Theater of the Absurd


“FACE,”, 2002, 14″ x 14″ x 4″, m/m
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The other day I went to the Social Security office to re-apply for disability having been turned down previously.

The first time I applied I made the dire mistake of presenting myself as is…

Meaning: a woman challenged by this ‘thing’ but not caving to it.

Carrying herself with a careful nod to the ‘I can do this,’ camp.

That was a big ole’ mistake for Cath..

Seems I just looked too good.

Too able.

Made too much money (I reported $6000.00).

DENIED!

In my recent approach I had the benefit of counseling from some people in the know and these are some of their suggestions:

1. Dress like a bag lady.

2. Do not shower for three days before the appointment.

3. Only speak when spoken to.

4. Push your infirmity to the max so they see you are really disabled.

Well…

I had a difficult time with these suggestions.

I truly recognize that there are so many people in economic fear at the moment that security is stepped up in order to weed out the posers.

But as far as I could go was not to wear makeup and borrow a torn coat from a friend.

I answered 2 hours worth of questions geared toward trying to catch me in a falsehood.

The intake person was a well-oiled example of doing her job well.

I had nothing to hide which is just as well because I’m just plain bad at that activity.

The two of us connected well and I do believe I noticed a bit of relief from her,

Recognizing my true need and easy honesty.

Anyway..

What’s done is done and now I wait….

High Line


detail of painting, m/m
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I woke in the early dark..

And read the news. The most recent WIKILEAKS are the headlines today.

The world feels teeming with the fear and awkwardness of paradigm shift.

I felt myself going into a muddle.

It is what I do sometimes when big things are happening and I have no control; in this case, the domino effects we can expect from these new and unveiled security leaks which seem to make all too visible the ineffectual and subversive communication we are ALL pretty much guilty of..

What to do to make what I call ‘THE RETURN?’

For me, that means an action directing my consciousness toward something life-filled, creative and inspiring to me.

I went to THE HIGH LINE.

If you are unfamiliar with this recently completed architectural and horticultural jewel of NYC, let me introduce you.

It really is the brainchild of two regular guys who saw the behemoth remains of an old and unused, raised freight railroad track which meanders through the city as it passes into and out of old warehouses where the trains used to unload goods,

And envisioned it as a raised park for New Yorkers to enjoy.

Imagine! Two guys with an idea and a couple years later, we have a sophisticated testament to vision, moxie, sweat and probably quite a bit of debate.

The thing that gets me is the fact that this gorgeous achievement rose up from the tangled and weedy leftovers of our old selves.

The beauty, to me, is not in it’s newness,

But rather the fact that the thing that WAS shifted into something re-purposed and ALIVE in a very different way.

I see myself that way; the challenges of this body re-purposing ME into someone more beautiful, I think.

And our culture is no different..

We, also are being re-purposed.

Tangled and needing a makeover so badly.

Our wheels are rusting from too much static : “I know it all..”

Change is gritty.

And usually unwelcome in it’s foreignness.

Because there is grief in letting go of the known.

But without that step, no room is created for the new thing.

So the tears and confusion are all core ingredients,

We need to fuel the butter churn.

Small

detail of textile, pigment on wool flannel
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NOTHING – a poem
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The small of my back
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Hosts a creature with tan fur.
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I need nothing more.
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-CA
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Mongolian Sheepskin


detail of sculpture, ceramic
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My friend bought a new coat.

It sports a collar made of white Mongolian Sheepskin atop a cable knit in white as well.

It takes my breath away to see her in it;

She’s a woman who knows how to dress.

Strong and feminine and inviting yet those who meet her know ‘she got the power..’

Women of history like Cleopatra and the like knew these things about adornment.

How to present ones’ self in particular situations as a fully feminine creature,

Not overly tipped toward the seduction side.

You can tell true women-of-beauty sometimes, by the way they wear things but never let THINGS wear them.

And a strong woman can carry a coat such as my friends’ and still allow you to meet HER first…

And only then, the coat.

When I see a woman teetering on stilettos and painted up past a particular point..

I cringe at the effort to attract some thing/one.

The thing is that I know she’s forgotten entirely about herself in the equation.

And that being the case, when the lure has been taken..

There’s absolutely no one there to bring in the wriggling and golden, live thing

Who is letting their interest be known.

A Beginning


untitled, 5′ x 5′, pigment on wool flannel, 1986
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When I went to pick up my mail yesterday, my Native American friend was behind the desk.

