I will dance naked

I've been doing a lot of thinking about my life up until this point.  I do that when I am reading books by Kris Radish.  I just finished reading Dancing Naked at the Edge of Dawn.  Kris believes every woman has the potential of being the heroine of her own story.  Sometimes I feel like I can be one of those brave women who dare to say "No":  No to conventioanl and boring, no to fears of being alone, no to the deep fears of not being good enough.  A woman who can say yes to adventure and fun.  Those of you who have known me for only a short time are wondering what the hell I'm talking about.  Isn't this the woman who lived with a man unwed for 17 years, a woman who went sky diving and participated in a mud run?  Yes, but these are all new to me.  Up until I divorced I was the perfect daughter, wife and mother.  As my mother put it, I wouldn't say "shit" if I had a mouth full.  Occassionally I feel the strong bonds that held me so tight for so many years.  I then want to fight and scream and run naked in the streets.  I will never go back to being that subversive insecure little girl. This is my time, my life, my moment of truth.

I will
dance naked
when I first
learn
to walk ....
and there
will be
a rainbow of light
colors
to blind
the binding minds
the closed hearts
of the men and women
who said
"never"
I will not
simply walk
but
fly
with wings of gold
woman
warrior
feeling with a heart
the fineness of the journey
and dancing naked
at the edge of dawn
is the gate
that moves my soul
into the endless
remain
of possibility

poem by Chesnay Susan Thomas from: Passing the Light - Women in Transition 1968

Fireworks under the Arch

Wow, what an incredible evening!!!!  I have lived in Granite City over 50 years and tonight was my first time to actually go to the St. Louis Independence Day Fireworks Show.  For years I've tried to get the men in my life to take me but it was always the same; they were saying too much traffic, too many people, too much noise, blah, blah, blah.  While I was thinking, yes, wonderful sounds, smells and sights.  What a terrific chance to watch people, listen to free live music and be so close that I can smell the explosive powder as the fire works explode in glorious colors.

Hooray, Darrell ask me to go before I had a chance to do my usual begging.  He even thanked me because he loves to go and couldn't find anyone to go with him. 

All of my senses were going haywire as I walked from the Metro Link toward the sea of humanity.  Thousands and thousands of people pressed up against me, walking toward our destination, the stage set up under the St. Louis Arch where Jimmy Gentry and his band were singing country western songs about this great land that I am so fortunate to live in.  Everywhere I looked there was another interesting person.  My head was swiveling all around trying to take everything in.  One woman had seven small children holding hands like a long chain telling them to never let go.  A group of young black boys, shirtless, laughing and pushing each other playfully.  Small children looking up at me with big eyes, both scared and excited at the same time.  A woman with the brightest apple red hair I have ever seen in a skin tight rainbow colored dress and gold stilettos.  I swear, when I first saw her from a distance, I thought she was a clown - Wrong!.  Big beer bellies hanging naked over droopy shorts.  Bodies covered in exotic tattoos.  Black, white, Asian and Latino were all represented there.  What a wonderful country with so much diversity.

By 9 PM. the tension was getting thick.  Everyone was anxious to witness St. Louis' tribute to this great nation's independence, the fireworks spectacular.  Finally at 9:20 P.M. we heard the first crack and saw a shooting light lift off from the barge positioned in the middle of the Mississippi River.  All eyes follow the light upward and yelled as the first rocket exploded into a shower of red, green and silver stars that fell gracefully back down to us.  The rockets continued for 20 to 30 minutes.  20 to 30 minutes of ecstasy.  We were so close I could feel the explosion in my chest and then I felt as if the colors were coming down to wrap themselves around me like my grandmother's old patch work quilt, safe, warm and oh so happy.  I looked up at Darrell and with my eyes told him thank you.  Thank you for yet another wonderful experience.  Why did I wait so long?  No longer will I wait.  If no one is willing to get out and experience all life has to offer I will do it alone.  What have I got to fear?

