I am a Peculiar Child

This is what I am reading right now- sent down to me by Michelle (Melissa's sister- Thanks Shell!)- and enjoying very much.  It is one of those books that I wish I would of written- not so much the writing style, but the concept behind it. The author went through collections of vintage photos and selected those that were peculiar in some way- either illusions of light, primitive editing or just plain odd.  A few of them admittedly have been photoshopped, but he doesn't tell you which ones- and I have enough strange photos of my own to know that the unexpected can be caught on film.  (Including one very, very creepy one from my freshman year at college- back in 81- it is a photo of my tiny Christmas tree in my dorm room window- it's not the tree that is creepy at all, but what you see *out* the window- not a reflection, but a reaching silhouette of a hand, shadowy but distinct.  The main reason that this is creepy is that my room was on the *third* floor....and you can see by the 'normal' reflection in the window that I am alone and the door is shut. I wonder what I did with that photo-)

Anyway, back to the book- the story winds in and out of these photos, with the premise that these are artifacts collected by a grandfather, used to support his 'wild' stories to his grandson....who finds out later that these stories are a type of truth after all.  Good stuff- a fairy tale and type of subtle social commentary and, most of all, some excellent eye candy.  This is one of the books that I will collect and pass on to Mother when we bring her a new stock of books in June.

I love the story and the format, but also because I am a peculiar child  (and adult).  It's not so much a matter of choosing to behave eccentrically, but rather just the way I am made.  I firmly believe in magic and possibilities, that stories are important to tell for various reasons, that being yourself is your greatest magic- even if you don't dress/act/behave your age always- not as in the context of 'no responsibility for me!' but rather in the fact that you can be authentic all the time without overly worrying about the perceptions of others, that you can create your own realities and explore your life as a grand adventure.  We create ourselves- and that is an amazing power that is often forgotten.  Who do we want to be?  How do we want to be seen?  How do others see us, and how does that make us feel?  What illusions and realities do we present to the world?

Right now it is teacher appreciation week at school, and students are 'showing their love' through giving us various writings (assigned by other teachers, but an ego boost none-the-less).  One of their favorite formats is the name-poem, where each letter of your last name is used to describe something about you, and I have received several of these. The O has been for Open Minded/ Outgoing, W is for Wacky/Work (funny that- but I am pleased that the students recognize me as working hard...), E for Emphatic/ Exciting, N is for 'never boring' (lie! lie!)/ Nice, S is for Smart/Strange/Sympathetic.   Curious.  I expect a few of these, because they are obvious- but some make me extraordinarily happy (Open minded, Smart, Strange, Exciting).  Vanity! and lots of letters addressed to 'mom'.... and that makes me happy as well because lately my school-attitude has been...crappy.  I get impatient and bored, and want to be free- I have all these ideas to explore and then I get stuck trying to get the kids motivated...it is hard for me to *motivate* them instead of *yell* at them because they are wanting to not work, to be out of school- and I view this time as a treat where I am also a bit 'out of school' but full of ideas and wanting to be busy and create.  Which is hard when you are flogging dead horses and chasing down boys who sneak down to the snack machine because they are addicted to honey buns (but are also smart enough to know that I can be bribed with mint M&M's into not fussing at them to badly).....  I so want today to be a good day, full of energy and production and the magic of making things- it is up to me to do that, to make that happen and I hope I can (for my sake as well as theirs- or truthfully, for my sake more than theirs).

Dirt

Sometimes I forget about outside, and how nice it is to be in the sun, feel the wet grass, dig in the dirt.  In the morning- getting up long before light- I am used to diving into the world, reading the news, writing, checking school mails, catching up on facebook, adding to pinterest.  I drink my tea and coffee, eat my breakfast (right now I am obsessed with Wasa bread with cream cheese.  For some reason I am all about 'crunch', which is odd for me).  I usually put off showering to the end, then scramble off to school.  After I kiss the husband of course, and assure him that "dogs are out, cats in, coffee is on" and leave him a note on the computer about what is happening after school on that day. Sometimes he is already awake and we watch a show, drink coffee, talk- sometimes I wake him up as I am leaving so he can go where he needs to go- but today I have made an executive decision that he needs a day off.  He has been working full steam and is tired and sore- today is supposed to be full of rain and thunder, a warm dark day and I think he should spend it in his chair with his shows and his cookies.  

