Steak
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Sometimes a girl just needs a steak for dinner.
And last night, after a challenging day, this girl got her wish.
I am a creature of habit in the food department and have been known to order the same thing off menus for embarrassingly long periods of time.
But last night I needed steak.
The thing is… it was so hot here yesterday that my musculature was lazy and uncooperative.
Meaning: if I ordered the steak I’d have to pick up a knife with my right hand and carve my dinner into small enough pieces to eat.
And I knew my arm wouldn’t / couldn’t do it.
At times such as these I would normally order something different.
But I wanted / needed steak.
So… what’s a girl to do?
I said to the waitress: “This may sound weird but I have MS and my arm is not really working well today. Would you consider asking the chef to cut the meat into small pieces for me?”
Now, I am as prideful as the next, believe me.
But, in this case I HAD NO SHAME.
I was not pleading and there was absolutely no woe-is-me about it.
I was looking for assistance and I knew it was not a lot to ask.
I could have made up some horrible story about the whole thing like: “Uh,oh…here’s another part of my body faltering.”
Doing that would have cancelled out my whole satisfying experience with the steak.
As my dinner arrived gorgeously accessable, the waitress seemed pleased to have been asked to participate in helping me have a good experience.
And I DID have a great dinner.
I looked good, felt solidly in myself, was utterly grateful that I like my own company as much as I do and was extraordinarily pleased that I had let nothing get in the way of the pleasure of a fine meal.
I continue to be aware that there are few opportunities for one person to help another in our society.
First: we’re not supposed to need help.
And second: often the people we see who do ask us for help look scary or unapproachable so we turn away.
I am finding that the situations I find myself in where I need help, do help ME, yes.
They add to my humility quotient and I am different and better because of it.
But I see that I am giving others a chance to help another human being in a non-threatening way.
And they are moved by being asked and I see gratitude on their faces which has surprised me.
Surprised me very much.
Too Small
“SPLASH”, 1981, 5′ x 5′, pigment on wool flannel
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POEM
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You must learn one thing:
The world was made to be free in.
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Give up all the other worlds
Except the one to which you belong.
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Sometimes it takes the darkness and the sweet
Confinement of your aloneness
To learn
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Anything or anyone
That does not bring you alive
Is too small for you.
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-David Whyte
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This was a hard lesson learned for me, the thing he speaks of here.
I am gregarious by nature and have always cast my net with a wide sweep.
I like to connect with people and it comes fairly naturally to me.
For a long time it has been the ACT of connecting that fed me.
It made me feel somehow less alone.
But my discriminatory edge was dulled by what I call ’slimy goodies’.
By that I mean that I saw myself going through all the motions that were supposed to produce a happy and fulfilled citizen in our culture’s eyes.
And in that effort I lost the girl in here who I very nearly forgot altogether.
No one would mourn her loss as few have seen or heard her.
Her voice, posture, sensitivity and desires are not the same as the grown woman.
Somehow, as I continue my swim in authentic waters, she slowly surfaces.
Still timid at the brightness as she rises close to the surface.
But now trusting of the tide and giving herself over to the current.
Lilies In The Bathroom
detail of painting, m/m
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Being a single woman for awhile now, I’ve collected people around me who I consider chosen family.
They check on me, look out for my well being, notice if I’m ok or not.
Coffee shops and restaurants around town know me well as I often come in and sit by myself seemingly enchanted by my own little world of writing or thinking or reading.
I know their names, tip well and over time have come to call them friends.
One place in particular I go to is a small place which caters to an interesting clientele serving good and healthy food cooked with love.
I go off hours when practically no one else is there and muse about important things.
It is a really casual place with fresh flowers on every table.
Charlotte and Jesus who are the owners do the darndest things to make sure the place continues to hold it’s BEST OF SANTA FE award.
It is all in the details.
If you should chance to visit TUNE-UP cafe, a trip to the bathroom is a must.
For no other reason than the fact IT IS FILLED WITH LILIES!!!!!!!
Perpetually fresh and intoxicatingly fragrant, you’d swear you were at the Four Seasons.
Except this is a tiny cafe which counts on friends telling friends about it for business.
Why does the presence of scarlet Stargazer lilies in the bathroom make me swoon?
1. They didn’t have to do that. No one in their right mind expects a huge and opulent bunch of fresh flowers in the restroom.
2. It is an unexpected way to take care of their clientele and we (clearly) feel taken care of.
3. Perfect example of providing more that what is expected or asked for.. just because you can.
4. Feels like a silent and tender touch on the shoulder leaving me with the feeling every thing is ok.
5. An unsolicited gesture of grace.
My reaction to this leaves me no question that my own way of being as I walk through the world makes a difference.
Am I complaining? Bored? Frustrated?
Ready with a smile? A genuine “Thank you”. Or an “I’m sorry”?
Clearly, IT ALL makes a difference and urges me toward cleaning up the cobwebs in my own life.
When, maybe the easier thing might be to take a pause from the responsibility of the fact we have an effect whether we know it or not.
