I had a very long, strangely not-so-strange talk with a dear old friend very recently. I’ve also been privy to the privies of a few others through their own very honest, open, naked blogs and letters and posts. I’ve even been blessed enough to recently be able to spend time face to face with deep, thoughtful people with whom I share some of the past, both specifically, and because we come from a similar place, and been able to open my heart and mouth and eyes and ears and hands to them As strange as modern communiqué has become, as seemingly surreal as “reality” can be – it is what it is, and I am in awe of whatever it is that makes it possible for us to try to reach out to each other in these ways. This was my post (here) on Friday, April 21, 2006:

“we've had a strange tragedy touch us recently, and investigating it led me to read the blogs and live journals of some sad, desperate, broken, lonely - to the point of dangerous to themselves and others - people. i wrote this in response to that, as a prayer, as a message to people to ask for help, as a reminder.

A Prayer for Strength and Time

God make me a prayer wheel.
Let me be a drum that hums and sifts the sins of our imagining.
Let me be the etched, worn, scarred and resonant cymbal that sends the pleas of broken people to your infinite ears.
Let me be spun, and sung to, weathered by the hopeful pressure of all hands, each different, each worthy of at least one bid to Heaven.
Let me be a voice,
Let me be a vision,
Let me be a call to fall to one’s knees and weep, open-hearted in gratitude.
Let me be part of the subconscious tremor, deep and rhythmic as the night sky,
that breaks mountains and moves your Heart.

-s.l.lovelace 04/21/06”*

I find that when I am either completely unable to express what’s hurting me, or when i truly need some creative comfort – to feel like i am DOING something – that I go to prayer. I think: what does my heart really desire? What can I really do to try to help, and I am always called to prayer. For me (and I think a lot of people) that means trying to calm myself, find some peaceful place within, no matter how small or temporary, some little inner shelter where I can stand long enough to light one spark, and then I try to magnify that into the best, most loving light/thoughts/intentions I can imagine and pour it into the direction of the sadness/pain/worry/fear, sometimes specific people or creatures, sometimes whole nations, sometimes the universe, if I can stay peaceful that long. SOmetimes specific words come to me, and I write them down; sometimes I write them into songs. [i see that the link doesn't work - i'll repost it in a day or two, along with another i wrote.]

After a few long talks in one long day, and a good long talk with myself, I broke down again, poured out my own misery and found myself once more praying. I wrote two things down

Poor us,
poor beloved Us,
with our flaws, passions,
insanities...
Whatever ‘mother feeling’ there is in this Universe,
call it compassion, call it love, luck or glory,
but shine it on us,
help us to shine it on each other.

I just wanted to be able to hug the whole world and let it cry and then help it clean it’s kitchen.

I wrote this too, I guess always with levee on the mind. Not my metaphorical one either, it is a minute pathetic joke to the reality of what happened when Katrina hit the Gulf... I am haunted, and partly because I believe I should have been there to help. That does affect my metaphorical levee, as does the fear of it happening again. There’s always an ecological thought in my prayers and day to day actions, for the whole world - that is a constant prayer. I also read that my "oldest kid" (16) doesn't know what he'd do if there was a fire (though I think he would know, immediately and instinctually...). I know that might seem odd - for me to worry about that, I mean, but believe it or not, it bothers me that he doesn't swim - nor my little sister. I knew how to handle pretty much any emergency by the time I was 10, and it's a good thing. I worry, though. I can't imagine how actual, 24/7 parents cope, day in-day out... I guess on pondering all of this and thinking ‘what’s right and wrong? what can I even do? what’s my purpose here?’ I scribbled this.

If water rises fast – help your neighbor move his life,
If water rises slow – teach children to swim.
If house catch fire, save the life.
If you can, save the house, if you can’t, let it burn and
know you tried.
Then in that silent gratefulness, you can see the face of god.

I hope no one thinks I’m pretending that I’m Blake here, or some visionary. I feel more like that old artist in Junebug who’s developmentally disabled and yet compelled to do these strange, primitive but beautiful and compelling things. They’re from some place outside of me, I think. I’m just here for them, in a way. All of my spontaneous art – meaning art that I do with no direction other than where my mind and hand go when they touch the medium (my comics, my sketchbooks, my big ink drawings and paintings, collages, books, big and small sculptures, a lot of my photography, and all of my music) - is like that. I don’t know what I’m going to do until I begin, and if I try to plan it, it’s very hard. It’s why I don’t take certain commissions. I guess with ‘art’ like this, it’s not whether it’s good or not, it’s whether it makes a difference to someone. Inspires someone else in some way. And it really does sound good with a blues guitar and a mellow clarinet.

Thank you for sharing. Please keep sharing. Thank you for hearing me and for adding your prayers to mine.

-s

*James, if you ever read this, know I will never forget the look on your face the night I read this at Melrose. And thank you, no one has ever asked me to read a poem immediately again. I felt like a poet just then.

Sympathy for the devil.

I'm trying to keep in the vein of "from now on", at least in the present. The main problem with this is that even that concept remains me of the deepest hurt. When I was about to "go away", I was trying to tell my parents what was happening. Dad didn't ask any questions. When I told him the diagnoses and the treatment I was to undergo he was completely unsurprised. He said he'd always known I'd had these problems, he was glad I was getting help*.

Mom's first reaction was: "Oh, you've just got a vitamin deficiency!" When I tried to explain further**, to tell her how sick I was, she said "Well, you know, they have this new kind of therapy where you just start from now and just go forward..." well, I think that's when I finally started to realize (believe it or not) how desperate and sick she really was. Believe it or not, it was the first time in my life, after all she'd done, that I had begun to feel sympathy for her.

I'm glad I'm capable of feeling that, but let me tell you something, it is a thing I could live without. She can too, apparently.

We all know how hard 'just going forward' is. Living in the moment is really the best we can hope for. It's hard to do that as well though, because the past presses against you like an unwanted body in the dark. As an adult, you can keep your self safe(r). You can keep the light on. You can say 'no' and 'go away'. But if you spend all the 'caged' years of your life (until you are independent of family/adults) living in a steady state of fear, you still have to live with all those years, the years in which you became who you are. All of you. Even the parts that others can't see.

One of the problems I've been having lately is that, sometimes – often - if I close my eyes or relax from distraction in any way, I have instant flashbacks. I've had this happen at times over the years, a 'sudden recall' of a place or moment, but for the last few months, it's been steady. I manage to keep it at bay fairly responsibly, but when I'm tired or stressed, it haunts me like a ghost. These days it's almost always different houses. Sometimes the house itself, other times the yard or exterior. It's usually just a flash, no people, no incident, but yet the image, the place is laden with emotion. It's as if that image is the cover of a book I've read a thousand times, and if I see the cover, I remember the whole book. It's almost always different places – I moved and traveled constantly as a kid, sometimes almost daily. Visiting strange places with various family members, babysitters, places where adults met other adults, bars, businesses, road trips, constant motion. My shrink made me count number of times I'd actually changed residences and I am now on 65. I changed schools 15 times. My parents were married 5 times each*** - you get the drift, and unfortunately, so do I. All that lost, buried, hidden memory sifting back through my head... it's never left me. None of it.

