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Visiting Chloe yesterday I watched mending bands wrap between brothers. Too different to understand, to similar to be strangers - they dance around playing ego games. Amazing what the first grandchild will do to a family.
We hear that he "wants to know us better". This brother of my husband's with his judgement and assumptions. I know it could heal places in my Dusty that I cannot heal alone. I have hope about this road. I want to be a part of Chloe's life no matter how different we are from her parents.
My body is fighting a war. Not a big war, just an achy body, hurting head, sore throat kind of war - but a war nonetheless. And while it does this I struggle to honor the war and feel the presence of springtime that comes.
Yesterday, bowed on the floor like a muslum praying towards Mecca, I knelt, hunched over, bending my face to my kitchen floor, feeling for the earth beneath it.
"The Goddess awakens," he said as he smiled down at me. "And so shall you."
It is a treasure to have a high priest for a husband.
The war rages, though our forces seem to be winning. My throat still hurts.
The rain has not stopped - cars race past my window. The pre-dawn light is coming up and I have already been here for hours. Everyone else is still sleeping.
Dusty and I leave for a great adventure today. To face the white coat wizard. After years of avoidance and fear, I worked for the health insurance and set up an appointment. I'd like to think I am ready to be healthy. I fear that I just want some pain meds.
Eva Cassidy sings soulful rhythms to my inspired heart.
I wonder about fame after death - people finally hearing you, finding your music. What must that feel like? I know you played to empty clubs, smoky and dark. You never wanted to be famous, but respect and fame are two different things.
The cancer hit so quickly and then you were gone. Now, your music spreads, person to person, as we learn about your unique talent. Sometimes in the evening I sit, quiet and alone, while you change the way I view old beloved songs.
Bless you Eva.
My original plan was to write every single day. I am sure I am not alone. I missed a day already. Don't know how it happened, one moment I was thinking about writing 100 words and then it was Friday.
I know I was sick. I know I wasn't sure what to write about.
As a photographer I know there is always a shot, wherever you are. There is always some angle that turns something usual into extraordinary. I have been thinking that there must also always be 100 words.
Guess I forgot my camera that day.
Six days into being sick and this tireless war is effecting my mind.
Ripped paper becomes a boat that becomes a surfer on the waves. Joking about selling me on the open market ["I'd pull a fair price"] becomes bravely sailing across the open seas.
Off to an office meeting, I am trying to keep my composure. Two more minutes until I shuffle off to Buffalo. An hour of fact and figures, going over our production for the week. Focus on the goal - get through the meeting and run home to fall into the weekend's embrace.
I was reading random 100 words posts and ran into a really funny thought.
Someone wrote about how hard they worked to ensure that their batch didn't become a journal. I can't tell you how much I laughed.
No matter what I write, whether it's fiction or non-fiction, my writing is always a journal. The topic I choose, the arc of my characters, the adjectives I use - it all speaks to who I am at this very moment.
My batch could never be anything but a journal, recounting the growth of the woman I am each moment that I write.
Missed another day...
Drifting off to sleep I halfway remembered. Tucked into bed, wrapped in warmth and comfort. Gershwin's piano, socks too big for my feet. My left arm deep under my pillow. My right arm clutching Mr. Bear in it's crook.
Yes, I'm a twenty-seven year old married woman who sleeps with her teddy bear. My inner child holds way too much sway over me. Let's not talk about it.
As I was saying, snuggled with Mr. Bear I was drifting off to sleep, piano singing, and suddenly the thoughts shot through....
"What about my 100 words?"
Gave the ultimate gift today. Better than diamonds and rubies, I gave my Aquarian the gift of freedom.
Now the struggle is to keep in mind that by giving freedom I am not losing it. Supporting the art of another doesn't mean letting go of my art. Making space for my husband's creativing doesn't negate my own.
I will work and he will stay home, not riding his unemployment benefits, but truly home like I was. I am very frightened. For the first time in a long time I feel like I am giving him what he needs.
You may not understand. You really don't have to.
I have a growing appreciation for the blood I create. This red monthly flowing, trickling, streaming evidence of my ability to create a home for life has become wondrous to me.
