Oh!...I'm a Girl!!!!!

This exclamation came out of my mouth this afternoon. It was very much a revelation at the time. Let me explain:

You see, I have been racking my brain to try to figure out why in the world it is so difficult for me to fly pipes out at the theatre. I mean, I know I’m not in the best of shape, but I don’t have any trouble flying things in as long as they’re weighted properly. (Just so you know, you pull down either way you want the pipe to go. If you want it to go out you pull down on the front rope; out, the back rope.­) so the weight is not the problem.

Finally, today, E, J & I were flying something out simultaneously and it happened again. The damned thing felt like it weighed a ton. My instinct was to jump on to the rail and haul from there since I had room. Voila! I could haul out the pipe just as easily while standing on the rail as I could haul in something standing on the floor. But I still didn’t know why. So, while the boys were working on putting more weight on the arbor it hit me: I’M A GIRL!!!! The boys looked at me and said, “Yes, you are. Were you confused about that?”

“No, my center of gravity is lower and since I have to reach to fly something out, I don’t have the same strength to do it as you guys!”

Yay! Problem solved. Now I have to figure out how to squeeze myself in a space of about 18 inches in order to work the fly rail. I’m sure it will come in the same kind of flash that my knowledge of my gender will.

Growing Up.....at 40

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m teaching myself to play the guitar. I have been working diligently for the past few weeks to get at least one song down so that I feel comfortable playing it in front of another human being. It’s nothing big or great, but it’s an accomplishment for me.

Anyway, that day came yesterday when my dad asked if I had learned to play.

“Yes, I have learned a song, Daddy. Would you like to hear it?”

“Why sure.”

So I get the guitar and I proceed to play Leaving on a Jet Plane by John Denver but made popular by The Mamas and the Papas. Now, I have been awake for all of 20 minutes and still haven’t had any coffee but I played the song (simple chording and strumming) all the way through without any mistakes except that I forgot the lyrics once. I was pretty proud of myself. I even finished with a little flourish on a G-chord. I looked at Dad expecting something like, “Well that’s not bad,” or maybe even a “That was pretty good. How long have you been working on that?” What did I get from him? I got:

“You really need to work on your voice, I could barely hear you.” And then he said, “You were just playing chords there, weren’t you.”

I could have smashed the guitar over his head.

Instead, I just laughed to myself.

Why did I title this entry “Growing Up”? I won’t go into all the psychological details, but believe me, caring what my father thinks of me has been something I’ve struggled with for all of my life.

Yesterday, it didn’t matter. I realized that his comments were a result of the tapes that play in his head and that what he says, most of the time, has absolutely nothing to do with me, my accomplishments or what I think of myself.

So, I’m growing up little by little and choosing who I am every day. Some days I might choose to be the 5-year old, but it’s better to be able to choose it instead of it choosing me.

In Memoriam

Today I had to make one of the toughest decisions of my life. I had to decide whether or not the quality of life my sweet dog would have would be worth what I would have to do in order to keep her around a little longer. I decided that she deserved my love, gratitude and respect enough to let her go.

I did.

And she went peaceably and humanely with me holding her, telling her how good she is and how much I love her. I will miss her sorely and it will take me a while to recover. But it is for the best.

I love you, my dear Carmen. Thank you for the years you gave me and for all you have taught me.

Resonance

I recently picked up the guitar again and I had a moment where I understood why people love it so much. I don’t remember what the chord was, but I struck it and struck it loud. There was a vibration that went through me and made it all clear. It’s not something I can really explain except that it was “right” and peaceful.

I liken it to learning to fish. It’s very Zen to cast the line, think like a worm, think like a fish and continuously reel in the line. I didn’t even catch a fish that first day but it became obvious why my brothers were so preoccupied with it.

Now I understand why Gregorian Chant and Tibetan Bells and Mantras are what they are. They give us a resonance to focus on, a recollection of spiritual vibration, so that all else can fall away and we can see the Light that we are.

Courage

This is what I would call courage:

Seeing a woman who obviously has breast cancer wear a dress that shows her mastectomy scar. Her name is Charlotte Matthews and she is a poet. Her latest collection is called Green Stars. I saw her at a poetry reading at Malaprops last week and her publisher said that she has continued to write through the cancer and is quite ill.

Actual Conversation

Him: So you were in Greece with Chris.

Me: No, I've never been out of the country.

Him: No, I meant the musical, Grease!

Me: Oh... yes. I was.

Now let me tell you that I was in that play with Chris in 1984. Would you have made the connection?

I wonder, sometimes, why is it that we have to place people in context so that we know how to talk to them? Can we not try to connect with them in the here and now instead of putting them on a point in the past and then figuring how they fit now?

Sensible Shoes

Only in Asheville and only at a UU Church (Except, maybe Jubilee) will you find so many women under 50 wearing sensible shoes. It’s wonderful to see. People here “do church” for the reason of hearing a message that may help them on their personal journey. There is no judgment, no dress code.

Today we had a guest speaker who teaches meditation and Buddhism as a philosophy, not necessarily a “religion.” It’s incredible to have 200 people being silent and meditating together. The energy that surrounds such an event is awe inspiring and simultaneously energizing and peaceful.