I know I opened Pandora's box when I chose to go into therapy, but I had no choice. I did/do hurt myself, but I was in danger of hurting others BY hurting myself eventually, I couldn't afford to not be able to function and take care of myself. Bottom line. It worked at the time. I was released from River Oaks in April. My father and Robbie died within days of each other, within six weeks of my release. In the following year, I cut significant and difficult ties in my family, watched my husband lose his mother to cancer, started the process of separation and divorce and began to plan to move as far away as I could manage.

What I learned there helped. No doubt. It still does. But I have changed. I'm trying hard to understand why these flashes. What I'm trying to get me to see. If it were a specific incident or incidents, bad things, that I was remembering then I would think I was just obsessing. But what I really think is that the weight of the past is like the high water behind a levee, and the levee wasn't very well built in the first place, and hasn't necessarily been well maintained for the last 10 years. It's leaky. I know it's all related to the bigger picture – the other things that are happening to me, besides the 'flashbacks'. I even know why now. I've had deeper and deeper depressions for the last few years, then October before last, when I got hit by the motorcycle, and all the bad that followed started a real steady decline. I fought hard against it, but again, in the high/summer/fall of last year I began to have a pretty constant struggle to stay on top of things. Then December. Luna's death – and what I learned about myself during that time - knocked a LOT of sand out of my sandbags, and despite the efforts of you all and my friends here, I'm still just having a hard time keeping it all together.

[insert previously scrapped blog here].

It's not an impossible time, but losing my job was a pretty big storm front. Being unsure if I should wait to see if what my boss said was true, and that we will get our funding passed, or go ahead and take anything out of desperation is like watching the StormWatch and holding my breath. What I am really having to face is that this IS the present, and this is going forward, and that it is often not easy to convince myself that it's worth it anymore. I am so worried about the whole world. I know that my story is just one, and that compared to the majority of the world population, I've had it pretty easy all of my life. I feel helpless, I feel selfish, I feel that – despite all I carry and all I do, it can never be enough – and the levee just creaks.

What I really want is to write a book, tell the whole fucking story. Evacuate the town, blow up the levee, let ALLLLLL the flood water out, clean up, rebuild better and go on. If the goddess willed it, I might even sell it and make enough money to live at least one or two more dreams... It'd be nice to be able to help some more people. Kids, displaced moms, others who are trying to help and make a difference... for me, I really want to travel, with all my heart and soul. I get the drift – in fact, it seems that I can't leave it. I've never wanted to own home or have my own family, though I very much appreciate the comfort of a nice (temporary) place and the people who really love me, but I'm most happy with less stuff and a next destination/adventure in mind. I've dreamed all of my life of seeing the world, and have actually seen very little. If I die in that same state, then I will definitely die holding a big fat plateful of regret.

I've started to write this much requested miracle (it would be a miracle at least for me) book again and again. I've tried it in comic format, letters, diary, you name it. There is a point I can't seem to pass. I always freeze at the same point. Maybe that's what all the flashbacks are related to. All I know is that the uncertainty and extremity of memories combined with an overwhelming fear of hurting any of the people in my family that I actually give a !$% about is crippling. It's not for want of ambition or drive. I'm embarassed over the thought of outsiders seeing my journals/sketchbooks/etc. after I'm gone, and the volume of all this work. Even Chris has no idea of the volume of stuff I've tried to put down/get out. What I've said here today is the most succinct, comprehensive, brave general overview I can ever remember writing. A few days ago, during the worst of my most recent break-downs, I said a lot of this to Chris, trying to help him understand what was happening to me, trying to summarize the main issue. It amazed me that I was able to say so much to him, so clearly. Not only that I could say it, but that I understood it so well. It seems that only in telling it to someone am I able to make sense of it myself. Another good reason for a book.

I know I need therapy/counseling again, but that's not feasible. I may be one of those people who always needs it, in some capacity. I tried going through the local social system, but as I told my friend Angie, it was like using an umbrella to deal with a tsunami. Meds, unfortunately, are just not the answer. I also tried counseling with the parent of a good friend, but the trust issues on my side were WAY too serious and I couldn't make even a second session. Looks like blog/comic therapy it is, until I find a way over the hump...

Luckily, I live in an area where it's fairly easy and inexpensive to get help with the physical aspect of it. Easy availabilty of a good diet, making sure I get my vitamins and some good steady exercise helps me a LOT, as does being outdoors and just generally busy. Being involved in fun things (like little theater, local fund-raising and other events, music, etc.) is a definite life-saver, if I can manage to make myself commit. There is definitely plenty to do and be involved in here, at minimal or no cost, if you have time and even a little talent. Needless to say, I do better in warmer weather. Winters – even the mild ones we have here - are hard on me, mentally and physically. This one has been so bad, and though I long for light and heat, the warm, pretty days when I can be out and about are when I miss my girl the most viciously. I never thought I'd dread the coming of spring.

So. I should have mercy on both of us and stop here for now. That is another thing that stops me short when I try to write: Why? Who cares? Who really wants to read this? It may only be me, but that's who I have to worry about, right? It does help, this telling and the subsequent finding that someone else DOES care. You know who you are. May you be blessed for your kindness, always, may you find a way to enjoy the moment.
much love,
-s

*The fact that he'd always known this – although even I had been unaware of most of it, in all but the most visceral manner – and never did a damn thing about it is a subject for another blog. It will come.

**– without in any way saying "THIS IS HUGELY YOUR DOING, YOU PSYCHO FREAK!!!"

***my father was not legally wed to one of them, but they share a child who is my brother and has my last name, so i absolutely count him and his mother. they are ours, we are theirs.

um, does anybody really know what time it is?

Lucky for you (as t. says: "the three people* who read my blog...") I decided to scrap the dangerously depressed/depressing blog I've been trying to write for the last 3 months and just go on from minute zero.

So. I'm sitting at my desk – duh. it's freakishly warm spring weather and I've just come in from planting bulbs and some forsythia that Chris' dad fostered. I admit it, it's still very hard to be outside alone, in any weather, but warm and beautiful hurts the worst. Not because I'm alone – there's no fear... there's just such an enormous hole where she used to be, everywhere I look. [insert previously scrapped blog attempt here]. I guess it is because I am alone.

Chris and I went out this morning, to shop, coffee and visit. He is – we both are – surprisingly perky for two people who have just suddenly lost their jobs.
He showed up on Tuesday and was told not to clock in because the business would be closed by Thursday. I got an email 2(?) days later saying that the funding for the project had been cut – due to a bureaucratic error!!! - and to cease work immediately.

