When the Tables Turn...

I was a little girl...when my grandfather taught me...the ins and outs of setting a table...There were right ways...and wrong ways...The spacing had to be un-crowded...the knives had to be turned blade to the plate...so you wouldn't be cut...the smaller...more petite came first...and the bigger pieces...responsible for the true nourishment...were meant to be second...and were less attractive...Most important...every item...needed to know its place...and if you placed anything wrong...everyone would be embarrassed for you...I was stressed...beyond belief...

My sense of responsibility...for even the smallest thing...will keep me awake nights...I know I seem cool...calm...and relaxed...but that's only from years of deep breathing...and mastering the art of keeping my lip from trembling...To make matters worse...I tend to be intuitive...I can sense displeasure...disappointment...or a drop in confidence...it's like being a living thermometer...and so I work...tirelessly...to maintain a temperate climate...and balance within myself...You can imagine my...hmmm...what's the word...fear...when I realized that I am beginning to...experience the first signs of...what will one day be dementia...

My aunt has it...she is the shell of the woman that I remember...brilliant and fiery...spoke two languages...traveled...and pushed everyone's buttons...she now struggles to push the right buttons on the phone...speaks a language no one understands...and travels only in her nightgown now...from room to room...

When I was a child...I suffered several serious head injuries...some from accidents...and some from "accidents"...as I grew older...I garnered a couple more...I relearned how to write...how to process information...how to focus...how to make it through migraines...how to pretend that my thinking wasn't stuck...how to cover when I couldn't pretend...and how to embrace my weaknesses...and let my gifts...my talents grow...to fill in the synaptic glitches...

As I stood in the kitchen tonight...in my mid 40's...staring at the dish soap...knowing I needed to do something with it...and my eyes darted...from the water to the bottle...and back...three times before I connected everything...I realized that I'm scared...Right now...it's little things...small details...but will there come a day...I know...that I will lose...faces...words...actions...memories...

I don't know...if I can write fast enough...love enough...see enough...break enough rules...laugh enough or loud enough...Are there really enough jokes...stories...friends...lovers...sunrises...or sunsets...children to play with...or kittens and puppies...that I won't feel pain...when they are not in the proper place...in my mind...

I suppose...that after a lifetime...of keeping everything in its proper place...maybe it is time...to mix it up a bit...maybe go to the mailbox...in my nightgown...or wear mismatched outfits...or dip Oreos in Gatorade...so that when I start to believe this is appropriate...no one will see that I've changed...Maybe...its okay...for the table to remain unset...to just toss the forks in the middle...and let everyone else figure out where they go...Maybe the things...that we tell ourselves are important...like dining etiquette...doesn't matter...in the grand scheme of things...I imagine...that when my mind...is no longer my own...getting things right might be a concern...but then...if I just focus on living...maybe I won't notice...when I can't remember anymore...

When the tables turn...

Take a Chance on Me....

We all have our favorite musical artists...the ones we tell everyone about...and the ones that we keep to ourselves... Mine...ABBA...When friends discover my addiction...the jokes are endless...I laugh...but I still listen to them.  Ironically...I pulled them up on Pandora...and my favorite song of theirs immediately began playing...They sang...in perfect harmony...begging for another to give them a chance...to believe in them...As I swayed...yes...swayed to the beat...I thought about my writing this week...about taking chances...risking...the theme...mistakes...

Oh my...my mistakes have been plentiful...gargantuan...epic...Some of them are the making of screenplays...some should just be buried in a flower garden...Many of them...were short lived...and some will haunt me until the day I die...but I am nothing...if not consistent...so I will continue to make mistakes...hopefully...each one only once...

If look deeper at my lifetime of foibles...as I have this week...here's what I find...I believe in others...their resiliency...their potential...and their ability to correct the path they are on...I have believed in thousands...my clients...my co workers...my government...my family...my lovers...and my friends...there is only one person that I rarely give a chance...or room for mistakes...me...

I look back over a lifetime of opportunities...that I have passed on...because I didn't believe that I was capable of achievement...If I were my own parent...which I have been much of my life...I would be that mother who says...don't even try...you will fail...Firm...to the point...and unyielding...in my belief...that I shouldn't believe in me...

My risk taking has been cleverly disguised as belief in others...as if...I were trying to trick myself...so that I wouldn't discover my own attempts...at something new...I can persuade others to believe in me...my outside the box ideas...and then promptly...go home and throw up...Years of migraines...heartburn...sleepless nights...and tears have plagued me...and my reaching out to...myself...While others sang my praises...I hung my head...positive...that I would be found out...for the fraud I believed myself to be...

It took losing everything...I mean everything...to not care anymore...what I had to say about me...What's the worst that could happen...that I wouldn't be my friend anymore...Here's the bigger question...had I ever...When was the last time...I was a good friend to myself...In a lifetime of experiences...for every hundred that I offered others...I offered one to me...always with loopholes...and conditions...and the prodding of a friend...

