Laughing Through the Flames Together

Parenting is a lot of things. It’s an honor, it’s a blessing, it’s a privilege and it’s also a job. Parenthood can either be the most joyous time of your life or a living hell from which there is no escape. Honestly, even though we are encouraged and expected to “cherish every moment” the hard truth is that parenting is often both. Parenthood is the hardest job anyone will ever have...except for maybe that guy that gets his heart ripped out by Mola Ram and is lowered down into the firey pit on Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. They aren’t without their similarities, anyway: High pressure. Sacrifice. Rip your heart out. In a cage descending into fire. Very hot. It burns!  

Okay, it’s not all that bad but it helps at times to keep things as light as possible and to not take it too seriously...even though you need to because you are single-handedly making choices that are in part forming your beloved children’s personalities that they will then be at the mercy of forever...and even though they will go forth with these personalities into the world either to make it or break it. Kiiind of totally a huge deal. But don’t worry. No pressure. “Kali maa shakti de!!” 

What could be harder than parenting? Single-parenting, obviously, would take about a thousand cakes on that one. But actually sometimes, albeit to a much lesser degree, it can also be co-parenting. Parenting is hard in general to wrap your will around but meeting another person on the same page who has their own preconceived notions of what parenting is or should be and staying on the same page when it comes to your beliefs on raising children and consistently standing by said beliefs in the face of distraction and frustration…two different heads of the same snarling beast and they both chew your face off. My husband and I can agree that this is often really shitty. Call a spade a spade. We both can also agree, however, that it is the best thing to ever happen to us so where do we meet in the middle of this? That’s the million dollar question. That’s also where the continual relationship work resides. It’s no laughing matter...except for when it is. 

This past weekend my husband and I were jokingly talking about our day, and he had an errand to run. I had the baby on the boob and the other two were being their loud and annoying selves because yes, kids are often loud and annoying no matter how many times you post their pictures on social media decreeing them your angels and your everything. I said, “You guys should go with your father,” giving him an eye and a Cheshire Cat beam. We knew I was mostly joking. His face visibly sunk in an exaggeration of protest because everyone knows it takes twice as long to do any errand with kids in tow, and he said, in a wailing womanly voice: “You haate me!” We laughed. Humor is often your saving grace. It’s also wonderful when our daughter chalks up everything that goes over her head to “adult comedy” as she calls it. We’re not entirely proud but this is where we find ourselves. Parents make jokes because you either laugh or you’ll cry. 

Later that day, after earlier having discussed how his truck has gotten him over 100,000 miles, he said how he had to go out to work on it for awhile. I teasingly accuse him: 

“You know, you’re truck hasn’t needed anything big but you SURE do work on it a lot? What are you sabotaging shit just to get out there and get away from us? ‘OOoh NOOOOoOOO my BRAKE line broke, I better get out there and FIX that today for sure!!’ Is that how it is? ...’Cause that’s what I’d be doing.”

Again, we laughed. Humor through parenthood is like saying that the knife wound in your side kinda looks like a face. It’s simultaneously both denial and complete and total acceptance. We started doing impressions of him taking out his brake lines and other truck parts because they really did go out recently and it does seem he is perpetually working on his truck during his brief time at home. It’s seemingly never ending; duties and projects drag on into a balmy eternity. Everything moves like chilled molasses because there is never enough time in a weekend. It’s funny because the poor guy is actually out there as I write this working on it again. This weekend it’s universal joints. Lucky bastard. It’s funny because it’s not funny. At least we have humor. 

I think if you can laugh together you have a lot to work with. If you can’t make each other laugh, then it’s going to be a hard road for you because it can get a tad rocky and you’re going to feel every bump and stone. If you’re laughing you kinda just roll over the top of some of them and it doesn’t seem like such a bumpy ride even if your shocks are shot. Who you have as a co-pilot traveling with you as your partner in crime on the road of parenthood matters a lot. It helps if you get along with your celly. Your partner ultimately helps to determine how bumpy the ride will be and even when you have a good one the struggle is still real. Parenthood is where relationships go to train for the UFC; it will either make your marriage stronger or take it down blow by blow. 

That poor bastard in the basket on Indiana Jones didn't survive the destructive flames in the pit. He evaporated. Kali needed her sacrifice. It all seems so gruesome. We can just say he represents your egoic parts that need to surrender to the sacrifice. In Hinduism, Kali is the goddess of death and destruction. In her earlier depictions she is often a crone with red eyes, holding weapons and severed heads, with black skin and protruding tongue, a real bad bitch. Westerners generally view her as evil because of her form and requirements of destruction and human sacrifice. But in her complexity, she is a dualistic goddess, in her later Kali Ma form she is also a symbol of Mother Nature, nurturing and benevolent. Kali is like the transformative power of tough love, your darkness transmuted. When we are breaking apart from circumstance and heading into darkness that is Kali, but when we are fitting the pieces back together and finding our light, that is also Mother Kali. From my understanding, that is. Maybe you can see where I’m heading with this metaphor. 

Dealing with the stresses of parenthood together exposes you to each other’s deepest wounds. If there is anything ugly in your core kids will pull that dark shit right out of you and cover it in glitter and boogers before shoving it directly and repeatedly into your frame of view. “Look! LOOK! Do you see this?!” Kids are Mola Ram invoking the power of Kali to tear into your chest and hold your still-beating heart in front of your face before sacrificing your ego in a pit of flames. In short: kids’ll fuck you up. You need a strong resolve to survive the destruction of the goddess Kali. It requires a tight connection, a sturdy bond to hold your relationship together in the fire as the flesh of your old selves is seared away in sacrifice. Parenthood is some serious shit. It burns a good bit but as with much of life, it helps to laugh. 