In his case, he's perky because that part time job was almost more trouble than it was worth, because his own work is getting to be more and more frequent (hooray!)**, and I'm not sure why I'm perky(er. BESIDES the warm, beautiful day after so much cold drizzly raininess). Possibly because Chris and Bill (my boss/the Senior Research Scientist for the project) both assure me that we'll be back online SOMEhow within a week or two... possibly because I realized (after hours of panicked crying) that I care enough about the project to continue to volunteer as much as I can to keep the work going... possibly because I have plenty to do helping Chris with the play (I'm designing, helping with props, sets, costumes, doing the poster, helping with whatever else and rehearsing)... possibly because I've been feeling so guilty about not only not carrying my own weight, but being a drag, as well... and very probably because I finally saw a physician who made me feel comfortable and gave me some hope (Thank you Angie. I am DOING what she told me!), which will ultimately affect all my other work positively (commissions, my delivery route, 'girl friday' stuff -house/pet/kid-sitting- etc.)

Chris just called, he's pretty sure he got it. 'Turns out the owner is an old-school film/video producer himself. Well, well, well... We even joked about how his whole resume was about videography, with nothing about barrista experience except how much he loves coffee and is interested in it's preparation. :) Poor Chris, stuck in that cool mid-main street space, sharing the block with a great toystore, bookstore, cigar store, gallery and museum. daaaaamn. Oh, I almost forgot about the hot Russian and Italian barrista girls who also work there. Poor, poor Chris! ;)
Hendo is a good town, I've gotten to know it intimately since I started working there. If my job does get back online, I can ride in with him in the a.m., catch up on my work, meet him just in time to get home for a late lunch then on with the rest of the day. Carpooling, hooray!

As soon as he gets home, a little more yard work, then knuckling down to lay out the poster design. I've got a hot date with the Master of Photo-Shop-Fu tomorrow, so this will actually be easy-peasy. I've already roughed it out, so tonight I just have to lay down the line, ink it, erase it and write notes for Stewart, then we'll sit together tomorrow and turn it into Marquee Magic.

The minutes before zero**** haven't gone away, and I feel like I've said enough to enough people immediately (physically) close to me to let them know where and when the danger lies. The rest is all me. I just have to move forth, if for no other reason than I can't (am not able/am not allowed) to be a burden. It's either all or nothing. I can't worry about job or next paycheck, because for now, I have no other option but to wait and see what happens. Chris has not skipped a beat, but he still can't do it alone. I have enough work apart from the UNCH stuff that I can at least pitch in on important things like the big bills. I have to hope that this one-time gift of good medical care can make a significant difference in my ability to cope with my physical issues. The doc. also assured me that I am on the right track as far as the things I have been trying to do for myself, diet/exercise/supplement-wise. I can't worry about the past, but having to deal with the dug-up forensics of it is never easy, and now less than ever. I think I may just keep on writing that scrapped blog, just to get it out, just for my own sanity, or in case anybody ever needs to know what really happened.
I can hear the phrase "Just keep your head down and stick to your work." ringing in my ears, but like a distant echo. I don't know where it comes from, but it seems to work, along with being social, singing and sunshine. Emotional viagara, I guess.
I'll try to keep it up.
Here,
-Sam

*holla!
**Right now, he is off on some business for the play*** and also to interview for a swanky part time barrista position (his dream 'real job' of late) at our fave Hendo coffee/art/hang out.
***He's getting paid to direct his first play – the Fantasticks – for TLT, too.

****it's not even funny that these would be measured in negative numbers...

p.s. I also saw Bladerunner - the Final Cut - on the big screen in a beautiful old theatre twice this week - once, courtesy of the theater. Then free coffee, mexican chocolate torte and lunar eclipse with Asheville friends for afters. We used the free tix as an excuse to take Stewart to see it the next day. Now THAT'S therapy.

"My heart has joined the thousand for my friend stopped running today."

Last night at about 6:50 pm, Luna Belle Lovelace, truly the best dog in the whole wide world*,
died in my arms here at home in her own bed of what I'm pretty sure was finally heart failure.
We'd had a fairly quiet day, in and out several times as usual. She had a good breakfast and spent most of the day sleeping right here beside me while I caught up on my WWDS** work. At one point, while she was in her bed and I was in my bedroom, she called me with a little grunt. It reminded me of her howl-songs, so I wondered if she would sing again. I started singing and she began to sing along. I ran and found a tape and tape recorder, and managed to record a little mini concert of us singing together one last time (Chris also has some video of her from a year ago that he showed me last night while we were sitting shiva. We watched and listened and cried and cried...) We took intermittent breaks to go out and one long-ish (for her) walk in the mid-morning to enjoy the sunny day. It was slow going, and she was fair tuckered after, but she seemed in great spirits. I remember noticing that her eyes seemed especially clear yesterday. After I finished up my work, Chris came home between jobs and was sweet to both of us. After he left, she made it pretty clear that it was 'hammy time'*** and I had it in the pan, preparing to warm it for her, but I could see her desire and impatience so I fed it to her cold right from the pan. She ate it all but the last two or three little bites. She then went and stood by the back door, giving me the universal sign for "OUTSIDE!". Instead of needing to wee, she seemed to want to wander - fine by me - and the neighbors had built a little fire down by the river, so we went slowly over. There were other dogs there (Sugar and Lucky. She knows Lucky, 'cause we see him and say hi on every little stroll) and she lay down on the ground between my feet near the fire and visited with them while I talked to the neighbors about - guess what: how pretty and smart she is (one of them has little grandchildren whom Luna obsessively guarded while they were playing in the river this summer), and how hard it is to go through the loss of a dear loved one. They all petted her and were sweet to her. We were there maybe 15 minutes, and when it started getting on dark, she seemed too tired to get up, so the kind man who owns the 'river park' let me put her up into his beautiful brand new trucks' leather seat and took us both home. I got her up the steps with a little effort and then I just carried her to bed and lay her down. I went in the kitchen to prepare her next round of meds and I heard her groan and make a sound like she was in pain. I'd never heard that sound before and so I ran to her. Her little hind leg was tucked under her kind of funny, so I assumed she was hurting because of that. I straightened her legs for her and checked her out well to make sure she hadn't been injured and she seemed to relax, so I went ahead and gave her her meds. I sat with her and stroked her little head until I could tell that she was getting comfortable and nodding off and then I went and sat on the couch to read. I probably didn't get through a whole page even before she groaned again and rolled over onto her side. I went to her and held her little head and realized almost immediately what was happening. I put my other arm around her and soothed her like I do when she is dreaming. She began to gasp for breath and I softly sang her her favorite song, and within seconds, she breathed her last breath while I held her in my arms. From coming in from her walk to her death was maybe 15 minutes, no more than 20. What little severe pain she had was very brief - thank you, Goddess.
I called Chris to come home, and his boss kindly let him go (he's a nice guy, and he and his wife are serious animal lovers. They have two cute little tiny sweater-dogs). Then I started calling the family. Chris' folks came and sat with us and prayed with us. We wrapped her in a pretty blanket that came here with us from Ms. and is Egyptian royal colors with suns and moons and stars. After they left, we lay her in the kitchen (we figured it was coldest by the back door). I kissed her little nose one last time and put white candles around her (they are still burning now, they burned all through the night) and lit incense and held hands and said the sweet sad words that Richard Adams gave us.
Chris then told me that the other day he'd told her "Luna, there's an island out there for you somewhere, just keep swimming."
She did, bravely, fiercely, joyfully and now she has found her island. She was a bright, beautiful happy beloved girl, the true light of my life, and up until one month and one day before she died, she was always healthy (since she was a tiny pup, right after I first got her, she has never had to go to the vet for anything other than her routine shots and checkups) and happy and you could tell that she loved her adventurous life. She had nearly 11 years (April 11 would be 11 years) of all the goodness that I and the world could muster. I will never forget her, she will always be with me. I have been so blessed by her and I truly can't imagine how I will manage without her. She is the best thing that the Universe has ever seen fit to give me, and I will be grateful for these last 11 years for the rest of my life.

