So, I am thinking about the economy today. I am thinking about the screenwriter's strike and I am thinking about congress refusing to fund the war without a guaranteed withdrawal date and the Bush administrations response to that being to threaten layoffs of thousands (a city's worth) of civilian employees of the military in order to NOT have to provide a withdrawal date. I am thinking of a separate report I heard today about the economy getting worse. I am thinking about people losing their homes and payday loans and credit card debt. I am thinking about homelessness. I know about that. I am thinking about the fact that the local food bank is out of food. Out of Food. Unless, you think a family of five can survive on two cans of beans and a loaf of bread in one week. This emperor is naked. All the social activists and political protesters are being ignored. I am not full of apathy, I am at a loss for ideas. Although, I do believe there is value in getting out there with signs - I have noticed that even as the local group bangs their drums - it is really just for themselves. No one is listening. I have even heard folks say stuff like - "Yup, there they are." - indicating not an opposition to the message, just a non-response.

How to combine the issues? I am brainstorming. Stone Soup? I dunno. I'm gonna keep thinkin on this. Let me know if you have any ideas. Think, effective protest, education, helping others . . . . .

Keep it Positive

From time to time we are fortunate enough to notice those in our world who are doing their very best to remain positive regardless of the harshness of life or disrespect of others. I happen to have one person in particular - a person who is certainly too shy and humble for me to feel good mentioning HER name - that I owe a great deal of thanks. But, to that person, that very lovely, beautiful, caring, determined individual, I am indebted. She doesn't realize it - but she has made my heart feel full on many occasions as of late.

It is always those who choose to free themselves from the constraints of others expectations and social norms and those who live their life giving respect and living with dignity that make me want to work harder at achieving my own goals.

Wha?

I am blogging because I am exhausted and I am trying to self motivate. It isn't that I haven't gotten anything done today. On the contrary, I even managed to make the first cornhusk doll I have made in a while. Which reminds me . . . It seems that the population of tamale eating folk in Brattleboro, Vermont is somewhere around zero. I cannot find a single solitary husk in all the county. I know this because, I drove around looking. Everywhere. I was at one of the larger groceries in town and the woman behind me in line said "Oh, no tamales?". I thought her comment was indicative of candor. So, I simply remarked, "I guess there are no Mexican people in Vermont". She gave me quite a look! I am not so sure about Vermont. It reminds me of Seattle with the political correctness and Kansas with the tight lipped regard. Strange combination. In Kansas it was don't ask any questions and the only safe topic is the weather (as long as you don't mention global warming). In Seattle it was ask all the questions you want and nod and sigh alot so people know you are listening and are sensitive to their plight, and on occasion you need to say "Oh, MY GOD, that is like TOTALLY FUCKED UP!". In Vermont it seems you can ask questions. BUT, no jokes. Everything is serious. Nod, but remain pensive. And when asked how your are doing - don't share any details that would force someone to respond with any emotion. That is kind of like an automatic shut off switch for the entire conversation. Example:

"How are you Jane, Liking Vermont?"

"I'm sad, (this is where they stopped listening) my cat seems to have run away."

"huh. That's too bad. Have you been up to Mt. Snow before?"

Burn Out

If anyone knows a good test for burn-out - let me know. I may have it. Which is strange. I think I have perseverance burn-out. Or perhaps I just don't get it. Perhaps I don't know what I should do, I don't think that is burn-out I think not knowing what is going on is just called stupid. Perhaps if I can manage to get through the next few weeks - and January and February come and we have some actual cash - and perhaps if I had childcare so that I could attend some social events - you know "network" - I could figure something out. I think I may be in limbo. Limbo! THAT'S IT!!! I HAVE LIMBO! I am officially diagnosing myself "In Limbo" - Wait. I should look up that in the dictionary . . . File, new tab, www.m-w.com, l i m b o . . . HOORAY! I am limbo! Limbo, limbo, limbo . . . Limbo, limbo, limbo . . . yeah!

Did you think I was kidding?

Let's just be clear. I whine. I am not a liar. When I am fed up with the hardness of life, I will whine about it. When I am pretty well aware of my own capabilities and still feel helpless, I whine. When I don't have any chocolate, I whine.

