Strawberry Cure

Today was a really awful day. Anxious and depressed, partially for no good reason, partially because today I feel fairly certain that my entire future is mere inches away from going down in flames. So I came home and am making a strawberry-raspberry galette. It's for bible study tomorrow, but just making it kind of makes me feel better.

I want to be Real...

photo credit: Debra Trean

I have been thinking quite a bit lately about what it is that I want to do with my life. This is chiefly because my current position is about to end at the end of June and I am trying to work out where it is that I'm going to work next. The issue is, whenever you're making decisions about what it is you want to do, I think especially at this time in one's life, you're also making decisions about who you are and who you want to be. You're not just taking a job (ideally), you're advancing towards some ambiguous thing called a career.

Well, I think what I've realized about who I am and where I want to go in my career is that, more than anything else in the world, I love dancing. I want to be around dance for my entire life. I think it is far too late to consider a career in a professional dance company, but I want to be around dance and dancers and in the dance world, basically forever. I don't know what I want to do in the world, largely because I don't even know all the kinds of things that I could be doing, but that is where I want to be.

The big issue with this is that I feel unqualified. I have been dancing my entire life, but I've only taken a few actual dance classes. At this point in my life I dance at least three times a week, sometimes four if I am assistant teaching a tango class. But it never seems like enough to make up for a lack of on paper qualifications or feedback from knowledgeable peers. Which leaves me constantly wondering: Am I a Real Dancer?

Now don't, for heaven's sake try to pin me down on what exactly a Real Dancer is. I'm sure I have no idea. The closest I could come to describing what I encompass in the term is to say that if I was esteemed and treated as a dancer by other, accomplished dancers, I think I could consider myself a Real Dancer. The trouble is, I don't really know any accomplished dancers. Although the exact definition of "accomplished dancer" is also a little fuzzy. I mean, do I have to get props from Martha Graham before this would be a done deal? Would even that kind of validation be enough?

The root trouble is, I think what I really need is not so much affirmation from Martha Graham so much as some affirmation from myself. But I have always struggled to be internally validated about anything. Even my writing, in which I have earned a freakin' Bachelor's degreee, by the by, but I just don't seem to have enough...I don't know, moxy is a fuzzy enough term, to consider myself a Real Writer either. I don't know where the obsession comes from, to find some mystic guru to descend and tell me which side of the arbitrarily drawn line I fall on, but I guess it all has to do with identity again. What I do is a very large part of who I am. And I am a person who has many interests, but few passions. If I can't achieve some level of proficiency in those passions, why bother with the pursuit?

But that's it--the pursuit! If I pursue writing, if I pursue dancing, doesn't that defacto make me a writer and a dancer? I mean, if a person dances three times a week, I don't think it would make very much sense to say that they're not a dancer, right? I don't know about the warm and fuzzy shelf life of this little epiphany, but for a moment it comforts me a great deal to know that I can be a Real Pursuer. Whether that makes me a writer and a dancer, or a Writer and a Dancer, I don't know, but hopefully it will at least afford me some real peace of mind.

S.

P.S.--But, as an aside, if anyone offered me Martha Graham's phone number, I wouldn't turn it down...

The Black Thumb

photo credit: weeder's digest

Okay, I know we're already deep into May with nary a peep from me and I am failing to live up to my two posts a week in the most miserable fashion, and I owe you a long, thoughtful post that I don't yet even have the inspiration for, let alone time to put together...but tonight will not be the night for that. I have bad news

My ranunculus is dying.

I think it caught something called powdery mildew. It started getting this white powder all over its leaves and then all the leaves turned brown and fell off. It is hard to explain how very sad I am about this. I loved that plant. It was beautiful. And it makes me sad because I feel like so many plants that I've owned since coming to Buffalo have died. Do I have a black thumb? I am starting to be afraid that this is the case...

RIP Ranunclus. I really felt like what we had was magical, if short-lived.

S.

Puzzles

As those of you who know me probably already realize, I have become an avid putter-together-of-jigsaw-puzzles while at work. Our latest is a Ravensburger puzzle, which come from somewhere in Europe and are supposed to be very high quality. Anyway, they have descriptions in different languages on the box and I was intrigued that they had one in "US" English and one in "Great Britain" English. Here they both are. I think comparison between the two offers deep insights into the different cultural values. Observe:

GB: Doing a puzzle is a bit like doing yoga exercises...a very welcome relaxation from your daily routine. It is a labour of love, challenge, and light relief all in one.

USA: Doing puzzles is exciting, with invigorating emotional ups and downs. Piece for piece, as you search, find, and search again, your feeling of achievement grows. One person can work on a puzzle--or a whole group. Why don't you make your next party a puzzle one?

