I have a lot of stuff waiting for the blog, but it's gonna be well into next week before I can get anything meaty posted. I'm working A LOT of extra shifts at work. And, they keep calling me in on my days off, too. I'm tired. I'm stupid tired. And, this is going to continue for at least 7 more days before I get a break.
Good things:
1. My sewing machine came in. BUT, I haven't been able to fully unbox her and try her out and see if she's in good shape or anything. See above about getting called in on my days off. Hopefully, she's fine. I'll find out as soon as I can. But, see above about extra shifts.
2. I did get having May 20 off from work approved. Hopefully, there's still a slot open in the printmaking workshop at the museum. I'm going to go register tomorrow on my way to work.
3. My son's cap and gown rental for graduation came in. Here's hoping he doesn't screw everything up between now and end of term. It's been a HARD road getting him to graduation. Please, please, please just let him graduate and put high school in his rear view mirror.
4. I need to start working on making the girls' bat mitzvah gifts. I'm making them Hamilton gift boxes of stuff. I'm bummed that I can go to Louisiana for the b'nai mitzvah, but it's the week before my son's graduation, and I couldn't take off all those days for both. So, I will send a huge bounty of gifts!
More later. I'm tired. I'm sore. I have iced coffee, and it's time for a hot bath.
Wednesday, April 26, 2017
Saturday, April 22, 2017
Simple
I'm sitting here after work eating post Easter clearanced chocolate covered marshmallow eggs, drinking a big glass of icy cold RC Cola, sorting yarn for my next crochet project, and binge watching Girlboss on Netflix. This is most certainly NOT a glamourous Saturday night, but hell if I care. I'm content.
Quick list o'stuff:
1. Please, I'm gonna need for customers to get over being racist asses before shopping at my store. Take that hateful nonsense to Piggly Wiggly.
2. I still don't know if I can get the day off for the printmaking workshop at the museum in May. Ponytail came to me this afternoon and explained that Dramabitch had already taken that day off. Normally, I'd be scheduled to cover for her for the shift of alternate position. However, Hair is also trained for alternate position. So, Ponytail is trying to see if produce can spare Hair for that day so I can have the day off, too. I really appreciate that Ponytail is trying. She could've just denied the time off request. The fact that she's making an effort to work it out so I can take an art class really touches my heart. I didn't know she could be this thoughtful. I'm pleasantly surprised. But, my hopes are not high for being able to take that class.
3. Y'all! The Aliso Summit Fairy Trail is so charming! via Atlas Obscura
4. Found THIS on etsy. It cracks me up to no end! Yesssss!!!
5. Volume up for singing Norwegian sailors . Goosebumps, y'all! via The Chive
6. Do you enjoy multilingual grammatical geekery? I enjoy multilingual grammatical geekery immensely. This is one of my favorite wikipedia pages .
7. IDs I have law-abidingly accepted while carding for alcohol purchases: US drivers' licenses from a wide variety of states, a state government issued ID (non-driver), US military IDs, Quebec drivers' licenses, Mexican passports, US passports, a Columbian passport, an Ontario driver's license, a Ukrainian driver's license. Oddly enough, I'm having fun collecting this list. The more bizarrely far-reaching it becomes, the more satisfied I am.
8. This is what I usually stream while trying to fall asleep at night. It's comforting background noise. It's my all time favorite documentary. Of course, the Andy McCluskey and Paul Humphreys parts are the best bits!
9. Click to smile. It pleases me that someone thought this up and went to the trouble to make the gif. So cute!
10. A History of Ireland in 100 Great Quotes via Irish Times
Quick list o'stuff:
1. Please, I'm gonna need for customers to get over being racist asses before shopping at my store. Take that hateful nonsense to Piggly Wiggly.
2. I still don't know if I can get the day off for the printmaking workshop at the museum in May. Ponytail came to me this afternoon and explained that Dramabitch had already taken that day off. Normally, I'd be scheduled to cover for her for the shift of alternate position. However, Hair is also trained for alternate position. So, Ponytail is trying to see if produce can spare Hair for that day so I can have the day off, too. I really appreciate that Ponytail is trying. She could've just denied the time off request. The fact that she's making an effort to work it out so I can take an art class really touches my heart. I didn't know she could be this thoughtful. I'm pleasantly surprised. But, my hopes are not high for being able to take that class.
3. Y'all! The Aliso Summit Fairy Trail is so charming! via Atlas Obscura
4. Found THIS on etsy. It cracks me up to no end! Yesssss!!!
5. Volume up for singing Norwegian sailors . Goosebumps, y'all! via The Chive
6. Do you enjoy multilingual grammatical geekery? I enjoy multilingual grammatical geekery immensely. This is one of my favorite wikipedia pages .
7. IDs I have law-abidingly accepted while carding for alcohol purchases: US drivers' licenses from a wide variety of states, a state government issued ID (non-driver), US military IDs, Quebec drivers' licenses, Mexican passports, US passports, a Columbian passport, an Ontario driver's license, a Ukrainian driver's license. Oddly enough, I'm having fun collecting this list. The more bizarrely far-reaching it becomes, the more satisfied I am.
8. This is what I usually stream while trying to fall asleep at night. It's comforting background noise. It's my all time favorite documentary. Of course, the Andy McCluskey and Paul Humphreys parts are the best bits!
9. Click to smile. It pleases me that someone thought this up and went to the trouble to make the gif. So cute!
10. A History of Ireland in 100 Great Quotes via Irish Times
Friday, April 21, 2017
There Were Thursday Thrills
I'm writing this up and getting the pics up real quick before heading to work so this won't be a hefty post. But, it's a happy one! Yesterday (Thursday) was quite lovely! The best part was all of the things I got done and enjoyed without anxiety getting in the way too much. I was in charge of myself yesterday, and it was exhilarating! After getting necessary evils conquered yesterday morning, the rest of the day was the best day I've had in a long time. Cheap Indian food and a good book for lunch? Yes, please! Coffee and silliness with Pilot? Yes, please! ART AFTER HOURS AT WIREGRASS MUSEUM OF ART? OH, HELL, YES, PLEASE AND THANK YOU!!!
Three things about yesterday were beautiful, soul-nourishing surprises:
1. I did not feel lonely and an outsider much of yesterday. I can't remember the last time I felt warm and truly welcome.
2. I was so damn brave yesterday. I was downright bold. I did things yesterday that I've been shying away from for quite a while. I don't know what got into me, but I liked it! It reminded me of the power that pulses through me after an improv class or after I've triaged and worked an accident scene. I did not flinch yesterday.
3. For a little bitty while last night at the museum, I was me. Joy, Joan, and Rita, are y'all reading this? Remember the camera days in Chicago last September? It was an intoxicating hint of that. For an hour or so, I was alive. I didn't know..... I didn't know that hadn't been beaten out of me. I didn't know I could still tap into that.
OK, let me get the pics up before I head out to work.
Pilot and me
If you see this, either decide to join in or run away because coffee fueled mischief is afoot!
ART AFTER HOURS
WIREGRASS MUSEUM OF ART
About 30min before I left, I did have to talk to myself into it. I was getting ready and was so frustrated because no amount of primping is every gonna make me anything but fat and ugly. And, I was dreading that 2 people I expected to be there weren't going to be so I thought I'd be by myself in the crowd. And, sometimes that's a panic attack trigger, and I'd just assume avoid having a panic attack, thank you. *shudder* But, I knew it was the museum which is always a safe place. And, the theme of the new exhibits is printmaking which is an art form I have long been curious about. And, I have never regretted going to an Art After Hours and have even had a fabulous time before. So, I knew if I could just make myself go, I'd be ok once I got there. But, I was in a pissy mood the whole drive. Ah! But, when I got there! The first people I saw were a dear couple from temple! What a nice surprise! First words out of K's mouth? "I love your hair!" Y'all, I NEEDED that. Shallow and pathetic? Yeah. I don't care. I needed it. Then, I turned to the entrance table and started to reach into my purse to get my membership card out of my wallet. But, before I could even wrap my fingers around my wallet, the director greeted me by name! She was smiling and welcomed me by name. And, all of the knots in my stomach loosened. And, I took a deep, belly breath and set to having an adventure!
