What's Not Being Said

Living a genuine life means the people in it want to hear each others' perspective. Think of a rose that's budding. A rose, in order to bloom, needs gentle care from things like fertilizer and warm sunshine. In the same way, without the gentle warmth of a curious interest and the nourishment of the courage to be willing to listen, things left unsaid thwart the process of coming into blossom as individuals. Whatever we resist, however, will persist and get stronger.
Being able to address things as they crop up on the path of life is important. That way, you deal with it, let it go and move on in freedom.

Reassuring ourselves that this can happen without fear of either person taking it as blame or judgement is helpful, crucial even.

I can't suppose to know what someone else's thoughts are, just as someone else can't suppose to know mine. I simply have to trust that things will stay in a place that is reasonable, that I'm capable of and safe to address questions in a calm, rational way. When I have questions I don't want to wonder, can I safely address them? It has to be one of the givens for any clear, forward-moving path.

Hidden Sunshine

The garden is preparing for winter. Tall gangly stalks that once were beautiful blossoms in the summer grew starkly black. Dormant. Asleep but not dead.

The passion of summer still lives deep inside,

like hidden sunshine.

The roots grow
through drink
and sleep.

I grow through self-help books. ha ha!

To think about: Mutuality

• Articulate
• Align expectations
• Assumptions check-in

Balance - includes boundaries, owning your own stuff. Eleanor Roosevelt's quote, "no one can make you feel inferior without your consent".

Mutuality - a circular thing

"Mutuality in relationships is the shared power to affect and the shared vulnerablity to be affected by another person."Zimmerman, Lindberg and Plsek, the following is excerpted from their book:

We call this back-and-forth sharing of power in a relationship mutuality which is a function of our interdependence as human beings. No one person can live or function alone, in isolation. That is the human condition. When we volunteer to meet one another's needs and have ours met reciprocally, we say we are practicing mutuality.
Mutuality in a relationship means that I am affecting and being affected by the other person. Each of us is open to being touched by the other, to letting them have an impact on us--emotionally, physically, intellectually--in every way imaginable. We are mutually vulnerable and mutually responsible for the relationship, for one another, and for ourselves. Mutuality means that I am open to the possibility of hanging, of becoming a different kind of person as a result of their influence, and they are open to the same. Mutuality cannot occur if one partner holds the power all the time in a relationship.
Codependency means not making choices that please yourself. It means compromising yourself for another person. Because codependency has been misunderstood and misapplied, I think sometimes we are afraid to do something for someone else, even when we might want to. One symptom or component of codependency is enabling. Enabling was originally applied to someone who assisted an alcohol or chemically dependent person in satisfying her addiction. Other forms of enabling take place around obsessive behaviors that are harmful to an individual, like needing to be sexual with every woman you meet, like gambling, like overeating or starving. Minimizing the negative effects of such behaviors on a friend or lover--without confronting the behavior itself--is damaging in the long run.
But caring for one another in healthy and mutual ways is not something we should be labeling codependence. It is not about codependency. It is about love and mutuality.
Some power issues in relationships come about because one partner has more experience or knowledge than the other; some exist because society gives certain people more status. White people, Christian people, physically attractive or able-bodied people, for example, are all rewarded in this culture because of traits they did not earn.
Mutuality, in all of these circumstances, only works if both partners are conscious of the issues and are aware of their own strengths and weaknesses. True mutuality requires that each of us function from strength, not weakness.

Riding the change

I used to play a game where I'd lay the similar shots out on a table and ask my kids which one they liked better, and why. The one on the right was my favorite, the one on the left was hers. In either case, the magic of the moment was that the seagulls came to support the perfect shot by showing up and pirouetting across the sky.

I said it. October can herald in big changes in my life. It can give you a nice ride or run you into the ground, depending on how you view the world. I am learning, trying.... to just stay out of the way and accept what is. I hurt myself fighting for control where life offers none.

So I'm hurting myself because I am fighting, not so much for control but for positive thinking, for believing I can do this. It's so damn easy to get buried in the rushing change.

Afternoon with My own

I had mapped out five stops of artists I was interested in, ended up making six stops. I was taking in every detail of everything from the time I got out of the car - what does their created world entail?

Stop 1 was supposedly to visit a creaky old potter, but an outspoken painter was there as a visiting artist. I liked how he turned things geometric in his landscapes and skies..............and turns out he teaches everywhere, including one on one, so contact number one was handed to me in the form of a sheet of paper. When the old potter came in, I looked around for his wheel. It was being used as a table by the painter, so I felt there was nothing more for me here and pressed on.