I am happy that I bleed, not because I do not carry life, but because I have that potential. I am happy that I bleed, to celebrate it's arrival instead of waiting for it's end. I am happy I bleed because it connects me to women all over the world and throughout time.
I am happy that I bleed.
I regularly frequent an all American diner before work where I am served by lovely Indian women. I think about them a lot.
Inga Muscio talks about the separation that race brings to women in her book, "Cunt". Because our country is such a mix of races and cultures, our women are kept separated from each other - unable to create connection to their shared womyn-ness. Facing the same gender oppression they cannot link because of old cultural wounds and tears.
I would really like to know these woman. I would really like to know about their lives.
Back to the diner for breakfast with Karen. I talked about my home life. I loaned her a copy of Christine Northup's "Women's Bodies, Women's Wisdom".
As this friendship grows, I value it more each day. She is a delightfully strong and engaging woman. I admire her radical bravery in the face of her personal obstacles. She is well read and rounded - reminding me about my long lost love of theater. I deeply enjoy how unconditionally supportive she is, cheering me on to fight my battles, even when she doesn't know what they are.
I am still overwhelmed with the impact Inga's book has made on me. I am vibrant and energized just knowing that my body can create life. My body is constantly working, doing the most amazing things. Cells are reproducing and dying, a constant cycle of renewal. My blood travels around me.
But in truth I am most enraptured with my cunt. I am enthralled by it's amazing talents. I am aflame with love and appreciation. It is alive with a spark it has never had and I have never felt so healthy.
I promised myself that I would let go of the stupid ideas about this holiday. I promise myself every year - and then I wait to see what Dusty does for me.
So we talked again - this morning as I lay in bed. He made me stay home as he went to the store. At Imbolc he gave me this lovely pendant. It was supposed to be for Valentines Day, but I needed it then. He bought me a chain for it to go on while he was gone.
I have never felt so normal.
More about Valentine's Day. We had such a glorious adventure yesterday. Typical and normal. Mongolian Bar-B-Que for lunch and then a mid afternoon movie. It was even a stupid romantic movie.
Somehow though, it felt more like an adventure. We took busses through deserted business parks. We talked about what we would do if we won the lotto. He wants to give it all away - I want to invest it. It was a really nice day.
Lunch and a Movie.
And a stop at Michael's for Craft Supplies.
I really am a very lucky woman.
My husband wants to teach. My brother is a film maker. My sister is a dancer. But I still don't know what I want to do.
This bothers me. I bounce between this plan and the next one, and my energy never goes in the same direction more than twice. I have trouble building a future because I can't decide on one. There are so many things that I love.
I guess I will just be the world's first Art Historian/ Writer/ Sculptor/ Priestess/ Counselor/ Graphic Designer/ Teacher/ Web Designer/ Stay at Home Mom.
A book I was reading made an interesting point. I have been thinking about it all day. Let me paraphrase:
"When you look at people or situations, strive to see them for what they are in and of themselves, and not as what they can do for you."
It's a simply idea, but I really like it. Taking time to look at people - to see them and understand them in their own context. Standing as an observer, a witness of their existence and impact in the world.
It can teach you a lot about people you think you know.
I wonder a lot about the way we sustain ourselves in this country. Most of us sell ourselves out to some job that doesn't make much sense at all. We give up a good third of our lives to do busy work so that we have the money to pay for the things in our lives.
I think a lot about the line between having just enough and having more than enough. A friend asked me about selling Tupperware recently. I had to decline. The people I know don't have the money for a $15 bowl.
Waiting for the bus.
Fog thick like the blanket I left for my sleepy husband who will wake long after I am gone.
I can see my hand, but not the cars coming my direction.
Overwhelmed with the sounds of birds I cannot see. Suddenly they swing into view – a flock of twenty, maybe twenty-five, swooping, diving in the air currents.
They yell back and forth to each other, calling out to me.
They move in and out of view but I can always hear where they might be coming from next.
Sometimes god gives us the most beautiful moments.
My brother is an incredibly talented young man. Ever since he was little, he has been an artist. I remember this amazing drawing he did of me when he was young, watching me while I was sleeping. As I moved around he just kept drawing. When I asked him why my foot looked weird he told me that he included time in the drawing by showing how it turned.