Dream Gardening

I am a dreamer.  I've said it many times.  One would think that would be something I'd outgrow but evidently not, because I still find myself day dreaming about all the great accomplishments I am capable of doing.  For instance, my dear Daddy was a great gardener.  There wasn't any thing he couldn't grow.  When I was a child our backyard could have been a show case for Better Homes and Gardens magazine.  Dad spent hours in the winter drooling over seed catalogs.  Early spring well before the last frost Dad and Mom could be found sitting at the kitchen table with Dad's garden plan drawn to exact dimensions and seed packets scattered around them in deep discussion of what was to be done next.  The whole neighborhood knew of his green thumb and one by one came by for a tour mid summer when his garden was in it's glory.

When I bought my first house all by my lonesome self some 17 or 18 years ago I dreamed of having a beautiful country garden like my father's.  No, I take that back.  Mine was going to be even lovelier if that was possible.  I went right out and bought every gardening magazine available and spent hours like my father drooling over the shiny magazine pictures of gardens all over the U.S. of A.  When I had my first family barbecue I proudly took Dad on a tour of my backyard explaining in great detail the plants and landscaping designs I had envisioned.  Dad being Dad pointed out to me that I was over planting and I would not have the time to keep up such a complicated plan.  No way was he going to burst my bubble.  I went right out and bought seven trees (3 fruit to feed the birds), 10 bushes (2 with berries to feed the birds), more annuals and perennial than I can count and 3 grape plants (also to feed the birds).

Half died before I could get them in the ground.  I had no idea it took so much hard physical labor to have a beautiful yard.  The first two summers I slaved over the yard no matter how hot and miserable I was.  Then as with most of my scathingly brilliant ideas, my enthusiasm fizzled out.  Two of the seven trees died several years ago.  Two died this year and are waiting for me to cut them down and put them to rest.  Only three of the ten bushes have survived.  Actually the yard is a wasteland to weeds.  I have come to appreciate weeds - except poison ivy.  They do not require constant attention and actually produce lovely flowers.  The grandchildren think Grandma grows the very best wishing flowers - they believe their wish will come true if they can blow off all the white puffy seeds from the dandelion with one blow. 

One would think I had learned my lesson after that complete disaster but no the dreamer in me will not be squelched.  Last summer I decided I needed a small pool under my little apple tree.  I thought I'd never get that hole dug.  The hole eventually got dug and a plastic box was set inside the hole.  I never did figure out how to set up the water pump necessary to keep the little pond from becoming stagnant.  Yes, you are right.  I now have a green slimy nasty water filled hole in my yard with signs around it informing the grandkids of its potential danger. 

The summer is just beginning.  Being an optimist I am once again dreaming of how I am going to fix up my yard.  Don't give up on me yet.  I'll keep trying until they lower me in my grave.  Hopefully I have a lot of dreamy summer days ahead of me.

The journal page featured here is probably one of the easiest and quite possibly the most fun of the journal pages to make.  I simply went through my collection of pictures cut from magazines and glued them on the page to create a collage.

Women are Super Heroes

My baby sister called me yesterday to do a little ranting and raving.  She knew there was nothing I could do to help her but also knew if I could I would.  Actually if she would let me I would drive to Texas and knock a few heads together and point out their errors to them but baby sister will continue to be a martyr for the next few years until her children all leave the nest.  Knowing this, I let her pour her heart out to me.  Sometime the weight of our burdens are much lighter when they have been communicated to another person who can relate and will listen and even though they can't fix the problem, they can sympathize.

Why is it that so many women think they are NOT suppose to be happy?  Women are super heroes whose sole mission in life is to save the world and then do the wash and take out the garbage.  Not realizing that their lives are in the garbage because they allowed everyone to walk all over them.  It just doesn't make sense to me and yet I have done the same thing more times than I would like to remember.  We burned our bras and saved the whales then came home to do the ironing while our men barbecued.  And we had to beg them to do that.

Nothing seems to have changed in a hundred years.  My mother was the perfect example of the American housewife and all four of her daughters learned from her.  However, my mother did not work outside of the home and her four daughters were forced to work so that their families could have all the things that now seemed required to make the family happy.  No wonder the divorce rate has gotten so out of hand.  If men do not learn to take on their share of the home responsibilities, marriage will become a thing of the past.  Revolutions do not happen over night.  This battle has been going on for years and woman will win this time.

