Peace

Why is it that so often I feel closer to someone after talking about the tragedies we've both experienced? Is it because I always end up laughing at some point? Or is there some magical mystical sap that we emit with a trusted companion in sharing our wounds, that we heal each other? Or, that talking is a process of exposing the wounds to the air, letting them scab up and eventually fall off, leaving a faded scar that only the person inside the body can point out? A few nights ago, I think I made a friend at the restaraunt, aired some wounds, drank some coffee, laughed a lot. I think laughing heals even when we aren't hurting, it nurtures.

I've just watched Million Dollar Baby. Another blogger had left me a comment that I should watch it, thanks for the recommendation. I think everyone should watch it, or if not, here is what I got from it. There is an underlying theme for the determination of the spirit - there is the bodily and physical endurance that can make you a world champion boxer, but there is another spiritual endurance that gets you through the humanity of life. There is an endurance required to extend yourself, to allow yourself to care about other people, and not only yourself. Looking at so many athletes today, the big names, a lot of basketball headlines come to mind, I can't help but think some are lacking. They have incredible muscular structure and are visually awe-inspiring. But, who can really know what endurance they have in their spirit? Going back to the endurance in the movie, of the spirit, I think there is also an incredible strength for letting go.

Bob Dylan is blaring on the cd player as I am commenting. There is something so calming and genuine and human about his voice. The cadence is so unmistakable, a lot like the rythm of breathing. This morning before I went to work I was reading Reading Lolita in Tehran. The author made a comment about the American Dream that really got me thinking, that America is not a materialist country, "...but as an idealistic one, one that has turned money into a means of retrieving a dream." She made another about the good novel: "A good novel is one that shows the complexity of individuals, and creates enough space for all these characters to have a voice; in this way a novel is called democratic-not that it advocates democracy but that by nature it is so....the biggest sin is to be blind to other people's problems and pain." I can't help but reflect on the war that our country is involved in right now, and every war. If I could make a bumper sticker that said "Bring our children, our fathers, our mothers, our sisters, our brothers home safely. All human children, on both sides. P e a c e." I would.

Reflections on Silver

Here is a picture I took of a great friend in Silver City, Kasia. She had this way of seeing through any facade I put up, pretending I was ok, hiding behind a smile. And we laughed a lot. Like one of the best friends I had as a little girl, she and I took a few classes together and as soon as we saw each other we would start to fill each other in about the day and the comic situations and art that we'd tried, the dreams of last night, the frustrations of relationships and just giggle and whisper until my favorite english professor would walk into class, casting us that familiar smile. That she understood us. After she'd gotten herself set up, the professor would clear her throat, casting us an, "All right, we really do need to at least pretend to start a class here-smile." Kasia is one of those people who helped me come into reality. We are all just people, going about our lives, not any greater of lesser than anyone else, just here, right now, and now, and now. But, I think she'll always be one of those people who left and imprint on me.
I've just watched Felicity on Tivo. I'm not sure why, but really love that show. Just so sincere and honest and artistic and so familiar. I think I relate to the character Felicity a lot, or maybe that I would like to. Who knows. It's a good show. So today is the first day of classes at the college, but I actually am not going to any classes. I've got to work at the restaurant during yoga, which is actually my fault as I didn't get my schedule in early enough to my boss. But, tomorrow I get to go to yoga and biology and chemistry and math. So that will be pretty exciting. Also, I've started running again. It feels so good.
I went to a flea market on Friday and bought four kitchen chairs for 30 dollars. They are so incredible. I just love them. They have these great seats that are all woven, high backs and two rungs on the bottom. THey are so comfortable. I am working on them right now, sanding them down to paint them a deep blue. I've decided I'm getting my own place this summer, so I've started looking around for some furniture. It really is exciting. I figure where ever I go, I'd like to stay there for at least two years. Then, I think I will have a degree and be able to get into some field studies and do what I love.

