The Pavlovian Response

I've been thinking this week about a dog I used to know in my childhood. Actually, to be perfectly honest, I was thinking about myself and I noticed a correlation between myself and the dog.
I was about fifteen. I was so shy and afraid of people. I remember when I would be in a position to meet new people I would never make eye contact and I determinedly walked always with my head pointed to the ground. Except for my family there were very few people who ever heard me put more than three words together. I was shell- shocked I'm sure. I guess these days I would have been labled as having Post Traumatic Stress Dissorder, back then it was just simply called recovery. When I was fifteen I left my mother's house to live with my Dad. It was literally the first stable home life I had ever known. One with out violence or mind games or abandonment. It was steady and safe and quiet.
The day I remember meeting Navajo was a summer day right before my junior year of high school. My Dad came rolling up the driveway in his Ford truck after a hard day's work and I had been in the habit of waiting for him to come home outside on the porch. When I think back now, I'm sure part of me thought that if I was there waiting for him I could somehow by force of will, make him show up on time. The fact that it never occured to my Dad to NOT come home didn't sink in to my consciousness untill much later in my life. Anyway, he comes driving up with a beautiful black german shepard mix in the back of his truck. I was so excited I ran up to the tailgate to jump in and see our new family member, only to have him jump right out and bolt through the front yard. I was perplexed. Navajo, I learned later had been beaten by his previous owners and then abandoned. As soon as anyone would come near him he would run away. This dog had a personal space bubble of like eight feet. And forget trying to take him to the vet, or get him bathed or even give him a treat from your hand. He would look with those sweet brown eyes and circle you in a trot, always ready to bolt at the slightest sign of movement or what he percieved as danger. I spent hours outside in the backyard just sitting in the grass watching him watch me. We would stare at eachother for hours. We were blessed to have Navajo in our lives for about seven years before he died. In all that time I only got to pet him a handful of times. My Dad said then that once a dog has grown up being beaten it sort of ruins them, they just don't really get over it. It then becomes their nature to be afraid and skittish and untrusting. The thing I guess I remember about Navajo is that he wanted love. I mean you could see it in his eyes, they were a little sad when they looked out at you. He wanted to be petted, he just couldn't make himself get close enough to do it. He was indeed reacting in the Pavolvian way he had been raised. So, we let him be. We let him make his boundries and we let him decide how much attention and affection he could accept. The first time he let me pet him it was just the breifest moment, my hand on his back just slightly. I could feel him shaking, and then he bounded away. I sat down in the grass and I cried. I cried for a while.
So, I got to thinking this week about when people grow up mistreated, abused, raped and abandoned. And how sometimes culture thinks they can force their love and affection on these wounded souls. If we can make allowances for abused animals and say "Poor thing. Let's just let him be." Why is it we have less compassion for our fellow human beings. The cruelty of the statement, "Aw... just get over it already." it astounds me. I have boundry issues. I have trust issues. Just like Navajo I want to be in controll of who I love, and more importantly who loves me. So why is that considered by some selfish? I have been told that I'm "not letting go" or that I'm "holding myself back". The idea being, that because I have a higher sense reasoning and more cognitive ability I myself, should not act in the way my circumstances have trained me to. Excuse me... that's bullshit. I will become the person I am destined to be, but only because I choose it. Those of us who have grown into adulthood by suffering at the hands of another, and there are many of us, have the right to deal with ourselves, our past and our future in anyway we are capable. If in fact I am a square peg, why must I try to fit into a round hole. All I'm saying is that as a fellow created thing, don't we all deserve at least the same allowances we make for dogs?

What a precious gift

I have in my life, as many of you do, truely good friends who love beyond the scope of just merely friendship, they love in a way that becomes so much more.

I am always amazed at how these exqusite people in my life bring to me, in moments I am most needy, the velvet comfort of acceptance.

You'll never know how much I love to be loved, and the grattitude that brings to my life a fullness and a satisfaction, as a child, I never knew existed.

I recieved this last night from a dear friend I am honored to call my sister. She is an amazing woman and in part I hope one day I can be just like her.



Cherry

"If you were a song, you would be the up beat of every measure.

If you were a flower, you would be a saguaro blossom. Blooming among the thorns but always coming out on top.

If you were an animal, you would be a lioness. Perfectly capable of ruling the entire jungle, yet innately knowing the precise moment to relinquish control for the good of the pride.

If you were a painting, you would be a Picasso vibrant and unique and never needing to be framed.

If you were a dessert of course it would be cherry, not just any cherry but Cherry Jubilee. Every bite sweet and juicy and delightfully different than the one before.

