Recitations and Reflections

I wanted to make sure that I blogged about this photo moment, especially since my phone ran out of room shortly after taking this picture and I couldn't take video of this day. On December 18th, 2015, Celie was in a Christmas program at her preschool. It was tiny, as there are only 9 kids total in her class, but it was kind of a big deal. Every kid had a spoken line to recite in front of all the parents and family. Given how she handled the Halloween party that they had, where parents were allowed to take pictures and watch as the teachers guessed who everyone was, I was a little nervous about what was essentially her first public performance.

We practiced her line for awhile before the big day as instructed by her teachers.  Each child had his or her own line to recite and then they had a line together to say in unison. It was pretty exciting. She didn't seem thrilled. I tried to stay positive and excited about the whole thing so I wouldn't make her nervous myself. She had her line down pretty well and was spouting off some of the other kids' lines. She said it super fast at times and super silly at other times. I just hoped that they were working with her too on it and she was taking it more seriously in class. Come the big day, she made me proud though. 

Grammy and Pop came to see her that morning with me. She was excited and went over with the other kids just fine, instead of refusing to come in like she did on the Halloween party. I didn't bring my Nikon because I thought I would make her nervous if I made a bigger deal about it with a big camera. She knew what to expect this time though with the visitors coming to view the program. All of the parents were there with their cameras and that's what I think freaked her out about Halloween so I just tried to be discreet with my phone. Then it spazzed so I ended up just watching after taking this picture, which was nice. She recited her line just fine and put her little candle where it was supposed to be. "Light the candle of peace today, the giver of peace is here!" She didn't freeze or cry or freak out or forget her line. It seemed like no big deal, or at least she made it seem that way? Either way, she did good. It was cute. 

I was trying to remember how I would have handled such a task at the age of 5. I don't think I would have even done as well, but then again I can't remember. At one point in my childhood I was rather outgoing and didn't give a shit. I slowly got taken over by social anxiety later on, but I still did things then, I just felt like I was dying inside while doing them. I openly talked with Celie about her nervousness, though, and she shared the fact that she was a little scared but she wasn't terrified or anything. "Just a little nervous," she said. I assured her that it was fine to be a little nervous or scared but she will be fine, all the other kids have lines too. I think that was maybe why she was better, because they were all in it together. There is something to not being the only one, right? Strength in numbers? Plus, we practiced at home and she practiced it with her teachers a ton in the days leading up to it, and practice, also, leads to confidence. At least, that has been my experience.

Seoul Searching in the Mirror

This summer my sister came home for a visit from Seoul, Korea, where she has been living for the past three years. It was so very good to see her again. During her stay she helped me take care of my Self and simultaneously forget my Self. With her and my other younger sister, we automatically, and perhaps systematically, fell into group self-nurturing behaviors and traditions, essentially what you could call The Unwinding Process. Because we all get wound up from Life, right?! My sister gets wound up in her Korean life, assimilating amazingly into their culture, and she likes to come home and binge on her comforts for a short time in order to go be her bad ass Self once again for an extended time. She came home for a whole month this time. This time her visit, as usual, was essential and timely, a real gift. She also gave me another gift that, I think, of course, is a metaphor. 

The Unwinding Process traditionally consists of consumption, including but not limited to varying and mostly excessive amounts of alcohol, food stuff, and multimedia intake, balanced with bouts of emotional release, via tears and laughter. Why? Serotonin. But more importantly, oxytocin. The bonding hormone unites and only heavily bonded and blended sisters can understand how essential this mutual process of The Unwind is. Individual Unwind is essential as well, but group Unwind...that's where it's at. It's mutual, a symbiosis. It's a take-a-load-off-Fanny, kind of necessary weighted shit. And, so, the Unwind began. The Twizzlers were bought. The boxed wine was drank, the movies were watched. Take out and take in; The Gilmore Girls and The Golden Girls. The nights were late and the days were sleepy; a haze settled. We had some healing times together; we had missed the rhythm of our mutual coping mechanisms and the comfort of each other's presence. The progeny patchwork quilt all blanketed back together. All together; three sisters. It completes the girl circuit. In a world full of every kind of girl but me, my sisters are the closest thing to me that there is, and the feeling is mutual. Nobody gets you like your See-Star! Together we are the feminine whole of our family's genes, the closest thing to ourselves out there, DNA-wise. There is strength in that, a bond like no other, unstoppable love and acceptance. 

Within the comfort of our sisterly union, there is also a tremendous chance for reflection, which is a blessing. A lot of families don't have siblings that get along as well as we do, and believe me, it hasn't been easy, but sibling love is more solid than rivalry. We are each so different and complete, our own distinct note alone...but we blend into one stellar organic triad when we play together. Connections like that are what life is all about...harmonizing. Resonating and harmonizing. 

My sister is what I would consider a feminist. She has, what I tell her, ovaries of solid rock. You would have to, wouldn't you? To move to the other end of the Earth from your family, to live in one of the largest cities in the world by herself, as a woman, to have done all of the world traveling she has done and to have received all of the accolades and achievements in academia that she has is truly impressive. She is one of the most applied and driven women I know. It takes balls...it takes something bigger than balls. Drive. My sister is in gear most of the time. But on the opposite side of the world from her Drive lies Neutral. You want to keep it in drive if you ever want to make it where you intend to go, but you also need to savor the stops; it's okay to sit still and take some time to get your bearings before you drive on. We taught each other a beautiful lesson. The Unwind is essential for The Gear Up. 

I reminded my sister that she can be gentle with herself and cherish neutral stops, and she reminded me that I can be driven, and courageous. My sister gave me a gift, a small mirror...made in Korea, of course. Isn't that a beautiful metaphor? Just when I needed it, my sister showed me another one of my faces, one from the other side of my world. I am in a stage of great neutral motion, I feel I am going farther inward than ahead, but I am also driven. In my own way, I am also a feminist. 

