am i really such an easy stereotype?

most of you have probably either read or heard of “the hipster handbook”
i’ve not read it all, because some punk@$ weenie ganked our copy*, but i felt fairly certain that i couldn’t really be narrowed down to any one category. then the same guy published “food court druids, cherohonkees and other creatures unique to the republic” and i got a little nervous, but still, i know me well enough to that that i am fairly unique and balanced blend of american geek, so no real sweat... UNTIL...
i read in the info about another book (that i think is really just a joke, currently - a’la Nazi She-Wolves of the SS – but hopefully will really be published some day – a’la Nazi She-Wolves of the SS ) called “Cyborgs, Libertarians and People Who Like Vin Diesel”**. as i said, i don’t think this book actually exists yet***, but i am expecting to be interviewed any day now.

thinks (i meant ‘things’ but i think this was freudian slip, not typo) are zipping along here on the edge of the record.
i still cry for missing luna every day. the weather and being outside so much more makes it very hard to carry the weight of the grief. she is always at the edge of my vision (in the car – especially in the truck – too.). it’s as if there is a hole in the world where she is supposed to be. i don’t know if i’ll ever get over that. i kind of hope i don’t. it’s almost as if she’s still here. i can’t touch her, but the memory of her sun warm fur and her smell is still as real as rain. i know her face so well, her look of ‘i adore you – now, let’s GO!’ is as readily available to me as closing my eyes. we’ve started working on the yard and i run across her little depressions where she liked to nap and hide from the sun – under the azalea by the front steps, under the bed of my truck, beside the carport wall, and out by the hammock, and i break down from the realization of how much she meant to me. i comfort myself with remembering all our good times and trying not to think too much about how unsafe i feel now, and with realizing how strong i really am, how strong i can be, how much i can take.

work is crazy for both of us. chris was able to quit his part-time job and go to work for himself full time. that’s a big leap, and he is rightfully proud.
i just took another part-time job, but it’s also a research study out of unc-ch, and similar to the work i’ve been doing, so still senior oriented, health related, and specific to walking, so i love it. it’s not as safety-related as the WWDS project, though it is much more health-issue specific, and i am not the manager of this project (i am the local project mgr. for WWDS) so it doesn’t conflict heavily with my other work, and can almost be done simultaneously in many cases because it deals with a lot of the same people, places and organizations. the hectic part is that we are getting busier on the WWDS project (as well as everything else we do) because the weather is nice, and starting a new project is always hectic. i’m babysitting tonight and tomorrow night, and walking a 5 mile walkathon for AMM tomorrow morning. *whee*

today i’m off to the gallery - and yes, i’m slacking and going in late, but that’s ok, because i do believe (AND DON’T PRINT THIS YET!) we will be closing our doors by the end of the month. it sounds sad, and i went through a few weeks of feeling like a failure, and then the relief sunk in, and i am just glad. our art will not go away, other galleries and shops all seem delighted to have our artists and our art, and We (HRM ME) will no longer have the stress, strain and responsibility of managing the business end of a co-op. AUGH! managing artists (or really anything other than one’s self) has about the same effect on one’s art that having kids seems to have on one’s sex life. i don't KNOW... i’m just saying.

i’m looking forward to sinking back into my own work and seeing what i can really do. my strength is not good, i may needhelp bending wire and doing other big construct, but i’ve had offers of help. other sculptors do it. :) look at chihuly’s studio!

we’ve also decided to go another round in the 48 hour film project. we’re going back to basics, and chris said i have complete carte blanche with the script. FREAKFEST! no more ms. nice guy. this will be the year of the blood cannon!!!

poor chris is working the steeplechase this weekend, on behalf of his clients at white oak. please pray for him. ;) who knows, maybe he’ll win the !@#$ HAT contest.

the upside of all this hard weekend work is that we’re continuing the Spring Theatah Fest
which began with rocking ‘the fantasticks’, crested with seeing Spamalot TWICE last weekend –

yes, our friend Jimm who does lights (and almost everything else) for TLT – called on Sunday afternoon to say he had a pair of tickets for that evening, last night of the show, and couldn’t go, could we stand it again?!?!? so i took my redneck-ass binoculars, threw on jeans and a nice sweater, and we made it to the theater with THREE minutes to spare. we had better seats AND it was better than the first time. we got to see some improv, and i was able to check out the special effects up close and personal! and this time, we went to waffle house afterward. :) *woot!*

- and the cherry on the sundae: this sunday we are going to the matinee of Les Liasons Dangereuse at BRCC, and the nightcap will be a viewing of the new Jet Li/Jackie Chan period action piece (yes, sam-porn... oh, if only Donnie Yen were in it too...)

