What Is Healthy?
textile design, 1985,pigment on wool flannel
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Having recently emerged from the grip of ‘the grippe’
I’m sitting here thinking about what, exactly it is that has changed
That made me want to get out from under the covers this morning
With a spring in my step, even?
For a couple of weeks I had no extra energy to NOTICE
Much beyond symptoms, where’s the remote?, the dog is getting constipated from too few walks, I already asked that friend to do me a favor and can’t ask her again, how dirty can one’s hair actually get?
Today, I recognize myself at last.
Here is the woman who has it in her to:
1. feel grateful
2. enjoy eating and the feeling of hunger
3. look forward to seeing friends
4. take a shower and feel good about the reflection in the mirror
5. have her attention on others when she wants to instead of just on herself
6. feel excited about the songbirds return to the bird feeder
7. not even know where the kleenex box is located
8. clean things
9. feel eager to find out what happens today
10. go for a full three hours so far today without one single wish that something was different
I love health.
I love that I can make up my own definition for what is is to me.
I love that that definition can change..
Just because I say so.
Friendship
textile designs, 1988, silk menswear
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Many years ago, a friend told me: “Cathy, you want to have this friendship on YOUR terms.”
It was not a compliment.
I’ve always wondered about that statement.
Was I doing something that evoked this ‘either/or’ kind of comment?
Sometimes, I think I am a high-maintenance friend.
I am a very connective person by nature.
But in order for me to do that well, I spend an inordinate amount of time alone.
People who know and love me are cued into the fact that stopping by my house unannounced is not a good plan.
I find it too startling to shift my consciousness from the unguarded state I am in within my home
To welcoming an unexpected friend with a civility I can’t and often don’t want to conjure up.
It has nothing to do with them.
It IS about the preciousness of cultivating my Self as the authentic woman I am becoming.
I am phone-phobic and prefer email in communication.
Does that mean I am hiding out?
Is that bad?
Honestly, I really haven’t the stamina to be that concerned about what people think of me.
On a very basic level I am trying to stay alive and functional.
My life IS on my terms.
I claim it as the ultimate gift I have been given.
I take great pleasure in spreading around any gold I might come across
As I try to do in this blog.
In fact, the sharing of my achievements and failures has proved very good medicine for me.
As I negotiate the hall-of-mirrors this lifetime has laid down as a challenge for me,
It seems to take a good deal of effort on all fronts as I shatter one mirror after the next to reveal the unadulterated ‘Cathy.’
Likely, there are prickly shards of glass stuck to my sweater as I exit the funhouse and head for bed.
My friends and family get nicked along the way.
I’m fairly certain, though,
That I’ll show up for the next round with my lips stained a berry red
And a lean silhouette dressed in well crafted clothes.
“Tell me all your stories,” I say…
And we sit down together for a cup of tea,
Enjoying each other’s company a an elixir
To the re-calibrating
We’re ALL having to do these days…
Supercilious
textile design on silk, 1988
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We are a vulnerable creature, us humans.
Put us naked out in a forest and leave us there even in the heat of summer and our survival skills would likely be sorely lacking.
And we all know this on some level;
That we are inherently weak
When push comes to shove.
And because we know this
It seems we have become inordinately good at making each other wrong;
Stuff like: ‘I don’ like your religious bent or your politics or your drinking or the color yellow you wear or your intelligence or your ease in social situations or your wealth or you have too many friends or you talk too much or I deserve that job you just got…’
I remember my ex-husband telling me one time that he felt superior to me when we first got together because he drove a 4-Runner and I, a lowly Dodge Raider.
Hmmmm…
We, as a culture in America, have pushed this ‘I don’t need or even want you’ thing to it’s limit.
Only because we know how frail we really are.
And I am a walking (rolling, limping) physical reminder of that backstory.
Some embrace me.
Others recoil.
I understand.
I really do.
I am no different.
Yeah, on a scale of vulnerability, I’m right up there..
But when I am suddenly confronted with a street person clearly on the edge of sanity
I turn away too.
I don’t really think we will have the luxury of turning away too much longer.
We’ve all used up the pioneering spirit of ‘I’M AN ISLAND’
And somehow we need bridges now.
Does that make us weak?
That we ‘need?’
Believe me.. moving from independence over to INTERdependence
Ain’t a picnic in the park
After so long believing we are the lords of our manor.
But my new digs have MUCH more interesting architecture!
Getting Dressed
painted terry cloth robe, 1987
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Yesterday I stopped to get a cappuccino with almond milk.
