Harness Your Weirdness

For some reason I feel the need to say, all officially and literally, “hello”.
And now that the salutation is out of the way, have a seat, make yourself comfy and if you are so inclined, look to your left. What’s that? Why it’s a little window into the whirlwind that is my life!

As a sort of balance to the fictional fun that happened on Friday, today I thought I would share a little tale that is true. I don’t really have a title for it, but it could easily be called “How I Got to the Place Where I Spent My Saturday Evening”.

After a lovely SaturDay, which involved, among other things, market time, waffles, and a brief but delicious nap, I summoned all my pro-party energy, put on some good, motivational music and started to get ready. To assist with the preparations, I indulged in a rare way: a caffeinated beverage in the evening, AND I put alcohol in it cause, hey, party time.

Now, anyone who knows me knows I don’t really drink. I’m not building a temperance float in my garage or anything, just don’t usually have the desire to, and I have the low tolerance to show for it. So a full shot, or even half, is WAY too much.
I put a cap-full in. Twice. Hardly anything.
And yet …
When I walked down the street the house was on, things looked … familiar in only the vaguest sense. I remember looking into the house that I thought was the right one (have I mentioned I’ve been to this place three or four times, and it’s a short street?) and thinking “that can’t be it, the front hall isn’t that colour”. I actually walked to the corner to check the sign, in case I had in inadvertently turned too soon.
Nope.
Thank heavens my friend (and since later that evening, sister) L. came along and directed me to the correct abode.

Where, upon entering, I was given a giant homemade marshmallow.

Yup, it was that kind of party.

SOD: The Caravan, covering Kris Kross (in particular, “I Missed the Bus”)
BOD: Welcome To the Monkey House by Kurt Vonnegut

So for those of you who aren’t paying attention: last week I decided to make Fridays post a short story – partly as a result of my usual Friday bloggings (which can be summed up thusly: Yay dance class!) and partly just for the fun/challenge of it.
Earlier in the week, when I was contemplating what I might write about, I remembered a project I had begun years ago but then abandoned in the maelstrom of life’s craziness. I wanted to write a dozen short stories …. all about fruit (yes, fruit) and then publish them in a charming little chapbook kinda volume with some lovely illustrations. So I went down to the place where all the words live, and found the notebook that held the ideas. The story that follows is the most complete, though I have titles for all of them. Not sure if I am going to publish all 12 one after the other, or sneak ‘em in when they are in season or what. But here’s today’s tale … the ending is rather … sudden and nonsensical, but that’s what you love about me, right?

Penelope: Not Your Average Kumquat

This is a story about kumquats. Kumquats in general, and one extraordinary kumquat in particular. She really was unique, although it was also a marketing gimmick. On tour, that’s how she billed herself “Kumquat Extraordinaire”. The mere fact that she was on tour and had roadies, groupies, make-up and lighting people – a whole fruity entourage – made her extraordinary.
Most kumquats just hung out: in markets, in fruit drawers or bowls, waiting to be bought or eater. Occasionally some of them would have a really good current events discussion, or a fight would erupt. That was about as exciting as it got.

Not so for Penelope, the exceptional kumquat. She was fond of recounting the moment when she decided she wasn’t going to just “sit around on my stem and wait for opportunity to ripen”. It was one of her favourite phrases, not to mention the title of her glossy autobiography/self-help book (10 weeks on the New York Times bestseller list). Sales were also brisk for the “get off your stem – the time is ripe” bumper stickers. Penelope attributed this to the inherent truth of the statement, coupled with the fact that it could be applied to all sorts of ideologies.

On tour, Penelope focussed on motivational speaking, questions-and-answers, plus a little vaudeville to break it up. The most extensive section was the Q&A. as she explained to People magazine “it often comes as a surprise how interested my audiences are in the life of one humble kumquat”.

When she accepted a Tony for her groundbreaking role as the ingénue in the Broadway show What’s New Gooseberry, the crowd was astonished and somewhat dismayed by her acceptance speech. Although couched in innuendo, slathered with metaphor, liberally dusted with intimation, one thing was clear: this kumquat was getting uppity. A dancing-pep-talking-entertaining kumquat? Sure, no problem. Charmingly eccentric even. A gubernatorial kumquat?? Fruit of state???

