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Clergy

Phillip says to me, “Let’s start a rock band.”

“Beg your pardon.”

“Your voice, my instruments. I think we could do it. You could be my Nico.”

Then he says, “I’m pulling out my Gugin….”

I hope you are as wide eyed as I was when hearing that. “Pulling out your what?”

A Gugin is a beautiful stringed instrument from China. Phillip has some of the most fascinating instruments. Truth be told. He has a tons of them. Multiple music makers. He has a weird whistle that sounds tribal. A drum that looks sensual. He has all sorts of fun things. No guitars, no banjos….But, he does have a Gugin.

He sits me down in his new studio. Yes! We have an extra room, what we used to call the Florida room, but Phillip has decided to turn it into a musicians studio. (How fantastic. I mean, think about it. It could have been a dumb “man cave” where he played video games all day. No! He wants to create things, not kill things!)

The man wanted to make music, play, have fun, enjoy the creative process….and was kind enough to make me a part of his art 🙂 I got to be a muse!

So, we just played for a moment. My speaking for a moment while he played with his Gugin. Ha! Trying not to make it sound dirty. No, no innuendo here 😉

We decided not to edit the piece, but leave it as is. You can hear us trying to figure out software, layered tracks, and a little bit of both of us being a bitch for a minute. It was fun. And I think it’s barely a minute long. We call our little endeavor, “Clergy.” Click here to listen.

That Ever Dreadful Maybe

This won’t be a long post. I haven’t been very wordy lately. I’ve been very quiet….

A few Tuesdays ago I went to my dentist for what I thought was an abscessed tooth. A huge swelling developed on my neck, under my jaw. Upon inspection, she said it was not a tooth problem and demanded that I go to the emergency room. She even had one of her staff tell Kara (my ride) not to take me home, but to the ER.

Five hours later and a few CT scans and viles of blood drawn, the ER doctor was concerned that it was cancer. She saw the mass under my jaw, saw nodes not only there, but on the top of my lungs. She wanted to admit me then and there and begin biopsies and more CT scans.

I freaked out. FREAKED out. Began to vomit, nearly passed out. I told her no. Not at all. Want I wanted to do was go home, pray, and call my mom. The ER doctor said that without insurance (which I didn’t have), it was going to be very difficult to get a primary care doctor, then the head and neck specialist, then the lung specialist, then the oncologist…..

Too much at once, went home and did what I had thought would ease me: I prayed, then called my mom.

I kept getting roadblocks. The Centra Care in my neighborhood is virtually gone. The ER is expensive, getting a ride to another urgent care is difficult, primary care doctors weren’t taking new patients for WEEKS and this and that and this and that and then suddenly it all started coming into play. Everything started working out.

Within a few days of that very scary Tuesday I managed to get private insurance. Mercy, that’s expensive. It’s ok. I’ll start selling more teddy bears and write another REALLY good book. We’ll figure that out later.

God, had something else in mind, a different path that would work beautifully for me. A new doctor is only a few blocks away, and just feet from where Phillip works, and is in my network. They took my appointment the following day.

Phillip went with me, of course. And the moment we walked in I made a bee line for the receptionist. She greeted me kindly, handed me some papers and asked me to have a seat. Turning around, Phillip and I noticed that there were five older men in the waiting room. Rainbow flags everywhere. I just giggled and whispered to Phillip, “This is a doctor for old gay men….HALLELUJAH!”

The doctor was wonderfully kind, very humorous when needed, blunt and honest and calm when it was required. He was concerned about the nodes and wanted me to have more tests. The poo tests, the blood tests, more CT scans on my lungs and a few more angles of x-rays. He basically said he was going to treat the swelling on my neck as an infection with more antibiotics for a longer period….while looking for lung cancer.

I hate going into my portal to fill out paperwork because it doesn’t just say, “CT SCAN.” No, it says, “CT SCREEN FOR LUNG CANCER.” It triggers you a little. They haven’t said yes, they haven’t said no. They’ve only said that ever dreadful maybe.

He also wanted me to quit smoking as soon as possible, gave me resources. He wanted me to pursue my medical marijuana card because of my agoraphobia and anxiety, and to help build weight. “But, no smoking! Do edibles.” He also wants all of my teeth taken out as soon as possible.

(Side note. When he was examining me, he noticed the rosary around my neck. “Were you raised Catholic?” No, I responded. “Is this just a Madonna thing,” he asked? I replied, “I have a fondness for the Blessed Mother.” Phillip piped from the corner, “He has a statue of her in the back yard. He’s very religious.” The doctor said with a smile, “I’m going to share that in the notes on your file!”)

Well, next day I was Johnny on the spot, filling out paperwork, making appointments, scanning my documents, uploading my orders from the doctor. And I have to tell you, it felt therapeutic. All of the paperwork was being received and accepted in its rightful manner, appointments were being booked with quick ease. I began to feel like I was more in control of the situation.