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

Almost Anorexic: A Book Review and a Personal Revelation

Almost Anorexic is a book published by the Harvard Medical School’s The Almost Effect series, which discusses the grey area of medical conditions that aren’t necessarily a diagnosable condition but are still definitely not in the “healthy” range. Eating disorders and other medical conditions exist on a spectrum. This book is about falling on the spectrum between healthy and full blown eating disorder, in the grey area with subthreshold conditions that don’t get the attention diagnosable conditions receive. It was a collaboration written by Dr. Jennifer J. Thomas, an assistant professor at Harvard Medical School, and Jenni Schaefer, author of the book “Life Without Ed”, who has recovered from anorexia nervosa, and is chair of the Ambassadors Council of the National Eating Disorders Association. I discovered Almost Anorexic while searching for books that would actually address my personal experiences with disordered eating. This book was the key to helping me to unlock and unearth what was probably my dirtiest not-so-secret secret. I call it this because it is not something that I am proud of and I have a great deal of shame and guilt surrounding the subject and while a few people know, I have never blatantly verbalized or acknowledged it publicly, so perhaps this is a revelation of sorts as well as a review on this helpful book.

People look to the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) to know if they have a true problem, but while helpful, it also can be one of the biggest impediments to their actual healing if they can’t find themselves in the book. How do you properly treat your illness if you don’t feel you have a legit problem or it isn’t even recognized as one by professionals, family, or friends? This is one of the things that Almost Anorexic addresses. A lot of the reason people think that they don’t have a problem is because of the diagnostic criteria. Sadly, this can keep them from getting the help they really do need. If someone doesn't meet all the criteria for a disorder, they are typically diagnosed as EDNOS (Eating disorders not otherwise specified) or OSFED (Other specified feeding and eating disorders), which aren't even considered officially recognized eating disorders. I would have been in this group dubbed by some clinicians as “diagnostic orphans”. The point is all subclinical eating disorders are worthy of help.

I never became underweight which is required for an anorexia nervosa diagnosis but, like many other diagnostic orphans, I exhibited all of the same behaviors as someone diagnosed with anorexia nervosa. Had I taken the EAT-26 (Eating Attitudes) test back then, I'm sure it would have indicated I had a real problem. I also lost 35% of my body weight which actually WOULD get an anorexia nervosa diagnosis according to earlier versions of the DSM, which called for a weight loss of at least 25%. The DSM has changed since then a couple of times and is now on its 5^th edition. In the newest edition I would be diagnosed as OSFED, atypical anorexia nervosa. Even though I gained all of the weight that I lost back after I stopped restricting on top of my intense exercise regime, I still carried many of these behaviors with me into my 30’s; I still struggle with the Binge/Purge pattern even in other areas of my life. Ed is still in my head and still has a big say in my daily life, whether I am fully aware of it or not. Awareness is half the battle. Eating disorders are behavioral disorders, and let’s face it...behaviors don’t just magically go away because you refuse to acknowledge them or time passes. There is still a residue. And while I am not currently dealing with full blown disordered eating anymore, I am still dealing with a lot of behavioral residue from the days when I was. I believe you need to acknowledge and change behaviors or you will unconsciously relive them repeatedly. You can’t change what you don’t acknowledge.

There is a drastic difference between healthy weight loss and an eating disorder. What I did in high school was not healthy and I know now that I most likely lost my gall bladder at the age of 16 because of how fast I lost the majority of the weight. I also know now that intense restriction is not a sustainable way to achieve weight loss...period. Restriction wasn't my only problem, though, as I also developed an obsessive relationship with exercise. Exercise is one of the best things you can do for your body, but not when you force your body to do it as a punishment when you haven't fed it anything for a week. I starved and abused my body, I desecrated my temple. My body didn't trust me anymore after this ordeal, and I am still working on regaining it's trust 20 years after the fact.

I was amazed by how much I found myself in this book, maybe not so much my current Self, but pieces of my Self, and especially that younger aspect of my Self. She was there in all of those pages. The book uses many case studies and personal anecdotes that I definitely found relatable. Almost Anorexic deals with the subclinical end of the eating disorder, while using stories from Jenni’s personal recovery to explain the obsessive relationship people can develop with food and exercise. It not only covers food related problems like binge eating and restricting, but also discusses compensatory behaviors and the highly important subject of body image. Dr. Thomas and Jenni discuss the physiological and psychological changes that occur in “almost eating disorder” syndromes. The second half of the book gives solutions and suggestions for recovery, and also includes helpful activities for you to do on your own, including identifying your social support network, and creating a personalized relapse prevention plan. An interesting exercise from Chapter 6 has you write two letters to your eating disorder, one as if it were a friend, and one as if it were a foe.

In my therapy, I have recently started to dive into this aspect of my story. I thought it would be helpful to "tell someone" as this book instructs. This secret casts a dark shadow on me and I am now working on bringing everything into the light. “For good and for real.” This book is a wonderful read for anyone who has had, has, thought they had, or may have an eating disorder. It is filled with an extensive amount of resources for help. I encourage anyone that thinks that they may have a problem with food and body image to read this book. I also encourage anyone who thinks that their loved one may have a problem with food to think about reading this book. I spent the majority of my life in a state of limbo, somewhere stranded in the middle of the spectrum. Almost recovered isn’t the same as fully recovered and while I’m almost there, I’m not going to settle for almost recovered anymore.

