Happy Birthday, Dear Maaaannnnnndy, Happy Birthday toooooo youuu!
(I wrote most of this while doing my delivery route yesterday)
Much love,
-s
***

Grandmothers’ Curse

For all of my life I have been drawn

from serious mundane purpose

by my senses:

those five sacred sisters,

beggars, thieves, covetous harlots,

no concept of ‘grey’ or ‘middle’ between them;

their mysterious mother, the sixth,

the most powerful distraction, that of intuition.

(I find that the observation and care of humans

is the most elaborate drug of all)

These internal interpreters have served me the world

on a mirrored, musical clockwork platter,

flower laden, and brimming with choices of every shade.

I have always been mesmerized by the mood

and meaning of shadows cast by flying birds.

Reeling, drunk on any sound,

cars or crickets or the odd silence of still air,

I meander, dizzy and giddy and often ill --

the sickly sweetness of vanity and death

is never faint.

No man, no moment, no word or promise

could ever steal my soul away in little gasps

like candy stores or windup toys or river rocks

or lightning.

I am unable to attach myself

to anything more valuable

than the minute splinters of heartbreak that come

when sunlight fades from colored glass

or the promise of the moons’ return, for truly,

what could ever be more dear?

Only to be so broken

and so blessed.

-sll 08/08/05

-for AKL

When Life Gives You Lemons...

...Make a movie about it!
I am inestimably pleased to let everyone (who doesn't already know - who didn't hear me "Wheeeing" all the way from the APB last night!) know that I am now a member of an AWARD-WINNING film crew!!! :D
(I offer a small apology because this is also the reason that I haven't posted in 3 weeks, though I am sure that all of you, realizing the scope of this project and how it fits into my life, can forgive me. :)
Chris and I started this off "officially" on July 4th. We'd already been signed into the competition and Chris had decided on his core crew, but that was all up to that point. The holiday fell on a Monday, which meant I had to run the delivery (it was ok, traffic was light and it was a nice, pleasant day), so Chris went with me so we could spend the traffic time planning, and he could make calls and plot the next set of logistics while I was in the stores. We had decided to do a bake sale to raise a budget, so we set dates and made a list of all the people we'd ask for goodies and their numbers. We decided where we'd like to have the sales, and Chris made notes on who to call for that. We made a list of probable crew and possible cast so that we'd know how much food we'd need to feed them all, then made a list of the snacks and meals we'd be serving, who might donate what, and what we'd have to buy and cook ourselves. We knew from that what our projected budget goal needed to be, and so we had a good idea of what we'd really need by the end of the day. It was a good day, being together, making plans, getting important things done, and it had the lovely side effect of bringing "S&X" even closer together.
When Chris and I had been together about a year, we had one of those "couple clashes" over the whole issue of making lists. I live by lists - I have to. I have a ridiculously busy life, I take on way more than I ought to always (but in the cause of my sanity, so "eh". I'm not complaining.), so lists are the only thing that keep me from unwinding like -
- well, like three normally well-behaved, composed, level-headed little girls trying to learn to play Yahtzee after a whole summer of sibling rivalry and generally just being together 24/7. *sigh* Sorry, post was temporarily interrupted by a crying 8-year old who was clashing with sister and friend over the explanation & understanding of the rules. *sigh* I have extremely rare little midriff-high tear stains on my t-shirt, but all is now well. I hear the cup rattling away downstairs - and the 8 year old just screamed "YAHTZEE!" followed closely by "FIVE! FULL HOUSE! WOO!" It sounds like Sesame Street Casino down there. (*sigh* again, but happy this time.) :D
- anyhoo - Chris was having a hard time keeping all of his ducks in a row. He, like me (thank goddess) has a lot of ducks, and in his biz, a lot of other people are depending on him to keep things together. I tried to stress the importance of making lists and he got miffed and said that he didn't like his life 'being controlled by a list'. *sigh* I said that he may not like it, but he really didn't have much choice, because if he forgot something that was important to me just because he has authority issues (unlike me... HAHAHAHAHA!!!) then he'd be wishing he'd made a list, etc., and I'm sure that the other people depending on him - people with way more to lose than me - would feel the same way. I have learned to understand that Chris has SERIOUS control issues - not in the 'classic' sense, of needing to control people, but of desperately hating to be controlled, but I explained to him that making lists was simply a way of managing ones' own control. I said "Chris, ya' gotta' learn to love the list." He didn't say much about it after that, but I noticed that he started making lists and feeling better about how much he was getting done. This weekend (yes, I'm FINALLY getting to my point ;) was the sweet clincher though. In the midst of the tightly controlled madness, Chris looked pointedly at me and announced to the group - who were bragging about the overall efficiency of our team - that he had "learned to love the list". :) *Moo.*

The next three weeks were a blur of phone calls, planning and plain old hard work. Chris said that all of it was a pleasure for him though - even the late-night, long hours of bake sale prep and hours in the hot sun selling the stuff. We are incredibly lucky to have so many people willing to pitch in their own hard work to help make this happen. We had friends, moms, neighbors and businesses contributing goodies (Thank you, thank you! Bless you, bless you!). I'm not much of a baker, but even I made about 100 "Luna Biscuits" - all natural peanut butter/oatmeal/garlic (with eggs and bone meal and brewers' yeast, etc.) in the shapes of Bad Kitties, bones and Mailmen (the "Butch" mix) and moons, trees and hearts (the "Fifi" mix :); 1oo or so classic peanut butter cookies; and about 150 sugar cookies that I spent an afternoon decorating with two of the kids I keep. Whee! Icing, sugar and sprinkle-fest, yeah! Then we had a couple of nights of bagging and wrapping baked goods, decorating flats to hold the stuff, making signs and price tags, packing things to be easily and carefully moved, setting up coolers for the meltables, getting tables and chairs and umbrellas, arranging pickups and drop-offs, and organizing it so that we had enough for all three days of the sale. I'd sent a press release to all of our local papers, but Stewart went the extra mile and gave us a fat ad, plus printed us out a bunch of pretty flyers (not to mention making a HUGE tub of Chex Mix and coming down on Friday to pick up 25$ worth of goodies for all of the staff at the 'Leader. THANKS GUYS!!! Jody - those Snickerdoodles were the bomb, but I bought all the Rice Krispy treats! Mmm!) that Chris and Clint humped around for days. We also got volunteers to help us sell and to cover for us on Saturday so we could attend the EXTREMELY helpful 48-Hour Film Project Digital Cinema Boot Camp that MAP hosted at UNCA. (Our screenwriting teacher lived next door to Ray Bradbury -!!!- and taught (or, as he said "tried to teach") George Lucas -!!!-) We sold all day Friday and Sunday in front of the Coffee Shop in Tryon, and Chris' mom and long-time best friend Erin shook 'em down all day in Saluda on Saturday in front of Wards' Grill and the Wildflour Bakery.
Chris also took care of lining up equipment, securing HQ (thank you AGAIN, Jen! xoxox), making sure that all paperwork was in line, keeping the crew appraised of everything vital, prodding our "first AD" into actually securing the !@#$ locations (this guy turned out to be a real !@#$, which didn't surprise me, but really let Chris down. We only had two problems during the project - which is a kind of miracle in itself - and they were both people problems. Live and learn, right?), making millions of phone calls, paying the 100$ entry fee, and generally making sure that we were technically ready. I was in charge of shopping for all the groceries, cooking the things that weren't donated (tea, iced coffee, and our big mexican dinner for the whole cast and crew sat. night), making sure we had vegetarian options for all meals, making sure we had enough water and other cold drinks, lining up the donated goods (Wildflour bread; Persimmons' Bistro & TeaRooms' chicken salads, coldcuts tray and delicious brownies and cookies; Chris' dads - David - famous ham-biscuits; Chris' moms' - Peggy -muffins, my favorite broccoli salad, and momcentric bag of dark and milk Hershy Kisses - thank you all so much!!!) and making sure that we had a good first aid kit, sunscreen, bugspray, etc. - and all that BEFORE the extreme intensity that was the 48-Hour Film Project itself!