The current exhibits are From Here To There: Printmaking In Alabama. The artists included are Amy LeePard, Scott Stephens, Sarah Marshall, Derek Cracco, and Andrew Kozlowski. (I want to go back when it's not crowded and pull on the white gloves and handle Amy LeePard's bookmaking pieces and really take the time to study them.) The new photography exhibit is in the Blumberg gallery. It's documentingBlues by Jenn Ocken. I was excited to see that exhibit, but then I saw that it was entirely Memphis based. Oh, God, y'all, I miss Memphis so bad. I walked through and appreciated the pictures, but it was tugging at my heart. And, I didn't want to feel those feelings. I kept thinking about my people at Temple Israel and about Opera Memphis and taking Shirly shopping at the Asian markets and, and, and. I appreciated the power of the photographs, but I didn't dwell in there. I wanted to protect my headspace. Also, I was put off by photography not being allowed in the exhibit.
By the way, the contrast between the warmth, engagement, and openness of Bill Steber and his exhibit vs. last night's was striking. There was no magic in the Blumberg gallery last night. The photographs were good, but the atmosphere wasn't.
The BEST part of Art After Hours last night?!!??!! HELLLLLLOOOOOOOOOO, ART PLAY TABLE!!!! "Do you want to try making a monotype print?" Ummm, YESYESYESYESYESYESYESYES. More like, I had to force myself to step away from the table and not just stay right there all night using up all the supplies! I had so much fun being completely inept at a new way of making as I created pretty, sparkling blobs. It was pure play. Colors and movement and the best kind of mess making. People asking questions and laughing. Sharing and smiling. The most encouraging part? The table stayed BUSY. People were engaged! So many folks getting their hands dirty! Men and women of all ages. Seeing that unfold was a hopeful and joyous thing to witness. Y'all, I was so happy. I went to look at art, and I came home with paint on my hands. That, my darlings, is bliss.
I didn't take as many pictures last night as I have in the past. I was too busy being part of things to hide behind my camera! I was seeing with my eyes and not my lens! Also, I didn't always use my camera, and, as usual, my phone's camera let me down on several snaps. Oh, well!
Yes, the gap in the bottom right made me twitch. LOL
No, I wasn't creepy. She gave me permission to take this photo.
Me being happy!
I've put in a scheduling request at work to have the day of May 20 off with availability to work the closing shift that night. There's a Sarah Marshall printmaking workshop at the museum all day that I desperately want to take. The problem is that my son's graduation is the next week, and I've already got 4 days off on the books for that. So, I don't know if I can get another scheduling variance approved in such close time to that. But if it goes through, next payday I'm going to sign up. It's only $30 for members. Well worth it! I just ordered my sewing machine and bought groceries, And, the truck's gas tank is almost empty. So, I am ruined for money until next week. Hopefully, I won't be too late to get a slot! Just waiting on that square on my work schedule calendar to go from yellow to green, hopefully!
Thursday, April 20, 2017
Chocked Full
It's a good thing I have today (Thursday) off work because it's 3:29am, and I'm laying here awake in the dark with my earbuds in listening to OMD songs. Today holds the promise of what will hopefully prove to be great fun and maybe even a wee hint of adventure. Along with a long to-do list for my day off, I'm supposed to meet Pilot for coffee this afternoon if she feels up to it (yes, she's still sick, the poor dear). And, then tonight is Art After Hours at the Wiregrass Museum of Art which I am wildly excited about! I can't wait! Expect a bunch of pictures on Friday, of course!
I finally saved up $122 to order a sewing machine. This is a much needed, practical replacement, and I feel no guilt about spending money on this necessary tool. I hope everything's in working order when it arrives next week. It has some features that are going to be pure luxury! Drop in top loading bobbin! One step buttonholing! Stretch stitches! I am sooooo looking forward to tackling my list of sewing projects.
It's going to cost $211+parts tax to get the hand-me-down clarinet Beth gave me for my birthday refurbished. That's the next indulgence I'm saving for. Hopefully, this summer!
Before I start this story, let me begin by assuring y'all that NOTHING HAPPENED. This did not become a dire situation. It didn't become a situation at all, thank God! This is a nothing story. But, as a testimony to how problematic my country is right now, a peculiar set of circumstances presented themselves while I was at work on Wednesday. And, I had to rapidly think through things and make decisions that I couldn't have imagined being part of my reality not so long ago. There were two slimy men in the store wearing embroidered shirts showing symbols and words that indicated their political positions in no uncertain terms. Indications were they were alt-right assholes. I had a Muslim customer and her adorable little girl. The customer was covered almost as much as by a niqab except her whole face showed instead of just her eyes. She was far more covered than just being in hijab. (I think it's called a jilbab? Maybe?) The two men were finishing up and leaving just as she was coming to check out. At the end of her transaction, I offered to walk out into the parking lot with her (like we always do at my store), but she declined. It raced through my head that those men had stared at her and could still be in the parking lot as she headed out with her little girl. I didn't want them to talk shit and frighten her little girl or worse. But, of course, I wasn't going to say the words out loud, "Hey, no, let me walk out with you, please, because 2 hatemongering creeps just spotted you." That would've been incredibly uncalled for. Besides, I was 99.999999% certain nothing was gonna happen. But, that remaining minuscule possibility tugged at my conscience. She and her daughter walked over to the Redbox to get a movie which I thought was a convenient delay giving the men more time to drive away outside. LoudOne had walked up and was standing by the door watching the front end. I stood still for a couple of heartbeats and asked myself, "Why do I feel this way? I have goosebumps. My conscience is nagging at me. This is an instincts thing. OK, God, I get it. You just tapped me on the shoulder and put me in the game, eh? OK. So, how do I see to this weirdness discretely? Hmmmm...." I wasn't really worried. I was just......... twitchy. (It felt like when that man with Third Reich and white supremacist tattoos on his legs was in the McDonalds the other day, and one of the women I know who works there and I closed ranks around a young, petite black teen girl employee who was taking his tray to him in the dining area. We intercepted her, steered her to be behind us, handed off the tray to another woman employee to take to the table, and stood between the tiny black young lady and the piece of shit Nazi wannabe.) Anyway, I walked up quite close to LoudOne and went sotto voce, "I need you to help me help someone, please." She said, "OK, what?" I asked her if she'd seen the men. She hadn't. I told her about them. I nodded toward my customer and her child. I said, "Do me a favor, please? When they start to leave, I'm stepping away from the registers to go outside to get carts. I want to have eyes on them in case those men haven't left the parking lot." LoudOne's eyes bugged out, and she was all, "Well, YEAH. YES." I told her that I was almost completely certain nothing was going to happen, that this wasn't at all a thing. But, at the same time, I had goosebumps on my arms and felt a moral obligation to not turn a blind eye. She totally got that and fully agreed. I hovered up front, bagged 2 small transactions, and kept glancing around for a couple of minutes. When it looked like the woman had finished swiping her card and the little girl was waiting for the Redbox to spit out the DVD, I walked past LoudOne and said, "Hey, I'm going to get carts," and winked. She called back, "OK!" I headed outside and did a quick visual sweep of the parking lot (all these many years later, I still have 2 things firmly ingrained in me - 1. Assess the scene. 2. I put my gloves on as I approach the scene. lol No gloves in today's equation, but I was all kinds of observe-y. I should probably email Joe and tell him he and the guys did a damn good job of training me. lol). I didn't see the men. I walked about halfway out into the parking lot and set to gathering buggies as my cover. The woman and her daughter came out, and I watched them go their vehicle and start loading in bags. I gathered the buggies while discretely keeping watch over them until they drove away. And, I was so glad nothing had happened, especially after 2 women customers got into a loud, screaming fight behind my kiosk last night (and the things they were yelling at each other were racial in nature). Drama-free shifts, please! Please?! When I got back inside, I thought, "What would I have done if something had happened?" I decided I would've called 911, gotten quick phone video as I ran toward them so the men could be identified, and grabbed up the small child and wrapped myself around her and sheltered her while screaming my head off for more help to come. Worst case scenario, I'd've sent the child running inside and then jumped in full teeth and claws. I'm fine with dying an honorable death. I am disgusted that the United States has deteriorated to the point that I even have call to think about protecting a Muslim woman customer. But, look at the security concerns synagogues are dealing with right now. Even here, my little temple has a cop on site during High Holy Days. Look at how many patrols the sheriff's deputies make each night around the mosque out in Kinsey. Look at the litany of hate crime news stories week after week. Even Amy's husband is talking about maybe they should close down their local businesses and leave because he's worried about her safety at the shop (she's a hijabi). I am ashamed of my country.
