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.