My Muse, The Tequila Shot

I will be the first to admit that I have a bizarre perspective sometimes. I fixate on the oddest things: a ray of sunlight hitting a sewer cover, a lock of hair curling behind an ear, the way the salt settles on the rim of a tequila shot. More often than not, these things inspire me to create. Be it a painting, a sketch, or a poem, something comes of these brief glimpses of the world. The problem is, what I produce can frequently lead others into creating a misguided idea of who I am.

Take the tequila shot, for example. I adore the way the salt looks a bit like snow. It reminds me of snowglobes, and happiness... and when I voice this, I sound like a raving drunk. And then, when I go home, I end up imagining what it must be like to find yourself in a bar every night... looking at the same people, telling the same old sob stories, trying to put aside the rest of the world and focus on the drink in hand... And I end up writing this:

Dismantleing

I gaze in empty eyed longing
at my memory of your image
falsified and altered by my imagination.
My thoughts scatter in an attempt
to remain true to your character,
while avoiding the destruction of my memories entirely.

Skirting the shores of the sea of self-pity,
I allow my tormented soul to
drink you into oblivion,
if only for a night.
For tomorrow I will return to myself,
and my memories of you,
and repeat the painful process
of temporary amputation.




And of course, most readers think I'm an alcoholic. Far be it from me to argue, because there are few things worse than an alcoholic in denial (or so I'm told). But then they read a poem inspired by a girl with gorgeous red hair, reminiscent of a Botticelli model, and mistakenly assume I'm gay.

Wrong on both counts. What I am, is an inspired artist. And it is my own belief that one cannot decide whether their art will be happy/sad/hopeful/depressing. Not when they are truly inspired. It is not for me to direct my art to where I think it should go, or what it should become. I am but another tool, driven by the inspiration offered up daily by the world. As DaVinci said, "Where the spirit does not work with the hand there is no art."

I am motivated to create by the spirit - which ultimately means that my work is sporadic, at best. But in the end, I am (more often than not) rather pleased... :)

The Staple Theory of Human Behavior

As I drive down the road, trying to understand the complex relationship I have with the Financial Aid office at school, I discover that I have inadvertently formed a new theory. I call this theory "The Staple Theory of Human Behavior" (working title, please forgive). My sister thinks I'm on crack, but maybe some of you nameless readers will understand. Here it is...

Human beings are very much like staples. We exist in large groups, until various events separate us, usually under duress. Once on our own, we have a responsibility, a job to do, if you will. However, there is a limit to what we can do on our own. There is a breaking point, which when reached, can bend us out of shape, rendering us useless. There is hope, though. Because the more staples that are used together, the more they can accomplish. Together, a group of staples can hold up something one staple would never dream of supporting on its own (assuming staples dream, of course). They can overlap sections to hold together a ream of paper, as opposed to the measly stack a single staple can hold. Ultimately, the lesson is that when staples are used efficiently and cohesively, they are more powerful and productive than a single staple, or even a group of staples working separately.

We should remember the staple. It has potential to be a powerful symbol within the workplace, reminding us of our humanity, our fragility, and our potential.

Or maybe this is all just the rantings of a woman who has yet to reach her minimum caffeine level for the day....

a + b x c doesn't = crap to me

I sit here at my desk, trying my damndest to avoid looking at the Probability and Statistics book that sits at the edge of my peripheral vision, like a monster in the closet waiting to attack me. It's only biding its time until I'm at my weakest...

If you don't know, you should be aware that I hate math. Really. Not a little, not sort of. It is a pure, deep, dark well of hatred (maybe combined with a little fear) for most things related to numbers. Or letters that think they're numbers, or vice-versa. (((sigh))) If there's a phobia of all things math that I haven't heard of, I probably have it and just wasn't aware.

For some reason, though, I do not fear geometry. Maybe it's because I like shapes and pictures, but geometry is my friend. Of all the math classes ever taken, I remember Geometry fondly. Part of it may have to do with the fact that I got a 108 in the class. Never before, and never again, have I gotten an A in Math. At least not since 5th grade. The other part may have to do with the fact that it seems applicable to me, as opposed to the utterly uselessness of algebra.

