This is My Body

My hair is short and going grey in places. Not in the "cool" way I would like, I want that dramatic pronounced silver streak, but whatever. I get the scattered thing.
My hairline is very slowly edging back, though the rest remains full with no signs of balding.
My forehead is gaining more lines, and I'm okay with that. I like them.
My eyes have become less bright over the years (I think) and my eyesight -while remaining at the same prescription since I was 20- has become worse at night.
There are what seem to be permanent darker circles around them.
There are definitely longer eyebrow hairs and crow's feet.
On my left cheekbone there is a small white patch of skin the size of a dime. I had it checked for skin cancer, but it was only where an ingrown hair had altered the pigmentation.
I finally can grow somewhat of a beard at the age of 43. I actually don't want a beard -I find them itchy- but am frequently too lazy to shave so I end up with one.
More lines appear around my mouth and neck.
I'm kind of okay with these. Sometimes less than others.
My skin in general seems looser, somehow.
My chest is as it has always been.
You can see my collar bones, and depending on how I move my ribs may appear.
I've been self-conscious about my ribs, how thin I appear.
I remain so.
My collar bones I like.
Inside my chest, my heart has begun to behave erratically. I can see and feel it pulsating at times in an odd manner. It feels... interesting, kind of pleasant, but it scares me. I go to the cardiologist in 4 days.
While hair finally grew on my face, it never did on my chest. A few stragglers here and there, circling my nipples, and that's about it.
There's one hair on my left bicep that always grows much longer than the rest.
I take a weird pleasure in plucking it out, even though I know it will regrow.
My stomach is no longer flat and six-packy the way it used to be.
The tattoo upon it has gone purple and ill-defined. Good thing it was abstract to begin with.
I love my hip bones, much like I do my collar bones. I like the way both look and feel. Almost alien. I think they're hot, not just on myself.
My belly button remains unchanged after all these years. Appropriate, I suppose.
There's the same thin, sparse line of hair that's always been there that traces down from my belly button to my crotch.
From here down I get hairy. It would seem my hair allotment was saved for the waist down.
My pubes are out of control. Baby got bush.
My penis hasn't changed a whole lot.  Do they?  Guess I'll find out. It still works, it still annoys me at times by working, but I still like it. Apparently, according to others, above average size or something. I dunno. It's just my penis. It has a small scar on the shaft that I don't know where it came from. Maybe it was almost always there?
My balls are slightly saggier, but they've always been hangers. Just a bit more nowadays.
I'm okay with that, except when it's hot or I sit on them.
My ass?
That's another story altogether. While I was never "gifted" in that area, what little I had has become even more flat. I try not to be sensitive about it, but compare myself to others regardless.
I want a hairy bubble butt. Always have.
But I'm stuck with this smooth white thing, lacking any hair.
My legs are thin and white and hairy. Sometimes I'm amazed at how long the hair on my legs gets. It seems abnormal. I wish my legs were thicker, but since they've been this way all my life it's unlikely they'll change.
I'm not going to a gym. I can run fast and bike and use them to lift heavy things, so they work for me. They're not weak. Much like my arms. (but we'll get to those in a bit)
My feet are becoming old people feet.
My toenails are *thick*. Like, maybe I have raptor DNA mixed in.
They're not pretty either... but I think feet in general are ugly weird things, so I'm biased.
Jumping back up the body.
My arms are also like my legs. Thin and pretty white. Much less hairy, though.
I have very prominent veins. People who draw blood always exclaim and go on about them.
Apparently it makes their job easier.
Vampires.
My musculature is such that I think I would be described as "ropey."
They have more strength than they appear to, though (again) I wish the strength they have was reflected externally.
Though (again) I'm not going to a gym.
Mostly, they look as they did 20 year ago.... until you get to my hands.
My hands definitely show my age. Or possibly my life.
They are more wrinkly than one would think for 43, more beaten and scarred.
On my right hand there are two brown spots right across from each other that make me want to draw a smiley face around them.
My fingers are not delicate.
My nails are not pretty, much like my toenails.
I bite them and pick at them all the time.
I can't help it, but again... not worried about it.
It brings me weird pleasure.
My underarms are only moderately hairy.
There's a skin tag on the right one that I always think is a tick. Even though it has been there for years.
I've been told that my body scent is present but not unpleasant.
I totally like my body scent. I can tell what's happening internally by it, actually.
What hormones are firing, what my balances are.
Sometimes it can change by the hour.
That's my body.
It's much like all the other bodies out there, but completely unique.
What's your body like?

Queue "Ride of the Valkyries"

Operation: "Kill the Bindweed" commenced today. Basically, I'm sacrificing about a 40ft by 15ft bed. Dug up the assorted plants I want to save ---mostly hostas, ferns, trillium, sedum and a few others-- and condensed them into 3 separate beds that are about 5 to 10 feet in size, then heavily "mulched" them with slate and other rocks. I think this will allow me to keep up with it in the beds themselves a lot easier, and as they're separated by a good expanse of lawn, I can mow between them and keep it in check. In theory. We'll see.