Oh, speaking of Art After Hours! A really amazing thing happened last year at the museum. I got to meet Bill Steber while he was in town!!! He is so cool! I LOVE his work! He is taking the photos I wish I could but will never achieve in 1,000 years. We talked about photography and Delta blues. (I used to live on Highway 61.) And, he and I see with our cameras in remarkably similar ways. He even hugged me goodbye! He gave me his business card and told me to stay in touch. He said he's interested in my photography. I still have his card in my wallet, but I haven't acted on it, yet. I don't know if I will. I'm tempted. I really am.
And, of course, some photographs.
I finally saved up $122 to order a sewing machine. This is a much needed, practical replacement, and I feel no guilt about spending money on this necessary tool. I hope everything's in working order when it arrives next week. It has some features that are going to be pure luxury! Drop in top loading bobbin! One step buttonholing! Stretch stitches! I am sooooo looking forward to tackling my list of sewing projects.
It's going to cost $211+parts tax to get the hand-me-down clarinet Beth gave me for my birthday refurbished. That's the next indulgence I'm saving for. Hopefully, this summer!
Before I start this story, let me begin by assuring y'all that NOTHING HAPPENED. This did not become a dire situation. It didn't become a situation at all, thank God! This is a nothing story. But, as a testimony to how problematic my country is right now, a peculiar set of circumstances presented themselves while I was at work on Wednesday. And, I had to rapidly think through things and make decisions that I couldn't have imagined being part of my reality not so long ago. There were two slimy men in the store wearing embroidered shirts showing symbols and words that indicated their political positions in no uncertain terms. Indications were they were alt-right assholes. I had a Muslim customer and her adorable little girl. The customer was covered almost as much as by a niqab except her whole face showed instead of just her eyes. She was far more covered than just being in hijab. (I think it's called a jilbab? Maybe?) The two men were finishing up and leaving just as she was coming to check out. At the end of her transaction, I offered to walk out into the parking lot with her (like we always do at my store), but she declined. It raced through my head that those men had stared at her and could still be in the parking lot as she headed out with her little girl. I didn't want them to talk shit and frighten her little girl or worse. But, of course, I wasn't going to say the words out loud, "Hey, no, let me walk out with you, please, because 2 hatemongering creeps just spotted you." That would've been incredibly uncalled for. Besides, I was 99.999999% certain nothing was gonna happen. But, that remaining minuscule possibility tugged at my conscience. She and her daughter walked over to the Redbox to get a movie which I thought was a convenient delay giving the men more time to drive away outside. LoudOne had walked up and was standing by the door watching the front end. I stood still for a couple of heartbeats and asked myself, "Why do I feel this way? I have goosebumps. My conscience is nagging at me. This is an instincts thing. OK, God, I get it. You just tapped me on the shoulder and put me in the game, eh? OK. So, how do I see to this weirdness discretely? Hmmmm...." I wasn't really worried. I was just......... twitchy. (It felt like when that man with Third Reich and white supremacist tattoos on his legs was in the McDonalds the other day, and one of the women I know who works there and I closed ranks around a young, petite black teen girl employee who was taking his tray to him in the dining area. We intercepted her, steered her to be behind us, handed off the tray to another woman employee to take to the table, and stood between the tiny black young lady and the piece of shit Nazi wannabe.) Anyway, I walked up quite close to LoudOne and went sotto voce, "I need you to help me help someone, please." She said, "OK, what?" I asked her if she'd seen the men. She hadn't. I told her about them. I nodded toward my customer and her child. I said, "Do me a favor, please? When they start to leave, I'm stepping away from the registers to go outside to get carts. I want to have eyes on them in case those men haven't left the parking lot." LoudOne's eyes bugged out, and she was all, "Well, YEAH. YES." I told her that I was almost completely certain nothing was going to happen, that this wasn't at all a thing. But, at the same time, I had goosebumps on my arms and felt a moral obligation to not turn a blind eye. She totally got that and fully agreed. I hovered up front, bagged 2 small transactions, and kept glancing around for a couple of minutes. When it looked like the woman had finished swiping her card and the little girl was waiting for the Redbox to spit out the DVD, I walked past LoudOne and said, "Hey, I'm going to get carts," and winked. She called back, "OK!" I headed outside and did a quick visual sweep of the parking lot (all these many years later, I still have 2 things firmly ingrained in me - 1. Assess the scene. 2. I put my gloves on as I approach the scene. lol No gloves in today's equation, but I was all kinds of observe-y. I should probably email Joe and tell him he and the guys did a damn good job of training me. lol). I didn't see the men. I walked about halfway out into the parking lot and set to gathering buggies as my cover. The woman and her daughter came out, and I watched them go their vehicle and start loading in bags. I gathered the buggies while discretely keeping watch over them until they drove away. And, I was so glad nothing had happened, especially after 2 women customers got into a loud, screaming fight behind my kiosk last night (and the things they were yelling at each other were racial in nature). Drama-free shifts, please! Please?! When I got back inside, I thought, "What would I have done if something had happened?" I decided I would've called 911, gotten quick phone video as I ran toward them so the men could be identified, and grabbed up the small child and wrapped myself around her and sheltered her while screaming my head off for more help to come. Worst case scenario, I'd've sent the child running inside and then jumped in full teeth and claws. I'm fine with dying an honorable death. I am disgusted that the United States has deteriorated to the point that I even have call to think about protecting a Muslim woman customer. But, look at the security concerns synagogues are dealing with right now. Even here, my little temple has a cop on site during High Holy Days. Look at how many patrols the sheriff's deputies make each night around the mosque out in Kinsey. Look at the litany of hate crime news stories week after week. Even Amy's husband is talking about maybe they should close down their local businesses and leave because he's worried about her safety at the shop (she's a hijabi). I am ashamed of my country.
Oh, speaking of Art After Hours! A really amazing thing happened last year at the museum. I got to meet Bill Steber while he was in town!!! He is so cool! I LOVE his work! He is taking the photos I wish I could but will never achieve in 1,000 years. We talked about photography and Delta blues. (I used to live on Highway 61.) And, he and I see with our cameras in remarkably similar ways. He even hugged me goodbye! He gave me his business card and told me to stay in touch. He said he's interested in my photography. I still have his card in my wallet, but I haven't acted on it, yet. I don't know if I will. I'm tempted. I really am.
Bill Steber and me, 2016
Yup, I just checked. His card is still tucked into a pocket in my wallet. It's an odd little jumble of people I have collected in that pile. The clarinet repairman, an FBI agent, Isti's card from Temple Israel back in Memphis, Bill Steber, my local tattoo artist, AirEvac (rural medevac helicopter staff) from back in Arkansas, the local hospice social worker from when my dad died. So many stories. I threw out the cards from my Chicago people last fall because I didn't want to feel those feelings every time I opened that part of my wallet.
Well, I guess I'll end this nonsense rambling and try to at least get a bit of a nap before sunrise. Here. I'll close with music. Grab your earbuds/headphones. Turn the volume up as high as you can comfortably stand. All the better if you're in a dark room in the nighttime, but, at the least, close your eyes and cover them with your hands to block out visual stimuli. Now, go into these songs. Immerse. Some songs are just better in the darkness.
And, of course, some photographs.
Wednesday, April 19, 2017
Happy Things
As I've been clicking through my old folders of photographs the past few days to decide on pieces of my work to show on this blog, I've stumbled across some happy memories. Thought I'd post some. I'm smiling with such deep contentment as I think of these.