This morning, we take her to the vet and they will arrange her cremation. When we get her ashes, I will cast them on her beloved river and - if nothing else - be happy that she is finally completely free and part of the things she loved the most. When I said this to Chris he said "the thing she loved second most, Sam." If I was first, and sheer gratitude can make you worthy, then I was worthy.
Now, onto one of the toughest things I've ever had to go through, even tougher than this last month, the time after Dad and Robbie died, and the the particular horrors of my growing up - life without Lulu. "Things will never be the same without Lulu..."
-s

*It's true. It's carved in stone outside the Polk County Public Library in Columbus, NC. Several years ago, when I did the painting to raise $ for the new building, the Friends of the Library thanked me for raising so much due to raffle ticket, greeting card and poster sales, I shamelessly reminded them that anyone who donated 50$ or more (and blessedly, the painting generated WAY more than that) and asked if I could have a brick. They said certainly. I didn't have to think for even a second about what message to put on it, I didn't have to. I'd asked knowing what I wanted and so it says:
"Luna Belle Lovelace
Best Dog in the Whole Wide World
xoxox"

**For those of you who don't know, I've been working for this wonderful organization since last August. My job consists mostly of walking (so I was often able to take baby to work with me...)
although there's a considerable amount of other stuff that goes with it - office type things, community interaction, writing press releases, etc. I really like it.

***doo-doo-doo-doo, doot-doot, mm-mm doot-doot, mm-mm doot-doot, can't touch this...

It's hard to say it, type it, even think it. Her days are getting short. Very short. She is in bad shape, and to be perfectly honest, I'm not much better. She had a steroid shot on Saturday a.m. to help with the swelling, but today her little face is so swollen that she doesn't even look like Lu. It's the coldest that it's been this year, so taking her out is tough. If she makes it to the weekend, it's supposed to be warm again. I've been taking every possible opportunity for her to lie in the sun. She doesn't walk really well anymore either, but she still has the desire, it seems, and she has not hesitated to splash into the freezing river if I'm able to get her down the bank. I'll !#$% carry her down there if I have to, if that's what she wants. Her appetite is getting worse by the day. She refused warm fresh baked ham today - but she had already had a bowl of chicken, so maybe that's why. I will try again with the ham in a bit. I am keeping her medicated for the pain and giving her herbs and tinctures to help her lungs and sleeping. I don't know what else to do. I can only hope it's all the right things, that I'm not making it worse, somehow. The vet assures me that I am doing the right things, but I wish she could tell me what she wants and needs. I've thought several times "today is the day" but then either my lack of ability to let go or her sudden interest in ANYthing has convinced me otherwise. I only pray that I am not being cruel by keeping her here past the point of sensibility.
Speaking of 'past the point of sensibility', there's my condition as well... but then I think that's for another post. I'm not ready for that either. Let's just say that I'm not me either. Or maybe I'm all me. I'll explain more when I can. For now, it's meds time again, and another attempt at ham-therapy.
If you can hear me out there, please send us your love and prayers. It may not seem like we're in touch here, but we get the messages, even if we're not able to answer right now.
-Sam

The traditional saying is "Happy New Year" and I know that it's supposed to be spoken as a wish, a'la "Merry Christmas" and "Happy Birthday" (though it really is almost command-like, innit?) but the way it looks and sounds to me, it seems as if it is supposed to be a statement of fact. Good people always ask "Did you have a good holiday?" and though it pains me to do so, I can't just say "yes" if it's not true* so this year, every poor kind soul has had to hear the truth. No, it's not been good. My baby is dying, and it's a slow and painful death that is exhausting to her and us in every possible way...

I think the wish needs to be re-phrased. "I hope you have a happy new year/holiday/birthday..." so that it is clear, and you're not just left standing there, not saying anything but a shallow mumbled 'thanks' and feeling terrible because you know that the truth is that you are miserable, and your misery is compounded by the expectations of joy that surround you on such a holiday - along with the knowledge that it will be that much harder to let time muddle the edges from the pain, because you will remember everything that much more clearly, simply because it all happened during such a marked time - a time when the command is to be happy, really.

I'm sorry. It's not all bad. Lu is having a rough morning. Her breathing is labored - even though her swelling has gone way down - thanks to the good doctors at Landrum Veterinary Hospital.
However, we had a joyful evening all together last night, with Uncle Stewart and Uncle Jay visiting and playing games and being extra sweet to the puppy. I hadn't realized how isolated we'd become in the last month, because we can't leave her alone, or even with a friend for any length of time, because her care is often strenuous, delicate, tedious or messy. It was so good to have two good, understanding friends come over on a night when everybody else in the world is doing something symbolic and/or extroverted and be with us all. It was a refreshing drink of water that everyone of us here at 25 Wall road really, really needed. We laughed and had conversation and never had to be out of sight of the sick baby, who was able to be warm and comfy in her bed most of the time. This morning X ventured out for bacon to compliment our waffles (and Luna's increasingly picky appetite**) and soymilk for our coffees, and we are going to curl up and have a lazy, breakfasty morning followed by a lazy chinese soupy afternoon (I went to the asian market yesterday and stocked up on all our favorite things). I figure seaweed will be our traditional greens, and we'll have soy beans instead of black-eyed peas, and still have all our superstitious southern bases covered. Chris has to work this evening, but not until 4, and only until 8 or 9, so he can still have a relaxed holiday evening after work.

So, although happiness is not a blanket fact, it's still a hope, and a possibility. Despite the misery, there are little sunny warm spots of happiness to be found. I hope I don't miss any of them. Enjoy your loved ones, be together if you can, and may there be warm sunny spots, even if your happiness is not guaranteed.

much love,
-s

*Usually, I can say yes, because I generally make an effort to have a good one, if I am able - and I am usually able.
**She's down to ham, bacon, chicken - and for some odd reason, chinese soup with tofu and shrimp and veggies - all which have to be heated for her to be interested in - and little catfood nibbles. However, if she's in the mood to eat, she will still eat well, so it's worth the effort.