Stop 2 was supposedly about fused glass, but for me, it was all about the walkway in and the landscaping. There was a somewhat uninspired piece of walkway with cement and big stepping stones like mine, but the attempt at straight lined edges were crumbling away already, even though it was a fairly new installation. On my way out a man I'd merely seen at the first stop said, Hello again! I thought, yeah!, we're having a studio crawl. He must've stopped at one of the sponsoring wineries.

Stop 3 was about oil pastel, question mark? Right off Highway 20 and parking on a hill in a wet grassy hill, as I got out commenting, hope this wasn't a mistake, a burly man from "right down the street" inspected my parking job and assured me I'd be fine. So neighborly of him. Upon entering this place I was greeted with 2 or 3 ongoing and raucous conversations, and noticed a sign pointing upstairs, so immediately went up there. This was where the real work was done. I soaked in the specifics - stool covered in lamb's wool, architect's table, slanted ceilings covered in posters, a desk here, and work station there, a dog's bed, a bowl of water. One poster in particular caught my eye, and don't you just love the internet for giving it right to me:

.

It was completely validating reading so manythings I already do. I reached into my purse and stood there alone, copying it all over by hand for Maygen. Downstairs I was greeted by the artist who said hello and asked me to sign her guest book. I explained what I'd been doing upstairs, for my daughter who had recently gotten honest enough to sign out of a military career to pursue her passions, but not soon enough that she still had to go to Iraq next week. Felt so normalized about it, not at all the scared emotional wreck anymore. I found a stack of cards of reproductions and learned this wasn't oil pastels - this was printmaking. She was telling someone about her history, a BFA from OSU, piece meal work as an illustrator as she raised a family, then name dropping someone local and prominent - a Swedish name that sounded familiar- who asked her to move back into her original passion, the process of printmaking. I listened and watched as she demonstrated the process, holding a card I'd chosen, waiting to pay her for it. She said as she took the card and my $5 dollar bill from me and moved toward the cash box, that this was the first print she had done after getting back into it, that it wasn't for sale and the original was hanging upstairs. I think that raised me a level in her eyes for having picked something so close to her heart. I smiled and wished her well as I left.

Stop #4 was profound. This was supposed to be about pottery, and as I looked at the work, the studio - it was so familiar, the little test tiles, the glazes, the wheel. I couldn't identify the potter for awhile, so I just lingered and observed. I liked the feel of the place a lot but near the door was a poster with photos of the raku process. They wore dust masks, and it was then I remembered.......doing pottery is hazardous to your lungs. Right then I knew. I can get where these people are fairly quickly as a painter. As a potter, it would take years and I might still stuck, and the health risk is too great. A door closing, easily this time.

Stop #5 was kind of an accident but there was a jewelry maker who does wedding stuff and another chance to drink in an inspiring world.

Stop #6 had a kind older man who keyed into my interest in his photography, again not what I was expecting to see when I came, but nonetheless worth the price of admission. Photoshop and making photographs look like paintings, he described his process and I am on a list if he opts to teach a class. I shook his hand as I left and he is missing his right thumb. I said, just like my Grandpa, only he had a little stump and I remember sitting on his lap playing with the stump. He blew it off with fireworks in his early 20's, he said. Check him out, Harold Wood at www.photoartsguild.org

A Peek into my Head of Long Ago

Kelley, the friend in Lake Oswego who treated me to hearing Wayne Dyer talk, had a little envelope for me when I got there. I have been familiar with her handwriting since Junior High. On the outside she had written,

"others' writings Sharon 1977"

I just got around to finding out what was inside because I knew it would take emotional energy that I simply couldn't afford until now. 1977 was the year I had moved to Stamford, Connecticut - my lonely lonely desperate senior year in high school. At the last minute I became a puck bunny and my life turned into instant popularity via sex, drugs and rock 'n roll with the Captain of the hockey team, but it was a long lonely painful time until that came along.

This was February and Kelley drove up from New Jersey, picked me up, and together we embarked on a road trip to New Hampshire. I had been to New Hampshire every summer for about 3 or 4 years throughout my teens, but this was my first time going anywhere with Kelley. I had a love-hate relationship with Kelley, mostly out of jealousy on my part, because she was continually going on these exotic vacations (i.e., Aruba at 16 years old!) to faraway places and her family always had these gorgeous photographs framed in their home. Hm, see the beginnings of my passions, anyone?

