Happy new year, everyone.
I know, it’s nigh mid-February, but you all know that sometimes, I need a good run-up. In some cases, as much as 37 years.
I’ve been thinking a lot since Christmas, about what this year might hold in store. Especially about the fact that I am creeping into 40 as a person that I’m not exactly proud to be. I love myself – but not enough. I like myself more than I love myself. Respect, admiration and love are most often NOT the same things. But there are so many things that I am sorry for and ashamed of. I am sorry that I am not a better friend (though I know that you all know that when I try and take the time, I give it my whole heart... Maybe that’s part of the problem – whatever I do I give it my whole heart, and while that is in my view, there is nothing else. I don’t think that means I have a narrow view. Sometimes (too often for my sanity’s sake) I can see and feel huge masses of the worlds’ pain, I feel like I’ve glimpsed the whole of it once or twice. But at those times, it is almost impossible to see ANYthing. I could cut off my hand and not notice.
I’m sorry that I’m not a better sister/niece/cousin. I’m sorry that I’m so bad at keeping in touch and keeping what are, to me, social promises. I think of my family and friends all the time. My closest family* and my closest friends** I think of every day, sometimes several times a day, but it is always while I am doing other things. Driving my mind and heart and body to not be still
I have discovered that I suffer from ... I suppose a kind of mania; maybe OCD of some variety, or maybe just finely tuned (or just highly strung) human nature ; but if I let myself get still and quiet for too long, I get deeply, messily, uncontrollably sad. (See, I am suddenly thinking about specific family members again...) It takes a lot of intense work to keep me distracted enough to not feel the whole of it. If I want to relax or ... not work, not be busy... I have to be either a little inebriated (a single glass of wine, thankfully, is enough to serve this purpose, though a martini or g&t upon occasion is nice.), or have something else occupying my conscious mind (a really good movie or book is the best) or else my unconscious mind will almost immediately collapse me into a screaming, crying, lying-on-the-bottom-of-the-tub, miserable heap. Not fun. Chris really hates it. Fishing me out of the tub, sobbing or trying to coax me out of the bottom of the closet are the worst. Ok, second worst. Sometimes I get mad instead of sad.
Of course, complete annihilation of the reality of my past and the awfulness the whole world over is not only unrealistic and detrimental, but it’s also a moral crime to ignore your own problems or any one elses, as well as ignore the true awful*** beauty of god’s creation. However, when one of your main problems is how suicidally hopeless and depressed you get when you allow yourself to be aware of the scope of others’ pain, things get a little tricky.
My art is the balance place. It’s the steam-valve. It’s where I can stay busy and vent my feelings. I can also use it to alleviate my financial struggle a little, and add a little art to some lives. I can spend the time when I am creating and venting meditating on what’s troubling me, or thinking about my loved ones or praying for the alleviation of the suffering of others. I thank the powers that be – even if those are just my !@#$%* parents’ lucky accidental genes – every day for the gift of my creative and learning ability, for without it I would be dead or worse.

This is still no excuse for not being a better sister, friend, niece, neighbor, correspondent, person-in-general. I don’t live as well or responsibly as I should. I am faaaaar from model citizen, I don’t think that Jesus cares if I’m a Christian or not****, I need to take better care of myself, I’m unacceptably judgmental and impatient – Christopher, I’m sorry a thousand times over every day – I’m a packrat and a bad housekeeper. I worry that kids will look up to me. I don’t listen as well as I should (but I promise you all that I listen MUCH more than it appears I do!). I’m stubborn, oh dear god, am I stubborn. I feel bad for all of my friends, and I really do try to rein in these terrible things, to control them and teach myself to feel differently about things.
My new years’ resolution last year was to not be such a doormat – to be more open about my true feelings. This made people laugh and I failed miserably on the only important count. (Do ask me about this sometime, Andi, when the mood is right, and you don’t have any heavy, blunt objects in your hand.) I know why Chris and others laughed, but I think I meant, along with being more open and honest, that I also wanted to try to be more gentle and kind and open-minded. *Phew*. This is how I know what a bad person I can really be, because I have been consciously trying to curb my terrible nature all year, and so I have been more aware. Again my friends, I am sorry.
This years’ resolution is to be less forward with my opinions. *Whew*. I am going to need energy bars, a suicide watch, and maybe my own little sherpa full of monks in the back yard. I haven’t abandoned last years’ either. I suppose the ultimate goal is to merge those two ways of being (as if I might even ever successfully achieve EITHER?) and so be spare in my judgment and opinions, and when I do speak, then people will hopefully know that I’ve really given it some thought, that it is important to me, and that I am truly meaning to be honest and kind.

