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.
Thursday, May 01, 2003
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 ...
Saturday, March 22, 2003
the sun has shone all day, and spring is sproinging... i've been at work, but i escaped for a bit at lunch and walked the tracks with a kid* and an ice cream cone**. i hope tomorrow is sunny, too, and that the world remains mostly un-blown-up for (at LEAST) one more day. if it does, then i will find the strength and courage to face whatever i have to face, to pray for those who don't have it this good.
when paul and i write, instead of signing off "i love you", or "take care", we always try to capture a remembered moment or experience to share with each other. here is one today for all of you:
the last golden rays of the new spring sun shining through the white blooms of bradford pear across the road, against the green hill by the railroad tracks. this is the view from the library window, and the first thing i'll see as i step out to head home and begin my days off.
may your days off begin with such loveliness. sheer beauty and unconscious, untroubled proliferation.
-s
*hi, eric! :)
**two scoops, one chocolate, one cherry.
when paul and i write, instead of signing off "i love you", or "take care", we always try to capture a remembered moment or experience to share with each other. here is one today for all of you:
the last golden rays of the new spring sun shining through the white blooms of bradford pear across the road, against the green hill by the railroad tracks. this is the view from the library window, and the first thing i'll see as i step out to head home and begin my days off.
may your days off begin with such loveliness. sheer beauty and unconscious, untroubled proliferation.
-s
*hi, eric! :)
**two scoops, one chocolate, one cherry.
Friday, March 21, 2003
note to self:
(this is a quote from The Sun Magazine's Sunbeams page)
Stop thinking this is all there is… Realize that for every ongoing war and religious outrage and environmental devastation and bogus Iraqi attack plan, there are a thousand counterbalancing acts of staggering generosity and humanity and art and beauty happening all over the world, right now, on a breathtaking scale, from flower box to cathedral… Resist the temptation to drown in fatalism, to shake your head and sigh and just throw in the karmic towel… Realize that this is the perfect moment to change the energy of the world, to step right in and crank up your personal volume; right when it all seems dark and bitter and offensive and acrimonious and conflicted and bilious… there’s your opening. Remember magic. And, finally, believe you are part of a groundswell, a resistance, a seemingly small but actually very, very large, impending karmic overhaul, a great shift, the beginning of something important and potent and unstoppable.
-Mark Morford-
(this is a quote from The Sun Magazine's Sunbeams page)
Stop thinking this is all there is… Realize that for every ongoing war and religious outrage and environmental devastation and bogus Iraqi attack plan, there are a thousand counterbalancing acts of staggering generosity and humanity and art and beauty happening all over the world, right now, on a breathtaking scale, from flower box to cathedral… Resist the temptation to drown in fatalism, to shake your head and sigh and just throw in the karmic towel… Realize that this is the perfect moment to change the energy of the world, to step right in and crank up your personal volume; right when it all seems dark and bitter and offensive and acrimonious and conflicted and bilious… there’s your opening. Remember magic. And, finally, believe you are part of a groundswell, a resistance, a seemingly small but actually very, very large, impending karmic overhaul, a great shift, the beginning of something important and potent and unstoppable.
-Mark Morford-
Thursday, March 20, 2003
"all we can do is carry forward the best of the last reality, and start working for the best in this one.
keep your heart and mind on love." -excerpt from a letter that mi pablito sent me this morning.
this morning i addressed a group of counselors-in-training for 'steps-to-hope', a local branch of a national center for aiding the victims of domestic abuse. these women are training specifically to help the victims of child abuse.
i spoke for an hour an a half, i brought related art to show, and i brought these women to a clear realization of what they can do, that perhaps the only difference between me and a woman on the streets, in jail, or in the ground is THEM and people like them. i brought them to tears and i made them laugh. when i was done, these strangers (but two*) applauded me and hugged me and told me that i was an inspiration. (i wish you could have seen my face... :) this is the first time i've ever done anything like this, although i've dreamed of doing this since i was young, speaking out, helping others. to see these women moved and inspired - touched and fired up - was good for my heart and my hope.
i may not be able to stop this Big Insanity, or help everyone, but life will go on - although it may be harder for a while, maybe a long while - and i thank Creation that there is SOMEthing i can do to ease my own ache and need to not feel helpless, and to help other scared babies.
-s
*of the two women who were not strangers, one is a lovely lady who graduated from Sunset High 20 years before i did - we met at the flower shop, and the other was a young single mother whom i met in a dr.'s office three years ago. her new (redheaded, adorable)baby girl was VERY sick, and the doctors said she probably wouldn't live. when she left, i asked the dr. which hospital they'd sent her to, and when i got back to work, i sent a stuffed bunny and balloons to them with a note, saying that they were in my prayers.
when one lady told me that i was an inspiration, i said "i am driven to try to bring light and love to the world. there were people who did that for me, and that - combined with my own will and self belief - is what saved me." i told them that now i am compelled to speak to and encourage everyone i meet. i said "ask anyone who knows me, i'll tell a TREE that it looks especially strong today!"
that's when this young mother told the group that that little redheaded baby girl was the product of an 8-year abusive relationship and that she was miserable and torn when we met... she had considered aborting, but then couldn't, and when she was born she was so sweet and beautiful that she knew she'd decided well. then to hear that she might die was too much.
she told me - and the group - today that my concern, a complete strangers' concern, gave her hope. the baby was eventually ok, she got the courage to take action against the father, and now she is engaged to marry a good man, and is going to be a child abuse counselor.
if i only live another minute, i will die knowing i made a REAL difference in this world, and live that last 60 seconds knowing that i might still have time, in those seconds, to yet make a difference.
thank you (pablito, all of my good friends, my family, adopted and otherwise) for being part of that, of me, - MY inspiration, fuel to my fire, light in the dark.
i love you dearly.