our friend (and one of our leading ladies in last years’ 48 hour film project) Natalie Broadway (that’s her real name) is playing BRCC’s ‘madame de muertil’, one of my library “kids”, Cody Hehner, is playing ‘le chevalier de danceny’ and another saluda gallery girl, Jade Burnett, is playing ‘madame de tourvel’. they have won awards for their costuming, not to mention Natalie’s 48-hour best actress award. the whole department is rich with impressive talent, from all sides. AND tickets are less than a MOVIE. we can’t lose. i’m almost as excited about this as i was about Spamalot! (sorry BRCC, you only come in second because i don’t get a swim and free breakfast after the show! ;)

in the spaces between there are other things i HAVE to do. i have to call sandy. i have to spend a day with rosalie. i have to wind up the gallery... and speaking of, i have to go to work.

thank y’all for caring enough to care about any of this. i think those of you who regularly read know that i come here to remind myself and to get confirmation that ‘see, life isn’t all bad...you can feel something other than hurt sometimes.’. i have to fight and work real hard and stay real busy to remember that. it makes me a selfish person, and it keeps me on the edge of the record, but it’s necessary. those of you who know this and love me and support me just the same are the lagniappe of life. y’all are that little bit extra. there’s survival and coping and getting by, and then there’s the smiles and laughs and kind words and psychic pats on the back from you all, that’s what keeps me going and makes being strong not seem like such a bad thing sometimes.

much love (and more hyperlinks)

-s

*ultimately, i’m sure that it’s karma.

**i don’t care what any of you think or say, i love him. :)

***the site says it’s sold out, but neither google no amazon show any kind of listing for it, other than as a quote in the original site.

It's probably no surprise that I am one of those people who, if offered something to enjoy, will enjoy it as much as possible. My grandma Winnie referred to this as "getting the goody out". She was basically referring to using a tea bag* at least twice (...or emptying any container completely, or using even the last little scraps of soap... Winnie Atsie Herring Bond was Green before Green was cool!) The reason I bring this up is because I am getting the goody out of my lovely mini vacation, even as we speak. I am sitting in the internet nook near the lobby of the lovely Courtyard Marriott in Greenville, SC - and it really is lovely. Clean and beautiful, new, interesting decor (olive green and burnt orange - i love it!), nice art, pretty flowers, good staff, free breakfast (with soy milk and lots of gluten free options!!!), heated pool and whirlpool, exercise room, and even a pretty little gazebo in the back garden where we could sit and enjoy our good bottle of champagne last night!
We got to town around noon yesterday, and tried to visit the museum first. We found out that they charge for parking and since we had no cash, we turned around to find an ATM. As we were driving just a block or two away from the museum, the car suddenly started blowing MAJOR steam, so we parked her at the Mickey D's and discovered that our radiator hose had blown apart. Chris used his new leatherman mini (xmas prezzie from me :) to get the old hose off, and we just HAPPENED to be within a block of a place called "Cline Hoses" ("Need a Hose in a Hurry? is painted on the side!) - alas, the ONLY hose they didn't carry was radiator, so poor Chris had to walk a whole 'nother block to... yes, a BMW parts specialty store! I could see both of them from the parking lot where I was waiting. Yay, us! We had Brunhilda fixed and happy in a jiffy, and then went and enjoyed a particularly beautiful show at the museum. We shopped a little in the gift shop, then headed downtown (and even found free parking) for some Marble Slab, and to scope out restaurants for the evening, then off to the hotel.
We had a nice relaxing swim and hot-tub soak, showered dressed up fancy and then went downtown. The weather was beautiful yesterday, sunny and breezy, threatening spring rain. Nice walking weather. Again,we found free parking right on main - three doors down from the restaurant and 3 blocks from the Peace Center, where Spamalot is playing (THANK YOU, SPIFFY**!). The restaurant was "Lemongrass", a tastefully trendy upscale Thai place. We got a great table on the balcony, and enjoyed a spicy, delicious meal - again, plenty of gluten-free options, yay! (The fried bananas were an especial treat!)
After coffee we followed the stream of foot traffic down Greenville's pretty Main St. There was a street festival happening at the other end (I still can't believe we found free parking in the midst of all that!), so downtown was alive with happy humans. The Peace Center was packed with people too, all ready for a guaranteed good evening.
The show was indescribable. All that the most devoted Monty Python fan could ask for - and more. My favorite part of the show (apart from all the great puns and confetti cannons) was the beautiful, talented diva - I'll check my program when we unpack and tell you her name - that girl was stunning and funny and had pipes to die for. Wow! I think my other favorite thing was the audience sing along (follow the bouncing foot!) after the 2nd standing O! What a night! What a show! We all poured back out into the crowd, faces hurting from smiling, bodies relaxed from laughing, and the stage lightning had turned to real and there was a small squall raging around the Peace Center. We debated buying a Spamalot umbrella, but then decided to just have buttons that said "I'm Not Dead Yet!" and "Ni! Ni! Ni!" and walk in the spring rain. Lucky me, I wasn't the only one and the lady who decided to brave it before us was wearing a filmy spring dress, wedge heels and shiny glamorous hair - and looked as at home in the (by then fairly mild) storm as the Lady of the Lake looked on her stage.
It was a pleasant walk, we didn't get too wet, and we stopped at the Cafe Underground for espresso and mexican hot chocolate before driving back to the hotel. Once there, we took our chilled bottle of Champagne down to the gazebo and enjoyed it in the cool evening air.
Then up early(ish) this morning for one last swim and soak, a quick shower, a huge (FREE!)breakfast - and a tiny bit of Marriott-sponsored internet time to let you all know that WE GOT THE GOODY OUT! :)
Now both of us are off to pick up Stewart, check on George, head off for an afternoon/evening of work. Maybe, if we're very very good, we'll earn another vacation like this soon!

