who know what this means to me, what I've been going through lately, I hope you feel a little less heavy today, as I certainly do.
Hang in there folks, and DON'T watch 'Signs¨.
Xo
-s
*i damn sure am.
**an inevitably yankee voice, for some reason.
***of which I had BOTH! ¡Vtouch ME!
Saturday, March 29, 2003
adverbially speaking…
well folks, your sam is worn WAY ragged and thin ( “I feel like butter that’s been scraped over too much toast…”) … between my natural “whee” tendencies being affected by the super-bam-bloom of spring and my natural “moo” tendencies being affected by the grisliness of war and the grief of tax-time, i am alliterated to the gills. i feel like I am on a roller-coaster in the mines of moria: “WHEEEE!*”…“AAAAIIGGHHHHH!**”
i am unbelievably tired, and ridiculously overwhelmed with lists of things to do for other people. there’s not even room on the list for ‘things to do for sam’. i actually have to schedule bath and reading time. how effin’ bunk is THAT?
for those of you who go out of your way to recognize and alleviate – or at least soothe – thank you. god bless you. it is your faces and kindnesses that scroll through my mind when it gets reaaaaalllly, frighteningly dark and blue. lucy showed up and offered ‘cracker barrel’ therapy (not to mention a shoulder, an ear, and some kleenex…), unky is like my own personal long-distance boy scout… buffy is “queeksdraw” with the mama-love and invitations into satz-madness… sallie brings the good food and she and edie and jackson all brought happy clothes... (!). many of you write with kindness and moral (and god knows i need that!) support.
thank you. i sincerely hope that my raggedy thin-ness won’t keep me from being able to return the favor when you need me.
pale and dim, but still burning,
-sam
* “aragorn’s hair looks so pretty and whippy – he’s so cute when he screams!!!”
* “why do I have to share a cart with the !@#$ BALROG?!”
well folks, your sam is worn WAY ragged and thin ( “I feel like butter that’s been scraped over too much toast…”) … between my natural “whee” tendencies being affected by the super-bam-bloom of spring and my natural “moo” tendencies being affected by the grisliness of war and the grief of tax-time, i am alliterated to the gills. i feel like I am on a roller-coaster in the mines of moria: “WHEEEE!*”…“AAAAIIGGHHHHH!**”
i am unbelievably tired, and ridiculously overwhelmed with lists of things to do for other people. there’s not even room on the list for ‘things to do for sam’. i actually have to schedule bath and reading time. how effin’ bunk is THAT?
for those of you who go out of your way to recognize and alleviate – or at least soothe – thank you. god bless you. it is your faces and kindnesses that scroll through my mind when it gets reaaaaalllly, frighteningly dark and blue. lucy showed up and offered ‘cracker barrel’ therapy (not to mention a shoulder, an ear, and some kleenex…), unky is like my own personal long-distance boy scout… buffy is “queeksdraw” with the mama-love and invitations into satz-madness… sallie brings the good food and she and edie and jackson all brought happy clothes... (!). many of you write with kindness and moral (and god knows i need that!) support.
thank you. i sincerely hope that my raggedy thin-ness won’t keep me from being able to return the favor when you need me.
pale and dim, but still burning,
-sam
* “aragorn’s hair looks so pretty and whippy – he’s so cute when he screams!!!”
* “why do I have to share a cart with the !@#$ BALROG?!”
Friday, March 28, 2003
i believe that this phrase will haunt me for the rest of my life:
"The war, the White House says daily, is going well and on-time."
"The war, the White House says daily, is going well and on-time."
"The war, the White House says daily, is going well and on-time."
"The war, the White House says daily, is going well and on-time."
"The war, the White House says daily, is going well and on-time."
this is from an article ("Outspoken Army General Upsets Whitehouse") about a General who reported that "Pentagon war strategists had misunderstood the combativeness of Iraqi fighters..." " Wallace's comments fueled the Bush administration's frustration with media coverage that focuses on why the conflict isn't over."
how can there be ANY doubt that these men ("The Whitehouse") are evil and insane? god help us all...
full story here
"The war, the White House says daily, is going well and on-time."
