making a break for it

that's what i say i'm doing. the break is in no way literal, though. not yet. i've been thinking a lot about marriage and love. as i anticipate the final day of my marriage, i find it a mystery that i ever got to this point. the break is that, going forward, these things look very different to me.

growing up, i always assumed i would get married and have a family - a human family - of my own. i was, for a time, proposed to about once a year. i rejected most of them outright. some took longer. at 20 i was briefly engaged to a cop who, when he pointed his gun at his dog, became my ex. at 26, to an idea guy who was all energy and frenzy and fun. i broke off the engagement when i realized the depth of his madnesses, the fragility of his house of cards. for a time i worried he'd come back for revenge. it's the only time i ever feared someone in that way but i never ever saw or spoke with him again. whew.

since, i've spent a lot of time in situations that would never bear fruit of the marital kind (such as two years at the side of a gravely injured friend - through coma and rehab). to an extent i wonder why. to a larger extent i think i know. there are lists of reasons i won't explore here. lists - plural. i've thought of sitting down with a therapist and seeing how close i come to my own diagnosis. hmmm... i should check into that!

as i look forward (and i am) to being single again, i know that the circumstances under which i would marry again would have to be pretty remarkable. this is liberating. in all this talk of marriage i haven't yet mentioned love. interesting. as much as i'm skeptical of marrying again, i believe a great, enduring love is still possible for me. even probable. as i am free of the social construct that marriage represents to me, it opens doors for the real and true.

for now, i work on making my place in this place. it's good, good, good.

as·pi·ra·tion

~the act of breathing and especially of breathing in
~a strong desire to achieve something high or great.
~an object of such desire.


in this time of standing still i find myself taking inventory in a very literal way. of aspirations, of what is good and right. of how my life can look going forward.

it's been a bit of a slog lately. a shallow exchange of busy air that has passed for breathing for so long now. but hours and hours in a darkened theatre watching the ideas of others flicker in a million colors and sounds has given me something to aspire to. has helped me again breathe in. all the way in.

some of what i saw was of questionable quality but that's not really important. those people did something brave. they aspired to make a film, to bring it to the world, and that's what they did. that it's film and not writing or art or music or charity work or a really good pesto sauce makes no difference.

the question of how my life can look is a mystery yet. i won't try to invent too may details - as i am inclined to do - because i don't think it serves my unfolding story. or me. or the people around me. all i can say is that the work of letting things be, even as i actively seek change, has begun in earnest.

i wish everyone the opportunity to breathe in.

nest

in my twitter bio i say i'm in flux. ain't it the truth. i just heard from my lawyer today - the papers have been filed and things are FINALLY moving forward. i think i hear creaking, but at least they're moving.

whenever my friend is unsettled, she talks about not being able to make her nest. i feel this way. i'm not sleeping, i've been brooding, back-talky and generally unpleasant. i do apologize to the public at large - and i swear it'll pass.

i've decided to try a dbg in honor of my cousin's lovely blog.

d(esire): my own nest
b(rag): great cookware to put in my nest's kitchen
g(ratitude): the feathery comfort of family and friends during all this flux

small town

malvern, ar, doesn't have a cab service.

today a man with all his possessions packed in two neat, wheeled suitcases came to the door of the bank i work for. he made the mistake many do in thinking we have money there. we're the operations center (i like to think we're "the brains") and mainly ensure that everything in the money places runs as it should. we keep the doors locked.

one of the guys went out to speak with him, bringing a cold bottle of water along. the man, who thought he might possibly have an account with us, was looking for a place to get some help - his house had been stolen. clearly, he needed far more help than is contained in a cold bottle of water.

the receptionist started making calls to see if there was a place we could refer him to, a local shelter. she settled on calling the police to see if they might know of someplace. they sent an officer who, after talking with him for a few minutes, drove off. we think he gave him some money for food.

anyone who knows me knows this would never do. i knew there were places in hot springs a mere 17 miles away. i started making calls as our new friend wheeled toward the sonic. i called a women's shelter to get a number for a men's shelter to see if they knew of a malvern shelter. no such thing. my co-workers told me the nearest mental health facility of any sort is in bryant, 35 miles away. i'm still not sure that's true - it's too heartbreaking to consider.

i found, after a few calls, a place in hot springs that could take him this afternoon. he'd have a bed, a shower, a meal. check-in time was between 4 and 5:30 pm. it was about 11:30 am. i figured i could pay for a cab ride to get him to hot springs. no such thing. cab services in hot springs won't come there, either. i called the police back, i called the sheriff's department. they have cars, right? they transport people, right? not today. even so, i thought he might have gotten to malvern hitchhiking (we're right near the interstate). i decided to write everything down and bring it to him, suggest he spend the day heading in that direction.