I asked him what he was going to do for Thanksgiving.

His eyes went a bit dead and he told me that his tribe doesn’t really celebrate that day.

I left thinking that of course, the day was not a celebratory one for him..

Duh….

It was MY forefathers who arrived at Plymouth and began to do their viral spread.

And yet, those very Native Americans ; all 90 Massasiot tribespeople and 53 of our colonists shared an abundant table together way back in 1621.

Each of those people began a relationship with a cautious hope,

But it was hope just the same.

Here is what they probably ate that day:
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The First Thanksgiving Menu

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Seafood: Cod, Eel, Clams, Lobster

Wild Fowl: Wild Turkey, Goose, Duck, Crane, Swan, Partridge, Eagles

Meat: Venison, Seal

Grain: Wheat Flour, Indian corn

Vegetables: Peas, Beans, Onions, Lettuce, Radish, Carrots

Fruit: Plums, Grapes

Nuts: Walnuts, Chestnuts, Acorns

Herbs and Seasonings: Olive Oil, Liverwort, Leeks, Dried Currants, Parsnips
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The idea that we saw, we liked, we took, makes my heart sting a bit.

And yet, the essence of giving thanks on the third Thursday in November each year remains a high holy day for me.

But a good life at the expense of another causes me pause.

And I do not choose to forage ahead toward the fine wine and golden turkey tomorrow

Without a low and honoring bow of my head toward those nicked and tumbled

In the greedy wake

Of our fast and shiny boats.

Educating Others


untitled, 40″ x 30″, 2001, m/,
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One of the things about my particular kind of disability is that I can’t hide.

There are those of us in partnership with other disabilities like diabetes or emotional, mental challenges or sporting a prosthetic leg who can ‘pass.’

Pass for perfect (cultural definition).

As for me, I’m hard to miss; awkward gait, walker and all..

I used to be able to ‘pass’ but not now.

And I am sort of glad, actually..

Hiding in any form is pretty uninteresting to me anymore after a lifetime of cover-up; I was voted most congenial in high school ((great cover for depression), had no idea who I really was so took on the identity of a juvenile delinquent in school so at least I had a clan ( Chanel #5 is now my signature rather than dirty and torn jeans).

I smell better, feel better and am a real, live disabled woman with a great life.

And yet… I see the fear.

I see the people who look away from me.

They want to look but can’t.

One thing I know about disability is the fact that I remind people of their own frailty.

You know… “By the grace of God, there go I,” kind of thing.

I get that in my bones because I am no different.

I see a scary looking homeless person with vacant eyes and matted hair..

And I look away.

And because I understand the very humanness of some peoples’ response to me,

I make myself a community service.

By that, I mean I take it upon myself to educate people about how to be with me.

I take the initiative and ask for someone to open the door.

And then the important part comes:

I turn to them and look them in the eye with a genuine smile and good jolt of presence and I say “THANK YOU.”

Another example is the time I asked the kitchen to cut up my steak in small pieces before they served me because my hand was not working that day.

I dress up a little in order to represent my demographic to the best of my ability.

All these things I do for my own pleasure, first and foremost,

AND I am acutely aware that my high level of non-scary or depressed presence as someone opens the door or cuts up my steak or sees me moving with some grace through the world,

CHANGES THEM.

People are decidedly relieved when I ask for help without a “WOE IS ME” tune playing in the backround.

Folks are hungry… no STARVING for the opportunity to make a difference in the world in a safe way.

I give them a modicum of that, I am seeing.

And so…it is me who must step up as best I can and let people know what I might need.

And this is a challenge for us all…

We aren’t really SUPPOSED to need…

We’re supposed to be capable, strong, almost invincible…(key word: ABLE)

And when we’re not, the acrid green room in some ‘home’ set aside for us is the repository for a cultures’ inability or disinterest in entertaining a reminder of the frailty innate in all humanness.

After a lifetime of pretty high functionality in my sweet humanness,

My own frailty has softened my heart.

It has humbled me.

Forced me out of all the identities I thought were the bedrock of an upstanding representative of the human race: artist, walking woman, independent, doesn’t need help, steak cutter and door opener..

And here I am finally loving myself; wonky walking and all.

And so.. I take it upon myself to shine this light of a different color,

Spread it around a bit,

And see how it softens others,

As they walk away slightly surprised and easier in their own Selves,

Because I gave them an opportunity to make a difference,

In mine.