By the time I made it back to the car negotiating the ice and gravel from the past snow
The small and precious cup of warmth had spilled into my walker pouch and pooled in my handbag.
My cell phone was in there as well.
Someone told me that if your phone gets wet you should immediately stick it in some rice and it will be good again..
No rice in sight, alas..
I have had the same Coach handbag for over 6 years, I believe… probably a whole lot longer but it just felt too ‘non-hip’ to say that..
Since it was soaking wet with foam and coffee, I went online to see if I might replace it.
Thing is: I have needs..
Handbag needs.
It needs to be of a certain size to fit in the pouch.
Black.
Not too heavy.
No buckles or zippers.
Short shoulder strap.
Good quality.
Classic but young.
Functional but versatile.
Black (Did I say that already?)
Simple.
Goes with everything.
Well…
Every cell in my body is weary of cyberspace after looking for an affordable replacement.
This is how it goes in the land of high-maintenance body-land..
What should be simple is not.
I can’t just go: “I LOVE THIS!” and say ‘Wrap it up.’
No.. I must check if my fingers can grab the zipper.
Or pull on the glove.
Adjust the collar
Or hook the bra.
It is just so ridiculous at times that I push through the tears all the way to cracking up at the absurdity.
This is my life.
And today, since I can’t locate the right handbag online
I might just call my sister
As she has great taste and more computer tolerance than I.
Or I may just dunk my favorite bag in a sink full of water and try washing the thing.
I really have nothing to lose, do I?
Pride? Oh, that’s pretty long gone on many fronts.
And really? Good riddance, I say…
Girls With Claws
textile designs, 1988, various silks
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If we, as women, find ourselves in the company of good and true girlfriends sometime in a life,
We ought to pause and reflect on what it took for us to get to that shining place.
Because it ain’t easy.
We are bred to find one another the enemy.
Are you prettier than I and will you gain the attention of the man or job or acknowledgement I WANT?
Do you have more money or better breeding than I and does that make you shine brighter and maybe keep me from acquiring someone’s attention I might need or desire?
Are you smarter than I?
Do you have a law degree and maybe that gives you a leg up on the ladder that I can’t even reach?
Is your home one I might envy instead of just taking joy you have it?
Do you know mysterious and secret things about Nature that might make you a better student than me?
Do you have a lover who is handsome and when he puts his arm around you, you look 16?
I want that.
I want those things.
I want what I have and everything else, too…
Four women shared a dinner table last night.
We like and respect one another a great deal.
We are beginning a study group together and this dinner was the first time we sat ’round a table together.
The energy between us began to get competitive and judgmental and wonky as the dinner progressed.
I was withdrawn from the start as I should never have been there because the place was too expensive but I had missed our first meeting and wanted to belong so I went.
One friend walked in looking like the pure gorgeousness she is.
I couldn’t just leave it at that..
I wanted her giraffe-print coat.
Then, when she talked about ‘three-day horse events and caviar and chignons and her family’s power’ I felt lonely and began to judge her.
It was my response to feeling lonely for her company.. the woman I know and love when we are by ourselves.
All of a sudden, when the four of us got in a group, the various defenses came out; our honed protective mechanisms.
We used what we knew to separate ourselves because we haven’t yet learned how to be together.
Some of us judged.
Some went to sleep.
Some told stories.
But we TOTALLY MISSED EACH OTHER!
We each left with claw marks on us.
Inadvertent, yes.
But there, just the same.
Women have to work to feel safe with one another and not hyper- vigilant that we’ll be left with ‘not enough’,
Is a cultural overlay that we’ve lived with for eons.
It takes honesty and effort to dissolve the armor we’ve all got that prevents us from truly enjoying our sisters.
Today, I’m trimming my nails.
And forgiving myself.
And all of us.
For wanting so much to love but often not knowing how.
The Man Box
textile design, 1987
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My sense is that men are having a tough time of it lately..
We, as women, are in the throes of redefining ourselves.
The pendulum may have swung to a less radical and more integrated display:
ie.. we are not burning our bras anymore.
But, really.. we’re still figuring ourselves out as far as what THE RIGHT TO BE looks like for us.
And so it makes sense the confusion men feel regarding how we want to be interacted with.
The template hasn’t quite stopped reeling enough for all of us to get the outline drawn in the sand.
When I saw this short video of a big black guy; Tony Porter, talking about THE MAN BOX,
I couldn’t help but listen.
