Birch bark and feathers

looking through a magazine that jane gave me, i discovered a picture of birch bark.  the white, cream, beige colors are in sharp contrast to the black markings.  i had to draw it!  five pictures later, my collection was somewhat satisfying.  included is a canoe, and tight close up of the bark, and a couple landscapy compositions. 

the same thing happened when i saw an ostrich feather earlier this week.  i was compelled to draw it with quick and wispy strokes, almost feeling the feather tickling my fingers.  now i am drawing a deep gray and red feather and am looking for other eye-catching feathers on the internet.  what i really want to draw is a peacock feather, trying to capture the sheen of the blues and greens, the contrasting 'eye', and the elegant pattern.

as much as i enjoy the spontaneity of drawing random pictures, entering into a 'pattern phase' is delightful.  looking everywhere for birch-like or feather-like objects, i found patterns more common than i thought i would.  there are patterns everywhere:  ceilings, floors, food, fabric, grass, trees...

our own choices distinguish us from each other.  those choices become patterns of behavior and attitude.  but those patterns can change when life events turn our world upside-down.  in fact, they must change in order for us to adapt to new situations.  if a person who i haven't seen for years would say to me, 'my, you haven't changed a bit', my first reaction would be to slap them and put a dirty sock in their mouth.  more likely, however, i would say, 'really?  actually i have changed quite a bit!'. 

rather than drawing birch bark forever, i am now in a feather mode.  but tomorrow, something new will take the feather's place.  as i make different choices, my patterns change.  what used to work for me doesn't anymore.  whether it be social, religious, psychological, or physical, changes are necessary...  helpful...  adaptive...   enriching...

i have chosen, due to huge life changes, to form different patterns.  one of the more curious patterns that has changed is my circle of friends.  before my illness, i had many friends, several close friends, and a very few soulmates.  a variety of opportunities for meeting new people existed.  but my life has changed dramatically.  some casual friends became much closer, several close friends became distant, and a couple of friends transformed into soulmates.  on the other hand, many friends have distanced themselves.  calls became less frequent and invites became an exception to the rule.  realizing that friendship phase in and out of our lives, i still was disillusioned, disappointed, and bitter with some people who 'suddenly' disappeared from my life. 

but the big take-away from those experiences is this...  the choices i made were crucial in order to adapt to a new phase of life.  leaving an angry and hurt stage, i decided to change my pattern.  and as that pattern changed, i found myself embracing people as close friends...  i was astounded that as i opened my life to new friendships, my life was enriched.  rather than feeling sorry for myself, i allowed myself the luxury of adapting my patterns in order to surround myself with loving, positive people. 

and now, the best compliment anyone could give me now is 'my, you sure have changed...  you've adapted...  you're a winner!'.

Baby grand

at ten o'clock a.m. we arrived at the home of an historic oakwood resident.  as we were getting out of the car, a neighbor opened her door and watched us get hugo out of the back of the car.  we knew that even a suspect facial expression could land us in deep doo-doo with the vigilant watch-dog.

confidently, we approached the front door.  donna knocked and/or rang the bell several times.  the fourth one yielded an opened door...  with a woman dressed in her bathrobe, looking like the irs had just come to audit her  oh shit!  we arrived one hour early; too early for the woman to be awake.  it must have been quite a party last night. 

she was selling her baby grand piano and our piano tuner said that with some work, the piano could be a good choice.  now i have had a dream for years of owning a baby grand piano.  and the piano tuner has been on the lookout for me.  there is something about the sound, the beauty, and the presence of a baby grand that captures the attention of the senses.

i must say that the woman was much nicer to us than i would be if awakened at a 'bad time'  in fact, one of my friends texted me at midnight a few days ago.  throwing tlc out the window, i told him if it happened again, i would return the call at 4:30 am.  but i am digressing into my own personal bitterness.

playing the beautiful piano left me wanting for a much better tone quality, accurate pitch, and octaves that resembled each other.  even after a recent tuning, this piano just didn't cut it.  i tried to talk myself into buying it by the process of 'making do' with an inferior piano.  so i put on a happy face and put a positive spin on the instrument, especially in front of the woman.  i hope it's not too tacky to mention that the piano had been in her deceased husband's family for several generations.  she had it refinished for approximately the same price as the price for which she was selling it to us.  i just couldn't point out the negatives, glaring as they were. 

as we were leaving the house, we noticed another neighbor who stepped out unto the front porch and watched us until we were in our vehicle.  it reminded me of the tv show 'laugh in' in which celebs would peek out of a door, say something loony, and the retreat only to have another celeb repeat the process. 

driving home, donna asked me about the piano.  at that moment, i had to choose my words carefully.  i so badly wanted to say how much i loved the piano, minimizing the obvious problems.  but instead i said, 'i don't want to buy it'.  in response, donna was relieved.  she said the piano didn't sound good.  and so our first venture into grand piano buying was over.  btw, i purposely did NOT take my checkbook.  smart move when i really, really, really want something. 

when dreams are involved, making decisions are difficult..  the head and the heart lose their best friend status.  chaos erupts.  compromises are offered.  deals/bribes are made.  but like an inner superhero, intuition appears.  having sat back and listened to all the pros and the cons of a decision, the superhero offers a most comfortable chair in which to settle in comfort and relief.  'follow your gut'!!

now i am the first to say that 'gut decisions' and intuitive answers are not always the best ones.  but in my experience, finding that place of peace AFTER the heart/head battle has been going on for too long almost always sends me to a helpful, healthy place. 

