When it's time to do your taxes

It’s been two whole days. Two whole days since I was “on”…full of the energy of giving my presentation at the Unity Church.

Yesterday:

I’m mad right away because my mouse doesn’t work after Angie tried to use the mouse control disk as a thumb drive while I was out giving my talk. Then because my computer isn’t working right anyway. I sleep in (the morning after – couldn’t hardly sleep the night before from the “high” of it) and I’m tired and I only have an hour before work, and the darn thing is more sluggish than me. I wait and wait for it to boot up. Wait and wait for the internet. Even wait for Word. Then the computer decides it’s ready to shut off for no reason. It used to at least warn me that it was closing down for updates (which always bugged me to no end) and I’m wondering if Angie was on it and changed the prompt. I’m more bugged.

Then she’s got Henry crying before I even come out of my room and then a scene ensues in front of me. Does she think “scenes” are normal? I’ve got to call my therapist today. I think she does. She’s “teaching” him. This morning to not have his chocolate milk with his grandpa, drinking it from a spoon, because he’s got to grow up and use a cup. He uses a cup 99% of the time. Why can’t he have his moment with his grandpa? Five minutes in a long day? Why must she yank him away and make him cry? I can’t stand it.

Anger is a catalyst to change. Anger is a catalyst to change. Anger is a catalyst to change. So is love. Love is a catalyst to change. Love is a catalyst to change. Love is a catalyst to change. Got to remember that too.

Evening:
I tell Jimmy Joe (one of the two cockatiels—the loudest) to shut up. I catch Simeon (one of the two cats – the most persistent) from making his 23rd attempt to jump off the top of the couch onto my lap and my laptop. As I assist him (okay, kind of throw him) from midair over the laptop, past the edge of the coffee table and toward the door, he scratches my nose. It bleeds.

Today:
I’m up at 5:30, before, as Henry says, the day is here, but I don’t notice the sky until six when it’s already lightening.

It’s not even 6:30 now but I’m noticing and it’s a beautiful sky. Blue above, white beneath, orange on the bottom, then the ground still dark. I love that. Just the top of the yard showing – as if all that’s out there is tree “tops” and no ground level mess. Tree tops where there’s nothing to do. No problems. No angst. I begin to calm down.

Man, I was so blazing hot for a few days. My presentation came together when my talk was still a few days away and the creative zone didn’t leave me. I was inspired. I blogged. I wrote emails. I didn’t have enough time to put all my inspiration into words.

Since then, there’s practically nothing there. A few tendrils hung before the crash that’s left me unable to get inspired no matter how hard I try. (Note to self: trying never works.) Brought the latest book review of a Louise Erdrich title with me to get me going this morning if all else fails.

Sometimes, when all else fails, the best you can do is to complain. Or look at the sky.

Or be still.

But to be still in between one thing and the next, I have found, takes a little time. I know, I know. It’s only been two days. I know it takes at least three. Sometimes three weeks. You’ve been “on” so long in a good way that turning “off” feels like a plight. You’re brain dead and weary and restless rather than heart full and still. There is a difference. You’re in need of a certain movement back to resting, to gestation. You’ve got to be a fallow field because there ain’t nothing that’s going to grow out of your dirt. You’ve got dirt instead of earth. You’ve run dry.

I’ve got taxes planned for the weekend. It’s good timing.

From a purse to a suitcase

I packed a suitcase last night. It seemed the best way to cart books. You don’t ever know how many will attend a talk or how many will buy or what they’ll buy. Do I pack a dozen copies of all three books of A Course of Love? How many of The Given Self? Should I throw in a couple of The Grace Trilogy? Having determined to take the suitcase on wheels, I simply decided to fill it up. Why waste the space? I can always keep it on hand for the next time.

It got me thinking of the whole purse theme that I wrote of yesterday. I was fully prepared. Had $30 in one dollar bills to give as change. Had my notes. Had my bottle of water. Had my worn copy of A Course in Miracles in case I got one of those audiences that wanted to (what usually feels like) rake me over the coals about differences they see.

I didn’t need much of it. But I was prepared.