In other news.... Into the Woods. Hmn. Can't say as I hated it, but I didn't complain when it was over, either. I liked Little Red Riding Hood.  There's some feminism going on elsewhere, but some weird aspects to it. (Don't break your vows or you'll fall of a cliff, people.) As always, I kinda identified mostly with the witch.

Tonight is Reheat the Indian night. I made WAY too much last week, so we froze the leftovers... and of course now I'm thinking "but don't we need some dal to go with it??"  (short answer: No, we don't. There's plenty already. But I'm going to make some anyways.)

Got a library card today for the local branch, mostly for movies. Ok, entirely for movies, as I literally have several hundred yet-to-be-read books waiting on my own shelves. They actually have a pretty good variety there, for a small town library.... picked up Capote and Altered States. Bonus points for the fact that I can donate my old movies to them! For a while there, I was just buying them at the junk ...errrr, I mean "antique"  store for a dollar, as that was cheaper than getting them from Redbox, and we're not really ones to rewatch most movies.

Hapi-Hapi Progress

Haven't posted in a bit since we've been busting as on the construction.

The last week we got the roof on and 99% of the sheathing done, windows cut out, etc. Still a bit panicked about finances (under $2k left) but whatever. We'll get done what we get done. If the rest has to happen in stages over the coming seasons, so be it.

As of today wiring is 90% done! Only 90% because I ran out of 12/2 wire and both auger bits were dull (is auger bits the right term?)... of course, I had gone to Ace to get some other stuff and some new ones, but since they weren't on my list -of all of three things- I completely spaced on them.

That's okay, my arms are jiggly-feeling from drilling/pulling wire through the holes, so I was ready to be done anyways.

Thankful for leftover Indian from saturday, so no cooking need happen tonight, just some reheating and some movie-watching.

Thankful that the movie we're watching won't be Annabelle. Started that one last night and turned it off halfway through. Thankful that it was free, so I didn't resent it as much as I would have if I'd payed for it.

Of course, we have all the leftover Indian, but a friend had to go and post about pesto, and I had just been eyeing all the chickweed  going crazy in the garden and thinking how c'weed pesto sounded really yummy and now I want chickweed pesto!

Some progress pics and a random hellebore.

Turtle dilemma

Salli Minelli has been *so* active the last few days, after months of near torpor. Even with regulated temp and lights, she went into shut-down mode. Today it's all about doing laps around her enclosure and hanging out in her pond....making a muddy mess of it. Chowing down on mealworms.

I go back and forth on releasing her, honestly. I'm not a fan of keeping wild animals, but I fear for her survival with just the one eye/deformed face. I know that's just how nature is, but... well, I've grown attached to her! (I know better but I'm human... mostly)

I keep eyeing the 70 gallon aquarium that I plan on turning into a terrarium and thinking "well, she could be happy in there..."


(and yeah, I know this is a completely random post out of nowhere)

Mnemovore: Once We Are Diamond

I miss the feel of the night at times. Walking into spaces and possessing them. Lights flashing, the stink of bodies and potential, insects of chaos crawling and twitching beneath our skins. Keeping a tally of how many bars we could get thrown out of in each city we visited simply by challenging their norms. Adorning ourselves in war colors and battle garb.

We were angry and vivid and loving and joyous. Ready to tear it all down with love, burn it to the ground in a celebration of self. Smashing bottles and fighting with cops all for the sake of love. All for love.

I miss the chemical burn of alterations inhaled, injected and ingested. The willingness to self-destruct in the pursuit of honesty. Dirty bathrooms, pounding on the stall doors as we laughed and fucked like our lives depended on grasping every shining thing.  Each thrust a declaration of ownership of self, a denial of condemnation. Unknown faces we would immediately and organically bond with, sensing a similar feral-minded soul. One second connections. Sometimes these led to momentary physical and spiritual bondings, sometimes they led to years-long friendships, sometimes to relationships still ongoing.

I want to relive it, if only in my mind. Sniffing out the underground spaces, the illegal parties, slinking down back alleys to the hidden doorways. The smell of waste and the inevitable homeless person paid to keep watch for authority figures, to give warning. How the pressure would change the moment the doors were opened. Eyes would turn, not always in a pleasant way. Pushing our way through those little oceans of flesh --being a smoker came in handy then, nothing like a burning cherry in the arm to clear a path- and finding the dance floor. That most sacred of spots, where the dragons flow and weave and demons are loosed to wreak their havoc and change. The nearly-naked writhers cutting loose those ties that had bound them (or, on a good night, the fully-naked ones) or finding the ties to bind them. That space where I myself could lose my own timidity, find grace in the movement of my body, and allow my grace to be accepted. Akimbo.


