Does Anyone Else See the Irony?

Watching so many people polarizing lately is something I find very, very disturbing. Any time a politician (or anyone, for that matter) play on people's fears...often creating a fear that had not even actually existed before...they have moved into full-force interpersonal manipulation.

And make no mistake. That tactic works in mass audiences just as it does one-on-one. For an example, just look at Hitler's campaigns in the 1930's.

One of the things that boggles my mind is the folk who are vociferously crying out how we are losing our freedom of religion and free speech. "They are taking away your right to avow God! Soon, you won't be able to talk about God or your convictions at all!!"

While, at the same time.... they are doing just that. No one has taken that right away. Just that they can even make this claim demonstrates in no uncertain terms that they indeed do have the capability of slinging whatever version of "God" they choose! Even one I personally find goes very much against my own conception of God as a caring person who wants to foster love, kindness and inclusiveness, not hatred and intolerance.

Yup. It is totally ironic that they have made this point of driving people into a frenzy over a fear that they, in creating the fear, are totally showing to be bogus.

Boundaries and Strings

I am very big on personal boundaries, because I have lost them all at one point. I know how horrible it is to lose yourself, and solid personal boundaries are the best defense against conscious / intentional and subconscious / unintentional manipulation.

I have been told by several different people at different times in my life that I am weirdly tolerant and intolerant at the very same time. The apparent paradox is simple: I am very tolerant about what other people do with their own lives, as long as it does not impinge on mine. I am very wary of interpersonal manipulation, however, and will shut down anything that starts pinging too loudly on my manipulation radar. (Ergo, intolerant.)

One of the more subtle forms of manipulation are the subconscious strings that many people attach to their interactions with others. It is hard to truly describe, because it is such a subtle shift from normal (and healthy) social interchange.

Even so, when someone begins "banking" the favors they are doing for you... keeping a tally of the "good" or "nice" things they are doing, whether those things were asked for or not, then there is a problem.

We do need to appreciate what others do for us. But appreciation does not mean that those favors given makes crossing personal boundaries acceptable. Appreciation does not make "guilting" or "you owe me" attitudes acceptable.

You can appreciate another person and maintain your personal boundaries at the same time. It may take some practice and the other person involved may not understand (and therefore have hurt feelings because) you are protecting yourself, but it is do-able. More than that, it is really the only way to maintain your own healthy self-hood.

Destiny's Child

My spiritual life is an important part of who I am; it shapes my worldview, my attitudes, and my actions. One of the things I like about my church (TLR) is that the people there are about celebrating and deepening that relationship with God.

Yesterday, Pastor Kevin nailed something that is so vital to us --- whether we know it or not, whether it is obvious or so subtle we can't really see it fully, we have a destiny.

Here are some tidbits:

• speak into your own destiny -- in other words, talk (and think) positively about where you are going in your life. And of course, recognize you are indeed going somewhere!


• encourage yourself -- it's great when others encourage you, but you also need to perform this important task for yourself.


• do not let anything get in the way of your destiny. God has a purpose for you --- it is up to you to work hard, overcome the obstacles, and have the courage to achieve it!

I know I'm "Destiny's Child".... How about you?

Great Idea for Knitters!

I just have to pass this along! Several of us About.com Guides were chatting via email, and someone mentioned how their husband didn't understand the desire to knit socks...since they'd be hidden by boots or shoes anyway. Another Guide chimed in with this lovely answer:

"What you need is a pair of clear wellington boots! At a fiber festival I went to a couple of years ago there was a stall selling clear boots which showed off nicely a pair of handknitted socks. They did a storming trade, but I don't think the idea caught on, as I did a google search this morning and can't find anything like it - which is a shame (but perhaps a business opportunity...)." --- Kate Pullen, Guide to Rubberstamping

P.S. Kate did find a pair! "Found a pair! - http://www.fleming.flump.net/~webofwoo/shop/product.php?xProd=320&xSec=36

This is a funny idea too - turn your handknitted sock into a money box http://www.fleming.flump.net/~webofwoo/shop/product.php?xProd=354&xSec=36 "

The Need for Hope

I do my best thinking when I lay down for bed. The other night I found myself thinking about hope and how we all need it. I thought about how some folk have disdainfully comment about "irrational hopes" and look down their noses at those who acknowledge they have hope.

The hope may be financial, spiritual, regarding health, or in any number of other areas. The area is less important than having the hope itself.

When we don't have hope, we cease to function healthily. We can literally (in certain circumstances) "hopelessness" ourselves to death.

Depression is often a nasty result of losing one's hope. We sink further and further into a morass that can see no end to pain and suffering...no change for the better sometime in the future.

Having hope helps us endure. Hope can give us motivation. Hope can inspire us, and with hope, we can see that positive changes are possible. To paraphrase, "Keep the hope, baby!"

