Sunday, November 26, 2006

Meditation and Prayer

Meditation helps but I can't say how. I've been praying with my crochet. I miss the fire of flameworking and the sweat of mold making in kilncasting, the things that totally absorb and let me be in the lfow. Poetry is so hard for me when life is so hard, because I just write write write about my grief and anger. And my anger is not so much about my predicament but about how people treat me: the doors that are so hard hard hard to open even with uppre body strength I never dreamed to have. Being left to bang my way in the the morning and out in the afternoon.

If I say the right prayer will it all be open sesame and click click clikc like the clicks that i felt as i could not move and tumbled to the floor, will it all click click back in operation? I've got to walk again, so I can see my father before his forgetting erases me from his memory. He was such a wonderful raconteur, the dad other kids wished they had and they were so right to desire him, because i was grateful he was and is my father. I've got to walk again so I can see my nivlings. My aunt and uncles were such a part of me showing me who to be and not to be, how I miss the beautiful young people! I dreamt of Paris and this time there was a neighborhood that tunrd into queens--- new paris with single fmaily homes and down that block was beach and the sea and again golden sand. British columbia was discussed at Thanksgiving and Vancouver with islands and city and sea and green
all put together, a paradise.

Flying Hooks, Healing Heart

My crochet hooks and yarn are my glass of wine. And they are what they are and they are also stand ins for the many things I got to make so easily, now out of reach. Though today, 65 degreees in November, the apartment just aglow with painterly light, Garrison Keillor's skewed crooning like a familiar friend, like my father and family just singing around the house and not caring how good it sounds, ahhh Garrison, thanks for telling the world to sing just because it makes peace more possible....

I digress, becuase I wanted to write about creating, such as it remains for me. After a long wait, the inexpensive wire cutter arrived... a three-week wait for tools I already own, (bad E-Bay seller!) but no longer can bound up stairs to get,,, my heart calls out to my tools, stay ready for me, wait for me, I want to use you again.

I am vetting my flower pattern. I second guessed myself and realized I had it right the first time, but then created a variation on the flower: 10 petals. this crowds it a bit, but it increases the twirl.

And now I have at last 3 hats to keep my head warm and attractive and it's up to 60 something! No complaints, it's easiest to wheel through sunshine and warmth than it is snow and rain.

All praises for winter not arriving until December 22,

for light filling the shortened day. For the kindness of strangers who included me in their vegan Thanksgiving family gathering which was so so so exquisite and heartful and warm and fun and delicious and o! what joy to be able to and desirous of eating every good and dleicious thing offered!!!It's been over a deccade since I've had ice cream and the soy turtle and vanilla bean with pumpkin pie almst made me sob with gratitude. How I misss being able to cook, I was so good at
plaeasing mine and others' palates and since being stricken, I've starved for decent food, having lost over 50 pounds at last reckoning, because I refused to eat drek in the nursing home. This was food to give thanks for.

My gratitude to those who wrote me about the blue flower, after so much tapdancing on my head, I cherish every kind word and the affrimation that I can add value to the world, despite my limited circumstances. I am amamzed at how limitless I once felt "bigger than my body gives me credit for" (that yummy song by John Mayer) and I guess I still am. Thank you!

Sunday, November 12, 2006

Another Blow Another Blessing

So wham bam I've been fired. Though the terminlogy was "the position will be terminated, blah blah blah" I was struck as to how I've been working for a fraction of what I earned in my past incarnation as a corporate citizen, with resources a fraction of what I had as a corporate maiden, with multiples of the effort as I was always putting out fires or trying to find a match. Yeah wildly mixed metaphors as I know now the extent to which I have been used abused and then er dismissed, my decency and committtment counted on --- or worse yet not even counted on, as this outrageous turn of events occured even as the
invitations to a major event had just arrived and sat at hand.

I was advised kindly to just leave the last lap to be run by those who remain: 2 other part timers and the big guy. And there is that about me that just wanted to wash my hands of it, and my energy has been very low, I'm tired and have to continually
relinquish the thoughts of the future--- next year is today in my endeavor, but I have to curtail the mental self talk about the
stuff I need to respond to and put in palce for the future now--- ad and publication closings are now for the spring in some instances and let it go let it go let it go.

I haven't had a vacation this year, and the only days off have been our holidays-- labor day and independence day so December
I get to catch up? not. I'll have to hustle.

Toward the gentle hustle, I've created more dolls and designed a flower whos pattern i hope to sell er, that i hope someone will buy, as I researched online and couldn't see any that did quite what i wanted with the dimensional rose form.

When i came in to the building and ran into Jim delivering my mail from home, hours away, saw Dorr the flower arranger, who creates beauty in the lobby; and went to visit Donna, the older lady with a beautiful wise faced tabby girl cat who gave me gorgeous cotton yarns, a book with several ideas, big handsome buttons and who liked the flowers i had made for her, by way of thanks for her other gifts...

she offered to a solid soleplate iron, which i craved so much last year, to iron paper.