Friday was a blur, but we made good time. Traffic on 26 was terrible, and we JUST made it to Jen's in time to get the coolers and food boxes out of Esme's bed and pile into Jen's car and zip over to the APB. The place was packed and everyone was incredibly happy and stoked. When the time came for Chris to draw our genre, I realized that I'd cursed us by saying (repeatedly, for WEEKS) "God, I hope we don't get Musical/Western!" 'cause we darned sure did! Thank GODDESS there was a Wild Card option (for the first time in the Festivals' history! Whew!), and after hearing our prop (Popcorn), our character (E. Hayes, Conflict Mediator) and our line of dialogue ("I'm on medication.") the team talked it out and decided to take a chance on the wild card - and we got DARK COMEDY!!! :D :D :D
We left buzzing, and by the time we got to HQ, Chris had decided that he wanted to use homeless people as our central theme. The writing team (Chris, Debra, Jay and I) starting hashing out ideas, and within a few hours had come up with a script that we could love. Thus "Making Lemonade" was born. (I am happy to say that I am responsible for the worst joke in the movie, thankyouverymuch! ;) While we were cleaning up the script, Chris started making calls, directing crew, deciding on locations and trying to find out how many actors we ACTUALLY had (!@#$%^&@#!!!). Then he had to set about the task of making a shot list and planning out the day of shooting around locales and light while Jen and I prepped stuff for breakfast and moving out the crew so that the next morning wouldn't have to be any more hectic than necessary. We were all in bed by midnight, but we were so wired that none of us got more than an hour or so of sleep. We rested though, and used the time to plan ahead, and so when 5:30 rolled around, we hit the ground running. Chris went and met people so they could find Jen's place easily, and we fed them as they came in. Then we loaded up and headed to our first location.
Liz went ahead and started building our homeless camp, and everyone else was close behind, doing their various jobs. The musicians came down to the set at that point to talk to Chris and get an idea of where to head with their writing (they - Jesse and Patrick - *mwah*! were in contact with him throughout the shoot and worked on the soundtrack for 12 hours straight). We had it set up and looking good just as Chris had his crew and actors ready to roll. We were there for about 3 hours when the camera battery ran out, with just a couple of minor shots to go, so we dismantled the camp and took everyone back to the house to begin the lunch/cool-off/and nap wave while the batteries were charging. Chris and his crew got more batteries (thanks Mikey!) and set out to pick up those shots and go onto the next scene, which only needed his core crew and one of the two main actors. We spent that time refreshing our crew and cast and Jen organized the re-sorting of the props, costumes and equipment for the next phase. Around 2:30, everyone had re-grouped and we headed on to our next location at the Mediterranean diner downtown. Pete and Paula (Mr. and Mrs. Apostopolous) were gracious hosts and the filming there - with one or two minor and ridiculous exceptions - went great. In less than 3 hours, we moved on to our next few locations, which were luckily right outside on College St. We were able to finish the rest of the film - except for one shot that we didn't know we needed yet - without moving more than a block down the street. This is where I got to do most of my acting too. Yay! We wrapped just as the light was starting to fade, giving us a beautiful golden bounce into our final scene. Hallelujah!
We got everyone back to the house, and thanks to careful planning, we had dinner on the table within 10 minutes of the cast and crews' arrival. After dinner, we had one horrible moment where we realized that we were missing something VITAL to qualifying for the competition. They had forgotten to get release forms from the folks at the med, Pete and Paula's acting releases and the location release for the Med. It's closed on Sunday, and no one knew Pete and Paula's last name. Someone (!@#$%^&*!!) suggested that we just forge the releases, but I pointed out that it was a 25 year old business in the heart of downtown and someone would surely KNOW Pete and Paula. Besides, faking a Greek name is just not as easy as your average Anglican moniker. I thought for a minute and remembered a moment of dialogue between Jane, the Med's waitress and Liz about a prop that we needed. She told her to go to a specific restaurant, ask for a specific person, and say "Jane sent you." I called that restaurant, asked for that person, explained the situation, and within an hour the Apostopolous' had called and agreed to meet us at ten a.m. the next morning, just as Chris was leaving to go find a valuable piece of equipment that got left at the last location - which just HAPPENED to be there, right on a main street, when they got there. All this was happening while our AMAZING editing crew (Chris and Mike! Yo, yo! ;) was capturing all the footage into the computer to start the non-stop, 17-hour editing process. After we took care of all the million major and minor details, Chris and I finally got to lie down at about 11. He was hoping to grab a few hours of sleep before he had to go and join the editors for the final push. We lay there talking, and that's when he realized that there was still a big plot hole in the story (Jen said she heard his muffled "!@#$!" all the way in the living room.) I had thought to find out earlier who would be available for any emergency "pick-ups" the next morning, just in case. Chris was extra frustrated because it seemed that we were going to have to write another whole scene, call in several actors and crew members. I said "Let me think a minute..." and soon I'd come up with a way to fill the hole and only use myself and Blaque (one of the other two main actors), and Chris and Mike for camera and well, mike - huhhuh... and only three lines of dialogue for a total of about only 10 more seconds of footage, PLUS I managed to sew up one more minor plot hole AND it could be filmed right outside the Med after we met with the Apostopolous'. Chris treated us to coffee and danish (out of the last 17$ of our bakesale $ :) and then he left with Mike to go finish the edit, and I headed off to Jen's to pack up. Burt had the new Harry Potter on tape, so I picked up where I'd left off reading (luckily it was the beginning of tape 8 - it was a lucky weekend over all! :) and listened while I sorted and packed all the costumes and props, packed all of Chris' equipment, divided up and packed the leftovers and cleaned up our giant mess. I was just getting into the shower when Chris called and said he was at the APB, and that they'd turned in the film with an hour to spare - and at 6 minutes and 55 seconds, 5 seconds short of the time limit! Woo! APB donated a free pizza and pitcher of soda to each finishing team, so he said to come on down and celebrate.
I got to sit there, watching the other teams rush in, saturated in the luxurious, wired, exhausted glow of Job Well Done. I felt bad for (all but one of) the teams who didn't make it in on time, and pleased at Chris' accolades. We got to spend some time with a young producer from LA who was as anti-LA seeming as they come, and just generally pat ourselves on the back and breathe. Then we went back to Jen's and screened the film for the die-hards who were still around, plus D. & Kaysha, as D. was just moving into Jen's when we drove up. Of course Chris and Clint were hard on themselves (I suggested that they needed to watch it with this in mind: "Look what we did in just 48 hours." and they gave themselves a little break), but everyone else was totally impressed and laughed their butts off. YAY! There was a little bit of EXTREMELY un-gentlemany/unsportsmanly behavior from one former member of the crew after the screening, which left Chris angrier and more hurt than I have ever seen him, but I am happy to say that that had faded by yesterday, along with the other relatively small chunks of cast/crew nastiness, leaving only the high of... A Job Well Done, which was driven home by the conclusion of the award ceremony last night (which poor Chris did not get to attend, because he was covering for the co-worker who covered for him while he was making the movie... moo!). I dressed up nicely, and went early, just to hobnob and hear the buzz on Chris' behalf. Sweet Katie from MAP got me into the sold-out first screening, so I got to hear everyone's laughter and comments - and see all those other incredible Jobs Well Done twice. After the screening I met Emerald (our lovely leading lady) and Clint in the lobby, and we went to the awards ceremony together. There were only 11 awards, for the 25 movies, and two movies in particular (one of which was the CLEAR best film winner - wow!) took several each. I knew we wouldn't get special effects, and the team who did totally deserved it, and after hearing the majority of the other awards going to two teams, I didn't expect to win anything - especially after 10 awards had been handed out - and I was prepared for that, and totally ok with it. The real award was the experience itself, the incredible satisfaction of (all but two of) our team (psh.) - and seeing Chris so happy in his element, and doing such a spectacular job. Hearing everyone laugh, and all the congratulations and compliments of the other teams was as good as any judges' decision... and then they got to "Best Use of Line" - the only other writing award (besides Best Script) and called out "This Is Our Team Name: MAKING LEMONADE!" :D :D :D
I looked around to see who was getting up - and then I realized that it was supposed to be ME and nearly fell out my seat! Emerald had to push me a little to snap me out of my daze, and I probably lit up the theatre with my grin while I was walking to accept the award. As soon as the awards were over, I called Chris to tell him the happyhappy news and stuck around a little longer to hobnob with our new "contacts, congratulate the other winners, compliment my favorites and soak up the accolades. We all mingled while we waited for the 10 o'clock showing. I so enjoyed watching Emerald take all her compliments so gracefully, and Clint's handsome grin as he accepted his congrats from the other cinematographers, but the best thing of all, for the whole night was during the second screening - which was mostly winning teams - hearing those folks laugh and appreciate the nuances of our little movie - hearing those other directors and hardcore techies - especially the ones from the Best Picture (and several other awards) team - cheer so hard for Chris. That was the ultimate payoff for me, knowing that he is supported and respected by those who really matter in the local fim industry. The hardworking, the devoted, the creative, the ones who are living and loving this crazy dream. This is the foreshadowing of his future, and it's a good one.Blessed be!

We'll be screening the film around for anyone who wants to see it - tonight is at Brett and Buffy's. The DVD of all of the films will be available through MAP mid-next-week, so we can see the other groups' films too - and anyone can order that via APB, MAP and Orbit (the local cool video store.) If anyone wants a copy of "Making Lemonade", we can do a free VHS copy, or we'll charge you the price of a DVD to make you a DVD copy.

Oh - and speaking of "Making Lemonade" - there was a really sweet post-script to the story. On Sunday night, we were too exhausted to drive back to Tryon so late, so we decided to spend the night at Jen's and just drive straight to the bakery to run the route. Chris agreed to ride along to help keep me awake (we didn't get much sleep Sunday night either, just due to exhaustion and environment) and I said that he could nap while I was at stops. We had spent the last of our bake sale budget the day before, and that was just fine - until we got to my last Greenville stop and saw a tiny little guy - only 7 or so - with his lemonade stand** set up outside a store near the EarthFare. I told Chris I'd look through my backpack for change, and when I did I found my checkbook that I thought I'd left at Jens' - with the last two dollars from our budget, the change from the last ice run - stuck in with my drivers' license! We bought two cups of lemonade and 4 cookies from Jacob the Young Entrepreneur for 1$, and tipped him the other $ just for moxy, fellow-feeling and sitting in that blazing heat. We told him and his mom about our movie and asked if we could take his picture, and I took a Polaroid of him selling Chris some fine lemonade, and Chris and I left with the feeling that we had really achieved something, something more than just making a movie in 48 hours, and that Someone really had been looking out for us the whole time.

Follow your hearts, people. They lead you into the most amazing places.
Much love,
-Sam

p.s. we're missing the music and editing crew from the group photo, but we are going to treat them to a nice dinner and we'll get a shot of them to post then!


*Wetrats and X - and anyone who has ever tried to explain ANY rules/instructions to me more complicated than "Roll the dice and move that number of times" or "Draw one, play one" - know that I was EXACTLY the right person to deal with this conflict. The !@#$ "Hokey Pokey" makes me a little nervous...

**You can't get the full irony of this until you've seen our movie...

Are we really connected to the world? Are we even connected to ourselves?

I know that I'm not, and it hurts to realize how removed and afraid I am, and yet I can only imagine that to be truly connected, as tuned in as one should be, would be unbearably painful. I don't believe that it's possible for a normal person - basically anyone who is not a truly enlightened being - to be strong enough to survive that kind of awareness, no matter how necessary it is to the salvation of the planet.