I called George (our very own Mr. Magoo if you haven’t been following this blog!) for a ride. Ha! You have to love again how God sweeps in and makes things so easy. George has to have his CT screenings for lung cancer the same day, the same facility, our appointments within an hour of each other. Brilliant!

He was so fun when he said, “Oh, that’s my favorite place to get a CT scan. They share their parking lot with a Wendy’s!”

So, tomorrow George and I are going to get our chests scanned, hang out in a waiting room, then hit Wendy’s for a bowl of chili and a Frosty. 🙂

I’m in a better head place than I thought I’d be. I thought I would have flipped the *(bleeep) out by now. My doctor gave me instruction, gave me a ton of hope. I’ve been on antibiotics for nearly a week and have about five more days to go, but the swelling on my neck has shrunk. So, that’s a good sign!

So, I’m hoping I have your prayers that whatever they see tomorrow is just the debris of me having been me all these years. Oh! Forgot! I did go to tobaccofreeflorida.com and was able to get 200 pieces of Nicotine replacement gum for free. I got them yesterday! Today, I grabbed a bag full of Dum Dum lollipops. Going to get some licorice tea to sip on. Friday is my quit date. (All of my tests will be done by then. Things will be less stressful).

I guess my point is, rather than feeling frightened, or broken, or sad, I feel more empowered. What I find beautiful is that God has made this process so simple, so stress free, that I don’t have any fear, for I can hear Him say, “The more you fear, the further you are from me. You don’t want that. I’m here. There should be no fear.”

I’ll let you know what happens! Love you, too!

Gregory

I Miss You, Too

My mother suggested I should say something to you. And moms are often right.

“You can’t keep talking about your life and then suddenly stop. People will worry.”

SO! here goes! I have been struggling with essential tremors. It started about a year ago, worked it’s wild shakes only on occasion, but recently it really got bad, hence why you haven’t seen as my many blog posts, nor teddy bears for the last long while. It’s difficult, but not impossible to knit or write, it just….takes longer. There are some days when trying to drink a cup of tea is better done with a straw. Lifting the cup can result in quite a mess. But, other days are better. (Note to doctor: when laughing with friends, I don’t shake as much.)

Now, don’t get into a panic, because I certainly haven’t. It’s only life changing, not terminal. I actually don’t fear the diagnosis at all. ( was afraid it might be Parkinson’s). I’m just annoyed and aggravated that the shaking could prevent me from the things I love doing most….

And there you have it. That last sentence is very telling. Prevent me? From being creative? Are you kidding me? Pfff! I refuse to allow the shaking of my head, hands or voice prevent me from making beautiful things. That’s why you’ve seen so many illustrations. My hands sketching wildly while shaking actually looks rather nice. I can hide behind the shaking of my hands. I can turn a problem into something beautiful, full of striking color and movement. Ta da!

I’m doing physical therapy about 25 minutes a day. I like it. It’s fascinating. I actually force myself to shake, rather than the other way around. Apparently, we are trying to recharge the neurons in my brain, telling my brain to shake my hands and head, rather than my brain telling me.

Again, I have to stress, I am not worried about this. Just another one of those things that makes you discover through a hindrance just how capable you are. So, don’t be upset if you only see a teddy bear here or there, or if I only write a blog post now and then. I’m still here, doing fine…..making the most of my shaky scribble. I assure you something wonderful will come from this.

(And thank you for still being there for me. I miss you, too.)

An Afternoon in Paris

What a classic afternoon, what a great way to spend the day! It was gruesome, ghoulish, dark and dismal, rainy. And I was sitting and knitting, frowning.

My friend Kara came by for no other reason than to say hello. Don’t you love that? Old friends popping by to say, “Hi?” So, in she steps wearing the most amazing jacket. Kara has a particular style that is just so very her. She finds the most amazing clothes from all over the world….all in thrift stores.

I asked, “Where in the world did you find this?”

“A thrift store in Paris. No label.” There is always a little grin when she says that, or even when I hear it. Some artists work a piece without the pressure of couture….they do it for the experience. Who knows who made this gorgeous thing, but gorgeous it is and I was in awe.

It was a bit like tapestry, like the French version of that scene in “Gone With the Wind,” when Scarlet has her curtains turned into a dress. FANTASTIC! Some artist took what looks like a piece of carpet and turned it into the most stunning coat.

But, that wasn’t all….

“I also found this hat,” she said, “….that would fit a Gregory.”

I laughed. “Fit a Gregory?”

“Well, I know you have the tiniest pea sized head and thought this might fit you.” She grinned, handing it to me.

I’ll be damned, it did fit. And it felt….swank. Away with the ballcap for a minute and try this on. You may laugh, but I felt handsome. I giggled as I saw myself in the mirror. I felt handsome….again. The older you get the less attractive you tend to feel….or at least I do. And for one afternoon with a hat on, found in a thrift store in Paris, I felt striking.