This was taken at Cooper Young Fest in Memphis in 2014. It was one of two 30 Days of Opera events I made it down to the city for that year. This was one of the pop up operas. The other was Death By Aria. That was such a nice, relaxed, happy afternoon of hanging out with Opera Memphis folks. Just plain delight.
This was taken in 2011. Colin Mochrie and me. Oh, my heart!!! He and his wife Deb are two of my very most favorite people. I love them with all my might. Colin is a HUGE percentage of why I'm so into improv. If drag queens have drag mothers, I guess Colin is my improv father? Bonus prize: he gives the Best. Hugs. Ever. The most absolutely snuggly perfect hugs in the universe!
(It's hard to think about the fact that Deb is one of the people I let down the most last September. She believed in me, and I blew it. I haven't talked with her in months. I'm scared to. I don't know if she's even willing to talk with me. She was so upset.)
Taken at Temple Israel in Memphis in 2013. Micah Greenstein, me, and Gilad Kariv. Kariv was in the US to speak at the URJ Biennial. He stopped briefly in Memphis to speak at temple before flying back to Israel. I drove down to attend, and it ended up being one of the best nights of my entire life. It was an incredible experience. Pure joy. Someday, I'll tell y'all that story. It is a good, good story. I was who I am supposed to be that night. I was so alive that night.
The most lovable, motley crew you could ever hope to chase ghosts out of a basement with, ride a train full of taxidermy across Australia with, or do invisible surgery with!!! And, what's a little cannibalism among improv partners? Stacey, I'll always save you from volcanoes. Scott, stop sniffing cocaine off of a hooker's inner thigh. Kevin, I'll trade back rubs and hugs with you any day. I think of you every time I hear the song Valerie. Mel, I still don't know what was on the ceiling, but I think we've finally destroyed the last of the reanimated dinosaur skeletons. Charee, thank you for helping me become comfortable with making checking-in eye contact. You're the only person allowed to stick her tongue out at me before a scene. And, Micah P., thank you for quietly protecting me while loudly forcing me to be brave. Making you laugh is still the biggest reward and the hardest to earn. "I need 5 up." "That was awesome. Now sit the fuck down!" There have been others before and since, but y'all remain the dearest! p.s. There's another raccoon!
(It's hard to think about the fact that Deb is one of the people I let down the most last September. She believed in me, and I blew it. I haven't talked with her in months. I'm scared to. I don't know if she's even willing to talk with me. She was so upset.)
Taken at Temple Israel in Memphis in 2013. Micah Greenstein, me, and Gilad Kariv. Kariv was in the US to speak at the URJ Biennial. He stopped briefly in Memphis to speak at temple before flying back to Israel. I drove down to attend, and it ended up being one of the best nights of my entire life. It was an incredible experience. Pure joy. Someday, I'll tell y'all that story. It is a good, good story. I was who I am supposed to be that night. I was so alive that night.
June 2013, the first time I ever set foot at Second City, the destination at the end of a very peculiar, decades long journey
Tuesday, April 18, 2017
Tuesday Tidbits
Since last night's post was rather long and heavy, this is going to be a quicker, lighter bit of fluff.
1. Look @ this man's calling in life! This is wonderful! A Jordan Bookseller’s 24-Hour ‘Emergency Room for the Mind’ via Atlas Obscura
2. In 1983, the British band Fun Boy Three covered the classic 1981 The Go-Go's song Our Lips Are Sealed. I strongly prefer their take on the song over the original. It's quite beautiful. The percussion!
3. MELISSA HOTMAN! MELISSA HOTMAN! MELISSA HOTMAN! Kicking ass in the Minnesota House! She is FABULOUS!!! Watch her step up and be bold! I. Love. This. So. Hard.
Melissa Hotman's Bold Move in the MN House
4. An interview with Saffiyah Khan about that amazing photograph.
5. Post-Punk and New Wave Rock Stars Reimagined as DC Comics Supervillains via Laughing Squid
6. I highly recommend taking some time to listen and explore Cities and Memory's Sacred Spaces project .
7. Turkeys Away: An Oral History - about one of the all time greatest moments in television comedy
I guess I'll close with more of my photographs.
WORTH CLICKING
1. Look @ this man's calling in life! This is wonderful! A Jordan Bookseller’s 24-Hour ‘Emergency Room for the Mind’ via Atlas Obscura
2. In 1983, the British band Fun Boy Three covered the classic 1981 The Go-Go's song Our Lips Are Sealed. I strongly prefer their take on the song over the original. It's quite beautiful. The percussion!
3. MELISSA HOTMAN! MELISSA HOTMAN! MELISSA HOTMAN! Kicking ass in the Minnesota House! She is FABULOUS!!! Watch her step up and be bold! I. Love. This. So. Hard.
Melissa Hotman's Bold Move in the MN House
4. An interview with Saffiyah Khan about that amazing photograph.
5. Post-Punk and New Wave Rock Stars Reimagined as DC Comics Supervillains via Laughing Squid
6. I highly recommend taking some time to listen and explore Cities and Memory's Sacred Spaces project .
7. Turkeys Away: An Oral History - about one of the all time greatest moments in television comedy
I guess I'll close with more of my photographs.
A Week Later
Yes, it's been a week since I posted. It's been a week that has run over me like a tank. So much happened. For my work, last Tuesday I filled in at another store for the first time (working my alternate position). I like to think I rose to the challenge. I felt brave stepping up to answer that call. I tested my confidence. Last Wednesday was the worst day ever at my work. I was at my store and working alternate position, and things went miserably wrong over and over again. And, it wasn't just me. Several people at my work (and Ent, the specialist who's over those of us who work my alternate position, too - I was texting w/her and found out she was having a rotten day at her store as well) had a horrible shift last Wednesday. (At one point, I was wondering if one of the guys in produce was just going to walk out. He was even more frustrated and exhausted that I was! And, he was getting mad and snapping at people harshly which is so not like him!) I don't know what the deal was with that day, but it was awful! Happily, I had Thursday off. And, I texted Ent on Thursday, and she was having a better day. So, I was thankful that she was feeling better. Then Friday at work was pleasant. Last Saturday at work was so overwhelming (and also had rotten stuff happen) that at one point I just hid in the bathroom for 10min being sick to my stomach and crying silently. My guts hurt so bad. I was holding my middle while tears wet my face. On Saturday, even Silver, who is normally unflappable, told me, "I'm faking my smile all day." Wow. I'm not gonna sit here and write all the bad things that have happened at work in the last 7 days. I don't want to open it all back up. I want to move on. Bad shifts happen. Bad weeks happen. Nothing permanent happened. There is still one big problem at work that has me ready to, at the least, transfer departments and maybe even transfer to a different store. But, I'm not ready to write about that, yet. I can't type paragraphs on the subject without it turning into a hateful, bitchy rant. I can't be detached. There's too much feeling. One person knows what's going on (my old department manager). A few weeks ago, I drove down to Teddybear's store, and we had a long talk. I'm just trying to hold onto the advice he gave me. I keep reminding myself of all the things he told me out of his own experiences in the company, including a very similar blow he had to absorb long ago. And, he was encouraging. But, it's hard. I'm so hurt and angry by what's happening. I keep thinking I'll get over it, but every few days it gets scraped raw open again. I am not happy with my workplace right now. And, it's wearing on me. I know I need to be patient and push through. I know that. Honestly? I wish I could just not care. I wish I could not be invested in my work. But, I am. I do care. And, it's so damn inconvenient.