“Sometimes,” he tells me, “people ought to just leave well enough alone. Everything’s moving too fast these days. We’re so busy, we can’t see what’s in front of our noses anymore. We don’t need to know everything that’s happening, every place in the world, every damned second of the day.”
He pauses to look at me, to make sure he’s got my attention.
“What we need,” he goes on, “is to connect to what’s around us and the spirit that moves through it. Our families, our neighbors, the neighborhood.”
“The tribe,” I say.
“Same difference.”*

“Dissociation” is a term I’ve had to think about a lot. Of course, for the longest time, I had to think of it from a “keeping myself out of the looney bin” kind of perspective. The DSM-IV (1994) defines the distinctive feature of dissociation as "... a disruption in the usually integrated functions of consciousness, memory, identity, or perception of the environment." All dissociative disorders are defined as causing significant interference with the patient's general functioning, including social relationships and employment. Dictionary.com says that dissociation is a psychological defense mechanism in which specific, anxiety-provoking thoughts, emotions, or physical sensations are separated from the rest of the psyche. Oh, DID, how well I know thee…
Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the social and familial aspects of dissociation. Dictionary.com says that to dissociate is to remove from association; separate.

We all do it. We all have no choice but to remove ourselves from an enormous percentage of the reality that surrounds us, or our jumped-up mutant monkey brains would just explode. I turned off the TV more than 8 years ago because I suddenly ceased to be able to block out the massive, overwhelming and crippling grief that I experienced when I watched the news or “reality tv” and realized that each of these “stories” was about real people. People with whole lives and families and friends who were experiencing the entire reality of what, for others, for “viewers”, was just another sad case, or something to discuss at the water fountain or bitch about with your friends. Another irony, another safe and distant heartbreak that would be forgotten in time. I stopped being able to forget. I stopped being able to not feel. Every bomb that goes off, every soldier that falls – no matter which army they fight for, every car that crashes, every child that is taken, every prostitute slaughtered, every wife beaten, every hostage killed, every unnatural, unfair death and disaster that becomes a blip on the news is actually a lifelong world of pain for whole families and communities.
Yes, I am completely aware that I am choosing to not "know" (though I believe that, unless we are in a classifiable state of denial, and that's a LOT of work, we always know what is happening in the world, whether we see or hear the specifics.) what's going on - I could see someone saying that I am sticking my head in the sand, so to speak. I know that watching the news and being "informed"*** and aware might be called a way of lighting a candle rather than cursing the dark However, from my own tv addicted perspective, as well as watching the moods and modes of the people around me who do watch the news - or don't, it seems more like a case of flying into the candle and cursing the heat - and it seems to leave ones' wings invery sorry shape. I feel a tremendous amount of guilt over the fact that I'm not Changing the World and Saving the Planet. Of course I blame myself (it's ok, I blame everyone else equally...) for what's happening to our country right now. You've all watched me throw myself against that wall over and over again. (You know, George Bush never wrote me back.) It'd be easy for someone who didn't know me - including myself, sometimes - to think that I was throwing in the towel, rolling over and just letting these hateful, powerful people destroy our lives. When I was throwing myself against that proverbial wall I was always sad, scared, angry, exhausted, defeated, vengeful and worried. Even more than usual. My natural paranoia was tweaked to a fever pitch (read back a year or so if you don't believe me) and I felt as if I was failing and on the edge of apocalypse every day. Honestly, the edge of apocalypse has only inched closer. I am an optimist, but also a realist. It's a fault. But failure is something that I can't afford. I'd honestly rather die than live with the kind of failure that comes grouped in sentences with the words 'apocalypse' and 'edge'.
The worst part of it for me is that in order to cease ALL hypocrisy and try to truly practice what I am preaching, I have to find a way to overcome my fear of being close and making real commitments to other people, especially my family. The safe, and I believe utterly acceptable and understandable option has been to choose a new community, one almost completely free of my past****, and then starting off with new choices and boundaries. Before I moved here, I'd also never had any kind of serious involvement with "the community", so that has been a relatively harmless for me yet significantly helpful for others way to achieve what I believe is a reasonable step in the right direction, a conscious step toward changing the world and saving the planet with no capital letters. I'm talking about the every day things, the things we're able to do without seriously hurting ourselves; the things we desire to do that won't seriously hurt others; the things we need to do sometimes that we just have to sacrifice less important things - even our pride and safety and beliefs - for.
I believe that most of my family (I'm not so sure about the younger ones, hopefully I'll live long enough and they'll be patient enough for me to know) understands why it's hard for ALL of us to be as connected as we all believe we should or could be. I'm sure that we all feel the pangs of life getting shorter and time flying by without making a true family connection. I also believe that we all hold it against ourselves as much as we hold it against each other, and hopefully we forgive ourselves as much as we forgive and love one another, despite the distances. It's possible that I'm the only one who feels terrible guilt every day over not being able to be the peacemaker, or at least the one to make the first serious steps (this time), but I seriously doubt it. And I know that none of our guilt is worse than our fear, the only other thing as strong as our bond to each other and the past.

I am dissociated, by every definition. From society, from the news, from my family. Sometimes I am even dissociated from myself, my friends and from the community, but one can only hide for so long from the things immediately outside ones' door - and I think that's the answer. There's no easy fix to the struggle within the me that belongs to my family. There's certainly no easy fix to the struggle within me that is a product of my past. There seems to be no fix at all to the struggle that is me vs. the world government/society. But I can try a little harder to be nice to my boyfriend and his folks, to my friends, to the people I work with and for, to my neighbors, to the folks I've known so long through the library, to burgeoning artists, and kids who need a little more, to people I meet in stores, to people who ask me for things that I can give - my tribe. I can try to do more to generate kindness in an unkind world, to remember that what I put into the world is magnified by the people it changes. I can't stop people from doing horrible things to each other anywhere but within my immediate scope (and luckily my immediate scope reaches pretty far through donating my artistic time to organizations like Steps to Hope and MRAF, or straightening the house and making a nice snack for people like my friend Buffy, who counsels at-risk kids and makes their lives more liveable), but I can help the people around me deal with what's within THEIR immediate scope, and pray that the influence continues to spread. And meanwhile, I can - perhaps most importantly - take care of myself too, and try to overcome the fears that keep me from making even more of a difference. Light a candle and bless the light. I can't Change the World. I can only change me - and diapers. And that definitely makes the world a better place. :)


Morning and Night **

Beyond our town the bottomlands flood each year.
Someone's son goes walking, never comes back.
Weeks pass. Town square talk reclaims the days.

Tonight I hear the rain remember roots
and think of elders gone the long way back to dust.
What we know by heart we doubt the most.

I have a wish to be at someone's door,
unannounced but welcomed anyway, ushered in
to dine and sing and sleep the sleep of kings.

But this is a world of slaughtered saints.
Random shots are fired, while morning and night
our mothers turn their faces toward the sleeping hills.

So quickly has the century come and gone.
For a while let's ask each other simple questions
and make up answers that can keep us home tonight.

************************

Much love,
-s


*- from a story called “Masking Indian”, from a collection called “Tapping the Dream Tree” by Charles DeLint

**- from "Morning and Night" by Jeff Hardin, from Fall Sanctuary. © Story Line Press, Ashland, Oregon.

***informed on what our !#*$'d up media wants us to think...

**** meeting Rachel (and keeping her kids) and finding her connection with my college years has been very strange...

I know that I haven't been much of a blogger lately - and I apologize. I predicted that I would be 10 times busier once I left the libob, and my prediction was completely spot-on. It's nice to have a life full of variety and options, but at the end of the day (well, actually at the beginning...) I realize that a large majority of my variety and options have to center around paying the bills - after all, that was the point of jumping off - to make my art and hobbies work for me. I've taken several big steps in that direction, and am planning and plotting all the while on how to keep it up, but small steps get you closer to the goal, too - right? So, with Stewart's help (THANKS, STEWART!), I have finally (he thought we needed to do it before 'Con) added a Cafe Press store to my page! I don't blame anyone for not noticing that new little button in the sidebar of my page. It's been a loooong time since I updated *sigh*. But we just added it a couple of days ago - the little picture of the dollar bills with wings.. yep, that's it. The link to my SDO store! I've only put a few products in so far - though there are LOTS of fun things to come - and due to the fairly steep prices that Cafe Press charges, I am keeping my profit markup as low as possible. I've only added +3.00$ or less to each item, so that if any of you are kind enough to support me, my art and silliness, you won't be gouged TOO terribly! :)
If there is anything on my page (or in my portfolio - or in your head, and you know I could draw it for you) let me know! I will be designing an "Antisocial Butterfly" shirt - I'll probably be the first to buy one - as you can tell from SDO, I've always wanted one... I'll also be adding "I need a !@#$ Day Off" items, a printed book of my comics and art, and a VERY special article of ladies' underwear, along with other fun, festive and philosophical (haha!) items. Even if you don't shop, pleeeease check out my store and let me know what you think and which items/artwork would tickle YOUR fancy.
Ok, the commercial is now over, tomorrow we'll be back to our regularly scheduled blather! :D
Much love (and a little shameless commercialism - hey, it beats "The Gap", huh? And it'll help buy Beast food! ;)
xoxoxoxoxoxoxox
-s

Ok, ok already... I’m back, and I’m blogging. Just remember, you asked for it*. ;)