For Good and For Real,

Missie Sue

SOURCES:

Almost Anorexic: Is My (or My Loved One’s) Relationship with Food a Problem?

Thomas, Jennifer J. and Jenni Schaefer

Center City, Minnesota:  Harvard University/Hazeldon, 2013. Print.

Spring Time: Pruning for Growth

Today Celie and I spent some time outside.  This is the first I've been out to really examine winter's damage.  I spent most of my time gathering garbage out of the woods that the bear drug off, and hauling scrap wood leftover from last fall's bathroom remodel onto the fire I made.  I gathered up broken glass and ceramics, I raked up junk and filth.  Our burn pile needs sifted through something awful;  somehow we acquired a good amount of glass and tin on it for recycling everything that we do and it's maddening.  It's a mess. I plan on working my way through, getting to the bottom of it, I guess you could say.  Just another thing on the list. 

I also pruned my roses, which is something I actually should have done before winter came, but I didn't get to it.  So, I get to do it now and pray that there will be regrowth??  This is actually what was mostly on my mind as I gathered, sorted, burnt and pruned.  I tossed things on the fire that once were new and exciting. I tossed pieces of my old bathroom wall into the licking flames, and watched as it ate them up. Isn't it funny how we prune off and rid ourselves of the past year every spring and don't think twice about it, but when it comes to aspects of ourselves we are ridding ourselves of we often stop short? Behaviors and beliefs that don't move us forward, those should be tossed out with last year's garbage on the Spring Fire.

Often we are blind to how attached we are to things. Maybe we're deluded? Are we addicted or attached? That's probably just a matter of semantics. We probably are pretty attached to things we're addicted to and likewise, addicted to some things we are attached to. So what is so hard about letting go, especially when letting go will promote new growth? I mean, that's the concept of Spring, right? (It's a metaphor!) If it's in our best interest, why can it be so hard to do ourselves this solid, and better ourselves? That's a loaded question. There are many reasons.

Cutting the canes of my rose bushes got me thinking of my own dead limbs and stalks. What pieces of me have dried out and shriveled up over the winter? What pieces of me need to be cut back...in order for me to grow better? I'm incredibly sentimental, almost to a flaw. You can't be sentimental if you want to rid yourself of toxic behaviors or relationships. You need to be ruthless with your trimming. You cut back until you get past the dead parts. You need to trust that you will see new growth.

Letting go has never been my strong point, even though I work hard at it. Therapy and the whole recovery road has forced me to analyze my behavior and relationships. Like the roses, we need to prune ourselves periodically if we want to grow stronger. Like the roses, the power of Spring can bring us back to life, but not until we throw our garbage on the fire and cut ourselves back. The hardest part is deciding which ends are dead or draining, and which ones still have the potential for new growth.

The Beauty of Being Broken

A month or so ago Joey knocked a "Great" souvenir rock piece off of my bookshelf and it fell down onto my desk and smashed the shade to my banker's lamp...the banker's lamp that was my first desk lamp as a child that I got around the age of 11. My husband has this knack for breaking things from my past or childhood that are dear to my heart, my firsts or favorites. Perhaps he's to teach me lessons in non-attachment?  I've just had to deal with it, of course, because once something is broken there really is no going back.  Sometimes you can repair it, sure, but it is forever structurally changed even if.  For better or worse? As cool as it would have been to glue the green shade, it was busted beyond repair; glue was not an option. But sometimes when things are broken you have a great opportunity to change something in the object's life story; when we are forced to put ourselves back together we can make our mortar golden.

The Japanese have a term for the beauty found in the imperfections of things. "Kintsugi" is a word for the art of fixing ceramics with solid gold, or gold-like material. The word means "golden joinery" and when a vessel is repaired in this way it is thought to be more valued than before it was fractured. I think that is a beautiful metaphor for all of our broken hearts. Something that has been damaged or is flawed is more beautiful because of this. You just have to see it that way. In a sense, the broken ceramic has wisdom. It is wise to the way of the world and its wounds are its wealth.

Unfortunately my lamp shade couldn't be joined with gold, but the lamp itself could be salvaged by simply getting another shade. While being broken, I had the choice to either replace it with a similar green one or change it while I had the chance and go with an amber colored shade.

Sometimes when you have to fix something it is a good chance to make changes and sometimes when things are fixed, the flaws don't look so bad. Just because something is broken doesn't mean it should be valued any less. If we view ourselves like ceramics, we would find more worth in our imperfections. Hardship builds character. Flaw is fashionable. Broken is beautiful.
So, I went with the amber shade and I think that my lamp has taken on a whole new personality. It's the same lamp, but a different shade; it's the same light, but a different color. I could be sad that the lamp I had no longer exists, or that parts of me are broken but instead, I'm actually pretty psyched because this one matches its surroundings better, these glued pieces do me justice. If I never broke, I never would have changed. I wouldn't have my golden fracture lines had I not at some point cracked. That makes me more beautiful...and wise.  Sometimes, like the lamp, to find your true color and strength...you are better off broken.