Dualing Personalities

No, you don't have to tell me about the spelling...this was a deliberate play on words. I really do mean "dualing". You may know exactly what I mean, once I've explained it. You may do it, too!

Have you ever noticed yourself dealing with a serious personal want, or even need, and yet you can't quite accept it when you get it fulfilled? Let me give you an example.... the person who wishes for recognition, but doesn't accept the recognition they get....the person who wants to be good-looking, but won't accept the evidence in the mirror that they are already looking good...the person who wants to excel at a sport, but doesn't remember the ten goals they got in a game, only the missed shots.

All these people have a desire for how they want to be seen or how they want to see themselves. Yet, when they reach the apparent goal of that desire it doesn't seem to register. There is a duality in wanting and yet not accepting the fulfillment of that want.

Sometimes...ok, possibly a lot of the time... we get in our own way, without even knowing it. If you find that you have a "dualing" want, dig around inside yourself and ask why you can't accept the thing you desire. What is standing in your way?

Bitterness -- A Choice

The other night, I was faced with several problems all coming up all at once. I felt overwhelmed by it all. I wanted to run away -- but couldn't. As I tried to deal with my feelings of anger and resentment, I suddenly could see I had the choice to become bitter about it all...It was as if I stood on a hilltop and looked out over what could be...and what I could become.

It was a sobering experience...and one that really got me thinking.

Bitterness is a choice. A lot of folk don't seem to realize that, but it is. We can either choose to allow disappointment and frustration merge with anger, or.... We can analyze why we are disappointed, frustrated, or angry. Once we know and understand the root reason(s), we can come up with options.

An important point here is that there isn't always something you can do about the things that are stressing you. Sometimes the best options are one of adapting our outlook, our expectations, how we reward ourselves (as in, how we make ourselves feel better...not necessarily a tangible reward at all), and --- probably most important of all --- our attitudes.

Something else in this that I've noticed.... People who choose bitterness, well, they are also choosing a victim's stance. The external world is beyond their control (they feel), and therefore nothing they do will help them in any way or to any degree whatsoever.

People who choose not to move into bitterness, however, are choosing a survivor's stance. Because the way to overcome the temptation into bitterness is to begin working the problem.... Problem-solving is very definitely both a way to feel better (about yourself and the world) and very much a part of a survivor's ability to maintain mental resiliency.

As for me...well, the problems aren't all sorted out, and a few more got dumped on my plate yesterday. But I've chosen to bolster my attitude of acceptance, my desire to help others, and use all this to hone my problem-solving skills. And that makes me smile once again!

Forced on Vacation

Well, I was visibly reaching my limits. My family put their collective foot down last week and sent me on a mini-vacation over the weekend. *ahhhh* It really was a very-much needed rest.

I spent nearly all my time just sitting outside listening to the wind in trees, watching cloud shadows, and enjoying the birds and small wildlife around Sleep Creek Mountain Inn. Oh, interspersed with happy bouts of voracious reading. Two books in two days. *happy grinning sigh* Just the way I like it!

My Story: Cess' First Big Move

Recap: I was asked to write to a fellow I'll be referring to as Cess Pool by my grandmother. The reason was that he was in prison and had asked her to help him find Christian pen-pals. Cess and I began corresponding.

After a couple of months, Cess and I were writing at least once a week, but usually two to three times a week. Then came a shocker...he sent me a photo of himself --- handsome, bright smile --- and he asked me if I would ever consider him as a boyfriend.

Mentally and emotionally I came to a dead stop. I had not dated in high school or college... I'd always felt out of step with my classmates in high school and although I'm naturally friendly, I'm also very comfortable being by myself. In college, I had a bunch of friends but was more focused on studio work. This "offer" floored me.

I hadn't seen it coming, I'd been isolated to the house by my arthritis for nearly two years, and I wasn't adept at "dating games" anyway. Cess had assessed my vulnerabilities and hit me just where I was most vulnerable.

Not that I knew it at the time....

I showed the letter to my mom and asked her opinion. She was thrilled. I think she was happy to see a "Christian" man taking a romantic interest in her tomboyish and in-pain daughter. We agreed that I should pray about it before making a decision, though.

I was doing well enough that I was able to walk down the road a bit, toward the places I had always found refuge, peace, and spiritual connection before. I wasn't able to get to them (as they were in the woods surrounding the road), but just being outside and having the trees to either side of me was wonderful after so long inside.

I prayed that God would guide me, then listened. I tried to let everything empty out of myself, but found that hard to do with a sense of burgeoning excitement that someone had found me --- ugly duckling me! --- attractive.

I tried again to get my emotions to tamp down, but they only clamored more. It increasingly felt right. After about an hour, I had reached a decision to tell Cess I was interested, but that we still needed to know each other better.