When I got Andi’s message(s) sweetly requesting that I return to the world of blog, I realized that it has been one full month since I last blogged - and since I abandoned the “safety net” of my job. It has become clear that ‘safety net’ is a relative term. I suppose “safe” itself is a relative term. My physical health has improved drastically in the last month. I’ve had two bad times: I caught the cooties - a bad summer cold - that all of the Feral Chihuahuas (except Jay and Chris. Hmph.) Got during Stoneleaf - this was, rather UN-ironically at the beginning of the month; and yesterday and the day before when I suffered from the first migraine I’ve had in ages. I was dressing the set for a movie that X is helping with, and I spent the Tuesday morning and afternoon in department store hell searching for ugly tchotchkes, Chia pets, Cheez Balls (NOT puffs.) and other oddities, then the rest of the afternoon and into the evening making this empty - and recently painted & newly carpeted dorm-room look lived in. My throat started getting really sore in Target - the 5th of 6 stores that I went into. I noticed my head begin to ache with that all-too-familiar throb while I was buying (*ahem*) used books at the Goodwill (“A-ha!”), so spending several more hours in that small, claustrophobic, chemically saturated room did me in. I was down for the rest of the evening and the whole next day** The only good thing about it I suppose (other than the forced slow-down, which I admit, I need sometimes - oh, and the clean beds and good movies) was the realization that I used to feel like that, to some degree, every day. (Not to mention the realization that there are some things that my "safety net" has taken away from me completely, and refused to compensate me for the loss in any way... !#$% the man!) Like having a little cold, complete with a low fever, sore throat, sniffling, sneezing, aching - every bloody day. For the last month, I’ve felt my strength coming back, little by little. I’ve been able to do things and carry things I haven’t had the strength for in months, maybe even years. Then this morning, I woke up, found myself migraine free and feeling pretty good, so I decided to do a little yardwork while it was cool. Two weeks ago, X and I spent an hour and a half - right after I came home from my route, which can be pretty exhausting - doing some SERIOUS clearing around the fig trees. I’m talking about cutting down small trees with an axe, pulling huge vines, dragging the trees and brush into piles, etc. Afterwards I felt great, like my old self. This morning though, after yesterday’s ache-fest, I barely had the strength to use the clippers on the comparably tiny bittersweet and mimosas by the driveway. Hm. Veddy interesting.
It’s my first instinct to say that having time to look at my life more closely is a good AND a bad thing, but then my logical core brain (yes, there is one) says “What a !#$% crock!”
This last month has not been without stress or even a few tears, but compared to the last two years, I have been like another person - someone that I was starting to forget. During the last few months, it was not unusual for me to cry every single day, sometimes several times a day, but now I am finding that it is not just my physical strength that is returning. The lightness of being able to choose my responsibilities, of being able to say “No.” to things that I find unreasonable and “Yes.” to things that I find worthy is anything but unbearable. I’ve questioned myself and my direction some, of course, but not too much - it’s only been a month. I’ve thought a lot about things that I tried to keep myself from thinking of, because those things combined with the misery that I was experiencing on the job was just too much. When I realized today that a whole month had passed, of course my OCD/PTSD/DID/WTF, leonine, perfectionist brain immediately threw out the question: So, what have you done in this last month? Well, here’s the short list:
I’ve sold 185$ worth of jewelry, not counting the pieces I did for trade;
I’ve made several other new, beautiful pieces;
I’ve made enough $ to pay my bills AND save more than I ever have over a single month in the last five years AND had enough to splurge on a Polaroid (I’ve always wanted one) as well as a new, girlie summer wardrobe. Skorts and cute sleeveless tops. (Yay, $General!);
I did my second commissioned poster for the bakery;
I helped a girlfriend move;
I have lost a little weight, gotten a little tan, and “summered” my hair;
I have been swimming more in the last month than I have in the entire time I’ve lived here;
I’ve taken some walks;
I’ve poked around in a cool creek and caught bright red and yellow fish in my bandana to show
children;
I did one of my infrequent and infamous sculptures (Happy 4-0, Crowgirl! The crows WILL
come home!);
I’ve spent some excellent educational and fun (for me and them) time with three wonderful little girls;
I’ve successfully learned the whole bread route - which I enjoy even more than I thought I
would;
I was in a comedy show (in a major theatre festival) that made almost a THOUSAND dollars;
I helped a friend fix her computer;
I’ve spent more time with some of my girlfriends than I have in a very long time, reconnected with an old girlfriend from high school days, and made a new friend who is has some un-
believably strange and strong connections to my past***;
I’ve gotten closer to Chris(X) and learned to appreciate him more;
I’ve felt more free.

Not bad for a short list, I think.
Most of this stuff is “outside” stuff - body, material things, etc. But all of it, indeed, every thing in my life is connected to internal things. Feeling good enough about my body to wear skorts and sleeveless tops, for one. The time I spend with the kids, watching the meticulous clockwork of their hearts and their family lives has awakened a lot of things in me, a lot of memories and questions. Two of these girls come from a family that could not be more stable, solid, successful; and one of them is the child of a mother my age, from exactly the same area that I am from (she grew up in Gulfport); from a family very similar to mine it seems, who knows MANY of my friends from my college years, who was with Robbie two nights before she died, and who is going through a separation right now. There are times when I feel like I am living an experiment, and this is definitely one of them. I have always been both the scientist and the white mouse, but never before has it been so obvious to me. Watching and weighing my own reactions to their honest feelings and my duty to them is almost surreal, very much like I am being tested. Thank goodness I’ve always enjoyed tests. For those of you with children, or for those who have cared for them, you know the extreme hyper vigilance that comes (that SHOULD come) with that responsibility.. For those of you who know me, you know the very extreme hyper vigilance that lives in me, so you can imagine the weight of every word I say to them... I am learning more about myself than I could ever teach them I think. And I am lucky that I have these brilliant, loving, mature, concerned, challenging little ladies to share this with. I needed this time. I thought I was taking on a summer job, but I am really being paid for the only kind of therapy that might help me right now. I was taking a shower in the girls’ bathroom last week, and was nearly floored (at least I was already in the shower) by the waves of sadness and anger that came from looking at all their bath and hygiene stuff. And then, I get out of the shower, and there’s my dear beloved girlfriend - who also happens to be a trained professional counselor (who specializes in at-risk kids, no less) - waiting with open ears and an open heart to hear me talk about and process this pain. Same the week before when we had the 5 year-old brother of the other little girl with us for a day, and I realized that I could read the story of his family’s sadness in his little body and face, even though he hardly talked at all, and that it hurt me badly to see it and be unable to do anything about it (oh, horrible, horrible echoes of a horrible, horrible past...). Buffy was there to hear what I had to say, and it was something that I hadn’t even realized until I talked to her about it. Blessed be.

My mind has been working overtime, thinking about my family. Not so much about the past lately. It seems that the last outburst of fury and agony cleared out a few of the cobwebs.
There is anger, but thank god, my parents seem more and more like the ghosts they should be every day. I am haunted by their reflections, by the parts of them that are so strong in me, but I am stronger than that, than them, and I know it. I can’t change the past, I can’t make it go away, I can’t make my mother say that she is sorry, and even if she did, I would still be as horribly broken and scarred as I have always been. But instead of believing that I can fix me, I am just having to come to terms with the fact that I am the product of these nightmares, and that I can walk away from anyone who can’t see me, and treat me accordingly. Chris is finally beginning to see how the specifics of my past effects my present and future - I see him look at me when certain things are said, or when people behave a certain way, or whatever triggers the memories, and I know that my past is real to him. We saw a very poignant movie last night, and there were times when things were said that rang that old bell in my heart. One was a woman talking about her own heartbreak. She said: “You can’t break something that’s already broken.” Without thinking, I replied, out loud, but to myself: “Yes, but you can break it into smaller and smaller pieces...” He touched my hand, and I knew that he was remembering - honoring my pain. It’s unbelievable how comforting and strengthening that is. It’s as if that’s what it takes to make me real.
I am sure that it will all come full circle, but for now, it is the present that is haunting me more than the past. My relationship with my aunts and cousins, and of course with my siblings. I think of Mandy every day, but I can’t seem to find a way to breach this gap. I can’t find any way to say what I want to say to her, and in the meanwhile, all she hears is more silence... The guilt that I feel about not being closer to my family is there every day, but the anger about the entanglements and awfulness that keep me distant from them at the same time doesn’t go away. I’ve learned that it is very dangerous to try to discuss it, but I don’t know how else to release myself from the self-loathing that I feel for not finding a way to be closer to them. I think they all know that it hurts me to be involved, and that I feel that I hurt them by being involved, but I believe that, deep down, we all want each other as a family - well, most of us. There are so many “camps” and degrees of hurt that every single one of us must feel torn between the others. Each of us had such a different experience, each of us has old hurts that cause loyalties to be divided and being angry at the irresponsible, selfish, mentally, morally, and emotionally despondent bunch of *$$#0!*$ who put us all in these positions in the first place is pointless. Most of them are dead, and then ones who aren’t are so deep in denial or their own morass of misery that they might as well be. This one definitely has no easy answer. It seems that the best we can do is to make ourselves a life that is as happy as possible - not to mention as free from the mistakes of our forebears as possible, and then be prepared to do what we can if someone breaks camp and comes to us for ANYthing - at least, anything that we are capable of giving.

So, here’s where my head is. I am fumbling about in the dark a bit, I admit it. I have no grand plan, I have no real idea what will happen next, but that’s ok. I am not afraid. There is a world of options spread out beneath my capable hands, and I am free to choose. Despite the lifelong struggle, despite the pain that resounds from the world outside, I am back to what I know best - me. That’s definitely something that I can work with.

For those of you who seem disconnected right now, I’m sorry. The circuits are never closed (even, sometimes, when I wish they were...). Being without a pc is tougher than I thought it would be. Soon, hopefully, that will change. Cross your fingers. If you want me, if you need me, though, if you are ready to talk, if you need to borrow 20$, if you want the truth from me, or even just b.s. small talk, I hope you can see that it’s hard for me, but if you reach out, I’ll grab your hand. I am hard to get ahold of - especially now that every day is different - but everyone (even Kenny Ray, ferchrissakes! Hey, KR - good to hear from you again) knows how to find me. E me, and I will send you my cell#. It’s pretty much always with me. It may take a while to get me, but I am not as good at hiding as I wish I was, and sometimes, I really need for people to point out to me that there’s no reason to hide. I think as soon as DragonCon is over, I am going to look into bus, train and air tickets to Mississippi. I think that’s the only feasible and decent way to try to open up the circuits with Mandy and Jeff a little, and maybe even recharge with my Cuz’s too. Seamus, thank you for the cryptic but very lovely and Seamus-like beam of light. Please, please let me know how you and yours are. (Hannah, your little beam of light was lovely, too. I was thinking of you this morning.) That goes for all of you. I have conversations with all of you all the time, my head and heart resound with memories and ideas of you. Thank you for being there even when I’m not.