It was incredibly hard this time to let her go; another year will go by before we will see her again. It was a tearful farewell, we didn't want to let go or say goodbye. The truth is, my sister and I have codependent parts that tend to each other. I'm the 12 year old that cares for her and lets her be her zany self, slopping up my house as much as necessary to get to that state of comfort and care; she is the 6 year old joker, hiding under my bed, luring me out of my depression with her nonsense and goofing, reminding me of my responsibility and influence. These parts grew to be this way out of necessity, and these parts still miss each other desperately. However dysfunctional or trapped in the past these pieces are, they are a part of us. The truth is, though, that so are the feminist parts, the driven parts, the achievers in us. We are mighty achievers, we just need some recovery time. Your manager parts can do bad ass things if you don't forget to occasionally spend some time with the exiles. 

A sister is a mirror, and in her resides a reflection of our exiled inner child. Our parts find comfort in their self-nurturing rituals together. We also see our True Selves and our full potentials in the other's eyes through the malaise. I am grateful for the mirrors I have been given. I look to them when I have forgotten who I really am. Thank you for the mirror, Sister. Drive on. 

BOOK REVIEW: Eating in the Light of the Moon

Eating in the Light of the Moon: how women can transform their relationships with food through myths, metaphors, & storytelling by Anita Johnston, Ph.D.

Eating in the Light of the Moon: How Women Can Transform Their Relationships with Food Through Myths, Metaphors, & Storytelling is a book written by Anita Johnston, Ph.D. about disordered eating in women. This book points out that 95% of people diagnosed with eating disorders are female, and therefore focuses on women and the divine feminine qualities that she believes become imbalanced with eating disorders. Johnston uses myths, metaphors and fairy tales to explain how the problem with food is really just an illusion; food is a metaphor for a hunger inside of us that is much deeper than physical hunger. In fact, we’re so used to tuning out our bodies’ true signs of hunger that we only know when we are famished or completely stuffed. She explains how it is essential that we learn again to pay attention to the subtle signs that our body is giving us. This book is full of symbolism and is a great journey of self-discovery. 

"Storytellers speak in the language of myth and metaphor," the author says. "They tell us a truth that is not literal, but symbolic. If we hear the stories with only the outer ear, they can seem absurd and untrue, but when listened to with the inner ear, they convey a truth that can be understood and absorbed on a deeply personal level. In this way, stories help us connect with our inner world, to the natural rhythms and cycles of the earth, and to the power of our intuitive wisdom." This book utilizes symbolism throughout to shed light onto the dark places of your psyche and explain that feelings are important and meant to be dealt with, not numbed out or covered over.

Johnston focuses on rediscovering the inner feminine, our intuition, and using that to shed light on our disordered eating. Through stories, the author tells of our struggles with food stemming from hidden feelings and an imbalance in our energies, our intuition has been ignored and our light has been extinguished. There is some reason that we turn to food for sustenance. Johnston explains a woman’s recovery as being a journey into a great labyrinth, where we have to wind around and around until we reach the very center of it, our core where all of our demons dwell, and then we have to face them and make the spiraling journey back out of the labyrinth into the world again. A woman must heal her relationships with her femininity, her sexuality, her body and her Self before she can conquer disordered eating.

I loved the use of metaphor in this book, it really speaks my language. What I got most out of this book was that food is a metaphor for other forms of sustenance, for a different kind of hunger, not only the physical. The most memorable part of this book for me was the metaphor about the animals that were starving and that couldn’t reach the fruit from the splendid tree because they couldn’t remember its name. They sent 3 different animals back to the lion to learn the name of the tree so they could eat of its fruit. Both the gazelle and the elephant could not make it back from the lion without tripping into a hole and forgetting the name. Finally, they sent the tortoise, whose great-great-great grandmother had told about the tree and how to remember. After getting the name from the lion, the tortoise repeated it to itself over and over again until it reached the other animals, “Ungalli. Ungalli. The name of the tree is Ungalli.” It repeated this over and over again until returning to the tree and announcing the name, and immediately the limbs of the tree extended to the ground and the animals were able to eat of the fruit. This story explains how you need to know the name of your hunger in order to recover and how you must keep it in front of you the entire time of your journey. Johnston says that it is only when your hunger is named that you can be truly fed. She explains the difference between nourishment and Nourishment with a capitol “N”. The woman who suffers from disordered eating must keep the name of her hunger in the forefront of her mind and repeat it to herself whenever she struggles with her own personal food symbolism.

This book focuses on how women who suffer from disordered eating have lost touch with their bodies and have become disconnected from their inner feminine; there is an imbalance between their masculine and feminine selves. It highlights the importance of the symbolism in our dreams and suggests using them for knowledge about our hidden fears and feelings. It also guides you, through insights and practical exercises, toward empowerment, explaining how to regain the power of your intuition and get in touch with your feelings, instead of stuffing them down or numbing them away. It focuses on feeding your “shadow sister” who wishes to be heard instead of starved or stuffed, by recognizing those parts of you that have been hidden or lost. Once you can see through the illusion that food is really the issue, you can dive deeper into your feelings and really begin to feel them again. Remember your hunger; always know what it is that you are truly hungry for, be it acceptance, love, respect, or creative expression. Keep it in front of you at all times and you will be able to give yourself the Nourishment that you TRULY desire. The name of the tree is Ungalli!!

SOURCES:

Eating in the Light of the Moon: how women can transform their relationships with food through myths, metaphors, & storytelling by Anita Johnston, Ph.D.

Johnston, Anita Ph.D.

Carlsbad, CA. Gurze Books. 1996

The Sacrifice of Joan of Arc: Burning for Change

"We set the night on fire!!" 
Well, not so much the night, but last night.  And not so much the night, but a tree.  Last night, we set the tree on fire; we burned a dead piece of pine in an attempt to symbolically release things we no longer want or need.  (You know me and symbolism.)  I think that there is much symbolism in the purification aspect of fire.  I wrote and learned about this earlier in the year as I burnt remnants of a cluttered past.  I decided that at the traditional yearly "Turkey Party" that my husband and I host we should burn our Christmas tree in a metaphorical sacrifice and we each could adorn it with our own symbolic ornament to send off into the ether, transmuting its energy for a new designated use.  Letting go of the old to make way for the new.