Coming Up


“FINE LINE”, 1996,11″ x 11″ x 4″, m/m
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Sometimes, I hover dangerously close to a guilt complex.

I watch the news and look hungrily into the eyes of those we’ve entrusted to govern,

And I cant find them…

Guarded, hidden, wiggling around in a mire of untruth attempting to remember the last one they expressed to keep the story cogent.

To write the next fat chapter.

And the next.

What in the world are we leaving our kids?

What WORLD are we leaving as our legacy?

And so.. I feel the tug toward reaching out my one steady arm to our kids.

Assuaging the effects of my misplaced guilt of our generation,

By pushing my voice beyond a whisper,

Perhaps singing AMAZING GRACE in their not fully formed ear.

(OH my.. I do carry on… my voice shouldn’t be heard beyond the shower stall!)

They have a new anthem and it sounds like this: TEDxYOUTH DAY SONG

Pass this by at your own peril..

The light in the eyes you’ll see is quite available and bright and eager and ready.

The gift we can give is to keep our foundation strong and whole, impenetrable and ready;

Ready for new shoes and bare feet to step forward to take their place.

I’ve no doubt their recipe will look quite different than ours.

Oh…I’d love a taste of that….

Change Has Come


“ALEXANDRA’S INFLUENCE”, 24″ x 24″, 1999, m/m
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My mission at this time in my life is to change the paradigm of disability.

Disability is one of the last strongholds of old thinking that still supports cultural backpedaling, fear stemming from ignorance and the essence of IMPOSSIBILITY and VICTIM-mentality.

The woman writing you this today is a testament to another way.

Life has been peppered for me with experiences no one should have had to go through.

Since I seem to be blessed with the ability to articulate our very humanness in honest and vulnerable ways many people can relate to..

The ‘powers that be’ keep asking me to do so.

These ‘stand up and be seen’ jobs are often not what I ever dreamed for myself.

But my ‘ Self ‘ is far and away more important to me now than my ‘self’ if you get my drift….

And so I do it.

Because I can.

I honestly have no idea what my life is to look like in the next 5 years.

I do know that the beginning is to step into the shoes,

That seem far too large at the moment.

I am unfamiliar with their style or fasteners, ties or zippers.

But try, I must..

And perhaps cover enough ground as I break them in,

That they have the chance to be come my favorites; worn with a sheen turned to patina.

Funny, when you can listen into life and FEEL yourself projected into the future,

Sort of like it is already done……

Except for the doing of it.

The Awe Factor


detail of sculpture, ceramic
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What do you get when a cellular biologist takes a workshop at PIXAR animation studios?

THIS! “THE INNER LIFE OF A CELL” an animated short film produced by Harvard University.

This is the kind of thing that just sends me..

Even as most of what we know and trust in the world is crumbling and shifting into something we know not what…

Exciting things like the above are happening.

I love being able to feel into my body differently after watching this.

A miracle, we are…. I am.

Cyber-stuff n’ Me


untitled, 20″ x 4″, ceramic
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I wrote a whole post this morning..

And it disappeared somewhere into the country where computers grow and thrive..

And so…

Instead of having a drink at this early hour..

I sit down,

Calm myself,

And begin again….
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THE KNIFE- a poem
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Self-criticism
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Is a worthless meal to make.
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My knife is too dull.
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-CA 2010
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Blonde


“GRID”, 1993, 50″ x 50″, m/m
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BLONDE – a poem
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On the way to Albuquerque yesterday
I looked at grasses
By the side of the road.
The colors were pre-winter
Blonde and rust and tarnished yellow too.

I found it intriguing
Just beside the blacktop
That the earth there,
Braving the wind of our speed,
Was disturbed.

Some big yellow manly piece
Of Caterpillar equipment
Dug it all up one shiny day.
And after the dirt settled there,
NEW and DELICATE fronds grew.

They seem to like that place,
Turned and routed around.
On their own they chose it,
Over a lonely patch of green
I might’ve picked instead.

No, the lovelies thrive there!
In the reckless and impatient jangling,
Some orange-clad, sunburned guy-man
Took pride in his spit
And numbly walked on.

I thrive too, amidst disturbed gardens.
The seeds thrown meanly
And left bare and dry.
But see this, here?
My body still bends and arches
And the wind never broke me
Or took me down.

