I Am The Pin-Up Queen Of My Own Universe

I watched The Notorious Bettie Page for my favorite class. Yes, it was for school! Really!

Anyway.  I have a very different aesthetic when it comes to certain things.  That being said, I adore Bettie Page. I don't look at her photos and judge her harshly, I laugh and enjoy her as it seems she enjoyed herself. I view Anna Nicole Smith and Marilyn Monroe in much the same light.  But Bettie is different. The director, Mary Harron described Bettie as innocent, like a playful, little girl playing dress-up.  She had no agenda.  She would never fit the role of feminist. Though she clearly enjoyed the attention of the camera, as well as various states of undress, there was still a genuine sensuality and enjoyment that never reached the point of vulgarity.  (I know, what I find adorable is another person's vulgar, and viva la difference!)

In the film, a female photographer Bunny Yeager says there is something about Bettie.  It's like she's nude but not naked.  It just seems that she's comfortable with her sexuality.  There was no sex in her movies or photos and compared to today's porn, hers is just fluff.  The thing about her is that innocence and that openness.

I think there is a little bit of Bettie Page's spirit in me.  Wait a minute, I know I am NO ONE'S idea of a Pin-Up, but if you read Last Night I Decolonized My Thighs maybe you will understand what I mean. Though, I am a bit vulgar in that post, there is a bit of unabashedness to it that I love about myself. I love being able to be myself. I enjoy being able to be open and playful.  I love for my love to be receptive and safe so that I may open up even more.  Within a loving, receptive relationship should there be a limit? Need there be?  Yes, of course there are limits to every person's comfort level, but I hope to find the limit of mine. This part of me, however, is not very agressive. It's actually pretty shy, and though I will try to let this side show, if it is pushed away, then it's something that doesn't come back easily. And what I end up wondering is why can't I be fully ME.

What would that look like? Where would that leave me? Is there anyone out there who can handle that? Anyone who wants to? When I am happy and open, I am creative and playful, more outgoing and just better. When I feel loved for who I am it is the most awesome thing ever. If I am able to find what I love to do, should I have to hold back?  It doesn't make sense. It has been a while since I tapped into my inner Bettie-- I may be more Ugly Bettie than Bettie Page, but you get my drift.  What matters is being able to be who we are, being able to be freely ourselves, and being loved just as we are. The real question is what am I willing to do to be fully open?

Busy

I am back in school at my advanced age.  The thing of it is, now that I have raised my daughter I cannot get any financial help.   That is not fair.

I am enjoying it though.  I bit off a bit too much by going back full time...nothing like jumping right into the deep end.  So, I am determined not to drown.  Being an 'adult' student helps though.   I am more confident.  I am enjoying writing.  I am nervous though.  The first time I took a class on this campus, I was 17 years old and so lost.  I wasn't confident.  I didn't know what the professor was talking about and I felt that I shouldn't be there.  I felt that everyone else in the room understood.  Now, if I'm lost, I speak up. I assume that other people are lost also, and even if they aren't, I AM.   I am probably annoying to the other students but I don't care about that either.  It's kinda cool.

I actually love all 3 of my classes, all for different reasons.  I really like my women's studies prof.,  she's cool, smart, unabashedly feminist, awesome!   I like my religion class so far because we are reading various theories.  It's sort of dry, but it makes sense and is very interesting. It makes me look at things differently.  My english class is awesome for me because I am learning things that I need to know and enjoying putting it to use.  I sit at the front, and have to make myself not monopolize the conversation.  I love it.  I Love It.  I LOVE IT!

I like to learn.  It feels as good as writing and painting, cooking, creating. 

I even started a poem yesterday.  There's no telling when it will be finished, but I started it.

Happy 2010!

  I am so happy to see a new year.    Let's get rolling 2010.  I have things to do. 

No, no resolutions.  I generally don't make them.  I tend to start things in January because the holidays have ended but that's about it.  I have things I need to work on, as ever, but no real resolutions. 