he was out of sight by now - it had been a while. i got in my car and started driving around to find him. how hard could it be? it was hard. 20 minutes later, i found him crossing an expanse of grass behind some tennis courts. i called after him and told him about the place in hot springs, about how he could have shelter, a shower. he earnestly told me he just needed to get his money to buy a new car and change his identity. no more surgeries, he pleaded, no more lsd, no more fbi following him - he was done.

i gave him the note with all of the information. he put it in his pocket. if he turns up tomorrow, i'll do the same thing.

blame it on the moon

at 4:30 this morning, a large orange moon settled in on the trees. i only saw it for a moment before it wriggled its way down into the limbs and disappeared.

the battle i wage with melancholy can be epic at times. for me, last saturday, the melancholy settled in like that massive moon settled on those trees. i was overtired, i was reflective, i was spent. though the morning had been incredibly positive and successful, there was one episode that wouldn't just slide past me.

opportunity sometimes comes at you cloaked in a bad memory.

i was approached by a person to participate in a show. great, right? yes, great. she represents a pro-choice organization and prefaced her interest in my work with a near-disclaimer about who she works with/for. i assured her that i, too, am pro-choice and that i was interested to know more about this show. however, as she spoke i found myself fighting the urge to tell her of a print i had done, of the choice i had made, once upon a time. and how, though i am pro-choice, that decision still has its teeth in me more than twenty years later. i'm not convinced that's what she'd want to hear.

i titled the piece "the muddy nature of choice". when i first showed it, there were tears all around. several people asked if they could buy or trade for one of the edition. really? why? i still don't know. what i've learned in these intervening years is that the decisions i make - good or bad - can endure. many things can be re-decided. many, many things. some cannot. as i approach my 45th birthday having never been a parent, this particular choice comes with a built-in echo. i never know when it'll come around again. when it does, i am disarmed anew.

the decision i made wasn't easy. it also wasn't my decision alone. it should have been. since that time, i have been vigilant in following my instinct, following my own voice. i am often wrong but i'm ok with that. i stand or fall in living what i decide.

i just got in from walking the dogs. that orange moon is on the rise - this time on the up-side of the sky. as always, thanks for listening.

boomboomboom

i sit here writing when i have a million things to do. fortunately, i consider writing among the million. other things include completing my display boards for tomorrow, finishing about 80 pendants for tomorrow, packing the car for tomorrow, having cafe 1217's excellent tomato soup for ..... wait for it..... dinner. heeee.

anyway, i'm missing gallery walk this evening. this happens too much. i'm not missing fireworks in little rock. well, technically, i am. i was supposed to go with family and friends to watch from the ballpark but ended up having too much to do (for tomorrow) and had to beg off.

here's the thing - i'm happy (and relieved) because i hate fireworks. for the whole of my life, i've hated them. sure, i can ooooh and aaaah with all y'all but, really, i just don't get it.

and then...

i was 5'6" when i arrived for my summer in aix-en-provence. two events occurred while i was there. first, france won the world cup. aside from singing "god save the queen" while standing in the main town fountain (i was very good considering i only just learned it), i endured bottle rockets and firebombs whizzing by my head. now, that was a party... i have pictures someplace in storage. no flash, just flashes and, subsequently, flashbacks.

second, bastille day - a mere two days later.

in france, there are no fences around the fireworks launchers. there is no "safe" distance. it's an interactive experience. they shoot them straight up and let the sparks and ashes fall onto and through the plane trees. onto my hair, onto my shoulders, onto the interior of my right eyeglass lens and, sadly, into my lovely bottle of wine. this was new for me. new and very bad. the smell of sulphur permeated everything and the sound dislodged centuries-old bricks from buildings for miles around. i swear it.

imagine a turtle standing more or less upright. this was my posture for my remaining weeks in france. even through the wonder of the landscape, the clear, clear light, the dizzying scents of rosemary and lavender growing wild. i was traumatized. upon my return, 5'5". i swear it.

my view of fireworks has drawn ire from some and conspiratorial confessions from many, many more. it's a sort of cultural peer pressure, i think, to "enjoy" fireworks. i'd like to hear why people love them because i'm not buying it. anyone?

psssst - i hated "forrest gump", too. oh, and teddy bears? ick.