-paraphrased excerpt from my reply to paul-
keep your heart and mind on love." -excerpt from a letter that mi pablito sent me this morning.
this morning i addressed a group of counselors-in-training for 'steps-to-hope', a local branch of a national center for aiding the victims of domestic abuse. these women are training specifically to help the victims of child abuse.
i spoke for an hour an a half, i brought related art to show, and i brought these women to a clear realization of what they can do, that perhaps the only difference between me and a woman on the streets, in jail, or in the ground is THEM and people like them. i brought them to tears and i made them laugh. when i was done, these strangers (but two*) applauded me and hugged me and told me that i was an inspiration. (i wish you could have seen my face... :) this is the first time i've ever done anything like this, although i've dreamed of doing this since i was young, speaking out, helping others. to see these women moved and inspired - touched and fired up - was good for my heart and my hope.
i may not be able to stop this Big Insanity, or help everyone, but life will go on - although it may be harder for a while, maybe a long while - and i thank Creation that there is SOMEthing i can do to ease my own ache and need to not feel helpless, and to help other scared babies.
-s
*of the two women who were not strangers, one is a lovely lady who graduated from Sunset High 20 years before i did - we met at the flower shop, and the other was a young single mother whom i met in a dr.'s office three years ago. her new (redheaded, adorable)baby girl was VERY sick, and the doctors said she probably wouldn't live. when she left, i asked the dr. which hospital they'd sent her to, and when i got back to work, i sent a stuffed bunny and balloons to them with a note, saying that they were in my prayers.
when one lady told me that i was an inspiration, i said "i am driven to try to bring light and love to the world. there were people who did that for me, and that - combined with my own will and self belief - is what saved me." i told them that now i am compelled to speak to and encourage everyone i meet. i said "ask anyone who knows me, i'll tell a TREE that it looks especially strong today!"
that's when this young mother told the group that that little redheaded baby girl was the product of an 8-year abusive relationship and that she was miserable and torn when we met... she had considered aborting, but then couldn't, and when she was born she was so sweet and beautiful that she knew she'd decided well. then to hear that she might die was too much.
she told me - and the group - today that my concern, a complete strangers' concern, gave her hope. the baby was eventually ok, she got the courage to take action against the father, and now she is engaged to marry a good man, and is going to be a child abuse counselor.
if i only live another minute, i will die knowing i made a REAL difference in this world, and live that last 60 seconds knowing that i might still have time, in those seconds, to yet make a difference.
thank you (pablito, all of my good friends, my family, adopted and otherwise) for being part of that, of me, - MY inspiration, fuel to my fire, light in the dark.
i love you dearly.
-paraphrased excerpt from my reply to paul-
Wednesday, March 19, 2003
10:38 pm 03/19/03
i just read the news. one article from yahoo was enough. air strike launched literally minutes ago.
i believed up until just now that reason would prevail. i should be proud and happy that this much faith and belief survives in me.
but either way, i was wrong, and we are now a world at war.
so, i will tell you a story, because what else can we do, right now, but circle the wagons and huddle together?
Once upon a time, there was a girl who grew up in a box. It was a fairly small box, but it was raddled with holes, so it let the sun in – in spots – and gave a way to watch the weather. Some times, people would wander by and speak, or even ask about the box, but as the girl was quite young, she didn’t really know how to answer. So, her visitors eventually wandered away, as people sometimes do.
As the girl grew, two things happened. She started to not fit very well in the box, and she became pretty smart about the weather. These changes also had several effects, two of them being that she realized that she could get out of the box if she wanted to, and she could talk to people about the weather.
She found that people liked to discuss the weather. It was a universal condition, and a safe topic, and she just happened to be passionate about it, as it had been the primary – indeed only – occupation of her youth (well, other than intensives studies in box-physics and box-interior decorating). Her deep love of the science and sensory display of the weather seemed a bit odd to people, though, and so people still eventually wandered away.
One day, as she was venturing out of her box, an entire group of people came wandering by.
They seemed excited and were behaving rather strangely. When they came near her box she asked them what all the hoo-ha was about. One of them said “We hear that there are some excellent and interesting meteorological phenomenon in this area!” Another said “We certainly hope that the light lasts long enough for us to capture some of the fractals from the inversion layer!” A third said “Yeah, ‘cause it’s reeeeaaalllly pretty!”
That night, after spending the evening with these strange people, she lay in bed and thought: “Hm. I wonder if I could put this box on wheels?”
She did, and left for different weather. She went on to be accepted into the Seriously Adventurous Meteorologists’ Society, and opened a successful small business helping people convert boxes to Recreational Vehicles and Winter Cottages.
The moral of this story is:
-To be continued (i HOPE).
to all of you who called and wrote and came to me in your ways today, to ease my pain and fear, god bless you. YOU are what i have faith in. if you need any help getting your box onto wheels, or just want someone to talk about weather with, call me. i promise to do the same.
love and peace,
-sam
i just read the news. one article from yahoo was enough. air strike launched literally minutes ago.
i believed up until just now that reason would prevail. i should be proud and happy that this much faith and belief survives in me.
but either way, i was wrong, and we are now a world at war.
so, i will tell you a story, because what else can we do, right now, but circle the wagons and huddle together?
Once upon a time, there was a girl who grew up in a box. It was a fairly small box, but it was raddled with holes, so it let the sun in – in spots – and gave a way to watch the weather. Some times, people would wander by and speak, or even ask about the box, but as the girl was quite young, she didn’t really know how to answer. So, her visitors eventually wandered away, as people sometimes do.
As the girl grew, two things happened. She started to not fit very well in the box, and she became pretty smart about the weather. These changes also had several effects, two of them being that she realized that she could get out of the box if she wanted to, and she could talk to people about the weather.
She found that people liked to discuss the weather. It was a universal condition, and a safe topic, and she just happened to be passionate about it, as it had been the primary – indeed only – occupation of her youth (well, other than intensives studies in box-physics and box-interior decorating). Her deep love of the science and sensory display of the weather seemed a bit odd to people, though, and so people still eventually wandered away.
One day, as she was venturing out of her box, an entire group of people came wandering by.