I'm not sure if any of you are still checking in - who could blame you, seeing that I haven't posted in nearly four months. I'm sorry. Life has been more kookoo than even usual. For those of you whose concern and/or curiosity has spurred a check-in, thank you. November was both busy and our little hand-me-down pc was badly infected with !#$% Spy-vs-Spy-ware... !#$%&! Thanks to xmas bonuses, we were able to buy a nice software kit that came highly recommended from good sources and just got back online today. Hootie hoo. I've missed you all. :)
This last month has been one of the worst of my life, even worse than last years' holiday horrors that began in October 06 and, in some cases, still haven't completely ended. Ironically enough, on December 3 (a day that's always at least a little hard for me - it's my mother's birthday) we found out that our beloved Luna Belle* has lymphoma. In just a few days she went from a seemingly perfectly healthy, young-for-her-years lively active pup to a very, very sick puppy indeed. I won't and can't go into details now, but I am pretty sure that, before all is said and done, I will need to...
As for now, it is nearly midnight on New Years' Eve, and even though she is sick, she is still loving the love, so I am going to go pet her and soothe her and give her her midnight meds and spend a little time with my Guy/Human sweetie before bed. I've spent one night in a bed in the last month, otherwise, I've been on the couch near her or on the floor next to her. We even spent one night outside because the cold air seems to help her labored breathing, and if sleeping outside in December (on a drizzly night) is what it takes, then so be it.
Love your loved ones. "And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know
you realize that life goes fast, It's hard to make the good things last. You realize the sun doesn't go down, It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round..."

I hope your new year is all that you need it to be.
Much love,
-s

*There are lots more links to her in my comic than I could fit here... you should look through them and play "Where's Luna" she's not in every one, but she's in most and hidden in extra places in some...

Pirate Birthday Brunch Recipes, Part 1...

I surfed recipe sites until I found a couple of simple and comprehensive ones that had easy to search functions and I cross-referenced ideas (for example: tropical recipes, caribbean recipes, jerk chicken, etc. ...) then I compared between variants and cut and pasted (into a word doc) and tweaked bits from various recipes that had ideas I liked until I had recipes that I thought would be good and would work as a whole menu. Of course then when I actually started cooking, I altered and added new things as I went along and as the mood struck me. I'll try to remember them as best I can, but I suggest you do the same thing I did and follow your nose/instinct/palate/cravings... :)

Tropical Cole Slaw

This is the rough basic recipe I used. My cabbage to squishy stuff/seasoning ratio is iffy at best (I'm very much and 'eye it, taste it, tweak it' kinda' chef.) Try doing it ' to taste'. I think I left the celery out, but you could try a little celery seed if you're not really sure. Celery would probably be good in this and add a nice different crunch along with the cabbage and walnuts. Mm.
By the way, this was my most complimented item that day. Guests called me out of the kitchen to compliment me and I happily shared the "secret ingrgedient" with them... lemon yogurt, mm!
1 tablespoons lemon juice
1 small shredded cabbage
1 stalk celery, sliced thin
1 (20 ounce) can pineapple tidbits, drained
1 (11 ounce) can mandarin oranges, drained
1/2 cup golden raisins
1 (8 ounce) carton lemon yogurt
1/2 cup coarsely chopped walnuts
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 tsp poppy seeds (i added these for visual interest and because i thought it would be nice
with the lemon yogurt)
(the recipe didn't call for black pepper but i am almost certain that I added some, because I
usually add it to everything.)

In large serving bowl combine the cabbage, pineapple, celery, oranges, and raisins.
Add yogurt, walnuts, salt and poppy seeds (and black pepper if you like) to the cabbage mixture; toss to coat and serve immediately*.


More good recipes - and the rest of my Elsa trip pics and stories to come!
Love, me!


*(note - i made mine the night before and it was SOOOOO good the next day)

Yankee Excursion, part two... The Real People...

We got into Old Forge, PA sometime after midnight. Even then I could see that this was a town unlike any I'd ever seen before. Uncle Rod said the population was around 9,000, and this had been an old coal town, set in a sweet little valley, and populated from day one with a variety of new-ish immigrants to the country from Italy, Poland, Russia and outlying America as well. The town was set on sloping hills, with low green mountains cradling it like milk in a bowl. It was all pale cream color too. Everything was a gentle neutral, it seemed. Even the red brick of the old theatre and other downtown brownstone was faded to a blush. The coal mill itself was off-white and aged through to tin in places. Uncle Rod said that the down was divided into familial and cultural areas. There was basically a protestant 'side', over the river, nearer the mill, and then a catholic side with miniature neighborhoods of families from all over Europe and beautiful churches for each sect. The Polish and Russian churches were 2 blocks from Ally's grandmother's home. We parked, and there in the midnight, straight ahead of us on a slight rise, was a huge white virgin grotto, lit by pale globe lamps and standing next to the white wooden church. The statue of Mary must have been 12-15 feet tall? Larger than life, anyway, and just white, in a white grotto, surrounded by green and brick, and those beautiful globes. To think that one would be able to see such a thing, 24 hours a day, seven days a week. If one were of that particular flavor of Believer, then think how you would feel protected and inspired (and certainly, on occasion, reminded...), and if one were not, then one might be led to be by this peaceful vision. I think one would at least be led to ponder. And that's a wonderful religion unto itself, innit? :)

I was certainly drawn to this place, and this whole town radiated a kind of gentle peace... It could also have been uncle Rod. :) He'd come down from NJ to open and air out the house and basically be there for us to have a stopping place. He was waiting up, of course, and he flustered and fussed in a quiet excited way. Elsa woke up and was so happy to see him. The family resemblance was unmistakable, and Ally had already told me a little about him, and what he meant to their whole family. He is her mother's only brother, and a handsome, older, VERY Italian, old school bachelor who lives to take care of the people around him (all of them, neighbors, church members... I think he was meant to be a priest...) - which he does without bitterness or complaint, in fact with great joy. It was nice to be plopped into his realm so late after such a long day. I got the Italian greeting (cupped face, kiss on the cheek), a quick tour, a pretty little room, permission to raid the fridge in the night - and then a good night's sleep.

They let me sleep in a little while they caught up, and when I awoke there was coffee and a shower, then a little photo tour of the family. After that, Uncle Rod drove me around to see the local churches, since he could tell I was interested, and then we went to the Moosic Diner - which is owned by members of their family. Home fries, hot Italian sausage and crusty Italian bread, good coffee... *sigh* It was a nice way to start the day!