But, even in the middle of an extremely lousy week at work, there are good things I want to hold onto. Twice I had customers I could speak French with. Fun surprises! The man with the booming voice and Super Bowl ring came in on Saturday and, even though he went through another line, he made a point of coming to speak to me and being sweet. Two of the men back in the meat department were my angels on Wednesday night. At the end of a brutal shift, they were chivalrous and kind - a balm to my spirit. And, y'all, I am so grateful for those 2 men. Their gentleness made such a difference. Because things had gone so wrong in produce, the trickle down from that affected my being able to close my section. The 2 men back in meat let me invade their department and take up a lot of space to do what I needed to do. And, the whole time they were making me laugh and smile and unclenching all the tension in my neck and uncoiling my guts. They were warmth and kindness. And, here's the STAGGERING part. Those 2 men? Y'all know what? They believe in me! They think I'm good at what I do, and they support me. I. Am. Floored. Fast forward to me supposedly having today (Monday) off, but I got called in tonight to cover a closing shift (not cool -- I needed this day off! But, Pixie was in a last minute bind so, of course, I was gonna step up and help her). However, it ended up being kinda nice. I worked with Ballcap and Ozark, and I enjoy them so much. I smiled a lot tonight. It was a blessing to get to work a mild shift with them.
Anyway, why haven't I posted in a whole week? Obviously, the answer is work!
But, onward -
Please pray, put good energy into the universe, or whatever you do for Pilot. She's sick and has been for weeks. And, it's getting worse and worse. She feels awful, and I think she's actually getting a little frightened. She's had lab work and is beginning a string of doctor's appointments on Wednesday. Hopefully, answers will soon come. I hope she can find a solution and relief, and I also hope she isn't grounded from flying. I just want Pilot to be healthy. I hope soon we'll hug tight and get coffee and get up to mischief like normal. I wish I could protect her.
I was talking about tattoos tonight (Monday) with Ballcap. I have 4. (I'd have at least 4 more, but money is a thing, y'all!)
The first I got the weekend of my birthday in Dec. 2012. It's an anklet around my left ankle. It's to remind me of who I am when I get lost in the muck and mire. Well, it's at least who I used to think I was. It's who I wish I were still. And, for a while, I was that person. I was actually pulling it off on a small scale. And, I had hopes on a larger scale. I'd like to be her again. It was an identity that felt like my truth. Like something God would smile about. Anyway, it's in an Art Deco font and in my 3 favorite colors. In green, it says, "Bibliophilia," which is Greek for love of books. In violet purple, it says, "Autrice-Artiste" which is the French feminine for "Author-Artist." And, in an oceany teal, it says, "de la Mer," which is French for "of the Sea."
The next 2, I got on the same day. It was in Feb. 2014. I had been called down to Dothan in December 2013 and spent a month down here in the time leading up to and after my dad's death. Bad stuff happened, but that's not a story I'm going to tell, now. Maybe not ever. One person (oldest, dearest family friend -- she's known me literally my entire life) knows the whole story. She's the only person I would allow to take care of me while I was taking care of Mama and everything else. And, for a few days, she's the only person who could touch me without me flinching. (Which is weird because I'm so tactile - I'm all about hugs!) Three people know a big portion (Micah, Andy, and Deb, of course). I've finally gotten to where I don't have frequent nightmares about it. And, I don't get freezing cold and blank away for minutes and lose time to seeing the movies of it in my mind's eye when I'm tying my shoes or folding laundry or any other mundane task anymore. So, whatever little Tupperware container it's sealed shut in in my head, it can just stay there unstirred, ok? Because, the aftermath SUCKED for months afterward, and I'm not going anywhere near that again. Anyway, I'd had to send my son back to his father to go back to school. And, I made my way back to Arkansas a couple of weeks later toward the end of January 2014. My dad had died on Friday, Jan. 3, 2014. The funeral was the following Monday. That same week, I got ahold of Julia at Second City and found out the upcoming schedule. I told her I was coming back up to Chicago as soon as possible. As soon as my tax refund hit my account, I made the arrangements to run away to Chicago in February. I went to play on my safest playground. I went to immerse myself in the most alive and soothing world I've ever found. For 3 days, I immersed myself in improv class all day and then catching shows at night. I flung myself fully into the joy of my craft and stopped thinking about the yuck. I was very, very much myself. Wait. Even moreso. I was very brave, very bold. I was clever and nimble and daring! My mind was slippery and sharp, and I believed. I even got on stage during InnerCity! Every night in the shower, I'd find loads of new bruises I had no idea when I'd gotten because I'd been so in the moment that I didn't feel any pain when they happened. Going home to Second City was exactly what I needed after all the mess around my dad's death but before sliding back into normal day to day life. My son was spending the week with his dad.
I made the drive back down from Chicago home to Arkansas and still had 2 days left to myself. I crossed the river into Tennessee to have Noah ink me some more. The one on my right shin is in green and in a Celtic font. It reads, "West of Ireland Sigh." My all time favorite fiction writer is Andrew Greeley. He was a Catholic priest. He was a delightfully activistic, muckraking thorn in the Church's side! An absolute warrior! And, on top of being a sociologist and a troublemaker (of the best kind), he also wrote novels. He wrote a few series and some one offs. My favorites are the Bishop Blackie Ryan mysteries. I know this is going to sound weird, but in the stretch a while back of a few years when I almost completely walked away from any semblance of faith, when I was completely suffocated by the dark fog and couldn't believe in a loving God in the midst of such suffering, it was those novels -- silly little fiction mysteries! -- that showed me a God I wanted to hold onto. Greeley packed some lovely theology into those novels. A God I wanted to believe in. A different view from what is normally put forth in Christian churches here in the Deep South in America. The lessons that the fictional priest in that series of books taught were a thread I clung to. My favorites by far are The Bishop and the Missing L Train and The Bishop and the Beggar Girl of St. Germain. My other favorite isn't part of the series. It's a one off, but Bishop Blackie appears in it. It's called Contract with an Angel. Andrew Greeley died on May 29, 2013. That was just a few days before the first time I ever went to Chicago for Second City. I went to the Ghirardelli cafe on the corner down and across from the Hancock Center (the cafe where the protagonist in L Train meets his love interest) and raised a glass of chocolate milk (part of Bishop Blackie's stories) in Greeley's honor across from his apartment where he had just died a few days previous.
Fast forward to the following February (2014). I had returned to Chicago and Second City after my dad's death. And, that week I got the tattoo on my right shin. It's a nod to Bishop Blackie (a descriptor that appears in each book of the series) and Father Greeley. It's to honor and express gratitude for Greeley. And, it's a reminder to me to always hold onto what I learned about God from that fictional, mystery solving priest. It's also a nod to my Irish ancestors.
That June (2014), a storm did major damage to my apartment building. While I was in it. It was........ loud. And, scary. Very scary. It was a big, scary sensory overload kind of thing. A bad thing. You know you're screwed when the Red Cross sets up where you normally park, right? And, 2 quick snapshots I took (I was an NWS storm spotter at the time) got picked up by a lot of sources and even used by the Weather Channel. It was a bad day. But, I got lucky that this tattoo didn't get damaged. Yay! I had a very deep bruise, all the way down to the muscle tissue, on the inside of my calf but just far enough around from the ink that it didn't screw it up. I was glad for the miss! (It took a little over a year for that bruise to fully heal and fade. Weird!)
The same day I got the ink on my right shin (Feb. 2014), I got the one on my right inner forearm. It reads, "...who have come alive" in a very simple, streamlined Art Deco font with no serifs in the same oceany light teal as on my left ankle. Those are the last 4 words of a quote from Howard Thurman. Thurman was an African-American theologian famous in the first half of the 20th century. He is one of the pioneers of Liberation Theology. The quote is, "Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is more people who have come alive."
I used to really try to live by that. I believed it. I tried to come alive. I fought hard for it, especially after having been lost in a deep, dark pit for years - that long post-divorce and plunge into poverty stretch when I stayed alive to take care of my son and fight all the battles that come with raising a special needs child but 100% completely lost myself. I clawed and climbed to come alive. And, I thought it would be far easier to come alive now that my dad was dead. I could be freer since he was gone. Wash all of that away. I pursued what gave me that warm, otherworldly energy that comes from doing something God created a special joy for inside me. That which seemingly magical opportunities flowed from when I was in the middle of it. That which made me so vividly alive that I was able to send out ripples that made a positive difference for other people. Contagious joy. But, I screwed up. Last September. 2016. I fucked it all up. Hugely. Irreparably. I failed beyond description. I wasted my shot at my wildest dreams. And, it almost killed me. I'm still not sure why I didn't just let it. I guess I was too much a coward to kill myself. See? I even fail at failing. But, technically, I'm still alive. I breathe. I eat. I sleep. I walk. I talk. I work. I piss. I make things. Sometimes, I even laugh. And, I love. Even though, apparently, my love is useless. I live. But, I'm not come alive. I blew it. I don't get to be. I let so many people down, and I decimated myself. Probably the next time I get ink, it's gonna cover this one up.