Hurdles
“MESA”, 60″ x 40″, 1999, m/m
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For a short time in grade school I was a hurdler.
In Phys. Ed. the coach would set up a short run of them and we’d have ourselves a meet.
I was a struggling hurdler.
Gymnastics was my game and truth be told: I was slow on my feet.
My body has an interestingly vivid memory of what it took to clear one of these things.
Set your heart on overdrive.
RUN!
LEAN into the hurdle at perfect time to allow a
JUMP UP!
STRETCH one leg out in front farther than you know possible.
COMPACT your body into a tight thing that takes up little space.
At the same time exert big energy to PULL other leg up into a bent knee and LIFT knee as high as possible.
Maybe clear the hurdle.
Feel free.
When one does hurdles it is a good idea to pull every ounce of energy in toward yourself as close as you can get it.
That container of life that you make yourself is what you feed off of as you sprint into the netherlands.
Nothing messy. Nothing out of place. No cells being used for anything other than making it over the hurdle as a streamlined and elegant machine intent on getting to the other side.
I am writing this today to remind Cathy of what it takes to heal herself.
Hardware
detail of painting, m/m
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I’m telling you.. humor and humility are my finest virtues these days.
My best traits used to be stuff like honesty and a sense of humanitarianism.
But now… I laugh more and count on good lipstick to cover for the raw realities of my companion, MS.
Yesterday at the physical therapist’s office, I rose from the table following a session with mini shock treatments stimulating my lazy musculature.
My knees have always tended toward hyper-extension but now, as there is even less structural integration in my right leg, my knee just wants to slam back as far as it can when I walk.
I’ve had what they call an AFO for quite awhile which is a fiberglass sheath that goes from foot to under the knee.
It is a leopard print which seems to entertain me and PT-types.
Foot drop is a common issue in MS which is when muscles weaken which govern lifting one’s foot up to clear the ground when walking.
The AFO takes care of that.
My new knee brace extends from just below the knee joint and goes up to mid-thigh.
It is made from a cool techno- metal and straps around my leg with velcro.
Very light. Gives me great support. Can’t see it under clothes. I walk better.
Straighter. Inching toward forgotten pride. It helps me meet life full on.
So.. I’m in the therapist’s office putting all my contraptions on and blithley whizzing through the various velcro straps and such.
She is trying to help me and suddenly looks up with half-wet doe eyes and says: “HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT YOUR BRACE?”
Well.. I almost lost it.
Such sincere compassion and real curiousity and presence.
She very nearly took me into my ‘cry-zone.’
But partnered up with tears and sprinting out in front is laughter.
And that’s who got there first.
Often, in this grueling testing ground of character, I just CAN’T feel.
Not in the moment at least.
My dog, Olivia is fat with the tears she’s licked from my face over time.
So they’re there, sure.
But humor is my elixir of choice these days.
And believe me.. it’s VERY real and not a front.
If you saw the brace contraption you’d likely marvel at the engineering involved and we’d quickly move on to talk about the latest VANITY FAIR magazine article on Lady Gaga and I’d tell you I really had no idea who she was until I read that article and we’d laugh at the absurdity of my disconnect from really important things.
Creation / Destruction
“FINE LINE”, 1998, 11″ x 11″ x 4″, m/m
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Two years ago I burned a large collection of past paintings.
They had been shipped back to me from a long time gallery I had worked with which was closing it’s doors.
When I saw the work unwrapped in my studio, none of it felt like me.
It wasn’t bad work at all, in my eyes.
Just past tense.
Sometimes, the life from which a work of art is born is instilled in the piece itself and that life can carry a work for eons.
It will have a substance all it’s own and a stand-alone quality.
This past work I was now confronting was created from a less-than-authentic place in me.
And it showed.
Perhaps not to others but surely I could tell.
And so..what does one do faced with this situation?
Put the work back into the marketplace hoping for a check here and there?
I have reached a point in my life where I DO feel true and real.
My conscience would not let me return the work to be sold.
So I burned it.
I made a ceremony out of the event and invited friends and had someone take a chainsaw to my paintings before they met their demise.
The point of all this drama was to let the universe know that I was seriously ready for change.
It was the beginning of my MS symptomology rearing it’s head in ways could not avoid.
My right hand was not working well and I was tired.
Intuitively, I knew that healing could only come from me taking a stand in my life for a shift away from anything I was giving energy to which did not serve me in some way.
And so.. how does one do that?
By burning my work I was consciously making room for something new to arrive.
And arrive it did.
And continues to do so.
And I marvel at the courage it actually takes to radically invite and welcome change.
If I had done it in a ‘tidy’ way, I might still be steeped in a ‘Cathy’ I wasn’t all that fond of.
Here is a photograph of the Hindu goddess KALI, the creator / destroyer.
She is not pretty.
Fierce? Yes.
But probably not your first choice as a dinner partner.
The thing is that change is messy and exhausting and it can rip your heart out from the horror of it all.
But KALI never leaves us empty if we feed her with our courage like that.
Her rewards can be beyond anything we know.