A Whole New Year: Here's To Me

"And so this is Christmas and what have you done? Another year over, a new one just begun..."
To quote John Lennon, "what have you done?"  Have you made the most of this year?  Are you a better "you" than you were a year ago?  I was thinking about the state I was in a year ago and the state I find myself in now.  I can't believe that an entire year has flown by, but upon reflecting I can see the time and changes.  2013 saw some good stuff!  I started off in bad spirits, but this year has seen more personal growth in me than possibly any other.  Like the phoenix out of her ashes, I too have risen out of the pit I found myself in at the end of 2012.  Mind, Body, and Soul, I feel that I have come a long way in 2013.  I have gained insights and a new perspective through my experiences this year that I hope will help me to continue to progress as well in 2014. 

Last year I was too depressed to get a Christmas tree.  I simply didn't give a shit, about most things at the time, but especially for anything that seemed more of a pain than it was worth to me.  This year, even though I didn't decorate it and it was obtained in the easiest way possible, we actually had a tree.  I think that was a step in the right direction, even if the Christmas spirit was more so forced, it was there, nonetheless. And that was symbolic of my recovery, even if I feel I should perhaps be a little farther along on my journey after a year of therapy and medication, a lot of other things have happened this year that have shaped me.

1) I started therapy shortly after the first of the year in 2013. After how things went with Doc X I was so scared I would get a Bible thumping therapist who wouldn't 'get me'. One of the best things that happened was me being referred to my therapist, who I love. She, being an art therapist, understands my artistic mind, we have built up a good report, and this relationship has been key to the success of my progress in many areas of my life. With her I switched from Lexapro to Prozac for an SSRI to help with my seratonin levels and then started on Wellbutrin and discovered how wonderful dopamine can be.

2) I started taking piano lessons in March and it's amazing how I feel about it. It was sort of a symbolic make up for childhood thing that coincided with therapy. It was for my self worth, to feel that I am someone that deserves to and is worth piano lessons. I was entirely more nervous than you would think starting, especially considering a friend of mine is giving me the lessons. I think it's just because I want it so bad. This is something that I have wanted to do since I was an incredibly young child, so I had doubts about my ability to do it. I was scared I would flake out like I have with so many other things, the clarinet being one of them. I was determined though, and I am proud of my progress. I feel more natural at the piano than while playing any other instrument. I'm determined to stick with it. BEETHOVEN OR BUST!!!

3) Facebook actually made a wonderful connection this year and frankly I think it is the most wonderful thing to ever come from this social network's algorithms. It actually suggested my Musing Through account to my new friend Melissa, that's how we met. We both live locally so we met up and started jamming together in February and this has turned into a great friendship and partnership. She has saved my musical muscle from atrophy during my 'recovery time'. I quite possibly would have put down my guitar had it not been for her and I am forever grateful.

4) I reconnected with my friend Leslie after she got out of rehab and together, I think, we helped keep each other together. However different, we were both going through a metamorphosis of sorts and our friendship was a much needed salve that helped our wounds heal faster than they would have alone. It was a symbiotic union from the start.

5) While my sister was in from South Korea in July we went to see Old Crow Medicine Show at Penn's Peak in Jim Thorpe. It was my third time seeing OCMS and it may have been the best!!

6) In July we went on our first REAL family vacation. I made my first Outer Banks trip and I now understand why SO many people proudly sport the OBX stickers. I had an intimate moment with a rising sun.

7) Leslie and I made a road trip to New York City to take my sister to the JFK Airport. While there, we went to the city for a visit and checked out the New York Public Library and bought some fedoras on the street!

8) Saw Bob Segar and the Silver Bullet Band!! BUCKET LIST EPIC!

9) I saw FLEETWOOD MAC!!! I can now die happy and have personal proof why everyone who underestimates Lindsey Buckingham can suck it!!

10) I attended my first Oak Mountain Hideaway House Concert and saw the son of icons, Ben Taylor. Got to meet him, have him sign some stuff, talk of life, and play a song on his guitar in what I like to refer to as The Ben Taylor Experience!! SURREAL!!

11) I have experienced a great deal of Spiritual Development and have, I think, come to better terms with my place in the world and my Life Purpose.

12) I have also experienced a great deal of emotional and psychological healing, due to therapy, drugs, art and writing. It's been a good year for expression.

13) While bored in early summer we came up with the "Scale of Promiscuity" that rates people according to their sexual activity. It is entirely too thorough and descriptive, with a scale for each sex and a name for each spot on the Scale. The trick is to unabashedly place yourself on the Scale, which is more of a spectrum, perhaps. Why?? Because boredom loves stupid.

14) I attended the 10th Annual and my first Greenwood Furnace Folk Gathering with my friend Melissa. It was a super fun camping weekend of music workshops and performances. It was one of the coolest things I've attended!

15) I started writing like a mother fucker!!! After being blocked for months and wondering if I would still be compelled to create while on meds, I had a huge creative burst during the second half of the year. I began to experiment extensively with iambic pentameter and writing in form, including Odes and Sonnets. I've filled up my 3 subject Life Liver's Log in around 5 months. I'm collecting tablets to use for LLL's in the colors of the spectrum and I want to go through the chakras. I'm still on Red for the Root!

And so, what have I done? It seems like a lot, considering. I've made some good connections and progress. It was an eventful year and it was a pretty good one. I am incredibly blessed and I feel that now more than ever. I am in a much better place this time around. Hopefully this year I can continue moving forward toward where I want to be. Here's to moving forward. Happy New Year!