Cess' first big play had been successful.

Whew! A Long Time Away

Well, sorry for the hiatus! I was ill much of January, and then February saw me spending 2+ weeks in the hospital. *Blech!!* I'm home and nearly recovered, but have had to significantly change my work habits.

With a host of other health problems, I also have lymph edema in both legs. This time, it was the edema in my right leg that was my weakest health link and that blew apart. Trying to catch back up without overdoing it again has been....interesting. ;-)

My leg near the beginning of lymph edema flare. The leg is about three times its normal size and you can see the fluid running down and off my foot --- lymph fluid being squeezed out of breaks in the over-stretched skin. The blister is also filled with lymph fluid. Before the ER doc deflated it and removed the dead skin, the blister was the size of half of a softball. Many other blisters showed up later, and I lost about 1/2 the skin on the front of my shin and some off the back.

I'm doing okay so far, although some stuff is hard to get used to. Like writing in the living room, so I can keep my legs elevated. BUT... this morning I opened the door to my studio for the first time since going to the hospital. Just the smell is enough to make me smile. That lovely earthy smell of clay!

I'll try to get back and post more today, but if not.... Have a good one, everyone!!

Loss of Autonomy Looming

I was just over at my friend Barbara Roleck's blog and read her post on Romania's soon-to-be-implemented "Fat Tax."

Charlie Zegers touched on a rather serious problem, as far as I'm concerned. Although many people talked about the effects of diabetes and obesity on individuals and on the economy, Charlie's comment about a "nanny-state" got me thinking. And throwing my two-cent's worth in.

At what point do we abdicate our entire lives and ability to make choices to a government that takes over? At what cost is this to us on spiritual, mental, societal, and cultural levels?

When we get into a habit of delegating decision making to others... be it a church, a business, a martial arts class, or a government...we are building a state of being that can easily result in the loss of all our autonomous thought and action.

No folks, I am not overreacting. I've been there. It is not a good place to be.

My Story: Cess Enters My Awareness

When I left off last time, I had just told you about the collapse of my health in my early twenties. At the time, the doctor I was seeing diagnosed me with serum-negative rheumatoid arthritis. We tried several different treatments, but nothing was working.

Between the pain of going anywhere and the rural nature of my parent's house (I was living with them at the time), I was pretty isolated. It was at this juncture, in December of 1984, that my grandmother asked me to write to Cess.

My mom explained that Cess was from their old church. He was currently in prison in Canada, but no one really seemed to know why. Rumor had it that he had beaten his girlfriend while under the influence of drugs. He had recently written to my grandmother, asking if she knew of any Christians who would be willing to be penpals with him.... He said he had given his life back to God and wanted to have the friendship and support of other Christians.

He said that he felt isolated, I was isolated, and it seemed that being correspondents might be good for both of us.

I wrote an introductory letter and sent it off. The month went past, and since there was no response I didn't think much more about the matter.

In January of 1985, my doctor thought he may have found a treatment that might work. It was a six-week course of heavy mediation which had the purpose of getting my immune system to knock off the attack it was waging on my joints. He explained I'd be ill during the treatment, but that with luck it would get the RA into remission.

I began the drug therapy and while sick as a dog, got my first letter back from Cess. In it, he (apparently) sincerely apologized for not responding sooner. He said that the letter must have gotten delayed due to going through the prison censers, but that he was very glad to hear from a fellow Christian. He spoke about how sorry he was that I was in ill health, but was glad to have (finally) met someone who could begin to glimpse what his own isolation had been like.

Now, it has been a long-standing habit to answer letters as soon as I get them. Otherwise, I have a strong propensity to lose them and forget to answer. With that in mind, it should not surprise you that I wrote back within a few days of getting Cess' letter.

We began corresponding fairly frequently. Much of what was written back and forth was theological discussions, and Cess sent some short article-like papers he had written on different subjects. Many of these struck me as the old-fashioned fire and brimstone bible-thumping... and in my own mind I thought that it wasn't too surprising, given what I'd been told of the church he had grown up in. I thought that could I help him get past what I saw as "young Christian" (narrow-minded fervor) to a less militant, more Grace-full faith.

I entered into the relationship with the desire to help: to help ease someone's loneliness, and to help someone grow and deepen their faith.

Pooped Pouggie Claus

Raini, snuggled between my sister Jeannette and I, taking a nap on my knee after presents were opened.

My Story: Background

Just setting up to do this is a source of discomfort. No one knows the whole story except me. Even those who were involved, one way or another, in the story.

Ah, well. Take a deep breath and take the plunge. The water may not be fine, but it hopefully won't be as icy as it looks, LOL.