So this trip was special because Kelley graced me by including me in her perfect bubble she always seemed to be walking around in. It was a great time - she drove a white Volkswagen Rabbit with Yes playing the entire way.

The envelope, oh yeah - what was in there? We had jotted down funny road signs we had seen on the back roads of-

Frost Heaves

Blind Person
Deaf Child

Saddle Horses

Otter Bridge Dam (ok so we were stoned)

There was a sort of stick figure guy gesturing to a building and the sign said, Bill Ding

And we heard a weather report on the radio that called for "snizzle and drizzle"

And then there were snippets of things I had written in my journal that Kelley had copied over:

Lay down on dreams
& things remembered
It's just the same -
this miss-you game


Open highway -
I'm free & flying
You'll take me where I'm going
The sun is shining
Got a friend by my side
Scenes of beauty flying' by

There were pages and pages of lyrics we'd written down. One was to the Renaissance music I used to dance to, "Carpet of the Sun" which bears repeating:

Come along with me
Down into the world of seeing
Come and you'll be free
Take the time and find the feeling
See everything on its own
And you'll find you know the way
And you'll know the things you're shown
Owe everything to the day
Come along and try
Looking into ways of giving
Maybe we will fly
Find a dream that we will live in
We'll look into the eyes of time
Past ages have turned to dust
And born somewhere on the line
The loving that grows with us

Come into the day
Feel the sunshine warmth around you
Sounds from far away
Music of the love that found you
The seed that you plant today
Tomorrow will be a tree
And living goes on this way
It's all a part of you and me
See the carpet of the sun
The green grass, soft and sweet
Sands up in the shores of time
Of ocean, mountains deep
Part of the world that you live in
You are the part that you're giving

CVO Art & Dance Therapy

Well before I get to the therapy part let me just say the time in the Career Closet was awesome (it's upstairs from Albin's Plumbing on 9th). It hadn't occurred to me what fun it is making outfits for people. The Soroptomists and Altrusans have nice stuff to offer, and it's a really nice space, too. Before anyone showed, Molly and I had a chance to fill each other in on our lives, and I learned the reason she has so much joy and lives big is because she is a cancer survivor.

Her daughter and son-in-law took 18 months to travel around the world and have a blog to show for it. I ckecked it out and guess what - they used flickr to post photos.

We had one client come in. Her hands were shaking and she fumbled with her words, but then our eyes met and she locked in and held. I recognized what was in those eyes, and she felt more at ease. We went straight to the item at hand. She was a size four and was going to New York compliments of Pfizer to give a speech on wellness. Apparently she's a poster child for their schizophrenia drug and lives two lives. One on disability in Oregon and the other First Class with limos in New York. (I just realized the irony in that. ...ahem!) It was fun to watch her transformation as we put together a suit for her. Black skirt, white blouse, black shoes.......but something was missing. Molly had been walking around with a black pin stripe jacket, but had put it back because the matching skirt was missing. Let's try it anyway, I said, and.... it worked. This shaky little woman suddenly stood tall and proud. She had found her power.

As if that weren't highpoint enough, the art was calling. I went down with only less than an hour of time while the artist booths were open, but that didn't stop me from visiting the wine tasting booth to learn about a winery in Philomath. They're having their big open house the weekend before Thanksgiving, which means double your pleasure for me, two weekends in a row to visit wineries! I promised her I'd see her then. Even tho the Pinot Noir wasn't great, the promise of a beautiful vineyard will get me there.
Onto the booths with a nice buzz, and there was a different draw for me. I walked right past the pottery but couldn't stay away from the photography, and photographers........This woman Denise W. Ross uses the old cameras with the slot thing and black draping - you know, the real old kind. Black and white film then she digitally colorizes each one herself and adds a musical component to her views......completely original and astounding. She calls this one hope. Pretty cool, I said send hope and there it was. I couldn't get over it. She said it's an amazing time to get into photography, the field is wide open and there are no rules. I commented on what a generous outlook that was, and she said, while it would be competition, it is more of a selfish thing because she wants the world to be full of happy, peaceful artists. Hmn.....can't argue with that.
Next it was the Balafon Marimba Ensemble's last performance and there was dancing in the streets. People of all ages - dancing in unison - it was a primal, yet most gentle, of crowds. I loved every minute of it! Veronica's clowns turned out to be her date, Bill. ha ha Most of all, I enjoyed this one kid - about 12 or 13 maybe - who came out onto a balcony. He had that awkward hesitation, then just started busting out some moves, like Steve Martin's doing the Egyptian. My friends and I tried to encourage him, echoing his every move, laughing uproariously. He turned around, stuck his butt out, and gave a nice little shake!shake!shake! then ran back inside with embarrassed glee.
Square 2 of 6 today to celebrate being done with cleaning the house, laundry and paying the bills -- in other words, being on the downward slope toward getting away!