The page featured is a pencil drawing, painted with watercolors and fluid acryllics then story added in ink.  Obviously I have never had art classes yet my crude art work is effective in telling my story.  It took me a long time to throw out my desire for perfection and just go with my emotions.  Your art journal is your haven for expressing yourself.  Release your inhabitions to the wind, let your inner child come out out to play.

What's your Play Personality?

Dr. George Sheehan was one of my heroes thirty some odd years ago.  He was a doctor of medicine but that is not why I looked up to him.  Dr. Sheehan was a 70 year old athlete - a long distance runner.  No, more than that; he was a long distance runner and a philosopher.  He wrote sports articles and several books about the joys and rewards of being an athlete.  He was a student of the classics, of Aristotle and Plato, so his writings reflected the wisdom he learned from the old philosophers.  One thing he pointed out to his readers of every book -of which I read them all - was the power and importance of play in ones life.  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.  No, I don't believe Aristotle ever said that.

Stuart Brown's book about play, Play: How it Shapes the Brain, Opens the Imagination, and Invigorates the Soul is dedicated solely to play.  Brown says there are 8 types of play personalities.  I hadn't thought of it that way, but it does make sense.  I love to play but some play does not interest me at all.  For instance golf is an American favorite but I find it boring and rather tedious.  Just not my cup of tea. But set out my art journal and paints and I'm in Hog Heaven.  I could play all day.

Brown's 8 Play Personalities go like this:

1) The Joker:  Makes people laugh, plays practical jokes.  (My son, Scotty)

2) The Kinesthete:  Loves to move, dance, swim, play sports. 

3) The Explorer:  Goes to new places, meets new people, seeks out new experiences (physically or mentally)

4) The Competitor:  Loves all forms of competition, has fun keeping score.  (My brother, Bruce)

5) The Director:  Enjoys planning and executing events and experiences, likes throwing parties, organizing outing and leading.

6) The Collector:  Loves the thrills of collecting whether it be objects or experiences.

7) The Artist/Creator:  Finds joy in making things, fixing things, decorating, working with his or her hands.  (me)

8) The Story Teller:  Loves to use imagination to create and absorb stories, in novels, movies, plays, and performances.

I had not considered a couple of the categories.  I never thought of collecting or organizing affairs as play but after I read his description I could understand why these things would be playful to some people.  Not me, but that is all right.  I am definitely the artsy/crafty personality but I am also an explorer.  What is your Play Personality?  Want to come over and play with me?

When I worked on this page I was feeling sorry for myself.  Les had been dead for just a few months and I was tossing and turning unable to sleep in the bed we once occupied together.  The background was quickly thrown together by swishing pastel fluid acrylics around on the back.  Once dry I glued on the paper doll images from Mary Engelbriet's magazine.  Quit, easy and effective. 

Sisters Escape to Eureka Springs

As I have said before, my sisters and I are very close.  We try to get together once a year for some sister bonding and girl fun.  Several years ago we chose Eureka Springs Arkansas as our destination.  Eureka Springs is one of America's quaint little villages that now thrives due to its tourism industry.  The town was once a thriving community because of the lure of the magical healing waters of the springs.  Back in 1886 when the present day Crescent Hotel was built people came from all over the world to be healed by the mineral springs.  The Crescent Hotel was originally built as a hospital and health care center by Dr. Norman Baker.  Dr. Baker was quite theatrical and liked to perform his surgeries in front of the hospital so that local citizens could watch his procedures.  Fortunately he was eventually closed down but not before he mutilated and killed many poor souls.  The hospital is now a magnificent old hotel.  The once lovely old Victorian homes in the area are now bed and breakfasts offering wonderful home cooked meals and relaxing massages.