Asking For Help: A Retrospective Ramble

[Started February 3, 2012]

Last week I was still dealing with crazy head.  Don’t get excited, nothing has changed, but I have a plan of action now at the very least.  I’ve said I want a Renaissance.  I’ve been saying it and feeling it.  But it’s hard to work on my Self and be a semi-single SAH mother and a wife and a writer and an artist and a musician and a business owner.  For some reason I guess I always felt like I should be able to do it all.  Not 100%, but at least do it all myself.  My husband is always away, so I take on the role I have to in order to exist here.  But I want my other roles; I have many.  It’s hard to keep things going and still manage to do everything.  Motherhood trumps everything else, including my sanity.

Drifting Sun has been back burnered for quite awhile now.  My shed was inundated with all of the stuff that was in my office prior to us needing a room for the baby.  I only printed one or two jobs the entire time I was pregnant.  I actually had my sister and husband do the physical printing, and I just did the screening, prepping and registration.  It can get a little smoky while printing, and in July while being 8 months pregnant the last thing I wanted to do was be standing and printing in my tiny hot box of a shop.  So they printed for me as I oversaw the process while sitting outside in a chair, and it worked out nicely.  I did print a couple pieces when they ran into problems, though, and helped them get straightened out.  And I printed a jacket job I had, because it was one jacket (ONE CHANCE SWIPE!) and my husband felt a little too intimidated to do it himself, which is understandable. 

I just printed a job for my cousin (December 2011), a memorial shirt for my Aunt Leslie who died of cancer in 2008.  It was an honor to print these shirts and it got me back into the swing of things with printing after the pregnancy hiatus.  This still doesn’t change the fact that my printing and chemicals and dark(bath)room stuff doesn’t exactly mix with watching a toddler.  And even when I am working on graphics or other things, it takes a great deal of my attention.  I’m always split.  I’m not a working mother and I’m not a stay at home mother...I’m something else.  I’ve tried to work out a situation where I could have her consistently watched once a week but haven’t been able to make it work yet.  At a loss, I’ve taken a friend on as my “assistant” instead.  I need help.  I think it’s obvious, and if I am pleading “please, I’m dying here!” and am not answered with a helpful hand, then by the fuck I’ll MAKE a helping hand.  Leslie is my friend and it seems appropriate she shares my aunt’s name.  Truthfully, other than my aunt, she is the only Leslie I have ever known.  She will visit me a lot and simply allow me to get simple things done like the dishes or getting a shower, just by being another individual that is around.  Leslie has agreed to help me out with my business also.  It seems appropriate that the first time I met her I was in the shed printing a job.  She actually helped me out watching my kid AND printing the first day I met her.  Maybe it was her eagerness, or something inside of her I recognized that seemed familiar, but this girl is a lifesaver.  Sometimes you just recognize people on a soul level and the connection is immediate and effortless.

 

Sometimes asking for help can be difficult.  I have grown to have a problem with this because the response was usually unsatisfying.  I shirked from asking for help...but in truth, I need help.  Isn’t it obvious?  It can be hard to submit to the fact that you are lost, look at the male stereotype of how hard it is to ask for directions.  Last year I struggled with this dilemma when deciding whether to take antidepressants or not and whether to begin to see a therapist or not.  Decisions decisions.  Life decisions.  This year has been chock full of the help I received because of that decision, the decision to heal.  The decision to leave the victim mentality behind.  It’s mostly a battle with EGO.  Ego doesn’t need help...so it thinks.  Truth is...EGO needs help more than anyone or anything.  EGO is the prime reason for all suffering and most of the communication problems among us.  It’s quite the bitch. 

So last year was fucking nuts but it was a first step into what really feels like a whole new life, it seems fitting that December 2012 was the end of the Mayan calendar and the supposed end of the world as we know it.  Nothing seemed to happen, aside from symbolically.  Was that really such a bad thing?  I needed the change.  I needed my world to end so that my new life could begin.  It was a matter of SURRENDER.  I simply had to surrender to the help that I have always desperately needed...physically, emotionally, mentally...and spiritually. 

[Finished September 10, 2013]

(Facebook Meme Graphic/artist unknown)

Do You Trust Your Brakes?

I was cleaning old text messages off of my phone this evening and I came to a thread between my sister and I when she was home from Korea in July.  I read through it before deleting it and was reminded of a silly scenario that we made into a metaphor one night when we popped into a friend's barn for an impromptu visit on the way to Weis market.  I almost forgot about it, accept she mentioned it in one of her last messages to me before she boarded her plane to return to Korea.  She asked me, "Do you trust your brakes?"

We were standing around bullshitting about this and that and then as the guys began to talk politics our right brain geared minds grew bored and started playing with thoughts and objects laying about. Luckily there were some matchbox cars sitting on something nearby.  My sister immediately started to drive them around and make noises.  It is this childlike side of her presence that I miss the most, the one that makes me laugh and jokes me out of sadness.  I miss that side of her that gets that side of me going until we are suddenly playing with matchbox cars like children while adults discuss the government around us.  Oblivious.  We've honed our skill well; my sister and I can block out the world with our childhood coping mechanisms anytime.  This isn't always the most polite of things to do and I am sure we can seem rude, but we sometimes have little control over where the moment takes us. 