"The war, the White House says daily, is going well and on-time."
"The war, the White House says daily, is going well and on-time."
"The war, the White House says daily, is going well and on-time."
"The war, the White House says daily, is going well and on-time."
this is from an article ("Outspoken Army General Upsets Whitehouse") about a General who reported that "Pentagon war strategists had misunderstood the combativeness of Iraqi fighters..." " Wallace's comments fueled the Bush administration's frustration with media coverage that focuses on why the conflict isn't over."
how can there be ANY doubt that these men ("The Whitehouse") are evil and insane? god help us all...
full story here
Thursday, March 27, 2003
well, will sent this to me and my twinkie as his "thought for the day". i am SO stealing it for my rant as it is brillliant. i don't know if will stole it from someone else (if this IS original, you get 42,000 GQ points), as he is not the blatantly plagiaristic sort*, but even if he did, yay, will! this ROCKS! thank you!
"You know the world is going crazy when the best rapper is a white guy, the best golfer is a black guy, the Swiss hold the America's Cup, France is accusing the US of arrogance, and Germany doesn't want to go to war.
Will"
*and i'm not the blatantly sesquipedalian sort, either... :D
"You know the world is going crazy when the best rapper is a white guy, the best golfer is a black guy, the Swiss hold the America's Cup, France is accusing the US of arrogance, and Germany doesn't want to go to war.
Will"
*and i'm not the blatantly sesquipedalian sort, either... :D
Wednesday, March 26, 2003
Yesterday, when someone asked if I’d seen the latest rain of fire and hell in Baghdad, I said “I don’t watch tv. I haven’t watched it for six years.” They accused me of living in denial and said, “Not watching it won’t make it go away.”
I woke up this morning – as I have for days now – with a sick feeling of dread. Despite the glorious weather, despite the joy and love that my friends bring, I am constantly aware – even in my sleep – of what is happening to the world. I fight the fear and depression, I encourage those around me to fight it, too, but I feel it nonetheless. It is constant. If, for a moment, I forget what is happening I feel a sickening lurch as I swing between the happiness that I was able to let go for a moment and the guilt that I forgot that people are suffering.
I know this isn’t a ‘prime’ state of mind… but I don’t know how else to be. The sickness that I feel over knowing that we are no longer a democracy, that our image of ourselves as a ‘free country’ is utterly false is huge. And added to that, the images of flame and death, of tortured prisoners of war, of destroyed homes, cities, ancient works of art and architecture, whole cultures – combined with the threat that all of that could come here, and the children’s burgeoning realization of all of this is debilitating. I had such a strong urge to quit my job this morning and abandon all responsibility and just take what chance I still have to drive across the country and see new places and old friends… Esme (my truck), Luna, Antonia (my camera), a suitcase and a cooler. If the world crashes down with me sitting at a goddamned desk, or lying in my bed, I will NEVER forgive myself.
People keep asking if I’m ok. I’m not. How can anyone be? I felt so sorry for this tv war-watcher – for all of them. They think I am in denial, but they are the ones being de-sensitized (not to mention glued to the couch) and hand-fed whatever the American media wants them to see. They watch this and they care less about it every day. It becomes as important as the McDonalds and Gap commercials that come in between the news reports. I may not feel anything more intensely than anyone else in the world, but I know that if I watched the tv, I would have to be sedated and locked up. I would certainly not be able to function normally. As it is, I burst into tears at my desk, in the store, or just walking down the street… I feel a constant queasiness and my sleep is not good… I see the newspapers, I hear the radio news, and I see the headlines on the internet. Even those things are more than I can handle most days. Even without all of that, the smell of burning, blood and death haunts me. The crush of the realization that we, too, are at the hands of an insane dictator, who has cast aside all regard for our rights and freedom, is devastating.
I persevere. I have to. People need me, and people need me to not be a burden. This is how I fight the war, by fighting my desire to just take off. By trying to keep myself afloat so I can help everyone around me tread water.