There we would hold space for hours. Five....ten... daybreak.... All the while pulling in those things we needed, casting out those we didn't. Sharing our wealth with our fellow demons. Working our muscles to their limits. Pushing until we had to stop, panting and covered in sweat...collapsing in relief on the outside of the circle.

I miss the Walk of Shame the next day (though we had no shame) passing people on their way to work while the trees were still melting. I miss the feeling like I wanted to die (or, less dramatically, at least to stay hidden in the dark room for just one more day), I miss the cuddling piles on the floor of the darkened room as no one could speak and our muscles twitched and contracted (imagine involuntary twerking before twerking was a thing) and we all wondered how long it was until we could go again. Get back on the ride. When that next bag would open. Back out into that crystaline night, our eyes thankful for the relief from day.


But now...

"Now" I treasure as well, though I long for the "days of old" at times. Now we gather in small groups. Now I sit with fellow demons, and we cuddle and talk and eat and imbibe. We lounge. Good god, we lounge. Those burning days are gone for us, and we are left with embers. Embers that burn and keep warmth going, occasionally giving flame to new wood.  Perhaps that's the lesson, I don't know.

All I know is that once we shone like diamonds against the grit, and that one day we will be diamond again.

Mnemovore: The Bombs

Age: Somewhere around 10.

If you wandered through the woods surrounding our home, jumping barbed-wire fences, evading angry bulls and scrambling through cedar scrub, you would come to this strange dumping ground of large mechanical objects. Not a scrapyard, really, but just this half-acre field in the middle of nowhere, filled with not your run-of-the-mill "mechanical objects" but these strange devices that to this day I have no idea what they could be. Large rectangular things easily 5 feet wide by 3 feet deep and 8 feet tall, covered in buttons and dials. Levers and knobs. Reading devices, gauges. Lots and lots of gauges.

There were probably 10-15 of them, this weird, button-filled metal Stonehenge, and they hadn't previously been in the field --which we had trespassed through on numerous occasions-- when Jimmy and I discovered them. Actually, that's not true. I discovered them first, as this was my regular stomping ground, while Jimmy lived in town and only came out for sleepovers every few weeks, and we didn't always go this route through the woods during our explorations... so I had already found them and become excited about the possibilities of what they were before showing them to him.

Bombs, obviously. Possibly alien transport devices, but probably bombs. This made the most sense to my brain at this point in time, filled as it was with "The Day After" and "V."

I remember when I first found them. I roamed among them, touching their scorching-hot sides with my fingertips, tentative about the buttons. Who knew what the would do? Perhaps a wrong touch would send my brains scattering across the prickly pear around me, splashing them with grey matter and gore, bits of flesh hanging on their thorns, leaving my body this twitching thing, baking in the sun, pecked at by vultures.

Or -more appealing but still frightening- I could get snagged up into outer space via some teleportation device. Yes, I knew what teleportation was at that age.... I read the X-Men.

While the idea of getting whisked away to some civilization across the galaxy had a tremendous amount of draw, I came back to the bomb idea.

So it was that when I first brought Jimmy out to see them, I felt completely, 100%,  assured in myself when I told him they were bombs, and we had to let someone know about them.

Cue Goonies music. Off we go, racing back through the woods to my house, where we grab our bikes and head for the highway... to a coworker of my mothers house. I have NO idea why we decided on her, this person whose name I can't recall when I can recall so many other trivial names from that time. She was a lifeguard at the pool my mother supervised, but beyond that I recall nothing.

But she was going to figure it all out. Somehow help us save the world from.... ummmm.... big metal cabinets dumped in the woods. That could be bombs. SHE would know what to do.

About 4 miles down the highway (okay, it may have been about a half-mile) the south Texas sun is doing its mid-summer asphalt-melting finest to drain every ounce of strength from our bodies, to divert us from our task of saving humanity. Or we may just have been easily distracted. Probably the latter. Whatever the reason, we're done. It's no longer important.

We pull off to the side of the road, toss our bikes in the ditch (it was rural Texas, no one was going to steal them) and scramble over the tangled barbed-wire fence that runs alongside the road, heading on to discover our next world-saving adventure.

Or possible bombs/teleportation devices.

I Felt the Earth Move...

Day three of kooky sleep patterns... not cool. Been falling asleep easily and soundly, then waking up about 2-3am and tossing/turning for hours.... usually falling back into real sleep right around sunrise. You know, about when it's time to get up. Not sure if it's because of the crazy-bright moon, some anxiety about the house, or some residual soreness in the arms... or a combo of all three. I'm guessing the latter.

Regardless of the cause, today is going to be Self Care Day for me. Charlie's headed to Missouri for the weekend with his mom to see his uncle(s)... I think I'm going to run a load in to the scrap metal place in Murf, pick up a few comic books w/the scrap metal money (yay, getting rid of junk *and* getting comics in return!), do a bit of grocery shopping... then call it a day on anything productive. Except maybe sew a bit/get some faces ready.