Earlier this year my husband and I watched St. Joan, a 1957 British-American film about Joan of Arc listening to the voices in her head and following a calling she had inside of her. The movie was haunting.  I was moved by the idea of her heart not burning.  I was moved to tears during the burning scene and consumed with trying to envision what it was actually like for her to burn on that stake for what she believed in as her flesh was boiled off into the ether.  Death is the ultimate form of transmutation, changing the form of our life force, sending our energy out and into the cosmos.  I believe in the power of transmutation and the power of personal symbolism.  Once fire eats something, be it pine or be it flesh, it is gone.

This year, for me, has been one of healing.  A year of therapy, a year of medication, but one of letting go of old patterns and behaviors.  At the very least the year birthed the recognition of my need to change and it conceived a damn good attempt at getting myself moving forward.  The recognition that chronic depression, anxiety, and self doubt were holding me back from reaching my full potential in every single aspect of my life was a fire in itself that took off and slowly began to consume and transform the negative qualities of my psyche.  Learning to trust in and stop doubting my own voices, instincts, and feelings is becoming easier after receiving professional validation for such things.  To quote the Beatles, "I've got to admit it's getting better, a little better all the time..."

So, last night at Turkey Party after games and festivities the remainder of guests and us watched our woes burn away with our Christmas tree.  I cut out orange and red slips of construction paper and got out a trusted black Sharpie and we each wrote on the slips of paper what we wanted to surrender to the power of fire's purification and/or release.  Some had symbolic photos, some chose qualities or habits to write down.  I took an orange and a red strip of paper and assigned one to my Self Doubt.  On the other, in honor of my year of healing and the recognitions I have made, I surrendered "victim mentality/poor me/and all other sad ass excuses that keep me from reaching my full potential".  I think that about sums it up.  All of the energy we put into harboring negative thoughts and behaviors eats away at the precious time of our lives like a cancer.  If we transmuted that energy and used it for a better purpose we could transform our lives phenomenally.
So we all gathered together in new tradition and watched as this year's Toast Master lit this years Christmas tree, decorated with our ornaments of transmutation, on fire.  It turns out negative energy burns like pine, fast and hot.  For a few momentous minutes, before us stood a pillar of fire as our woes and words burned off into the sparks that flew out toward the darkness of night sky.  The heat was intense, and I blinked away the tears.  It was magnificent.  The intensity was only momentary.  I thought about Joan of Arc dying this way, in pain as her flesh melted away.  Dying this way so we would remember that life is precious and no matter the consequences we should listen to our inner voice(s) and follow our calling.  Obstacles be damned; life is short.  All earthly things are transitory. Tradition is an important tribute to the constant in the chaos, almost as important as the symbolism we use.  The pillar of fire quickly turned into a tower of sparks and soon, from all of our worries, all that was left were the skeletal remains of our sacrificial tree.  I could still make out her silhouette by the hot glowing embers on the charred wooden lumbar of her spine.  We all stood in silence for a few glorious seconds lost in our own hopes, thoughts, and dreams until she finally fell over.  We had released the energies of 2013.  Would the symbolic burning of these things really be a catalyst for the changes that we crave?  This new year shall see.  Bring on 2014!!

Double Dog Dare

Been a long time since I seen your face,

But I can still remember the time and place; 

I gazed into a broken mirror

when I looked into your eyes.

I saw the sun falling away,

Whenever our moon came out to play.

We stared into the dark

and shyly felt each other out.

But the reflecting pools of our eyes,

Mimicked mutual internal cries,

And we were frozen stiff

by the cold, hard truth. 

You can run, you can hide,

Turn away time after time,

Block your mind from the world;

Internally reside.

Turn around and look. 

Nobody’s chasing you!

Face your fears; open your eyes.

Live your truth; tell no more lies,

I double dog dare you.  

[not that] Marley Meme

And I’m sorry I liked that Marley meme,

And it showed up on your Facebook feed,

But do you really know,

The coward wasn’t you?

Maybe courage is just a pipe dream,

When you’re dealing with low self-esteems,

So who cares which one of us

let that cat out of the bag?

 

So, we hurt each other in the end,

Stretched the limitations of friends,

But for what it’s worth,

I just can’t forget you. 

You can dodge, you can weave,

Keep all those tricks up your sleeve,

Crawl into bed, cover up,

And pretend it’s a dream.

Get your head out of the sand,

No one’s watching you! 

Face your fears; open your eyes.

Live your truth; tell no more lies,

I double dog dare you. 

...I double dog dare you. 

Ode to Masks

This masquerade, a ball to most,
With drink in hand, proposing toasts.

Dark eyes obscured by masks grow moist,
Batting against the winds of choice.

Compelled by spirit, called by chance,
They step in time and do the dance.

Rising Reflections on Fear and Faith

This morning while still sitting in bed I heard Celie, while she was playing pretend beside me, telling her Snoopy “It’s okay, honey, s’nothing be ‘fraid of.”  It is in the tiny moments like these that I feel proud as a mother, like she actually IS absorbing some of the things I struggle to teach her, the things I desperately try to push into the chaotic ADHD toddler sponge that is my daughter.  Usually it’s something deeper that I then realize she actually DOES understand, and that is so touching and refreshing to me, because sometimes in the bowels of the battle of wills and ye olde discipline game, it’s hard to know if you are being heard, let alone listened to.  I love that Celie has started into the imaginary play stage.  It’s fascinating to watch when she really gets into it and forgets that I’m watching.  When she plays, she’s in essence “passing it on”---playing telephone with my words.  Those stuffed animals are in theory my future grandchildren, and I take comfort in the fact that she is already soothing them and assuring them that there is “nothing to be afraid of”. 

