Yet Another Reason I Love Houston

White Linen Night in the Heights . . . If you're a quirky little community open to lots more personal expression than Main Street, you still need a bit of commerce to keep the doors in that perpetual state of openness. And so, the Heights regularly invites the rest of Houston to peek in at all that makes them unique. A community-wide cocktail party is the result. Galleries, shops with dust collectors and antique stores add wine and edibles to their offerings and live music plays in the streets.

Roger, Stan and I decided at the last minute that this was my prescription for overcoming a rather down day. We were right!

I mean who wouldn't feel better after hearing Elvis-wannabes deliver a decent blues sound, watching young black women body painting young (and might I just say 'beautiful') black men as angels with pecs, and discovering that one shop was harboring a 102-year-old celebrity . . .but I don't actually know why everyone wanted his autograph.

Introductions Not Necessary

"Karen, meet the Short End of the Stick."

"Oh, we've met. Several times. In fact, what are you doing back here?"

"You keep inviting me."

Line Worthy of Repeating

Ushered last night at The Great American Trailer Park Musical now playing at Houston's Stages Theater. Following the theme of the day (see earlier blog entry) it too was a celebration of the power of women's ability to survive. I laughed aloud during most of the over the top performances and word play within the tunes. One of the most memorable?

"I'm going make like a nail and press on."

Finding Beauty in the Midst of Ugliness

The funeral director entered the room and his face registered surprise. At first I thought it was directed toward the six-month old baby happily banging on the well-polished conference table. But soon I suspected it was more. Now, I'm fairly sure I was looking at awe.

And, frankly, we were awesome.

The mother of the deceased, his sister (my friend), his niece (and the baby's mother) and I were seated around the table. As friend and driver I was honored when yet another seemingly nervous gentleman mistook me for the child's grandmother (and believe me, for me to receive that one well truly demonstrates the emotional power of the moment!).

I wondered what was causing the reactions we kept getting. Possibly, they were amazed at the ability to simply stay composed addressing one of the most horrific things that can happen to a mother -- burying her child. Perhaps it was the generational picture they saw reflected in the room. Maybe it was the fact that we finished one another's thoughts . . . assisting when needed, staying silent when that was best, even laughing when the moment called for it. Whatever . . .

I finally determined that the simplest answer was the best. Most men are amazed at women. And they should be. Once again we proved their suspicions correct . . . there is something mysterious and mystical about us.

We clean up the messes. We care for one another. And we survive.

Suicide Sucks

A friend's brother did the deed that I despise because of all that's left in the wake. Please say a prayer today . . . or speak aloud to whatever peace-giving power you hold dear . . . and bathe my red-haired playmate with some degree of calm, a vast amount of freedom to just be, and ask that she make it through this guilt-free.

I'm So Over . . .

I'm so over "should" --
Directives determined
By someone else
Certainly not me

Having adhered to their
"straight and narrow"
and colored in their
"black and white"

I now long for curves
And hues vibrant and bright

I'm so over "should"

Here's a Discussion I'd Love to Have . . .

I have no idea if this book is any good, but I'd love to get some of my most thoughtful friends together for a discussion of just this article alone!

And just in case you are not even tempted to follow the link, here are a few teaser quotes:

'Sanity does not immediately strike us as a fascinating idea the way madness does,' he says, leaning forward in his chair, his eyes closing in concentration as they will throughout our conversation, 'even as an alternative word to mad, sane is so blank. But, it seems to me that either madness is another word for human nature, and that we are all very strange and life is, as it were, maddening, or, we are capable of actually being something else. Now, what is that something else? That is what I am trying to explore and I think that it is actually very obscure, and neglected.'

. . . we take our sanity for granted, that only when it is dramatically ruptured - by grief, depression, breakdown - do we think about it at all. Like Bill Wyman's famous definition of a great bass player - you would only realise how good he was if he were to stop playing mid-song - sanity is defined mainly though its absence.

'One of the more distracting things about capitalist culture,' he says, with total seriousness, 'is that there is no stupor, no time to vegetate. What I would suggest is more time wasting, less stimulation. We need time to lie fallow like we did in childhood, so we can recuperate. Rather than be constantly told what you want and be pressurised to go after it, I think we would benefit greatly from spells of vaguely restless boredom in which desire can crystallise.'