Interpretations

I was thinking about something that someone said yesterday that struck me as a little absurd. It was something to the effect of “Even though it sounds like I’m approaching this from a purely egocentric place, I really don’t mean it that way.” My thought was, “If it sounds like you’re approaching this from an egocentric place, how are we supposed to know that it’s not?” How can a person not be misinterpreted in that situation?

This is a subject that is very close to me. I have only fairly recently learned that I don’t actually listen to the words that are coming out of a person’s mouth, but am taking signals from all over the place. As a result, I end up misinterpreting what is being said because what I SEE is not what I am HEARING and I will automatically opt for what I SEE.

I think this may be one reason that a college roommate was concerned for my hearing. She was majoring in Deaf Studies and was teaching me sign language. While I was an absolute beginner in signing, I was better than a beginner in reading sign. She told me to get my hearing checked because I shouldn’t be that strong of a reader and that my lip reading skills were better than the average hearing person. I did. My hearing was fine—except for some low tone loss in one ear due to using a shotgun without ear protection.

So, how does one know if he or she is interpreting the correct thing? What if the person we are listening to doesn’t know that he or she is projecting something other than what they are saying? What do we “listen” to?

An interesting exercise…

Friends with a Mountain Girl

…why these mountain people were shy with strangers. They had never
learned the citified arts of hiding feeling or of smiling when the heart was
cold. Friendship was dangerous to them because they had built up not
protection against it. Once they let you in it must be into the deep
places of the heart….

…The mountain type of friendship was a tie of substance between people with a sort of gallant fealty about it. It had to do with a time in the past when there was no more final bond than a man’s pledged word; when every connection of blood and family was firm and strong, forged in the past, stretching into the future.

And so this kind of friendship was for life—yes, and for eternity, too. One would never deceive or defraud a friend, not allow him to be in need so long as you had one coin, one garment, or one meal to share with him. His sorrow was your sorrow; his joy, your cause for rejoicing too.
~~Catherine Marshall

Being back with my family and all that it is to be part of a proud mountain clan has it's own meaning in the world. Some may think that we are redneck, ignorant, or just plain dumb. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Sure, we have our redneck moments: I think there are at least 3 non-working vehicles and a boat on the property right now, but I can always count on a good Sunday Dinner and someone to show me how to use a weed eater. We love each other fiercely and with a loyalty that can't be matched. To be called friend and to be brought into the fold is an honor of the highest regard. If you are my friend, you are friend to the entire family and all will gladly give you anything you need in the name of that friendship.

Saturday on the Ranch

Family. You gotta love them.
It’s a typical Saturday evening at the Silver Compound.

Travis has a girlfriend over at his apartment. I just heard that rumor. I didn’t see her, but Chris, Michael and Bill did. Evidently, she’s a real looker.

They all had to tell me this after I inquired as to whose Kia that was in the parking space.

Bill is washing his boat. With the Pressure Washer

Michael and Chris are working on the race car—it has a new engine in it.

I’m mowing the lawn.

Engines are whirring, purring and rumbling all over the hill.

Bill had the audacity to ask me if I knew how to use a socket wrench. I almost threw it at him.

I would like for it to be quiet now.

Healing

Here is a journal entry from Christmas 2002.

Feeling of the day: actually, it is the emotion of from the week before. I had this dream last Sunday (my birthday) that was a theatre anxiety dream (my dreams are such wonderful tools for me to see what I’m really thinking) and understood that I was anxious about something. In the dream, I was working at Barter again. They had asked me to work there. So I’m there for a couple of days and notice that, although everyone is being courteous, they are not going out of their way to offer any more than they have to. I have a meeting with Rick to talk to him about this, and he mumbles something at me. I have to ask him three times what it is he’s saying and I’m getting a little angry. He finally looks me in the eye and says, “Some of us are ashamed of you.”

I found this on my computer today. It came as quite a shock. It was a dream I had almost 4 years ago and since then I have actually worked at Barter again. Needless to say, nothing like what happened in my dream happened in real life. But I sit here crying. I’m full of emotions today and not only because of this three-and-a-half year old journal entry. One of those feelings is such a deep sadness for the woman who thought so little of herself that she was taking it out on herself even in her dreams. I also feel Joy and Awe. I am so joyous that I have managed to heal myself (with a lot of help) of those feelings of shame and inadequacy and am in awe of the woman who managed to work through them and come out on the other side. What an accomplishment. I’m proud of her and what she has done with herself and her life. I’m proud of myself.

Maniacal Mockingbirds & Night Crowing Roosters

Okay, I think I have it figured out. You see, I have this issue with this mockingbird that sings outside my window all night long. Add to that the confused Rooster across the street and sleep is always difficult in coming. --By the way, it
s 2:30 in the afternoon at present and not a peep out of either one.--While I really can't do anything about the noise except find a shotgun--I guess a BB Gun would be just s as efficient--I have figured out why the Mockingbird sings. It's because of the Rooster! Last night, while I was lying in bed thinking of all the ways you can cook chicken, the Rooster stopped crowing. Lo and behold! The Mockingbird stopped singing. I had a short respite and almost dozed off but then it started again ARGH! What I think is that the Rooster (how he managed to get onto a night schedule I'll never know) wakes up the Mockingbird. This, in turn makes the Mockingbird think he's missed dawn (for the third time that night) and he starts singing like there's no tomorrow. But it's not tomorrow yet!

So, for now, I'll simply be thankful that I live in a place where I can still hear Roosters and Mockingbirds and the traffic on I-26 and just take a nap