Celie has been “scared” since early on in her existence, a year or two ago she started verbalizing being scared.  She’s an odd kid.  She sees “Ameet” and Shadows and is scared a lot.  Not in a debilitating kind of way, she is still mighty curious and brave, but she has always been a little funny.  A couple of months ago around 2:30 in the morning she woke up freaking out and screaming about “shadows” and them “touching her stomach”.  She wasn’t entirely awake but pointing and it actually got me freaked out thinking like “HOLY SHIT WHAT’S THERE?”  I assume she has some sort of night terrors, which would explain her hatred of sleep and the process of falling into it, although she still mentions these things randomly throughout her waking day.  Randomly.  No rhyme or reason sometimes.  “Oh, there go a shadows...”  I’m dumbfounded.  “Okay.”  What do you say to that?  So needless to say with seeing “Ameet” everywhere and shadows and stuff she is “scared” a lot.  I stewed over how to deal with this for awhile.  I didn’t want her to be afraid, but I didn’t want to tell her nothing is there?  What if there WAS something there?  How the hell am I supposed to know what she sees?  So I don’t want to negate any sensitivity she may have to such things because I force her into seeing things in my reality.  It’s possible.  Anything is possible.  So how was I supposed to deal with her fear without simply dismissing it or neglecting her need for some true comfort?  In the end, I chose to comfort her to the best of my abilities, but instruct her to not be afraid of anything she sees.  “There is nothing to be afraid of.”  I know, right?  Why am I blatantly lying to my child like this at such a young age?  In the darkness of a crazy world like the one in which we live, I perhaps would receive criticism because I chose to tell her that there is nothing to be afraid of.  There is plenty to be afraid of, but is there really?  We should be cautious of many things and be careful, but being fearful, I have found in my life experience, isn’t too beneficial.  I don’t want my daughter to be afraid.  I want her to feel her fear and recognize it, but not feel guilty for being afraid.  I want my child to understand that fear is not a desired emotion or state of mind; it’s a bridge to faith. 

I remembered a conversation I had with my Grandmother at her house, just before she was going in for one of her many surgeries, this time to amputate part of the leg that she had previously had several surgeries on trying to save.  I was sick with fear and worry, but struggled with not letting it show to this woman, this incredibly strong and faithful woman.  “I’ve never been afraid,” she told me that day.  I marveled over that.  “You’ve never been afraid going into any of your surgeries?”  “No,” she replied, lowering her eyes and shaking her head, slightly nodding at the same time. "It's God's will," she said.  The corners of her mouth rose into the small, humble grin of self pride and she beamed; to me that was more beautiful than Mona Lisa’s smile.  Gram's self-pride didn't come from the fact that she wasn't afraid or was so brave, herself.  You could tell it was REALLY in the fact that she knew she was teaching by example...every second of her life.  She was teaching you not to be afraid...by not being afraid.  I couldn’t prevent a teary-eyed good-bye, even after her reassurance; I was still unnerved by the whole ordeal and the fear of a surgery of such gravity on a woman of her age.  I just remember how brave she was in the face of it, batting not an eye, eternal smile still on her face.  Who knows if my Grandmother was putting on her straight face like I was trying to do, for the benefit of those around her, but honestly, you got the impression from Leona Cecelia that she walked her walk.  She practiced what she preached, and she believed in her heart of hearts that whatever happened---it was God’s will.  To a woman of high faith, such as Leona, this removed all fear from her.  Whatever is to be, will be.  Life will unfold.  What is there to possibly fear when you know that it will all work out, regardless---regardless of ANYTHING? This is what faith is, folks; believing in something, no matter what the consequences.  Believing that there is NOTHING to be afraid of.  We can feel our fear, learn from it, use it to grow, use it as a warning, etc. but when it comes down to it, if you believe it is all in the hands of the Universe---then there is NOTHING to be afraid of.  That’s where my Grandmother lived, sitting safe and snug with that everlasting smile in the palm of God. 

You can’t teach faith.  I will never be able to exactly convey or pass on to Celie my reverence for religion, value of positive thinking or faith, because I learned it first hand from having this woman in my life...through example.  I could never set such a strong and positive example.  Maybe that is why I feel like such a failure at times.  I struggle with wanting Celie to truly understand my beliefs and get my good parts.  This is the only way I know how.  In little lessons that I hope my daughter is paying attention to.  Some seeds don’t sprout for years, but it’s important to have faith that they are planted.  I’ll never forget what my grandmother said that day, and it came to mind this morning as I watched my daughter comfort her “friends”, assuring them that there’s nothing to be afraid of.  She was practicing the example she will someday set.  Grandma has successfully, in essence, “passed it on” down to her great-great-grand animals.  A lesson in faith and fear that she taught me is in turn teaching my children and will someday, God willing, be passed on to my children’s children.  That’s one mighty legacy.  That would definitely make her smile. 

Dissection of Self

I am transparent;
my glass skin spread open,
flaps of sliced flesh pinned to the ground
for the dissection.
Each organ exposed;
each system, identified and labeled.
The aggressive scent of suspended death
seeps from my shell.
My body, like a raincoat,
strewn across a puddle of blood
and formaldehyde,
Dry rots in the relentless sun of consciousness. 
My eyelids, translucent and futile,
hide nothing from my empty, milky eyes.  
The whole of the world pass by me,
And learn from my body,
Like an information kiosk,
On a city sidewalk.
I feel them pointing; feel the observations.
Each gasp, an icy wind on my bare bones.
Each needle stick, a shining nail in my coffin.