A River Between Us

I am watching an incredible movie just now and had to pause it so I could get my ideas down before they flew out of my ears. The Motorcycle Diaries has a scene where the two travelers are taking a boat across a river in Peru (the river separates a leper colony and the doctors who care for the patients) and the student-doctor realizes this. The student had already acknowledged the symbolic distancing enforced by the governing nuns, as a form of cleanliness in wearing plastic gloves which had no purpose in the colony as leoprosy is not spread by physical contact. But, the one comment that really stood out to me was perhaps the simplest one of all. The student doctor remarked, after contemplating the river, watching the wake as they sped by in the boat right along the surface, "The river is deep, no?" There seemed to me to be so much weight in that scene. The river is the body of life, what gives life to life. And these doctors are containing themselves and distancing themselves from humans with gloves, motor boats and professionalism. They are still people, only people, people above all. What would be the worst that would happen if we let ourselves care? We would get hurt emotionally, but we would have lived, there would be moments of happiness, as always, and moments of sorrow, as always, and all those bumps inbetween. This is really a great foreign film.
The woman in the picture was and still is a great serendipitous force in my life. One of those people who seems like they dropped out of the blue because you were supposed to meet them, this trip around. She has been a great friend and support over the summer, but it is strange, how some people you feel like you've known a lifetime even though you've just met. And others, like perhaps you never did know them, or they you. Kudos to you, Prashant. A great housemate and an incredible friend.
Thinking back to the river, I am a great swimmer.

Breathing

I couldn't sleep last night so I got up and made some coffee and toast and grabbed my book, curled up on the couch and dove in. Right now I am reading Reading Lolita In Tehran, by Azar Nafisi. The author is so compelling and realistic and passionate, so very inspiring and motivated. She wrote, in reference to the novel:
"A novel is not an allegory, I said as the period was about to come to an end. It is the sensual experience of another world. If you don't enter that world, hold your breath with the characters and become involved in their destiny, you won't be able to empathize, and empathy is at the heart of the novel. This is how you read a novel: you inhale the experience. So start breathing. I just want you to remember this. That is all, class dismissed."
On closer inspection, it seems to me, if reading is inhaling another world, art is exhaling your world for others to inhale, a process of breathing. Literature, thoughts which form from the imagination are art. Creating a world that others can enter and at some level understand a writer's world or point of view has got to be one of the most artistic endeavors at our finger tips. Again, a related subject, I have been thinking how sad it is that art has been phased out of the public schools. In high school, art and English were the only two subjects that got me through the day. They made math, German and Economics bearable. But, then again, it's all connected, it's just having those few subjects that a person can be passionate about that provide the energy to work through the rest of the less energizing subjects. After all, if we didn't have science, we couldn't understand the neuron impulses that pass between neurons in the brain which carry our thoughts, which create inspiration and innovation. If we did not have art or literature, how could we express the ideas and insights that spontaneously combust during every day life. The math needs the art to dream up a colluseum, needs the science to understand structural support, needs the history to stylize the details and period-specific references, needs the psychology to understand where the ideas are coming from... it's all connected.

The Resolution Starts Now

A midsummer night's life changing resolutions:

1) Mind: I promise myself that I will embrace reading as a way of enjoyment and furthering curiosity. To read books that sound interesting to me and not only because I think I should read a certain book as it would be good for me. The mandatory readings will be limited to school or those ambitious one o'clock in the morning spirts. I give myself permission to be happy, calm, strong, patient. And to seek happy, well grounded people to add warmth to my days.

2) Body: To do at least one hour of excersize every day: choices are weight lifting, running, swimming, biking, power yoga, hiking or walking. To nourish my body and cultivate it instead of picking it apart and tearing at it with my mind and inner dialogue. Physical goals: someday to do a marathon, right now, body weight to 120 consistently. To get a consistent eating habit. To acknowledge the importance of touch, to give hugs and physical affection to those I care about frequently.

3) Soul: To allow myself to share my passion for life and enjoyment of simple pleasures, good friends, art, interests, spontanaeity, physical activity, wit, intelligence and good sense of humor with other people. I promise to allow myself to be open to possibilities and to dance frequently.
To allow myself to enter into a new relationship with open eyes and a cup always half full, but realistic at the same point.

4) Career: I promise I will never chain myself into a cubicle, that I will work efficiently and with fresh drive towards improving and adding to the quality of life as a biologist. That there is a darkness to everyone and everything, but that it is all cyclic, not linear: as the earth revolves so does the moon, which effects the tides and pulls us all in waves and moods. Living is my life, this day, this hour, this minute is the only real job I will ever have.

Good therapy session, eh?