I lean and quiver in my place
Hearing something of a tune
That always drowns out the heat.
And my perfume rises
Until the Wind takes it.
He is greedy and ill-mannered.
But I don’t care.
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-CA 2010
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Seeds Of Change


untitled, 1994, 1″ x 1/2″, ceramic
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A friend and I are just about ready to launch a program we have dubbed: TWO WOMEN WITH A SECRET.

We will go into schools and sit at a table across from one another in front of 11-15 year old girls primarily,

And proceed to talk together about subjects like: fitting in, boys, sex, parents, love (self and other), education, rape, drugs, life-stuff in general…

The purpose of this is to model for young girls what two healthy women look like individually and together,

Bouncing off one another; sometimes knowing the answer and sometimes not.

But smart, genuine, funny, accessible, creative and real.

I know I have spoken before of my desire to work with kids and give something back in the way of little wisdoms I’ve gleaned.

I asked myself recently if I had three months to live what would I want to do?

And the answer surprised me.

I’d want to spend the time with teenagers.

How strange to go through life never wanting to have children and working on my art career all this time,

Only to reach a ripe age wanting/needing to share what secrets I’ve collected over the years,

About how to love yourself, be grateful for what is already in your sphere and walk proudly into the next day dressed up in finery,

Which happens to have absolutely nothing to do with jewels…

But more like humility, curiosity plus a fierce AND soft heart.

Plus the right shade of lipstick.

Yep.. I wish I had someone like me at their age so I could see how it looked..

I mean, for heavens’ sake! We are leaving this really messed up, world-in-transition to the next generation..

Wouldn’t it be good if we also left them some tools to help them make their way?

Kindness, Coolness, Can This Be?


“CREATURE”, 2001, 14″ x 4″ x 2″, ceramic
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I have a doctor I adore.

Yesterday, he spent two full hours with me going over recent tests I had done on his request.

He forgot about lunch and tended to me.

The tests I did were VERY expensive in the realm of testing.

At this point, I am so frustrated and eager to find out WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING IN MY BODY that I laid down the cash.

Well, the results were pretty interesting.

Seems I tested off the charts for CANDIDA.

Plus a parasite.

I am fully aware that my digestive system is the core of my issues.

I know this because as I have cleaned up my diet and supported my gut I have stabilized my condition.

But I still have pockets of deathly fatigue and joint pain and can not lift myself from bed, some days.

Candida is something very familiar to me.

An overgrowth of yeast has been a pretty constant companion over the years but with my diet the way it is over the last years, I really thought the buggers had nothing to eat in the way of sugar (their food) so I MUST be rid of them.

If you have taken more than 4-5 rounds of antibiotics in your life, the intestinal ecology is likely compromised to some extent.

I took antibiotics for my skin all through puberty.

The first line of defense to kill off yeast in one’s system is to stop eating anything with sugar or yeast; wine, beer, bread, desserts, anything good, really.

Well, my lips haven’t touched those comfort foods (except periodically sinning like a healthy infidel) in YEARS.

So.. what’s with these test results?

Where did all this yeast come from?

The cool and cute and kind doctor tells me this:

When candida has been in the system long enough and in such extreme amounts, it does something kindof like linking arms and forming a film over the intestine wall. It becomes stronger in it’s numbers and the things usually used to kill it don’t work on this impenetrable film. The film keeps all food and nutrients away from the intestinal lining so the body has no chance to take in nutrients. So.. your body is starving.

I did not put that in quotes as it is not verbatim… just what I heard.

So… I FEEL HOPE! (This is such a weird life I am in…)

The tests found something.

And we have a new plan to rid Cathy’s body of the critters (SOMETIMES THIRD PERSON IS AS CLOSE AS I CAN CREEP TOWARDS MYSELF)

Of COURSE it is a long haul to detox.

But, once AGAIN… I am game.

I want LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!

Without a caveat.

And so, she steps into the ring again.

Weary, but her outfit is cool.

Whispers


untitled, 30″ x 30″, 2007, earth, clay. pearls, gold thread
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I am fascinated by crop circles.

It is so obvious which of them are human-created.

So much inane bickering over who/what created these mysterious things.

Just another example, as far as I am concerned, of wherever the light shines brightly, we must crucify it ASAP.

Clearly, the source of these delicate and magnificent creations has a tender spot for the density of our humanness.

These designs began so long ago with elementary qualities directed at our innocence.

In recent months they arrive with stunning and complicated mathematical precision.

Still intent on peeling through our fear and distrust.

Is this not compassionate, I ask you?

