What a real liberal looks like....

I actually teared up in the car listening to Democracy Now! (which isn't that shocking really), but it did surprise me a little. Not that I have even read a great deal by the man, unfortunately. But what I have read has always struck me as being incredibly kind, wise, diligent, and powerful. Howard Zinn was my idea of what a liberal should look like. Although he led a great life up to the age of 87 as an activist, historian, and educator, it is still a great loss for our country and our world.

A portrait by the amazing artist Robert Shetterly

"To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness. What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places-and there are so many-where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction. And if we do act, in however small a way, we don't have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory." Howard Zinn

Hank the Cowdog

This Cowdog could have been Hank...

Broadcasting my voice across radio airwaves does not bother me. Putting up a piece of art and having others eyes on it is slightly unnerving, but I usually enjoy it more than dread it. But standing up, in full view of an audience, and moving, speaking, and attempting to act is downright scary to me. Occasionally I like to try to overcome this fear, push myself in directions that aren't the most comfortable.

A few years ago I was in the chorus of The Vagina Monologues, partly because it was for a great cause that I believed in and I got to work with a wonderful group of women, reminding me of my Smith days. It was exhilarating and so much fun. So when Hank the Cowdog popped up, a live radio theatre production based on a children's book that BB adapted, I decided to be brave again. Two friends are doing it. No lines need to be memorized. And I get to be a chicken. What could be better?

The two days of rehearsal have been a great deal of fun. I am in constant awe of the kids involved, their ease at being in the limelight, and admire the wide spectrum of the community that has come out to be a part of this humorous tale. Live radio theatre involves enthusiastic narrators, two mics that actors speak into, a live band, and an array of sound effects that add great humor to the show, think Prairie Home Companion. Scripts are on stage and there is not much movement. Except if you are a chicken and you get to cluck around stage at random times.

There are rehearsals for two more nights and then the performances are on Friday and Saturday. Should be a fun time....I am glad I was brave.

Sitting

It was dark except for a candle in the middle of the circle of mats and cushions. The whir of a fan was the only noise besides the settling in of sitters around me. Warm, comforting, a space filled with yellow light. The gong sounded and then we sat, adjusting into our own breath, a cycle of inhales and exhales that are uniquely our own.

I was surprised when the gong sounded after 45 minutes. The time has gone so quickly. It had been a challenge at times to not let my mind wander; I had gone from worrying that my cell phone was not off, feeling the ache in my spine as I tried to sit up straight, and sensing my body sway as I sat in some realm between awake and asleep.

I loved that no words needed to be spoken. That a group of fifteen people came to sit together in a warm room, faces that looked familiar from the community. I left with J without saying anything until we were out of the room, back in the snowy night.

Great peace. A wonderful way to start out the weekend.

Letting the Tension Go...

Today I got a massage from my amazingly talented friend A, who helped release my tight pecs and shoulders. Her fingers are like magic and she knows so much about the body, the connections. It is a great time to turn inside, to realize through breathe and relaxation and quieting the mind, that  I can make some of the pain go away, that I can help A as she massages my muscles.

Next time I need to sit quietly before I go in for my massage. I need to work on slowing down my ever-racing mind and release the tension that seems to enjoy residing in my neck before I lie on the table; I need to play a more participatory role in my massages. Massages are about relaxation, but they are not about going in and expecting your masseuse to solve everything.

I have realized through working with A that massages can go deeper, literally and figuratively, that they are more than just letting someone rub your muscles. They are a time to be present, to show up, and to do some hard work. And have amazing results at the end...

The Day

Priceless days: you are walking on air, the whole world around you gleams golden, you say the right things, you laugh a lot, you feel great in the outfit you put on in the morning, you feel so full that you could burst, work goes smoothly and is fun, your interactions with strangers are filled with kindness and smiles, your dog listens to your every word, your boy wants to cuddle, your dinner turns out fabulously, your wine is perfect on your tongue, and you catch the sunset which makes everything glow.

Hold this day into tomorrow.

In the 30's...

Last night I had an interesting experience. I felt old. But not in a negative way. In a confident and clear way. I wasn't in my twenties anymore, I wasn't the one looking up (although I still do to many), and I didn't feel out of place or inexperienced. I felt like I was part of the Jackson community, someone in the art community who has something worthwhile to say. I liked the feeling, although it was odd to suddenly find myself in that role of mentor. I hadn't realized I had become that. But I guess I have also recognized that I am not a 24 year old, fresh to Jackson, either.

This post goes out to the amazing 30 year olds I met when I first moved to the valley, women who are still so dear to me. J and J and A....inspiring.  I only hope that I can be such a role model as all of them were to me.

post office ladies

It is a growing relationship, one that started with me saying the name on the name tag or them commenting on my scarf or the Pearl St. Bagel coffee in my hand. A tentative hello with some recognition, but not quite care enough to show that recognition whole-heartedly. A softness though, a different greeting than other people standing in line, waiting for stamps or their over-large packages, might receive.  A greeting with some degree of familiarity.

It is fascinating to me that these are women that I see every morning, that I have for almost six years, and we are only starting to begin a more personal dialogue.  It isn't that any of us are unfriendly or rude, just that that is the game played at the P.O. There is more humanness in our interactions now and a genuine caring about our conversation. One used my name the other day, referenced from a package I was picking up, starling me.  A big step forward.

They are always friendly, they get stressed out but only for good reason, and they do their jobs well. I hope our game continues.