All I have is the feeling that things will be better for me this year, especially since last year was so very difficult.  This new year's feels like a wide open window on the first seasonable day. 

Fresh air; a new start; a clean slate.

Happy New Year.

My Dad

Last week would have been my dad's 69th birthday.

He passed nine and a half years ago, and I miss him still.

I have days when I wish I could talk to him.  For differing reasons, some days to ask what I was like as a child and sometimes just to find out the name of an actor or a movie. 

I have moments when I wish I could share a movie or some music with him.

I miss his laugh.

I regret the way things were at the end.

I carried so much guilt, even though he and I were both wrong. 

I loved the way my dad interacted with children.  He was funny, and really listened when most adults didn't.

I love him for sharing his love of football, golf, jazz, books and learning.  My dad had a respect for my inquisitive spirit.  He taught me that it was ok to ask questions and look for answers--no matter what the subject.

My Daddy wasn't my hero, not exactly.  I had no misconceptions about who he was.  I knew he cheated on my mom, hadn't graduated school, got into trouble as a kid, started smoking in elementary school...I could go on but it doesn't matter.  He was my Daddy.  I loved him even though I did not like some things.  I loved him and felt that he loved and understood me...until I came out.

 

Still, I miss him.

 

I miss him still.

Love

 

I know

you love me

but loving without

touching

is like

breathing

without

air.

 

 

20 Nov 2009

 

 

 

The Dark

I hate the dark. 

No, it's not the same as being afraid of the dark.  Though, I am a little afraid of it too (nervous smile).  I breathe a little easier once I reach the lamp.  I am relieved to see everything is as I left it and no one uninvited is waiting.

That is not what I mean here.  I hate being alone in the dark, with nothing to see, hearing nothing, feeling nothing.  I hate the sensory deprivation. 

I am sensual.  I need to see.  The painter in me caresses things with my eyes.  I enjoy following the line of a face, hand, shoulder with my eyes.  By the time I put my hand out to touch, I feel an anticipation and excitement that I cannot explain.  I enjoy calculating the amount of french ultramarine I would need to add to prussian to get the blue of your shirt.  I enjoy feeling skin next to my own.  I like looking at clothing and by being able to hear and see it, knowing what it will feel like.  I like the feel of a warm hand on the small of my back.  I like the warmth it generates up and down my spine.

I like to hear love in my lover's voice.  Sometimes I am less sophisticated and need the love spoken and spelled out. 

Don't get me wrong, I am not selfish.  I like to give as I wish to receive.  I like to wear soft fabrics to make one wonder if it can even compare to my soft skin.  I like to say what feels good to my body, to my heart, what looks good to my eye.  I like to share what makes the sensations I am living in any moment special. I try to make sure that the people I love know that I do and why I do.

Well, I am not completely selfish because I do want it back. 

I like being called baby or honey or something sweet that says I am cherished.   If someone thinks there is something special about me I would love to know it.  It might just make me walk on clouds all week.  The payback is that I will want to do something to make them feel the same way.  I like to be held as one does precious things.

I  love having my face touched and kissed.  I love it.  In all honesty I love being touched and kissed all over. I try my best to give as good as I get.

I love being held or told I was thought about.  I especially like to know I was missed.  I want to be flirted with and romanced.  I want to be loved back.  I am happy to cook, massage, or run a bath and I feel cherished when those things are done for me.

I like to smell the people I love. (Blushing)  I do.  I always sniff my grand daughters and even my daughter, but don't tell her.  It comforts me.  I don't expect that from anyone else, but if there is something about me that brings comfort it would be beautiful to know.

So, sitting in the dark without any input of touch, sight, taste, sound, or smell is literally painful for me.  It literally hurts me.  I do not know how to not touch the people I love.  In my mind no touch is no love.  If love is felt, sometimes it should be spoken.  Life is too short to not have, show, bring, or feel passion, and if you aren't passionate about the one you are with maybe that says all that it should.