This moment took us to high speeds in a pretend car, jumping over ramps and heading straight for a wall.  One of us did the fake squeaky brake noise as the car stopped suddenly.  I remember posing the question, "Yes, but do you trust your brakes?"  Heading at a wall at high speeds how can you be sure that your brakes are indeed going to work when the moment comes?  How do you know that they will stop you?  You need to have a certain amount of faith in your brakes, to trust them in a huge sense.  But should you have to trust them so much when so many variables are influenced by you?  Speed, for one, is always a factor and it can be controlled.

If you head straight into anything  balls to the wall, you risk coming to a sudden lethal stop if you don't control your speed or use your brakes.  Most of the time though, people take for granted that their brakes are there.  They take off out of the gate pedal to the floor, burnin' tire, hootin' and a hollerin', speeding into the world...and trust that this system will later be in place to stop them before they get into any danger.  On a dime, even.  This isn't always the case, though, is it?  Should we be so bold as to let the future of our lives up to a precaution we don't have COMPLETE control over? Some people underestimate their speed and forget that they are in control of the brakes.  They are essentially only a steering passenger, but their judgement is needed, they are still commanding the vehicle.  The timing is their decision...their choice.  Whenever and however your vehicle comes to a stop is [in most cases and figuratively] up to you.  You are the matchbox car.  You control the brakes. 

So, do you trust your brakes?  Do you trust that you will stop when the time comes, when it matters most?  When you want to?  When you need to?  Or will you hit that wall?  There's a chance that you could even survive hitting a wall, there's a smaller chance you could crash right on through it.  Your brakes may be immaculate and you may have steel strong willpower.  So then, if you trust your brakes, do you trust yourself to use them?  Now, that...is a metaphor.

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.  

Writer's Block and Compelling Tells

I have been meaning to finish up so many writing 'projects' for the longest time but I just haven't been feeling it.  Scrawled words emerge from time to time on random substrates, but I have been distanced from my writer's mind for some time.  Well, not the mind, just the motion.  Lines pop into my head as usual, but I don't grab a pen.  I let them fall to the bottom of my mind, and figure if the words were that good...they would come back to me.  Some do, some don't. That's the funny thing about words.

I like to have my trusty Moleskine with me, and it is usually in my purse, but I've been using it only for concert noting on the go, as of late.  I've been lost in thought instead of words.  The truth is I have dozens of journals and notebooks...aching for words.  Blank pages scream at me from every corner of my space, but I have not felt compelled to touch them.  I've been lost in instruments more so, but have been lax with that as well, until last week when I was compelled to pick up my Alvarez for three days straight.  Being compelled is another funny thing.  It's almost like a program in your brain you have to follow; you are driven to carry out the mission.  I just didn't seem to want to do anything else, so I just went with it...and let the housework back up.  My bathroom paid, but I was rewarded.  It lasted three straight days and then waned.  It felt good.  Sometimes, I am just compelled to do things and it feels best to just go with it.

So, today while I was in the store for a few things, I was compelled to buy a notebook and pens.  Stationery.  It should be known that I have a thing for stationery; I'm drawn to it like a moth to a flame.  I wander away from my husband at the site of the paper aisle in a store.  I am ridiculous in Staples.  It's borderline fetish.  Okay, I don't feverishly rub composition books on my genitals, or anything, (although if it was a leather bound journal, now...) there is just nothing like a fresh tablet and brand new pens! So, even though I know I have plenty of notebooks of every size and color, I for some reason felt I needed to purchase a small 3 subject Mead notebook and a pack of pens that claimed they were 'The smoothest in the world!'  The Bic Velocity. Good pen.  Smooth.

I felt compelled and went with it and got the tablet and pens.  If my Self says she wants a tablet on a whim, then what does that say?  What deeper tells does my spirit show?  Perhaps that she is ready to write again.  Perhaps that she wants new paper...for her new words.  Or...perhaps she is just a fetishist after all.  Let's see what she is compelled to do with it.

13 Fedoras, My Painted Face, and Endless Assumptions

The 13th Fedora!

It has been about a year since I purchased my black and white checkerboard fedora for myself.  I have dug hats in general much of my life, my dad seemed to always be sporting some fun head wear with or without a feather in it when I was younger.  Actually, hats did always seem to be on his head, but one of the main reasons for this was that he had no hair on the top of it.  Combine this with all of the outside work he did and he never would have stayed warm in the winter without his staple hunter orange beanie cap.  I learned the importance of head gear for warmth through him and over 8 years ago started to wear winter hats to save my body heat.  It worked magically, perhaps because my hair isn't so thick itself.  I felt so cold whenever I was without my hat.  It's funny how used to something you can grow.  When I adopted the fedora, or rather, when it adopted me, my constant wear produced the same separation anxiety when I was without.  I feel naked without one now.  I have half of my collection stacked in the living room and it is the last thing I put on when I am getting ready to go, and the first thing I take off when I return.  I have quite a few now; last year I got one for different events or occasions and happened upon some at other times that simply couldn't be rejected.  I often waited until they were on clearance and for awhile only paid $3 on average for most of them.  Today, I think the average is up to $7.  A few of them I received as gifts.  My parents got me one for Christmas, and my sister brought me one back from Korea that I can't wait to rock out this summer!  In all I have collected about a dozen fedoras in the last year. That's roughly one a month; not too shabby!  Recently, my friend Christal gave me my thirteenth fedora for a just because gift just because she is awesome like that.  It was my first official animal print fedora, which I find quite fitting.  And it was lucky number thirteen as well!

