Boredom

I'll get to these images later. I love to read, even more than I like movies. The words take me out of myself and I can imagine places and things as clear as if they were happening to me. But.....sometimes my thin skin takes it's toll. I have to be careful lest I throw myself into dark moods. In a Baha'i prayer one of the lines is "I will not dwell on the unpleasant things in life". That does help...also a Sethie mantra, "I only respond to constructive thoughts" helps me not to project bad things into my life, as I have a tendency to let my mind cook up the most horrid scenarios, Goddess knows why! I believe we get what we think about, so if you are busy thinking of all possible negative situations and how you can avoid them, or take care of them if they do evolve into being, stop it! Just don't think them up in the first place. Seth says the mantra mentioned above guards us against negative thoughts while we are learning not to think them.

This all comes to mind as just yesterday I had to stop reading "Reading Lolita in Tehran" by Azar Nafisi. It twisted me up inside. I became morose and freaked out, posted a freaky blog post which I quickly removed, about what the world expects of women, which seems to be a hot topic for the men of the world and the concern for some bizarre women as well, along with just how they can all manage to bring about compliance.

Here I have toned that blog post down...In Iran the women must cover themselves in heavy black chadors and go through inspections by revolutionary guards, to insure that the chador fabric is heavy enough, that they have no make-up on their faces or in their bags, to insure that no hair is showing, and that there is no pro-western paraphernalia present on their person. Some Muslim women like the black cloaks and head scarves and we must respect that, right? Never mind that they can't feel a cool breeze ever on their skin. By the way, Ahmadinejad says "There are no homosexuals in Iran"! Ha! The book tells of how the liberals and students fought for the revolution and ended up with a monster of a regime they never anticipated...so we best watch our steps carefully when we're fighting for change...and be damned sure we know we're going in the right direction...as we surely are with Obama. To continue on my female image rant.... here, in most parts of free America, women are suspect if they don't show enough proper femininity. What the heck is that all about? Humanity being majorly confused, me thinks. It's all upside down and inside out...and it is truly amazing that we girls manage at all to be as amazing as most of us are. Why does anyone, female or male, have enough time and energy to even bother with such things? They must not be busy enough with the personal business of living their own individual lives to be bothered with such pastimes. Boredom, that must be the problem. And....we all know if we are "thinking" beings, that there is no excuse for being bored in a world as rich as the one we find ourselves in. But...is that not that the problem with all the world's woes? Paint a picture, write a poem or a book, sing a song, dance a dance and leave others alone, to do the same as they so wish. Get out of the way so we can play.

Gannon Memories

In memory...sweet punk/rockabilly guy, Gannon with girlfriend.

The light that burns twice as bright, burns half as long.

What a dance he was and still is I am sure where he is now, in the inner wide open spaces of all time. I try to go there in my dreams and remember being there, but most often I forget before I wake up, and the missing continues. What is it that makes the passing of a loved one so very hard, when it is so natural...the missing, always the missing. Knowing the feeling of being with them, hearing them, I have the sweater I gave him shortly before he left, still with cells of him woven into the weave, and I hold it up to my face and try to get a sense of him. Most humans have suffered the loss of a loved one and ain't it grand? Something we no doubt came to Earth to experience, to learn from, to learn never to take anything for granted, to learn to be kind to others for the like heartbreak they may have experienced or are experiencing, to learn how the very deeply the heart yearns and what love is.

Ari Moore

Here is my daughter, Ari, in NYC for the first time. She is a funny little thing, very melodramatic but she has learned to be careful with that. Shira has helped to tame her. Ari is an artist and has that unique temperament. Ari and Shira are animal rights activists, Vegans and create web sites for International nonprofits. I want to write tons about her and her life, also about Anthony, her amazing brother, so will be adding to this post as time goes on, but for now you have her picture.

She has traveled the world, experiencing so much bringing back fabulous tales and photos, and I feel me going out there with her, through her genes, and I am so amazed and thrilled for her! Now she is off again to Amsterdam with Shira, making magic where ever she goes.
I shot an arrow into her soul, stayed out of her way, and let her fly like fire into the sky. All things are possible when you have wings! Hers have taken her to Cornell University, Great Love, New York City, Israel, Europe, India, and Iceland and now back to Amsterdam. Bravo!

Every Day is Obama Day!

No matter what is going down, no matter the world is in a mess, we have a real thinking person in the White House. How cool is that? Every day is Obama Day, a Holiday and the world has been transformed. I wish everyone would give him a chance to work his magic. I wish everyone would write their congressmen and senators, and tell them to let Obama have whatever he asks for. He believes he has answers and I believe in a man that believes he has the answers. Your Beliefs are your palette, so start believing, please! He can't do it by himself.