Did you know that when a caterpillar enters it’s cocoon stage it TOTALLY liquifies,

And somehow rearranges itself into a butterfly,

Eventually poking itself out of it’s tight wrapping,

To unfold and warm it’s new wings in the sun?

I feel like that..

In the liquid stage, I am.. (WE are, I think).

Not knowing much of anything for sure.

Except that we surely are all in some kind of fog.

Or in-between place.

Where if we are smart,

All we know

Is that WE DON”T KNOW.

And aren’t supposed to as yet, it seems.

So here I am in my half-liquid state just panting for my wings.

Where the hell ARE those wings, anyway?

I WANT THEM NOW!

We are so peskily human…. wanting.. wanting more and more.

I just don’t know…..

I just don’t know……………….

Talking Loud


detail of painted textile
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My tone in prayer is new.

Louder.

Out loud, even.

I have spared God my true voice for eons, it seems.

And ‘it/She’ want to BE HEARD!

No more ‘mamby-pamby-make-nice’ at the altar.

Pretty flowers and incense and an ordered and lovely display meant to seduce.

No, the back of my throat is raw from sounds and tears and questions and humanness.

No more tucking myself in on the God-front.

I WILL BE HEARD.

Do I think adamance and ferocity will gain entry?

I am interested only in the bedrock of this life-thing.

A life lived cloaked in ermine rather than homespun has lost all ‘elan.

My voice on my knees is close to inhuman, sometimes.

I have gotten to that point very few times but whenever I do, the red carpet just appears and unrolls itself magically before me,

And, in that moment or whenever I reclaim enough strength, I step on.

And IT takes me.

And I am new.

And never look back.

And so very glad for the raw thing I just went through.

But only after it’s done.

And, as surely as I take breath, this deliverance can NEVER, NEVER, NEVER be concocted…

The theater of it must sneak up on me and grab me by the throat and kick me ‘hind my knees,

Until I fall..

At Your feet..

And let You carry what I cannot.

And You always do.

You always do.

You.

“I” Tunes


detail of sculpture, ceramic
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I sing to my dog.

She likes my voice.

I know this because her eyes go half-mast as soon as I start a song and re-open to regular as soon as I finish.

The songs are never the same.

They go like this:

“I love this dog…..

She is my fav-o-rite creature…

And I don’t know what I ever did…

Beee fore you came a longgggggg………….”

You get the picture.

I ask you? WHO in their right mind wouldn’t swoon at the sound of that?

I like to sing.

I know most of the words to Rolling Stones songs, weirdly enough.

But yesterday, I couldn’t remember my cell phone passcode #.

This is not faulty cognitive wiring.

Just regular age stuff.

The thing about my songs to the dog that pleases us both,

Is that we know they are pure and unadulterated LOVE.

Just a direct line of the stuff from my heart to hers.

You’d think it would be easy to translate that to the human world.

Workin’ on that tune….

Wriggling


10″ x 10″, monoprint
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POEM
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OH! You curling thing there,
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Squished under the rock I made.
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Have a drink of wine.
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CA 2010
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Fly fishing!


untitled, 30″ x 30″, 1994, m/m
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There is a local fly fishing store I frequent to buy feathers for various projects in my life.

These said projects have absolutely nothing to do with fly fishing.

I have been going to this place for the past 10 or so years; maybe 1-2 times a year at most.

They have a whole wall of packaged feathers from pheasant, duck, turkey, quail….

The belly down from some softer-than-soft creature..

And the list goes on..

This weekend, I picked my feathers-of-choice and went up to pay.

There was a kind of grizzled man standing there speaking with the cute owner of the place.

The older man says to me: “Do you tie?”

(he meant: do I tie flies for you non-fisherpeople)

Well… I’m standing there with my walker dressed in a rather nice jacket, glittery, fake, stretchy (so I can manage putting them on) bracelets.

I say: “No. I just live vicariously when I come in here.”

The man leaves and I start looking at this poster of a trout.

All speckled and wriggly and gorgeous.

I say to the cute guy: “Fly fishing looks kindof fun.”

He says: “You should come with us in the Spring when the water is muddier and it doesn’t take so much skill to catch something.”

I say: “Really? How would I do that?”

He says: “Get a friend and we’ll take care of everything. Drive you to the river, set you up, teach you everything you need to know and stay with you.”

“Would I get to wear those great hip boots and stand in the river?” I say.

“Oh, yeah.” he says.