But hey, look! Bulldozing is done! (I don't know why I call it "bulldozing" when it's "backhoe-ing" but whatever) Now it's all about figuring out where the pylons are going to go and digging the holes for them... and pouring the concrete into them... and building the subfloor.... and.... putting up the walls.... and... andddd. (did I mention I'm having house-building anxiety?)

I need to try and remember to share more of the items in our "benefit" Etsy shop here... I forget to do that a lot. What can I say? I'm horrible at promotion. So, on that note....

This is "Grain of Fabric" a mixed-media piece that I did over the winter. It can be found here: Grain of Fabric

How to get really sore arms in three easy steps:

Step 1) Replace the cord on the weedwhacker with the blade from a circular saw. Proceed to clear out the hillside of brush.

Step 2) Remove the overly-attached [come would say codependent] joins from old section of house to new section of house.

Step 3) Move 300lb wood stove into the bed of a truck.

Ta-da! Soreness achieved!

In other news, we're now 100% ready for the bulldozing to start tomorrow.


Charlie surveying the damage....

On Prostitution

Chainsawing of trees completed today. A small bit of cleanup to complete over the weekend... then it's on to bulldozing on Monday. Yikes.

Having a bit of "financial panic" as we look at the costs coming up... just how fast the money is going to go away. At the moment, we have $16k left of the original $30K in our "construction savings." (both of our "personal savings" are obliterated. Completely gone.)

It's funny how at one point in my life, I would have considered $16k to be an *extraordinary* amount of money... now it seems so little. Well, it would still be an extraordinary amount, if it were just random savings, really. But when it comes to construction costs --even doing it ourselves/with friends-- it's not that much. $400 at least goes away come monday.  A very basic model propane fridge is going to start at about $1,200. Then there's the stove at $500 - $700... and all the wiring... and the plumbing... and insulation, drywall, water heaters, windows, doors, etc.  And we still have about $1,000 left to go on the solar system. (but YAY for having electricity soon!!)

Oh, and of course there's the actual lumber to build with.

Well, you see where the panic starts to set in. Not to mention that once this is done, there ain't no "nest egg" or "safety net" money left, and it's unlikely to be replenished any time soon. But, you know, we have to have these things.These things so many take for granted. Running water, the ability to cook and shower in our own home.

Thinking about having a "Buy a doll, help build a wall" sale at the upcoming gathering. And prostituting myself... a different kind of "buy a doll."

$400 an hour (or a hot water heater)....  get it while it's good!

Wednesday Randomness

1) Have to figure out something to say about a solo show next July... but need to do so now, as it's going out to a magazine shortly. Problem? I don't know exactly what I'm going to do, theme-wise.  Guess I'll write something that's a little "open for interpretation."

2) Found myself feeling nostalgic about some aspects of our days working on the road. Mainly, the cross-country driving. I always enjoyed those trips from one place to some far-flung other place. Omaha to Tennessee... Miami to Tennessee.... Arizona to Ohio... wherever to wherever. I don't miss the work, but I miss the road, and I miss our little community of fellow travelers/coworkers.

3) Speaking of far-flung places, I must be missing Florida as well, as I've been on a boiled peanut kick lately. Made a batch over the weekend that were okay... they didn't get a chance to boil long enough before we devoured them, but have another batch going now which have had a full 24 hours to boil. YUMMISPICYNESS.

4) Whoa Realization that winter is approaching. So much to do before then... including getting busy on this line of scarves I have an idea for (time to break out the serger again) that I hope will provide some extra income.

5) Speaking of income creation (something which is on my mind regularly these days, as we've gone from a two-income household to a zero-income household with mega medical bills) I have a new batch of Travelers up, as well as some Groot-inspired "Treeple"...

They can be found on both my Etsy site, and the Traveler-specific sites here...Travelers and www.charliesspot.etsy.com

That's all... Happy Wednesday, y'all. Be good to yourselves.

Day of Change

A year ago today, our lives changed. I don't want to say for the worse, because that gives power to the stuff we've gone through, so I'll say that things just changed. Sure, it's a lot more serious now on many levels, but that's what life does/is sometimes.

What happened on this day was that our lives were irrevocably altered.  We discovered that we were mortal, that things could -and did- indeed happen to us. No amount of denial (trust me, I've tried) changes that. But along the way, I've discovered a lot. Some of it good, some of it less so. I've discovered the kindness of people who are practically strangers, in many regards. I've discovered the strengths within myself, as well as my weaknesses. I've discovered what love means in its purest form.

That first day, in the midst of it all, hearing the doctor say that Charlie would be somewhat akin to a vegetable for the remainder of his life... if he survived. Sitting there with him, holding his hand, doing inane things like turning on CNN for him (which I've always been annoyed by) even though he was unaware of his surroundings... seeing images in my head of our future. Feeding tubes, and colostomy bags. Unintelligible utterances. And knowing that no matter what, I would hold his hand , if only for my own assurance. Regardless of whether he knew I was there or not. Actually, in honesty, I think it was more for myself, the hand-holding. Feeling his palm against mine, closing my eyes, allowed me to pretend that none of it was real, that he was still the "strong one" in the relationship. The steadying factor. Hell, I still do it today.... take his hand in mine while we're practicing reading, or watching a movie, or whatever it is.... I take it, and I work his fingers into looseness and form them around mine and I pretend that the muscle contraction is him squeezing my hand back in a show of affection.