The American public was accustomed to leaders with a superior ranking on the food chain, if not the evolutionary one.

So they made her into marmalade. Poor Penelope …

Hmmmmmmmmmmm.
In sharp contrast (watch out sharp owweee!) to mosts o’ the posts this week, this one is probably gonna be a wee bit manic.

There are several reasons why, and fear not my friends and faithful readers, I’m gonna share:
So first, I am having a really good day, in large part because
I no longer feel so wretched.
My throat is still sore, but it seems that forcing myself to rest actually worked.
Who knew?
Also, I am about to drink some hot chocolate aaannnnnnd
I am applying for an interesting job that I would really like to have/would be really good at aaannnnnd
As a result of multiple messages and just the world in general, I am feeling very loved.
Ooh! AND, later I am going to make banana bread. Possibly to bring to a dumpling party, or possibly just because who doesn’t love potassium when it’s all wrapped up with chocolate-y, pecan-y yummiosity???
Not to mention the cats are doing that fluffily-adorable-yet-quiet thing that I loves, and in the next few weeks there are many exciting potential events in the works like …
dudes, my MOM is coming to visit! So I better clean my room!!

See?
Manic.
But fun. You like it, I know you do.
I don’t even care that it is cloudy and rainy outside. I (almost) don’t even care that it is s’posed to get cold again.

Some days, all the bad stuff gets right in. and then there are those wonderful days when it seems like, no matter what the world hucks at you, it just bounces off and rolls away.

Today, I can practically hear all the yuck just ricocheting …

Yay immune system!
Yay me!!
Yay you (yeah, YOU)!!!

SOD: Ohh, anything by the Beasties.
F(act)OD: have I mentioned that I’ve started a band???

So it’s another beautiful sunny day. But I’m not gonna write about that.

I got some really fun mail today. But I’m not going to write about that either.

No fun. No sun.

And I should mention here that this post could be triggering for those of you who have experienced sexual violence. I don’t intend to write anything explicitly disturbing here, but I also cannot know what might impact someone else.

I have a friend named Audra. She is whip-smart and amazing in general, and has a Livejournal page called Your Dirty Answer, in which she shares the goings-on in her life as well as that which she finds positive or negative in the world at large. There are few folks I respect more than she. And today when I checked her blog, I found a story and many many many comments about, of all things, a tee-shirt.

But here’s the thing: this tee-shirt has a message: it says “I was raped”.

And land sakes alive Belle Ruth are people freaking out about that?
What do you think?

I think it’s a topic that I could post upon all week, (though I don’t think I shall), but there is one tiny piece that I seem slightly fixated on, and it is this:
People who say/write “if I was raped …”, and then go on to offer their (possibly well-meaning) but regardless often terribly misguided and hurtfully ignorant opinion.

I know it’s human and in general, admirable, to try to put ourselves in someone else’s metaphorical shoes. But cats and kittens, there are some things that, if you haven’t experienced them directly, you can have NO IDEA what it feels like, and to express what you imagine it to be is often painful (and sometimes detrimental) to those who have.

I am all for people being allowed to express their opinions. I just wish that sometimes, some people would recognize and embrace their right to shut the hell up.

Some things are beyond imagination. Some things should be immune from your speculation. If this truth applies to you, don’t be offended.
BE GRATEFUL.
That you don’t know what it’s like.
‘Cause too too too too toooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo many do.

SOD: Letter To A John by Ani Difranco
S(ite)OD: http://audrawilliams.livejournal.com/

So yesterday, as I was availing myself of the fine fine transportation that is Hali’s public transit, I had an idea. For a little while now I have wanted to mix it up a little in HYWville. And it occurred to me that often, Friday’s post tends to be all light and breezy and can mostly be summed up with the sentence: I am going to African dance tonight and I’m excited about it! Not that one can ever say that too many times but…
In the interests of creativity, diversity, and alliteration I bring you the inaugural instalment of:

Friday Fiction Fun!