Much love - more than you know, unfortunately,
-s


*Thanks for “hounding me”, Duckmama. Well, more like “kittening” me, really. Mrowr. =^;;^=
‘Just caught up on your blogs too. ‘Sounds like you aren’t the only one who might need to pick up the phone.
**Well, I did get all our pillows and mattress aired, and bed-linens, towels & pup/cat-bed cleaned. I can’t just do NOTHING... *augh*
***more on this later...

"It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful. There is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power."
-Alan Cohen

It's hard to believe that this is the last five minutes of my last day on this job that has been so much to me - from one end of the spectrum to the other. It has been a harbor and a curse, a blessing and a headache, a complete growth experience and a source of pain and illness... in all these ways and many more, it has been more present and consistent than any family I have ever had. I have never lived with anyone for five years, either consecutively or altogether. Not my parents, my siblings, my husband or boyfriends. This - and my little house on the hill - have been the most stable and consistent things I have ever known...


"What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather the striving and struggling for some goal worthy of him. What he needs is not the discharge of tension at any cost, but the call of a potential meaning waiting to be fulfilled by him."
-Viktor Frankl

...and yet here I go, out on my own, away from this safe and dangerous thing. My health has pushed me, my art has pulled me, and now, I take my chances in a world that id more familiar to me than any other, a world of change and chance...


"We know what we are, but know not what we may be."
-William Shakespeare

...Now my volunteers' soiree is over (and that has been the most bittersweet thing in all the leaving, along with that last "Ladies and gentlemen, the library will be closing in five minutes.") and I have been given their smiles and laughs and kind and thoughtful gifts - and damned fine cooking - I am thinking about all the things they've done for me outside the library too. Their greatest gift to me has been themselves, trusting me as a manager, and welcoming me into their lives and homes. When Connie - who has been good to me all these years (and like Jeanne and Anita and Susan, since before I even opened the doors on that first day, Dec. 01, 2000) - and who put this sweet party together, said (in response to my heartfelt thanks for their covering my heinie for all this time) "It was a pleasure.", I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she meant it. What an honor. Coming from these dedicated volunteers, who have more than one place that they give their free time to, not to mention lives and families and jobs, that means all the world. I have learned so much from these women and men. I hope they will have a chance to see what a good mark they've made on my life.

My children were sad today, but they know that I will not leave them, and so the sadness was just for seeing all my little junk and photos and kid art leave my desk. But they know, just like my vols and favorite patrons, that I am leaving with hope in my heart and a vision in my head - something I've never realistically had before. It helps me to have someone to not let down. And I know that I won't.
So, as I've said many, many times - and have meant every single time: "Onward and upward."
Here I go, into my brave and bright future.
For those of you who have carried me - family, friends, volunteers, co-workers, kids, community - bless you. I truly love you, and I would have never achieved this without you.

-s

p.s. speaking of brave and bright, check out the first page of my photo gallery. Stewart posted some pics from last nights' Stoneleaf festival opening night gala... whee!

(these quotes come from wisdom)

Info Re: Stoneleaf Festival
(Starring - among other fine and festive acts, our troupe: The Feral Chihuahuas!)

COME SEE US!!!

"The Feral ChihuahuasPresentsKumquatThe Feral Chihuahuas are a sketch comedy troupe committed to providing all original material that delivers a unique viewing experience. The Feral Chihuahuas formed as a group when two different theatre troupes discovered they had similar visions and enjoyed working together. This group of 7 individuals write, direct, and perform their own material and each person brings to the group a different talent as well as a mutual respect for each other. Influences include: Monty Python, Kids in the Hall, Mr. Show, Seinfeld, The State, The Three Stooges, The Family Guy and many others... " - cont.
Rating: Mature
click here for more information about this show
Theatre: 35below (call # at the bottom of the page for directions!)
Ticket prices: $13.50-15.00
Times: Thurs. 6/2 – 8:00 pm; Fri. 6/3 – 8:00 pm, 11:00 pm; Sat. 6/4 - 8:00 pm, 11:00 pm

The Feral Chihuahuas present:
KUMQUAT: A SKETCH COMEDY EXTRAVAGANZA!
- by Any Corren

- continued from above:

"...Often bringing fresh humor from common situations, they also delve into absurdism, existentialism, and draw a lot of their humor from political and social commentary. The Feral Chihuahuas are certainly a different breed, and their mission is to be brave, smart, edgy, and most of all, funny. The material is for mature audiences: contains strong language and adult situations.

Meet The Feral Chihuahuas: Hailing from all sides of the US (okay, actually just the South) they are: Jay Becknell, Tommy Calloway, Rich Gays, Samantha Lovelace, Chris Riddle, Jessamine Stone and Elizabeth Taylor [note: YES, those are all our REAL names. Yes, even the girls. Yes, even Rich. :] What sets The Feral Chihuahuas apart from other groups is that members write and rehearse 45 minutes of new material in three days and present it every Wednesday at a small theatre in downtown Asheville. Although it may seem like a lot of work in a short time, the troupe never compromises their vision while striving to stay fresh and continuing to push themselves.
Excited about their first appearance in a theatre festival, they will be bringing back material from their weekly show, as well as brand new sketches for Stoneleaf audiences."

for performance schedules and ticketing information, please visit
www.stoneleaftheatrefestival.com or call 828.257.4500

Sorry folks.
Last night I stopped at Charlie’s on the way home and bought a bag of cracklins and a block of butter*. Charlie told me again how much he’d miss me, and gave me my cracklins for free (- it’s his way of bribing me out of a couple of pieces of cornbread, he says, though I know it’s just because he wants to be sweet. He knows I’ll bring him bread for nothing.) I made it home with only having to pull over twice for crying and realized that I’ve been crying on and off, every few hours, for two days straight.
I got to the house, paid a little focused attention to the beasts, and set to clearing out some space in the kitchen, both for decency’s sake and room to cook. I made a dirty martini (my newest trick) and laid out the things for my “mamaw comfort dinner”, and let my mind waffle in between NOT thinking about what’s hurting me so much, and trying to figure it out, in between small tasks and bouts of tears. I kept hearing the voices of my girlies saying “Pick up the phone!” and “Call me if you ever need to talk!” and “Damnit Sam, nobody can help you if they don’t know what’s wrong!” I am learning to be able to tell when I really need to talk to someone and when talking to someone is just another distraction, so when my mind kept returning to Andi, I finally picked up the phone. I won’t go into details, though you can read them for yourself at her blog where she talks very openly about her own struggles and triumphs with life, growing up, daughterhood, motherhood, etc. Her perspective, because of things she has experienced and things she has done, makes her the one friend I have who might understand my own struggle better than any other. My intuition was right, and she not only listened to me, but she HEARD me. I was able to make something clear to her that I’ve never been able to make clear to anyone else, and I felt like there was a glimmer – for the first time in a long time, or maybe even ever – of someone being able to see the real me. The only person I know who has any possibility of understanding the whole of my struggle is my oldest brother. But there’s something about having been in the war together that makes it especially hard to talk about the war. My best friend of many years, someone I speak to all too rarely these days, had a special understanding of the deepest, most dangerous side of me, but I think his was a sense, more than an actual understanding, and as time passed and things between us changed drastically, I think that sense became clouded by the reality of the passing of time. I am not saddened by that loss anymore, only grateful for the time, love understanding that he gave me.
I’ve ached for it all my life, without even knowing what it was really. It’s a need to be seen as all that I am. I am so grateful to be seen as strong and creative, clever and helpful, brave and loving – all the good things that people say they see in me. But I sometimes think that people are unable to see past that and realize that though there is a golden shimmer on the surface of the mill pond, and the mill wheel is always turning, the water there is very dark and deep and full of dangerous things. I know that everyone sees that I hurt, that I have my bad days, and they know why. But I have never felt that anyone truly realized what a weight I carry, what a struggle it is for me to keep that weight up, and that sometimes – and this is VERY hard to say – I want someone to help me carry that weight. I’ve always been so strong that no one – even my own mother – has ever seen the need to baby me. I’ve always been so tough – for myself and others – that no one has ever seen the need to defend me. I’ve always been so brave that no one has ever worried about leaving me alone in the dark, and over the years, I’ve come to understand that this has shaped me into someone who cannot even inspire those things in the people around me.
The other day, Chris and I were discussing our love of the original Pooh series. We started talking about whom we most identified with, and when I put Piglet near the top of my list, he reacted with shock. “Piglet? But he’s always so scared and uncertain!” I replied with “It’s hard to be brave when you’re a very small animal.” And once upon a time, a long, long time ago, I was a very small animal, one who was very, very afraid, and because of the fact that I had no choice but to pretend to be brave and strong, and all the things that I eventually became, that small animal got left behind, completely forgotten, and stuck in a small, secret place inside me. She never left, she never changed, and she still cries whenever I get hurt, despite the fact that I, big strong Sam, can handle anything that comes along. Where do people think all that hurt goes to?
In talking to Andi, so much of that came out. I was able to explain to her what was hurting me so badly yesterday, what inspired that sad rant. It all came down to: If you can’t be certain of your mother’s love, then how can you ever be certain of anyone else’s? No one else owes you love, owes you a life, owes you protection and devotion. Even fathers leave, but mothers are the first to hold you, the first to make any promises to you, even the promise of life. The sadness that comes from knowing that your mother never loved you, never wanted you is inescapable. I think even adopted children must suffer that hollowness, but hopefully some of that is replaced by the devotion of a new mother, who truly wanted you, wanted you more than any other child. To have a mother who didn’t want you and then spent the rest of her life reminding you of that, in some cases extremely, obscenely painfully, is devastating. It shapes and colors everything from the moment of your birth on. You spend the rest of your life seeking something to fill that horrible gap, and maybe, finally come to the realization that nothing will ever be able to, that everyone else will either let you down, or you’ll let them down because you don’t have it in you to love anyone else the way you should if you’d been taught how to love from day one.
No one can fix that. It can never be fixed, and I see that now. When I poured all of this out to Andi, I heard her make connections about what she knows of me and about the true depth of my grief that she, and maybe no one else but Lynda, my beloved therapist, has ever seemed to be able to see. When the tears had wound down she said “Sam, I don’t know what to say…” I said “Andi, when you said ‘Ohhhh…’ and I realized that you suddenly had a better understanding of me, THAT’S what I needed. No solutions – there are none. No explanations – no one understands the situation better than me. What I needed was to be seen as more than just “brilliant” and “broken”. I need to know that when someone is offering me love and comfort, they know exactly who they are offering it to, and exactly why. It may be stupid and selfish, but I also think it’s simple, and if that’s all I’m asking, why shouldn’t I have it? I believe with all my heart that I try to give the same thing in return, to everyone I meet.