So...where does this leave me now...Hello...my name is Mickie...Hello Mickie...It's been three months...since I last didn't believe in myself...Tell me your story...I'm taking this day by day...sometimes I need support...but I know I'll make it...I just have to...

take a chance on me...

Boulevard of Broken Dreams...

In 1942...Edward Hopper painted a snapshot of a corner diner...with three individuals at a counter...and the man behind the counter...serving them...It was meant to represent loneliness...isolation...and commonality between four strangers...In 1984...Gottfried Helnwein...replaced the individuals with Marilyn Monroe...James Dean...Elvis Presley...and Humphrey Bogart...all who died senseless deaths...and represented loneliness...isolation...and commonality between four individuals...who were actually strangers...to each other...What could this possibly have to do with anything...

Three years ago...I decided to try online dating...I was working in rural areas...I worked all the time...and I was alone...very alone...no family...no children...and the life I had known disintegrated...right before my eyes...but...being the idealist I am...I decided that there are ways to connect with others...to find that just right person...to reach out...and fill that empty place...beside me...or maybe inside...

It is an understatement...to say that I gave it my very best shot...I have been discriminating...and then I have dated indiscriminately...I have shared the condensed version of my life...so many times...that it actually bores me...I have dressed young...dressed up...dressed down...even wore a dress...I have listened to other's stories...it feels like millions... I've worked out...gotten worked up...been worked over...in four separate states...and overseas...and I am still incredibly...incredulously...single...

It would be easy to say...I will be alone forever...the fact is...I'm not alone...there are a lot...thousands...millions...of people who are alone... worse yet...lonely...and...because it is so easy to connect on the internet...they are barreling over...and through...other alone...and lonely people...and the trail of blood tells the tale...and I'm not so sure...that I haven't hurt my fair share of searching individuals...

You would think...that with so many people alone...and with advanced technology to help us...that we would connect...learn about each other...live life to its fullest...and love...long and hard...Instead...we learn nothing...stop living...and love...for the moment...We treat each other...as if we are dispensable...disposable...like fast food...

We shake our bowed heads at victimization...we cry out at bombings...we shake our fists at the heavens about poverty...unfairness...abuse of power...and then we step on the hearts of those around us...we all do it...it's so easy...so unimportant to us...because...in the back of minds...we've decided...oh...they'll survive...they asked for it...well...they put themselves out there...there's plenty of fish in the sea...The longer I have participated in roller derby dating...the more bruises I have obtained...the more that I have felt that I am broken...sometimes shattered...and the more I hear the shattering stories of slashed dreams...murdered hopes...and crushed self worth...

I guess...there is a purpose behind it all...I have met some wonderful men...who I just became friends with...and I read that people meet the love of their lives online...but it just seems to me that...as all these strangers come together...meeting in bars...or at parks...or just at a diner...the picture that has been painted for me...looks very much like...one of the most famous depictions...of individuals coming together...and still being alone...

I made the decision to stop...stop it all...stop the online dating...and the frenetic attempts...to meet someone...I suppose...this means...I may walk alone...for a long time...maybe forever...but...maybe...it will make more room for people who care about me...who want to spend time with me...and for myself...to let my talents...and aspirations grow...I realize this puts me on a path of my choosing...in uncharted territory...but I believe this is a better...kinder...more fulfilling road...that instead of following others...I will  be blazing my own trail...It may get bumpy...or muddy...or boring...but with all the unknown...it will get me where I'm supposed to be...faster...then travelling the unsafe transit system on...

the boulevard of broken dreams...

Table for Two...

Yesterday...I hopped into my car...and headed out...My first choice was Atlanta...but I had turned in that direction for someone else...not me...similar to all the decisions I've made in my life...my intended journey was for another...So I changed direction...and came to New Orleans...

As the green trees whirred by...and the bright sun broke through the clouds...of my troubled mind...I knew that I was on the right path...With my bruised ego in the passenger seat...we discussed all the mistakes of my past...the injuries...the loneliness...the deceptions...and the shelved dreams...We reviewed the relationships...found...then lost...the places...within myself...where I had culled out space...so that someone else could set up residence...only to have them walk away...and the time spent filling in those gaps...with grains of sand...leaving me heavy and empty...and as I drove and discussed...windows rolled down...those tiny...heavy fillers...slipped away...caught by the wind...By the time I reached Lake Pontchartrain...the only thing that filled the car...was the delicious briny air and bright sunlight...I felt energized...and at peace...with myself...just the two of us...old friends...war buddies...