The last tattoo I got was in April 2016. It's on the inside of my left lower leg, above the anklet tattoo. It's a line of the lyrics from this song, the most important OMD song to me, my survival song.
It's in a darker oceany teal in a clean, simple font with no serifs. It reads, "There's a part of my soul that I'm setting aside - the piece with the fear, the rage, and all of the pride."
After almost 4 solid months of being deathly ill and then the long recovery, I was finally able to breathe and was finished with all of the medication. I had just almost died twice and then had a long, frustrating recovery. In December, I'd been hospitalized because I had a near lethal asthma attack on top of having double pneumonia. I couldn't pull full breaths. I was fighting for every partial breath. I felt like I was smothering, drowning. I kept blacking out. I had really long hair at the time, and I would sweat it fully soaked wet. When I was in the ER, they told me that if I'd waited even 48hrs more, I'd've been admitted straight to the ICU and probably wouldn't have made it. As it was, I ended up in the hospital dealing with respiratory care and blowing IV after IV (I have lousy veins). They got me stabilized enough (and on drugs enough) to go home for my birthday, but it was into the beginning of April before I got my full lung capacity back. I have never regained my stamina, though. I don't run 5Ks anymore. (This IRRITATES me.) While I was in the hospital the first time, I picked up a secondary infection in house. It spread so severely that it became a systemic problem, and I ended up going back into the hospital a few days later. They started me on a course of 4 strong IV antibiotics on top of continued respiratory care. The first night I was back in the hospital, they pushed an antibiotic I'd never had before into my IV. Turns out, I am deathly allergic to it. I went into anaphylactic shock, and things went quite badly. I remember most of it, but not all of it. And, most of what I remember is sounds. And, feeling like my chest was being crushed inward, like a monster was sitting on my sternum. Even when I couldn't see, couldn't move, couldn't talk, couldn't anything, I could still hear. And, OH, MY GOD, I wanted that monster to quit crushing my chest. Part of it, though, I have no memory of at all. I went fully into the darkness. I'm missing some time. Bottom line, they had to call an urgent response team. And, they called for a crash cart. And, my blood pressure bottomed out. And, a lot of people were yelling at me and tugging on me and working on me. And, there's more, but I don't want to tell the story. I could hear things and feel things. Seeing was a problem. Even when I could see, everything was distorted and had weird halos of light and seemed far away. I still dream about it. A lot. At least the nightmares have gone from more than once a night to just once a week or so. So, hopefully, that means it'll fade away soon. I still sometimes wake up ripping the blankets off because I feel like I'm tangled in IV and oxygen tubing. I hate this. A lot. It needs to go away.
By April, my body was my own again. But, on top of all of that, moving back down to Alabama had opened up a nasty can of worms that I could avoid while I was far away but slapped me upside the face and demanded attention down here. Just because my dad is dead doesn't mean the damage is erased. And, now, I'm in the thick of things with my mom which is a whole 'nother level of complicated. There's a lot that sucks about having grown up in a household with an angry, alcoholic dad and a weak, cowardly, enabling mom. And, it keeps sucking for a long, long time after. It leaves scars that fuck a person up pretty thoroughly on into adulthood. But, I don't want to tell that story, now. Nope. Nope. Nope. But, it's stuff I've been trying to be honest about and deal with. (Inspite of my mother. She....... has no use for the truth.) It's some garbage that needs to be cleaned up and washed away. But, after months of family drama and then having my body break, too, by the end of April, I was just like, "OK, something's got to give. I am soooooo done with this shit. Time to demand something better for myself." I was furious.
I had spent so much time sick and weak. I'd read and read, watched documentary after documentary. But, a lot of time, I just listened to music and daydreamed. (It didn't help that one of the medicines I was on made the room spin. Blech!) And, cried. I did an annoying amount of crying, too. And, tried to figure some stuff out. And, tried to forget some other stuff. And, mostly, I listened to OMD's music. And, the 2 songs that mean the most to me lyrically (even though, musically, they aren't necessarily my favorites) are Kill Me (above) and No Man's Land. Kill Me is my survival song. My get over the past and go get a new future song. I didn't die. So, now go live. (Obviously, there's waaaay more to it than that. But, this is the basic point). And, that line of the lyrics was the determined course I set for myself. And, I was aiming for moving to Chicago, and that line represented how I wanted to live, who I wanted to become in Chicago.
Of course, months later in September, that all exploded into 10,000 shards. My life became metaphorical shrapnel.
But, if there is any hope of redemption for me (99% of the time, I know there is no hope. 1% of me is stupidly stubborn, though. For someone who's supposed to be really smart, I am such a dumbass - I can't manage to destroy that last 1%), it's gonna be if I can figure out how to live the truth of that line. I don't know, y'all. I don't know. But, I listen to that song a lot. I know I have to settle. I know I have to resign myself to a lesser existence. I need to accept that. It would hurt a lot less if I could just accept it. I don't deserve better. I am getting what I deserve, and resistance is torturous and foolish. But, I can't manage to suppress the ornery little fleck of me that still listens to that song and dares to daydream.
I'm not getting that tattoo covered.
But, even in the middle of an extremely lousy week at work, there are good things I want to hold onto. Twice I had customers I could speak French with. Fun surprises! The man with the booming voice and Super Bowl ring came in on Saturday and, even though he went through another line, he made a point of coming to speak to me and being sweet. Two of the men back in the meat department were my angels on Wednesday night. At the end of a brutal shift, they were chivalrous and kind - a balm to my spirit. And, y'all, I am so grateful for those 2 men. Their gentleness made such a difference. Because things had gone so wrong in produce, the trickle down from that affected my being able to close my section. The 2 men back in meat let me invade their department and take up a lot of space to do what I needed to do. And, the whole time they were making me laugh and smile and unclenching all the tension in my neck and uncoiling my guts. They were warmth and kindness. And, here's the STAGGERING part. Those 2 men? Y'all know what? They believe in me! They think I'm good at what I do, and they support me. I. Am. Floored. Fast forward to me supposedly having today (Monday) off, but I got called in tonight to cover a closing shift (not cool -- I needed this day off! But, Pixie was in a last minute bind so, of course, I was gonna step up and help her). However, it ended up being kinda nice. I worked with Ballcap and Ozark, and I enjoy them so much. I smiled a lot tonight. It was a blessing to get to work a mild shift with them.
Anyway, why haven't I posted in a whole week? Obviously, the answer is work!
But, onward -
Please pray, put good energy into the universe, or whatever you do for Pilot. She's sick and has been for weeks. And, it's getting worse and worse. She feels awful, and I think she's actually getting a little frightened. She's had lab work and is beginning a string of doctor's appointments on Wednesday. Hopefully, answers will soon come. I hope she can find a solution and relief, and I also hope she isn't grounded from flying. I just want Pilot to be healthy. I hope soon we'll hug tight and get coffee and get up to mischief like normal. I wish I could protect her.
I was talking about tattoos tonight (Monday) with Ballcap. I have 4. (I'd have at least 4 more, but money is a thing, y'all!)
The first I got the weekend of my birthday in Dec. 2012. It's an anklet around my left ankle. It's to remind me of who I am when I get lost in the muck and mire. Well, it's at least who I used to think I was. It's who I wish I were still. And, for a while, I was that person. I was actually pulling it off on a small scale. And, I had hopes on a larger scale. I'd like to be her again. It was an identity that felt like my truth. Like something God would smile about. Anyway, it's in an Art Deco font and in my 3 favorite colors. In green, it says, "Bibliophilia," which is Greek for love of books. In violet purple, it says, "Autrice-Artiste" which is the French feminine for "Author-Artist." And, in an oceany teal, it says, "de la Mer," which is French for "of the Sea."