Drum-rolls

i learned something new today...  men get epidurals too. 

"in the spirit of murses, bromance, and man-girdles, the procedure formally reserved for women in labor now is available in a gender-neutral environment.  life is good."

those were my thoughts as i climbed onto the table in the doctor's office.  he was about to do a lumbar epidural in order to relieve pain and burning in my thighs and legs.  as i lay there face down, i hear chattering voices sharing their weekend plans.   within ten minutes, it was over...  drama-free.   and i went home to wait 48-72 hours for some relief to come. 

it's been 20 hours.  nada.

the worse part of waiting is...  well...   waiting.  it's where hope and anxiety and excitement and fear exist.  being there many times before, i have developed some tolerance for the anticipation.  yet, each new waiting time is unique because the end result is not known..  yet.  

it's kind of like watching 'worst cooks in america'.  the contestants chop, peel, saute, cook, and plate their food.  and then they wait for the decision of the judges.  i sit there with compassion anxiety listening to the comments made by worried contestants... 'will the judge like what i prepared', 'i burned the carrots'!, 'will i be voted off the show?'.  come on judges.... finish the damn drum-roll and bring on the decision!!!!!

when the decisions are made, some smile and laugh and clap.  some hug in a ritual of mutual relief.  and two tear up knowing that they have been eliminated, they take off their aprons, and they walk off the set.  and for all, the episode ends. 

whoa!  down with the drama, stephen.  pa-leeze!

lesson learned:  no big epiphany.  no brand-new insight.  no sudden burst of enlightenment.  just a familiar and frequent event in life happens again, drum-rolls and all.  waiting is one of those things that we all know about; it's part of our common experience.  and we know that it will happen again...  very, very soon.

Organic

the last time i looked, organic food is everywhere in the grocery store.  whether it is fresh, canned, or frozen, organic food, along with free food (hormone-free, antibiotic-free) is everywhere.  and there is a price to be paid...  organic food costs significantly more than regular food.  in addition, the 'national organic program', an arm of the department of agriculture, enforces laws designed to define what organic food is or isn't.  what used to be a counter-culture phenomenon, organic food has gone mainstream.

the older i get, a move toward a more organic self seems to take on more steam.  the additives just don't matter as much anymore.  all the time, stress, and effort to make a good impression, to pretend i am something i am not, and to repress thoughts and feelings are not worth it anymore.  i am left wondering why the additives seemed for so long to be natural!

i won't go into my theories about the impact of education, religious training, rigid sex roles, media influence, and the desire to be liked have shaped me.  but if asked, i would glady enlighten you.  suffice it to say that those additives, for better or worse, have at times squeezed and then re-constituted me into a persona that is not naturally me. 

belting out the song 'i gotta be me!' could be inserted here.  perhaps a medley of tunes including 'r e s p e c t' and 'honesty' would make a lovely serenade.  but i promise to contain myself, at least until noon.  i will be content, instead, with humming a tune written and directed by and for me.

Moments

i was sitting outside at nanny's house eating a popsicle as fast as possible before it created grape-colored streaks down my arm.  nanny, granny, and 25+ kids were enjoying the same afternoon treat in the hot summer sun.  we had just finished enjoying the cold water fun of a hose splashing us without mercy.  just how many games can a kid invent with a water hose?  the cement was getting warm again, my shorts were drying off, and it was time to return to the swings, merry-go-round, and slide. 

glimpses of past events can, in a moment, become real again.   they can turn a fifty-seven year old into a 5 year old kid in a flash.  suddenly a body is free to run, jump, fall down, get up, run, swing, slide.  and making important decisions such as choosing the right flavor of popsicle is just about as complicated as it gets.  and they can be a powerful reminder of how imagination and creativity flow from simple and spontaneous curiosity

certainly 'big' life events are like milestones...  the first day in high school...  walking to the drugstore by myself... the first crush.  but it's the thousands of 'little' events are just as important. they provide, after all,  a clear reminder of those people and events that have shaped our lives...  and continue to do so.