Once upon a time there was a girl who lived near the water, Maya was her name. All her life she had found herself at home near rivers, lakes, waterfalls and oceans. The water was like a powerful, changeable, amorphous friend and she loved to spend hours sitting on her porch, watching it express the moods of the earth through its waves and crests and sometimes still smooth surface. Often she would walk down to the very edge of the water and talk to it, sharing all her deepest secrets and confidences.

One day as Maya sat, eyes closed, amongst the plants and sunshine on her porch she felt the wind pick up and it carried voices that were raised in something like incredulity and alarm. When she turned her head and focussed on the source she saw that a group of people had gathered down by the water. This was closer that it might usually have been because the water was closer than it usually was.
The water was moving. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, moving up the hill.

As the days went by Maya’s once quiet street became awash in journalistic flotsam and jetsam, and her mind grew swollen with strange ideas. Her dreams all seemed to take place on the ocean floor and the soundtrack was the songs of underwater creatures and even the predictable sur-reality that is the dream world couldn’t explain the sense of familiarity that accompanied these nighttime visions.

One night, when the media had departed for their cubbies built of ink and paper and obsolete computer peripherals, Maya ventured close to the water. It was the first time in a week that she had done so, and it took her much less time to reach it. Soon her home, like those further down the hill, would be subsumed by this salty fluid that was defying all known science as it climbed over buildings, streets, bedrock. Maya knelt right at the edge and leaned over. Her reflection stared at her, backlit by the moon and rippling in the breeze.
And then she heard the music.
Maya saw her own eyes widen as she recognized the serenade emerging from the sea - the same as that which had flowed behind her closed eyes while she slept.

All of a sudden Maya knew why the water was rising, why in her life she had followed it’s backtrail here. It was a part of her and she a part of it and once upon a time, they had been together.

Maya stood, walked back to her porch. Sat down. Waited.
The water would come for her. And she would be ready.

-The End-

Ooookay so that’s that. S’cuse any inconsistencies or whatever, it is so unedited it’s not even funny. Fresh from my brain to your screen …
My wish for all of you: be kind. Love each other, and yourself …

SOD: Pacific Pulse by Anew Airship (the inspiration for above)
P(oet)OD: Samuel Taylor Coleridge

As I sit here choreographing my fingers in this familiar dance, I can hear the wind sweeping and swooping and whooping around the corners of my house. It doesn’t sound particularly friendly, but the sun is shining and that makes all the difference.

I just checked the mail (the actual, real-time, postal mail, remember that stuff kids?) and included amongst the shiny mass-produced tree-killing swill was a bona-fide, handwritten note from an acquaintance/friend. And in this note she expressed a desire for me to be blessed with some specific qualities and gifts. I won’t explain here what they are, but I will say that they are relevant to where I am in my life and I was surprised to find the very words and concepts I have been grappling with presented to me by someone I didn’t think knew me that well.

But that’s me, adorably oblivious to many things, and moving through this dance we call life with most of my heart and soul and thoughts right out there for everyone to see … so perhaps I shouldn’t be so shocked that someone as sharp as her managed to pick up on themes prevalent in my existence right now.

I am always astonished by how people see me. If a genie ever popped out of some ol’ lamp and offered me the tradish three wishes, one of them would be to spend some time seeing myself as others see me. Even though I know it’s very possible I would be upset (or my raging ego bruised) by what I saw, I would not be able to resist. Because I don’t think I have any idea sometimes of the me that all-a-y’all see.
Maybe that’s true for everyone … maybe not.
But in this moment, it’s my truth.
And in this moment, it is (and I am) more than enough.