And at some point he will yawn (causing his upper arm to contract) or whatever, and he will be startled by our hands being intertwined because he hadn't felt it or noticed it before.

But that's not the point I was going towards. I was going towards what I thought our future would be. I'm easily derailed still, obviously. At that first point, I just didn't have a fucking clue. I suspect/suppose no one does in those situations. We're not trained for it, most of us. But we're slowly figuring it out, one day at a time.

Take a moment today and tell those in your life how much they mean to you, how much you love them, and remember how blessed you are even when things are challenging.

On Memories

As we were hanging out today talking, post-drywall removal, I brought up (via some tangential train of thought) Charlie maybe trying his hand at some painting. I brought this idea up in the past, and it was met with a lack of enthusiasm on his part, mainly because of the left-handed aspect. Today, he was all about it. This is something I'm glad to see, because he's always had a creative side, but hasn't always taken the time to explore it (outside of crazy costumes and theater and music and stained glass and.... okay, so maybe he's explored it). This is all well and good (and encouraging) while we're house-sitting, but when it's time to be back in our own -now quite limited- space, I'm going to have to figure out a scenario where he can work at. Good gods, will I have to share my studio table??? (NO. That will not happen. Allow me my selfish side.... but I'll figure out something)

On the flip side of things, I discovered something today that I didn't know previously. That I doubt anyone else knew either.That the stroke removed some of his memories. We were talking about someone we knew (a co-worker) down in Miami, and he kept saying/indicating he didn't know who they were. While this wasn't someone we were exceptionally close to, it also definitely wasn't someone that he would just forget. We worked together for a few months, he came to our house to work from daily, we went out to dinner a few times, etc. Somewhat jokingly, I said "oh, did the stroke make your memory so bad you can't remember him?" (because, honestly, we meet a lot of people via our community, and we're both horrible with names, which we both admit and acknowledge)... and his reply was a completely serious "yes." Talking with him further later indeed revealed that he doesn't recall Sam at all. Somewhat frightening, in many ways... and it also gets me curious. Given what I've learned about the brain over this last year, I know how specific (and weird) it can be, so I find myself wondering if it's some of that time period that's missing (if so, how much? Is sticking out hurricane Katrina still there? Meeting Dlish for the first time? Walking the back alley to the bodega on the corner? Watching MirrorMask?) Or... is the part of the brain that is having "issues" related to specific personalities? Facial memories, human interactions, that kind of thing. Like, he can remember what we did in Miami during our almost 2 years there, but the people we knew there are erased? Or maybe the "spot" in his brain that got kerwonkety is Sam Specific? Maybe Sam is the only missing element from that time period.

In some ways, I'm leery of asking more. I'm not sure I want to know if that time period is gone for him, or mostly gone, or partially gone.... because it was a special point in our lives together. Actually, that's completely untrue. The only reason I now regard it as "special" is because I worry about it being "gone" for him. In truth, it was a rather mundane point in time for us... living in the city-within a-city of Miami Lakes, enjoying all the multicultural aspects of that particular area... but nothing of note.

But now, because of all this, it *does* become special, something of note. However mundane and banal that time was in many regards... now it's somehow more important.

A reminder, I think, to never take those day-to-day moments for granted. When you're "just" sitting around, doing nothing. Some day, those "doing nothing" days, those moments of *life* may become very special to you. And sometimes those can be taken away from you.... so appreciate them while you're *in* them.

(Charlie in front of the giant tree that Katrina toppled, 2005)

Lik

I abraded my hand today

Grabbing on to a basketball post that had been shorn off. It didn't do much damage... just an abrasion, but a blood blister swelled in the midst of my palm.

Tonight, I tucked Charlie into bed, and complained briefly to him about the blister. I realized how silly it was for me to be complaining about this slight injury, while he has almost no use of his hand, cannot hold a pencil or a fork.

And he looked at me and said "but it hurts" and forgave me my.... no, understood... no, still felt for me that regardless of what his own physical state is, that my hand hurt.

Resolvulotions. Or something.

Okay. It's for real. I need to start utilizing this space more. Again. For real this time. I swear. Both for creative purposes, and for sanity.

So, yeah, first post of 2014!

We'll start with a Charlie update: In many regards he's progressing well. He's regained a lot of the usage of his leg and can get about fairly well as long as he has his cane. He's still quite slow, but he's coming along. Slowly. Like I totally win every race we have. With his arm, he's gotten a lot of flex back in his shoulder, though there's still very little in his elbow, and almost nothing in his hand. This is a normal progression, though, as usage returns in a pattern travelling downward (shoulder first, then elbow, then hand).