Two of my sisters and I headed to Eureka Springs, not for the healing waters but for adventure.  It is said that the spring water flowing beneath the hotel is high in energy attracting lost spirits.  The Crescent Hotel is considered to be America's most haunted hotel so naturally we made reservations to stay there.  Besides the unfortunate people who put their lives in the hands of the sadistic Dr. Norman Baker many others died in the hotel.  One of the most colorful characters who died there was an Irish construction worker who fell to his death from the roof landing on the future site of Room 218, considered to be the most haunted room.  Michael, the worker was known as a prankster and it is said that his ghostly spirit enjoys playing pranks on the guest of room 218.  Naturally we asked for that room but it was already taken.  Darn!  However because of our interest we were given the room next to it where the ghostly figure of a small boy has been seen chasing his ball.

The morning of our arrival to the now elegant hotel we headed for the lower level where The New Moon Spa and Salon is located.  We had this mini-vacation well planned - first full body massages, next hike and exploration of the area, followed by the ghost tour and last but not least pizza in our haunted room waiting for our friendly ghost's visit.  At the spa we were greeted warmly by the pretty young lady at the front desk.  While we waited for our masseuse she guided us on a tour of the modern facilities. (Which happened to be next door to the morgue.)  There were several private rooms with attached showers so that all three of us could have our massages at the same time.  Sue had opted for the hand and foot massage and exfoliation treatment.  She explained that her feet deserved a little pampering after all the years of work standing on concrete floors.  I do believe she was right.  Mary was scheduled for an aromatherapy body wrap with deep exfoliation and a soothing foot and scalp massage.  Personally I wanted to get down and dirty so I chose a sea science mud body wrap to eliminate toxins.  The sessions varied in length of time depending on the type of massage we were to receive; Sue's being the shortest and Mary's the longest.  We were each led to our private rooms with soft music to help us relax.  I was instructed to remove all my clothes and lay face down on the massage table with a sheet draped over me.  The young female masseuse quietly came in the room when I was ready and in a soothing voice explained the procedure of applying warm mud over my entire body (except my hair).  She then gently applied the mud and massaged my body as she went along.  I must confess it was the best massage I have ever had (also the most expensive).  She gently rubbed the warm silky mud from my toes all the way up to my nose.  When she was finished I was instructed to lay there and relax for as long as I wished and afterwards I was to shower off the mud and join my sisters where we first met.  As I was lying there I could hear the male masseuse in the next room giving Mary her massage.  That is when I came up with one of my scathingly brilliant ideas.  No more relaxation for this girl.  I had things to do.  I quickly showered and dressed but rather than join Sue I tiptoed quietly into the room where Mary was being massaged by a handsome young man.  The young man looked at me quizzically and before he could speak I placed my finger to my lips to shush him.  Mary had a scented mask over her eyes so she had no idea what was going on.  I leaned over her and deposited a big kiss on her lips.  At first Mary just looked stunned and then she queried, "David?".  David and I burst into laughter as she pulled off her mask to see me standing there.  Later she said the massage wasn't near as soothing after the kiss because David couldn't stop laughing.

After the massage and lunch we took a hike and explored the area as planned.  We enjoyed ourselves but we were anxious for our adventure.  Would we really see ghosts or were these just stories to lure the tourist there?  Finally 7 o'clock arrived and we followed a well versed man around the hotel listening to the many stories of mutilation by the infamous Dr. Baker.  Dr. Baker claimed he was able to cure cancer.  Two stories vividly standout in my mind.  One of his patients purportedly had brain cancer.  Out in the courtyard where the town's folk had gathered to witness his claims he drilled a hole in the ailing man's head and then proceeded to pour Eureka Springs mineral water into the cavity made by the drill.  He then announced to the surprised crowd that the man was healed.  Not surprisingly, the man died a few days later.  Another time one of Dr. Baker's patients had cancer on an arm.  The hospital also served as an insane asylum.  Dr. Baker cut the cancer ridden arm off; then cut the arm off of one of the insane asylum's inmates and sewed his arm onto the cancer patient.  Dr. Baker was astounded when the arm rotted off.  No wonder ghosts walked the halls of the hotel.  Ghastly stories.  With the stories fresh in our minds we headed for our room to eat veggie pizza, tell ghost stories and wait for our ghostly visit.  We stayed up as late as we could keep our eyes open watching and listening but finally gave up and went to bed, disappointed.  No ghosts.  We did have one experience that could have been the ghost of the construction worker.  As each of us took a shower the warm water abruptly turned cold and a few seconds later warm again.  Was Michael playing around or was it the old plumbing in the hotel?  I guess we'll never know. 