My three wishes for all of you today: may you experience and enjoy truth, cheese, and lots of hugs…

SOD: If I Was a Boat by Lyle Lovett
C(heese)OD: Chevre, yo. Mmmm goat-y goodness …

This morning I dreamed.
Just before I woke up, I dreamed of a giant nest. It was populated by what I think were swans, and the whole area was awash in giant white feathers. Much bigger than any swan I’ve ever seen would have. In my dream, I picked a feather up, and it was as big as me. So perhaps I was in fact very small?
The nest was definitely enormous. Like an escarpment of feathers and swans …
And there was a song playing … where it was coming from I’ve no idea. Maybe there was a stereo system hiding under all the fluffy whiteness?
Wherever the sound emerged from, of this I am certain: it was Billy Joel’s “Leave a Tender Moment Alone”.

You know what?
It’s possible I am too tired to write the post I want to write. Because there was a specific reason why I was telling y’all about my li’l sleep-movie. But do you think I can remember what that was? Nuh-to-the-Uh.

I’m feeling pretty sleepy, heavens yes. Yesterday and the day before I was the teensiest bit gloat-y because, despite dancing all night and hiking half an afternoon, I wasn’t feeling sick anymore. I thought I had bested the rhinovirus that had been stalking me by the watering hole all week …
Methinks I gloated prematurely, ‘cause lo and behold today my throat is sore again and a lot of me wants to go back to bed.

There’s a reason I try to feed HYW early in the day. If this was seven or eight hours ago I might have drawn a neat little word analogy about dreams, and how they represent the desires and concerns of our deepest parts.

Instead, I’m all like, “yeah, I like Billy Joel”.

But that’s okay too.

SOD: Piano Man by BJ
B(allet)OD: what else but Swan Lake?

Bury my heart with roses
Send me to the sea
Dance me into heat and moisture
Dance me ‘til I’m free

Liquid music carries
Voices like birds fly
Reverberations, echoes
Of a heartbeat, of a cry

Love will come with bells on
If we create the room
And paint it red as roses
And invite our souls to bloom

I’m a passionate person. Any one who knows me at all knows that. Despite my enthusiasm for many things, and life in general, I am not one overly given to dramatic superlatives.
Until today.
Because this weekend was very possibly the Best Weekend Ever. And that is directly a result of being at what was, I think, the Best Party Ever.
Yes, EVER.
It started out as a farewell house concert for my friend the talented musician Michael, who is leaving the Atlantic for the Pacific.
This gathering contained so much mind-blowingly blessed wonderfulness that I think I have to make a list, just to make sure I don’t forget too many details…
1. Okay, first of all it was at my lovely friend MG’s house, close by and with the lovely Luna in attendance (until the party got too crowded, then Luna was escorted to MG’s room)
2. I made Love cookies and brought ‘em
3. Literally everyone I know and dig in this town was there at one point or another (there were a few exceptions, but far fewer than any other gathering)
4. The music … ooooooohhhhhhhhhhhh man. MPS, two-thirds of the Uke-Ladies, Anew Airship and hand drums and flute and sweet sweet saxophone …sometimes there are performers, and there is audience. And sometimes there are simply people, instruments of all kinds, voices harmonizing, hands clapping, bodies rhythmically following the groove … and this groove was all about one thing: love.

Never, ever have I felt loved as I did on Saturday night.
As an individual, as a member of the community, as a part of the greater human family.
At one point I was sitting, listening, and my heart … you know how it feels when you’ve run for a while, and even after your breathing calms, you can still feel the exertion in your heart?
That is what my heart felt like, just sitting there, hearing the music, feeling the good goodness swirling around me …
I am truly blessed to have been part of it.
I danced, suffused with joy, til it was technically Sunday, and then some.
And was driven home by someone who pretty much personified all the wonder, love, & beauty present…

Come late the next morning, I was tucked in the backseat of a familiar vehicle, tooling down Wolfville way, in the company of three women I love, adore, and enjoy immensely. We had an amazing time, filled with so much laughter it’s a miracle there was room for anything else … though there was.

Miraculous. All I can do is remember, smile, and extend the heartfelt wish that all of you be blessed with love as I have been …

SOD: Out Of the Blue by Michael Peter Schimp … Black and White by Mary Grace Koile … A New Day by Anew Airship & anything played by Andy the Saxophone Guy

Maybe two topics to address today kids. The first is simple and sweet and comes with a hypothetical root beer float. It’s my friend B’s birthday. She turns five today.