Language is still challenging him a LOT, and is the aspect he finds most frustrating. He does occasionally pop out with a full sentence (we'll say an average of one a week), and can come up with a lot of words on his own if given the time to do so. Cuss words come out quite quickly. Shocking, that. His reading, however, has improved dramatically, and this gives him hope. While he's still a long ways away from reading a book, he can work out many simple sentences with a minimum of assistance.

This is an aspect we work on for several hours a day... from the time we wake up when I ask him how he's doing, to having him say "I would like some coffee" to going over flashcards and various sentences repeatedly.

In a fit of complete and utter fucking insanity, I decided that the week before Christmas was the perfect time to hang drywall and repaint the living room. You know, just because sadomasochism is fun and all that. I'd kind of hoped to have it done by the time my parent's visit was over, but that didn't happen... tho it did give my father something to do while he was here so he didn't drive me (or my mother) crazy.  We finally finished it up about a week ago, and I got to paint it and hang up some art work! Love having a wall full of the work of friends!



One of the pluses of this project getting completed (except for the ceiling trim) is that I could move all the stuff back out of the studio room, where I'd stored it during the drywalling...  which means that after a several-week break, I can get back in the studio and get back to work. Here's a little sneak peek of a larger (about 4ft) piece I have in progress.

No more excuses, back to work beyotch.

As always, there are new(ish) items being added to the Charlie's Spot store, including a custom-built electric guitar by our friend Gwen using recycled barn wood from her barn, and some paintings by Jacqueline Myers-Cho. And, as always, feel free to spread the word about the shop and the reason for it!

The Lighter Side

Of artistic therapy, that is.

While I still intend to go forward with my painting plans, I decided as well to pick up working on dolls again. It's been a few years since I've worked on any, and I have to say I feel a renewed energy around them! (apparently others like them as well, since the first round of them sold out overnight. Yay!)

A mix of needle felting, beading (on some) and clay, somehow the name "Travelers" got stuck on them, they range in size from 8 to 12 inches, though I have plans for some larger ones at some point.

While these are all from the first round and sold out, others will be coming along soon! Have three finished completely, three more mostly finished, and five more sewn and stuffed.

When the next round is finished (hopefully early next week) they'll be able to be found at Charlie's Spot, along with a lot of other goodies from a variety of folks!

In other news, Charlie is progressing well in many ways. While he has yet to regain use of his lower arm and hand, he's able to get around quite well with the assistance of his cane. Right now his biggest obstacle is (still) the aphasia, his ability to find and use words. While I know this is fairy normal in the way stroke recovery progresses (The "Usual" in order of recovering: feet, legs, shoulder, lower arm, hand, speech)it remains the most challenging for both of us.

But, you know, one day at a time, one foot in front of the other.

Artistic Terror

I'm curious what people think about, what their experiences are, with "transformative art." Or whatever you want to call it. Art that comes from someplace else, and taps into shit, shit that may be unpleasant and difficult to deal with. I'm not speaking of "dark art" (though obviously that touches on the same realms at times).... but art that has the potential to bring one through a process of growing.

I doubt I'll be very good at explaining what exactly I mean, so maybe I should just speak in the literal sense.

When all this stuff with Charlie started, one of the ways I found of coping was to start painting again.... but not in a style that I have in the past, working mainly in abstracts. I busted open several rather large packages full of canvas (Plaza Arts was having a 70% off sale on gallery wrap canvas a while back, and I had stocked up) and just started having at it. Some are small 6x6 inches, some are large 4ftx5ft... nothing really tied them together, though, other than the fact that they were abstracts.

Tonight, after a rather difficult few days of communication and sadness on both of our parts, I was "writing in my head", kind of working out some written stuff (before putting it to paper) exploring what all this has been like, this whole fucked up journey, and I realized that *that* may be the thing that ties them together.

Words. Threads.

I want to incorporate a continuous piece of written work into the paintings, and tie them together. Literally. Bringing both fiber work and written work into (on to?) the canvas pieces. Incorporating not just *my* words, but the pages and pages that we've filled already of Charlie practicing his ABC's, his name, his 123's... the random scratchings and scrawlings he's made in his attempts to get across what it is he needs and/or wants at any given time.

Quite frankly, the idea of undertaking such a project is daunting in more than one sense... how do you tie together 20 or so paintings with fabric/yarn/etc? How do you incorporate photographs and medical charts/exams? How do you include those spiral-bound notepad scribbles? Those attempts at communication?

It's also daunting in the emotional sense. Possibly more so. I can work my way around physical shit, one way or another, but plumbing the mental depths of all of this seems risky, and honestly quite frightening... but possibly what I need to do. I haven't processed any of it in a Big Way since it happened. I've talked here and there, I've posted updates on the FaceGook, I've done this, I've done that, but I haven't just embraced and allowed myself to go *there* fully. I've had my moments of "near freak out" but haven't... you know... freaked out. And I'm scared of a project of this sort allowing that mental collapse to occur.