10AM, August 19, 2013

Following the Gypsy Highway: Stevie Nicks at the Nikon at Jones Beach Theatre

STEVIE NICKS

Friday, June 29, 2012

Nikon at Jones Beach Theater

Wantagh, NY

THE TRUTH

I have been a Stevie Nicks fan since my early adolescence; I can’t exactly remember when I fell for her, but it was many moons ago, when her warm spiced drink of a voice first vibrated the bones and cartilage of my ears into submission.  I really got into Fleetwood Mac and Stevie Nicks in my early teen years.  I was at a peak in my Fleetwood Mac craze in 1997 when their live album The Dance was released.  If that CD were a record, I would have worn through the vinyl; I listened to it so many times.  I greatly love Fleetwood Mac, but was also drawn into Stevie’s solo career, having always found a sort of solace in her voice and poetic imagery as well as her enigmatic and witchy iconography.  I remember listening to her Timespace album over and over in my room during high school, it was the first way I introduced myself to the majority of her work.  Luckily around that time her music was featured in Practical Magic and she was having a bit of a comeback of sorts.  I found Bella Donna, and so on and so forth until she was tied to my heart in a tight hormonal knot.  So for all of these reasons Stevie (Fleetwood Mac) was on my Bucket List.  I had to see her before I died!  Or she died!  I had to see her!  So in early 2012 when I heard that she was touring, I freaked.  I saw that she was touring with Rod Stewart for the Heart and Soul Tour, but I wanted to see Stevie alone.  I didn’t want to share her with anyone.  If she was sharing her stage time with anybody, I wanted it to be with Fleetwood Mac!  So I panicked, looking at the tour dates, and I found a couple of shows before she joined him where she was alone.  None all too close; I think I found three that were doable.  The beginning of the tour started in New York.  The Nikon at Jones Beach.  I could do that!  I franticly purchased tickets for my best friend, Hilary, and I for an epic drive and concert.  I realized it was 6 hours away...and right on the beach...and in LONG ISLAND!  At least, I THINK I realized these things at the time?  I purchased the tickets months beforehand and sat on the idea of having to drive that far and through the traffic I would have to in order to see Stevie.  I tried my best to remain Zen.    “Oh, I’m doing it.”  Finally, the day came.  It would be a journey of decently sized proportions to finally witness the live performance and essence of the woman whose music has been an emotional salve for me throughout much of my life.  In June of this year I traveled to see Stevie Nicks at the Nikon at Jones Beach Theater with my best good friend and it was “Bucket List Epic” in SO many ways! 

THE DRIVE

The drive to Long Island was basically insane and great, in a road-schooled, fight-or-flight, nervous-cool kind of way.  I had never driven through traffic like that in my life; I had never been on a 6 lane expressway as the driver in a vehicle before.  This entire trip was very symbolic of my growth and personal ability.  We were just a pair of best girls on an epic adventure, like Thelma and Louise, only hopefully not even remotely like Thelma and Louise, other than the car ride, and an added concert.  Maybe more like Gypsy 84?  Yeah, probably NOTHING like Gypsy 84, other than we were heading to see Stevie Nicks.  (Crazy movie; watch it if you haven’t.)  Best good pals...on a road trip to the big city beach venue to see a female rock and roll icon and put our feet in the water.  Instead of driving off of a cliff we were going to stand head to head with the ocean and look Stevie Nicks straight in the eyes.  Well, at least into her large sized eyes on the teleprompter.  This wasn’t just a concert; this was a journey of a lifetime.  No big deal. 

There really is no telling what can happen on a road trip adventure, so I kissed my child goodbye that morning and hoped to face this travel demon bravely and wisely.  I had a copy of printed directions and a Tom Tom, as well as a copilot; this would be fine!  It was only Hilary and I on this trip, the fate of the evening rested in our hands.  We were 6 hours away from the Nikon.  Would we see Stevie Nicks that night, or would our car plummet off of the George Washington Bridge?  There was no doubt in my mind that we would roll onto the beach, stand in the surf, and then view a momentous performance by Ms. Stevie Nicks as the sun sank into the sand.  Let’s went! 

Behind the wheel, I was on fire.  When faced with wild traffic and the expressways, I immediately went into the survival mode needed in order to traverse the roads with the city folk.  I had ridden into New York City and large cities before, although I had never driven into such an area myself until this point.  I wasn’t going INTO the city, but I was driving through the Bronx and heading at NYC and through it, on to the historical Long Island shore.  I made myself proud, real proud.  There were moments during this trip where I looked out at what I was driving through or past and I was taken back by the fact that I was commanding the vehicle.  “I’ll ride anywhere with you,” Hilary said upon our return.  We had survived tolls, city merges, The Bronx Expressway, a loop dee loop designed on acid.  I gained a lot of driving knowledge and experience on this trip.  It has prepared me for great things.  We arrived at Jones Beach on schedule.  We pulled into the Nikon elated with “GOAL” practically beaming out of my pupils and asked about gas, forgetting there were no service stations in the park.  We drove back into Long Island and got some gas for our home trip and bought lunch at an authentic Long Island deli before heading into Jones Beach for the evening of evenings.  I even made myself proud there, and we even talked to an authentic Long Islander that gave us directions to an excellent deli to eat at.  A sandwich and a drink and it’s back to the beach.

THE BEACH

The beach was centering; it was the calm before the storm, or afterwards, or the eye?  I’m not sure, it was something.  It seemingly took us forever to trudge through the sand, our shoes in hand, my camera dangling from my neck snapping pictures along the way.  It was a real in-the-moment moment.  The drive was the first leg of our journey, the first “battle”, our second was the ocean.  We were on a mission.  We had to get to that water.  It was the symbolic end of the drive.  GOAL!  Hilary had never touched the ocean before; she had seen it and been in the sand, although she had never submerged her feet into its lapping surf.  Its vastness is somewhat unnerving to her.  Understandably so, it’s as deep as the void, the metaphor is strong, but that’s another story and battle all together.  The prize was to sink our feet into that sand and let the tide pull away, burying our feet slowly; one of the best sensations in life.  I remember doing this as a child during our trips to the beach.  How could I describe to her how momentous this feeling was?  She simply had to experience it for herself.

Jones Beach was really neat.  You could see the Nikon across the Ocean Parkway in the distance while standing on the beach.  The sand felt amazing and we stood for what seemed like hours watching people swim and play, watching the waves come in and roll out, listening to the birds in the moment.  A part of the goal was accomplished.  We had made it there, at least!  We stood recharging ourselves in the wind of the waves for awhile.  Let’s roll on. 

THE NIKON

The Nikon is an impressive venue, a circus of sorts behind the gates.  There were booths and venders everywhere.  We purchased Zippo lighters from the Zippo booth; ironic, we travel all the way to New York and we buy Pennsylvania made Zippo lighters as souvenirs.  I also later got a Stevie Nicks t-shirt and magnet as swag.  The Nikon is an amphitheatre alongside the bay, open to the heavens.  The nosebleed section surely would have a bird’s eye view of the ocean, in this way I wondered if they could charge more for worse seats?  Ha!  We got yummy fruity drinks and then got settled in our seats and awaited Stevie.  We missed the opening act completely, but the timing was ultimately perfect, so who cares.  We were there for Stevie Nicks.   