I can’t apologize for not being happy that we, as a nation, have taken this step. I can say that I pray our soldiers come home quickly and in one piece (mentally and physically), but I ABSOLUTELY disagree with them being there. And I have no doubt whatsoever about the righteousness of my decision to not watch the television. What little I might add to the “War Ratings” is nothing in comparison to what the taxpayers would lose in paying for my institutionalization.
Keep the faith, Chiefs.
Love,
R.P. McMurphy
I woke up this morning – as I have for days now – with a sick feeling of dread. Despite the glorious weather, despite the joy and love that my friends bring, I am constantly aware – even in my sleep – of what is happening to the world. I fight the fear and depression, I encourage those around me to fight it, too, but I feel it nonetheless. It is constant. If, for a moment, I forget what is happening I feel a sickening lurch as I swing between the happiness that I was able to let go for a moment and the guilt that I forgot that people are suffering.
I know this isn’t a ‘prime’ state of mind… but I don’t know how else to be. The sickness that I feel over knowing that we are no longer a democracy, that our image of ourselves as a ‘free country’ is utterly false is huge. And added to that, the images of flame and death, of tortured prisoners of war, of destroyed homes, cities, ancient works of art and architecture, whole cultures – combined with the threat that all of that could come here, and the children’s burgeoning realization of all of this is debilitating. I had such a strong urge to quit my job this morning and abandon all responsibility and just take what chance I still have to drive across the country and see new places and old friends… Esme (my truck), Luna, Antonia (my camera), a suitcase and a cooler. If the world crashes down with me sitting at a goddamned desk, or lying in my bed, I will NEVER forgive myself.
People keep asking if I’m ok. I’m not. How can anyone be? I felt so sorry for this tv war-watcher – for all of them. They think I am in denial, but they are the ones being de-sensitized (not to mention glued to the couch) and hand-fed whatever the American media wants them to see. They watch this and they care less about it every day. It becomes as important as the McDonalds and Gap commercials that come in between the news reports. I may not feel anything more intensely than anyone else in the world, but I know that if I watched the tv, I would have to be sedated and locked up. I would certainly not be able to function normally. As it is, I burst into tears at my desk, in the store, or just walking down the street… I feel a constant queasiness and my sleep is not good… I see the newspapers, I hear the radio news, and I see the headlines on the internet. Even those things are more than I can handle most days. Even without all of that, the smell of burning, blood and death haunts me. The crush of the realization that we, too, are at the hands of an insane dictator, who has cast aside all regard for our rights and freedom, is devastating.
I persevere. I have to. People need me, and people need me to not be a burden. This is how I fight the war, by fighting my desire to just take off. By trying to keep myself afloat so I can help everyone around me tread water.
I can’t apologize for not being happy that we, as a nation, have taken this step. I can say that I pray our soldiers come home quickly and in one piece (mentally and physically), but I ABSOLUTELY disagree with them being there. And I have no doubt whatsoever about the righteousness of my decision to not watch the television. What little I might add to the “War Ratings” is nothing in comparison to what the taxpayers would lose in paying for my institutionalization.
Keep the faith, Chiefs.
Love,
R.P. McMurphy
Tuesday, March 25, 2003
my oldest (non-charlyn) girlfriend sent this out with the subject heading "Am I the only one wondering what to pack?"
i am afraid to speak of my worst fears out loud - but i am glad that SOMEone is not:
March 25, 2003 | "Pranas Ancevicius, my maternal grandfather, was intercepted by the German navy while trying to escape the Baltics for Sweden in 1944. An anti-Stalinist intellectual, Pranas had sensed the impending return of the Red Army to his native Lithuania. Caught between two loathsome regimes, he made his way to Nazi Berlin, where he hid with his family under cover of the right combination of documents.
In British Malaya, Lourdes Gnanadicassamy, my other grandfather, had divined the intentions of the Japanese Imperial Army in 1940. He packed the family off to India 18 months before his country descended into four years of Japanese occupation.
Enough of my ancestors have had to make the fateful decision to flee their homes -- and have done so at just the right moment -- that I have often wondered if I have inherited their uncanny sense of timing.