They seemed excited and were behaving rather strangely. When they came near her box she asked them what all the hoo-ha was about. One of them said “We hear that there are some excellent and interesting meteorological phenomenon in this area!” Another said “We certainly hope that the light lasts long enough for us to capture some of the fractals from the inversion layer!” A third said “Yeah, ‘cause it’s reeeeaaalllly pretty!”
That night, after spending the evening with these strange people, she lay in bed and thought: “Hm. I wonder if I could put this box on wheels?”
She did, and left for different weather. She went on to be accepted into the Seriously Adventurous Meteorologists’ Society, and opened a successful small business helping people convert boxes to Recreational Vehicles and Winter Cottages.
The moral of this story is:
-To be continued (i HOPE).
to all of you who called and wrote and came to me in your ways today, to ease my pain and fear, god bless you. YOU are what i have faith in. if you need any help getting your box onto wheels, or just want someone to talk about weather with, call me. i promise to do the same.
love and peace,
-sam
Tuesday, March 18, 2003
this man is one of the most brave people i have ever seen.
i imagine that somehow, even a statement - a plea - this enormous, this precise and poignant and brave will be ignored by the American Powers That Be. and by all of us, too.
what else can we do? all resign?
if only these obsessed driven men would take more time to THINK. we cannot make excuses for another nations' leaders' greed, cruelty and lack of concern, but what about when our OWN leaders are acting this way?
as components of a so-called democratic government, we are still somehow helpless. our voice, our vote means nothing to these men.
the mandated 48 hours ends tomorrow.
god bless robin cook for trying.
i imagine that somehow, even a statement - a plea - this enormous, this precise and poignant and brave will be ignored by the American Powers That Be. and by all of us, too.
what else can we do? all resign?
if only these obsessed driven men would take more time to THINK. we cannot make excuses for another nations' leaders' greed, cruelty and lack of concern, but what about when our OWN leaders are acting this way?
as components of a so-called democratic government, we are still somehow helpless. our voice, our vote means nothing to these men.
the mandated 48 hours ends tomorrow.
god bless robin cook for trying.
Sunday, March 16, 2003
Well, last night we went to downtown Asheville, dressed in garb and “talked” up the faire… it was SUCH a good time! I don’t want to wax TOO lyrical, because our Lyrica couldna’ be there, as well as a few others who should have, but couldn’t. Maybe, if we’re lucky there will be photos!
I would like to take a moment to publicly and shamelessly brag about the incredible, amazing, fun, generous, smart, accomplished, good lookin' friends I have.
There is one who treated me most especially well this weekend. Buffy (for those of you who don’t know her – yet…) is the lady that brought me into the Faire group, taught me to fight, and allowed me the honor of fighting with her last year at my first fair. (we rocked b*$@%- socks AND kicked BUTT – literally. See the photos here! ) She is also known in the Kingdom of Day Off for bringing me into her home whenever she can, and treating me like another one of the family. I never leave her home without feeling full of good family feeling (and GOOD FOOD!). I need that SO much sometimes and she knows it. She knows when. She* makes me feel welcomed and cared for, and as if I belong. She is one of the kindest, most generous, loving*** people that I have ever known, and somehow she manages to treat ALL of her friends this way without ever losing herself or being a doormat in ANY way. She is a fantastic mom, and you should SEE her put up with Brett! :D
I’ve mentioned her and her clan here before, talked of the kindness and welcome of her family, but I can’t describe her strength to you, or the generosity of her spirit in any way that could BEGIN to capture it. You just have to take my word for it! :D But those of you who know Buffy, or someone who has some of these incredible qualities, who helps to fill the chasm of homesickness and loneliness that us lone wolves feel, know what I mean. These people who help re-charge your batteries.
Thanks for helping me keep the light on Buffy – and Hamilton, Mary, Brian, Andi, Elizabeth,
Mandy, Ethan, Jen, Tam, Stewart, Wendi, Marc, James, Sarah, Sharon, Sallie, Anita, Kaysha, Heather, D. Beth, … I could sit here and list names for hours and still not be able to name all of the wonderful people that I know who make my life livable, or better yet, good.
Oh, and, uh, thanks for the wood, Buff! Uh huh huh!
*(THEY – Brett, Ariana, Skye, Elia and Inky-do**.
**the BEST cat in the WHOLE world, y’all – I’d bet MONEY.
***not to mention HOT. You saw the pictures!
I would like to take a moment to publicly and shamelessly brag about the incredible, amazing, fun, generous, smart, accomplished, good lookin' friends I have.
There is one who treated me most especially well this weekend. Buffy (for those of you who don’t know her – yet…) is the lady that brought me into the Faire group, taught me to fight, and allowed me the honor of fighting with her last year at my first fair. (we rocked b*$@%- socks AND kicked BUTT – literally. See the photos here! ) She is also known in the Kingdom of Day Off for bringing me into her home whenever she can, and treating me like another one of the family. I never leave her home without feeling full of good family feeling (and GOOD FOOD!). I need that SO much sometimes and she knows it. She knows when. She* makes me feel welcomed and cared for, and as if I belong. She is one of the kindest, most generous, loving*** people that I have ever known, and somehow she manages to treat ALL of her friends this way without ever losing herself or being a doormat in ANY way. She is a fantastic mom, and you should SEE her put up with Brett! :D
I’ve mentioned her and her clan here before, talked of the kindness and welcome of her family, but I can’t describe her strength to you, or the generosity of her spirit in any way that could BEGIN to capture it. You just have to take my word for it! :D But those of you who know Buffy, or someone who has some of these incredible qualities, who helps to fill the chasm of homesickness and loneliness that us lone wolves feel, know what I mean. These people who help re-charge your batteries.
Thanks for helping me keep the light on Buffy – and Hamilton, Mary, Brian, Andi, Elizabeth,
Mandy, Ethan, Jen, Tam, Stewart, Wendi, Marc, James, Sarah, Sharon, Sallie, Anita, Kaysha, Heather, D. Beth, … I could sit here and list names for hours and still not be able to name all of the wonderful people that I know who make my life livable, or better yet, good.
Oh, and, uh, thanks for the wood, Buff! Uh huh huh!