As dusk fell over the French Quarter...I took myself out to photograph the dark and sorted corners...street performers...couples...the working individuals...and the drunks...I sat at a bar...gulping an ice cold beer...and spoke with a young woman...risking a safe life for pursuing her dreams... I saw myself in her gestures...and the tilt of her head...as she described her risky plans...silently I said an artists prayer for her...then I slipped away...

Two blocks away...I shared a laugh with a hostess...at a busy restaurant...and our banter procured a table for me...She...unblinkingly...took me to a table...for one...with two place settings...all around me couples...pairings...groups...in the center...me...and that's when it came...the simple text...from a new potential suitor...I thought I'd send you a note...I know you must be very lonely there...

I paused...and looked around...only to catch myself in the mirrored wall...I was grinning...at myself...I hadn't even felt the corners of my mouth turn up...I think I might have been grinning the whole night...maybe the whole day...I inhaled my last oyster...dipped my fried green tomato into the last of my remoulade...washed it down with my second icy beer...and my ego sent a text back...Oh no...I'm not lonely...I chose this...I'm sitting in a beautiful restaurant at a...

...table for two...

Better...You Bet...

Years ago...I found a dirty patina painting...tucked away in the back of a dingy flea market...Patina is a rare find...someone used their hands to form the delicate plaster...and carefully placed each detail on a carved board...and then breathed life into the images...with paint and brush...At first glance...the piece screamed ugly...in the poorly lit corner...islands away from all the other treasures...but there was something...I couldn't put my finger on it...No..maybe not...this wasn't of value...and I walked away...

Weaving my way through the market...I looked at...and temporarily fell in love with other pieces...only to put them back...after a few moments of touching and holding...losing interest as fast as it sparked...and all the while...that patina kept popping up...in the corners of my mind...maybe I would go back and give it a second look...well...maybe after I checked out this other item...after all...this one was sparkly...jazzy...everything I needed to know was right there...for the world to see...

Two hours passed...my hands were surprisingly empty...and that patina had moved to the forefront of my brain...I easily made my way back to the dark corner...and there she sat...until the moment I took her home...wrapped in old newspaper...only to place her in a corner of my living room...and forget about her for two months...

One ordinary afternoon...with nothing better to do...I unwrapped her...pulled her into the light...and with moistened q-tips...I carefully brushed away the years of dirt...Oh...she had some dings...bits of plaster missing...but...oddly enough...those missing pieces weren't from important parts of the painting's meaning...they only added to her character...and the untouched areas...were absolute beauty...

With each swipe of my tiny tool...the colors became brighter...her story unfolded...a young woman tending to her garden...caring for her home...and welcoming all to step through her gate...The more I unearthed...the more I was taken with her beauty...simplicity...and honesty...No complex messages...no agendas...everything she had to share was right there...and now the world could see it...

I wondered...why it had taken me so long to spend the time to clean away the nastiness...that had enveloped her...why had I felt so comfortable...passing her by...leaving her sitting alone...forgotten...and unappreciated...now...I couldn't imagine my home without her...I own nothing better...

Today...I looked in a mirror...after years...months...weeks...of uncovering...me...I wondered how I have put myself in corners...allowed dust and dirt to collect on my dreams...and talents...And as I scrape each layer off...as I work through the crevices of my life...removing the junk...and place myself in a different light...I am beginning to see my story...the one that was meant to be shared...the one that many have walked past...for something sparkly...jazzy...as I sat silently...waiting...waiting for the ordinary day...that I would take the time...to unearth the delicate patina of me...

Oh...I'm still working...slowly...patiently...this may take a bit...but every time I ask myself...will this get better...will I get better...I answer myself...yes oh yes...

...better...you bet...

The Heroin in My Story...

When I was a little girl...I would find something interesting...it could be anything...and I would become...instantly...obsessed with the topic...There was the dinosaur period...where I dragged around a dinosaur bone for a week...dug holes all over the yard in search of an archaeological find...and memorized the names of all the reptiles living in the Jurassic period...

There was the day I discovered that I had Native American blood running through my veins...and began memorizing tribal sign language...which I promptly listed as the second language spoken in my home...which led to the principal's office...Then there was my obsessive reading of a new author I had discovered...and the need to read their books in order of their printing...Rudyard Kipling...Laura Ingalls Wilder...Stephen King...once I made a discovery...I was addicted...I can honestly say...that most of those addictions fell to the wayside...I never became dependent on Vicodin...or speed...never tried illegal drugs...but...there are two things  that have always had a hold on me...fairy tales...and one man...

You wouldn't think that stories and a living person have anything in common...but they do...The stories all have a female...male relationship...the rise and fall of action...there are always beasts...or demons...or great trials and tribulations that have to be overcome...and in true...un-sugarfied fashion...the stories most often end with the separation of siblings...partners...lovers...the tale expertly woven...entangles the unsuspecting reader...snaring them into returning again and again...just like an addictive substance hooks the user...causing them to return to use...again and again...hoping for that original high...