The people I have been most sorry about not keeping in better contact with are Sandy, my siblings (Karly et al are siblings), Aunt Sue and Tedd. Especially Sandy. I feel like I should ask for forgiveness, but don’t really think that I should be forgiven, or that it would change anything. I simply have a hard time forcing myself to slow down (not to mention visit the past) for anything that isn’t within my peripheral vision. Even my friends here who live in Asheville, 45 minutes away and dear Sarah, who is just in the valley, and even Stewart of all people, have to call me and just sort of demand my time. In order to spend time with Sarah last night, I had to take my work over (making journals for channel 13 & the shop) and we put Corpse Bride on. I am happy to report though that work was abandoned, we half-watched the movie, vented and plotted and fantasized and laughed and talked art and inspiration, ate some pizza, looked at funny stuff on the ‘net. It turned out that the whole purpose for bringing my work stuff over was to inspire Sarah to get her art supplies in order, get her studio dusted out, and plan an art-supply (and club clothes! Woo!) shopping trip – yay! (Am not having to try too hard to comfort myself over the guilt of not getting some work done...)

[ok, Sue, Here’s the news for Alice! :]

And speaking of work, and how I'm keeping all my demons at bay, for those of you who don’t know (some folks have had a sneak preview), here’s what’s happening. I’ve been learning to cook in a gourmet restaurant since September (I started there not long before we auditioned for 'Greetings!'). It’s called Persimmons Bistro & Tea Room. I LOVE it. They cook world cuisine (which translates to: whatever suits chef/diners’ fancy). So we have sushi Tuesday and prime rib Thursday. Then there might be a wine dinner night with elk and boar, or maybe a little quail eggs and truffle oil. Fresh fish shipped from Hawaii each week, good cheeses, good wine, good crew. There’s a little tea room with pastries, good teas and coffees, cappuccino, espresso, and awesome lunches, hot and cold. Chili, potato leek soup, prime rib stew, “Pumpkin Molasses Bisque” mmmm!!! From simple chicken salad and curry chicken salad to whatever we feel like cooking. Chef always has some gorgeous chops or ham or chicken in there, Sara does the main chicken and pasta salads, and I handle the weirdies – thai coconut noodles, pasta jambalaya, mandarin roasted tofu kebabs, vegan salade nicoise – I like the spicy and foreign and healthy (believe it or not). My Indonesian rice salad (a variation on moosewood, nink) is my most popular, but my tofu kebabs and my bacon/sour cream/horseradish/chive potato salad are close. I spend two days a week there (T/W – I’m still delivering bread on Mondays. One of my stops is Persimmons. We make our own focaccia, but all of our sandwich bread is Wildflour. :) And spend sometimes half of Wed. and Thu. in the pastry kitchen with Ally. That is really an education. I have made some of the most beautiful, delicious deserts in the last several months, but there was a time when I would have honestly admitted that, though I can make some good stove-top soul food, a mean salsa, and even some damned good biscuits and corn bread, I was NEVER a baker. Too much precision and patience involved. Too much actual measuring and mixing - too delicate. I couldn’t even really do a good job on boxed cakes. But having a good place to work and learn, a good range of well-organized ingredients, and a very skilled and patient teacher can make a lot of difference. There is a lovely zen to baking, and it is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, an art.
Debi even asked me if I’d guest-chef a brunch at the Wildflour this season.
Wow.

I get off work early enough on M/T/W/T that if I need to work on jewelry, commissions or whatever pending projects I have, I can get things settled in the house, have dinner with X, then set up my work tables in front of the couch and he and I can watch a movie while I bead or draw or whatever.

Then on Fridays, I get up and drive to Saluda with Chris and my little suitcase, we have a nice breakfast at the bakery, and then I take my little key, and go through the courtyard, past the other pretty little shops (The Brass Latch and The Gardeners Cottage – mm!) and unlock the door to OUR OWN SHOP – “Your Arts Desire”. My friend Linda got the bright idea to start an artists’ co-op in Saluda. When we began, there were 6 of us. Now there are 14, and the shop is beautiful. We are all paying our shop bills and making a profit on top of that. The ‘founding members’ all mind the shop one day a week, and my day is Friday. I take my bead stuff, and maybe a book. I turn on all our little lights (Dave Prudhomme, our NOLA-born wood-turner bought and installed tracklights!) and do a general check over all our pretties - We have paintings and drawings, ceramics, handmade silver, turned bowls, hooked rugs, hand-painted pillows and handmade purses, fused glass jewelry, pretty birdhouses, hand-made greeting cards, ornaments, blown glass, and of course, “Southern Charms” beaded glass jewelry and handmade journals. :) I record the daily balance (we even have a checking account and tax numbers and all that grown-up, real stuff! ) and write in the journal that we keep. I read a little maybe, and drink my coffee, then I put on some nice music, set up my bead-stuff, put on a pot of water for cocoa later, and work and wait for visitors and other artists to drop in! We have a little class room, so that we can teach classes, and there’s stuff for sale in there, too. We all pay less than 40$ a month for the privilege, and we all have say in what we sell and how the shop looks. It’s a good peaceful group. Everyone gets along, everyone supports and inspires each other, and everyone sells stuff. It is my Arts Desire. :)