Zen Painting

So, summer is nearly a week from it's official end. It was really great this summer, getting to see my guys. Here we have Finley, Jess and Paul. They along with the others, not pictured here, were a great comfort through high school and even more so now. The vulgar brothers and one sister I never had. They have already gone back to their various colleges and universities now, and I'll start my third year in the local college as a biology major. I am pretty excited about this major: it's so refreshing, the study of life. What is more satisfying than that? Also, doing field studies? There are so many jobs and transfer options around the world to work on environmental studies and research projects on every continent and nearly every country. Travel options and pay for hard work, this sounds very satisfying to me. I am still working with Aileen to fix up her house a bit. I got a lot of the trim painted inside today. I really enjoy the small detail and time consuming tasks that demand close attention to precision and also an artistic task. Something very zen about the whole thing.
Last night while I was trying to fall asleep I got this idea for my salt cedar furniture. Here in New Mexico we have this plant, or rather large bush weed, called Salt Cedar that was introduced to the area as a way of erosion control. But turns out it takes in about 300 gallons of water a day and saturates the soil with its salty leaves and seeds so nothing else can grow there. It has pretty much taken over the Bosque del Apache, the local Bird Refuge and many of the irrigation cannals. So, I have had this idea for a while about making something out of this plentiful supply of reed-like wood. And last night I had an idea for a dresser and a desk to be made out of the reeds, two by fours, metal wire grids and mosaics. I'll draw up some plans and post them, if anyone has any input on how to improve them, let me know. I am really excited about this. If only I had some basic idea of wood working. But, I think if I keep talking about it with people, someone should be able to point me in the right direction.

Summer Light

As summer is drawing to a close, I've been looking back through some of my photos of everyone. It's been a genuine summer and reconnecting with a lot of people I'd lost touch with, mainly myself and my passions. I took this picture of my mom watering her plants in the back yard at my favorite time of day: dusk. It was while I was taking a photography class last year that I really started looking at the light and how it changes throughout the day. There is something about the way the sun cuts across the atmosphere just as it is setting (or rising early in the morning) that gives it this incredible orange/warm quality to it. It catches the smallest details and really warms up subjects. Also the way the sun (at this time) enhances the colors that are already there is absolutely amazing to me.

So, last night at the restaurant I had a bad night. Just was off a few beats the whole night. There are just some days that are like that, when it seems like everybody else is just dancing along to the rythms of everyday life and I just got off on the wrong foot and am a step behind the whole day. It was like I was behind the whole night, along with breaking a glass right in front of my moody boss and delivering one pizza to the wrong table and only noticing after the little girl had picked all of the green stuff off that it was the last plate for a different table, it was a bad night. But, I am hoping that after I work out today and kind of take it easy that today will be better, and I'll be dancing right along with everybody else.

Apart from that, it feels like a lot of the staff are beginning to accept me now. Like I made it through the two week gauntlet and now am all right. It's kind of nice.

Another image of summer, the dog days. Archie, the golden lab. Not a thought in his head, but what a good dog. He is the most affectionate dog I've ever met. Just a real dog that loves chasing tenis balls, bones, walks and will always be the first to greet you at the door. Also known affectionately as Touch Whore, he was adopted a few years ago from a man who kept Archie in a ten foot by ten foot kennel and would only push food in, hardly any physical contact. I just never understood why someone would have a dog or any animal, or person in their life if they wouldn't want to play with them and enjoy them.

A Beautiful Bug

For a variety of reasons, it seems to me that reading lets my brain filter itself out. My greatest creative insights and revelations have always corresponded with a good book, and usually hit me while reading. It's strange, how thinking that my mind is completely engaged allows it to somehow disengage and put itself in place. Well, some how I went off onto a tangent while reading and wound up thinking about depression.

I had just gotten a cup of green tea ready and was staring out of the kitchen window at the gray monsoon day and saw one of those little yellow and black bugs on the newly painted window sill. It was laying on its back, just struggling and kicking its legs and straining its antenaes. And I thought, that is what depression feels like. Like you are behind a window pane, in a vastly huge environment that is stark and white and you are struggling so hard to get yourself turned around and back on your feet, but it just doesn't seem to be working. And there is this incredibly alive and juicy world just beyond the glass, and you can see it, but its all upside down, but it's there. It's possible, if you could only get yourself turned over. So I grabbed an old tooth brush that we are using to clean some of the painting tools and held it over the little bug so it could grab on. It did. Then, turned itself over and stood there for a really long time. The numbness. Then, it walked away. Back to the wonderful humdrum of being a bug.
I wonder what it would be like to be a bug. I remember someone talking about one of the dark Russian novels about a twenty-something who woke up as a cock-roach and nobody noticed, and yes I know there is more to it than that. I can't remember what the novel was called though. But, still on the subject of literature and depression, here is a quote, from the novel I am reading right now, that really jumped out at me: in reference to a little girl's tempertantrum "Looking into the pit, she called. The drop went so far down you felt giddy and all you could do was stand by and be there for her until eventually, when she was ready, she would come back, knowing you were there waiting. We had talked about it for hours afterward: how almost everyone has a darkness somewhere in them, one that is born rather than made, and why should we somehow expect less depth of personality just because there have been fewer years? It had made me think again what a good mother Anna had turned out to be because she wasn't afraid of that. What a good mother and a good friend." - Sarah Dunant, Mapping the Edge.