“How would I stand up? What would I hold on to?”

“You’d hold on to me,” the cute man says.

The Disability Question/Answer


untitled, 1978, 14″ x 12″, ceramic
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How can it be that I have lived for 10 years with a debilitating physical challenge such as MS

And have not considered myself disabled?

It truly has been a tussle for me to apply for disability as I DO NOT HOLD MYSELF AS A DISABLED PERSON.

This sounds weird, even to me.

Holding onto walls as one walks, using a walker/wheelchair, stamina waning as soon as I arise…

Does this not point to something physically quite amiss??

Yes, these challenges are very real and in my face,

AND, I am somehow able to hold them still as pesky yet ever-present gnats..

Hovering in my sphere and needing much of my attention,

But not unconquerable demons wearing a name tag smeared with Super Glue sporting the name: CATHY.

And so it has taken me years to reconcile the disability question and get the services I truly need.

I have gone from exhausting the goodwill of my dearest friends as they tirelessly went grocery shopping for me,

To finding a local agency which has hooked me up with a fabulous woman who comes once a week to shop and help around the house.

I had been paying an absolutely divine teenager to do these errands but the cost was too high.

It seems that I have FINALLY settled into the psychic ‘ok-ness’ of needing assistance for some things,

AND retaining my vital and life-seeking spirit.

It seems so very elementary to write about this conundrum.

I see the words and wonder: “What’s the big deal, Cath?”

But it HAS been a deal for me.

A twist in the road that took miles to straighten out.

And I had no choice but to feel the nausea of too much distance on that gritty lane.

But here I am crusin’ into a straightaway.

With the need for speed.

My Gut n’ Me


ceramic, earth
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In the last year or so I have concentrated my healing efforts on attending to my diet and general digestive health.

During this time I have reaped the rewards of halting degeneration and rebuilding my physicality.

After 10 years of dealing with this chronic inflammatory state, I am FIERCELY after results and nothing less.

Cleaning up my diet and refining it so I now eat no grains, wheat, dairy, soy, sugar, legumes,

And ingest only vegetables, protein (chicken, red,lean meat and fish), and fruit has changed me markedly.

My stomach used to be very distended, lots of gas and slight fevers along with bottomless fatigue and inflamed joints along with overly weak muscles (weaker after meals).

The whites of my eyes were yellowed and my skin had lost it’s light.

Pretty picture, eh?

Yuk.

My current diet has me fever-free, clear eyes and skin, no joint pain, distended stomach going down, no gas, and my muscle strength is more count-on-able.

Unless I cheat.

And then I’m immediately back in bed recovering till the thing I ingested passes through my body.

Here is some very important research regarding the effect of microbes in the gut on MS.

It is a true and rugged challenge to deal with the deprivation factor of disallowing ones’ self a piece of chocolate cake to ease the psychic weariness and isolation on so many levels of chronic illness.

But after awhile the feel-good-factor wins out and I live vicariously from the pleasure in others pleasure.

And I stand tall and fully engaged in life more often than ever before as I inch my way toward a healthier me.

Here is a little preamble about bacteria as an intro to the full article here.

For two million years humans co evolved with the bacteria that live our our skin and in our guts. We learned how to use the byproducts from the 100 trillion bacteria and parasites who were our OLD FRIENDS. We incorporated those bacterial byproducts into our biology and knew how to eliminate those that interfered with our own biology.

Then six thousand years ago ( a blink of an eye in terms of evolution) we began to eat grass seeds (grains), and then dairy and then legumes. With those new foods stuffs we introduced new bacteria into our guts. As we increased the amount of grain, dairy and legumes that we ate, these new bacteria grew in larger and larger numbers in our guts. In the last two hundred years we began to eat white flour, and more white sugar. In the last fifty years we added high fructose corn syrup. Now we have some who are getting thirty, forty and even fifty percent or more of their calories from white flour, sugar and high fructose corn syrup. For those, the bacteria living in their bowels, are very different from the bacterial OLD FRIENDS that had lived in out bowels for millions of years.

When we eat so much sugar, white flour and high fructose syrups – the sugar loving bacteria, clostridium difficile, streptococcus, pseudomonas and staphylococcus, and sugar loving yeasts, candida albicans, thrive and our OLD FRIENDS wither and we are more likely to have diabetes, heart disease, mental health problems, autoimmune problems and severe obesity. Having the wrong bacteria in your gut can make your MS much more difficult to stabilize.

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