I too was tempted (severely) this morning to skip school- I woke up tired, which is amazing.  When I got home yesterday (after school and groceries) I took a 'quick nap' (about 2 1/2 hours) then ate dinner and was back to bed in half an hour.  Deep sleep full of dreams of making things, making students make things, eating...the usual.  When I woke up I did my normal routine- but through a deep green brain-fog, not able to think or write or even keep my head up.  Eventually I gave up trying to work, did the dishes, took a shower an washed the hair, dressed (new green t-shirt with black cat and design of four leaf clovers and jeans.  We are dying, painting, being messy so jeans will be acceptable)... then, still sleepy, I went outside to repot the geraniums so they could benefit from today's rain.  It didn't take long- about 15 minutes to transplant them into the concrete planters, then went around dead heading the other flowers, picked (carefully) one of the mystery plants to take to school to get the horticulture teacher to identify.  (I am leery of these plants- I can't identify them in books or internet, they have spikes/thorns, spread like wildfire, grow tall, have beautiful purple flowers...but I suspect that they are the reason that I get itchy when I work outside....need to know if they are kill or keep).  Then back inside again for coffee and wasa bread.

I've finally woken up- the fog has cleared, and I'm ready to go.  Just that quick turn about the yarden, the digging and planting and *doing* worked magic and has me freshly motivated.  I need to remember that- the seasons are changing and I don't need to trap myself inside all the time anymore.  There is no reason that I can't do coffee on the porch, walk around the yarden, even take Evie outside (my little computer) to check the news.  I wish I was as motivated as Barbie, and able to get up and walk in the morning- I used to on the beach- but here I can't seem to make myself do it for some reason.  Oh, I have a plethora of excuses- number one being bugs-that-bite, number two being that walking down a dark country road in the early morning is...well, on one hand it is safe enough, on the other people tend to shoot things around here. (I can't keep up with the hunting seasons- it may or may not be turkey time- but people in this neighborhood shoot constantly- target practice, wild hogs, I don't know what- just not me or my doggs please).  

Still and all, I have learned something today- something that I knew long ago about grace in action, and that doing with the body is just as important as doing with the mind.  As the manz says- "Outside Good!"

Infinity, love, magic and the vote.

Eight is the symbol of infinity, of stability doubled which creates cycles that alternate- which creates natural balance.  Eight is a lucky number, brings money and wealth and forevers, a good number to be a friend to.  Not that other numbers can't be 'friends', but they are individuals- some feisty (fives!), tricky (sevens) or aloof (ones).  Eights however are good to the core- dependable like fours, but with a rhythmic change. I love them- and most of our numbers add up to eights.

But that is not exactly what this post is about, except that it does involve the date (May 8th) which is a primary election day here, and the magic 8 ball, which I am a proud owner of and which lives in resplendent glory in the art room.  The magic 8 ball is one of my most loved objects by students along with the cash register (it is rather funny to see these teenage 'rednecks' and 'gangsters' happily playing with an old push-button cash register.)...I had an 8 ball as a child (along with a Oujia board- which I wish I still had, or at least a replacement for) and other assorted things.  What do we ask?  Questions.  Serious or not, the answers are black, white, gray- and that brings me to today.

Love.  This weekend on our adventure to Enams (which is a wonderful, magical place in a tiny NC town) we met a wise woman (another Melissa) who was in her forties, working the store (she is the financial manager- degree in economics and business, but volunteers- apparently Enams runs on volunteers).  In the course of conversation (which was mainly the Melissa's talking and me listening, for that is what I am good at- and it was funny because they both had bee tattoos which is how they found out they had the same name, for Melissa is the bee... and like bees they are busy and happy and talkative and wise) the black Melissa said something to the effect that "everyone is made by God, and that includes their flaws and differences.  We cannot judge anyone as being better or worse because they are different than us- God made them that way for a reason- preacher, addict, gay, straight, evil, good, black, white, brown, churchy, hos, wise, stupid etc.  Who are we to say that they are not perfect in their purpose?  We are only responsible for our own."  Which was important to hear articulated so very well- and from this wonderful lady who (I suspect) is a trickster, at turns serious and proper, vulgar and funny, sympathetic and mocking- I think we could be friends.  Or at least I would like to listen to her talk more...