Fractalised

I got hit with a landmine at today's Altrusa meeting. I was feeling all proud of myself because it was the first time I didn't tear up while saying the Pledge of Allegiance. I know, it's just one of those things that happens to me, like the time I sat with tears streaming down my face as a table of little five year olds in Maygen's kindergarten class sang America the Beautiful for me. So anyway, I thought I was doing great, even after hearing the speaker, who was a 24 year old recovering drug addict single mom speak about her recovery and how helpful the PEP program has been. PEP is one of Altrusa's big programs, Parent Enhancement Program, for young moms from teens through age 25. It was a little emotional thinking how easily that could've been me, was me in some ways.....but I was still fine, glad for her strength, glad to have something to contribute....
The very end of the meeting is where they do Brag Basket. You put $1 in the basket and brag about something. Bev said, you should say you're going to Florida to see her off! I said wait til I get back. She's like no, say it NOW! Bev's a Realtor who doesn't take no for an answer, so I pulled a dollar out of my purse, stood up and dropped it in the basket, and said, "I'm going to see my daughter..........", and choked up. I looked down at the woman sitting next to me. She whispered encouragingly, "just SAY it!" I looked at Bev, who said, "I'll say it for you." I gladly agreed and waved her on as I sat back down. Bev turns to the room and starts to say the words, and turns back to me - now SHE'S crying, and I start laughing as I'm crying, too. Bev got the words out, all patriotic, that I'm going to visit my daughter to send her off before she goes to Iraq to serve our country in war and we all need to be praying for her (which to me is a most valuable thing for one person to do for another. Maygen's response when I told her about this - "I am set, then! I will have no (or little) fear"). All I remember is Bev's eyes as we looked at each other across the table, laughing and crying, well, mostly crying. She came over and we gave each other a big hug, we were both taken off guard with ourselves....... but the cool thing is, I felt completely safe having this emotional display happen in front of a roomful of people, not people - strong women. I have wanted women like this in my life for an eternity, it seems.
Someone came up to me asking for a hug saying she knew exactly how I felt because her son-in-law left that day for a year in Iraq. I managed to escape still relatively intact until I got into the car. Then it was like the dam opened and these weren't just tears threatening, these were royal hiccupping sobs attempting to burst out. It's like the thing isn't really real until you actually say it, or hear someone else say it. The day i found out was the day I ran into you, and I guess you've been the best diversion but now it's time to face the music. I thought, I can't go back to work like this! I turned right out of the country club and went looking for your road. I found it, there sat your car....that helped matters some, enough. Okay, so little rivers down my cheeks all the way back to work. An hour later I got a really sweet email from the President of the club saying she knew it was difficult for me to let everyone know but she's glad I did and to please let her know what she and Altrusa can do for either me or my daughter.
The meaning of fractals for this posting is this. That single mom is rebuilding her shattered life and I too once had nothing but sharp jagged pieces of a bleeding life to build from. Not anymore. Instead of shattered, I have fractals. Truly beautiful and amazing.

Tradition Continued

I was about 8 or 9 years old when my big brother Spencer went off to college. I baked brownies and sent them - untested and untasted - from my house in Basking Ridge, NJ to him at Ohio Northern University in Ada, Ohio. I never heard how they were but that was back in the late 60's and he was a bonafide hippie. I am sure it was fine.
The tradition has continued with everyone else who went off to college: my siblings, nephews and of course my own children. The latest is my nephew Robbie, who has just begun his freshman year on a soccer scholarship at Univ. of Scranton in PA. I baked him granola bars. There were Adriatic figs at the store, so I included some of those, along with dried strawberries and cranberries, golden raisins, pumpkin seeds, pine nuts and walnuts. The secret ingredient that makes these granola bars ridiculously good is.....virgin coconut oil.
S