I’ve only known B for a few months, but she is absolutely one of my all-time favourite folks. She is so obviously, deeply, wisely loved that she is practically incandescent with joy and fun and goodness, and it is totally totally contagious.
I would buy her an elephant if I could, if that was what her awesome little heart desired. Instead I will just wish for her a life full of beauty, bliss, and blessings … and ask all-a-y’all to do the same.

I like small people in general. Quite a bit more than adults. In fact, if I was to rank the creatures I likes to hang with, in order of preference, it would be a tie between animals and children, with fully-grown people coming in a rather distant second. Kids in general know what to focus on in life, what the important stuff is.
Stuff like … building forts … squishing delightful (albeit potentially messy) substances between fingers and toes … composing songs for no reason … putting on shows for family … reading away a rainy afternoon … holding hands while saying grace … holding hands in general.

I remember reading somewhere once that the saddest thing in the world is a jaded child, and while I may not agree that it is the saddest, it’s definitely high on the list.
Kids are the opposite of jaded. Of cynical. Of that dumb-ass negative attitude that passes for cool in some misguided social circles.
With children, there is no pretension. Kids will not lie to spare your feelings (well, they sure as heck have never fibbed to make me feel better).
I love that!

My favourite big peeps tend to have these and other childlike qualities, though there is a line. When you are wearing the proverbial big-boy pants, some things need to be taken care of. Responsibility needs to operate on a higher level.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t hold hands and skip while you take care of business. Or shortly afterwards …

Be warm, be safe, be love … and if you can, remember what it was like to be five …

SOD: This Little Light Of Mine by … Jesus??

So, I’m pretty sure that this is a topic I have already discussed here at HYW, and not even that long ago. But today my head seems focussed mainly on one subject: secrets. So much so that I have been contemplating a kind of truth-telling-jamboree …but unlike many jamborees, this one makes me scared.
Ooooohhh, spooky jamboree …

Imagine what life would be like without fear? I don’t know if I can even wrap my head around the concept. And it takes up so much energy and time, fear does, and I think secret-keeping does too. Especially the things we keep hidden because we are embarrassed. That stuff is like evil compost for the Garden o’ Shame (not a place you want to spend time in, it’s really dark and what grows there is not friendly or edible).

Let’s make the distinction clear: some secrets are okay. Sometimes we know things that are not ours to tell. Sometimes (and this is the part I’ve written about recently), there are aspects of ourselves our souls that are precious and fragile and there is little benefit in blaring those all over the internet and beyond. But sometimes sharing secrets is like letting light into those dark places …and with the light often comes a clarity of vision, and a recognition of all the others who are in the same proverbial boat.

I want to write something here about how we are, in general, a culture that shares too much – and I think that’s true – but I also think the converse: that we often don’t share enough, in many senses of the word. We share the gossip or the drama or the blurts that result from an absence of healthy boundaries. But we often don’t share our fears, we often fail to acknowledge the fog of awkwardness or anxiety floating between us, we don’t ask difficult questions and we do our best to avoid answering them.

What I think today is this: there is freedom in truth-telling.

There is sweet liberation in letting go of caring about what others will think.

And someone has to be the one to go first …

So, I’m inspired. By Spring, by a phone conversation last night that involved an awkward question/conversation, and by the idea that dark secrets have more power when you hide them …my wish for all of you today: that you receive and extend truths with sympathy, compassion and love …

Ten Semi-Shocking Secrets (but only seven are true …)
1. Once upon a time, I was married.
2. Once upon a time, I was a man.
3. Once upon a time, I was incarcerated.
4. Once upon a time, I experienced abuse.
5. Once upon a time, I had seven half brothers I had never met.
6. Once upon a time, I wrangled panda bears for fun and profit.
7. Once upon a time, my middle name was Evangeline.
8. Once upon a time I had several other surnames and such.
9. Once upon a time, I healed myself.
10. Once upon a time, I fell in love.

SOD: You Didn’t Know Me When by Harry Connick Junior
QOD: “Judge not lest ye be judged” Matthew 7:1