This is not somewhere I can stay.
My spirit cannot thrive in the dark.

storm indigo, kind of blue

You are as blue as this name would indicate.  Indigo, the deepest blue, the black of blues.  A storm of the blackest blues.  Sad and lonely, vulnerable and alone.  

This kind of blue sneaks up on you.  It's not like you enter a room knowing this particular tempest awaits.  No one would do so knowing her wily ways.  No.  This kind of blue is seductive.  She starts out as the most faint hue of blue,barely a whisper.  It's overlooked, thought to be a lack of sleep or a busy schedule.  As she becomes baby blue, though you see her, she's thought to be just a momentary glitch.  After you get some rest this weekend and eat better, you'll be as good as new. 

She chuckles at your hubris.  She is amused, wondering how long it will take for you to realize her beautiful depths, how long before you realize who's in charge.  As she turns to a brilliant blue, you still won't acknowledge that you are beginning to lose the race.  Though you are wondering if you still have a prescription.  By now she's wrapped herself around your chest. 

You awaken to find that you have neither the strength nor the desire to get out of bed.  You realize that the whisper of blue has become a prussian toned system limiting your visibility and scattering everything you worked hard to plant. Powerless, you just lay in bed wondering how you got there.  How did you get so weak?  When did she get so strong?

And after many weeks, maybe today is the day?  The sky is the blackest of blues and it's only 1 P.M.  The wind sounds like a train heading over a cliff.  The sky has become a cloud, and the cloud is reaching for you.  She has enclosed you, squeezing while you gasp helplessly.  The vicious cloud is smashing all that you are; destroying all that you have. 

No one around you seems to notice; everyone else is enjoying the sun.

Where will you land this time?

The Power of Touch

   My granddaughter, when she hasn't seen me for more than a week, gives me a big hug and then looks directly into my eyes with her little hands on each side of my face.  Then she smiles at me and puts her forehead on mine.  We usually kiss each other on the cheek and hug a little longer.  She's three.

   When I have not seen my granddaughter for more than a week, I find myself looking forward to her hug.  I look forward to her always, but she is the only one who touches my face.  I find myself missing her touch.  I find myself missing the way she looks right into my eyes.  The way she looks at me and says 'I missed you Mama".  A touch and eye contact; powerful stuff. 

    It amazes me that sometimes if I don't see her for three or four weeks, I ache for her to touch my face.  I miss her intense hug.  I am blessed abundantly to have her.  I am more myself with her around me.  I am greatful for everyone that I love.  My family of origin as well as my family of choice are all important to me.  As it is for most everyone.   It is another of the things that make us more alike than different.

Big Hug.

The Pull Towards Water

I often feel myself pulled toward water. I am fortunate enough to live near Lake Erie. While it's not the most glamorous location, it is a luxury to be near water. I find myself driving to the lake whenever I feel the need for strength greater than my own. If I have been knocked down, feel down, anxious, or just need to think I find myself at the Lake. I have loved being at the Lake since I was in high school. One year our Retreat was at a high school with grounds along the shore. It was a windy fall day. Between the wind, the mist, and the power of the water I was hooked. To this day, I cannot imagine living in a city without a large body of water.

I have been feeling lost lately. Overwhelmed and lonely, I went down to the lake. There is something amazing about being next to such power. The lake makes me feel small and frail. It makes me see myself in perspective--compared to the world. And while it did help me gain a little perspective, I only magnified my loneliness and alone-ness. I feel so disconnected from everyone that I love. This time the lake gave me a guage with which to measure my own depths.

Praying for Peace

The Kindness of Strangers

The kindness of strangers is so often a blessing. It is another proof of goodness, truly Godliness in this world. This is a great thing. Seeing how beautifully we louse things up with the people we know, it's good to know that there are strangers who are willing to help.

The beauty of being a stranger is that when the opportunity to be kind presents itself, we decide based on our own compass, without having to factor in the degree of the damage we've already taken.