I don't know if you realize how impressive that is. Cezanne did that first, at the turn of the century, showing different perspectives in the same painting.
He is now a film major at University of California, Santa Cruz. He is exploring so many wonderful sides of himself. My husband left for a visit this last weekend to go act in his movie.
The movie has been a huge project. It should be a feature length film. The storyline is complex and knowing my brother, it will be very well done. He has grown as a director through this process. When it is finished, it will be available online. You are welcome to email me if you want to see it.
I want to write about heroes and challenges, fighting mythic battles with deep emotional scenes and riveting plot points. I want complex poetic language and a deep spiritual center (kinda gooey like a candy bar – and rich).
I want to write many books, trilogies and quartets about characters vivid and alive. I want people to read them and consider them old friends.
I want to inspire young people to find hope in their lives, to identify with characters that struggle and survive and achieve wonderful things.
Now all I have to do is start.
Art is an interesting experience.
Sometimes, I create art to express myself. I pour my emotions into a painting or sculpture. These pieces are mine and don't need to be seen. It's the creating that gives them purpose.
Sometimes I create to share a thought, an idea. I want the masses to know how I feel about something – to spark their imagination and get them passionate.
Sometimes I just want to create something beautiful. These are often my most successful pieces. It can make me sad that my other work gets ignored, but spreading beauty is also a noble goal.
I am still learning how to meld into the corporate work environment. I say this with great humor, as my corporate work environment is a non-profit, small little company that doesn't have the level of politics you find in the normal corporate world. But even this corporate-lite job has me whirling.
I guess I am too straight forward, too logical and idealistic. I expect that those who work hard deserve to be recognized. I believe that kissing ass or having a nice ass shouldn't put you in a position of power. I am still surprised when things like this happen.
The ebb and flow at my work always has things shifting, power structures changing. It's hard to know who to make friends with – who to treat with extra amounts of respect. Around here, a fellow phone monkey can move to a better department and then come back to by your boss's boss in less than two months. It's hard to know how to react.
What it would be like if the people who knew more and worked harder were promoted and the people who did and cared less were not? It seems so counter productive. I just don't understand.
Oh Brother Where Art Thou
Eat Drink Man Woman
Roger and Me
In and Out
Breakfast at Tiffanys
Southpark - The Movie
Anything by Kevin Smith
Old Hitchcock films
(especially Vertigo and Rope)
The Adventures of Baron Munchausen
Cook, the Thief, His Wife, Her Lover
And the Band Played On
The Tigger Movie
What's Up Tiger Lily?
(recommended by my brother)
Nowhere in Africa
(recommended by a stranger)
Igby goes Down
Meet the Feebles
(for my husband)
You need a Netflix account,
I love to cook. Stews, soups, roasts and casseroles. I like the simple dishes - meatloaf and mashed potatoes or spaghetti with salad. But I love to pull out those cooking school skills. Creamed Leek and Sorrel Soup or Coquille St. Jacques (scallops and herbs in a cream sauce).
My husband says that my cooking background is evident in my everyday cooking. I guess I never thought about it. He says that most people don't make their own salad dressings (my creamy dill is to die for). He shook his head at my blue cheese and portobello mushroom stuffed hamburgers.
I have been working really hard on my photography. I have an account at DeviantArt and you can view my work there. It has really been improving. The new camera is a big help, but I am learning to be a better photographer as well.
I argued with my husband about the photography. He would get so upset that I was always hiding behind the camera.
"Sometimes I think I see the world with special eyes - eyes that see beauty where most people don't. I can't help but want to share that."
He understands better now.
You are gone and I am thinking.
These are my first minutes, first hours alone in so long. Six months ago you were also gone. I imagine a life alone.
This frightens me. It is so calm and peaceful here. No compromises, no distractions, no arguments.
But as my body shakes with orgasm I remember that companionship is never about the sex but the touching. Being your wife isn't about having a peaceful life. It's about those interactions, whether they lead to compromises, arguments, love making or laughter.
I love you. I am happy we are together.
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