It is actually a rather breathable warm-weather fedora made of a mesh paper blend; not quite as warm as my black felt that I was already wearing the night Christal presented me with it, but I put it on when I picked her up for our mild Sunday night out.  Snazzy zebra stripes! She said I looked like Bret Michaels, but at least it wasn't a turban. I obviously don't mind looking ridiculous, as per my own definition of the word, that is.  Sometimes in public I forget that I am wearing a fedora because I generally do and am puzzled when people stare more than usual.  The same happens with my lip stick.  I forget my lips are bright red so you'd swear I was dressed for Halloween or something? It's just a hat; it's just lip stick!  I'm not the only woman to wear a fedora, they sell them at Walmart for fuck sake!

I don't necessarily enjoy the attention but I like being different because I like being myself.  There is a difference.  I was applying my trusted long lasting lip stick for a night out a few weeks ago and a male friend said all girls who wear make up as such do it for attention.  I FEEL I NEED TO MAKE A POINT!  Perhaps, I told him, I enjoy the angles of my face, I find them aesthetically pleasing, even.  Perhaps I even enjoy the contrast of the bright color against my pale flesh.  Painting a face is much like painting a portrait, only 3D and in makeup.  It's a very personal ritual, face painting.  Just because I wear a fedora and red lip stick doesn't mean I want the attention of every Tom Dickin' Creeper at the bar.  My make up is self love, it's me enjoying my femininity.  I'm sorry, but ironically, that has absolutely nothing to do with men!  My fedora is a form of self expression.  So, I'm just another poor girl 'asking for it' if I brighten my lips or wear a shiny hat?  Because I could only possibly be doing it for some outward form of attention?  Well, some women do, I give you that.  They build themselves up by the amount of attention they get from others.  That is how they feel loved.  This doesn't hold true for every woman.  The fact is, you have no idea what a woman is "asking for" unless you ask her.   In most cases, she probably isn't asking for anything!! Maybe that's your problem, men.  You assume too much.  Far far too much.

Regardless, the fedora does get some attention, not me.  It's like a tail, it has a personality of its own.  It has a fan base, some good, some bad.  I had one man tell me once that his friend told him that you have to "embrace the fedora".  That has stuck with me and remains one of my favorite found quotes.  Some man approached me and asked to buy my new fedora that night.  He apparently was a Bret Michaels fan.  A different night another man took it off of my head and proceeded to louse it up for me.  How dare you!  Another time, some drunk offered me a dollar to trade my shiny faux denim fedora for his ratty ass ball cap?  The nerve, the gall and the assumption!  I haven't lost one yet, and I'm proud of that.  Lay off the hat, you crazy Bret Michaels fans.  I'm expressing myself, over here!

Would you believe I have already moved on to number 14?  

Fedorin',

Missie Sue

Another Dumb Metaphor

"That's a metaphor!"  That's my catch phrase, or at least one of them. Regardless, I use use this line a lot. I think that the Universe lays things out for us sometimes, giving us hints or steps in our lessons. There is always always always (USUALLY) a deeper meaning to something that you are seeing or experiencing. I don't believe this, I beLIVE it. I see it in action daily. Sometimes, things are so coincidental, such a twist of odds or fate, that it seems foolish to not take note.

I'm currently reading a book that was talking about spring, relating it to personal growth and thoughts, the cutting off of the old in order to allow new growth.  The shriveled foliage from the previous year gives way to new sprouts and buds. It's an interesting concept, stating that things are made to flourish, and then die back, and grow again.

One of the things I have always been timid about is the trimming of my house plants. I'm afraid of cutting off what so much energy was expelled to produce. It seems such a waste, even though many of my plants would do well with a trim more often. Hell, even hair is encouraged to grow with a periodic trim. This is a lesson I need to learn. Trimming promotes thicker trunks and stronger roots, a more stable organism.  You don't see plants carrying around their old growth and baggage like us humans, trees refusing to drop their leaves in the fall.  When something is past its prime, it gracefully takes its place among the fallen, the dried, the brown. The compost. The fertilizer. The sustenance. The Earth. Pruning is quite common in Nature. God is an excellent gardner.

Other than the book I am reading, my therapist was using the analogy of cutting off dead pieces [of yourself] that no longer serve a purpose or empower us in our last session.  This really hit home; it coincidentally followed the theme I was being given. How interesting. I should take note.

I recently acquired the remainder of my grandmother's house plants.  They were unattended for some time after my pap passed, so they are in rough shape, some of them. Among them was this guy, a large over grown dieffenbachia or "dumb cane". It's called this because the sap is actually poisonous. It apparently can paralyze your vocal cords and swell you tongue to choking proportions. Add that to the fact that this stem is about as thick as a can of Red Bull, and it is a quite intimidating creature. What if it doesn't survive? Something my grandmother kept alive for decades, could be destroyed so easily. The stem that she saw, touched, and tended. This intimidates me. And it should...it represents more than that. 

I remember once when my gram had just cut it back and put the piece of stem in the dirt, the sideways piece that I now see with a dying shoot on it.  Upon bringing them home, I trimmed the obvious dead off of all the plants, but I waited with the dumb cane's main stem because I didn't know how it would handle the shock or what pieces were definitely goners. I trimmed a lot of it's large browned leaves. His thick intimidating stalk feels like a soft potato. I read you should leave at least 6" or more when you cut it. I'm going to try this and then cut the rest of the large stem into starters. If the trim doesn't help it, perhaps I can turn part of the stem into the dirt and it will sprout? Regardless, it's time to let it go.