THE STEVIE

Stevie is some kind of a musical goddess.  Ms. Nicks is truly everything she seems to be.  Not that I am biased but seriously if any one of you talks bad about Ms. Nicks I will backhand you with a vinyl copy of Bella Donna and choke you with a flowing scarf.  She was so very intimate with the audience and so emotional during her performance.  She had nice personal chats in between songs, talking to us like we were old friends.  She even started crying at the end during her “goodbye”.  She was conveying how important this night was to her, being the first night on her newly starting stretch of tour after weeks of battling voice problems.  The unconditional love and acceptance from her fans touched her in a way that we were able to experience first hand that night.  She honestly loves us.  

THE SETLIST

I was prepared for the setlist somewhat because I had familiarized myself with her 2011 setlist.  This was still the same tour, basically, promoting In Your Dreams, so I was so glad that I had done so because I was basically aware of every song that she would play for us that night, aside from their order and a few surprise covers.  I think she opened with Led Zeppelin’s Rock and Roll, followed by Enchanted, I believe.  We heard everything from Dreams, Gold Dust Woman, Landslide, Leather and Lace, Stand Back, Edge of Seventeen.  From her In Your Dreams album she played For What It’s Worth, which brought me to tears.  I had been waiting to hear that song and in a weird way, that's what this trip was all about, and I had a moment during its play under the moon light at the Nikon, 6+ hours from home...just me and my best good pal.  She also played from In Your Dreams: Soldier’s Angel, Secret Love, and Annabel Lee.  So many new songs, so many classics; so many songs that were so incredibly moving to experience live were performed beneath a gorgeous moon in a gentle wind.  This concert was the most emotional one I have ever been to in my life.  It was a triumphant, I-am-woman-hear-me-roar kind of feeling!  I cried and my heart pumped and I smiled and bounced.  Gold Dust Woman literally made my nipples hard.  Stevie Nicks totally gave me hard nips! Bless her darling heart!

THE ATMOSPHERE

It was a clear evening with crisp air and was slightly windy along the waterside.  The night air from the bay kept blowing up across the crowd, blowing up across Stevie Nicks.  Her hair and scarves and black flowing dress danced in its gusts like magic.  No hat for her on this night, for she surely would have lost it.  The wind blew her golden hair into her face continuously throughout the show, a shimmering air-made pyrotechnics show, making her all the more glorious and captivating.  The moon was ghostly and blanketed under a shroud of clouds.  We floated back to the car on a high that could never be relived, refelt, or recreated. 

THE VOICE

Her voice was like literal butter, melting down my ear canals and over my ear drum and inner bits like they were freshly popped corn kernels.  I couldn’t believe that I was hearing her voice in real time and not on a recording or on television.  I reflected on that fact and immediately my eyes welled up.  I had been listening to Stevie Nicks for so long.  It was a real life goal seeing her perform live, and she lived up to everything I made her out to be. It was amazing that she was having such problems with her voice because other than a few places, you couldn’t even detect flaw.  You wouldn’t even be able to tell she had no voice a few weeks prior.  She was obviously a little worried about it but carried on and she was marvelous.  I commend her for being so open and frank about her plight with the crowd and her love for everyone just seems so genuine and heartfelt.  She sounds just like herself, she sounds just like Stevie Nicks.  This, unfortunately, can not be said about everyone that you see live.  

THE DRESS

She dressed like a night gypsy, in her traditional flowing black shawls and scarves, with corsets and boots.  Toward the end of the performance she changed into a beautiful white ensemble.  During her performance of Stand Back she did the traditional spin, somehow managing not to fall in her huge platform boots.  She later said that the shawl was the original “Stand Back Shawl” from the video, I believe she meant.  I had been listening to this song hardcore for a week or more at the time and had hoped I would be able to hear it.  Later on the drive home it would be playing as I was speeding along the Bronx Expressway flowing with the night traffic. I was empowered in that moment.  Smiling to myself, I knew we would get home fine.  There were no worries in that moment.  I was driving home on the high of a major goal accomplished with my artistic vein pumping.  I was high on experience.

THE CONVERSATION

She carried on a conversation with the crowd like we were old friends, talking of things from years ago or preparing for this tour.  She was very emotional because of the height of the night; this was the first night of her new tour and her voice had given out a few weeks earlier.  She discussed her obstacles and her accomplishments, all in a tone that let you believe you could really be her pal.  She seemed like such an honestly cool woman, and she even commented on how she is remarkably like how she used to be before she became famous.  Her guitarist knew her back in the day before these days, and he plays with her now.  She said he can verify it.  Imagine, being friends with someone and then touring with them after they are a famous music icon. 

THE BAND

Her backup singers are made up of her sister-in-law and other women she has known for years.  Her guitarist she has known since before she was famous.  They all have a really good stage relationship.  The guitar is really great and the drummer was very enthusiastic.  They did an excellent job recreating her songs, especially considering the Fleetwood Mac ones were done without Lindsay Buckingham and her solo stuff was heavy on the synthesizer.  Stand Back was a good version and very fun, it sounded good, though obviously not like the original.  She spoke of how Prince came into the studio while they were recording it on her AXS Concert and laid down the synthesizer track and then disappeared.  Now two keyboardists can’t recreate what Prince did on that record.  But it was still a great attempt at recreation of the classics, and a wonderful show of the new stuff. 

THE GRACE

She was incredibly gracious with the audience, exiting the stage after the encore and the bow, but then coming back out to shake hands and greet all of the audience members in the front rows which is something that I had never seen before in a performance.  She was touching children and taking flowers.  There was a man by her side with his arm around her waste, lest she be swept away by a fan or the wind or fragility.  (Perhaps insurance against those boots?)  She was wonderful.  She was a lady and a true entertainer. 