Body shame

a predominant dynamic in my healing process is the issue of my weight.  often, when in public, i sense an oppressive judgment about not only my weight but also the reasons for my obesity.  lazy...  undisciplined...  gluttonous...  

coming to a greater understanding of the shame, i have realized that those judgments are the ones i have put on people who are obese.  i did the same thing.  dismissing such people was an easy and 'natural' thing to do.  'they are fat, they don't exist in my world!'.  and so it goes.

the judgment i feel from others actually comes from the voices inside my own head.  that is not to say that some people don't judge me.  rather, the worst critic is me.  as such, i wonder how much i enter a social situation already laden with those messages...   'i am too fat to have worth'... 'nobody will take me seriously'... 'who can see beyond my size?'...

those self-judgments become so ingrained, i am not aware at times that i am doing that to myself.  it is seems natural. but self-oppression should be anything but natural.   i grieve over the energy i spend on judging myself that could be put to better use on creative energy, intellectual energy, connecting energy.

what would my world be like if i were to suddenly drop these self-judgments and to believe that i am much, much more than my weight?  would i socialize more?  would i enjoy the moments of life?  would projections of judgment from other people lessen?... or cease?...  or not matter? 

it's unnerving to write this because it lays out a problem.  and it lays out the makings of a solution.  the most unnerving part for me is to struggle with 'how do i get to another place?'. 

for now, i will sit with my thoughts, attempt to embrace what i feel, and make room to allow for a different way of thinking.  being genuine about my current thoughts and feelings has to be!  fake or revved up rah! rah! rahs! don't cut it. 

so i think, consider, and sit with all of this.  it takes time to digest.   

Oops!

when i was boy, i remember enjoying company in our house, the parsonage of the church.  and with those stories came juicy bits of information, stories of traveling, and fascinating opinions.   and i felt it my duty, privilege and honor to add to the conversation whenever i could.

 there were missionaries who would spin wonderful stories of life overseas.  i wanted so much to be a missionary in order to travel.  usually my questions were 'what kind of animals live near you?" or "what kind of food do you eat".  i held most missionaries on a pedestal, so i reserved my most poignant moments for other guest.

there were ministers and evangelists who told about churches and people throughout america.  i delighted hearing how others did church.  but more delightful and seductive were the stories 'about' people... what they did...  didn't do...  what they said... didn't say....  what they wore.... didn't wear...   the possibilities were endless.  once, a minister with an 'honorary' doctoral degree was eating a meal with us.  i just HAD to ask, 'are you a real doctor'?  i wish i could remember the response.  oops!

two single women sang for a revival at our church when i was no older than 7.  one, i addressed by her name.  the other, by 'coocoonose'.  she was a good sport.  frequently, i had nicknames for our guests.  luckily, i kept most of them for private use.

one married evangelist couple who sat at our kitchen table proceeded to make negative comments about other people within the nazarene denomination.  i took in some really 'good' information.  but rather than adding to the conversation, i delighted in watching my mom's and dad's eyes divert, avert, squint, open-wide, and stare.  try as they might to change the subject, my parents realized the couple would continue to 'spill the beans'.  after dinner, we were encouraged NOT to spread the good news to others.

speaking of which, a pastors wife, while eating with us, spilled the green beans all over the table.  she was not embarrassed just once, but by anytime we would remind her of the incident.  her accident was so thrilling to us kids...  so much so that for years, we would always mention it when our family had 'memory' time. 

another evangelist brought his wife and children to our church for the weekend.  at sunday dinner, i asked another fun and frequent question....  'what church do you go to?'.  the evangelist explained very tactfully that his wife was not a christian and didn't usually attend church.  oops!

of course, members of the church were in our homes frequently.  many were like family, loving and kind...  a few weren't.  some would come over to babysit, others would visit my parents, and some came over to pick up a key or a book or who-knows-what.  once, a woman came over to talk to my dad.  while she was waiting, she was asked by a little red-haired boy if she peed in her kool-aid.  she handled it graciously, but my the boy's mother heard what was being asked.  oops!

a group of church members had a meeting at church long into the evening.  my mother baked pies and invited them over to wind down i suppose.  it was a school night, so i couldn't stay up to talk and listen.  instead, i hid in a hall closet and just listened.  imagine my surprise when i awoke to the relief of my parents' voice when they finally found me.  apparently, they had search all over the house before trying the closet.  oops!

even though it didn't happen at our church, i must tell another story. this happened at our annual campmeeting. a woman asked her teenage daughter to deliver something to another woman in the camp. the teenage girl invited me, a 9 year old, to come along. the woman invited us in. and before i knew it, i had asked her, 'why are you so fat'? the woman turned red.  the teenager gasped. we left quickly. the teenager told her mother. the mother gasped AND told me how rude i had been. duh! and.... oops!  imagine me face.  imagine a brilliant color of red. 

for better or worse, i still enjoy engaging in all sorts of conversation.  and as fate would have it, i still have 'oops' experiences.  recently, a friend of mine said something that was confusing to me.  when she asked, 'does that make sense'? i seized the opportunity to be 'cute' and humorous, by saying that her comment made no sense at all.  as i laughed at my joke, i realized she was not laughing with me.  rather, she took offense to my flippant comment.

oops!