Then, there’s the big news (or “What does Sam do on the Weekends?”) Well, usually take a stab at a little housework, find time to see Chris’ folks or my friends, or even just hide a little, veg and work and watch a movie while I do laundry, and I’ll still have some weekends for that, but at least two weekends a month, I’ll be out researching, planning and preparing for my travel show that will be coming to the new cable access channel 20 in Asheville, URTV. :D :D :D
It’s called “A Lowlanders’ Guide to the Mountains” (for now. Things have a way of changing, and I’m cool with that, but...) I chose that title because no matter how beautiful it is here, it is still not, and will never be, home. From what my siblings tell me, neither is home anymore, not since last September, so that adds an element to this show, too. I have spent a lot of time roaming these valleys and towns, looking for the places that remind me of home. Not just the land, though I do miss flat deep water and big open sky, but the people, the old general stores, the places to eat that have lots of trucks with dog-boxes parked outside. You get the drift – at least, if you’re a true southerner you do. :)
My show will feature those aspects of all the hundreds of beautiful little out-of-the-way places within a days’ drive of Asheville. Lawn art, old-timers in hardware stores, good diners, nice little shops, interesting local people and history. This area is so rich, and I know I will enjoy this exploration. Chris is producing the show – meaning he’s handling all the non-art part of it, as well as the very important art part of it, he will be my cameraman. I am going through the local college radio stations to get music from local bands - bluegrass, gospel, country, jam, whatever fits the towns I’m featuring, and will get some good exposure (hopefully) for local bands. The people at URTV are stoked, and so are Chris and I. He is also producing his own show, and there’s been lots of buzz amongst the film/media art crowd in Asheville about that. It’s called “Videobot” and he’ll be showing lesser known independent short film and video, hopefully featuring lots of local talent, but also national and international film and music too. His very first submission came from THE Capitol Records in Hollywood. We were so excited! :)

So much to do, so much to learn, but we really are, in our small way, living our dreams.

I suppose this is my way of saying that I know I’m not physically, consciously a good correspondent, and that I’m aware that I should seem more present. But I’ve never been, and I’ve tried. I have little spurts, and I’ll get a wild hair and send a card, or even (*gasp!*) call somebody, but then I feel guilty about whoever I didn’t write to or call, and have to spend more time distracting myself from how guilty I feel and work even HARDER. I can at least let you all know that I love you, and think of you, and if you were nearer, you would at least see me and talk to me more than once a year or so. I manage to see some of my local girlies at least once a month. That’s a good record for me. I shamelessly admit that I appreciate it when people call me, because often I will just stop what I am doing and catch up a little, or call back when I can, because otherwise, I just use my phone for practical calls.
The other thing I can assure you of is that, even if I weren’t so consumed with work and art and sadness, I would still be a bad correspondent, maybe an even worse one, out of shame or further negligence, so I’m glad that I am furiously filling my time with good, productive stuff instead of all the bad things I could be doing - things I have done in the past. From couch potato to loony bin ward... *sheesh*. Now that I finally have the internet again, I try to check my mail every other day at the least, and to write a blog every few days. I’ve just been putting off a real blog until now, because I had all of this to say, all these “I’m sorrys”, and all these shameful admittances, and even though I’m not sure why I should hope for it, it’s nice to feel forgiven, which in my mind means: loved and understood.

Thank you.
-sam




*Joe, Ellie, Jeff (Happy Birthday, “Ole Man”), Shawn, Mandy, Charlyn&Clan; Sue&Clan, Robbie, etc. – even, maybe sometimes especially the ones gone, or not in my life at all.

**Sandy, Rory, Ninka, Pablo, Karl, Hank, Terry, Joey, LeLa sisters&clan, Pam... – y’all all know who y’all be.

*** Awful:
1. Extremely bad or unpleasant; terrible: had an awful day at the office.
2.Commanding awe: “this sea, whose gently awful stirrings seem to speak of some hidden soul beneath” (Herman Melville).
3.Filled with awe, especially: Filled with or displaying great reverence .Obsolete. Afraid.
4.Formidable in nature or extent: an awful burden; an awful risk.

****I really do believe in my heart that he loves me just as I am.