Treat yourselves to some good time, and whatever else you do - remember to get the goody out!
Much love,
-s


*<3 for all my KOL friends out there! Keep adding to the collection! <3
**Spiffy - the God of Parking

Today has been another exciting day in the bizarre culture human. I had court this morning. Nothing TOO naughty, I promise - but I was dealing with my old foes, the Landrum po-po's.
The crime was committed at the very same spot where I earned my very first* set of City Issue matching tungsten bracelets. I ran a stop sign this time. I was an innocent lamb the first go 'round, when I was carted away for stealing my own vehicle** (I think that was six years ago), but this time I was guilty as charged. However, I opted to go to court and ask for some leniency, due to a couple of extenuating circumstances, and they gave it to me. No points from my license (they threatened FOUR!) - at least in SC, and a 102$ reduction in the fine. The clerk of court also said that if I had lost any points in NC, to please contact her, and she would write a letter on my behalf, requesting leniency on their part as well.

Afterwards, I needed some pretty serious therapy, so while Chris was putting gas in Brunhilda
(this isn't her, but it's very like her...) I spotted a BUNCH of ripe dandelions in a small grassy area at the front of the HotSpot, near the highway and treated myself to a DLF dandelion-head kick-fest. That's what inspired me to share the above bumper sticker I made years ago to go in my show portfolio. The original is hand-drawn and hand-lettered, but it looks very like this. I get a lot of chuckles, snorts and giggles when folks see this. I really need to add that logo to my "Antisocial Butterfly", "Just !@#$ Ducky", "It's All About the Bananas" & "Mm, Pie" shirt/undies collection. I think I still have a Cafe Press store... :)
It felt good to spread the dande-love. I know things are bad and that I'm really hopelessly depressed when I see blown dandelion heads and don't feel like running through them and kicking those beautiful silky seeds into the wind (and all over the nice neat lawns of America! WOO-HOO!) It does make you feel better. If you don't believe me, go try it. It's a very small rebellion (though some people/businesses do get pretty p.o.'d about "weeds" in their pretty lawns, muwahaha...) and it helps to spread those gorgeous blooms and healthy greens out into the waiting world.

We're both exhausted still. The play went (literally) phenomenally well. When we went to drop off the theater key during the board meeting a few nights ago, the whole board applauded us when we walked in the door. Then they handed us a copy of the financial report - we had completely made back the budget (including the directors' paychecks!) PLUS another almost 4,000$ for TLT!!! WOOT! 5 of the 8 nights were not only sold out, but oversold. They had to come get the chairs that the cast and crew were using backstage to have seats for all the people who came at the last minute. The few nights that didn't sell out, we only had a few chairs empty. I overheard someone say that we'd broken records.
As wonderful as that feels, to have had such a financial success, the real joy was that we had such a good time doing this show. We felt as if we were making magic every night, and by the last weekend of the show, we were on FIRE. Our audiences were SO good and SO into it, and we all had so much fun giving it to them... what a treat. No wonder we were all so sad when it was over. Let me tell you - that is RARE. Usually, you are ready for it to be over, even if it has been a good show, because it is so exhausting, but I really believe we'd have all tried to do another week if we could have. The cast party was a delight. There was good food and good Hamilton homebrew. Ike had written a funny little sketch and we all stood around telling stories about things that had happened during the run, and saying how proud we were of each other. There were gifts for all the cast and crew (Chris and I made them funny, unique t-shirts with lines from the show, and gave Fresh Market gift certificates to some of the crew that REALLY busted heinie), and their directors' gift to Chris was STELLAR - a big, fancy dinner for 2 with wine, tax, tip and all included, at The Orchard Inn, one of our favorite places - if we could ever afford to go there***.