My life is comfortable -- like many of my forebears were, I am a happily married homeowner, a contributing member of civil society. I have suffered somewhat during this economic malaise, but there is food on the table, the occasional vacation, and talk of having a baby. My personal experience of life has been one of security and happiness, but for the first time my genes are getting nervous. As I examine the family histories and read each day's darkening headlines, I find that the question is no longer so abstract, or so leisurely: If it came right down to it, would I know when to go?
By the time my grandmother's family left Siberia, where they had been homesteading when she was born, the Bolshevik revolution was in full swing. Secret denouncements, property seizures, and disappearances were the order of the day. Surely if it came to that, I'd have been packing my bags too, right? Yet under the PATRIOT Act and sundry new regulations, secret military incarcerations, politically directed police forces, and whispers of torture have become daily news in our country. And here I still am, making mortgage payments, buying organic vegetables, listening to Wilco CDs. My great-aunt Anele Tamulevicius, whose husband was "disappeared" in Soviet-occupied Lithuania the day after their wedding, believed to her dying day that the violent vanities of the Old World should never infect the New. It may be too late for that wish.
Stasys Tamulevicius, my great-uncle, perhaps lacked the gene for political timing. A fatalist, he stayed on in Lithuania through the darkness of Soviet rule. In his day, the authorities kept a file on everyone -- following not just their political activities but also the most banal details of one's life, whatever they could get from neighbors or co-workers. It's hard not to think of him when I read about the Office of Information Awareness and its plan for a centralized database that would make a dragnet through all Americans as easy as a Google search. This kind of technology is already being used to screen passengers on Delta Airlines, which, in cooperation with the new Transportation Security Agency, checks passenger credit records and other seemingly irrelevant data prior to letting them fly.
And airlines aren't the only ones eager to facilitate the awareness of information. Recently, eBay's director of "law enforcement and compliance" announced that the company would turn over any of its volumes of information about users -- what they might have bought, or even just looked at -- to government agents without waiting for a subpoena. When the pretense of privacy evaporates, is it time to start pricing (offline) one-way tickets to New Zealand? Could be, but I haven't done it.
Of course, I know that I'm not the primary target of these new regulations. I'm not the one they're looking for. But then again, neither are a lot of other people who have suffered as a result of them -- or as a result of the paranoia that they seem to instill in ordinary citizens. It seems darkly comical when a man is arrested for wearing a "Give Peace a Chance" T-shirt. But it's horrifying when a crowd at a Chicago nightclub is so on edge that they kill 21 people while fleeing what they thought was a terror attack. Is this just our own version of the kind of malignancy that led to my great-uncle Vaclavas' death in 1943? He had constructed a clever escape tunnel beneath his house, but when the time came to use it, he found the exit had been blocked by a jealous neighbor. His body was found in a well a few days later. This is where the escalation of fear leads, and I wonder how far we have already gone down that murky path. Have my economy-class seatmates ever glanced at my dark complexion and silently considered how they might wield a plastic spoon against me to thwart my evil intentions? (I confess I've wondered how I might do the same to them.) Has anyone noticed the stream of leftist fundraising appeals that comes into my mailbox? In what files do essays like this get placed?
In increments we have become a different nation. Each step ruffles our feathers just a bit, but the ruckus dies down quickly and we are on our way to the next. Life goes on, and we find ourselves living in a different country without ever having moved.
My ancestors rarely made their break before disaster was imminent. Each time they escaped at the very last moment, leaving less fortunate -- or less prescient -- relatives and friends to their various fates. My grandmother left Lithuania only after Vaclavas' death. The family didn't leave Berlin until the bombing became ceaseless. Even Lourdes Gnanadicassamy's prescience failed him: he got the family out, but he himself was trapped by the Japanese occupation.
In a nation of immigrants, we all have ancestors who decided it was time to go. Around the world, people make the decision every day, packing a few belongings onto a cart and walking away from the action, as is happening now in Kurdistan and Baghdad. What happens when it's our turn? Much has changed already; how much more will have to change before it becomes time for me to sell the house? Sew gold coins into the hem of my jacket as I gather the loved ones around me one last time? It's not here yet, but is the hour approaching when, once again, we might decide to bid farewell to yet another homeland?