The next 2, I got on the same day. It was in Feb. 2014. I had been called down to Dothan in December 2013 and spent a month down here in the time leading up to and after my dad's death. Bad stuff happened, but that's not a story I'm going to tell, now. Maybe not ever. One person (oldest, dearest family friend -- she's known me literally my entire life) knows the whole story. She's the only person I would allow to take care of me while I was taking care of Mama and everything else. And, for a few days, she's the only person who could touch me without me flinching. (Which is weird because I'm so tactile - I'm all about hugs!) Three people know a big portion (Micah, Andy, and Deb, of course). I've finally gotten to where I don't have frequent nightmares about it. And, I don't get freezing cold and blank away for minutes and lose time to seeing the movies of it in my mind's eye when I'm tying my shoes or folding laundry or any other mundane task anymore. So, whatever little Tupperware container it's sealed shut in in my head, it can just stay there unstirred, ok? Because, the aftermath SUCKED for months afterward, and I'm not going anywhere near that again. Anyway, I'd had to send my son back to his father to go back to school. And, I made my way back to Arkansas a couple of weeks later toward the end of January 2014. My dad had died on Friday, Jan. 3, 2014. The funeral was the following Monday. That same week, I got ahold of Julia at Second City and found out the upcoming schedule. I told her I was coming back up to Chicago as soon as possible. As soon as my tax refund hit my account, I made the arrangements to run away to Chicago in February. I went to play on my safest playground. I went to immerse myself in the most alive and soothing world I've ever found. For 3 days, I immersed myself in improv class all day and then catching shows at night. I flung myself fully into the joy of my craft and stopped thinking about the yuck. I was very, very much myself. Wait. Even moreso. I was very brave, very bold. I was clever and nimble and daring! My mind was slippery and sharp, and I believed. I even got on stage during InnerCity! Every night in the shower, I'd find loads of new bruises I had no idea when I'd gotten because I'd been so in the moment that I didn't feel any pain when they happened. Going home to Second City was exactly what I needed after all the mess around my dad's death but before sliding back into normal day to day life. My son was spending the week with his dad.
I made the drive back down from Chicago home to Arkansas and still had 2 days left to myself. I crossed the river into Tennessee to have Noah ink me some more. The one on my right shin is in green and in a Celtic font. It reads, "West of Ireland Sigh." My all time favorite fiction writer is Andrew Greeley. He was a Catholic priest. He was a delightfully activistic, muckraking thorn in the Church's side! An absolute warrior! And, on top of being a sociologist and a troublemaker (of the best kind), he also wrote novels. He wrote a few series and some one offs. My favorites are the Bishop Blackie Ryan mysteries. I know this is going to sound weird, but in the stretch a while back of a few years when I almost completely walked away from any semblance of faith, when I was completely suffocated by the dark fog and couldn't believe in a loving God in the midst of such suffering, it was those novels -- silly little fiction mysteries! -- that showed me a God I wanted to hold onto. Greeley packed some lovely theology into those novels. A God I wanted to believe in. A different view from what is normally put forth in Christian churches here in the Deep South in America. The lessons that the fictional priest in that series of books taught were a thread I clung to. My favorites by far are The Bishop and the Missing L Train and The Bishop and the Beggar Girl of St. Germain. My other favorite isn't part of the series. It's a one off, but Bishop Blackie appears in it. It's called Contract with an Angel. Andrew Greeley died on May 29, 2013. That was just a few days before the first time I ever went to Chicago for Second City. I went to the Ghirardelli cafe on the corner down and across from the Hancock Center (the cafe where the protagonist in L Train meets his love interest) and raised a glass of chocolate milk (part of Bishop Blackie's stories) in Greeley's honor across from his apartment where he had just died a few days previous.
Fast forward to the following February (2014). I had returned to Chicago and Second City after my dad's death. And, that week I got the tattoo on my right shin. It's a nod to Bishop Blackie (a descriptor that appears in each book of the series) and Father Greeley. It's to honor and express gratitude for Greeley. And, it's a reminder to me to always hold onto what I learned about God from that fictional, mystery solving priest. It's also a nod to my Irish ancestors.
The same day I got the ink on my right shin (Feb. 2014), I got the one on my right inner forearm. It reads, "...who have come alive" in a very simple, streamlined Art Deco font with no serifs in the same oceany light teal as on my left ankle. Those are the last 4 words of a quote from Howard Thurman. Thurman was an African-American theologian famous in the first half of the 20th century. He is one of the pioneers of Liberation Theology. The quote is, "Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is more people who have come alive."
I used to really try to live by that. I believed it. I tried to come alive. I fought hard for it, especially after having been lost in a deep, dark pit for years - that long post-divorce and plunge into poverty stretch when I stayed alive to take care of my son and fight all the battles that come with raising a special needs child but 100% completely lost myself. I clawed and climbed to come alive. And, I thought it would be far easier to come alive now that my dad was dead. I could be freer since he was gone. Wash all of that away. I pursued what gave me that warm, otherworldly energy that comes from doing something God created a special joy for inside me. That which seemingly magical opportunities flowed from when I was in the middle of it. That which made me so vividly alive that I was able to send out ripples that made a positive difference for other people. Contagious joy. But, I screwed up. Last September. 2016. I fucked it all up. Hugely. Irreparably. I failed beyond description. I wasted my shot at my wildest dreams. And, it almost killed me. I'm still not sure why I didn't just let it. I guess I was too much a coward to kill myself. See? I even fail at failing. But, technically, I'm still alive. I breathe. I eat. I sleep. I walk. I talk. I work. I piss. I make things. Sometimes, I even laugh. And, I love. Even though, apparently, my love is useless. I live. But, I'm not come alive. I blew it. I don't get to be. I let so many people down, and I decimated myself. Probably the next time I get ink, it's gonna cover this one up.
The last tattoo I got was in April 2016. It's on the inside of my left lower leg, above the anklet tattoo. It's a line of the lyrics from this song, the most important OMD song to me, my survival song.
It's in a darker oceany teal in a clean, simple font with no serifs. It reads, "There's a part of my soul that I'm setting aside - the piece with the fear, the rage, and all of the pride."
After almost 4 solid months of being deathly ill and then the long recovery, I was finally able to breathe and was finished with all of the medication. I had just almost died twice and then had a long, frustrating recovery. In December, I'd been hospitalized because I had a near lethal asthma attack on top of having double pneumonia. I couldn't pull full breaths. I was fighting for every partial breath. I felt like I was smothering, drowning. I kept blacking out. I had really long hair at the time, and I would sweat it fully soaked wet. When I was in the ER, they told me that if I'd waited even 48hrs more, I'd've been admitted straight to the ICU and probably wouldn't have made it. As it was, I ended up in the hospital dealing with respiratory care and blowing IV after IV (I have lousy veins). They got me stabilized enough (and on drugs enough) to go home for my birthday, but it was into the beginning of April before I got my full lung capacity back. I have never regained my stamina, though. I don't run 5Ks anymore. (This IRRITATES me.) While I was in the hospital the first time, I picked up a secondary infection in house. It spread so severely that it became a systemic problem, and I ended up going back into the hospital a few days later. They started me on a course of 4 strong IV antibiotics on top of continued respiratory care. The first night I was back in the hospital, they pushed an antibiotic I'd never had before into my IV. Turns out, I am deathly allergic to it. I went into anaphylactic shock, and things went quite badly. I remember most of it, but not all of it. And, most of what I remember is sounds. And, feeling like my chest was being crushed inward, like a monster was sitting on my sternum. Even when I couldn't see, couldn't move, couldn't talk, couldn't anything, I could still hear. And, OH, MY GOD, I wanted that monster to quit crushing my chest. Part of it, though, I have no memory of at all. I went fully into the darkness. I'm missing some time. Bottom line, they had to call an urgent response team. And, they called for a crash cart. And, my blood pressure bottomed out. And, a lot of people were yelling at me and tugging on me and working on me. And, there's more, but I don't want to tell the story. I could hear things and feel things. Seeing was a problem. Even when I could see, everything was distorted and had weird halos of light and seemed far away. I still dream about it. A lot. At least the nightmares have gone from more than once a night to just once a week or so. So, hopefully, that means it'll fade away soon. I still sometimes wake up ripping the blankets off because I feel like I'm tangled in IV and oxygen tubing. I hate this. A lot. It needs to go away.