So, with Andi’s love (and the makings for a pot of greens and cornbread and a big vat o’ salsa) surrounding me, I let her get on to her shopping spree - just as Stewart called to say he was pulling into the driveway with a delivery of Ben&Jerry’s and PECAN CHEESECAKE (that’s a good therapy tack too, fyi. If you can’t provide insight, bring chocolate. It really is the second-best comfort in any case…) We talked while I made my dinner and he hung about long enough to take home a tub o’ salsa. I went to bed early and for the first night since Sunday, didn’t cry myself to sleep.

Then when I checked my e’s at lunch today, I found these:

Dear Sam,
I wanted to write you and say that I don't know many things about your Mother, but from the way it seems I'm sure this day has a pang for you. I just wanted you to know that you are in my thoughts and I do hope that you are able to be with people who love and care for you today. I also wanted to say, that for a solitary child like you, there is me. I see you. I love you.
I LOVE you. No Sam, I can't understand, but I can care. You are remembered.
-Hannah Bright

- and -

Sam,
I came here tonight to welcome you back to the blogosphere. I enjoyed the rant from last night and was not really expecting to see another one so soon. I'm sorry to know you feel so bad. How can I help? You don't have to kill yourself to make people love you unconditionally. You just deserve it. You, Sam. YOU just deserve it. I knew your Dad was gone and I knew about Robbie. I know how you felt about them both. I know how it is with your Mom. I didn't know they all came together with Mothers Day. How hard it must be for you right now. I'm so, so sorry.
There have been many times in my life when I felt just what you described here. I don't know what to tell you about how to handle it. If I did, I would tell you and neither of us would have to be afflicted by this kind of torture anymore. I stopped crying, except a few short sobs now and then, long ago. I don't know if it's because so many years have passed, that I'm much older and worn out, or if I have just become battle hardened and accustomed to the hurt. But I know I will always cry when I talk about my Daddy, I will always cry when I talk about my baby brother Billy, I will always miss my Mama and I will likely be angry with my late husband until I die. I am angry at myself too. For the way I let it go on so long and other regrets.
I haven't been writing as much lately because I've been having a problem with my blood pressure and have had a headache for more than a week to go with it. Anyway, maybe I will be back to something near normal (for me) in a day or two. I wish I knew what to say. It seems like when you really need the answer nobody knows the answer. All I can say is:
1-Don't knock yourself out to make people love you. I think you do too much. AND I think you get too little return. Bodies are not designed to do all that you've been doing.2-Know inside yourself that you deserve to be loved no matter what any asshole may tell you otherwise, or do to you. You deserve to be loved just because you are you.
3-Don't be hurting like that and not tell me.
4-I will take up for you.
5-Friends are for sharing...even sharing pain.
I hope you feel better soon. It's after 11:00 p.m. now and I'm about to wake you up. I hope I get you. If I don't I'll call again tomorrow.
Love, Carol

- and I realized that if I can TELL people what I need, to be SEEN, to be REMEMBERED, to be CARED FOR, to be STOOD UP FOR, to know that I really am NOT ALONE, there are people out there who will do that for me – because I am who I am, and because I’ve done it for them, and because no matter how bad I feel, I’ll keep doing it for others. And though I can wish them the very best, I don’t have to keep giving my best to the people who don’t care enough about me to see past the shimmering surface. For those of you who are patient and brave enough to look into the deep dark, thank you. I love you. You can always say “I saved Sam.”**

Much love, and less grief, ***
-Sam

*Yes, there are still places where you can buy hand-churned butter by the block – for about HALF the price of store-bought butter – even the store brand.
**I’m WAY more practical than Green Stamps or Marlboro Miles! :)*** and happiest of birthdays to Seamus

This is a very sad, hurt, introspective post, and I couldn’t take criticism about what I have to say here, so please don’t read on if you don’t want anything weighty to consider, to read that I have uncharitable, selfish thoughts and feelings sometimes, or feel that I might need to be taken to task for what I have to express here. Please.

I Am Made of Grey

Have you ever cried so hard, so loud, for so long that your howls seem to turn into hollow, ringing echoes? As if all the selves you ever were, or might have ever been are keening in harmony and empathy? In the depths and damps of such chasms of pain, do you wonder if the world is the cavernous space into which you pour your screams, or is it your own arid, empty heart?

My own memories are shipwrecked on a desolate airless moon, where the seasons speed by in days’ time, flickering like time-lapse, either the purest blinding white light, or the blackest, coldest deepest night. There is no grey there but the shadows of scars caused by meteoric blows - vast craters the size of other planets’ living continents, visible even to the single-lensed eyes of the inhabitants of those green lands, light years distant - and the silvery grey substance of the moon itself.

When I howl into that vacuum, I tell myself that the echoes are the sounds of millions of voices joining mine, so that I won’t feel so lost. But when the tears run dry and I have no choice but to tune into the hungry silence, all I hear is my own ragged breathing, and the beat of my castaway heart.

*************************************

This Sunday was mother’s day. It was also the tenth year anniversary of my father’s death. Next Saturday will be 10 years since Robbie died as well. I can’t expect sympathy from people who aren’t near me, or who don’t know how hard this time is for me, but to be abandoned and placed second (third, fourth, fifth) by those who know, who live with me, or see and talk to me every day, is harder than I could have imagined. Left alone with my grief and all the memories, more work than I could handle at the best of times, a wreck of a house, money worries, work worries, the responsibility of a whole household and then some, I am hurt, angry, and feeling like I’ve felt since I can remember: a nuisance, a burden, a used-up convenience. If I’m not being useful or helpful in some active way, then I am invisible – or should be. Who, of those who know me well, hasn’t wondered why I feel this way over and over again? And I honestly can’t blame another soul. No one but myself has been responsible for me – beyond the very basics – since I was born, and not for anything else since I was able to handle the basics. There must be something in me, about me, that makes me so easy to abandon. I wish someone, anyone, even the people that I am most afraid to talk to, the people who are at the heart of who I am – the people who taught me to be able to walk away - could tell me why I can’t be loved completely, the way other people are. I can take the truth, however hard it might be, because it might help me change into someone who can be loved unconditionally. People say I am good, that I do good things, that I am a good person, and that I make the world a better place, why would they lie about that? And if that is true, why don’t I deserve the kind of unshakable, selfless love and devotion that others give to one another? What is it about me?
There are mothers who would give their lives, their souls, every thing and every last penny for their children; there are husbands and wives who would walk through fire for their loved ones; what is it about me that doesn’t inspire this kind of devotion? Why don’t people stand up for me? Why wouldn’t someone close to me put my pain before their own pleasure or safety? I can’t expect everyone to – other mothers have their own children, other lovers have their own spouses, and I have nothing but respect for those who put their own first – but what about my own? Or maybe that’s just it… maybe I truly have no one of my own. Maybe that’s my true birthmark, and I am meant to walk the world alone like Caine. But for what sin? And could I ever atone? It seems that my choices are to continue to try to be as useful and deserving as possible to earn the kindnesses I do receive, and/or accept the truth that I can only ever expect so much love from anyone, even my so-called own, and know that when the chips are really down, and the darkness is deepest, that I can truly depend on no one but myself – no matter how much that hurts.
I suppose I’ll never know how hard one has to work, how good one has to be to earn the true, total devotion of another human being, but I know I would die of grief if I quit trying to find out.

Honestly, sorrowfully, and apologetically,
-sam

For those of you who might be wondering where the aich-ee-double-hockeysticks I've been and what I've been up to, I can easily sum it up in two words: THEATRE WORLD.
Things in my life have never been dull or still. I usually stay busier than the average Joe (if not the average Jane. Most of the Janes I know are pretty danged busy ladies.), but lately everything has been cranked up a notch, all the way to '11' really.
I think you all know about the comedy troupe I perform with - The Feral Chihuahuas (Stoneleaf Festival (cool, huh?) which is VERY exciting, but also only a few weeks away. We are also performing our regularly scheduled shows every other Wednesday (Thank goddess though, after this week, we'll basically just be doing our Stoneleaf rehearsals on stage). THEN, on top of this, this weekend is the Renaissance Festival. We (myself, Chris and two other members of The Feral Chihuahuas, our good friends Liz and Jay put together a Shakespearean (well, loosely Shakespearean... ;) show called "Periwig" to perform at the faire. In that 30 minute show we do an intro, an ad for Gandalf's 'Plague Be Gone', a strange little piece that breaks the 4th wall, a fantastic "dueling thespians" scene betwixt Hamlet and Antigone (the boys did it for Kumquat this week, with Tommy playing 'Duelling Banjos" on the guitar - it was a RIOT!), and our big show-stopper - a 15 minute production of "A Midsummer Nights' Dream", in which we pull EIGHT victims... I mean, er, volunteers from the audience to play all of our uncast parts (we lost most of our troupe to the plague, y'see...) and perform a MUCH abbreviated version of the entire play - including a catfight betwixt Helena (moi) and Hermia (our Liz), and multiple excellent death scenes for our poor volunteers. (The boys get their fight during Duelling Thespians.)
SO. We've been rehearsing EVERY SINGLE DAY for weeks now. Sunday we had THREE different rehearsals (Kumquat, a run-through of A Midsummer Night with vols from the faire - THANK THEE, GOOD FOLK!!!, and a full run-through of Periwig on Sunday night.) On the other nights we've done both Kumquat and Periwig, and on Wednesday we performed Kumquat. The few nights that we've been unable to meet, we've spent learning lines, working on props, costumes, etc. and on the nights that we have been completely off (only because a principle couldn't make rehearsal), we've gone to see OTHER people's plays.
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Please forgive me for not being more present, more involved, more noticeably in tune. I promise that I have been aware of what's happening in all of your lives. Mama-Norma has come through her diagnosis and surgery with flying colors; baby Bella (Isabella Madison Sitton - MOOOOO!!!!) came into the world big, beautiful and healthy on April 28 - our little spring flower Princess;
life spins in its' circles, and even in my nigh stupidly hectic (but happy and helping) state, I think of you all while I work and whistle, wishing you all good things.