Alas, you are neither a song, nor a flower, nor an animal, nor a painting, nor a dessert. You are a Masterpiece created by the very Hand of God. I am so thankful that I get to be a witness to your life.

I love you!"

Holli

"Stop over analyzing..."

"...there is in love a sense of weakness, a desire to protect, an eagerness to do good and to give pleasure--if not unselfishness, at all events a selfishness which marvellously conceals itself; it has in it a certain diffidence. Love is absorbing; it takes the lover out of herself; the most clear sighted cannot realise that her love will cease; it gives body to what she knows is an illusion, and, knowing it is nothing else, she loves it better than reality. It makes a woman little more than herself, and at the same time a little less. She ceases to be herself. She is no longer an individual, but a thing, an instrument to some purpose foreign to her ego.
But I suppose that everyone's conception of the passion is formed on their own idiosyncrasies, and it is different with every different person. It is vain to seek the analysis of this emotion."


W. Somerset Maugham "The Moon and Sixpence"

Magical Metamorphasis

Rolling out of bed with a hang-over and trying to make it to the toilet before vomitting has become such a habit. It seems these days that it's the norm instead of the exception. Thinking about it, comes the realization that she hasn't been sober for quite some time now. She is feeling old, looking into the mirror briefly before trying to brush her teeth she becomes aware that she looks as old as she feels. Lexi is only in her early twenties, but life has been hard, and it shows. Turning on the water for a hot shower she stumbles over the pile of filthy clothes on the even filthier bathroom floor. Nicotine stains the walls of the apartment and there are empty bottles of various liqour on the floor. The carpet is strewn with papers and clips and bongs made out of beer cans. In the refridgerator is an old hamberger wrapper and a bottle of ketchup. Roaches scurry along the counter tops and manage to run over several lines of cocaine.
Loud pounding on the bathroom door wakes her from far away thoughts. "Lexi! Damn it! Hurry up. I have to piss!" It's her boyfriend Seth. If she took any longer it could trigger a violent temper tantrum, the kind that left her trying to cover bruises with make up. Washing vigorously, she shampoos her hair with the sliver of bar soap left from the last hand out the shelter had given her. Quickly shaking dry she reaches for the dirty clothes on the floor. Rifling through the pile she grabs a pair of jeans that seem to show the least amount of dirt and a see through blouse with only one button left at the breast.
"Lexi! Stupid bitch, hurry up!" Seth's demanding was becomming more violent and she knew she needed to get out of the bathroom. Opening the door, he shoved past her. It was nearly ten o'clock at night and he would be wanting her to get down to the street to pick up as many tricks as she could. Grabbing a half full bottle of wiskey she shoved a joint in her pocket and took a long drag from the bottle. The apartment was devoid of furniture accept for a sleeping bag in the corner that Seth sometimes let her share. Standing in the middle of the room waiting for him to walk her out to the alley, Lexi stood, thinking. Usually she didn't let herself think about the reality she found herself in now. It all happened so gradually and now it was an impossibility that things would ever be different. Lexi was certain she would just age more and more untill finaly she would decide to overdose and sleep forever. She had seen it happen many times before. Women who were once beautiful and at the "top of the street" so to speak, it drains a person, drains you untill there is nothing left but a thread of spirit. When that happens, there is only one thing to do, and you just do it.
She had met Seth at the last shelter she was in and he had made her a bussiness offer. Considering she had no where else to go and no money, being taken care of by a male was an opportunity she couldn't pass up. A roof over her head and a meal every now and then was a profitable future for a girl like herself. The hardness of life on the streets ment you never wanted to go it alone, especially if you were a woman.
"Seth can we get somethin' to eat, I'm starvin'" It had been a couple of days since they had eaten last and Lexi's stomach was in knotts.
"You'll get to eat as soon as you make me a hundred dollars, and not before. Now get out there and walk." Seth walked her down to the alley behind their place and stood by a street light smoking a cigarette. One by one cars would drive up and down the street looking for girls, Lexi would walk up and down the sidewalk making herself available. It's amazing how a woman can use her body to sexually attract. It's like a silky trail of honey perfuming the air with sweetness. The flies can't resist it, and so it is with horny men. Mesmerised, patheticaly, magneticaly drawn to the sensuality of a woman's body. It never failed to amaze her how readily men would pay for sex. They obviously were capable of having wives and girlfriends or even just picking up a one night stand. What the hell were they thinking, paying for sex! It boggled her mind, yet there she was every night for the past four years walking up and down making money, for such a little thing. The night wore on and the two grew tired. The early mornig hours before dawn can make a person more than just tired. There is a fear and deppression that come with them and the only escape is in the stupor of the chemical high.
Curled up in the corner of their apartment Lexi wonders if tonight should be the night. The endless days stretched out before her, the same voilence, the same filth, the same empty void that passes as a shadow of life. "Hmmm... maybe tonight I'll just sleep... forever..."