The cane's overgrown, meaning its foliage, or weight, is mostly at the top of the stalk that isn't strong enough to hold it. It got carried away. It grew too quickly, too tenaciously to keep up with itself, to support itself. If you've grown out of control, cut yourself back to the roots and grow some new foliage, some new pieces.

If you're scared to do something, I read somewhere that you should not wait until you aren't scared, because that will most likely never happen. If you're scared, just do it scared. Just do it. Trim off the dead portions that no longer serve you. Take care not to let them poison you and silence your present or future, for they can be like the slowest of poisons, but cut them off nonetheless, and let them go...so you can grow. So you can thrive. That's a metaphor, straight from the dumbcane.  Here's to the power of pruning. What dead matter should you cut off of yourself?

My Desk Is Lava

There is the theory that all outer chaos mirrors inner chaos, or visa versa. It's an idea, a thought, a hard truth? I'm a believer. I'm constantly struggling to fit all of my stuff into my space. I have been working on cleaning out some dark recesses again this week. I am aware that I have some hoarder tendencies, and possibly too many possessions for our humble home.  I'm not a crazy materialist, we just all need stuff and I've been collecting it my entire life!  Also, I have a home business and about a million hobbies. Plus, I lost my office when we decided to breed, so the dining room is where the remnants settled.
My Desk is certainly a hot spot, to say the very least. It's sometimes a volcano spewing lava. I have the OCD to create an excellent system, I simply also have the ADD to not follow through with said system. I'll reinvent, follow, tire, fail and repeat! THAT'S MY ROUTINE! I feel like I finally manage to get on this bucking bull, only to lose my grasp again. Flung to the ground. That's a metaphor. My inability to schedule and organize myself stems from something far greater than laziness.
This is my Desk, which is basically a glorified shelf, or a waste basket filing system? It has better days than others. There is some order in this chaos, though, you better believe it...I'm just not sure where I put it right now.
So, is my inner chaos mirroring my surroundings? Or is my outer chaos a reflection of my confused inner realm? I'm not sure, but if they can meet in the middle, maybe I can ride that bull a little longer this time! Either ride the bull or live with the lava!

-MS

This Week in Work: The Navel Tale and More

I shouldn’t even be blogging, but I should because I want to get into the role of writing again.  I have writer’s block.  Well, I have honestly been writing a lot, just not blog writing.  I’ve been writing poetry plenty, and musings and such.  Just blah on the blog front.  So I have Blogger’s Block. 

I have a busy week ahead of me.  I have a Drifting Sun print job for Jackson’s Bar, hopefully I will be printing those Thursday.  I have to do screens and graphics for this job yet before printing.  I have a day of piercing lined up for this Wednesday.  It will be my first near full day of piercings, I hope to get a good number lined up so it is worth it. 

I’ve begun a self apprenticeship in piercing, as I said, and I had a week of nostrils and navel.  This week I am going to do lips and labrets, and possibly some others.  I’m currently still lining up some guineas.  (I mean no disrespect to people from New Guinea, or guinea pigs or anything of the sort, I simply reply to my subjects/patients/heros as guineas.  I appreciate all of the guinea pigs that are allowing me to learn on them!)  Hopefully I can get a decent day of it scheduled out so it’s worth while lining up a sitter for so long.

I will be attempting lips and labrets.  All new to me!  Last week I did two nostril piercings and a navel.  They all went really well.  The nostril, I had done before as I blogged, on myself.  These ones were done with corkscrew jewelry studs, though, which can prove to be difficult getting to turn to follow the needle through.  I have also done my own navel, I mentioned, only completely incorrectly with a safety pin.  The navel.  THE NAVEL.  That is the tricky one.  But having all the proper supplies to do it was so much easier.

The navel piercing is very popular, mostly with teenage girls.  This is one of the things that make it actually one of the more difficult piercings to do.  They aren’t always great with their aftercare and a navel can take up to 9 to 12 months or longer to heal fully at times.  This isn’t me targeting anyone, this is what I’ve read in my books/studies.  I’ve been on my subject like a hawk about aftercare!  She’s been great!  It’s doing well. 

The navel piercing itself was a little odd.  The needle pierced through fine, I just had trouble getting the jewelry to follow the needle through, as it didn’t fit into the hollow end of the needle well because they were the same gauge.  I finished it up and it went well, but there was a moment where I was almost afraid I would have to stop and not be able to do it.  I thought I wouldn’t be able to get the jewelry through for a split second, but I was determined, apologized to my subject, and lined them up and got ‘er through!  BAM! The biggest problem was getting enough of her skin in the forceps to pierce well enough.  That’s another problem with navels.  They reject and migrate often because there isn’t always a good amount of skin to be pierced there.  No two navels are made alike and there are some that just simply can not be pierced!  You must assess the situation.  I decided she was capable, although hers was a little elongated (like a coin slot) which we joked about. 
  

I need to line up my guineas and be aware of which piercings they are interested in so I can prepare myself properly.  So hopefully everything goes well Wednesday and I am able to get my printing done while still being able to write a few things here and there.  Mondays are so crazy.  I sat down last night (on Sunday) and actually tried to plan my week out some and contacted people about this week.  It was good to start ahead, so hopefully I can keep up with that momentum.  I’m already hittin’ the coffee hard, and I’m gonna need it for this week! 

Piercing Through,

Missie Sue