You know I’m agoraphobic, so I don’t go out much, or at all. There is no reason to look fashionable, no reason to doll myself up and present myself, as one would say. But, when I put that hat on, things changed when I saw myself in the mirror. I’m much better looking than I think I am. You can call out my flaws, and I’m fully aware of them, but…it was so nice to reconcile with myself in the mirror and appreciate what I saw.

Kara said, “It looks good on you. You may not wear it every day, but when you do, you’ll look great.”

Then after that it was the common sort of afternoon you would expect. Two old friends in Orlando eating French bread with butter and lettuce, a few sips of wine, while Edith Piaf sings in the background…wearing vintage clothes from a thrift store in Paris.

I truly do have a great life 🙂

I Know That Story

I have been wrecked in the head trying to write this new book. I knew the plot, I knew the story….or so I thought. I wanted to have a child clutching to a purple bear for safety. But, why purple? While clutching the teddy bear she could hide the bruises from abuse.

I gave the idea to Phillip, Kara, George…..(cringes all around). They all suggested that it was too heavy, too horrible a subject for the softness of a children’s book about a teddy bear. Phillip suggested that the reason she wanted a purple bear was to help camouflage a birth mark on her face.

Wasn’t a bad idea, really. So, I sat here trying to write a story about something I knew nothing about. I paced, I washed dishes, I got cranky and screamed at the cats for meowing. Nothing worked. Words weren’t coming to me. The whole plot line was so precious, but the Universe wouldn’t inspire, muses wouldn’t court me. I guess I could dust the blinds while I wait for something to make me want to pen a story I knew nothing about. How horrid it would be just to script out crap for the sake of literary motion.

A little girl with a birth mark wants a purple teddy bear to hide it….

No.

I had no choice but to sit down and tell the truth to myself, in my own artistic way, tell the truth, tell a story that I’m familiar with. This book should be about child abuse. And it isn’t about a girl, but a boy….

Yes. That is the story I know. A young boy being physically abused…and hiding his pain behind the soft strength of a plush teddy bear….

And now this old man is peering into the heart of his childhood, still clutching a plushy.

I’m now pages and pages into writing a beautiful tale about something painful….because I know that story, and I feel much better about that because I know that it has a happy ending.

Haven’t

For some reason, when loneliness hits, I forget that I can come here to open up, speak, talk forward rather than inward. I forget sometimes that all of you are out there.

I forget that I can speak freely to friends, even if they’re not in the room, nor even on the phone. I can come to this space and….well, simply talk.

I’ve done that since the beginning of this blog. It’s been about ten years now. I was alone in the woods. I needed to talk to somebody, so I came here to yell about my life, or to whisper quietly about it.

Because of that I have a good ten years of recorded work, written in either jubilee or desperation.

I’m fortunate enough (as most journalist, diarists, and memoirists are) to reach back and read what happened to my life this last year.

I can safely say, this was a wonderful year for me, a blessed year. I think it refreshing that I can look back at this year and say there were no dramas, no controversies. Reading the accounts of my events over the last year were interesting to see. New windows at Honeychurch. A stronger bond with my husband. I learned I had other talents.  Rather than ramping myself up with ambition, I decided to slow down and get quiet towards the end of the year. I wanted more time to myself. Not everything needs to be broadcast. Not everything in life needs to be documented. The only thing required is that those moments be enjoyed in their simplest of fashions: the smile. It makes you happy. Let it be that alone and not some recorded thing that needs to go viral.

I had a friend tell me recently that I hadn’t been writing enough, if for no other reason than the talents I have will go dormant if not practiced, honed, and found. I had to agree. I haven’t written very much in a long time, haven’t knit very much, haven’t embroidered, haven’t….

To be fair, I made a few teddy bears this last Christmas, but had to revert back to my written pattern because I had forgotten how to make one, just off the top of my head.

And I guess the true reason is that I was really falling in love with making Honeychurch a real home. So, I spent the year dusting, painting, decorating, shopping (heaven forbid). My drawings were put in frames, carpets and curtains were bought. Dinner was cooked, rather than ordered. Ice cream in the evenings while Phillip and I watched TV after a long day. Hot coco when it was cold, lemon ices when it was hot.

That is what I leaned towards last year….building a home. Talents aside, capabilities excluded, there is no way I’m going to do anything of creative, artistic, emotional, nor even spiritual purpose if I don’t have a solid space to call home, that one place of safety where all will be resolved once you pass the threshold and smell pot roast and baked bread in the air, where your friends ask to stop by often because it feels warmer in spirit than where they live. And everyone is always welcome. Conversations abound, laughter circles around the room beneath the ceiling fan, and crickets outside cackle at our fun. And as I sit back and take notice of the scene, I remember these are friends that have been with me for decades….now, all of them having a great time in my home. All of us together.

Now that this has been done, it’s time to move on, time to tend to myself, to my own creative pursuits. I get terribly excited about new things. I now get to see what happens to me now that I’m free to truly do whatever it is I want to explore with my talents, with whatever imaginative thought comes along. Because I have a home filled with friends.