We're both booked to the gills still. Chris is catching up on his editing in Sparkleburg today and I am trying to catch up on the house and yard-work. I'm writing this onmy cool-off break - it's actually quite warm today. We both have long work days on Saturday and will be right back to our regularly scheduled programming on Monday, but we are taking a well-earned mini vacation tomorrow, which I am extra grateful for, 'cause it would have been Luna Belle's 10th birthday tomorrow (that link is to my myspace. I put up a little photo gallery for her birfday). Chris' grandma got us tickets to see Spamalot (!!!) and we splurged and got a room at a nice hotel with a heated pool for the day/night. YAY!
I'm not sure what else is on the agenda, but a warm swim, a long nap and a nice dinner are DEFINITELY penciled in. If I am a very good girl and plan and pack well, I may even get a stroll through Greenville's lovely little art museum, which is a treat every time. Either way, I'm grateful for this little break. Who knows, maybe I'll even find another dandelion field before the weekend is over.

I hope you are all busy, blessed, thankful, and finding the love you need.
-s


*and damned well BETTER be very LAST...
**Steve Henson, there will ALWAYS be a chicken foot with your name on it, and yes, that person who flips you off every time they drive by your place of "business" is ME.
***we get to visit once a year when Chris' dad - in tres spiffy period top hat and tails - narrates their annual Dickens dinner. He gets a night to invite the fam as part of his pay.

here's the other prayer/song i tried to link y'all to last time, levees always in mind, and at that time, i couldn't even sleep for worry, fear and grief. it's a little wilder, stronger meat than the others, with more than a pinch of salt.

Thursday, September 08, 2005

Time to Ride the Loa

The old oaks are drowning
bodies are floating,
the water is poisoned,
it's the blood in our veins.
Children lost and abandoned,
madness is spreading,
rivers of sickness,
streets flooded with pain.
Families severed,
lives washed to the ocean,
the loa is calling,
the gris gris is broken.
The saints have all left us,
Jeanne could not protect us,
grief falls down upon us
like more heavy black rain.
Our Fathers up on the Hill
stay safe and blindfolded,
their houses are whole,
their hands are still clean.
They cast empty promises,
they make helpful gestures,
they touch down on the "safe" streets
and suffer no stain.
They come empty-handed,
they wave, disconnected,
they're guarded from reality,
protected and sane.
These poor people have never
had anything to give them,
and now their sad lives mean even less.
If they live they're a burden,
if they die, it's a cleansing,
and the wheels of the Nation grind on.
So gather the gris gris
and call on the loa,
turn your palm to your neighbor
and your fist to the sky,
catch a black rooster,
blood-paint the Samedi,
build a fire in your heart
and be ready to fly.
Curse the House and the Father
so he knows that his children
are the mad and the dying,
the black and the white.
His family is weeping,
his house is demolished,
he will know desperation
he will scream, he will cry.
He will know thirst,
he will pray for salvation,
dream of arms reaching,
and wait in the night.
Always pray for the Light
and have hope for tomorrow,
but remember the darkness,
and the way the soul burns.
For the pain of being ridden
by the blackest of loas
is worth it to the strong
if the curse takes its hold
and awareness awakens
and the Father learns.

-sll

Sam - 8.9.05

before i even havea chance to catch a breath i get hit with something else. damn.
here's one of those songs i wrote that i mentioned in the last blog. it's pathetically appropriate today.
It's mostly a 4/4 swing blues piece with a little jazz flavor (especially in the intro).
I don't have a name for it yet, and I'm considering a 3rd verse.

Just when you think things have gotten
just as bad as they can get
they can still
take a sharp
decline...
You'll think you've got it easy,
then you'll start to feel ~q u e a s y~
then you're back at the end of the l i i iiiiine!

I got a case of 'The Reals' -
don't even talk to me about color,
Blue's really pretty, Black's just the night,
Real doesn't leave
when you turn on the light,

I got The Real so ba-ad,
that's something some'a these White Collars ain't ever had,
don't talk to me about Nietzsche,
you know I make him feel glad,
I gotta case'a The Real -
I really mean it,
I got the real so bad!

- summer 07.

I hope you are all not only keeping your own heads above water, but at least getting a little time to relax and float and enjoy the sun (maybe even a cool drink and a great book...) I picture you all there, and it helps.
Much love,
-s

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.