*(THEY – Brett, Ariana, Skye, Elia and Inky-do**.
**the BEST cat in the WHOLE world, y’all – I’d bet MONEY.
***not to mention HOT. You saw the pictures!
Friday, March 14, 2003
you know what i am FINALLY figuring out? that no matter how much i talk, sing, draw and write about it, the pain - as they say in pop songs - stays locked up inside me. to some extent, it just lives there, it's part of me. but what i am also coming to realize is, that it IS the fuel to my fire. my friends say, again and again - god bless them - that i am a light. THIS is why i burn.
so be it. if the people who love me can live with it, then so can i.
so, i have called in sick to work. i am lying on a blanky in the grass, the sun is summer-kitchen warm on my legs. there is a cool breeze, there are daffodils. there are good things.
(please go to the latest day off - #22 - to see an illustration of this moment - as well as brett's birfday prezzie! HAPPY BIRFDAY BRETT!!! he's a prince of a guy. !snark!)
oddly enough, i also have this little handheld mechanical device, about the size of a large pager/small cellphone. it has wires that attach to your person via these little sticky pads. it electrocutes you with a mild pulse at intervals of about... (counting) every six seconds (the pulse lasts about that long, too). so .... (math. erg.) about five times a minute i get this little 'wubbbbbbb' into my hurty spots. i've got it set on 18%. i've TRIED up to 35%**, but i don't know how high it goes. i ASSUME it's to 100%. there's probably some folks who pay 'nice'* ladies in rubber skirts a LOT of $$$ to administer this thing set on 100. eek. it has "modes".
i hurt if i do anything for more than a few minutes. i feel like i'm up to my neck in a barrel of tar full of nails.
but there's daffodils, and warm sun - and days off. and i can write and draw in increments, dangit.
i'm keepin; the light on.
-s
*well, efficient.
**35% is STOUT.
so be it. if the people who love me can live with it, then so can i.
so, i have called in sick to work. i am lying on a blanky in the grass, the sun is summer-kitchen warm on my legs. there is a cool breeze, there are daffodils. there are good things.
(please go to the latest day off - #22 - to see an illustration of this moment - as well as brett's birfday prezzie! HAPPY BIRFDAY BRETT!!! he's a prince of a guy. !snark!)
oddly enough, i also have this little handheld mechanical device, about the size of a large pager/small cellphone. it has wires that attach to your person via these little sticky pads. it electrocutes you with a mild pulse at intervals of about... (counting) every six seconds (the pulse lasts about that long, too). so .... (math. erg.) about five times a minute i get this little 'wubbbbbbb' into my hurty spots. i've got it set on 18%. i've TRIED up to 35%**, but i don't know how high it goes. i ASSUME it's to 100%. there's probably some folks who pay 'nice'* ladies in rubber skirts a LOT of $$$ to administer this thing set on 100. eek. it has "modes".
i hurt if i do anything for more than a few minutes. i feel like i'm up to my neck in a barrel of tar full of nails.
but there's daffodils, and warm sun - and days off. and i can write and draw in increments, dangit.
i'm keepin; the light on.
-s
*well, efficient.
**35% is STOUT.
Saturday, March 08, 2003
Well, the mountains have chosen the colors for their new “Spring Collection”; the whole world seems to be blue, grey, brown, green, yellow and white. The rare splash of red or orange that I see on signs here and there seems to clash like plaid with stripes. The trees are just beginning to bud, but most of them look bare from any distance. Lawns and hills are still dusty light brown, and the occasional patch of jonquils looks like a child in an old folks’ home.
Hope “springs” eternal.
I woke up this morning wishing I could be someone else for one day, just for today. To be outside of my own body and head – take a vacation from being me. I’m tired of my thoughts and feelings, not permanently, I do love being me, but I feel like a mother who truly loves her children, but just needs for someone else to take them for one day.
I saw the film “Kundun” last night, it is the story of the life of the 14th (and current) Dalai Lama, and of the attempted destruction and persecution of the Tibetan peoples and their religion that began with the reign of Mao Tse Tung and continues even now. It is a beautiful film. I’d cut a picture from a magazine many years ago and pasted it into my wish book - a piercingly beautiful photo of monks crossing a shallow river on stones. I did not know that it was a photo still from this film until last night, and by the time this scene appeared, this director, the crew, the writer of the musical score, the actors and the story owned my heart. This man is real, and the Tibetan people believe that he is the incarnation of the Buddha. Whether this is true or not, it is plain that the man has a deep love for all things. He was told when he was a child that that was his job – to love all things with all his heart. The film both clearly and delicately portrays the pain this man feels on hearing of the gruesome deaths and tortures of his peace-loving people. It seems there are only a few people (Mother Theresa immediately comes to mind) who are able to feel and care for the pain of the whole world, and my heart aches in a faint echo of feeling for their strength and grace.
Most of us are unable to accept and process even our own pain and troubles, we are forced to try to separate ourselves from the problems of our neighbors and the people we see on the news. What does it take to be as strong as these people who have dedicated themselves to light and love? Just the knowledge that we must? That it is our duty?
We must. It is.
Please remind me when I forget.
I love you all.
-s
Hope “springs” eternal.
I woke up this morning wishing I could be someone else for one day, just for today. To be outside of my own body and head – take a vacation from being me. I’m tired of my thoughts and feelings, not permanently, I do love being me, but I feel like a mother who truly loves her children, but just needs for someone else to take them for one day.
I saw the film “Kundun” last night, it is the story of the life of the 14th (and current) Dalai Lama, and of the attempted destruction and persecution of the Tibetan peoples and their religion that began with the reign of Mao Tse Tung and continues even now. It is a beautiful film. I’d cut a picture from a magazine many years ago and pasted it into my wish book - a piercingly beautiful photo of monks crossing a shallow river on stones. I did not know that it was a photo still from this film until last night, and by the time this scene appeared, this director, the crew, the writer of the musical score, the actors and the story owned my heart. This man is real, and the Tibetan people believe that he is the incarnation of the Buddha. Whether this is true or not, it is plain that the man has a deep love for all things. He was told when he was a child that that was his job – to love all things with all his heart. The film both clearly and delicately portrays the pain this man feels on hearing of the gruesome deaths and tortures of his peace-loving people. It seems there are only a few people (Mother Theresa immediately comes to mind) who are able to feel and care for the pain of the whole world, and my heart aches in a faint echo of feeling for their strength and grace.