Early Advent

I see myself as a shepherd child standing at the manger, gift in hand, confused as to whether the baby before me is a new playmate or a king.

Metaphorically Speaking . . .

If you knew before you started the feast laid out before you that you would spend days recovering . . . that you'd be restricted to only the path between your bed and the ceramic tile of your bathroom floor, would you still indulge?

If you were guaranteed both the winnings and the lotto curse of losing more than you started with, would you buy the ticket?

If you could see clearly the crash ahead, would you continue to climb behind the race car's wheel?

This I know -- I would, I have.

My friend Ken

what a clever guy . . .

Crazy Talk

Is talking aloud to one's self truly a sign of taking the curve? If so, does the nice jacket with the long sleeves come in earth tones 'cause white is just not my color!

Sunday night after a particularly sweaty workout I had quite an animated conversation with me in the bathtub. Smiling at the absurdity of it all but somewhat enjoying the company, I acknowledged that when one lives alone, sometimes these moments can't be avoided. Still I felt a wave of sadness at the idea of just how alone I sometimes am.

Unless of course it's a Monday like last night when I met up with the young woman whose wedding I'm coordinating/stage managing/whatever. Or tonight when I have to go to both Weight Watchers and then usher at the Alley Theater. Or Wednesday when I'm heading out to Tomball to help Ken and Becky move into a new house. Or Thursday when I once again show people to their seats at Stages Theater or Friday when I leave for New Mexico.

So . . . maybe I'm not so alone after all, huh? Still . . . if that jacket does come in different colors . . .

Someone's Got Some 'Splaining to Do

Am I the only one for whom a tube of Super Glue is an "I Love Lucy" episode waiting to happen?

In the Moment

I want to be a woman known for living in the moment, for extracting every drop of life from each instant, for engaging in rather than simply observing opportunities.

And yet . . .

I struggle with a reality that suggests life in this moment has implications for the next, that every change changes everything.

And that struggle is yet another reason why I wouldn't make a good Buddhist.

Sometimes I Listen to What They Say

"They" say, 'write what you know'
So
Here goes . . .

Fear
Loss
Guilt
Shame
Grace
Calm
Joy
Breathless anticipation
Celebratory release
Acceptance
Amazement
Surprise
Passion
Trust
Sanctuary

Wonder what next week holds?

Control Issues

If I tell you something
That's not a question
Then don't assume
I'm waiting for your answer.

Information is only power when I give it to you

For some unknown reason . . . even to myself
Today I did just that -- provided both information and power.

Anyone willing to offer up a good swift kick to my backside????

Another way of looking at it . . .

I've lost a little over four pounds and $720 with Weight Watchers. Not bad.

(I was on my way to WW in a new location when I didn't pay attention, didn't see the pothole, and didn't realize how very bad my poor little Toyota was hurt )

Trust Me, Trusting Him Matters

So, yeah, I'm a woman living alone. And yes, I did get burglarized recently. And, quite honestly, there are nights when I would love to know that someone was going to call and check on my status . . . not out of obligation but simply because there's a bookmark with my name on it in their mind's "favorites" file.

But for the most part, I spend my life feeling safe and secure and loved. I even like to share out of the bounty of all that and enjoy helping carry others' loads when I can.

So when that position of "readiness for whatever" is threatened, even slightly, and it's personal, not someone else's crisis, well, I find it hard to breathe. At this very moment, I'm having trouble with the whole concept of inhaling.

I just got word that I broke a strut on my car. Clueless as to whether I even spelled that right, what I know is that one pothole yesterday afternoon is going to cost me more than $600.

Gasp!

Do I have the money? Yes. Do I wish I didn't have to spend it on a car when there are so many folks I'd like to spend it on other than myself and my day to day needs? Absolutely!

But you know what makes this slightly better? I trust the guy who called and told me that my car was in need of some immediate special care. I trust this whole operation. They make it their business to take care of their customer's concerns . . . especially women. There's no discomfort when you walk into this place. The manager knows my name. I still have to look at their coveralls and the stitched in names to remember who is who. But without benefit of even a peek at his records, he was chatting with me and ready to make sure I had my car back at the "ideal" time.

That was, of course, before the discovery of "the strut".