I reminded myself of the artists who used to show their work at our coffee shop. What a lot of work! They’d be hauling and hanging for hours and hardly any of them ever sold a thing. I’d start out feeling sorry for them from the first. I’d wonder if it was worth it.

My evening was worth it. The books looked nice displayed on the table. I used seven of the dollar bills. I could have gotten a free bottle of water, but hey, I had my own, and I don’t care what they say about the dangers of refilling them…mine get refilled at the faucet so it didn’t cost me anything.

The audience once again looked bored out of their minds. It got me rattled after a while and I wound down more quickly than I’d planned. Then I got the most sincere, and even courageous questions! Questions used to scare the beegeesus (how do you spell that?) out of me, but these were absolutely wonderful and almost (dare I say it) fun to answer. The bored faces quit looking bored. The hands eventually clapped, and then all of those who’d only pretended to be dullards started coming up and telling me something that I’d said was relieving or resonated or some such thing. One man told me about losing a six-month-old child.

My host, a beautiful man named Leon, sat on his haunches beside me as I re-packed my suitcase. I told him I'd misread the audience and had no clue they were relating or responding until the questions. He said, "This is Minnesota," and shared a similar experience he'd had. He told me about a book he’s writing, and we talked of Miles Davis and Irv Williams and hugged on the way out.

It’s all kind of a blur really. But it was worth it.

Like a purse

Day of the Unity launch. It’s just a talk but I keep referring to it inwardly as the launch…as if I got the launch of The Given Self stuck in my brain, and now every talk is some kind of launch.

Today there is wind and it brought a wave of cold that cleared the sky. For brief minutes it was the midnight blue I so love to see. Now it is mainly black and white again, but there is a swath of pink across the horizon. It appears to no longer be a steady wind. Not a thing bobbles for long stretches and then there is that gentle sway, as if the trees breathe, a lifting and a settling. I suppose that is the way it is with me.

I still find such talks a big deal. Just getting dressed is a big deal. When you don’t have to dress for the public often at all, having to do so becomes a bit of a trial. I’ll wear what I did for the book launch most likely. There’s really only one other outfit I’ve got that lets me feel that I look like “me” and that’s not too shabby. It’s an orange shirt and sweater vest kind of thing though, and I worry about the orange. Someone told me that the color orange is about creativity. That’s well and good. But sometimes it’s not easy to look at. I always thought of it as a cafeteria color – the kind that makes you want to eat a hot dog. I only bought it because I liked the style, not the color. So…we’ll see if I choose bold or bland. Orange, to me, is a bold color.

Then there’s, “What am I going to do with my hair?” Ever since I got my hair cut for a wedding last summer my braid looks like something out of an animated flick with exaggerated strands escaping wildly, especially around my neck. If I let my hair down without first doing something cosmetic (like using gel), or something artful (like having my daughter French braid it), it hangs or frizzes with an unremarkable dullness, and I look unkempt and not at all like those women who have hair that looks a mess on purpose.

And of course, I worry about why I’m worried about such things. Who cares? Men seem so able to get away with whatever. At a children’s book launch I went to recently, Michael Hall (Heart Like a Zoo), wore what looked like his everyday jeans and shoes and a sweater over a button-down shirt. Totally comfortable. Like he was ready to spend the day at home or go to the grocery store.

Last week, peace activist Marv Davidov hadn’t given (or you wouldn’t think had given) a thought to his clothes. I didn’t even notice them except for the hat. You might say he was more than casual but also a little flamboyant although I can’t say how (maybe just the hat?) His collaborator, Carol Masters, wore a dress.

I remember seeing an Andy Rooney monologue on “60 Minutes” one time where he said women would never be equal to men as long as they continued to carry purses. You can only say such things with the kind of humor Rooney has. He joked of how you can’t respond in an emergency if you say, “Wait a minute. I’ve got to get my purse.” Not that you don’t have everything you need for an emergency packed into them.

Luckily my talk is prepared like a purse ready for an emergency. I wish I didn’t need a script but I still do and I have it. I wouldn’t be thinking about clothes and hair if I didn’t. I’d be in a panic. The script is kind of like a purse. Once you know you’ve got what you need you sort of forget about it and you can get up and go (at least as soon as you’ve dressed).