And then there is Frida. This cat has such a huge personality, she's actually a real bitch. Just full of spite. But, she still loves to be stroked and desperately seeks affection. It's funny, I had a biology professor last year that said it was wrong to project human emotions on animals. But, the more I observe animals, the more I realize how intelligent they are. They have personalities, spite, their own little communities and rankings. And the more fascinating it all becomes.

Last night was a break through night at the restaraunt. My boss was genuinely helpful and nice. Maybe I have gotten through the "breaking in" stage, but I'm not holding my breath. Quite credible sources have informed me that my boss has a very volatile set of moods, so guess will just ride out this wave along with the others. But it's so much nicer working with people when they are in a good mood. There was this concept in a psychology class that I took, the "feel-good-do-good-phenomenon," which can be summed up as when you are feeling genuinely good, you are more likely to lend a helping hand and do good for others, spreading the feeling. It's something to think about, and aspire to.

My mom and two friends of hers came to the restaurant after their Red Hatters meeting, complete in their full length purple dresses and crayola red bizare hats . The Red Hatters are these bunch of old ladies who do parades and charity work, and tell dirty jokes and generally just enjoy life. They have a kazoo band and are regulars in the town's Women of the West parade. Just a bunch of wry old women, spontaneous at any age, and still loving life. It was really great though, some of the other waitresses were whispering, "Oh my Gosh! There's the Red Hatters!" And I just thought to myself, "Yep, That's my mom." Still to come, stories of the Spice Sisters.

So I have been researching this whole "real job" thing and careers and all that serious stuff. And turns out, I am really drawn to the Biology way of life. I have registered as a Biology major at the local college and was checking out some pamphlets on career possibilities. They have so many opportunities for field-research all over the world, doing studies on animals and environmental conditions and the like. And it was just like this bill-board shot down and said, "Ya, this is it." I could love living like that. Seeing life in all of its different forms and transplanting myself in different cultures while still working for the better good. Ya, this could be it.

"Small Things"

"The small things of life were often so much bigger than the great things...the trivial pleasures like cooking, one's home, little poems especially sad ones, solitary walks, funny things drrn and overheard." - Barbara Pym, Less Than Angels

Small Pleasures

Sylvia (left) has decided to help me out with some of my art projects. In the mornings while I weed the back yard, before the sun gets up to its position in the desert sky all of the cats have been hanging out with me, my supervisors. The grass is slowly spreading out and gives off a great aroma after the daily monsoon rain. It's really amazing to see how much a bit of water can change everything. Yesterday I spread some grass seed and will see if that helps out.
I closed at the restaraunt last night. I think it was the most interesting night for customers, at least my tables were. There was one family on vacation from Italy that was looking for a place to develop some pictures and really just enjoyed them. Another family was wrapping up a two week road trip from Houston, TX and enjoyed our cream sodas. They had gone to the Grand Canyon and a few other national parks. Remebering those days growing up of the national parks and historical museums that I was conscious of their importance and that there was some significance to them that I should appreciate, but also conscious of the humidity and that summer laziness seeping into every limb on the long stretch of highway between hotels with my mom, step dad and step sister. I can remember one summer we went to the Oregon coast and I had hot chocolate and french toast every morning for breakfast: I was in heaven. Of course, we hadn't expected the typical ocean-coast weather of gray and slightly cold and foggy. So we all went swimming in the hotel pool and out for ice-cream in waffle cones and to the arcades and touristy spots.
Road trips now are a lot more energizing for me, or maybe they are just different. With friends from school and college, piling into someone's car and pooling money for gas. Hoping to get to the destination in one piece and enjoying the ride and company and opportunity to talk and give each other a raft of shit about anything, I think I will always enjoy these little pleasures.
Another of my small pleasures, rediscoved is in reading. For a long time now, I haven't been able to sit and really lose myself in a book. With in the last few weeks, I've become completely absorbed by a novel I am reading for a reading group of women. They sit around about once a month and drink wine and eat pastries and discuss the last novel. What a great way to connect, right? The pleasure of reading for me was always an excitement in catching a glimpse of another world. Maybe I can't afford a plane ticket to experience it first hand, but really, even if I could, there is no guaruntee that I would get the same impact from any external situation as someone else who is writing about it. It's a lot like getting to open a door into another person's life or world, inside their head. How often does that honestly happen? Who would you let into your own interior world voluntarily?