See... someday I may need to know the length of the shadow being created by my ladder leaning against an eight-story building. If the ladder is part of an art instillation, I may need to know how and where the shadow will be in order to create a cohesive piece. Or maybe I just want shade to lay down in, and need to know if the shadow is long enough. Either way, the point is that I see a reason to understanding Geometry. I see no reason for Algebra, other than to make me feel like an ignoramus.

But then again, maybe I just like geometry because I have mad tangram skills. While other people made a flower, I made a picture of a little girl swinging on a swingset.

So you may be better at Algebra, but whose picture will be displayed prominently on the refrigerator, huh, suckas?

Love and Hope and all that accompanies such things

While I try to avoid politics, the current situation regarding the Supreme Court judges has again made me think about the harsh realities of living in a democracy. My biggest point of contention is with what I call the Legislation of Human Rights. Basically, I'm referring to any legislative acts intended to restrict the personal decisions of the individual. Under this broad description are such issues as gay marriage and abortion rights, among others. And allowing politicians to make decisions about such delicate issues gives me a case of the willies, to put it simply.

Needless to say, abortion and gay marriage are delicate subjects, not usually brought up at the dinner table. Most people feel strongly about them, and have a difficult time tolerating the opposing side's point of view. However, I can sum up the basis of my feelings on both subjects in two words: love and hope. Yes, I sound a bit like Pollyanna, but it's true. Give me a minute to explain.

When it comes to abortion, it is not a choice I would make for myself. I have a daughter and I love her dearly. I cannot imagine making a decision to end what is the beginning of a human life, because I know that I am a part of a family who will love and support me and my children, no matter what. It is the love of my family, and my love for my own child, that makes me so certain that abortion is not an option for me. However - I will not be the one to look in the eyes of a rape victim and tell her that she must carry and give birth to a child who is the product of a hateful act. I will not look into the face of a ten or twelve or fourteen year old girl and tell her that she will forever have to deal with the product of a mistake she made when she was but a child herself. I will not tell a drug addict that it is better for her to carry and give birth to a baby, knowing that in all likelihood she will not be able to avoid taking drugs during the course of her pregnancy. These women, and many others in different situations, deserve hope. They have the right to make a decision about their own lives, their own well-being, and their own happiness. They deserve the right to hope that someday, they won't have to deal with the pain of making such a decision. They deserve to be able to have some hope that their future will be brighter. So while abortion isn't something I can do, it isn't a right I will take away from them.

On the topic of gay marriage, I am a proponent of the idea, hands down. Simply put, I believe that marriage is based on love. I don't care if it's between a man and a woman, two men, two women, whatever. Love has no limits. It cannot be forced or confined. It simply is. And to take away the right of two people to publicly declare and celebrate their love for one another is ridiculous. And to take it a step further, it is a matter of legal rights. Gay and lesbian couples deserve the same legal protections as their heterosexual counterparts. They deserve to say who has the right to inherit their property, act as guardian to their children, or make medical decisions in the event of an accident. And in the event that their marriage isn't any more successful than the gazillion heterosexual unions that dissolve each year, they deserve the legal protections of divorce and alimony and custody and child support, and all that a marriage recognized by the government entails.

Love and hope is what it all boils down to, for me at least. Of course, I am something of a romantic, and have been accused of being in love with love. But if that's the worst that can be said about me - I'd say I'm doing pretty well. :)

Tangible hope

As the end of summer draws near, my thought turn to the beginning of school. Another year of school, another year to see if there is any hope for the world. I'm not necessarily talking about the students, though. Each year, I manage to forget how some parents and educators can be. I'm not naive - I know that not everyone is happy, cheerful and upbeat all of the time. I will be the first to admit that I'm not. I can be downright negative and bitchy. But I have a much harder time being negative when I'm dealing with children. Particularly on the first few days of school. But maybe my experiences have something to do with it.