By April, my body was my own again. But, on top of all of that, moving back down to Alabama had opened up a nasty can of worms that I could avoid while I was far away but slapped me upside the face and demanded attention down here. Just because my dad is dead doesn't mean the damage is erased. And, now, I'm in the thick of things with my mom which is a whole 'nother level of complicated. There's a lot that sucks about having grown up in a household with an angry, alcoholic dad and a weak, cowardly, enabling mom. And, it keeps sucking for a long, long time after. It leaves scars that fuck a person up pretty thoroughly on into adulthood. But, I don't want to tell that story, now. Nope. Nope. Nope. But, it's stuff I've been trying to be honest about and deal with. (Inspite of my mother. She....... has no use for the truth.) It's some garbage that needs to be cleaned up and washed away. But, after months of family drama and then having my body break, too, by the end of April, I was just like, "OK, something's got to give. I am soooooo done with this shit. Time to demand something better for myself." I was furious.
I had spent so much time sick and weak. I'd read and read, watched documentary after documentary. But, a lot of time, I just listened to music and daydreamed. (It didn't help that one of the medicines I was on made the room spin. Blech!) And, cried. I did an annoying amount of crying, too. And, tried to figure some stuff out. And, tried to forget some other stuff. And, mostly, I listened to OMD's music. And, the 2 songs that mean the most to me lyrically (even though, musically, they aren't necessarily my favorites) are Kill Me (above) and No Man's Land. Kill Me is my survival song. My get over the past and go get a new future song. I didn't die. So, now go live. (Obviously, there's waaaay more to it than that. But, this is the basic point). And, that line of the lyrics was the determined course I set for myself. And, I was aiming for moving to Chicago, and that line represented how I wanted to live, who I wanted to become in Chicago.
Of course, months later in September, that all exploded into 10,000 shards. My life became metaphorical shrapnel.
But, if there is any hope of redemption for me (99% of the time, I know there is no hope. 1% of me is stupidly stubborn, though. For someone who's supposed to be really smart, I am such a dumbass - I can't manage to destroy that last 1%), it's gonna be if I can figure out how to live the truth of that line. I don't know, y'all. I don't know. But, I listen to that song a lot. I know I have to settle. I know I have to resign myself to a lesser existence. I need to accept that. It would hurt a lot less if I could just accept it. I don't deserve better. I am getting what I deserve, and resistance is torturous and foolish. But, I can't manage to suppress the ornery little fleck of me that still listens to that song and dares to daydream.
I'm not getting that tattoo covered.
Monday, April 10, 2017
Passover
I am having a very hard time with the fact that I'm not at a seder tonight.
But, to everyone celebrating Pesach: Chag Sameach.
But, to everyone celebrating Pesach: Chag Sameach.
Sunday, April 9, 2017
Blargh blog
Sorry, y'all. I got nothing. This post is gonna suck.
Went to work this morning with the beginnings of a migraine and ended up leaving work after only 2 1/2 hours because I started throwing up. So, I'm out 5 1/2 hours' pay which makes me angry as all get out. But, I am grateful for how kind my asst. dept. mgr. was about the whole thing. I slept most of the afternoon and evening. I still hate bright lights and people talking to me, but I'm on the mend.
Also, sleeping most of the afternoon and evening has me once again requesting that please, please, PLEASE, could the nightmares about when I was in the hospital stop? PLEASE. I need those memories to go away. I am fed up with dreaming about that shit.
I am increasingly NOT OK that I won't be at a Pesach seder Monday night. This whole thing with me and synagogue life is so complicated right now. All I know is I'm confused, and it hurts.
Better posts coming soon. I'm going back to bed. Today just plain sucked.
Went to work this morning with the beginnings of a migraine and ended up leaving work after only 2 1/2 hours because I started throwing up. So, I'm out 5 1/2 hours' pay which makes me angry as all get out. But, I am grateful for how kind my asst. dept. mgr. was about the whole thing. I slept most of the afternoon and evening. I still hate bright lights and people talking to me, but I'm on the mend.
Also, sleeping most of the afternoon and evening has me once again requesting that please, please, PLEASE, could the nightmares about when I was in the hospital stop? PLEASE. I need those memories to go away. I am fed up with dreaming about that shit.
I am increasingly NOT OK that I won't be at a Pesach seder Monday night. This whole thing with me and synagogue life is so complicated right now. All I know is I'm confused, and it hurts.
Better posts coming soon. I'm going back to bed. Today just plain sucked.
Saturday, April 8, 2017
Lazy Saturday Night
1. There're a lot of lovely things online today honoring Mary Pickford's birthday. I came across this quote on twitter:
I'm not sure how to process this. It would be nice if true, but there comes a point when a person has been knocked down so often and so hard that maybe the strength to get back up again is no longer there. And, maybe the person sometimes doesn't deserve to get back up. I don't know. This quote is doing complicated, twitchy, queasy things to my headspace.
2. This article from Sky & Telescope made me happy. I love tingly bits of science magic sprinkled among mundane living!
3. These Sparklife slides are hilarious because they're so accurate.
4. Revisiting this CBC piece about Maria Qamar and Babneet Lakhesar. A must read!
5. This could be my dream home. If only such a treasure were a realistic daydream! It's in my hometown - Pensacola. It's near the beach but inland enough to help ride out storms. There needs to be some additional fencing to divide the acreage. The red outbuilding would be my studio space. I'd expand the animal barn and build a chicken coup. I'd have chickens, pygmy goats, cats, a llama or 2, a dog, and maybe a horse or 2. I'd COMPLETELY redecorate the house. One room would definitely be a dedicated library space. I'd plant a big garden and a pumpkin patch. I'd set up good composting and gray water recovery systems. I'd install solar power, a windmill for generating power, and rain barrels but stay tied into the grid as well (at least in the beginning). I'd have a wood burning stove with a cooktop. Since it's a ways out from both Baptist and Sacred Heart, I'd keep a safely located radius of grass cleared and maintained to be an LZ if the trauma helicopter needed to land because someone had been hurt out in that neck of the woods and needed to be hurried into the city.
(Real estate listings are my internet porn. lol)
6. More photos:
I'm not sure how to process this. It would be nice if true, but there comes a point when a person has been knocked down so often and so hard that maybe the strength to get back up again is no longer there. And, maybe the person sometimes doesn't deserve to get back up. I don't know. This quote is doing complicated, twitchy, queasy things to my headspace.
2. This article from Sky & Telescope made me happy. I love tingly bits of science magic sprinkled among mundane living!
3. These Sparklife slides are hilarious because they're so accurate.
4. Revisiting this CBC piece about Maria Qamar and Babneet Lakhesar. A must read!
5. This could be my dream home. If only such a treasure were a realistic daydream! It's in my hometown - Pensacola. It's near the beach but inland enough to help ride out storms. There needs to be some additional fencing to divide the acreage. The red outbuilding would be my studio space. I'd expand the animal barn and build a chicken coup. I'd have chickens, pygmy goats, cats, a llama or 2, a dog, and maybe a horse or 2. I'd COMPLETELY redecorate the house. One room would definitely be a dedicated library space. I'd plant a big garden and a pumpkin patch. I'd set up good composting and gray water recovery systems. I'd install solar power, a windmill for generating power, and rain barrels but stay tied into the grid as well (at least in the beginning). I'd have a wood burning stove with a cooktop. Since it's a ways out from both Baptist and Sacred Heart, I'd keep a safely located radius of grass cleared and maintained to be an LZ if the trauma helicopter needed to land because someone had been hurt out in that neck of the woods and needed to be hurried into the city.
(Real estate listings are my internet porn. lol)
6. More photos:
It's Storming in Tennessee
Friday Thaw
Missouri - Tennessee
Dunklin County
Railroad Geometry
The Grandmother
Staff
Out Towards Headland
Grandmama's Yard
Railroad Parts
Pier
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