Point being, the whole political thing today with the primary is amendment 1, which in NC defines and limits marriage to the union between a man and a woman.  I am lucky enough to be happily married- to a wonderful Mr. Owens- but I should hope that I am wise enough and generous enough to realize that other people find love and validate marriage in other ways.  That marriage is a choice of life partnerships, a formal bonding of love, respect and resources with the promise to do more than just stay together~ but to care for each other for as long as their forever might be.  (Forever is different for people, depending.  Sometimes we grow and change and our forever together is short, sometimes it is until death do us part, sometimes longer and truly eternal.  It depends, and you don't actually *know* it until it happens....I like to think that my forever with Mr. Owens will last a long long time).  Anyway, love itself is a tricky thing, and like black Melissa was saying- the perfect person for you can be variable- who are we to judge perfect, or love? If anyone is lucky enough to find it, and better yet find it reciprocated, and want to marry- then they should be free to.  I don't care if they are gay or straight or of different races, religions, beliefs, economics- love is love and that should be respected and honored by all of us. (*note- I *do* have a problem with child-marriages- adults only please.)  So I am voting against Amendment 1, because I do not want limits- legal or otherwise- that infringe on love, marriage, and domestic partnerships.

Domestic partnerships is an awkward word.  Long-term relationships with shared economic and social standing, without the religious ceremony of marriage.  I have been in domestic partnerships- and yes, rights need to be protected.  Some people choose to make a life together without marrying, and I wonder if this would extend to life-partners who are not in a romantic relationship?  For example, I am thinking of all the little old ladies I grew up with- Auntie Lou, Cara, Grace Mackel, Aunt Peg, Granny Wrye- they were all independent as long as possible, but what if - like so many of their generation- they had began to share resources at some point?  The same house, for many years~  would that count?  I don't know- I may be straying into yet another area, where family is family but not family.  (Grace wasn't related, but she spent all her holidays with us, and we carried her to doctors, grocery, etc.)  The area is fuzzy- the 8 ball would say something like "Outlook unclear, try again later".

Passages

Photo by Christa, one of my photography students.

When you are first starting out in the world, when you are first a parent, then an adult, then an elder, everyone cautions to enjoy your time for it moves so very fast.  This isn't realized at first- when a child, everything takes forever, lasts forever, sometimes it seems as if things will never change. You will always be waiting for Christmas, and it will never arrive.  Always waiting for summer vacation, your first job, your first kiss, first car, first chance to 'get out of the house and live like an adult'....your first responsibilities.  All events are intensely felt, decisions a matter of life and death- and many of them are for they will set the way you walk into the future.

When you become a parent, everyone says to enjoy it while it lasts- but most of us are to busy caught up in the whirlwind of childhood wishes, adult responsibilities, balancing everyday life while trying to make dreams come true.  At the time it may feel joyous, depressing, over whelming, exciting- if the baby can't sleep, or the elementary recorder concert goes over an hour- it may seem like there is no end in sight.  But like most things, childhood sparkles then fades- and before you know it they are grown and gone.

And then it is your time, to be an adult, to begin again to look forward to things that seem so very far away (retirement), enjoy the present challenges of career and life, reinvent yourself for the next half, fall in love again with yourself, your spouse, your children as adults- your passions that were put off while you were so very busy with other things.  This is where I am now- and I know that it too will pass quickly and I will be on to the next stage- and I don't know what that will be like for me yet.  I keep expecting something different, and end up feeling surprised when I feel all the things that people tell me I will feel all along.  (Some things will never change however, I will have to look up the correct spelling of 'surprised' until the day I die.  It really *should* have a z in it.)