For each of us, the point of no return is at a different place -- the subtle moment beyond which you are the one they're looking for. For the hundreds of Pakistanis seeking asylum at the Canadian border, that point has passed. For the desperate mobs jamming the Kuwait City airport, the moment is upon them. For me, it remains just a possibility."
-Gregory Dicum
salon.com
i am afraid to speak of my worst fears out loud - but i am glad that SOMEone is not:
March 25, 2003 | "Pranas Ancevicius, my maternal grandfather, was intercepted by the German navy while trying to escape the Baltics for Sweden in 1944. An anti-Stalinist intellectual, Pranas had sensed the impending return of the Red Army to his native Lithuania. Caught between two loathsome regimes, he made his way to Nazi Berlin, where he hid with his family under cover of the right combination of documents.
In British Malaya, Lourdes Gnanadicassamy, my other grandfather, had divined the intentions of the Japanese Imperial Army in 1940. He packed the family off to India 18 months before his country descended into four years of Japanese occupation.
Enough of my ancestors have had to make the fateful decision to flee their homes -- and have done so at just the right moment -- that I have often wondered if I have inherited their uncanny sense of timing.
My life is comfortable -- like many of my forebears were, I am a happily married homeowner, a contributing member of civil society. I have suffered somewhat during this economic malaise, but there is food on the table, the occasional vacation, and talk of having a baby. My personal experience of life has been one of security and happiness, but for the first time my genes are getting nervous. As I examine the family histories and read each day's darkening headlines, I find that the question is no longer so abstract, or so leisurely: If it came right down to it, would I know when to go?
By the time my grandmother's family left Siberia, where they had been homesteading when she was born, the Bolshevik revolution was in full swing. Secret denouncements, property seizures, and disappearances were the order of the day. Surely if it came to that, I'd have been packing my bags too, right? Yet under the PATRIOT Act and sundry new regulations, secret military incarcerations, politically directed police forces, and whispers of torture have become daily news in our country. And here I still am, making mortgage payments, buying organic vegetables, listening to Wilco CDs. My great-aunt Anele Tamulevicius, whose husband was "disappeared" in Soviet-occupied Lithuania the day after their wedding, believed to her dying day that the violent vanities of the Old World should never infect the New. It may be too late for that wish.
Stasys Tamulevicius, my great-uncle, perhaps lacked the gene for political timing. A fatalist, he stayed on in Lithuania through the darkness of Soviet rule. In his day, the authorities kept a file on everyone -- following not just their political activities but also the most banal details of one's life, whatever they could get from neighbors or co-workers. It's hard not to think of him when I read about the Office of Information Awareness and its plan for a centralized database that would make a dragnet through all Americans as easy as a Google search. This kind of technology is already being used to screen passengers on Delta Airlines, which, in cooperation with the new Transportation Security Agency, checks passenger credit records and other seemingly irrelevant data prior to letting them fly.
And airlines aren't the only ones eager to facilitate the awareness of information. Recently, eBay's director of "law enforcement and compliance" announced that the company would turn over any of its volumes of information about users -- what they might have bought, or even just looked at -- to government agents without waiting for a subpoena. When the pretense of privacy evaporates, is it time to start pricing (offline) one-way tickets to New Zealand? Could be, but I haven't done it.
Of course, I know that I'm not the primary target of these new regulations. I'm not the one they're looking for. But then again, neither are a lot of other people who have suffered as a result of them -- or as a result of the paranoia that they seem to instill in ordinary citizens. It seems darkly comical when a man is arrested for wearing a "Give Peace a Chance" T-shirt. But it's horrifying when a crowd at a Chicago nightclub is so on edge that they kill 21 people while fleeing what they thought was a terror attack. Is this just our own version of the kind of malignancy that led to my great-uncle Vaclavas' death in 1943? He had constructed a clever escape tunnel beneath his house, but when the time came to use it, he found the exit had been blocked by a jealous neighbor. His body was found in a well a few days later. This is where the escalation of fear leads, and I wonder how far we have already gone down that murky path. Have my economy-class seatmates ever glanced at my dark complexion and silently considered how they might wield a plastic spoon against me to thwart my evil intentions? (I confess I've wondered how I might do the same to them.) Has anyone noticed the stream of leftist fundraising appeals that comes into my mailbox? In what files do essays like this get placed?