We all slept soundly and spent the next day shopping at all the quaint little shops in the town.  The shop keepers were friendly and full of suggestions of places to see and places to eat.  We went home tired from walking up and down the hills in the town.  Tired and yet refreshed, if that makes sense.  Refreshed and ready to make more plans for other adventures.

The death of a mother's son

I'm not exactly sure why but for the last few weeks I have been letting things slip by me.  Perhaps it is because I knew I would was going to start work once again -- although 3 days a week for 3 hours certainly shouldn't bite into too much of my personal time.  Still I didn't really know how much time I would spend on the new job.  I wasn't told to expect 3 days a week or 7.  Therefore I went on a few short trips before my big day at the new job.  I am not one to let a good time slip away.

However the piper must eventually pay.  Today was my pay back day.  I started the day writing out checks to pay bills.  The big one to Kurt Prenzler CPA and County Treasurer was a bit painful to write but I reminded myself how fortunate I am to own my home and to have an IRA to get the money to pay my real estate taxes.  Millions of people are not that fortunate.  That knowledge eased the pain somewhat as I wrote the check.  Next I wrapped a couple of packages to be mailed to family, sorted mail into stacks to read and to throw away, washed dishes and clothes, read my e-mail and finally got cleaned up to go to get fingerprinted.

I don't understand why bartenders are required to be fingerprinted but Muny management says it is a requirement so I made an appointment at St. Louis University to be fingerprinted once again.  I have been fingerprinted twice before because I worked for a bank and a brokerage company.  I understand the two previous fingerprinting requirements but for a bartender?  I know, stop your belly aching and get on with your story.  The point is I had to go to the post office to get a money order to pay for the fingerprinting --$52.20, yee gads-- and to mail the packages.  The big black lady who waited on me was so friendly.  I liked her immediately but then again, who don't I like? (I could name a couple of people but they really aren't worth wasting your or my time on.)  Maybe I liked her because she said she like my hair color and then added how lucky I was to have such a beautiful natural color.  It has been so many years since I last saw my natural color I no longer remember what it looked like.  I digress, again.  The nice lady asked the usual questions; do I need stamps, insurance on the packages, anything fragile, etc.  I told her no, one package was a small gift to a sweet little niece who had badly cut her ankle and had to have emergency surgery.  We discussed how sad to start her summer vacation like that and then she told me a much sadder story.  A friend's son had tragically been killed.  A young 19 year old.  She said the boy was bad and that people were saying good riddance.  This warm compassionate woman wasn't thinking of the wasted life, she was concerned for her friend, the mother of this young man.  Her friend was all alone.  All she had was this worthless son.  How sad.  This mother will grieve the rest of her life for her only child.  We mothers are like that, you know.  Good or bad, that child was her baby.  A baby she carried in her womb for 9 months.  For 9 months she talked to him and told him how much he was going to be loved.  For 9 months she yearned to hold her precious baby in her arms and kiss his sweet tiny hands and feet.  For 9 months she dreamed big dreams of this baby's future.  Then the day of his birth arrived and for 19 years she loved him and cared for him the best she knew how.  She will now grieve for the rest of her life wondering where she went wrong.

My day started with all the mundane little things that must be performed day after day.  Then quite by chance I met a woman who was hurting for her friend and my perspective of the whole day has changed.  How blessed I am to have my children and grandchildren in my life.  They aren't perfect and they have many problems, but they are alive and well and facing the day to day challenges to the best of their abilities.  The way I would?  Of course not, but they are trying and whose to say my way is right?  After all, I am divorced and living alone with very little income.  Who cares, this girl is happy in the knowledge that I am loved.