After breakfast we went back to finish loading up the car and head out and I noticed a beautiful old crystal rosary in a dish by the back door (the door the family used and the one facing the church). I picked it up and then discovered that it was broken. It was beautiful, vintage, with a reliquary of Lourdes water. I showed it to Uncle Roddy and told him I'd love to repair it for him. He said it must have belonged to his Mother (Palma) and he didn't even know it was there. He told me that if it could be repaired, I was welcome to have it, as a memory of my trip! What a perfect remembrance of that part of my journey! It is, without a doubt (second only to the memories) my favorite souvenir from this trip. The new hat is a distant third. :)

We said goodbyes to Uncle Rod (though Ally would see him again the next day for the wedding), and took the farmland backroads for a couple of hours into Ally's stunningly beautiful hometown of Skaneateles, NY. We checked into the Birds Nest Motel on the main drag and then took our swimming clothes and went to Ally's mom's house. They were all-afluster, pre-rehearsal dinner, and so there was a flurry of kisses and greetings, I got a quick tour of the house and lawn, then Ally gave us dinner $ and swim passes and we walked the whole 1/1o mile to the lake/main street. La Principessa and I swam for a nice long while - until closing time, then we dried off and changed, and then crossed main street to order some dinner. I got us both set up (a slice and fries for Elsa and sushi for me!) then we crossed back to the lake side of Main and put our beach towel down near the bandstand and proceeded to picnic while the town band warmed up. The park was packed, the sun was setting, kids were running around, imitating the diving martins who were swooping above... it was delicious. The band played an 'around the world' theme, so there was a Rampart St. march, and Spanish Lady, and some Abba (a medley, in fact, from 'Mama Mia'), and best of all - the Liberty Bell march - better known as the Monty Python theme! People sat on their boats and listened and all the children danced. They sold raffle tickets and there was a flurry of excitement between sets as numbers were called out. The Skaneateles Town Band finished just in time for everyone to turn their attention to the sunset. I took lots of pics, let Elsa run around until I knew she was done, then we headed back to the Birds' Nest to roost for the night.

...to be continued!

The Big Yankee Excursion, Part 1.

It was a dark and stormy night....

No, really. But I'll tell you all about that part of the trip in a bit.

We headed out on a beautiful hot and sunny Thursday morning, optimistic and rip-snorting (especially the Principessa Elsa - but then she had visions of singing cows to spur her on) and ready to rumble. The ride to Pennsylvania was long and peaceful and pretty. Ally was a trooper (as well as a smart and frugal mom) and stopped at rest areas along the way for picknicking, drink-mixing and potty breaks, so I was able to carry on mine and X's tradition of collecting maps from each state. We hit Hershey Park sometime between 5 and 6, which gave us a good four hours to peruse the park and amuse the Principessa. I was a bit overwhelmed by the whole thing. Corporate Americana both repulses and intrigues me (I like TV commercials and kitsch - I just don't understand why people fall for it...) and Hershey Park was a teeming example.

Our first stop was a ride where they show how the candy is made [Cue singing cows!]. I've discovered that the secret to enjoying these places* is to go with small people. It seems like when you're Officially a grown-up, you almost need an adaptor to tap into certain pleasures. I honestly feel that I'm closer to the current than most adults, but still one tends to look at the world through the experiences and lessons of all those years. When you're doing something with a three year old (or an 8 or a 10 - anything less than the Terrible Teens, 'cause then EVERYTHING sucks... Hi Abe!) you're led to look at things in the light of the sparkle from their eyes. Something that you might just be tolerating is something that they are making memories from. And frankly, if I'm going to be part of a 3 year-old's (or 8 or 10...) special memory, I want to do my very best. Luckily, it wasn't hard. The sun began to set and the lights on the carousel came up and my camera was charged and my cards were empty. My eyes led me around the park and I let my heart and my feet follow. The Not Rude Pennsylvanians became people-shapes, the individual words faded into a steady hum, the ride music rose to the surface and the lights got brighter as the night got darker. I had a lemonade, I rode some rides (the Pirate boat, of course, and the carousel, as always, and needless to say, the Night Train...), I took lots of photos, and I watched La Principessa slowly and sweetly build her way to a cute and manageable sensory overload. The smile really said it all. Ally kept asking me if I was having a good time, and I assured her that I was. There were rides I would have ridden had I had a buddy to either hold my hand or talk about the nigh-pukiness with afterward, but I knew there would be other times. I tried to reassure her, but how do you really explain to someone who doesn't know you all that well that anything new is enough, that if I wanted more I would certainly have it, and that it's not just 3 year olds' who can suffer from sensory overload? In fact, I can honestly say that Elsa has more wherewithall than I do, because it took her until around 9 to hit that zone, whereas I was a bit stupified the second we got out of the car.

The only two ooky things at all were the HUGELY blatantly pushy commercial aspect (but then again, we weren't exactly touring The Zen Buddhist Park of Owning Nothing, right?) and that was a given, and I could cope. Yes, I even bought a few souvenirs... hello, the place IS called "Chocolate World"! :) The other was the fact that I was dealing with my first real Yankees on their home turf and couldn't immediately understand why everyone seemed so rude. It turns out that they aren't bad people, or truly rude, they just aren't as... well... polite as we are taught to be. I suppose their grandmas were more worried about coping with the weather and just didn't have the whole year of daylight and relative warmth to teach them things like social manners and actually noticing that other people exist. After a very short time of trying to make my way through a crowd in my accustomed manner (and remember we are towing large bags and a small person), Ally thought to warn me about the fact that people here don't really hold doors or apologize - or even NOTICE - if they bump into you. So, instead of just taking my usual "Hmph. Yankees." approach, I decided to try to be a little more understanding** and also, to set a good example...

HAHAHA! Guess what?! Politeness scares city Yankees! If you hold a door for them, they look at you funny - especially the lads, though the ladies display very interesting quizzical expressions. And if you bump into them (or more likely, they bump into you - I'm used to being careful in my little space. Hmph. :) and then apologize, they often look as if there's a hidden meaning, perhaps sarcasm there. That made me sad. It definitely wasn't all of them, and small town and country Yankees seemed much more friendly than the city folk (and I'm sure there are lots of reasons for dissociating there, too... I've never lived in a big city, but I've lived near New Orleans my whole life, and I can imagine why one would feel the need to be tough, distant and wary...) - with some exceptions. We were in Skaneateles, which is about the size of Hendersonville. The locals were lovely, and the stunning old lake town had an atmosphere of pride and family, similar to that of Saluda. Elsa and I were leaving the local pizza place (Valentine's) on main street, and I had her baby bag, a small cooler, my backpack/purse, her, of course, and an armload of picnic. There was a small foyer - a little wider than the door and maybe 8 feet long. The doorway from the restaurant was open, and there was a man, older than me but not old, leaning against the wall in the foyer. I walked forward toward the door, knowing that I couldn't open it, but instinctively trusting that this man, standing arms' length from the door would be a gentleman and ... HA! I had to ask him to help, and when I did, I made my voice so charming and Southern you coulda' spread it on !#$% biscuits. I was in my swimsuit and a straw hat, too. Hmph. Yankees. :)

Foreign culture is so interesting, though. So I continued my studies and experiments. Luckily, I was soon to meet Uncle Rod...

Overall, Hershey Park was a great treat. Elsa had a blast from the second we got there, all the way through to her triumph over getting to ride the tram to the parking lot and finding our car. She was asleep almost as soon as she hit her car seat. She did get to see my favorite part of that leg of the trip, though. As we we leaving, there was a big orange 3/4 hunters' moon hanging over the park and the roller coaster and ferris wheel were lit and sparkling. It was a little piece of Sam heaven. We headed out through the Pennsylvania back roads and made our way to Old Forge by midnight or so, to be welcomed into Ally's grandma's home and the next leg of our grand adventure...