A few years ago, I met a lovely girl about my age, who was expecting her first child. At the time, she was 16. Needless to say, it wasn't a planned pregnancy. But despite all the obstacles facing her, she decided to have and keep the baby. When her son was born, she was 17. Still in high school, living with her parents, estranged from the child's father. And yet, she did what she had to do. She handled, at 17, what women twice her age have a hard time handling. She went to school during the day, stayed up with a screaming baby at night. When she nursed him, she also read her homework. There was little time, if any, to relax, and no thanks for any of it. In spite of the fact that she accepted responsibility for her actions and behaved admirably, she was often treated with hostility, criticism, and disgust by others - parents of friends, teachers, etc. At a time when what she most needed was support, she was given the cold shoulder.

Her son is now six years old. He is a bright, happy, healthy little boy. His mother works full time and takes college courses part time. She gets him up and ready for school in the morning and sees him to the bus stop. She gets off work each day in time to greet him when he gets out of school, and takes all school holidays off to spend with him. While there are times when she is as much of a kid as he is, if that's the worst thing that can be said about her parenting skills, she's doing pretty well in my book. And yet, when she brings her son to school, there are times when the teachers refuse to talk to her about how he is doing, and instead address her mother. The school principal ignores her concerns about a teacher's treatment of her child, and tells her that "young mothers" often have children with maturity issues. Other parents tell their children that she can't be the mother, she must be the sister of their classmate. Her battle begins again every year.

When we were sixteen, I had the temerity to ask my mom why other parents wouldn't let their kids hang out with her. My mom, in her wisdom, said that the other parents were concerned about the possibility of what their own kids might do if given the chance. And in their concern, they were forgetting one thing: that babies are always a good thing. Babies don't always come at the best possible time, or when the parent is "ready". But when they do come, they should be welcomed with open arms and hearts, and supported through the rough times and the times of celebration. Which is why we would stand by my friend, and welcome her and her child with gladness and joy.

Almost ten years later, that bit of wisdom is the basis for many of my feelings about all children. Children (and babies, especially) are hope made tangible. They are beings composed entirely of possibility. We can't forsee the future, or know how each child will turn out. So instead, we help them to open their eyes, and hearts, and minds to the wonders of the world. If we encourage them without fail, they can achieve amazing things. And in that, we are blessed.

My friend's life was saved by her child. Had she not had him, she more than likely would have continued on a path of self destruction. He wasn't a planned baby, but his birth set both of them onto a path of new possibilities. And at the end of the day, she goes home to that child, that being of tangible hope, and knows that she is doing all that she can to give him a bright future.

And as this school year begins again, she will hug him, and hold him close, and remind them that this year will be a great year, because they will work together, and try their hardest, and have fun learning. And she will remind him of this whenever things seem hard, or scary, or when he wakes up on the wrong side of the bed. We all need encouragement sometimes, but kids need it all the time. So won't you do the same for your kids?

Rejoice... and again I say, rejoice!

Recently, my husband saved a man's life. Yep, really and truly. And naturally, the man and his family are supremely grateful by his actions. It changed their present and their future, all for the good. The following weekend, my mother went to church, intending to share the good news. Except that the people on one side of her had just lost a family member to liver cancer. And the people on the other side of her had recently lost a family member in a tragic car accident. So she didn't want to "brag" too much, because she worried about it being hard to hear that one person's life was saved, when someone close to you wasn't.

On one hand, I understand her hesitation. However, I worry that maybe the failure to share the good, the hesitancy to rejoice in that which is worth rejoicing, may be part of why so many people seem to be depressed and in despair. What is there to be happy about, when all you hear about are the bad things? The newspapers, the tv, the internet. Open on up, or turn one on, and the first thing you see are reports of death, murder, adultery, or war. Where are the reports of people celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary? On page 20, section F. Where are the reports about lives being saved? Who knows. I can't even find them.

My point is this: share the good. Laugh at the funny. And laugh LOUDLY so the world can hear you. Call someone up and tell them the best thing that's happened to you lately. Make up a new game with your kids called "Good, Better, Best", coming up with something good that happened that day, something even better, and the very best thing about the day. Rejoice in the world, in your family, in your friends. And know that even if today was lousy, the sun will rise again tomorrow and give you a whole new opportunity to smile.