When I was 16...I met a boy...who changed me forever...I looked in his eyes...and I learned what being in love meant...What he made me feel...helped me recognize the man I did marry...granted the marriage ended...his choice... I could see love...when it stood in front of me...and I knew when it was gone...but...and there is always a but...I never stopped loving that first young man I fell in love with at 16...he is and always be my delicious drug...desire for him raced through my veins then...and it does now...what sweet sweet pleasure...and pain...

He's a man now...I'm a grown woman...and after 30 years...when I hear from him...open an email from him...see his picture...my heart skips a beat...adrenal rushes through my system...my eyes dilate...and I am back...over and over...just to experience that first high...I can't get enough of our tale...this boy and girl...who locked eyes and fell in love...only to be separated by the beast of burdens...inner demons that torment...and the trials of life...and in an un-sugarfied fashion...we are not together...and probably never will be...

I have tried...over and over...to change the plot...the story-line...The conflict has always been the same...and there is no resolution...at least not one I can see...yet I am obsessed...addicted...to him...to us...to what I wish things could be...As the hands on the clock of time spin...I have to wonder...is this clearly illogical desire...actually making me sick...and if it is...truly bad for me...is there a rehab...something or someone I can turn to edit out this part of my life...so that I can move on with my own story...because I feel as trapped in my fairy tale...as characters must feel in the pages of a book...Is there medicine I can take...or a clinic I can check into...or someone else's fable that I can focus on...because deep down...I know...I need to escape...

the heroin in my story...

A Beautiful Work of Art....

Many years ago...I taught a class in stage make up...I had a knack for it...I had graduated from the American Academy of Dramatic Arts...and was accomplished at teaching others how to alter their appearance with techniques and tools...and...at the end of the term...I held a final exam...the students would choose a character in a play or creation...that they would turn themselves into...with their own skills and artistry...Their study and learned expertise revealed itself through the creative birth of animals...creatures...famous characters...one famous painting...a Picasso...titled "Reading"...

Now...I have never been a fan of Picasso...I never understood his view...of life...of love...of the world...all I could see were shapes...boxes...lines...and colors...When someone spoke of his work...I rolled my eyes...I have always loved Monet's mess...standing next to it...you see splotches...dots...vibrant colors...and as you retreat...pull back...the picture comes into focus...I can see his vision...

The young lady who created this...Picasso project...was a quiet girl...distant...body shy...not particularly stunning...somewhat unusual for the gregarious mix of personalities that are actors...or at least...aspiring entertainers...As she walked into the box theater that morning...she was silent...the other students jabbering away...laughing and discussing their excitement...and what was surely going to be the culmination of their success...All the while...she worked diligently...with her back to everyone...and I prepared for this...their final grade...

Each student stepped forward...during the last hour of class...brilliant work...hard work...depth of thought...and joy...encompassed these final presentations...raucous applause...whistles...group respect and thought...encircled the group...as they stepped forward to share themselves...

The last grade was left to be doled out...as the quiet young woman stepped forward...an awkward silence overtook the once loud audience...As I looked at the colors painted on her face...I shifted uncomfortably in my seat...I already felt embarrassed for her...and I contemplated how I would grade this...this...I just didn't know...

In these uncomfortable moments...she reached up...and unbuttoned her blouse...a murmur spread throughout the space...as she withdrew each arm from each delicate sleeve...and as the fabric fell around her waist...I saw it...for the first time...each breast washed with color...her belly lined and painted...and her trembling hands holding the book that completed the picture...She said nothing...and neither did we...It was as if I had never seen art before...she was the embodiment of someone's vision...and...at the same time...she was her own creation...Although she had matched herself to the Picasso portrait...with absolute perfection...she was a work of art...like no other...

Unlike the others in the room...myself included...she had never stood naked on stage...and here she was...in a way that I have never been...as she steadied herself...staring straight ahead...the composition of who she was...became crystal clear...and I was in awe...it was one of the most moving...and bravest...things I have ever seen...

I realized...in an instant...that we are all portraits...some of us are still lifes...some of us are impressionistic...some of us are a Jackson Pollack...just a mess that moves others...and...yes...Picassos too...but most of us remain buttoned up...covering all that is most beautiful about ourselves...We don't speak...when we should...and then emotionally vomit...when only silence is needed...We are perfect in our cubist imperfections...and up close we often look like a mass of colors and dots...and as a special person steps back...they see our complete picture...and if we ever have the courage to stand naked before the world...we are amazing...and explosion of light...and color...a vision beyond words...a gift that can silence the world...all it takes...is that moment of courage...when we allow all our trappings to fall away...and stare bravely ahead...

A beautiful work of art...