Anger Issues

Woke up angry at the universe today. Well, technically, I didn't wake up that way, as I went to sleep that way. Apologies for the grouchiness, but I need to let it out.

Angry at our ex-employers. Those who promised us "You're going to be able to build five houses by the time we're done" and spoke of large payouts at the end to make it all worthwhile... what they really meant was "Oh, actually you'll just be unemployed." Angry that they managed to build their mini-mansions, while Charlie spent the last ten years not even really able to enjoy his own unfinished home, because he was on the road making sure their business ran as smoothly as could be, that they could enjoy their Go Big lifestyles.

Angry that I don't understand completely what the future holds for us. I see one place that about 40% of stroke survivors have another stroke within 5 years... and then that the average lifespan for a stroke survivor is 7.5 years... but I don't get how such factors as age play into it (I would suppose that since most stroke victims are older, that would effect the outcomes/probabilities... what about for younger folk?) How does the fact that the clot/blockage is still there in Charlie's head play into it?

Angry that we were supposed to be starting our lives right now... focusing on getting things going for *US* again. That two-three weeks ago I was supposed to be leaving my employment, so that my new "job" could be seeing to it that our home was finished, so that he could come home and stay off the road for good next year... to actually enjoy the place he wanted to be, to call home.

Angry that there are days like yesterday, when he's hurting, having headaches, and we were unsure if it's simply due to muscle tension and ongoing eye strain, or more significant.... or this morning, when he seems more confused/lethargic.

Angry that he is the person I have chosen to spend my life with, to grow old with... that we were going to look out for one another. Which is what we're doing now, but it's years earlier than we thought. I understand that many people face these same things, for many different reasons, but that doesn't make it any easier.

Angry that we're a day away from our 16th anniversary, and I have to remind him on a daily basis what my name is.


Charlie's Spot

Sessions

Charlie's been home exactly a week now. I have to confess to having some rather extreme anxiety about is return, while at the same time being exceptionally happy about it.

Yes... finally sleeping in the same bed together... YAY!

But... what if something happens, and there aren't any nurses right there? We live an hour & a half from the hospital...

Yes... he can be outside, at his own home... YAY!

But... what if he falls??

That kind of shit.

He pushes himself hard, some days. Which is good... sometimes. Other times, not-so-much. Like the other day, when we went out to our place for an afternoon visit --we're still staying at his mom's home down the road for the next 3 to 5 months-- I went to put the dogs in the yard, turn around, and he's coming down the stairs on the deck. Backwards. Without his walker (it was standing at the top of the stairs). Leading with the wrong leg (As the saying goes "Good goes to heaven, bad goes to hell" meaning, when going up the stairs, you lead with your good leg, going down the stairs, you lead with your bad leg)...while he DID make it down safely (despite a chastising from me) the doctors tell you to do these things for a reason... they didn't just make it all up.

Speaking of pushing one's self, today he starts back to therapy. Three days a week in Nashvegas. Up this morning at 5am, helping him put his pants on, tie his shoes. Normally, he can do these things himself, but he's stiffer in the morning (heads out of the gutters, people), a bit more uncoordinated, and has a difficult time moving/doing the things that require more intricate movements. Like putting on pants.

Helping him with that was a bittersweet moment. I felt both the full extent of my love for this wonderful man, and anger at the universe for...well, for all of it. For using this event to remind me of how deep our love goes.

There are beautiful moments when that "couple's telepathy" thing comes into play, when I can guess what he's trying to say. When our friends are over, and there's a lot of conversation happening, and I see the look on his face as he starts to get overwhelmed, and I have to quietly say/remind them "too much right now" and he calms down, the look on his face relaxes back into a smile.

I have to remind myself of "too much" as well, mind you. Yesterday, he asked for his pen and paper (we use drawing a lot to get things across, since he doesn't recall the alphabet yet)... we've been doing word prompts, where I point to an object, and have him repeat its name with me... so, anyways, he "asked" for is pen and paper, and as I passed him the pen, I tried to have him say "pen."  He said "no" a couple of times, and I pushed him.... and then I saw that saying the word "pen" had driven from his mind what it was that *he* had wanted to get across. That it was now gone, the space occupied by the word "pen."

And for a moment, I hated myself.

Then I remembered that none of us was given a guide book for this, that we're all figuring it out together, and hating myself was stupid.

A Sampling of Goodies from Charlie's Spot!

Just a smattering of the WIDE variety of artwork you can find in Charlie's Spot! Stop on by and spread the word to your friends!

Also, at a friend's suggestion, I've added a link over on the sidebar, just below the About Me space, where monetary donations can be made. I have to say, I suddenly understand why folks dislike the American medical system so much... getting a $2,000 bill for a short ambulance ride makes one cringe. And that's just for the ambulance!