Perscription for Life

My legs are shaking and I have butterflies in my stomach. I'm trying to settle my nerves a bit and I need something for my hands to do. I pick at my nails and smooth down my skirt, cross and uncross my legs. I'm sitting in front of a massive mohagany desk. It's strewn with papers and mannila folders. There are, perched precariously atop a stack of official looking documents, a couple of picture frames. Average people smiling for the camera. I notice in the picture how some people are not photogenic. I am one of these people, it seems that maybe two out of every ten pictures I take is actually flattering. So, I wonder about those people in the frames and how they must be a special part of eachother's lives. The room is a little dark, with only one window that over-looks the parking lot. A silk ficus tree stands in one corner. It is leaning a little and for some reason reminds me of a tall lanky fellow that once asked me to dance. Bookshelves seem to loom and overwhelm one whole side of the office. There is a leather sofa underneath a rather large oil painting of ocean waves. The room is trying, I think, to be inviting but somehow it just doesn't make it. "A-for-effort" I guess. I've been here before and even though I get a little anxious I always feel extremely bored. I'm wondering to myself if there are any hidden cameras in the room, and just then he walks into his office.

Today, I am seeing my doctor.

He is one of those people who have a happy countenance, twinkling, smiling eyes and even when we have had the most serious of talks he always seems to exude contentment and peace. He greets me warmly with a hug. We have known eachother for about seven years now, and in some ways I regaurd him as more of a father figure and friend than a detached doctor. He's a good Jewish boy and the sight of his yamacha never fails to make me smile. There is something so comforting in the way he is consistently faithful.
He takes his seat behind the mahagony island that separates us, the smile is slowly fading from his lips, but not from his kind eyes. I know what he is about to say. I knew it before I had come. There are no suprises in store. He knows that I know it too, but he forges on ahead anyway. At this point I let my mind wander. I know it is not nesessary to hear exactly what is next so I check out for a bit. I stand up and wander about the office. I look around me trying to spot the hidden cameras, I think about what to do for dinner and whether or not I should buy a swim suit now or wait a month or two. I realise somewhere in the back of my mind he is still talking.
"...Same as before, you know the routine. Same round of treatment..."
For a moment it feels as if I'm drowning in the air of his office. This is my claustrophobia kicking in and I'm certain I should have a seat, so I do. I can feel warm tears spilling onto my cheeks and all at once I'm aware of the fact that I don't have on any water-proof mascara. I seem to be hearing his voice as if I'm in a cave, it's comming from all sides but indistingushable, echoing in my memory of the first time I sat in this chair, behind this desk, wondering about those blasted hidden cameras.

"So, tell me. Are you up for this? You know what you need to do."

I take a moment to clear my throat and steady my voice, "Yeah." I say. "I'm fine."
I take a deep breath and smile. "A girl's gotta do, what a girl's gotta do."

One Way

It's a shameless plug I know. I can't help it I've always had a soft spot for drummers.


One Way

There's Something about Cherry

I've heard it said many times in my life that cherry is the best flavor. Cherry LifeSavers, cherry popsicles, cherry Jolly Ranchers and jelly beans...
You know, it's always the red ones that go first in the bunch. That's why LifeSavers marketed a whole roll of just cherry flavor.
And that cherry can be the best cherry you'll ever have, bright red and sweet with just enough tart to make it interesting.
All of those things however, will mean doodly-squat if your favorite flavor happens to be pineapple.



Just some random thoughts from a girl who sometimes tries too hard.

Shades of Soylent Green

I had an incredible experience yesterday, my mind is still full of feeling and it got me to thinking about some of the things in my life that really make me happy.
I was hiking in one of my favorite spots in town. It's a little mountain preseve with loads of trails, all of which I thought I knew, untill yesterday. I chose yesterday a particularly difficult trail wanting the intense workout. As I started, I was in tandem with a guy, I think his name was Bill, anyway the conversation was so good I missed my usual turn. Before I knew it I was about two miles away from my normal hike. Bill stops at a fork in the road and points straight up a rather daunting looking hill. Stopping for a minute to catch my breath and thank him for his company I'm thinking, "okay, just over that rise and I'll be back on track." So, up and up I go panting to the top and what a sight to behold! I am not actually where I thought I was, I'm in a spot I've never seen before. Now, I hike pretty regularly the hills at Dreamy Draw and pridefull me thought I had been everywhere and seen everything. Standing at the top of this mountain I was breathless. The valley below me was covered with angel soft rye grass and bright orange California poppies spread out like freckles on a little girls nose. There were so many wildflowers and quail. I saw a roadrunner, a snake and a rabbit. The black lava rock against the red clay dirt made the vibrant colors all around me seem even more bold.