THE LESSON

The drive home was rough, being that I left New York around 11PM and didn't get into native terrain until heading on 5:30.  After my copilot fell asleep I blasted Old Crow Medicine Show and sang to myself to keep myself awake.  There were some blurry eyed moments on the interstate but we rolled into town just as the sun was coming up.  I dropped off Hilary and went the long way home, stopping at the crossroads view to watch the freshly risen sun over the rolling hills of home.  I gathered myself and let what just transpired settle a little, and then headed on down the grove to put myself to sleep, a new woman.  This ride and concert brought out my inner feminine strength and was just what I needed at that moment in 2012!  "See, we don't need the guys.  We can go ANYWHERE!" Hilary stated.  True that!  It gave me an energetic burst that got me through more days of that year, and released a lot of emotion while giving some areas in my life a crystalline piece of closure.  It was kismet.  

Seoul Sisters

I'm on my way back from New York City.  It was an awesome day outing, but not exactly for the happiest of reasons.  My sister has been living in Korea for the past year and a half teaching and came home for an almost month long visit over her summer break.  It was a great visit, the time went so incredibly fast.  It's sad that it is over, but at least we had an enjoyable road trip to the big apple. My friend and I drove her out to JFK International for her 2PM flight.  She is in the air as I write this now.  As per her wishes, we chose to have a little city fun before returning home. 

I spotted fedoras for sale on the street as we were driving up 5th Avenue, so we parked the Caliber on 39th Street and hoofed it.  Coincidentally we went past the NYC Public Library!  I've explored the cement jungle several times before, but I had NEVER visited the library.  I was super excited to climb the steps and pass through the threshold!  And what a threshold it was; I stepped through the largest, most ornate door I ever had in my life.  The beautiful textured details and giant gold lion head knocker were just foreplay.  It was like a giant marble orgasm inside!  They had a shop and we bought some books and trinkets. I got Where the Wild Things Are and Oh, The Places You'll Go for Celie; two classics that she doesn't yet have and it will be neat to know they came from the NYC Library. 

It was an excellent day.  We had a nice trip out with my sister, and after dropping her off we were able to make a day of it instead of just a delivery.  I'm sure she'd love that we visited the library.  I took this picture on one of the huge globes they had in the Mapping room where we stuck a pin in central Pennsylvania on a map of visitors.  Pennsylvania girls in the big apple jungle!  Seoul, Korea is like New York City...only bigger...and foreign...and on the other side of that globe.  My sister walks the streets of that concrete jungle on her own, with ovaries [balls] of solid rock.  She will  return to her foreign job and her foreign apartment and reunite with her foreign coworkers and foreign friends.  I remain native...and I won't be reunited with her for another year.  I wish her well.

Sandy in the Mountains

Yesterday we spent most of the day watching CNN following the path of hurricane Sandy. It's projected path took it right to our central Pennsylvania. This kind of scare was unprecedented in my life. It was only a category 1/2 but the possibility was frightening.

We left our chunk of pretty on the hill for shelter from the storm. I felt that we would be safer at my parents' home, in the valley. I feared the winds of Sandy would send our trees toppling over which could be potentially fatal in a trailer shell. I had never anticipated the winds of a hurricane on my home before. We did end up losing some trees, but no more than we have from a Nor'easter. We didn't even lose power, which was incredibly surprising because the lines of our cooperative run mostly in wooded areas. People not far from us lost power and were out several days even. All in all, we were prepared with our generators and lanterns and prepared meals, but we were incredibly lucky during this storm. Our mountains sheltered us from the worst of Sandy's winds.

Towers of Terror: Falling Bodies Over Coconut Cream

Remembering is important, especially for traumatic events.  While we strive to get over the event we also want to honor it by remembering it for all time.  9/11 was a very traumatic event in American history so it only makes sense that Americans should want to “remember” it.  Why must we remember 9/11 through the eyes of Fox news?  I was trying to enjoy some pie and coffee tonight at the truck stop and I was inundated with TV footage from the past.  I understand the REMEMBER mindset of Americans, but bodies dropping from buildings while I’m working on some coconut cream is really unnecessary! 

Where were you that fateful day?  I’m sure you have heard that.  I was sitting in an Integrative Art class taught by multiple professors in the theater at college. My one teacher kept coming in and out because he was watching it on the television screen that was in the hallway.  I think they may have even let us go early and I remember some of us gathering in the hall way in front of the tv and looking up in a mix of horror and disbelief.  I returned to my off campus house and informed my boyfriend and his cousin who was spending the week with us that we were being attacked!  They had seen and we continued watching about it together all day in between my classes. 

9/11 is a hell of a tale.  There are still even some discrepancies about it to this day, depending on who you are.  It can be a touchy subject.  A lot of people lost their lives, their loved ones, their security.  Tonight when I caught footage of the “REMEMBER” propaganda on TV (I basically otherwise try to steer clear of the news), I wondered what those people felt about “reliving” this event now.  I jokingly told my friend that people with Alzheimer’s could possibly think it was happening for the first time.  Ignorant citizens would be living it all over again!  Mass panic could ensue, War of the Worlds style!  Okay, probably not, but it was a muse. 

It may just be something to blog about, but it also brought tears to my eyes having to sit through that again.  I watched a body plummet to the earth from a massive building, like a rag doll, limbs flapping almost ridiculously, over coffee and a slice of coconut cream pie.  Media.  I can’t believe it.  And it was Fox news of all sources.  I wondered why it seemed that they were focusing so much on the terrifying side of the event.  Not that there is really a pleasant side to this, but there were a lot of positive ceremonies for the victims and their families, there was a decent humanist patriotic movement that ensued.  There were certainly more positive things to focus on!

11 years later and that’s all it was to Fox news.  It’s still bodies falling from buildings.  Why?  Why do they have to show the falling bodies?  Not even just a little clip, but a haunting long drop where the body really has some time to be played around with by the air.  Who was that?  Specifically?  Do they know?  That’s a person, God dammit!  Act like it, FOX NEWS!  Let’s remember how 9/11 made us remember how we can come together for each other in times of need, for help or support.  Remember the victims with a photo or something, but not a poor person free falling to their death because they are so terrified by what was happening that was the only logical option in their mind.  THAT is terrorism.   

