Musings

We Have Come To Be Danced

Another wintry morning approaches and I sit here considering the day. Another performance. If you had told me twenty, ten, or even five years ago that I would be standing on a stage in a revealing costume performing in front of an audience I would have laughed. Outrageous really. And if you had picked into my head and looked around you would have found a very broken woman. One who did not feel worthy. One who did not see her value. One whose thoughts were drowned out by the refrains of “not good enough, not pretty enough, not smart enough, not thin enough”, the constant defense of her marital status, her maternal status, her reason to even be.

And this is why I dance.

I find within dance a powerful community of women, strong minded and creative women who make me feel ok, even supported, to be exactly who I am with every ounce of my being. That whatever decisions I’ve made with my life are mine alone and no one else’s. That the woman I am is worthy and valuable just the way I am and shown me that maybe we’re all a little broken but our cracks make us unique.

So I work my fingers raw and worry if my colors clash and fret about what to do with my hair. And after each performance, if you look very closely, some of those cracks aren’t as jagged as they used to be. Ragged wounds fade into hairline fractures that could be considered “character” perhaps. The sort of wounds that don’t hurt so much to walk on anymore.

Mornings like these I take a deep breath and reflect once more on the words written many years ago by Jewel Mathieson…

We have come to be danced
Not the pretty dance
Not the pretty pretty, pick me, pick me dance
But the claw our way back into the belly
Of the sacred, sensual animal dance
The unhinged, unplugged, cat is out of its box dance
The holding the precious moment in the palms
Of our hands and feet dance.

We have come to be danced
Not the jiffy booby, shake your booty for him dance
But the wring the sadness from our skin dance
The blow the chip off our shoulder dance.
The slap the apology from our posture dance.

We have come to be danced
Not the monkey see, monkey do dance
One two dance like you
One two three, dance like me dance
But the grave robber, tomb stalker
Tearing scabs and scars open dance
The rub the rhythm raw against our soul dance.

We have come to be danced
Not the nice, invisible, self-conscious shuffle
But the matted hair flying, voodoo mama
Shaman shakin’ ancient bones dance
The strip us from our casings, return our wings
Sharpen our claws and tongues dance
The shed dead cells and slip into
The luminous skin of love dance.

We have come to be danced
Not the hold our breath and wallow in the shallow end of the floor dance
But the meeting of the trinity, the body breath and beat dance
The shout hallelujah from the top of our thighs dance
The mother may I?
Yes you may take 10 giant leaps dance
The olly olly oxen free free free dance
The everyone can come to our heaven dance.

We have come to be danced
Where the kingdom’s collide
In the cathedral of flesh
To burn back into the light
To unravel, to play, to fly, to pray
To root in skin sanctuary
We have come to be danced
We have come.


Free to a good home…

So I have something that’s been bothering me for a while. By “a while” I mean since 2005ish.

I spent some ten years in the SCA. The last few years were my most active. Unfortunately after some ten years of wonderful memories I made a terribly grave error. Within six months I walked away. Walked away from ten years of service, all of my friends, my primary hobby, and the glue that was at that point holding my shaky relationship together. I was at the time the Kingdom Chirurgeon, Master Chirurgeon, Her Ladyship, Protege, Herald, Senior Heavy Marshal, Senior Light Marshal, and Junior Siege Marshal. That first one there was my mistake. Unbeknownst to me I was the sacrificial lamb in a bitter battle between three old drunks. I found this out as I left the presence of the Crown after accepting my position, literally waiting for me at the end of the row of chairs as I walked away. I spent the next six months being torn apart, called things most people can’t pronounce, and generally in tears because of something I did not do, was not involved in in any way, was a clear case of wrongdoing that occurred before I ever took office, and which pitted these bitter old drunks against one another in a disgusting display of disrespect and disrepute that left me leaving a July Coronation having resigned my position and walking away from the club forever.

And after seven years this still lives in a ribbon case in a storage box in the basement:

2013-04-20 02.00.53-1

I would like to give it to someone who will find it a good home. If you are that person, or know of someone who is, please let me know.