One other bit of news... big news, happy and sad at the same time: on May 4th, I gave my notice at the Library. I will work 'til the end of this month, and then, flower in hand, I will take that leap of faith and trust in myself to make my way with my hands, my head and my heart - once more! The day that 'Bella was born was the day I lost my fear of leaving the security of this good job, and realized that there is more happiness and better health for me if I just follow my heart. The library won't lose me - in fact, they'll have me for free, because I'm going to join the ranks of the volunteers! And I am looking forward to being my own woman again, having a more flexible schedule to do with as I please - see my friends more; work on projects I've needed and wanted to for so long; learn to use my sewing machine; get back into photography wholeheartedly; put more time into my jewelry work and other saleable arts; get my sick body back into better shape; walk the roads and wander the woods and fields (HURRAY!); set up a little ebay business; try as many part-time jobs as I want and need to; visit family; write more; finish Loki's Little Acre (and convert it to a screenplay!); help Chris with his films; knuckle down to the Comedy-grind; clean my house and yard - well the list is fortunately, joyfully endless. What it comes down to is that I can live on Sam-time, and I believe with all my heart that I can make Sam-time even MORE productive and at least as lucrative as TheMan-time - AND I CAN WEAR PAJAMAS AND FLIP-FLOPS 98% OF THE TIME IF I WANT TO! WHEEE! I can work a 14 hour day one day and go fishing the next, if I want to. I can say 'Yes' and 'No' to whomever I please, and if someone has a problem with me, I can walk away and smile and forget that they exist. I can explore the change that the last five years has made in me, and hopefully repair the physical change for the worst.
I don't have to ask for you all to wish me luck - I know you do. Everyone has told me how happy they are for me to have the chance to live my art (art my life? :) on a bigger scale. My patrons and co-workers have said they're proud of me for taking the chance. I doubt they'll ever know how much that means to me. I promised myself that if I left the best job I've ever had, that I wouldn't leave it for less than something wonderful. I'm going to do my damndest to make this jump count. I can still see my patrons and kids when I volunteer - not to mention spend social time with them sans the fear of - for example - getting too squiffy on red wine at the W_____'s house on Friday night, telling all my fave naughty jokes, and then having the whole town talk/it getting put in the paper/getting called on the carpet) the next Monday. *sheesh*

So, let it be OFFICIALLY known: after May 28, I'm a free woman - I have taken on a luscious baby-sitting commitment for the bulk of the summer, 3 days a week, mid-week, but I'll be able to work my art while I do that, too. And the rest is an open field. If you have commissions, ideas, need to "Rent-a-Sam" for a day, for any purpose (for example, Liz is hiring me to help her organize her house, in trade for some sewing lessons...), let me know! I suspect that my calendar will fill up fast! :)
Much love, and many, many hopes and dreams,
(much more like the OLD-)
-s.

In the midst of a hard, painful, tearful day, there is still this...

I am delighted to say that a few people have accepted my challenge so far! Aunt Sue was first, she sent me 10, so I added 10 more to her list to encourage her to think of 80 more. OurAndi did it in her blog - which I recommend reading just for the heck of it. It's a worthwhile 20 minutes or so a week, I promise. My friend Carol has sent me 50-ish so far, a few amended, and has promised to try to add more (I'm going to see if I can post hers here too, when she's done) and also dear Hannah Bright.
Hannah - who I think is 15 (though her soul, as you will see from her list, is much, MUCH older...), who should, in my opinion be the library's MASCOT, who makes me believe in divine possibilities just by knowing her - gave me permission to print her awe-inspiring, just downright inspiring:
100 Things I Like About Myself:
1. I read at least one book a day.
2. My middle name(Bright) never in my 16 years of being have I encountered another with that middle name but when I do, I'm going to kiss them and ask what is(one of) their favorite
book(s).
3. I LOVELOVE LOVVE words and do all I can to learn more about them(I have read Webster's cover to cover at least 14 times, and study forgone languages whenever possible)
4. I memorize poetry obsessively and to perfection, sometimes spending up to 3 hours on a speech/sonnet/extremely-long-poem
5. When it does not distract others from the music, I lie under the piano when it is being played, it heightens the sound and experience for me(especially if it's Brahms)
6. I read encyclopedias for pleasure(and other non-novels that many people tend to dislike out of a classroom setting - histories, science books, methods . . . other things) obsessively and can never get enough knowledge of . . . well, most anything worth being a scholar on.
7. I am a Christian, and am also very sad about how my beliefs have been skewed by other people who, in regard to their actions, are not.
8. I love Richard Harris(and I cry over his voice).
9. I love Richard Burton(and cry over his voice).
10. I can whistle fairly well.11. I believe in fairies, goblins, brownies, orcs [she even included ORCS!:], changelings, waifs, niyads, ents, polkas and driyads.
12. I LOVE moss.(and most of the things it flourishes on)
13. I love Rudolf Nureyev(I scream over his voice:).
14. I can draw anything (and nothing) fairly well(and am not afraid to try)
15. I dream about things before they happen(and have all my life)
16. I THRIVE off books and poetry of ALL kinds . . . and love to write letters when I have the time.
17. I LOVELOVE LLLLOVE art and give to it whenever possible.(music, books, dance, visual, people)
18. I have read Les Misérables countless times and am not weary of it.
19. I have read MANY books countless times and still adore them.
20. I have beautiful friends, who are like family to me, and I make certain they know it as often as possible.
21. I have failings, and am a flawed human being.
22. I cry when it is warranted(and when it's not)
23. I have never denied(verbally or by my actions) that I have a soul.
24. I ADORE Bjork [!!!].
25. I love weeds. [Dandelion Liberation Front approves! ;]
26. I give flowers(wild and otherwise) to loved ones and complete strangers(and have made gazillions of friends in that way)
27. I sit on my roof in rain and snow as well as sunny weather.
28. I love the way I feel before/after a storm: everything seems sharper, and more alive.
29. I kiss trees.
30. I have ALWAYS admired and respected American Indians, and am proud to be a distant relation(my great-grand mothers on both parent's sides were of different tribes)
31. I love scarves and will wear them with anything.
32. I have goodgood friends who range in the ages of 5 to 87; and I love and treat them all as equal(and sometimes BETTER :D) to(then) my peers.
33. I have never been made ashamed of "weird" things I do, say, or wear by people the truly care about me.
34. There are chapters in my life that are seldom read and certainly not aloud, and that's O.K.
35. I have withstood hurtful things from people who could love me.(though, how can I say this knowing you will read it Sam? YOU who have had hell to crawl through and ended up blooming in spite of it all, and the truth is, I have a wonderful, awesome family, but my cousins HAVE thrown mud/rocks/branches at my on different occasions(all because I didn't want to play Truth or Dare), at every(and I mean EVERY) social gathering they tell me(most of the time in front of others) how ugly I am, my lips are paper-thin, my hair is thin and non-colored, my legs are so short, I am a midget, I am so short they could use me as a prop, my arms are chubby, my teeth are bucked(I had BRACES for heaven's sake!), my IQ is ssssssoooooooo low(they know that's not true hehe), my eyes are too small and SO close together, my ears are bigger then Dumbo's, my chest is out of proportion with the rest of my body(oohhh it burns me up!), my butt is huge, my stomach is HUGE, you get the picture. All of these things they say in one setting, and more, they seem to be inventing new wrongs every time I see them, I have tried talking with them about it but they always turn it into "Hannah, CAN'T you take a JOKE?!" but they never laugh. I'm over-reacting, I know and I'm sorry. When I THINK of what some of my FRIENDS not to mention people I don't know have to DEAL with I could just kill myself for whining over a few curt remarks, but it gets tiring.)
36. I am in a jazz band.
37. I love(LOVVVVVVVE) philosophy, and often will walk out among the stars and dew in a muddy soccer field and scream to the sky - alone: "WHAT'S IT ALL ABOUT, ALFIE?!!!"
38. I make up words and phrases to describe things, and have heard strangers using them.
39. I don't watch T.V. at all or listen to any other radio station but NPR.
40. Despite a frequent addiction to day-dreaming; I am capable of firm and decided action.
41. I want to live in Estonia one day(even if it's only for a few months).
42. The reason I am considering nursing as a profession is because of a Snowdon photograph.
43. I have a deep respect for water, and it is one of my favorite elements.
44. People have opened up to me with problems they have said they share with no one else.
45. I love my brother and talk to him about a lot that goes on in my life and the world, and he(although 9) usually understands.
46. I sing in many "inappropriate" places.
47. I name things I use. My bike, my roller-skates, my pens, my guitar, our piano, our van, my coffee cups . . . etc.
48. I believe in the phrase "to thine own self be true" and try my utmost to keep to up. I am also passionately honest with other people.
49. I blow kisses constantly.
50. I understand that the quality of death, like that of life, must be of an infinite variety and color.
51. I can speak conversational Farsi.
52. I can speak conversational French.
53. I cook some mean scones [Andi could've added this one too! :]
54. I have read all of Shakespeare's works.(the complete sonnets, plays, everything)
55. I have INCREDIBLE friends who love and enjoy(most) of the things/people I do.
56. Despite contrary belief I am not a feminist, but I do believe in equality of the sexes.
57. I LOVVVVVVE all kinds of tea and coffee, and will make it whenever the opportunity arises.
58. I don't have a problem with inter-racial(I hate that term, it sounds so CLINICAL) marriages.
59. I dance around the bathroom when I'm brushing my teeth.
60. I love to listen to stories, true and untrue, especially if an elder is the teller.
61. I have lots of foreign friends, who have told me they feel more comfortable with me then any other American they have contacted while here.
62. I loved vintage before vintage was cool(and I MEAN THAT!)
63. I try to see beauty in "dappled" things.
64. I hate excuses and try my best not to make them for myself.
65. I have scars, and that is O.K. with me.
66. Fear drives the world(and me), I know that, and try to be unafraid.
67. I have, at one time or another, lent everyone I know(and some I don't) grace.
68. I have the ability to laugh at myself.
69. Mary Shelley is (one of) my hero(s).
70. I have been named "the grammar nerd" by a college English teacher.(though I'm probably slaying everything I have learned here)
71. Befriending dirty, "ugly", homeless, junkie, sluttish people doesn't scare me.
72. I am fluent in sign language and have used it on countless occasions.
73. I have defended myself and friends as well as broken up physical and verbal fights and (have also) never lost(I had to slap a prostitute once though).
74. I wear mis-matching clothes.
75. I hate prom and everything having to do with it.
76. I love the city. I love the lights, the sounds, the metropolitan vibe...there is so much energy, life...filth, corruption, anger, blood...with all that said, I have never lived in a city and would die for my family's farm.
77. I celebrate Mardi Gras every year(usually by myself or with Isaac)
78. I have a love/hate fascination with carnivals of all kinds.
79. I have read the Bible from cover to cover.
80. I have also read "The Origin of Species" "The Feminine Mystique" "the Koran" and other various religious writings, have weighed and measured their ideas, and come to the conclusion that the Bible is absolute truth.
81. Although I believe people are as diverse as leafs, most of our struggles/emotions/reactions are akin to one another, and are not at all different.
82. I can surf well.
83. I believe that how you relate to people is one of the most important things in life.
84. I have been accused of pointing out how stupid "everyone" is all the time, and responded with "Wait, I haven't told you how stupid I am yet!"
85. I believe you should not reject what you don't understand, for with understanding there may be acceptance.
86. I play dress-up.
87. I have had near-death experiences, and come out better each time.
88. I can dance well.(9 years of Ballet, I SHOULD be able to!)
89. Not many things impress me.
90. My kittens.
91. My tear-bottle.
92. I go barefoot a lot.
93. I can sleep well in uncomfortable places.(on rocks, sticks, in wetness, etc.)
94. I am a Southerner, not a red-neck, and could care less about the flag.
95. I have never had a crush on a guy before, and am glad. All the men I love are dead.
96. Guys and girls find it easy to relate to me, and(most of the time) I to them.
97. I am (by Barry's definition) a "walking paradox".
98. I have done/said things, been laughed at, and continued because whatever it was made me happy.
99. I love mud puddles.
100. I appreciate and treasure Sam Lovelace's friendship(and ALL she does for me right down to smiling!) and love her this *spreads arms as wide as they will go* much! :)