It has been 11 years and we still can’t get those images out of our heads, and I doubt that we ever will. Lucky for us, we don't have to try to forget; Fox News will always be willing to remind us of that moment, that plummet, that free fall drop that changed our American lives forever.

November Blog #14: "Ey, Missie---Play Us Some Gee 'tar!"

November 14, 2011 Prompt:  “Have you faced fears and overcome them?”

What is fear when broken down to its basic root but ultimately the fear of eradication?  What else do we have to fear? Fear itself?  I’m afraid of dying, I guess, but we all don’t really like that much.  This is the most basic level of fear, perhaps; I think it is innate in everyone.  With my other fears, I can see logically the reasoning behind them being formed.  I was bitten in the face by a dog when I was around 5 or 6, so I have a fear of being mauled and eaten alive by something.  Before giving birth, there was always the fear of labor.  These aren't fears that consumed me day after day, though.  I still have owned many dogs in my lifetime, and I don't sit up at night fretting over my inevitable death.  I also chose to get pregnant and had a natural child birth.  So is fear itself the real fear?  I think so.  If I had to think of the most consuming fear of my lifetime, I suppose I would have to categorize it as some sort of a social anxiety disorder.  What is it un-categorized?  Maybe, the fear of people in numbers.  Performing, speaking, presenting to a group of people mostly.

I have always been afraid of public speaking or social things or situations, I suppose.  I guess my public speaking class in college was one of my biggest “fears” which in retrospect seems quite silly because, a.) what a small thing to be so afraid of in life and b.) I rocked that shit. Haha.  But I did seriously put it off until my last semester because I didn’t want to deal with it.  I have since then started to play the guitar and after learning to do so, started performing in front of small groups of people.  This has pushed me a long way through this “fear” of public performance.  

I used to be really nervous when the “spot light” was on me, I still have some issues with it.  I enjoy being social and conversing freely; I just have never been one of those people that are super comfortable with all eyes on them.  I am a social moth, I say, and enjoy hanging out with people, but dealing with depression at times for the majority of my life, I don’t know if people ever realized how much of a “performance” it kind of was just to simply interact at times.  I suppose this stems from all of the negative and positive negative attention I got as a young girl.  I had a weight problem pretty much my entire life so of course I became self conscious, it’s kind of hard not to in the world.  This begot nervous conditions, which begot stress, which begot basically a fear I guess.  I’ve also spent my time with disorders.  I have just always seemed to have issues with pent up emotion and a fear of interaction---sounds so lame, but I guess I could have probably been diagnosed with some social anxiety disorder of sorts at a time in my life.  This was all in its height during high school and college; the entire time was a process of me coping and overcoming the things I ended up with on the table.  We all have our different dishes to eat.  I’ve been chewing on mine for awhile now.   I about got ‘er down, though.  

I don’t want to give the impression I’m an easily shaken vulnerable little girl; through my strife I have grown into a strong and determined woman in my own right.  I am merely painting the picture of the past for you, the place I came from.  Life is a process.  I’m working on it.  I don't want to give the impression that I am "tough as nails" either.  I am constantly trying to find a balance between vulnerability and strength. 

Everyone has problems, and I have a slew of emotional issues and memories and hang ups and complexes and blab la bla, but the point is I never received any professional help for my problems.  I feel that, even with my personal problems, I still have been very blessed in life.  Like most people with problems, I never went to therapy.  Hell, I never went to talk to the counselor at the school or anything ever.  I did, however, bond myself to wonderful people when I found them.  I’ve had excellent social help from a good base of great people.  My circle of friends is great, and they’ve accelerated me through my journey more than they will ever know.  

When I started to play the guitar I was excited, because I could just sit around and play for fun.  My buddies would come over and we would drink and hang out and I started playing just for us to have a good time.  This is how I learned to play the guitar.  These were some of the best times of my life.  I was only in my mid twenties, pre marriage pre baby.  Good times.  

My one buddy would always pressure me to play the guitar; he just loved it so much.  Everything about this guy was music and good times.  It was written across his face.  It was caught in the teeth of his smile.  He would get on me so bad to “play some geetar” and when I felt up to it I’d get out my old guitar and mess around with what I could.  He always kind of made me feel funny when he begged me to play.  Sometimes, I would just "not feel like it" and I can't say how much I wish now I would have done it every time he asked me.  What was my problem?  I just didn't understand how he enjoyed it so much.    

I took for granted that someone was actually wholeheartedly enjoying what I was doing too while I was doing it.  My buddy embarrassed me in a way when he would get on me so bad to play.  He thought I was so good, and deep down I felt like a fake.  It was probably just because I knew I was no where as good as his excitement level suggested.  I don't know why I couldn't take as much pride as he did in me and to this day I am thankful I had him to point it out.

We mostly would have sing alongs.  These sing alongs were the best.  During this time, I was able to teach myself some guitar and overcome some social awkwardness while “performing”.  Eventually, at a wonderful local bar that is no longer open, when my musician friends were performing with their band they had me play a song or two.  It was crazy.  During those drunken jam sessions, I never imagined I would ever be in a bar playing in front of people.  It was fun.  It was one of the smallest one room bars you'd ever seen, but it was still a "live" performance.   

I have since then played a handful of times when "the band" was playing somewhere.  I have been given a set myself to play a time or two which was amazing.  My friends also actually all chipped in to buy me a new guitar in 2009!  I started putting up videos on YouTube which is mildly scary if you think about it, but I was able to say, Oh, what the hell!  Friends of mine this year asked me to perform the music for their wedding ceremony.  I have come a long way from my nervous strumming and chirping in the beginning.

So I have become more comfortable with this performance thing.  I’m at the very least becoming more comfortable with being in front of people, and I think that is all I had to get over.  I am learning to accept and embrace the fact that people want me to play.  It’s the pressure of being in the spot light that unnerves me, but after I get relaxed, I can be myself and enjoy it.  It has been a wonderful way for me to work through my issues with public performance anxiety.  I couldn’t sing the national anthem at the Super Bowl or anything without having my guts in a twist and possibly throwing up beforehand, mind you, but I’m getting more at ease with myself anyway.