Not a Pretty Thing

She has six brothers, who take care of the yard and shovel snow and help her father with carpentry projects. She isn't allowed to help or touch a tool, for fear she will grow up wild and not make a proper wife. She is taught to clean house, do laundry and iron, to take care of her baby brothers and cook. She hates it all, except for the baby brothers. She loves them and caring for them but wants a childhood. They all enjoy the go-cart track on weekends, but she is only allowed to watch. That's for boys. Her grandmother gives her a fancy new broom for her birthday party with all the little girls in their party dresses watching, and gives her new lace under pants whenever she washes out the cupboards. She is taught not to whistle, "Whistling women and crowing hens, are for the barnyard and not for men." They all stand up to pee...she tries and is told she must sit and that someday she will grow a penis. Her blood boils with it all, and she resents it violently, more and more as she grows up. The sex-typing of a little girl is not a pretty thing. No wonder she grows up to be a Hot Tamale, ready to tear the world apart, and run as fast as she can to FREEDOM and never, ever allow herself to be held back!

Stuff & A Bumpy Ride

I woke up this morning to read as I usually do. I finished a grand book, Aloft by Chang-Rae Lee and started a new book, Poemcrazy, which is supposedly going to teach me how to release myself into words. The title caught my eye, as I am thingcrazy @comcast.net. I have always wished that I were a writer of books and poetry, along with the creating I do on my vintage-selling web sites and the jewelry and paintings I have done in the past, and hope to do again. Thoughts are rattling around in my head, brought on by my reading and by my getting rid of stuff. I am going through our rented town house and finding new homes for tons of cool STUFF I have collected....way too much cool stuff. Way way too much. Looks like we are in for a bumpy ride the TV says in the background as I listen to the BBC news. That is what it has been, my life, a very bumpy ride. I always knew I was uncontrolled energy, even as a child, and that I would never let anyone hold me back, once I was free of my not-so-fun childhood. I had children feeling that even slightly crazy artists should procreate or the world would be full of just boring behaving people. I justified having my two boys and one girl. I did put them all through some hell. Still they turned out to be delightfully unique, intelligent and very creative individuals. I taught them, "you aren't bored, you are boring" and that there was far too much in the world to do and learn about to ever feel bored. I taught them responsibility for making magic, and that there were no barriers but those they created with their minds. I told them I would rather that they were picked on than that they ever picked on anyone else. Our homes were filled with art materials, art, modern vintage and antiques, music, books, free thinking, and open communication, and lots of laughs as there is no shortage of wit in this family. We had birds, rats, cats and a turtle. There was a swing in our vaulted living room, a pure 50s living room in another apartment with flowers and morning glories profuse on two down town porches, a sandbox and huge low work table with floor cushions in the common room. The kids created dioramas and troll houses in every nook and cranny.

There are times I am not proud of. Sometimes I drank a bit too much and listened to loud music on the head phones...was a misbehaving artist, not being a proper mom, but for the most part it was a rich experience for us all and certainly never boring. I went off the deep end and broke down when I left the last of my three main men, the father of my two youngest, Ari and Ant. I didn't know how to be just me, without a battery pack man to justify my existence, after all I had been unsuccessfully sex typed by my parents...and though freedom reigned in me, and although I seemed to be a major bread winner and inspiration for all of my man-based relationships, I had been well taught that I had no right to just be me, unless there was a man in the picture, no matter how lost those men may have been. If I had a man, I was validated. Without one I was not, and that is the great inner war I had to fight. It took so many years and brought on that superbly bumpy road, that fabric of life full of knots and snags. I tried to do too much, creating a huge gold jewelry collection for a gallery on the cape while raising two babies and a teenager. I felt I was invincible and could do it all by myself. My breakdown, the facts of which are too grizzly to mention here, could have killed me and my two youngest, left me utterly alone. I lost custody of them to their father and his insecure impossible wife. Gannon, my oldest, was off on his own then, but he was around to watch it all, and to fear for us. We see now that it was all necessary, and that without losing my children I would have not been stripped bare enough to find just little old me, deep inside. My daughter and I talk about this time of separation every time we are together, which is not often enough. I did have them absolutely every weekend, birthdays and holidays but I had to go to court to get even that. It was a really bad time for all three of us. We hated it. It took me five plus very long years with the help of child and adult therapists, lots of support from my lawyer and the court system mediators but I did get them back when Ant was in the 5th grade and Ari was in 7th grade. Though we still had our problems it was the warmest and most wonderful time of times continuing on together.

So back to the stuff! Some of the art has gone to Ari and Shira in Ithaca. I am trying to thin things out so that I can find myself a little spot in Ithaca near to them, while they have children and continue in their hippie life style. Ha! To think it has all come full circle, and that they are now becoming what I was way back then in the 60s and 70s. I lived on a commune, and now they are developing an intentional community. They don't flush pee down the toilet to save water. I do remember that so well. I never fit in on the commune though, as I liked baths and running water and making/selling art and not so much growing/smoking pot. The hippies picked on me, as did my then husband and I lasted only three months, before I was up and running free with other artists. Now I am very excited about moving to Ithaca, although Ari says that they will have to leave at Christmas to visit their Dad and step mom here, and won't that suck. No matter, I will be just peachy fine. Stuff....organizing it for my move....I have all the art materials expanding in one drawer about to need more room, all the photos in another drawer, the sewing stuff in various cozy places all over the place along with my vintage inventory yet to be photographed and listed, listed and waiting to be sold, and waiting to be restored. The more stuff I release from my ownership the more free I become. It should be a fun move..Yikes! It all brings to mind how much I still want to do with the writing, creating and living and how terribly short and sweet life is.