But we never know until we strike the match.
Vulnerability
detail of textile painting on wool flannel
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Yesterday I said: “I feel vulnerable” to a friend.
It was weird because that word usually has a ‘less-than-great’ connotation.
And it did when I used it.
I wanted to be seen in a particular way and was afraid that wasn’t going to happen.
So… I felt exposed and vulnerable.
Except there was a hidden sweetness there too.
A part of me that didn’t care all that much being exposed.
My hide was permeable.
I wasn’t an armored truck immune to incoming ‘whatever.’
I looked up the definition of vulnerable and at the bottom of a list of less-than-desirable states of being was the word: TENDER.
That’s what I felt yesterday… tender.
In my past life, feeling tender was just too damn scary.
I was out for full on protection of self no matter what and absolutely unwilling to let the fortress gate down to bridge the moat.
No.. the walls were impenetrable and have pretty much stayed that way for years.
If you met me back then (not so long ago) you’d likely never know the grip I had on myself.
But I had made it through some tough stuff and had a tenuous foundation goin’ for me that no one got to mess with.
So really, that left me INvulnerable at least in my own mind.
Sweet for one’s ego but my heart dried up to some extent.
One of the surprises I’ve received in companionship with MS is making friends with the kind of vulnerability I’m speaking of here.
I certainly don’t go around in the world leaving myself exposed to harm.
But I am letting the old guard down more in certain instances in order to be seen as I am; a woman steeped in her humanity trying to get comfortable with it, love it even, with no apologies.
I am changed. Changing. Very alive.
Imperfect, sure.. in the best sense I think.
I’ve still got the old vestiges of me that want to be seen a certain way.
But that girl would be less-than-authentic.
And I now love truth more than pretense.
I am tender to the touch of life now..
Home
detail of painting, m/m
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I’ve been thinking about adobe.
Brown blocks hand formed the way they’ve always done it.
Dirt and straw.
If you’ve ever had the chance to spend time inside an adobe home you likely have never forgotten the feeling you get of being held.
It reminds me of my youth in Michigan when we got blasted with a snowstorm and the following morning the scene was too bright for mortal eyes so I dug my way into huge white drifts of snow.
Secret caves tinted with butter-colored light seeping in through the packed snow.
It was so easy to carve away the insides and I lovingly patted the walls and made shelves and a smooth floor.
It felt more like home than home.
Secret. Mine.
Some guys in the neighborhood I now live in are constructing an adobe addition.
There is a preciousness to the site as they have piled the bricks lovingly around the poured foundation and they watch the weather closely for hint of rain.
Each day these beautiful brown earthen blocks inch higher as the men sing in Spanish and wave at me as I go by.
The whole thing gets covered up in the evening by a garish blue tarp.
Making a home…
I’ve made a few.
Each time I make one they get livelier and more beautiful.
Like more oxygen gets in and anything unnatural or pretentious is discarded at the door.
Here are my essentials:
light
space
quiet
safety
comfort
simplicity
sensuality
nature
That snow cave way back when was a fine, fine template.
Except I never figured out the heat issue.
Probably because I never invited anyone in.
I was too intent on making myself an island.
I just totally forgot the bridge.
For a long, long time I’ve forgotten the bridge.
But lately, I’ve got my drafting table out and a drawing is taking shape that intrigues me.
Still shadowy and indistinct but surely coming of it’s own accord.
It looks bridge-like but one can never be sure.
I think the most respectful thing to do is get out of my own way and let it have it’s own voice; undirected by me.
Because I have little knowledge of this ‘bridgeness’ but I know the island too, too well.
Good Night
detail of painting, m/m
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Lately, the night has been waking me, pleading with me.
I have to take notice when I rise of my own accord without any trace of desire to keep bundled up under the comfort of covers.
It feels as though I am called forward.
Into the dark.
But why?
To hear the rooster announce?
Or take strength from the uncomplicated and static-free air of a pre-dawn?
These hours are always my chance to feel myself clearly in the mystery of things.
If I close my eyes, there is an underlying anticipation.
Of something unknown to me but not of the monster variety.
It feels like a waiting thing that I want to make myself especially beautiful for.
I walk to the kitchen and my legs feel oddly stronger.
It seems in the deepest of night I reclaimed some lost parts of myself and I step lightly.
I sense all the people out there nestled under the small lights of their beloved households.
Love and fears and illness and dreams and courage and herculean strength and boredom and ALL OF IT happening just down the street or round some bend.
The dawn is showing her skirts now.
Life is coming in fast but still at a tolerable rate.
Nature has such an elegant tempo.
Never too fast or slow and reliable to the minute.
She makes me want to be better.
More.
Not really smarter but more PERMEABLE.
More able to allow the full impact of her gifts and lessons and especially gifts.
If you can know and tolerate the dark then she lets you use her to FLY!
Tree
“BARK”, 1999, 5′ x 24′, M/M
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THAT TREE
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Generously you
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Shared your bend and sway secrets
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So I could move on.
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.CA 2010
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