-to be continued!

*anything larger and more organized than a small town fair has always made me feel uncomfortable, on multiple levels. I'm grateful that we only did one day of Disney - well, Epcot - last year... I'm STILL not ready for DisneyLand/World/Planet/whatever... Carowinds is basically my preferred outside limit... though SeaWorld was worth it.

**You know, that's probably the very moment when the SIFUY was born... History in the making, folks.

Hi! fyi, i am leaving town tomorrow a.m. for a lovely babysitting gig. Ally, Elsa and I are heading to Skaneateles, NY (which is Ally's hometown) so that she can attend her little sister's wedding. On the way we are stopping at Hershey Park*, then Elsa and I get to go to a renaissance festival about an hour away on the day of the wedding, and on Sunday, we're going to Niagara Falls and Canada!

Expect stories and pics when I return!

Much love,

-s

*a CHOCOLATE theme park. NOW we're talking! !#$% Disney! ;D

I performed in two plays before I was 30. When I was in the first and second grade. I played Annie Oakley in 1st grade for the end-of-year play, and in the 2nd grade, I was the narrator for The Night Before Christmas. I went for the next 25 years or so, wishing and pretending myself into roles and lights, I learned timing by watching the actors I love, I read plays, I watched films, I filled in on student films, doing the jobs and roles that no one else wanted to do and loving every second of it, but I never really thought I had the chance or a real ability to act.
Several years ago, I met my friend Buffy through one of those odd moments of serendipity that I've honestly come to expect from every minute of life. The very night we met, she sold me on Renaissance festival performance. She was a big part of the local faire - and one of the two certified stage combat trainers - and before the nigt was over, she and I had already begun to choreograph our first fight. I auditioned, got one of the 4 lead roles, playing Herald to the evil prince, and by watching Buffy's hubby Brett do his bad guy best, I learned to improv act and do stage combat. Cast in the role of the good prince's Herald was another new face, my now beloved friend Hamilton. He and I spent a lot of time together that year, learning lines for the staged part of our gig. We called our cousin characters "Rosencrantz" and "Guildenstern" and we became Rosie and Gil to the faire crowd. From Hamilton I began to learn discipline and the tricks of learning lines, not to mention projection. I performed with the faire for four years - first-time directing a cast of 77 (with a show including multiple plays-within-the-play, original musical numbers and a REAL wedding as part of the show!) my third year, and putting together our own entertainment troupe for the last year.

While I was doing the faire - which i did with Chris for 2 years, Chris and I got invited to join a local (Asheville) sketch comedy troupe called the Feral Chihuahuas. That was my first chance to try seriously (ahahaha) writing and performing comedy, and even better, watching other people perform my stuff, and perform things written for me. Timing and characters became my love. Plus the soapbox venue that comedy provides is very satisfying. We went all the way to the Stoneleaf Festival with that gig. 15$ seats for a two week run. It was porn. Love at first laugh.

That inspired us to write the ren-faire show, and then from there, we went on to the 48Hour Film Project, and back to my first love, film making (and I will never leave my first love...)

but then... I discovered true love. That irresistable pointless fling that I cannot help but stray to, despite the insanity and consequences...

A couple of years ago, a new director in town decided to attempt a beautiful, , difficult and dangerous play. When he asked the local theatre veterans who should he talk to about the most difficult role in the play - that of a severely physically and mentally disabled young man, everyone told him to call Chris. Chris has been performing with the local theatre since he was 9. I've never met a more talented actor in person, especially on a local level, and I'm not just biased. The veteran actors' he has worked with have all made a point of telling him what an honor it is to work with him and that they learned from him. He's a natural, and it's huge irony that he prefers being behind the camera or curtain so much. Because the role called for a certain violent physicality between his character and another, I offered to help the director block that with whomever he cast for the other person, because of my stage combat experience. He asked me to audition on the spot, and cast me as that character. He changed my life forever. That experience, the learning, the changing, the challenges, the listening, overcoming fear and my own horrible ego... it was amazing. It was all so new that I didn't have time to realize what was happening to me.

Then last year I saw that they were casting my favorite play - Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead. One of my two dream/fantasy roles - impossible to learn, a man's role, no hope of it - but I got cast. I got the Oldman role - the ME role, and beloved Hamilton came back to Guildenstern me. It was so scary, and so hard, and yet we pulled it off. As insane and tough as that experience was, it didn't shake me. Some bungee jumps go more smoothly than others, right?

This spring, I was standing in my temporary Saluda kitchen when I got a call from the woman who played Chris' mom in that first amazing play - Greetings. She said she was doing Beth Henley's "Miss Firecracker contest, and asked me to come in. She said there was a role that no one else she could think of could pull off better... :D How could I resist? It was, without a doubt, , one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. My first time on the main stage (Greetings and R&GaD were in the TLT 'blackbox' theatre), a role I could abandon myself to, other actors that I kew well, admired and trusted, a director who's heart was all the way in it, and an audience who was right there with us every night. Love, love, love, love, love!

Then along came The Little Prince. When I heard - and offered myself to the director as her sketch artist - I was unaware that the summer productions were supposed to be all kids - and in this case, all 8-12 year olds. But she said she thought about my offer, and about the pressure of that role (combined with the fact that the sketch artist never appears on the stage) and decided to cast me. I'd never worked with kids on that level before, and never been in such an elaborately staged production, even at the faire. To watch that unfold, and have such an intensely technical job was such a gift! Dear Lizzie (my 11 year old assistant) and I were on an open 4x8 platform 10-12 feet above the ground, against the back wall of the theatre, behind the sky, with an overhead projector on a smaller platform between us, a monitor, an array of supplies (including our script notebook, transparency boxes, markers, puzzle books and snacks) and our pillows. I was on a headset, so that the booth or stage manager could tell me when the Aviator (Sara Seagle - WHAT an actress!) began to draw so that we could sync, and I recreated the sketches of St. Exupery on the beautiful sunset sky, to the accompaniment of our 9 year old Sophie's percussive sound effects and my friend Wendy's flute and bells. Wendy and I also did the makeup design and helped with the application, so we were deeply entrenched (though when, I ask, are we ever NOT?! :D) and Chris said it was the best youth show he's seen in his 16 years with TLT. Ambitious, complicated - beautiful!

I'll post pictures for several days, enjoy! (And DVD's are available! Go, Chris!)

Much love,

-s

Dear Diary...

heh heh heh.

No, really. Why do we do this? Diary, blog, draw, story-tell*? And why do I ask myself – and you all – this question over and over again? Is it:

a.) because it’s my favorite question?
b.) because I haven’t found a satisfactory answer yet?**
c.) because there is no satisfactory answer – or, more likely there are one per being – and i am banging my head against a metaphorohypothetical wall... again?
d.) because i had more than 12 seconds uninterrupted by work or other active distraction?