Procrastination, Anger, and Woe is Me Whining Ass Shit

I have a lovely time playing. I love to take time to play. Playfulness is fun. I love to have fun. But, perhaps, just maybe, I have forgotten how. I am so full of anger. Angry grr. grr. angerrrr. Grrrrrrrrrrrr. ANG RR. So, so what if I am procrastinating? Would you rather I take that route of exceptional intolerance and *BANG! I think procrastinating is a misnomer. I'm just taking several sequential "moments", so no one gets hurt. ohh . . . kay

I miss New Mexico. Really, I miss certain people a lot and New Mexico very little. But . . . they are in New Mexico, and I want to be with them. I want to paint walls with them. I want to change light bulbs with them. I want to argue with them. I want to dance with them. I want to hug them. I want to eat with them. I want to be there. Now. Right now. May I please have my life back? The one where even though I don't have much I have friends who care. The one where if you call for help at least one person shows up. I need a fucking friend. Now. Right now. Before I drown in lonely.

If you had never met me, ever, and today you met me, you would probably think I was a sad girl character from a book you read as a child.

I am willing to let go of myself and completely become just a person of convenience, if it means I don't have to notice I am empty. Problem is, I would always notice.

Mel O'drama That is my mother's nickname. It suits her. So, now you know where I get it.

Answers aren't always what you are looking for but, sometimes they are

Sometimes, most of the time, we are looking for some edge. Some clue as to when to jump, step, or twirl. I pretty much hit a wall recently. I knew it was coming. I just didn't know if anyone else would notice. And I very most sincerely wanted to hit the wall without anyone commenting on the bruises I would acquire or the nose bleed I planned to discreetly hide. Nope. Didn't happen. Oh, I hit the wall. Wounds? Um, yup. And I didn't really even make any attempt at masking the blood. Part of me really seemed to need someone else to witness my failure. Mostly, because, as sad as it may seem, I didn't know how to ask for help. Now, I am neither fully recovered from the sudden impact nor have I recovered any clear directional purpose. However, One witness to the collision, shall we call him, "IRA"? Has taken the burden of asking for help away by actually offering to assist in lighting some candles in this dark corridor. Metaphor aside. Let me share a story. Let's call it Story #y22evgrnwthdygo7.

I was putting myself through school working two jobs, one of my most cherished friends had been stabbed to death, I had worked all summer at a job that ended VERY badly including not getting paid a huge chunk of the money I had rightly earned. I wasn't complaining (though at this moment I am) and I was just trying to get by. I was actually pretty darned happy. It looked bad financially, my rent wasn't getting paid on time and I needed to either start getting more pay checks *note I was already working more than fifty hours a week. Or find some financial aide. Well, (this is not intended to be a gripe) I didn't qualify because, even though I had been supporting myself since . . . (this is where I am avoiding the gripe) . . . I was not old enough to be considered financially independent of my parents. So, no money for me. My faculty at Evergreen suggested I go talk to one specific counselor because he found her generally supportive and perhaps she could help me figure some stuff out. Well. *note: I gripe here - She gave me some "stop feeling sorry for yourself" speech and I worked three full time jobs, raised my children, and never slept bullshit. I was pissed. She just looked at me and thought, "Another brat who can't get her shit together." Pulled this speech out of her collection of speeches for people she doesn't have the time for and I walked away thinking. F*CK! What now? All I had done is in the most benign fashion possible, shared with this person my story. I didn't add the drama. I just said, I don't have the money to go to school. I want to go to school. I am already working two jobs and I am already functioning on permanent sleep deprivation. In that moment, I needed someone to say, "I know we can find some way to help you". I think the reality is that there was not a thing anyone could do. No money is no money. And time wasn't constructed with a built-in panic button.

Now, is actually quite different from then. For one, "IRA", is willing to take some responsibility for the reason I recently crashed. i.e. he dropped the ball at home for about two months and we po, AND . . . this is the big part . . . after speaking to that actually started to do things to try and support me. Meaning: Comes home before the children are in bed, does the part of the housework he was already supposed to be doing but hadn't been due to his own demanding schedule, and is taking on additional chores. I am still skeptical. But, for two days in a row, my dishes are washed, the children are washed, fed, and in bed. Now, the other part.