My cranky old cat

I had left home for college a year early. By the time I got to Buffalo I was in my fourth bad relationship and working on my second college at the ripe old age of nineteen. I decided that what I was really missing in life was a cat.

We went to the SPCA up in Tonawanda that July. Lady was showing us the cat room when I realized my jacket was caught on something. I turned around to find a calico cat looking up at me, laying on her back in her cage with her paw out under the door and hooked on my jacket. We took her out of her cage and she proceeded to climb into my jacket and curl up. We took her home. She was eight weeks old. I named her Pawz.

I remember when that relationship failed miserably. We were in house #2 with him and I was sitting in the living room packing. She comes in dragging a cat toy behind her, one of those feathers on a stick, and drops it in front of me and just looks at me. She was packing too.

She was with me through fifteen moves, twice cross country, two earthquakes, a tornado, more hurricanes and blizzards than I can count, four horribly failed relationships, more terrible life decisions than I care to admit, and had decided that John’s lap belonged to her. She’d trained John and the Orkin man to turn on the kitchen sink for her. She’d outlived three brothers and outstayed many more. She’s survived by just two.

Her kidneys failed this weekend. The vet says the next step would have been seizures. I couldn’t let her go through that. She’d suffered enough for me. I couldn’t let her suffer any more. After eighteen years she was ready to go. I just wasn’t ready to let her go. Sometimes the right decision is the hardest.

I just hope she knows how much I loved her.

pawz5


Back from the bottom of the well.

Sooo yeah it’s been three months since I last wrote something. I guess I kinda assume that anyone reading this probably knows me well enough. On the off chance you don’t I’ve dealt with depression for as long as I can remember. I can sink into a deep depression for months at a time. I generally stop communicating (at least communicating very well), stop writing, stop creating, etc. It’s generally a pretty crappy time. John is curiously good at dealing with it so props for him. I’m feeling a smidge better. Two months later. Ughs. Anywho…

I had started a blog post, I kid you not, two months ago that never got finished. Yay for save as draft. I’ll work on finishing that up in a bit.

So an update on the health thing. Tummy troubles are much improved. So that’s a bonus. Problem is that I lose all motivation when I’m depressed so I haven’t been walking in um erk, 10 weeks? I did go walking today. Kinda bummed because my Zombies, Run! isn’t working right 🙁 I sent in a bug report so we shall see. Good news is I didn’t hurt and didn’t have to stop, so didn’t lose all of the progress I had made. Just have to keep doing it. What I really need is an exercise partner, someone to browbeat me into going every day.

The first goal for me was to get under 250. And while I was busy being all uncommunicative I actually got down to 245. Problem is I stopped walking for like 2 months and stuff, so I’m back up to 250. But that’s still better than where I started. New goal is 225. That will put me back at the weight where I last had professional photos done. Still heavy but getting there. End goal is 175. Only, ya know, 75 pounds to go.

I did start writing again and am plotting a tassel belt that I want to see if I can sell, just to see if that’s a viable option. Pondering volunteering again but transportation ends up being an issue there. Otherwise still plodding along here. How’s everybody else?


Progress

In more ways than one perhaps…

Finished sorting what pages I wanted to keep and which to leave behind. Put the keepers into the new format. Pondering which to add next. And got a very random phone call from a contracting company that wants to talk to me about web QA work which I’ve not done in forever. They are talking around $25/hr. I’m having coffee with her on Friday. So we’ll see how that goes.


Why hello there =}

Fancy seeing you here. I realized while working on Kirby’s new webpage (crochetedbykirby.com) that I hadn’t touched my own webpage since I moved to PA 5 years ago. WOW was it out of date and incredibly clunky. I had started in IT as a native HTML coder and over the years I’ve just fallen out of love with doing a lot of this crap the hard way. WP is amazing and seriously, why make this harder than it has to be, right? So this is the new page in the making. It’ll prolly take some time to get stuff up and some of it will be archived for good.