Charlie's Spot and Assorted Ramblings

I keep meaning to post here... but, to be honest, days are long right now and nights are early. By the time I'm thinking I'm ready to sit down and type, I find myself fading out and ready for sleep.

It's been a long month, 3 hours a day spent in a car, driving back and forth to Nashville, and that's not even counting the time actually spent IN Nashville. That's all coming to an end on Wednesday, when Charlie returns home. Well, home *kinda*... technically, he's returning to his mom's house down the road from us, because it'll be best for him for the next few months/year while we get our living situation at OUR home to where it's easier for him to be out there. I want him home with me, obviously, but... c'est la and all that shit.

So many things going through my head, still.

It's painful to work with him on (re)learning basic things, like the ABC's, or counting past 10. Words like "water" or "bed." Shopping in the preschool section of Barnes & Noble for my 48-yr-old partner was heartbreaking. He understands concepts completely (trust me when I say he's fully capable of following a conversation, and understands all that goes on around him) but the words aren't there for him... Charlie... probably one of the most eloquent and intelligent people I know of. We look at flash cards designed for 3-5 year olds, he studies them... and shakes his head. If I say "A" he repeats it, sounds it out... but five minutes later, if I show him the same card, it's already gone, that file tucked away, but the path to it is lost. I know this one takes time, the re-aquisition  of vocabulary, but it's also one of the more challenging aspects for both of us. The physical is the easy part, muscles "learn well." They're simple beasts. The brain...

The brain is  kooky thing. We sat there one day, and he sang along to the ENTIRE Joan Osbourne album "Relish"... the entire thing he got right (except for the mumbled parts where he never knew what she was saying to begin with). But then, when asked if he wanted to go outside, he couldn't say "outside." Kooky, I tell you... kooky! That whole right brain vs left brain thing. We tried singing answers to questions, to see if that would allow the files that are hidden to be accessed, but it was a no go. So far.

Or, like last week... he'd been working on saying Ajakx (who has been in to visit him several times, thankfully they allow pet visitation at the place he's in). He'd been getting pretty good at it... but was having difficulty with "Ripley" (the new pooch). A few days later, he popped out with "Ripley" with no problem... but couldn't get "Ajakx" again. Or reading cards from friends... most, he looks at, shakes his head, and I read it to him. But on Wednesday, he gets one from our friend from Barbro in Sweden... he looks at it, and goes "Barbara." Close enough for me... but it's odd since he only knew her from when we worked in Phoenix (she was this very shy woman who was staying in the same hotel as us whom we befriended)... he gets her name, but ones from his aunts, longtime friends... ME he doesn't.

He does no know how to say "I love you" when it comes time for me to leave at night. I may have uber-pressured him into learning that one, though!

Then the financial aspects... basically both of us losing our job in essence, the ever-increasing pile of bills, yadda yadda yadda. Those weigh heavily, even when I remind myself that we existed w/out our current (well-paying) job... but then I also remind myself that we didn't have a giant pile of bills at that time, either, and were able to travel and both able to work. It'll work itself out one way or another, that I know. It's just going to mean some major lifestyle changes.

Many of our friends have been generous with donations, but it still leaves a lot to be covered. Honestly, it sends me into a bit of a panic. I recall how when I was young, my father's health issues... bitten by a rattlesnake one year (two weeks in ICU)... followed by heart surgery... followed by back surgery... broke our family in the most literal of senses. I don't think I ever realized how that scarred me in its own way until now.

Not so much a fear of being poor -I was "poor" the majority of my life- but just how fragile financial standings can be. How much impact it can have in other ways. I mean, if we were going about our "regular" lives, being poor would be no big deal... but heading into trying to finish our home, and having to reconsider/replan what the end result will be? Trying to work in those things we thought we had another 20 years or so to plan for? Or just those "normal" day-to-day expenses we now have... ongoing therapy, mainly. And making it so that he's physically able to be in his own home.

Blurgh.

It's not all Doom and Gloom, mind you. There are many, many bright things out there, we still laugh at stupid shit (his warped sense of humor is completely intact) and give the cute nurses The Eye... it's just... different, now. I try and maintain a positive face in the more public eye (like FaceGook) but sometimes I need to let a bit out, so my apologies if the posts here get dark every now and then.

Anyways, one of the positive things: As I mentioned, many of our friends have been generous with the dollars... but many live on a budget as well but still wanted to help, so we came up with the idea of a "benefit store" on Etsy. Enter Charlie's Spot. A place filled with the art of many different folks, 100% of the proceeds of which will go towards his medical costs, as well as the renovation/reconfiguring/etc of our home to make it so that he can BE at home eventually.

I know not a lot of people read this blog any more -the dangers of getting lax with it for a while there- but if you DO read it, please share the link above, and encourage your readers to do the same! (and if you or they happen to be an artist, and are interested in donating to the shop, shoot me an email at judahsleep@gmail.com and we can chat!)