Love is the most beautiful of frustrations because it is beyond the power to express. I love you, Hannah Bright"

Yes, she's a real girl, and I am lucky to know her. I can vouch for many of the amazing things on her list, and though some are surpises(farsi?! surfing?! wow!), none are shocking. I'd be proud to be just like her when I grow up, and I am proud to know her now. Thank you for all your band-aids, Hannah Bright! I love you too!

Keep making those good lists folks - you might even surprise yourselves!
much love,
-s

I Challenge Everyone to Do This.

(LJ folks:You don’t have to do it here – though I’d LOVE to read folks’ lists. Blog readers – e them to me!) Be honest, and don’t worry about “bragging”. I don’t know a single person who doesn’t deserve to brag at least a little. And for those of you who might have a bad opinion of me (and I know that some do, and I can honestly understand why). I didn't do this for the purpose of bragging - I did it because I needed to, and I posted it to encourage others to do so.

100 Things I Like About Myself:

When I go to Google, I automatically (unthinkingly) click “Images” first.

My elegant, often unbelievable name: Samantha Louanne Lovelace.

My own sort of Geekism, which I usually think of as somehow inferior, is actually true Old School Geekism, pre-computer, pre-con, pre-game. I am an art*/knowledge/language/
hedonistic nerd, who also happens to love and respect all this “new-fangled” Geekism, too.

People find it easy to be honest with me, even if they think that what they need to say might hurt.

I can’t keep a secret.

I cook good soul food.

My taste in much music and many films is unashamedly cheesy.

I feel comfortable with children.

I love things that are bent, broken, mottled, freckled, speckled, spotted, strange – things that are often unloved by most everyone else. Even things that are often broken and completely unusable, but still beautiful, I turn into art.

I like to try new things.

My tattoos make me feel strong and happy.

I can often make the very best of very bad things.

I try to see the good in bad things, and often can.

As much as the past hurts me, I still love the person that I am, and admire my own strength.

I draw kindness from good people.

My bizarre and festive fashion “sense”.

The fact that my birthdays are month-long events, and that people look forward to being included in the fun.

My very deep and ingrained “Southerness” – I suppose it is the heart of what grace I have.

I am – despite popular opinion and even possible evidence – very logical and practical.

My love for all animals, but especially “weird” ones.

My passion for boys, Orc and otherwise.

My ability to love ‘the monsters’ (Frankenstein, Roy Batty, the Orcses, Tobie, etc.)

My odd face.

My hands. The way they look, their sensitivity, all that they can do.

My very strange and intermittently eerily accurate mnemonic ability (yes, sometimes I even remember things that haven’t happened yet)

Despite their origins, my hyperawareness and hypervigilance.

The intrinsic artistic nature of my entire being.

My ability to create so easily.

The fact that I recognize some good things about myself.

The fact that I recognize some bad things about myself.

My ability to empathize.

The fact that I really DO like long walks on the beach.

I can draw anything.

I enjoy honestly flattering people, even strangers.

The extra wonderful fact that cool, intelligent, strong, amazing women love me and are drawn to me.

When I go to “ethnic” restaurants, I do my best to speak/practice their language a little (which I actively attempt to learn bits of in my spare time).

I think bugs, even spiders, are really cool.

I like to organize things.

I can’t resist cute baby anythings.

I like boy clothes.

I am “cute”.

My scars (and the scars of others) are beautiful to me.

I am not shy about trying any new cuisine.

I am “old-fashioned” in a lot of ways.

I press dozens of flowers every year, and on every trip I take, then make them into bookmarks.

I think girls are wonderful, pretty, special, and as unique as flowers.

It makes me happy to make girls feel extra-special, extra-pretty, and stronger.

One day, I vow to live in a place and situation where I’ll never have to wear anything but pajamas and flip-flops if I don’t want to.

I don’t play video games.

I gave up TV eight years ago.

I quit smoking two years ago yesterday (04/15).

I sing pretty much constantly.

My sketchbooks and journals could fill a small storage space.

I think Bjork is the coolest human alive (that I know about).

I think most of my friends tie for second-coolest human alive (and that birds of a feather flock together).

I feed the rabbits in my yard, and leave nest-stuff for the birds every year.

I ‘art’ obsessively.

Storms make me veryvery happy.

I still miss my ex-husband. I especially wish I could discuss the latest movies with him.

I reallyreallyreally love hot tea.

I don’t actually think that people are generally so very different, and I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.

Sometimes I like the “bad” things about people so much that I’d rather them stay that way than change so that I could be around them more.

I miss my grandma.

I have a lot of heroes.

I make GREAT salsa.

I like to be sparkly, I like sparkly things.

I am both veryvery silly and veryvery serious, and I don’t think that’s bad.

I’m both a BIG girl and a SMALL person.

Rubbing my face on kitty bellies works better at relieving my stress than any drug.

I make insecure men mad.

I make secure men happy.

I challenge people to be more – whatever they are, whatever they want to be – directly and indirectly.

People say that I am the most capable person they know.

People say that I am the sanest person they know.

I’ve been through hell and I’m still a good person.

I trust people more than I should.

I make up words, and people “steal” them.

I’m good at lots of things.

I’m excited that there’s still so much for me to see and learn.

“Shy” is a word that is seldom used to describe me.

I’ve had to physically defend myself and others many times, and I have never hit a girl and I have never lost a fight.

I’m a good dancer.

I am known for speaking my mind.

I’ve faced a lot of my fears.

I inspire people.

Motherhood is not for me, I know exactly why, and that’s ok.

I am a great babysitter.

When a movie is based on something else (comic or book), I can avoid comparison, and enjoy the movie for what it is.

I am not a snob about books, movies, etc. – though if someone tries to get snarky on me, I can go there.

I am very (veryvery) sharp-witted. I never think “Oh! I wish I’d thought of that - (fill in snappy comeback)!” an hour later.

I am brave in many ways.

I am really into good hygiene.

My house is never too very messy and things are pretty well organized, despite the fact that I am a terrible pack-rat.

I am less of a pack-rat than I used to be.

Although I am sentimental, I can also let things go. I have learned to lose things and cope.

I exaggerate AND procrastinate.

I’m bad at paperwork and other red-tapey things.

I want to make/see the people around me happy.

I have survived horrible things and still am not bitter, cynical or jaded.

I can think of at least 100 things that I like about myself!!! :D

MAKE A LIST! Send it to me, if you want to!
Much love,
-s

*art = visual, photog, film, music, dance, etc. – all to me.