Most of us are unable to accept and process even our own pain and troubles, we are forced to try to separate ourselves from the problems of our neighbors and the people we see on the news. What does it take to be as strong as these people who have dedicated themselves to light and love? Just the knowledge that we must? That it is our duty?
We must. It is.
Please remind me when I forget.
I love you all.
-s
Thursday, March 06, 2003
This is sort of a continuation of the Wednesday, Feb. 26th rant on wanting and trying to make life as pleasant as possible.
As you all know, I’ve had vehicle troubles lately – which, of course, means I’ve had money troubles. (who doesn’t?:)
I was without my truck for 3 weeks, and then I had it back TWO DAYS and it wouldn’t start. Hhhaaaaah. I called the mechanic (nice guys, really – this new problem was NOT their fault) and they helped me to ascertain (in a very respectable, non-“we are talking to a dingy broad” way) that it was probably my starter.
I knew my landlord was on the way to pick up the rent, so I figured I’d ask him for a jump, to be sure it wasn’t just the battery.
(For those of you who don’t know, I have a really wonderful little house. It’s my landlords’ parents’ old home, and I love it. It’s in a big, pretty wooded yard with fruit trees and vines, two bedrooms, a great porch, nice fire pit in the back, and my rent is so obscenely low that if I were to say what it was here, blocked internet systems wouldn’t be able to show this rant.)
Not only did my landlord try to jumpstart my truck, but when it didn’t work, he took the battery out for me, drove me to the parts place to have it checked, gave me back 100$ of my rent so that I could buy a new starter, took me to visit his brother (who used to be my neighbor, but is now in an assisted living place) and took me out to a nice lunch.
I’ve been living here a while. Nearly six years, I think, and when I first moved here I didn’t know a soul. A lot of people would – and some people have – tried to take advantage of the fact that I have no father/brother/uncle/granddad/hubby to come to my aid in rough times. But Grover and his family have treated me like a family member since day one. I think there are a lot of reasons why – they are good, old fashioned Christian people. There are some old fashioned people and some Christian people who would still only do what they HAD to do, and not think twice of it. As nice as Grover is, I wouldn’t have expected him to go so far out of his way to help me. My rent is REALLY low. He could have wished me luck and gone on his way and neither of us thought a thing about it. But he didn’t, and I think the reason is a combination of all those things – good, old fashioned, Christian, and southern. He grew up* in a time and place where it was better to have a little less than you might have so that you don’t have to see a neighbor or friend do without. He didn’t help me (or keep my rent low, or give me a nice gift every Christmas**, etc…) because he’s trying to earn a better place in heaven, or to gain anything from me. He did it because That’s Just How You Do Things. And he knows that I understand that and try to live that way, too.
I realize that a LOT of people have made their fortunes by being able to hoard and have much while people around them go without. I’d like to be rich, but I don’t think I’d be very good at it.
Even when I am sad and hurting, I am always aware that I am truly blessed. I can’t imagine how bad the pain and sadness would be if it weren’t for all the wonderful, generous, loving, funny people I have in my life. I hope I have a chance to return it all, to pass it on, to keep it going.
I hope that you are all equally blessed, and that you have many chances to pass it on.
-s
*And I was raised by grandparents and aunts who grew up that way, too.
**Usually food. (Woo-hoo!) Home made jams and jellies, and fig preserves, last year!
Mmmmm! I am a honey-bear, y’all!
As you all know, I’ve had vehicle troubles lately – which, of course, means I’ve had money troubles. (who doesn’t?:)
I was without my truck for 3 weeks, and then I had it back TWO DAYS and it wouldn’t start. Hhhaaaaah. I called the mechanic (nice guys, really – this new problem was NOT their fault) and they helped me to ascertain (in a very respectable, non-“we are talking to a dingy broad” way) that it was probably my starter.
I knew my landlord was on the way to pick up the rent, so I figured I’d ask him for a jump, to be sure it wasn’t just the battery.
(For those of you who don’t know, I have a really wonderful little house. It’s my landlords’ parents’ old home, and I love it. It’s in a big, pretty wooded yard with fruit trees and vines, two bedrooms, a great porch, nice fire pit in the back, and my rent is so obscenely low that if I were to say what it was here, blocked internet systems wouldn’t be able to show this rant.)
Not only did my landlord try to jumpstart my truck, but when it didn’t work, he took the battery out for me, drove me to the parts place to have it checked, gave me back 100$ of my rent so that I could buy a new starter, took me to visit his brother (who used to be my neighbor, but is now in an assisted living place) and took me out to a nice lunch.
I’ve been living here a while. Nearly six years, I think, and when I first moved here I didn’t know a soul. A lot of people would – and some people have – tried to take advantage of the fact that I have no father/brother/uncle/granddad/hubby to come to my aid in rough times. But Grover and his family have treated me like a family member since day one. I think there are a lot of reasons why – they are good, old fashioned Christian people. There are some old fashioned people and some Christian people who would still only do what they HAD to do, and not think twice of it. As nice as Grover is, I wouldn’t have expected him to go so far out of his way to help me. My rent is REALLY low. He could have wished me luck and gone on his way and neither of us thought a thing about it. But he didn’t, and I think the reason is a combination of all those things – good, old fashioned, Christian, and southern. He grew up* in a time and place where it was better to have a little less than you might have so that you don’t have to see a neighbor or friend do without. He didn’t help me (or keep my rent low, or give me a nice gift every Christmas**, etc…) because he’s trying to earn a better place in heaven, or to gain anything from me. He did it because That’s Just How You Do Things. And he knows that I understand that and try to live that way, too.
