Sunday, September 25, 2016

cupboard love = conditional love

from Wikipedia's entry on cupboard love:  It basically means you feint love to get what you want, like pretend sex is about love so you can get laid and, maybe, rationalize having sex with ten men at one sex party. Cupboard love, not genuine love

"Cupboard love" is an English expression referring to affection that is given purely to gain a reward.
The phrase is most often applied to human activity, for example, when a child will say "I love you so much" before or after requesting a treat, for example, an ice cream. Cupboard love is a milder version of conditional love, where love is given solely in response to certain behaviour.  Such love is not love, just the behavior, like SM sex?!

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Might I but moor

Wild nights - Wild nights!
Were I with three
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile - the winds -
To a Heart in port
Done with the Compass
Done with the Chart
Rowing in Eden

Ah-the Sea!
Might I but moor - tonight -
In thee!

~ Emily Dickinson, "Wild nights - Wild nights"

I lived in Amherst, MA for two years. I visited ED's home several times so I could go into her room, see some of her small handmade books of poems she bound together with ribbon, imagine her gazing out the windows in her bedroom, imagine her sitting at the top of the stairs when her family had company. She seldom  joined the company but would listen to all the conversation just behind the door at the top of the stairs.

What I wondered about the most, and there is no answer for this, is whether or not she ever had sex.  She did have at least a couple friendships with males for which she felt passion but it would have been so far out of her cultural values to have been anyone's lover. And there are no letters to indicate she had lovers. Then again, she asked her sister, Lavinia, to burn all the correspondence she had received over her lifetime when she died. And Lavinia did. Were there declarations of love in some of those burnt letters? or indications of more details of the very few males she, at least, had crushes on.

She loved some men.  Did she make love to them physically?

I decided, standing in her bedroom one time, that she never did have sex but being the finely wired being that she was, she understood passion, sex, love and joy.

No one knows.

Tuesday, September 20, 2016

you get to be you


take all the time you need


I so often get snagged on made-up cultural expectations, then I berate myself for not meeting such expectations, even though there is no rule book for life.  Some people think there are rules. Kindness might seem like a universal and good rule and it seems so to me but we're all works in progress. Humans can fail to be kind without even being conscious of their failure. So complex.

I have lost two pieces of my heart. I am not recovering from these losses.

I can take all the time I need. Well meaning friends tell me I have to let go. I would if I could.  I accept, with love, a lot of choices my friends make that I would never make.  I wish I had friends who accept me even when I bring my longtime grief with me.

Monday, September 19, 2016

I'm worth the work

I'm worth the work of working through relationship problems. I am so worth it. The pay off is enormous. And I have references to the fact that it is well worth someone's time and effort to work through anything with me.

I'm worth the work.

I lost me


the man bun

The man bun:   what do you think?  It's perfectly okay for guys to grow their hair as long as they want. It is perfectly okay to put them into buns. Why do younger adult males put their man bun on the very top of their head? Do that do that because most female hair buns are in the lower back of the head? or at least in the back?

And, seriously, don't guys with man buns look silly?

Sunday, September 18, 2016

the new iPhone

I live within a block or two of three cell phone stores. I think they are Verizon, ATT and T-Mobile. Yesterday, passing the Verison store on my way home, I saw a roped off area for a line with only three or four young adults and a security guard standing around. It was around 6 p.m. and I thought it was an odd time to have poeple lining up to the latest iPhone so I asked "Are you in line for iPhone sales that, like, begin tomorrow? Are you camping out or something?" And it turned out they all worked for Verizon. One of the young adults said "Oh, we've been sellilng iPhones all day. Are you interested in talking about the new iPhone?" I said, politely, I swear, "No, thanks, I have no interest in the new iPhone." I was being matter-of-fact but definitely polite. And I have no interest in an iPhone, which I cannot afford even if I did want one.

All the other young adults started teasing the guy who had asked me if I had any interest in an iPhone, saying things like "Snap, she got you good" and "Oh man, she got you good, that's what you get for being pushy".

I had kept walking. But when I heard the middle-aged security guy also tease the young man who had just been doing his job, trying to lure in a customer, I turned back and said "There was no snap. I was polite and I wasn't trying to 'get' anybody. I really have no interest in an iPhone."

My takeaway: it had been a very slow sales day in this particular store for the iPhone. I think the three young Verizon staffers were standing in front of the store behind the rope to give the illusion that there was some demand.

Maybe the no-customer thing was the result of Verizon phone plans, although I saw no lines at ATT or T-Mobile.

I would like to own a smart phone. I can't afford one. Even if I could, I am not ready for an iPhone that won't use a jack headphone and which requires me to buy a $180 headphone. No fucking way.

I know Apple has lead the charge on many tech changes. They ended the floppy disc, which I kinda miss.  They ended having DVD drives right in my laptop, requiring me to buy the external drive in addition to their top priced machines, eh?