The next day I got gifts from my wonderful angel friend and dry humor woman, Andrea in Chi-town and a bag of books
I'm saving to open from writer friend Robert and I see this as the universe saying don't cry,dear, here is some beauty and love.

And so yes, yes, thank you thank you o love o love that plays wondrous jazz on the radio and there's Ornette Coleman still creaing and sonny Rollins still creating and yikes! I tol myself I would be playing my tenor with ease by 50 and can I learn to blow sitting down?

Just need to walk again.

Saturday, November 04, 2006

Don't metaphor me

Don’t metaphor me. My condition is not a metaphor, it is . It is dependence, denial, fatigue, extra effort, discomfort. It is insight, determination, overcoming deterrence….yeah all of that. Constraint constraint

How I want to smack the able who want to compare their mental ills and woes to my Situation.. look if I’m depressed up up the proverbial creek without a paddle
If you’re depressed you can at least wlak it off, or get yourself to a phramacy

The day they take their minds in hand, they can jump up off their butts and do whatever they want. I cannopt jump up, I can not run away, /I can’t even rest in this purgatory of perpetual tween ness…. There is no down other than prone. I’mm sitting up until I lie down and the only place I have to be other than my chair is my bed.

I heard a story on NPR about a young man who can’t walk or see…. He said he would prefer to be able to walk to being able to see. He didn’t want to be dependent.

I don’t want to choose or swap, but it underscored for me how dire my situation is and how little people get it…

Okay maybe not people, just a friend who knows she’s bugging me but hasn’t quite figured out how to reign herself in, contain her mess and stop spritzing me with errant psychic mouth spit.

Though I don’t want to make a target of a friend, don’t want to mimic that stupid human habit of knocking those closest, just because they are within arm’s reach.
She thinks she invokes understanding by comparing her
Inability to move on, change, get things done to my inability to move.

I had a fight last week. Some recessive chinned, slack bodied, round spectacled dufus put his clothes in the dryer where my clothes were washed. I caught him on the elevator, departing just as I arrived and yelled did you put clothes in this dryer—as I heard it whirring and saw a cart on the departing elevator.

And it became physical, I threatened to remove his clothes form the dryer and he draped himself over the dryer!!!!! And there was even a sign that says DO NOT use the room if the room is in use….

He hadn’t looked, the washing machine was full of MY black clothes… and long story short, he removed the clothes and called me a b… and I started yelling
Louder and louder, insulting him and not cursing, berating him til he fled…..

Not wise, but satisfying.

When I was a kid we used to philosophize, if we had to lose something, what would it be?

I love music and art so I couldn’t choose between sight and hearing. I never thought about mobility.

I desperately need to find a nondemeaning endeavor a resourced and supported position where the phone works, e-mail works, I can use the bathroom and get something to drink when I need it--- where is this paradise--- ahhh, right here, relatively.

I have reconnected with my fiber muse. I long for my stash of yarns--- I have at home a closet full. And I miss my looms and wools and bags of color sorted yarns, but despite this lack the hooks that I brought here have helped me.

And my small handwriitten sign requesting buttons, fabrics, an L hook and yarn has yielded all.

I made thank you gifts for my first donors. The cleaning lady, responded with yarn and yarn and lovely fabrics for which I made her a snow man. But she wanted a Snow Man and I followed the chubby doll in Creative Crocheted Dolls by Noreen Crone Findlay and he is a hit. She hugged him to her. I felt wonderful to be able to again, make something and see a bit of joy in the world.

A colleague brought me a bag of stuffing so I could stuff the big red doll ( About a foot long) which began as an amigurumi doll and her head said keep going.

Now I am wild about amigurumi, well not wild but it has lead me to make goddesses and I again long for all the things I had at hand for their adornment….

For that colleague I made a mouse, somehow that pattern came and I love how I just dug the hook in the fabric of the body and crocheted the ears in tho the body vs making ears and sewing them on.

Music heard seomthing healing in the singing of bariton Jesse __ wish I knew exactly which pieces move me—one was a poem and then to hear the story of Tscaninin whose death was called for and how he played Barber whose music I bagn to appreciate in 1997, after my mother died and I was at Chautuaqua, and now Thistle and Shamrock where Fionna Ritchie speaks form such a place of clarity and passion and culture and her narrative last week the story od Dierdre
Wjust touched me so… o not the fatedness of it but the love and the man not listening and it reminded me of Firethorn where life is full of knights and blodd and women who do not get to choose, but do anyway.

I am miss Paul Mazursky who is in town with Next Stop Greenwich Village a movie that I adore adore
And it speaks to the life I thought I would have when I came home to New York City after college, but the Village already cost waaay too much. What was still affordable were the brownstones in Brooklyn , but the
Commune of folks fell apart--- and to think we could have had those 4 incredible floors of handsome expansive house for a mere $80,000.

There are so many pasts to remember and I want more of them. The fall light took me back to my apartment on 5th avenue, that ran from fron to back of the building
So I had street and back yard and Russell the photographer reappearing….. ahhhh I want the sweetness of life again