I realize that a LOT of people have made their fortunes by being able to hoard and have much while people around them go without. I’d like to be rich, but I don’t think I’d be very good at it.
Even when I am sad and hurting, I am always aware that I am truly blessed. I can’t imagine how bad the pain and sadness would be if it weren’t for all the wonderful, generous, loving, funny people I have in my life. I hope I have a chance to return it all, to pass it on, to keep it going.
I hope that you are all equally blessed, and that you have many chances to pass it on.
-s
*And I was raised by grandparents and aunts who grew up that way, too.
**Usually food. (Woo-hoo!) Home made jams and jellies, and fig preserves, last year!
Mmmmm! I am a honey-bear, y’all!
Tuesday, March 04, 2003
someone called ‘just little me’ wrote something very dear in my guest book. i’m so sad to say that i am just jaded and paranoid enough to wonder (and optimistic enough to hope) that they are what they say they are, because their post really touched my heart.
i have a guess as to who this mystery-person is, but of course my natural curiosity WANTS TO KNOW. (Please write to me, samarei7@yahoo.com, and tell me who you are… 'sounds like we could both use someone else to talk to.)
i hope i made it clear that i have a LOT of people that i could talk to, but it’s just so hard for me to do it. i can say some things to anybody, but there are certain things that i cannot say at all… i am trying.
it means the world to me that this anonymous person would reach out like this. it seems as if this person is either a very good judge of character, or is a lot like me*, because they are definitely speaking to my heart.
whoever you are, i hope that what you are going through is bearable, and that the hard part – the hurt – will help you to grow in good ways, make you stronger… thank you for saying what you’ve said. to know that what I’ve been through, what i still go through, and my need to talk and write and draw about it helps to give you hope means the whole wide world to me. i strive to be a candle in my own darkness, and a light for others too. That seems to make it all – whatever it is – worthwhile.
if you ever want to talk, or just hang out and enjoy the light part of life sometime, you know where to find me, obviously. :)
thank you. be a candle.
-s
*and if you are whom i suspect, it think it must be both of these. (f.c., s.b.f.o.E.d.)
i have a guess as to who this mystery-person is, but of course my natural curiosity WANTS TO KNOW. (Please write to me, samarei7@yahoo.com, and tell me who you are… 'sounds like we could both use someone else to talk to.)
i hope i made it clear that i have a LOT of people that i could talk to, but it’s just so hard for me to do it. i can say some things to anybody, but there are certain things that i cannot say at all… i am trying.
it means the world to me that this anonymous person would reach out like this. it seems as if this person is either a very good judge of character, or is a lot like me*, because they are definitely speaking to my heart.
whoever you are, i hope that what you are going through is bearable, and that the hard part – the hurt – will help you to grow in good ways, make you stronger… thank you for saying what you’ve said. to know that what I’ve been through, what i still go through, and my need to talk and write and draw about it helps to give you hope means the whole wide world to me. i strive to be a candle in my own darkness, and a light for others too. That seems to make it all – whatever it is – worthwhile.
if you ever want to talk, or just hang out and enjoy the light part of life sometime, you know where to find me, obviously. :)
thank you. be a candle.
-s
*and if you are whom i suspect, it think it must be both of these. (f.c., s.b.f.o.E.d.)
Saturday, March 01, 2003
Well, it seems that the sadness that came to visit me a few days ago is not going anywhere. In fact, it has propped up its feet, put on a pot of coffee, and is inviting all of its friends over. At least it isn’t fatal – or even unfamiliar. I will survive it, just like everything else so far, but this is one I’m really going to have to work hard on.
Today I feel like the weather looks. The whole world seems filled with a giant soft, misty grey cloud. I feel as if someone touched me I would begin to rain.
What’s really funny is that, other than that central core of blue-grey, I am happy. Things have been worse. I finally got my truck back, my back is healing, and I’ve gotten a lot done at home, at work, and art-wise. I am making some plans for future fun and work…
But down at the bottom of all of it is this 360-pound truth that has me feeling bruised to the bone. Deep, deep – and I fear permanent – sadness.
Does everyone have that? And is it related to very specific things? I’ve known people who were just clinically, chemically depressed. That’s not me. My spirit and my body are just naturally bouncy. I must seem bi-polar to my friends (whatever the hell that really means – I assume it refers to severe chemical mood swings) but the truth of the matter is that I am like a fancy jello salad molded over a brick. I feel wiggly and sweet most of the time, but if you cut down deep enough, there’s this solid, permanent weight that displaces a whole lot of space where more jello should be.
I really wish I could have a serious word with the cooks.
What’s been getting at me lately is this ridiculous emotional tenderness that’s come with this latest wave of my childhood’s re-visitation. Even just sitting here, trying to find ways to say all of this without seeming maudlin or frivolous is bringing me to tears. If I think of it, this most recent parcel of misery my parents have sent me (even dead and gone, they have this ability), I break down, just a little. To think on this one thing, this latest thing, brings up the whole kit and caboodle. Everything. I wonder how many more times in life will I have to go through this. How many more surprises can they spring on me? How much more work do I have to do to come to terms with the past? And how are my siblings dealing with it?
The greatest ‘surface’ misery is this craving I have for someone to hold me and let me just get it all out. There are people who would do this, quite a few, I think, but there are none that I could allow myself to do it with. And that says a lot about me and my ability to trust. Of the two people with whom I could and would allow myself this comfort, one is dead, and the other might as well be. My anger toward them seems to grow in direct proportion to my sadness, because not only can I not seek comfort with them, but they also created a child - no, three children who are unable to seek it anywhere else.
I make do. I find small comforts and patch them together. But it is wine to a woman thirsty for water, and I have to come to term with the fact that it will more likely always be this way.
This is a lot of ‘nudity’ for a Saturday morning, innit? I’m sorry. I think I’m just trying to get it out of me and into the world. It’s definitely !@#$ing up my jello. Maybe one of you has a clue, and will write to me. Maybe one of you will think twice before laying something very heavy on an unsuspecting heart. Maybe one of you feels this way, too and just understands. Maybe one or more of you have parents and/or children out there and this will remind you to give them whatever love and forgiveness you have for them today, not tomorrow or next year.