This is the story of how I went from a not-really-mild-mannered artist to...whatever I am today. Which means this is the story of my involvement with an extremely skilled manipulator. We will call him Cess...short for Cesspool.

Of course, in real life there are rarely clear-cut beginnings. Every event has precursors further back that effect what happens at any given moment. So, let me begin by giving you some of the most pertinent background.

I was born into a very Christian family. The church my parents attended when I was born was fundamentalist in viewpoint and highly authoritarian. My grandparents and other relatives also went to this church, as did Cess and his family. My mother had Cess in her class when she taught Sunday School there.

When I was five years old, my dad got a teaching position at Edinboro State College (now Edinboro University of PA) and we moved far away from that authoritarian church. Doing the math now, Cess would have been about fourteen at that time. My family and his didn't keep contact, other than some vague information that wandered through the familial grapevine.

Just so we're on the same page, I have no memory of him, his family, or any other church members from that time period. The only memory I have of church from before our move is of the church building (or a church building) with wonderful stonework on the outside and cool rooms to wander through and explore...rather like exploring a castle in my child's imagination.

I grew up in rural PA, where our nearest neighbors moo'ed. I also grew up fairly alone. My siblings are all much older than me, the next youngest being six years older and disinclined to play with the "squirt". There were no neighborhood kids, and the kids at school viewed our family as outsiders....and worse yet, educated city-folk outsiders.

And so I grew up with my imagination, books, animals, and the woods around us as my childhood and teen playmates and friends. My family was still very involved in church, but the church I grew up in was drastically more healthy than the church in which I was born. I believed in God and most of what this church taught, but I did think "outside the lines" on more than one issue...especially as I got older.

I will say, be careful what you pray for. I strongly remember praying, probably as an eight or nine year old, for humility and wisdom. Especially wisdom, since I figured if you were truly wise, you'd know that you weren't any "big cheese" no matter how smart you were. ...And I'm not saying I'm wise. *shaking head & laughing* Oh, no!! Wisdom is a growth process that never ends, and I've still got a long road ahead of me, LOL.

Anyway...back to our story. Or the precursors thereof. ;-)

By the end of high school I knew I wanted to follow my dad's footsteps and be an artist and teach college. My plan was to get a BFA & MFA (Bachelor's and Master's of Fine Art), then a doctorate in art history. I started college as a drawing major, but *hugest grin* the first two weeks of my mandatory ceramics class, I was hooked and switched majors to clay. Man, I love the dirt!!!

The semester I had printmaking, my health took its first really horrible nosedive. I am horrendously chemically sensitive (aka environmental illness) and although we took every precaution, the inks and solvents were too much for my body to handle. I was nineteen and on crutches for the first time (other than once after being stomped on after being thrown by my horse). It took almost three months, but I was back on my feet for the next semester.

During my junior and senior year in college, I spent a lot of time doing mental work as I created physical art. I was doing sculptural ceramics, exploring the idea of religion, godhood, and people as spiritual creatures. I was journaling, exploring my thoughts on ethics, who I was, and making conscious (and written) decisions about my personal ethics, what I wanted and needed in a romantic partner, and where I wanted to go in my life. (I was still heading for that MFA, PhD, and teaching at the college level.)

After graduating, I worked for a short time for the ceramic department as a technical assistant, then moved to Colorado Springs looking for work in a commercial art pottery or as an apprentice....looking to build my portfolio for the studio ceramics MFA program in Missoula, MT. (I love mountains, too!) what actually happened was that, after a contract fell through, I ended up working part-time for a high school as a teacher's aide.

In the meantime, my sister Lynn had landed a job in DC. She and her two young children were moving and needed help. I came back east and spent several months with them, helping get the household settled, cooking, cleaning, babysitting, and helping work through a lot of the wretched red tape of getting Lynn's kids enrolled at school. They had both been born while their father was in the military, and the military had lost all their records....immunizations included.

I was already beginning to have a lot of health problems just from living in the pollution of the DC metro area. Once Lynn's family was well established, I headed back north to stay with my folks for a short time.

By the time I reached my parent's home, my health had collapsed completely. My doc didn't have a diagnosis at that time that fit; in retrospect, it was my second major lupus/RA/chemical sensitivity flare.

Every joint in my body became inflamed. I couldn't walk without help. I couldn't stand still for more than a few moments. I wasn't able to hold a book to read for more than ten minutes to a half hour at a time. I was 22.

My life, as I had planned it, had collapsed.

Family Chaos

I love my family...noisy, boisterous people that they are. But a day enclosed in a relatively small house with all of them can be a bit much. Too much noise, too much food, too much chaos as people try to get gifts to other family members.

Even with all the confusion and loud voices, I'm glad they are here. I'm glad our family is noisy in their play and in having fun, rather than the angry and recriminating noise I've heard in so many other families.