So I got to thinking, about the movie Soylent Green. You know, at the end when Edward G. Robinson finds out the truth and goes to the building where they euthanise people. They kindly take him in a room that is surrounded by a giant TV screen and he lays back and pictures of the earth as we know it start to play. They acompany these pictures with beautiful music and give him whatever drug it is, all for his last minutes to be peaceful and filled with beauty. Incredible beauty.

Now, I confess, the first time I walked into a grove of ancient Redwoods I sat down and sobbed. The magnitude, the history and the beauty of it literaly overwhelmed my senses. It was a moment in my life I want to always remember. The first time I saw the Pacific ocean was much the same, I was transfixed, almost mezmerised by the waves, and the Rocky Mountains and Mesa Verde and all the little places in between.
But, if I had to chose the last images to see as I lay dying, aside from my husband and children, I want to see my Arizona. I want to remember everything about her because she is in me and I'm a part of her. I carry a piece of her spirit with me everywhere I travel. More than that it is the place I know I belong. I LOVE the summer! It's true, my friends and I all joke that if I was to be reincarnated I would want to come back as a gila monster and traipse all over the sonoran desert.(and because I like the idea of being poisonous. But, that's another story.) I love the mountains and the platues and the Native ruins. I am moved by the culture and the history and the fact that my family is a part of that history. I can't imagine ever living anywhere else, but if I did, Arizona will always be my heart and my home.

She's driving on two wheels again!

I have had a thought running through my mind for the last week. The kind of thing that is just recurring at the most unusual times, so I thought I should maybe pay attention to it after all. A few weeks ago I recieved an email from one of my sweethearts.


"It was great to see you, I've missed you so much.
Mom and Dad are well and happy to have me. Florida is ok. Still looking for a job, I'll let you know how that goes as soon as I know myself. ;)
I'm very glad to see you feeling better, I've been watching your blog and it seems to me that you've turned a corner. Just remember it's never a mistake to try. If it doesn't work out you'll be fine. People make mistakes all the time.
Don't let anyone tell you you aren't special. You are one of the finest people I know, you're a fabulous woman!
You are too smart, too talented and too funny to think anything otherwise. Be good to yourself, love yourself, you're beautiful and who you are is just enough.
I love you,
J"

It was this phrase, "turned a corner". I have been feeling this winter that I'm in a deep rut and I just couldn't get out. Slowly in the last maybe seven weeks I know I am changed. Somehow I have jummped the track and I'm driving on an unpaved road! I wake up excited to be doing exactly what I'm doing. The world is wide and open. The skies are blue and the smell of success is all around me. Why? I haven't the slightest idea. Well, no, that's not exactly true. I do have an idea. Maybe several.
Step Ten for one. Understanding that loving my husband doesn't always mean what I thought it did is another, and learning to just do it...
Anyway, how do you know if you've "turned a corner"?
I found this old entry in my journal, it's from May 17th 2003.


"...Of course my first reaction is to isolate, to runaway. If I'm alone then I can't hurt anyone and they can't hurt me. I've told Patti I'm thinking about not going on the Cali. trip and maybe taking some time off from Bunko. It feels good to think of just staying home all the time. Not seeing anyone, not going to church. Not being seen.
As a child I found a great comfort in being invisible. Sometimes I just don't want to deal with my life, I want to be ten again, inside my head. Safe. I hate pretending. I feel like such a failure at so many things.
Writting is such a comfort. I should do this more often. I wish I could really write well and say with my pen everything I feel and think. I wish someday I could be an author and touch people. Words are so powerful, like bullets in a gun."


Okay, yeah. I'd say I've definately taken that corner on two wheels.

Flibitygibit

Miranda wants to dance with the fairie King.
At the ball with iridescent wings and all.
Her red curls frame those sparkling eyes of green,
a whimsical color,
not naturally seen,
by those in the world of the fairie King.

But alas, still and revrant she sits.
And waits, and hopes.
Then, softly like the tinkle of rain
she hears someone begin to sing,
a song of love that floats in the air.
"Beautiful." she thinks in her head,
"Now there's just one other thing."

"How, oh how, will I ever manage to kill the Queen?"