And maybe the one person who really NEEDS to read this will, and it will light a spark of truth and light in a dark, dark place.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Today I feel like the weather looks. The whole world seems filled with a giant soft, misty grey cloud. I feel as if someone touched me I would begin to rain.
What’s really funny is that, other than that central core of blue-grey, I am happy. Things have been worse. I finally got my truck back, my back is healing, and I’ve gotten a lot done at home, at work, and art-wise. I am making some plans for future fun and work…
But down at the bottom of all of it is this 360-pound truth that has me feeling bruised to the bone. Deep, deep – and I fear permanent – sadness.
Does everyone have that? And is it related to very specific things? I’ve known people who were just clinically, chemically depressed. That’s not me. My spirit and my body are just naturally bouncy. I must seem bi-polar to my friends (whatever the hell that really means – I assume it refers to severe chemical mood swings) but the truth of the matter is that I am like a fancy jello salad molded over a brick. I feel wiggly and sweet most of the time, but if you cut down deep enough, there’s this solid, permanent weight that displaces a whole lot of space where more jello should be.
I really wish I could have a serious word with the cooks.
What’s been getting at me lately is this ridiculous emotional tenderness that’s come with this latest wave of my childhood’s re-visitation. Even just sitting here, trying to find ways to say all of this without seeming maudlin or frivolous is bringing me to tears. If I think of it, this most recent parcel of misery my parents have sent me (even dead and gone, they have this ability), I break down, just a little. To think on this one thing, this latest thing, brings up the whole kit and caboodle. Everything. I wonder how many more times in life will I have to go through this. How many more surprises can they spring on me? How much more work do I have to do to come to terms with the past? And how are my siblings dealing with it?
The greatest ‘surface’ misery is this craving I have for someone to hold me and let me just get it all out. There are people who would do this, quite a few, I think, but there are none that I could allow myself to do it with. And that says a lot about me and my ability to trust. Of the two people with whom I could and would allow myself this comfort, one is dead, and the other might as well be. My anger toward them seems to grow in direct proportion to my sadness, because not only can I not seek comfort with them, but they also created a child - no, three children who are unable to seek it anywhere else.
I make do. I find small comforts and patch them together. But it is wine to a woman thirsty for water, and I have to come to term with the fact that it will more likely always be this way.
This is a lot of ‘nudity’ for a Saturday morning, innit? I’m sorry. I think I’m just trying to get it out of me and into the world. It’s definitely !@#$ing up my jello. Maybe one of you has a clue, and will write to me. Maybe one of you will think twice before laying something very heavy on an unsuspecting heart. Maybe one of you feels this way, too and just understands. Maybe one or more of you have parents and/or children out there and this will remind you to give them whatever love and forgiveness you have for them today, not tomorrow or next year.
And maybe the one person who really NEEDS to read this will, and it will light a spark of truth and light in a dark, dark place.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Thursday, February 27, 2003
i have one other thing to say today.
i just found out that fred rogers died today, this morning, of cancer. he was 74, and that's a fair amount of years for him, but i feel very sad for all the kids who will never know mr. rogers. i remember many of his shows well, and i never plink on a piano without thinking of the sound of the trolley...
those weirdo puppets with their strange voices, and king friday's imaginary friend, 'trogladytiaetan' (which was the name i gave my stuffed unicorn when i was 12....), his ways of showing what people's jobs were and how things were made, magic picture, and his fishtank; his sweater and slippers, and best of all, his gentle, sweet voice and manner.
he was one of the very good things about my childhood - in which the very good things really stood out.
if there is a heaven, i hope he's got a REALLY good spot.
-s
i just found out that fred rogers died today, this morning, of cancer. he was 74, and that's a fair amount of years for him, but i feel very sad for all the kids who will never know mr. rogers. i remember many of his shows well, and i never plink on a piano without thinking of the sound of the trolley...
those weirdo puppets with their strange voices, and king friday's imaginary friend, 'trogladytiaetan' (which was the name i gave my stuffed unicorn when i was 12....), his ways of showing what people's jobs were and how things were made, magic picture, and his fishtank; his sweater and slippers, and best of all, his gentle, sweet voice and manner.
he was one of the very good things about my childhood - in which the very good things really stood out.
if there is a heaven, i hope he's got a REALLY good spot.
-s
something i just wrote* made me think of this**:
we all fantasize about being famous. Oscars, Nobels, Bistro bashes, puking in destroyed hotel rooms full of supermodels (i luvvvvv me some 'People' magazine, y'all...)
i thought about that feeling, about my dreams of "fame", and i realized that even an academy award could not mean more to me than the way my good friends (including the ones i'm related to and the ones i hardly ever see...) make me feel.
a lot of times i DO feel like a star. i feel appreciated and admired. i long to - and strive to - make other people feel that way, too.
don't get me wrong - vin IS hot (i just had to throw that in there, just in case he reads this... :) but i'd like it if we all felt like stars. celebrated, feted, awarded, respected, admired, desired, fulfilled and happy. i am very grateful to those of you who strive for this, and who make ME feel this way.
pass it on!
-s
*a cartoon. i'm about to attempt cartooning at you. you have been warned.
**the vampire crossed the room, Henry.***
***man, how vague and (hur hur) CRYPTic-sounding is THAT, y'all?! well, henry can explain it to you.
we all fantasize about being famous. Oscars, Nobels, Bistro bashes, puking in destroyed hotel rooms full of supermodels (i luvvvvv me some 'People' magazine, y'all...)
i thought about that feeling, about my dreams of "fame", and i realized that even an academy award could not mean more to me than the way my good friends (including the ones i'm related to and the ones i hardly ever see...) make me feel.
a lot of times i DO feel like a star. i feel appreciated and admired. i long to - and strive to - make other people feel that way, too.
don't get me wrong - vin IS hot (i just had to throw that in there, just in case he reads this... :) but i'd like it if we all felt like stars. celebrated, feted, awarded, respected, admired, desired, fulfilled and happy. i am very grateful to those of you who strive for this, and who make ME feel this way.
pass it on!