While some may suspect that as a strong, self-sufficient, divorced woman, I might at times be a man-hater. The truth is that I'm not. While I primarily work with the male population and specifically with pastors, I don't hold men at arm's length, in distaste, tsk-tsk-tsking their every move. But I know that there are plenty of guys who say what they need to say in order to get what they truly believe they need/want. So my eyes are always open.

And yet, I trust my mechanic.

Go figure.

Now how does that go again . . . ? inhale . . . exhale . . . inhale . . .

Allow Me to Translate

The man moved his way to the front of the line seemingly oblivious that there was a line. Smiling broadly, he told the registrar exactly what he needed and got it. No "excuse me." No "ha! I beat you" either. Just oblivion.

Later during the conference the crowd split up and those of remaining in the room had an opportunity to change seats. I found an empty table and was about to place my things at my selected chair when Mr. Oblivious approached.

"Can I join you guys at this table?" he said.

Looking around at the nine other empty seats which held no other "guys," I simply said, "Sure."

He placed his things and himself at the chair directly beside me. Remember now . . . nine other options for chairs and he's positioned himself at my side.

[Spoiler alert: For those of you who might be thinking, "he's hitting on her and she's the oblivious one" let me beg to differ. He's not. He's not interested in anything but whatever he's focused on in that moment. I'm there but I'm invisible and grateful to be so.]

Within seconds I'm blessed further. Because I have no intention of engaging Mr. Oblivious in conversation, I'm thrilled when someone he was sitting with earlier joins him in this better seating arrangement.

They begin to talk.

I'm not eavesdropping at this point, but if you are seated beside me and if you don't choose to lower your voice, there's not much I can do.

I learn:
-he's just back from "the field"
-his organization told him that he couldn't return until he 'took a year to receive some mentoring and for healing'
-he thinks his organization was simply 'wiping their hands of him'
-he cannot understand why, with his degrees, no one will hire him

"OH! Can I take that one????" I want to scream but don't. "Don't you speak organizational code, dude??? These people know you're nuts!!!!!"

Sometimes I Like to Share . . .

But yield who will to their separation
My object in living is to unite
My avocation and my vocation
As my two eyes make one in sight.
Only where love and need are one,
And the work is play for mortal stakes
Is the deed ever really done
For Heaven and the future’s sakes.

Two Tramps in Mud Time
by Robert Frost

Post Party Thoughts

I love it when you see people with new eyes. I'm taking responsibility in the change of view, because it's not really a matter of the person having been different when it was your thinking that caused you to define them.

Last night I saw a woman shine in ways I'd never seen before. She's so good at going with the flow that I didn't know she could handle the spotlight so well. She didn't demand it. She didn't steal it from someone else. And she was more than willing to share. But for a few moments, all eyes were upon her and she handled that responsibility with a finesse I didn't know she possessed.

I also saw a couple love. Not in a grand gesture kind of way. But nevertheless, the emotion I felt as I they simply touched each other's arms while exchanging abbreviated info (because lovers have their own language, don't they?) in a quiet conversation of not even a minute . . . it was grand. I wanted to stop the world for just a few more minutes and allow the intimacy to be acknowledged by the heavens.

So after last night -- which of course means I'm talking about this morning -- I woke up thinking of significance. I am coming to a place where I can accept that love between one singular individual and me and in the way that society accepts it may not be in the realm of the possibilities. Now, don't get all fretty on me. I don't mean that I don't experience love. I do and it's phenomenal that I can be accepted and embraced and truly loved by so many. But that's the downside of that word. "Love" isn't enough to convey all the variations we may mean. But if we're talking about one-on-one, let's spend the rest of the time we have with each other, you're the most important person in the world to me love -- well, I can't see that on the horizon for me.

And I'm truly ok with that because that whole thing is a mystery to me anyway. What I've realized that I want is significance. I don't want or need to be your "only" anything. Perhaps because I'm not that sure I can give it. But I do want to understand the significance of me in your life.

I don't have to be your best friend. But do you count on me as part of your first line of defense?
I don't have to be your wisest confidante. But does my opinion matter? and will you occasionally heed what I say?
I don't have to be the love of your life. But do you find pleasure in my being with you in this moment in time and will you remember me for always?

Last night I experienced a slight shift in significance. I saw a woman transformed and a couple unite. Neither happened before a crowd of witnesses. Yet something was added to my perspective and I was significantly impressed.