Sample of new scrapbook series, built with (amongst other materials): beer 6pack covers & boardgame backs, and 2002 Thuringen (Germany) sports calendar covers.
* David Bowie music
* Wes Anderson films
* Rumi poetry
+ fresh notebooks & inky pens
* music of The Band, The Clash, Velvet Underground, Lorde
* paintings by Matisse & Thompson
* poems of Ferlinghetti & Bukowski
I’m like a “guest walk-on character” into other peoples tv show lives.
9 years ago today, I presented “fuck stats make art” to a full house at SXSW, scored hash brownies and MDMA in Austin, drank whiskey backstage with the black angels. 11 years ago, signed up for Twitter. Also brother Bob’s birthday.
These days, a challenge to just get out of bed for a cup of tea… I’m really trying to “move on”, find “acceptance” and “close the book on old life” but it sure the fck ain’t easy with such wild & fulfilling actions in my past
#thanksforlistening #nosympathy #freehugs #trying
Sometimes, a plan comes together just right, and then sometimes there’s the opposite…. This night of X (Dec. 9, 2016) was definitely the opposite.
The “Plan” was to come back from a healing journey at an Ayurvedic clinic in India to meet up with old friends and celebrate this legendary punk band’s 40th anniversary. As it goes, my trip was cut short under frankly the worst circumstances (which I won’t bother you with here). Then, my friends decided to go to the LA shows instead of the San Francisco 3-night run, another friend simply didn’t show up, and phone calls to other pals couldn’t rally up any excitement.
Today, I attempt to vaguely surface from the painful fog of a feverish week. Next steps are difficult. Slowly slowly rebuild and regroup.
I’m as weak as a kitten and must be gentle and patient with myself. Kindly remind me. Sipping diluted apple juice, saltines. This isn’t new.
Since I was a wee babe, dehydration, fevers, and gastro conundrums have confounded me and doctors. There is no diagnosis, just incidents.
The list has grown long: vague memories in Germany alone, Guam’s hospital, Eugene, Mexico with glass IV so many nights writhing. Holding on.
The list of doctors and specialists and tests and scans and samples and processes and surgeries and examinations and medications is lengthy.
Each time, my physical elastic is stretched and dries a little bit more and snapping back to form is more challenging and less satisfying.
I loathe the days lost, heart lost, confidence lost – the experience is painful but the bits I miss might hurt even more. I feel apologetic.
I thrive on enjoying things with others & loathe to see people worry or spread spend precious energy tending to me. Though they don’t mind.
In the feverish flashbacks, I lose track of what was real and what was imagined and which happened before. Did we have that conversation?
My escape: to breathe vicariously through you. Your graduation, your running for mayor, your band’s on tour, you’ve taken a train trip.
For all my adventures, travels, and hijinks, one doubt always nags the back of my head: will I physically collapse for reasons unbeknownst?
Indeed conditions of the erstwhile gastrointestinal tract are not the greatest malady to affect we delicate humans but, i wasn’t asked.
Aside from the opportunity cost of the events I miss, the lost creativity, & distress upon others, I struggle with the blues of being weak.
The next steps never get easy: letting go of the lost past, writing off precious days, and trying to simply stand & remember importantness.
Important: creating stories, sharing with others, reminding people they are loved, letting people go, helping people flourish. Helping me.
My mind and my soul is where my attention goes. My body is a vehicle and, like my beloved VW bus, not always reliable- yet I tend diligently.
Almost 43 years old, I’m an assembly line of careful creation – this is what I live for. I want to do so much more, I have an endless supply.
Yes, I’ve adjusted lifestyles, foods, routines, herbal teas, magic formulas, endless acupuncture, and avoiding toxins & fried foods. Bored.
I even try to “slowdown” but I’m not sure what people do when they “slowdown” – Do they not know the world is waiting for them? Clock ticks.
I have two speeds: quite fast or almost stopped. I go go go because I like to & don’t want to miss life. Sleep has never come easily to me.
Now, here in bed remembering hospitals and clinics, tents & tears, machines whirring, ceiling fans spinning, convulsions and concerns, I try.
But slowing down and taking care of myself doesn’t really seem to make a difference. Is my physiology weak? If so, there’s nothing I can do.
Slowing down means doing less. This sounds very pleasant by some readings but in others, limits what I give. Shall I start to say “no”? No.
Giving my creations, my energy, my enthusiasm, my knowledge is the manna which fortifies me through the high times and the lowest. Makes me.
Shall i be more selective? But I love each chance to share! Shall I expect to receive more for what I give? That’s not my reason for giving.
PS Used to be my social posting barrages came from bus rides but now, from doctors offices #Waiting #healing #Grateful Just so you know…
I’ve done (or am currently doing):
* Acupuncture – many many treatments w/ excellent Dr.
* Traditional Chinese Medicine Teas
* FM/CSS Specialist at St. Paul’s Rapid Access Specialist Clinic
* Cognitive Behavioural Therapy sessions (many)
* Counsellor/Therapist (who has gone through transformative health events)
* Food elimination (i eat carefully and well #macrobiotic)
* Massage (deep tissue)
* Dry Needling therapy (wicked painful) for pain
* Anti-depressants (along with loads of other meds)
* Daily Walks or swims (as long as i can handle, about :15)
* Hugs (as many as i can get, esp from nieces)
* CT scans/Ultrasounds/MRIs
* Blood screening work of all kinds
* Daily guided Meditations (recorded)
* FM/CSS/CFS etc Support Groups
* Visualization (me being well)
* Phoenix Tears (CBD cannabis extracts)
* Shamanic cleansing
* Long soaks in mineral rich hot springs
* Extended sleeping and resting
* Essential Oils
My my the days go by, and we all chase the light.
90 years is a long time by any measure. Tis a statistical outlier who lives so long, with wit and sanity (mostly – aside for grudges and prejudices) intact no less.
As it goes, my final grandparent – my maternal grandmother, Isobel Steele Bannatyne – passed away on Saturday. She was in Indiana and will be buried in Logan, Utah (or nearby anyhow) where many of my kin live.
Shall i travel down? My first thought is “of course” but then i realized, i am weak, weary and while full of love, i am low on tolerance for emotional expression. I am raw from the past year(s) and am scared to take steps back by pushing myself. I talked to doctors who advised me to put myself first. I don’t come naturally to this. I am strong in the clutch and reliable in challenging circumstances. I was there twice last year after swearing to never go again after a visit before Grandpa died. I gave away by VW bus, my bicycles, my art so i wouldn’t need to return. I did. Twice.
“I am not needed. I am OK meditating and celebrating in my own way” – this is what i am right now.
There is an obituary but it describes someone i don’t know. My kin are religious folk and this colours the narrative of their lives. Eclipses everything else, purposely. These ways are not mine. Death can provide context for healing rifts or death can be the spectre of chaos and mistrust within families. I’ve seen both very recently.
To my hundreds of cousins, uncles, aunts, Mom, et al. Hold each other as needed. I suspect it will not be needed. 90 years is a long time.
To the rest of you, above Grandma as i remember. Sometimes in the 1970s, at a craft show selling my Mom’s candles at some craft fair. I was the frequent sidekick and candle maker and these times make me happy. Before i knew of tension caused by beliefs, intolerance – there is no judgement or blame. It is me.
For the record: Here’s the obituary for Isobel Steele Bannatyne as published in Logan (Utah) Herald Journal.