-s
*a cartoon. i'm about to attempt cartooning at you. you have been warned.
**the vampire crossed the room, Henry.***
***man, how vague and (hur hur) CRYPTic-sounding is THAT, y'all?! well, henry can explain it to you.
Wednesday, February 26, 2003
today's rant was inspired by my non-southern friend m___. i will not give his whole name so as to protect both his non-southerness AND his right to call me repressed and not get a bunch of snotty notes from, well, ME - as well as a bunch of my other friends. (hey, m____! xo! :))
we were talking and he mentioned NOT ONLY the z-word*, but he began to discuss a problematic one! (!!!)
i understand that this is life and nature, and we are all adults, but he did not understand that this is something that SOME people** would NEVER discuss, unless it was with their doctor (and even THEN we would use polite euphemisms scant gestures to get the point across). he said "wow, southerners are SO repressed!", and yes, some of us are, but there are lots of southerners who would talk about this (and other unpleasantness) without a qualm (IF their grammies weren't around, that is). i tried to explain that it wasn't about right or wrong (repression), but more about pleasant or un-. there are just some things you don't talk about. ("TTOTM" is a CLASSIC example.)
so much of life IS unpleasant, and i know that, but i have no desire to have any more than i HAVE to, especially in my intimate personal interactions.
i am SURE that my grammie, who had one husband and nine children, dealt with any number of perfectly natural but unpleasant things, but she NEVER talked about them. in fact, she went to the extreme. her children apparently never even saw her clean a toilet. my beloved aunt sue said that when she got married, she did not know until her best friend told her that a toilet had to be scrubbed clean!
i never shirk from dealing with these unpleasant things, whether in my own life, or a friends', if i have to, but there is no need to talk about them. there is SO much else in the world!
he pointed out that unpleasant is funny (and he's right - EVERYONE feels compelled to laugh at a fart-joke... even me - but i resist.)
I pointed out that this was true, but this was EASY funny. falling down, jim carey 'ass-talk' funny. 'smart' is SO much funnier, and there is grace in that kind of humor (the muffin joke is a VERY good example, in my opinion, thankyouverymuch.).
i don't consider myself repressed, and i don't think anyone who really knows me does, either. i AM a bit conservative in some arenas, but that is only because i TRIED the other options and LIKED the conservative ones. i just know very well that there are buckets of grody ickiness in life, every day. we deal with it, we respect it's power and presence, and we move on. i don't long for the old days of the south, or for victorian england or any of the times when things were like that because they had to be. pleasance and grace is a choice now, and one that i hope i will take every time. it makes life better, and i think people respect and admire me for making that choice. people are drawn to me, and i definitely think this is one of the reasons why.
m____, thanks for inspiring this rant, this is a subject that really matters to me, one that i actually consider and discuss a lot. i wouldn't have thought to talk about it here.
and by the way, i hope your z__ gets better. :D
-s
p.s. let me also make it perfectly clear that "cutesie" euphemisms are, for the most part, as disgusting to me as the actual terms. there is really just no need (in most cases) to discuss such stuff at all.
*"zit". ew.
**mainly polite southern ones who were raised by their grammies***.
***who would smack them into next week for saying such things.
we were talking and he mentioned NOT ONLY the z-word*, but he began to discuss a problematic one! (!!!)
i understand that this is life and nature, and we are all adults, but he did not understand that this is something that SOME people** would NEVER discuss, unless it was with their doctor (and even THEN we would use polite euphemisms scant gestures to get the point across). he said "wow, southerners are SO repressed!", and yes, some of us are, but there are lots of southerners who would talk about this (and other unpleasantness) without a qualm (IF their grammies weren't around, that is). i tried to explain that it wasn't about right or wrong (repression), but more about pleasant or un-. there are just some things you don't talk about. ("TTOTM" is a CLASSIC example.)
so much of life IS unpleasant, and i know that, but i have no desire to have any more than i HAVE to, especially in my intimate personal interactions.
i am SURE that my grammie, who had one husband and nine children, dealt with any number of perfectly natural but unpleasant things, but she NEVER talked about them. in fact, she went to the extreme. her children apparently never even saw her clean a toilet. my beloved aunt sue said that when she got married, she did not know until her best friend told her that a toilet had to be scrubbed clean!
i never shirk from dealing with these unpleasant things, whether in my own life, or a friends', if i have to, but there is no need to talk about them. there is SO much else in the world!
he pointed out that unpleasant is funny (and he's right - EVERYONE feels compelled to laugh at a fart-joke... even me - but i resist.)
I pointed out that this was true, but this was EASY funny. falling down, jim carey 'ass-talk' funny. 'smart' is SO much funnier, and there is grace in that kind of humor (the muffin joke is a VERY good example, in my opinion, thankyouverymuch.).
i don't consider myself repressed, and i don't think anyone who really knows me does, either. i AM a bit conservative in some arenas, but that is only because i TRIED the other options and LIKED the conservative ones. i just know very well that there are buckets of grody ickiness in life, every day. we deal with it, we respect it's power and presence, and we move on. i don't long for the old days of the south, or for victorian england or any of the times when things were like that because they had to be. pleasance and grace is a choice now, and one that i hope i will take every time. it makes life better, and i think people respect and admire me for making that choice. people are drawn to me, and i definitely think this is one of the reasons why.
m____, thanks for inspiring this rant, this is a subject that really matters to me, one that i actually consider and discuss a lot. i wouldn't have thought to talk about it here.
and by the way, i hope your z__ gets better. :D
-s
p.s. let me also make it perfectly clear that "cutesie" euphemisms are, for the most part, as disgusting to me as the actual terms. there is really just no need (in most cases) to discuss such stuff at all.
*"zit". ew.
**mainly polite southern ones who were raised by their grammies***.
***who would smack them into next week for saying such things.