My pre-conceived (prejudiced) notions of seeing a guy like that, looking sort of ‘thug-like’ dressed in a fine suit and holding a microphone speaking to a full house of thousands of women,
Was more than I could ignore.
His honesty, apology and vulnerability moved me.
They also made me ache for all of us committed to evolution.
It’s such a chore.
And takes so long.
I feel blessed indeed, when I am in the presence of anyone who has done their work, effected change in themselves and fought the fight of unlocking the heavy chains of family and cultural status quo.
I am so moved , sometimes, in the witnessing of that kind of courage and tenacity in myself and others that I drop to my knees,
And say thank you to the Something-larger-than-me for what it took for us to make that leap across the chasm.
Tequila
textile design, 1988, herringbone silk
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I spent last Sunday with a charming man.
We had never spent an afternoon together so there was some trepidation on both our parts, I’d guess.
Me, because I wanted to somehow take the charge out of the ‘disability- thing’ and smooth out the rough edges a bit so we could concentrate on beginning to ‘learn’ one another.
He, because being a gentleman, he wanted to make sure I was ok and comfortable and safe.
Before we even went out he said: “You have to teach me how to be with you.”
I LOVED that forthrightness and clarity.
It gave me an invitation to match him there..
Meaning that I felt much less awkward in orchestrating my needs.
I know that a huge stumbling block in relationship to one with disability is whether the person feels patronized by offers of assistance.
If I help you , will you feel even MORE vulnerable? kind of thing.
People are generally kind of heart in my experience and just need a wee bit of a ‘go ahead’ from me to step into the hero’s role.
I give the green light by smiling. Or meeting their eyes with warmth. Or asking for help so they don’t even have to go to that weird place of wondering.
Sometimes, in new situations like on our date, I get in a muddle.
We had gone for a gorgeous drive through winter-esque New Mexico with her inky blue sky and blonde grasses and rust,purple,red edges of creeks easing through pastureland.
He took me to meet some of his good friends whom I really liked.
We sat around a big round table piled with books of art and poetry.
And we drank tequila.
Just a little bit.
On the way out, I had to negotiate three flagstone steps without a railing to steady me.
My date wanted to help and I found that I have been negotiating the world solo for so damn long that I didn’t even know where to grab or what to do to steady myself.
He says: “You aren’t using me..” as we both laughed nervously as I stumbled and lost all equilibrium but somehow steadied myself in the end.
Fact was: I DID NOT KNOW HOW TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF HIM!
I passed it off as the tequila.
But really… it has to do with too long spent reaching INSIDE myself for strength instead of taking the chance to hone the trust it takes to reach for another with the expectation they’ll be there.
Fact is: sometimes they’ll be there,
And sometimes not.
But what a sorry life it would be to withdraw the reach altogether.
Addendum #2
textile design, 1988, silk
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A good friend gave me a welcome nudge the other day.
She mentioned I really hadn’t quite addressed the Social Security Disability issue I recently wrote about as completely as I might’ve.
And I heartily agreed.
What with all the outside coaching I received to prepare for my appointment like: “Dress like a bag lady and refrain from showering..”
I really was left with more missionary zeal than I had before,
To CHANGE THE WHOLE PARADIGM OF DISABILITY ALTOGETHER.
We, as a culture, are stuck in the antiquated and fetid position of forever shuffling our lame and infirm off into some shadowy place far away from the prized human specimens with all their parts shiny and buffed.
Must I actually stoop LOWER to receive governmental assistance?
Is it actually not enough that I use a walker to gain access to places others run and jump and spin their way into?
Or that I say prayers of gratitude for my access to ambidexterity as I’ve lost the use of my right hand?
No, I WILL SHOWER,
And I WILL wear the elegant clothes that help me feel beautiful,
And I WILL wear a particular shade of red lipstick.
Because hiding my light under a bushel basket will do nothing for me
But make me sicker.
So..the whole experience of playing the game of acquiring disability assistance was and is a valuable one.
My survival depends on this financial aid, yes.
And I am not stupid enough to shove my attempts at well being under their noses to make sure they smell my Chanel #5..
Going through the process has me acutely aware that the system is so very flawed and dangerous, even.
Shrinking our psyches and souls in order to fit through the keyhole beyond which the money is placed,
Is the antithesis of health-promoting.
Which, if the powers-that-be are awake..
IS COSTLY!!!!!!!
Small
detail of textile, pigment on wool flannel
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NOTHING – a poem
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The small of my back
.
Hosts a creature with tan fur.
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I need nothing more.
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-CA
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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.