Yeah.
I think about that scene from The Color Purple. The one about how we are like flowers and do what ever we can to get God to notice us. It’s the definition of God that seems to set us, each one, apart. For some of us God is each other, or our parents, or own self-approval, for some the classic Heaven-encompassing Father or Mother... For the first time it seems to make sense to me why people try to religiously convert one another. Maybe it is so they will have more people to share their vision of God, and so God’s attention will be more uniform – he/she/it will love all the children equally. Sometimes it seems as if conversion, witnessing, etc. are a way of trying to curry God’s good favor – ‘look at me, mom/dad! I’M the good kid, see?!’ Notice me. Love me more. We try to set ourselves apart, and yet cling so hard to our otherness and never see the difference in consistency and what that does to our peace of mind on a second-to-second basis. It hurts.

As a close friend – and fellow cosmic questioner/storyteller – often not-so-subtly reminds me, the things that piss us off the most are often the things we are guilty of. It is true. But I honestly cannot see anything else in anyone else unless I have truly recognized it in myself first. I don’t feel capable of commenting on things that make me angry in others unless I’ve first dragged myself through that fire and feel certain about what it’s like to be such a dumb-@$$. It’s hard to comment on someone else scorching their feet when you don’t really know why it’s a stupid thing to do. I want to constantly work on not doing and being the things that make me angry, because I know what it does to people. My motives may be personally selfish, but as long as no one ever knows or FEELS that when dealing with me, as long as my motives are not ONLY selfish, then I feel that I am trying actively to make the world a better place to be in. In other words, I am working as hard as I currently know how – and working every day to learn new ways - to keep myself ‘suitable for human consumption’ and still be true to myself. I suppose my own documenting and storytelling helps me keep all of that consistent and real. We all know how brief and easily manipulated human memory is. Hoo boy. And we all know what the mind can do to you when your body is trying to maintain its’ status quo. Why else would abused children grow up to abuse – or wed abusers? The list of bad life choices based on mental choice versus emotional reaction could fill a daily blog in perpetua... Damn those pesky neuro peptides.
But the thing is, see, you are stronger than neuro peptides. The phrase ‘free will’ is enough to rock even centuries’ long established churches. The human mind is ridiculously, incredibly powerful, and yet we still choose to blame biology and sociology and economy. To hell with that! The worst limitation I’ve ever faced – in a life of seriously hard knocks and kinky knots – is my own mental and emotional fear and laziness. My mother is a sleepy kitten compared to that. Because that power is there, no matter WHAT channel my brain is tuned to. If my thoughts are bad or negative – they’re SAM-STRENGTH bad! If my love shine is turned on and focused, I can burn holes through every heart for a hundred miles and light up the sky.
A ‘net acquaintance got angry with me last summer because he read on my Myspace profile that I was one of my own heroes. He said that was impossible, and claimed a vanity that surprised and disgusted him. I’ve had debates with friends on whether being self-centered was a bad thing. I wish, in fact I pray every day, for people to become more self centered. To focus and work on loving and perfecting one’s self. To become a hero to one’s self. Can that really be a bad thing? It seems like it’s the only possible solution to
truly making the world a better place. I think the first thing you learn when you really dive into yourself is that you are part of one big soul. That everyone really is equal, at the core of it, and that what you do to yourself and others circles around and through and back to you. That the people who make you the angriest are probably the ones who need love the most. That you can forgive yourself and others. That you can change yourself and nothing else. That acceptance has it’s time and place, that being strong and loving yourself are good things. That sometimes you have to say no and walk away. That sometimes you have to stay and compromise. None of these are possible if you don’t know and love and trust yourself. It should be your life’s first, most beautiful, satisfying, fun and steady work. And you should never retire.

xo

-s

*Hi, Rob!
**Yo, OCD, in tha’ house! Every side!

A friend who, unfortunately I mostly only have e-contact with asked for a catch-up of what's been going on with me since my last spate o' blogs. I managed to sum it up in a fairly brief essay :) which I will now share with the lot o' ye, slightly edited/extended for the public viewing.

God I'm tired. :)

I'm working 5 part time jobs right now trying to make it possible for both of us to get our own businesses off the ground. I still work for the Wildflour bakery one day a week [more than 2 years now. Thank Goddess for my WildFamily!]. I have a regular nanny job in the summers [keeping Skye and Ari - woot! Art lessons, rehearsals, hang-outs - these girls are down!], and I also do special traveling nanny jobs [I am going to New York* with Elsa next week!].

I started working part-time for UNC Chapel Hill in conjunction with the Council-On-Aging in Hendersonville, up to 20 hours a week (but usually less) [helping make the walking routes in Hendersonville nicer for everyone, but specifically with the elderly in mind.], and I am still keeping the gallery running, doing my art and helping Chris - not to mention VOLUNTEERING to do the kids' plays and other TLT stuff... Yes, I'm a crazy person, but I love all of it. It's all ART or helping people. If I'm real lucky, sometimes it's BOTH! Like the plays. We're doing "The Little Prince" right now. Tonight was opening night! I'm the only "adult" :D in a cast of 35 8-12 year olds. I never appear on stage. I play the Sketch Artist and I sit on a platform above and behind the stage and do live drawing on the "sky". I also did some of the makeup design and application.
Chris is trying to get his videography business off the ground. He's been getting a lot of work from TLT, recording their plays (another up-side to my volunteering!), and the high school and county have both hired him to do some stuff, starting next month. (He's going to need a site pretty soon, too - and he's better at keeping up with his !#$% than I am, too! :D ) He also gets calls from anyone who's filming in the area from other places like LA, NY and the coast. When they come here, they call the local producers and ask for names of reliable local workers and he gets recommended every time. He worked on George Clooney's movie here! (needless to say all the ladies were QUITE excited by that... except me, of course. HA! :) We just did the 48Hour Film project again, too. We had an art auction to raise the $ to do it. It was crazy - but it worked. As soon as we get it up on YouTube, I'll send you the link. We also have a show on cable access in Asheville, called "Videobot". It's a short-film show hosted by toy robots who work in a tv station that I built out of Legos. They're supposed be showing "regularly scheduled programming", but instead they sneak and show the movies they like - which are submitted to us from all over the country. It's funny and silly, and the short films are great. It's all volunteer time, but we've done 11 episodes so far, and won an award. We're YouTubing it soon too, I hope. If not, I'll just send you a DVD. You'll love it, you'll laugh, and it's 99% family friendly! :DSo that's MOSTLY what we're up to. We moved again (after 8 years in the same house - once in Nov., then again in March), and we hope we stay here at least another 8 years. The house is on the river, in the only really flat place in Polk Co. We're renting from my best girl-friends' dad, so the rent $ [which is definitely fair for the space/location AND i have a workshop now!] - and whatever else we do to the property (we've planted gardens!) is going back into the family. Yay, us! We needed some upswing after last fall!

Oh, and we got married!

:D
More later!

Much love,

-s

*We are side-tripping to Hershey Park, an upstate Renaissance festival, and Niagara Falls/Canada! :D