I am feeling this way today because another of Grendel's classmates died last night.  This one, Deante', was not a close friend, but was in class with Grendel, and they knew each other.  Deante was good at art, a talented athlete, smart- tall and handsome, caramel skin and these wonderful light amber-green hazel eyes that run in the Lewis family here abouts.  He became a father while in high school- his little boy will be starting kindergarten next year- he worked at being a good dad, went to college, kept a job, supported his son. And Deante's case was one of those you hear of every now and again- a childhood condition (mild epilepsy) long thought gone comes back suddenly, and you wake up dead.  On to the next chapter.

I suppose that because I am a teacher as well as Grendel's mother I have kept up more with his class than any other- and the evidence of time astounds me, because I don't see Grendel changing as much as the rest. With him I have 'mother-vision' where he will always be young, my kid- the same thing that Mother says to me. (no matter how old you are you are still my baby).  His classmates and friends I have watched move on- most of them are finishing college like he is, some are married, parents, in jail.  A few are gone, from accidents or suicide or strange medical maladies- and life goes on regardless.  They become adults, have children, the cycle moves on once again.  Time speeds up, moves fast- and sometimes we forget in the moment how very lucky we are.

I am very lucky. My husband is alive, well, loves me and is happily snoring away next to his cat.  My best friend is sound asleep in the guest room- we are going on an adventure today.  My son is grown and doing his best to live his own life, and so far so good.  My Mother is alive and well, our family is prosperous and of good nature, even my doggs are happy and healthy.  I love my job, I love being an artist and a scholar, I am grateful for my talent, our tumbledown cottage, our cars.  We have a good life with many blessings, and I am thankful for that- and while the blessings are balanced by the challenges and change, we have the skills and the belief that change creates growth- and everything evolves to the places it needs to go.  Encourage the moment, live in the day, shine brightly and feel everything- this is what I want for today, for right now- is to let the world know that I absolutely love being alive.

Within, Without

This is an ear.  I have two of them, firmly attached to my head, neither of which works particularly well.  For the most part they go undecorated- I went through my earring phase, then out of it- occasionally now I wear hoops or my Nazar beads, but that is it.  They are pierced- one in one ear, two in the other, but just the basics. Not that I don't like multiple piercings- some of them look quite nice- but that is something I never had the interest or discretionary funds to do.  Appearance is something that comes last in the 'spend money on this' for me- after bills and necessities, first is art supplies, then curious things, then books....clothing, hair, makeup and jewelry is last.  I like those things, but just would rather something else, for the most part.

Right now though all of our discresionary funds (which are non existant, I kid you not) are going to an assortment of doctors.  Are we getting old? wearing out? or is it just a phase?  We live relatively healthy life styles (except for the manz smoking and I eat to much) but it seems that between us we are becoming well versed in the Doctors of Wilmington.  But they do help- and today the ear doctor for me.

Because Mother always had ear problems- and Granny Wrye- my ears were always taken care of.  I kept them dry and clean, away from loud or obnoxious noises, didn't do anything weird or traumatic to them.  But they don't work well none-the-less.  My last hearing evaluation showed progressive genetic hearing loss (something that was probably unknown by Mother/ Granny, because it was accelerated by other conditions) and basically that not much could be done for it.  So I have learned to live with it, more or less- I am good at combining reading lips/gestures with speech to figure out what people say.  I can understand low tones, and high tones, but midrange (where most people speak) is lost to me- I can *hear* it just fine, but it sounds like a *garbled* mess.  The kids are amazed and dubious of this- because I can't hear their normal conversations/ answers but I can hear 'all the bad stuff/ swears'- this is because people tend to drop or raise their vocal tones when they are discussing 'forbidden' information or cursing- I pick up on those tones but not the others.  The manz has a lovely deep voice and I can hear him clearly in person, and on the cell if nothing is in the back ground.  Likewise, in the morning I can hear the birds, the traffic, noises in the distance- but not the phone in the kitchen. My cell is set to extra super loud with a ringtone I can hear- so that works for me.  I use special headphones on the computer, and that works well- but in the regular classroom I am getting more and more frustrated, which results in headaches, crankiness, fatigue and general stress. Vargh.

