Momentary Rest

Oh the sadly neglected blog. Much as I think about topics I just can't keep up with all of the work I have on my list. I am still researching the house, a few minutes a week maybe, and still watering the garden, though not planting anything in it. I'm managing to serve my customers, but not managing to make anything new or fill in the gaps in my retail inventory. Making money seems essential but my priority is supposed to be my foot.

It's better, more flexible after two weeks of PT and acupunture, chiropractic, orthotics, etc. I'm biking on a stationary bike I got as a curiosity from someone's free pile, which turns out to be much more useful than expected. I can go for about 30 minutes though my form and speed are pitiful. I don't care about speed at all, but I will need impeccable balance and a lot more muscle strength to prevent my good leg from doing all the work and to avoid things like falling over and putting my injured foot down too hard. I keep saying *a couple of weeks* but last night I dreamed I was biking along and today I know that is not happening. 

I'm down to one crutch, which I don't always need depending on the shoes and the circumstances, but I'm limping and wanting to hold onto things so am trying to slow down and carefully place my feet. I don't want to teach myself how to clomp about all cattywhampus. I want to take the time to relearn how to walk even more gracefully and balanced, since this is my big chance for improvement. All of this takes so much time, appointments nearly every day which involve more travel time than appointment time, since I'm insisting on scooting there under my own power. I need the cardio and fresh air and love the independence, so I'm working that good leg hard and probably looking quite mad as a grey-haired terror on the sidewalks and streets. And let me take a minute to say sweep your sidewalk, all of you, and see if you can do something about all those cracked and fragmented places! The sidewalks in our town are disgraceful. This is why you see so many vulnerable people on wheelchairs in the street. Look down when you stroll around the block. Even the curb cuts are inadequate as can be. Scary and something that can be improved with just a little effort.


I'm doing all the various exercises I'm assigned. I'm mostly showing up for things. I'm paying young people to bike my trailer down to Market and it's lovely to be back to that level of control. The Market has been such a positive thread in my recovery. Between that and Jell-O I have had many joyful moments and a wonderful network of help. I'm so very grateful for the people who care about these things with me. I feel the same about the approaching behemoth of the OCF. It represents so much work to me that occasionally I dip into the discouragement and complaining that is habitual it seems, but having the shirts to print this spring was a terrific source of self-esteem, not to mention income. 


I worked hard on my personal evolution regarding the persistent *us vs. them* that comes with the territory in large cooperative groups. It's easy to step out and feel not included for us iconoclasts but the more I participate the more I love it, and this is something that should have been a lot more obvious. I have learned to love the sometimes weighty process of trying to make sense of the dynamics and the decision-making. Certainly I don't always agree with the outcomes of the process, but I have a lot of faith in the process, and even more in the people engaging. We are a giant group of really fantastic people full of heart. It is way more amazing and special than we can possibly even witness from our limited views.


I love feeling connected with these long-term friendships and acquaintance-ships. These forty-some-year-old organizations are so embedded in our lives and personalities that we take them for granted and even dare to run them down with sarcasm and our other many defense mechanisms that exist because we care so much. We hold our organizations to such high standards of course they can't always please us. It sometimes hard for us to even admit how much we care, and how easily we are hurt when we don't feel seen and heard. 


I am here to say that I hope I never again engage in the complaining and criticizing of the past. Everybody is doing the best that they can, and in some cases, this is some stellar effort that often goes unrecognized. I am very proud of us. If I get to print one of my *special Fair shirts* this year (a tradition that goes back about 20 years now) I promise that it will be a loving one. Last year I did *Spawn* which largely went unrecognized, and I had to trash the one I did of the wicker woman due to my inability to draw her properly, and actually I sincerely doubt that I will manage to make one this year. But I have done many surprising things in the last few months so I don't want to deny myself the possibility of a brilliant homage. You never know.

My book came out, the anthology called Winter Tales II: Women on the Art of Aging, with an essay of mine included. It's rather thrilling! It's my first real publication and while I didn't get paid, I get to sell copies for a tidy profit so I ordered a pile of them. The essay is so much about my life that it almost hurts to read it...but it won't hurt you. I hope you all get a chance to enjoy it. I think I'll donate a copy to the library since it has been such a big part of my evolution and is still so essential to my life. There will be other people you know in it. Check it out on Amazon. 


I also managed a photo shoot with esteemed photographer George Filgate. I wanted good photos of my Jell-O and he managed that, plus he took some wonderful portraits of me. It's a bit hard to watch a long slide show of oneself but it was fascinating to look at each one and try to select the ones that had real authenticity of expression, no posing or faking or inattention, just the real me, exposed. Some of them are quite charming. Now when I am put in the Smithsonian I will be able to provide a great photo for my artist's statement. 


I decided not to do much in the way of costuming, but just present a simple real me. It turned out to be a good counterpoint to the complexity of the Jell-O. Even though I had to spend an entire Sunday dusting off the sculptures, it was well worth the effort. I'm unclear on the destination for these photographs so I'll post one here that is not among the very best, in case those get submitted to something exclusive like the Mayor's Show.  Be assured that a gifted photographer can do amazing subtle things with lights and positioning that could make anyone look photogenic and charming. It wasn't just me. 

This one is the real me, though the hands don't work for me in the composition...but they are great hands, and I'm glad he wanted me to show them. And maybe the smile is a little forced, but the nose is crooked and the face is not symmetrical and this is what I really look like. Even to me. And I certainly no longer hide that grin behind my hand like I did in my teen years, before I got braces in my thirties. I don't hide much these days.


I will, however, not allow the ones of my neck folds to reach public display. This is what 62 looks like, and it isn't that pretty most of the time. Yet pretty is over-rated. What we want is the real. That's what I want, anyway. More of it. Apparently I have a high pain tolerance. 


A good quality to develop.