In increments we have become a different nation. Each step ruffles our feathers just a bit, but the ruckus dies down quickly and we are on our way to the next. Life goes on, and we find ourselves living in a different country without ever having moved.
My ancestors rarely made their break before disaster was imminent. Each time they escaped at the very last moment, leaving less fortunate -- or less prescient -- relatives and friends to their various fates. My grandmother left Lithuania only after Vaclavas' death. The family didn't leave Berlin until the bombing became ceaseless. Even Lourdes Gnanadicassamy's prescience failed him: he got the family out, but he himself was trapped by the Japanese occupation.
In a nation of immigrants, we all have ancestors who decided it was time to go. Around the world, people make the decision every day, packing a few belongings onto a cart and walking away from the action, as is happening now in Kurdistan and Baghdad. What happens when it's our turn? Much has changed already; how much more will have to change before it becomes time for me to sell the house? Sew gold coins into the hem of my jacket as I gather the loved ones around me one last time? It's not here yet, but is the hour approaching when, once again, we might decide to bid farewell to yet another homeland?
For each of us, the point of no return is at a different place -- the subtle moment beyond which you are the one they're looking for. For the hundreds of Pakistanis seeking asylum at the Canadian border, that point has passed. For the desperate mobs jamming the Kuwait City airport, the moment is upon them. For me, it remains just a possibility."
-Gregory Dicum
salon.com
Monday, March 24, 2003
Letter to a Crow-boy and his Dove of a wife…
I have a friend who is like Tam and Pablo and Bri-bro* - he is one of those people who feels like a lost part of myself. (I think what these friends really do is help to fill the humongous empty space where my brothers are not… I know this is what they do. I could not live without them…)
Boyfriends come and go (fortunately or un-), but these “soul-brothers” are priceless, irreplaceable, and really, really wonderful to know.
I rarely see this one dear bloke, Crow-boy. He works SO hard and plays hard, too… but I saw him yesterday and after he finished his big-dizzy hug, I asked how he was because I’d heard from the other birds that his heart had been heavy. He sank, in a lotus, to the floor, there in the middle of the gym, sighed deeply, hung his head and said “I’m o.k.” And he IS… but he’s sad and heavy, too. His beloved Princess is feeling the weight of the world and he is feeling the weight of the world and of his and his Princesses’ own heart. Neither of them are the type to ever cling to unhappiness, to look into the dark any more than they have to. They are the kind of people who live to bring light into other people’s dark places. But right now their lights are low.
I didn’t know what to say, other than “Spring is here… tell her to have faith. Send her my love. Keep your chin up – you are not alone.” What else could I say? “Crow, I need for you to be happy.”? “I’ll be happier if you are.”? “What can I do?”? I wish I could feed them good things, or bring them gifts – sing and belly dance (badly) for their amusement. I know that time and change and growth will stretch and sooth their ‘heart muscles’, but it’s the RIGHT NOW that hurts. I know that they know all of this, too.
I think all I can realistically do is try harder to be happy myself, to turn my own light up a few lumens. They – and my other friends – will have to worry less about me, and they’ll have a little more light to see by. As beautiful as the spring is, as is the promise of growth, the war hangs above us and we cannot ignore the reality of that, of the worlds’ madness. It makes our normal, day-to-day need and ability to cope much harder. To try to make sense of the delicate intricacies of relationship, home-life and love-struggle in the midst of all of this seems too much. We feel as if, emotionally speaking all we have sometimes is a medicine cabinet fill of those teeny band-aids. The world and its wounds are so huge right now, and it’s scary and overwhelming – but you can do a whole lot for the cuts and bruises, breaks and sprains around you, at home, at work, among your friends with teeny band-aids (not to mention a little duct tape, some popsicle sticks and home-made soup – metaphorically speaking).