Anyhoo, along with all this stuff (which I have told everyone before, and not to beat a dead horse but just for context, understanding and to get my story fresh in my mind for the new doctor) I have had a massive ear infection for months- since the end of February. Been to Dr. Lori and Dr. Ricardo, three cycles of antibiotics, ear drops that are administered daily with fiendish pleasure by the manz (they are unpleasant) etc.  What this has resulted in is my left ear feeling thick (physically thick- larger than usual) and stuffed with cotton, and ringy...I am deafer than usual (which amuses the kids because I repeat to them what I think I hear- "No, I don't have any homicidal cowboys") and it aches constantly.  Not a sharp pain, just an ache.  And that makes me tired- and after a day like yesterday, where the day was normal but I was working extra hard to communicate, I come home tired and frustrated and went to bed at 5- and slept until 6 this morning, with one minor wake up to call max inside.  I didn't even take my hair down and it is a tangled mess this morning.  The poor manz was neglected all night- no talking or loving or hanging out.....I didn't even wake up for dinner.  Just sleep, sleep, sleep.  Which I don't know if it is a side effect of the fatigue, or the infection itself, or a depression that I am not aware of- my own irritability- or what, but I don't want to sleep my life away.  If I can't hear, I can't hear- give me some possible solutions and I will cope with that- but this bleahness and ache has to stop. vargh again.  Add to that an observation by the principal that I don't know sometime this week (or probably next since I will not be there today and tomorrow is Friday)- vargh for the third time in a row.

But today is a lovely day- it is warm and sunny and hopeful.  The manz is braving Wilmington to go with me to the doctor (I didn't want to ask him to go- he volunteered, and I am grateful because this way I won't miss anything, and it is *almost* like a date) and to A.C. Moore (school purchase order- sketchbooks, alcohol markers, red paint, papers-).  I will have time to grade my photography class today while he is at work, and mess around the house some, maybe even make something.  Melissa is supposed to come visit tomorrow and I hope she does- we are going to Enams Saturday for an adventure, and will spend time discussing our latest proposals, projects and the 'book-we-are-going-to-write'.

In the meantime, I need to clear my head, think, sort out the tangled mess of the end of school.  When I order things I feel better- I like organization and plans to support my chaotic creativity.  It all balances and works together well... right now I am happy overall, in love with my husband, safe in our home, I have all the things I need- this is just another bump in the road and it to will pass.  Or get paved over.  Or resurfaced- after all, adventure is best found when following detours.

Strawberry Season

Back in the tangle of our yarden, along the side of the house, grows a patch of wild strawberries.  They are quite established and are larger than most wild berries, but they are still tiny in comparison to the giants at the grocery store.  They don't taste the same either- still like strawberry, but a light, almost dry taste that is only faintly sweet.  Makes you think about how tastes have changed, and what was once quite a treat is now rather bland- our cultivated berries are stronger, sweeter, much more fragrant, but I love the tiny ones none the less.

They remind me of Headacher, for there were wild berries there as well as Wilbur's cultivated patch.  And there was a cherry tree, wishing well, rock gardens, swing, the big circular flower garden in the front full of peonys.  The sidewalk lined with Hostas, rubarb in the side garden, the lane curving back to the cow shed- Billy used to park his car in that lane, and sometimes he would let me sit on his lap and pretend to drive.  I don't remember much about my brother- he was grown and gone quickly- but I loved the way he smelled like gas (he worked at a gas station), his car, that he would 'make the people talk' (the odd little doll house people- Sister Sue has them now, they were hers originally- they were colored, with jointed legs. The father greyish, the mother red, sister yellow....a baby and a boy that was sort of confederate blue.  And a big metal doll house with plastic furniture, some of which I still have.)  Billy had girlfriends and saw ghosts, went away to the service and stayed there.... I don't know him well, but I do remember him then.