I sent in a piece of crap excuse for a packet this last go round. I knew it was crap. I haven't had any money. I actually sent it in late because I couldn't afford the postage and had to wait til my paycheck was deposited before I could even mail the piece of shit. The money part is a big piece. Even though I like to use my recycling bin for materials, without food containers (paid for with money), or paste, paint, clay, etc . . . (once again no money honey), I can't "document" anything without film, or art supplies. And so, I was researching. And the result of that process was a bunch of shit in my head that I couldn't process without art supplies. . . Funny thing, this complaining, is it doesn't really solve anything . . . Anywho, it also occurred to me that I could really use someone to TALK to. About my research. About my art. About my need for some concrete ideas to help navigate the no money, no supplies issue. I tried to talk to lots of people. I began bringing shit up in conversations with people at work, when dropping off the children, anywhere I went. People seem moderately interested but, no one who would help me connect the dots. So, I went to the only place I have been able to go to consistently for help. Myself. I said, "Hey, Whiner"? "Yeah, what?" "Here are some ideas, try ignoring that you don't have any damn money. Try . . . buying a bit of vegetables, a few art supplies, and try to live with a few less hours of sleep for the next few weeks. Now, crybaby, don't get carried away. Just buy some pastels, maybe some flour for paste - and then maybe some clay. Oh, and dummie. Make a fucking doll already!" AND THEN . . . I did. AND THEN . . . I got that crap packet I already mentioned back. AND THEN . . . I cried. Because, everything I already knew, everything I was already trying to fix, was right there in her words. So, for the next few weeks I am going to try and finish my first semester of Grad School. I will finish. I hope to finish on a good note. AND THEN . . . I would LIKE to keep going to school.

I know already that money will not be as tight, and that "IRA" is going to support me if I remember to ask for the help I need. So, perhaps in four months from now I can be writing about some amazing collaboration or installation or film or SOMETHING that I have done that wasn't just getting by.

In retrospect . . . I will never forgive that counselor for not offering the help I needed then. But NOW, her trying to pigeon hole me, and getting it wrong, can sustain me when things get tough. What a gift she gave me. I do know when I am whining, and when I really don't have control. She helped me to see the difference. Then, I didn't have control - I was fighting a losing battle - I had zero assists. Now, I have an ally, and I have some control because I know if I take a risk the worst that can happen is I'll have to try something else. It is scary to ask for help. It is really scary for me, because I have asked for help and never received it time and again. But, now I have someone who thinks I can do anything. And knows that people who can do anything - still need help sometimes. Thanks "IRA". I love you.

From Albuquerque to Brattleboro and Everywhere in Between

Watching with fingers crossed

The photos I just posted are a few of the many that have been taken on mine, or Ari's cell phone over the months since we were in Albuquerque. It feels good to delete them all off of my phone. It is also therapeutic because the children are growing so fast. As they change, my hope is that the love and companionship they have been able to share will remain constant and they will support each other and find ways to continue being friends. I am happy to say that I have maintained a close relationship with my sister from childhood on. My brother and I seem to struggle to connect and the cousin I grew up with as another sibling is almost a stranger most of the time. I believe the differences in their personalities complement each other well. They still really seem to enjoy one another during play. In quiet moments they hold each other in calm silence and smile sweetly at one another and even whisper, I love you. The beautiful monster (the big blue princess monster was her costume, I haven't any pictures) and the sensitive protector (he was a knight/prince) there is almost something about those two images together that just make sense. Like a mystical familiar will accompany a hero on a great quest. My prayer is this: Guide these children into themselves and let them remain a peaceful part of each other for all of their days. Blessed Be.

Random Threads

When I was a girl my friend's mother used to always tell me "Keep smiling, it makes people wonder what you are up to." She even bought me a bumper sticker that had that phrase printed on it. I remember it was green with yellow print.

Last week, I was asked to pose for a picture of "Just her smile". I wonder if he got my eyes? I think my smile is different without the eyes squinting up to nothing. I have noticed my entire face changes when I smile. I never really took considerable notice until recently. I received a comment on another website where I have multiple images of myself posted. She wrote, "You look so different. I can't believe it!" The only difference is, I'm smiling. Unless she perhaps is referring to the purple suit jacket I am wearing.

My mini tribe is a tribe of smiles. My companion has dimples that, when not hidden under facial hair, delight any who may have a chance to gaze at his grin. His eyes are often referenced by friends and relations as being "peaceful". My daughter has those eyes, except her eyes are often referenced as "mischievous" or "piercing"or "deep". Strange. They are really the same shape and color as her father's. It is how she uses them perhaps, and not actually the physicality of her eye people mean to describe. My son . . . well, mostly he is called "gorgeous" and people always focus their attention on the thickness and length of his eye lashes. Looking to one parent and then the other they inquire, "Whose eyes are these?", thinking that they should pass on their praises to the source of the DNA responsible for creating such a face.

I never read, or saw, any actual research on the topic. However, I was told once that testing was done on babies recording their reactions to different face shapes, expressions, and "archetypes" of beauty. I have seen documentary work on human development however, and babies seem to learn conversation by mimicking expressions.

Anyway, Smile.