I don’t want to seem mean by saying “Crow, you need to buck up and shine that light, ‘cause that’s part of your job on this planet.” I say it to myself, though, because I know that it’s part of my job. I don’t always have the strength to shine, either, but I am always looking for some way to crank up the illumination when things are dim.
Crow’s had his little talks with me(not to mention his own versions of good food & gifts, bad songs & belly-dancing) , though, so I know he understands what I’m trying to say here.
I got some duct-tape AND some band-aids… neon pink ones, in fact. Get yourself and your Dove into the light, Crow-boy. Soak it up, store it – recharge your batteries.
We’re all here for you. (You KNOW Brett will belly dance for you!)
Xoxox
-s
* and James and Stewart and Marc and Roy and Brett and ...
I have a friend who is like Tam and Pablo and Bri-bro* - he is one of those people who feels like a lost part of myself. (I think what these friends really do is help to fill the humongous empty space where my brothers are not… I know this is what they do. I could not live without them…)
Boyfriends come and go (fortunately or un-), but these “soul-brothers” are priceless, irreplaceable, and really, really wonderful to know.
I rarely see this one dear bloke, Crow-boy. He works SO hard and plays hard, too… but I saw him yesterday and after he finished his big-dizzy hug, I asked how he was because I’d heard from the other birds that his heart had been heavy. He sank, in a lotus, to the floor, there in the middle of the gym, sighed deeply, hung his head and said “I’m o.k.” And he IS… but he’s sad and heavy, too. His beloved Princess is feeling the weight of the world and he is feeling the weight of the world and of his and his Princesses’ own heart. Neither of them are the type to ever cling to unhappiness, to look into the dark any more than they have to. They are the kind of people who live to bring light into other people’s dark places. But right now their lights are low.
I didn’t know what to say, other than “Spring is here… tell her to have faith. Send her my love. Keep your chin up – you are not alone.” What else could I say? “Crow, I need for you to be happy.”? “I’ll be happier if you are.”? “What can I do?”? I wish I could feed them good things, or bring them gifts – sing and belly dance (badly) for their amusement. I know that time and change and growth will stretch and sooth their ‘heart muscles’, but it’s the RIGHT NOW that hurts. I know that they know all of this, too.
I think all I can realistically do is try harder to be happy myself, to turn my own light up a few lumens. They – and my other friends – will have to worry less about me, and they’ll have a little more light to see by. As beautiful as the spring is, as is the promise of growth, the war hangs above us and we cannot ignore the reality of that, of the worlds’ madness. It makes our normal, day-to-day need and ability to cope much harder. To try to make sense of the delicate intricacies of relationship, home-life and love-struggle in the midst of all of this seems too much. We feel as if, emotionally speaking all we have sometimes is a medicine cabinet fill of those teeny band-aids. The world and its wounds are so huge right now, and it’s scary and overwhelming – but you can do a whole lot for the cuts and bruises, breaks and sprains around you, at home, at work, among your friends with teeny band-aids (not to mention a little duct tape, some popsicle sticks and home-made soup – metaphorically speaking).
I don’t want to seem mean by saying “Crow, you need to buck up and shine that light, ‘cause that’s part of your job on this planet.” I say it to myself, though, because I know that it’s part of my job. I don’t always have the strength to shine, either, but I am always looking for some way to crank up the illumination when things are dim.
Crow’s had his little talks with me(not to mention his own versions of good food & gifts, bad songs & belly-dancing) , though, so I know he understands what I’m trying to say here.
I got some duct-tape AND some band-aids… neon pink ones, in fact. Get yourself and your Dove into the light, Crow-boy. Soak it up, store it – recharge your batteries.
We’re all here for you. (You KNOW Brett will belly dance for you!)
Xoxox
-s
* and James and Stewart and Marc and Roy and Brett and ...