Wait, which is it? Is it relaxing, or exciting and invigorating? I guess it depends on where you're from. Also, I think they’re both a very funny way to describe doing puzzles. I don’t know that I would call the “emotional ups and downs” I’ve experienced “invigorationg.”

April Flew

Guys, I have to say, I feel pretty bad about how the blog has been going this month. I feel like all of a sudden somebody has pushed the fast forward button on this month and all of a sudden...yeah, it's pretty much over. I checked. So, here is my fast forward update of the past month. In April, I:

--traveled to Houston and spent and entire week frolicking through my preview of summer.
--discovered a monastery that raised miniature horses
--tabled in about a zillion school cafeterias, spreading the word about services for youth in crisis.
--added a ranunculus to my collection of non-dying plants (fingers crossed!).
--cleaned a beach for Earth Week.
--got the most kick-ass, sexy haircut I think I've ever had.
--visited Houghton to finally see Into the Woods.
--celebrated twenty-four years of me with whiskey, tapas, and very dear friends
--fought "The Man" (actually it was more like "The Women") and tried so very hard to improve what my job was supposed to be
--fought the most epic battle to seek and win a bridesmaid dress.
--composed awesome, hilarious songs with Eric, Jer, and Alicia
--planted five trees (FIVE! yeah. go Earth!)
--saw the Russian National Ballet Theatre perform The Sleeping Beauty
--eagerly, eagerly! awaited the arrival of Real Spring
--and, stuff. You know, stuff. I don't know where all the time goes, honestly. But it's going, going, gone as far as April is concerned. I hope you feel at least a little bit better acquainted with why I've been so absent this past month. Forgive me! I commit anew to checking in more frequently and keeping you in the loop.

S.

Well, duh...

I read this really interesting post on a blog I check in with from time to time entitled synch-ro-ni-zing. It is depressing, but not surprising revelations. Anyone who has actually gone through a writing program could easily tell you that there are many more people out there who feel like they have something to say than there are people willing to sit and listen to what others have said before them. People who's work comes from being opinionated or from having OD on too many fantasy novels, rather than from a well of literary tradition that they've dug themselves with dedicated readership. Lots of writers are just noisy, inarticulate assholes. Hmmm...could I number myself among them? I read books...right? Lots of books. I always wish I was reading more. Maybe that's just a reflection of my insatiability.

Also, as an aside, today is my birthday. When I blow out my candles, I will wish for an incredibly talented, incredibly versatile, incredibly gorgeous dance partner who will waltz (literally) into my life and make it so I never have to worry about going places where there a more follows than leads. Phhhhhhhhh...

S.

Out Walking

Sorry it's been a little while since my last check-in. I was having a technical issue, which is now resolved. In the interim time, work continues to be crazy, but I have briefly escaped down to Houston to visit my family for the Eastertide. Now we're all caught up.

So tonight, while Mom was busy working on Heather's taxes and Heather was busy with a project for school, I snuck out for a walk, enticed by the rosy edge of the storm clouds that have been rolling in and out all day, but were now illuminated by the setting sun. I enjoyed the warm, sweet air so particular to this corner of Texas, softened by notes of jasmine, oleander, and rose. I saw scraps of torn paper strewn over the grass and imagined the epistle of a spurned lover, or perhaps the frustration of a man feeling cheated by the outcome of his tax return. Ever since I got to Houston, I feel like all I've wanted to do is go walking. I thought that was strange until I considered that, in Buffalo, it hasn't really been warm enough to go walking since January. But, even more than weather factors, I can't go walking in Buffalo. I live in a pretty rough neighborhood and wouldn't feel safe going walking by myself in the daytime, let alone at night. In an ironic twist, society has deemed it necessary that I find some male escort to at least give me the illusion of safety in warding off what would probably be male assailants. I have no male escort, but as I have made obvious, if there simply were no men, there would be no problem. Alas, this is not the case. So, no night-walking for me.

But tonight I started thinking back to the circumstances and atmosphere of those lonely night-walks. They were not for pleasure. I felt driven to move, driven to escape from a life that the most rosy description would term confining, and so I would run out as soon as everyone was in bed, starting out with rushed, angry, steps that made my ankles ache, reliving whatever ignominy or absurdity I had put up with that day, and walking until my temper cooled and I gradually went slower and slower until I sunk into a dejected plod. Little toads would peer out at me from the edges of the sidewalks, owls cry their shuddering condolences, bats swoop through their erratic night dances. I was blind to the small beauties around me because I felt so hopelessly trapped in a life I was growing to despise more every day.

So, I suppose I can't help but consider my circumstances improved, even though my new life comes with its own limitations and frustrations. Every life I live, every where I go will, I am growing more and more certain as I attain the wisdom of age. So I guess I'd have to say that I prefer having a reason to wake up in the morning and somewhere to go everyday to the small luxury of walking alone at night.