And the strawberries.  The field of alfalfa, the cow pasture (they would get out sometimes), the lady-bug houses Mother and I would make on the rocks in the pasture.  The woods behind with the balancing log, the 'old farm' where Daddy would go to pick blackberries and raspberries (despite the snakes), across the road and down the way Wild Cat rocks.  Teaberries growing close to the ground.  Wilbur's squirrel and chipmunk traps- I would let them go and he would get cranky. Roscoe the jockey by the front door, and a metal milk box.  The games my imagination would play in the yard- I would be a horse, a maker of mud-pies, a digger of dinosaur bones.  Everything and all- and in the summer evenings we would sit on the swing sometimes and then have strawberry shortcake or blackberry cobbler for dinner.  And all was well.

I love the little berries- they remind me of way back then- and Max loves them to.  His 'space' is on that side of the house, and he has dug burrows for himself.  He eats the berries, comes inside, begs for some of my store-bought ones. Strange, but they are pink and sweet and everything Max loves.

Today I don't want to go to school, but I have to.  I am in the mood rather to stay home and write, paint in the sun, dream up some books.  Clean a little.  Be domestic and content with homelife- I am tired of the dramas of students, the crankiness of other teachers, the dust and mess and rules of school.  I want easy. Pleasant. Fresh air and ideas that flow into one another, interrupted only by kisses from my manz.  Naps on the quilt in a dark room with the fan turning (we need another fan- but I want another like the one we have, old style and copper colored, rusting in an interesting way).  But money does not grow on trees, or create itself, and work is the price we have to pay.  I am lucky to have a job I love, where I can create and think and grow, and now is my time to get to it once again.

May Day!

It is the first of May, and I am struck by the thought of the coincidence of May Day holiday and Mayday as 'please help'.  According to wikipedia, they are unrelated- the holiday and the call of distress (which is from a French word), but according to me, I find them synchronous in a way.  May Day itself is an old seasonal celebration, heralding the beginning of summer back when the seasons were defined differently.  A day for celebration and dancing, maypoles, may baskets, may queens, may wine.  The Greek goddess Maia was the eldest of the Pleiades, a minor goddess of fertility, nurturing and the earth. This later got wrapped up in with the church celebration of Pentecost, and the return of the holy spirit as the flame of inspiration.  King Arthur made his knights renew their Pentecostal Oath on  Mayday- to uphold the laws of Chivalry and allegiance.  He also set the rule that no one should eat until they were confronted with a great marvel or quest~ the questing beast itself arrived on a May Day.  And so did the Green Knight, the first sighting of the Holy Grail and other assorted wonders.

May Day is also International Workers Day- a sort of Labor day for the world (with the exception of the US, which has it's own labor day because we just *have* to be different.  Much like the other celebrations, the day is spent in festivities and celebration- a day of rest with the prescription of fun.

Now the distress call- 'mayday'- I connect it like this:  on the hand of the International Workers Day, it was a distress call for work reform- the creation of the day broken into 8 hour segments: 8 for work, 8 for sleep, 8 for what you will.  Balance.  In the context of King Arthur and his court, the oath was a call to aid for the right, the good- and the quest was a direct call to aid.  As for Pentecost, a call to aid the establishment of the church, and in the pagan sense, the aid to renewal and growth- the may pole, wine, maidens, baskets are all symbols and rituals to help fertility.  Many, many babies got their starts on a mayday in the past.

For me, it is one of the forgotten holidays. I have this thing about forgotten holidays- they were important and the ancestors of other things we celebrate- either in a grand scale or a local one.  (Here we call it Springfest, and it is in a few weeks).  I want to remember them though, and teach the kids about them- what they are, where they come from, what to do in celebration.  So today I will take a few flowers to school and talk about it.  Tonight I will light a white candle and drink some May wine (which I actually got to make this year!)  I found woodruff in NYC, and was able to create a batch- I haven't had it since long ago in California.  I will have a small glass- wine gives me a monster headache and I have been living already with one for days and days, maybe persuade Mr. Owens to taste it.  It is a day for sunshine and good magics, a night for inspiration and love.  Cheers to all!