And Apple doesn't pay their fair share of taxes. I might be done with aple. My current laptop is a wwarranty replacement. My third warranty replacement since 2008, which is the last time I bought a new apple laptop. With each replacement, I got a refund of leftover warranty and used the leftover refund  when I bought a new warranty.

I have learned that if one is very assertive about glitches in one's technology, apple will at first stonewall customers with young people on the phone who don't know much about the product but if you persist and ask for a superivsor, you get repairs and, when repairs don't fix probems, you get new machines.

My current one had no DVD drive so I had to buy one. That didn't seem right. Seems to me Apple should have given me the new laptop and new dvd drive since they were replacing a laptop with a dvd drive.

This machine won't last forever. I pray it dies before the warrant does!

Friday, September 16, 2016

the TPP is not just about jobs and corporate rule

I am angry and afraid of the TPP, esp. how it will give corporate profit power above our country, and other signatory countries, laws and regulations. If there is profit to be made, corporations, under such treaties, write the rules.

And I am angry to keep reading how NAFTA and other trade agreements have enabled US corporations, who continue to benefit from taxpayer funded amenities and tax loopholes, are able to move jobs to other countries where they can pay workers far less than middle class workers used to get paid in this country.

But for all the fear, anger and resentment of the TPP and other trade treaties, I have never read any commentary on how people working in other countries for low wages need a livelihood, or reminders that we are all interconnected. Everyone needs a livelihood, not just American workers.

I wish more Americans had realistic thinking regarding the, I fear, irreversible fact that the world of work and wages is changing, irreversibly. We can't 'bring back' middle class jobs to middle America and then, what, let poor workers in other countries curl up and die?!

I wish the oligarchy, which I believe is locked in evil (Ahriman), could be more honest with the general population. Admit that some are greedy and will never have enough so we need laws to stop unlimited greed-driven corporate policy. Admit that a universal income is becoming necessary.

The TPP and other trade agreements are reengineering how humans survive on this planet. A secretive power elite has been carefully rearranging how our society works to maximize advantage of the elite while reducing as much drain by the nobodies as possible. Chemtrails. Vaccines. Lousy drugs. Poor health care. They need less humans and they seem prepared to get rid of the uesless ones.

I volunteer to be eli,inated, one less drain on this earth's resources. Nobody cares about me any way. Take me.

suddenly:

I've been single since 1984, a single mom from 1984 until my daughter left home and left me for good when she was 19.

All of my life, I have fed myself with art. I've been an art docent, an avid art museum goer, a writer, a film buff. But I've always done things alone, except when I had a child at home and did some things with her. Lots of enrichment activities for her. Season tickets to theaters, dance companies,  paying endlessly for her dance training, going without fixing my own teeth so she could have private school, latest clothing styles, endless and expensive dance training, private schools.

I sent her the message that she mattered and I didn't. And guess what? She got the message. As soon as she had her college education finances, done in part by me selling my income-producing duplex, she was gone.

That was fifteen years ago.

I kept up my lifelong habit of feeding myself with art: museums, film, books.

Somewhere along the way, in the last few years, I stopped wanting to do anything alone. Always alone.

I have some far away friends but no one local. My phone never rings. I have no one to call even if I wanted to.

I don't think any human has ever hated themselves and their life more than I hate myself and my life these days.

I gave my only child all the best in me. I made sarifices she never knew about because she was a child and I was a parent. If she doesn't think I have any value to her, I have no value to anyone.

no one carries hot sauce in their purse

I wrote this on July 23, 2016

I was at a nightclub in Oakland yesterday evening, a club that serves 'soul food', ten bucks a plate. I've been to this club many times but never opted for the food. Yesterday, arriving without having had any dinner, I ate.
The lady bartender also served the food. As she and I worked our way down the line, with me rejecting the very cheesey macaroni and cheese (too many carbs, too much insulin required!), and choosing the chicken over the breaded catfish for the same reason, and explaining to the gal that I am type one, which she seemed to understand, she skipped the macaroni, as I had requested. She gave me my chicken. And then she gave me one small piece of catfish, a kind gesture. Maybe she was making up for the missed macaroni. I had said I could probably eat the catfish, which was breaded with cornbread so light on the carbs, but I had also said it was hard to know for sure and I took my carb counting, which translate to insulin injections, seriously.
When she added that thoughtful piece of catfish on my plate, I saw a row of hot sauce bottles.
So I asked her if she believed Hillary Clinton actually carries a bottle of hot sauce in her purse or if Hillary had said she carried hot sauce to pander for black votes."PUhleaze, sister," the bartender lady said to me, "I don't know any woman who carries hot sauce in her purse. That gal is a fake. Can you believe she running for president?"
I was glad I had made the saucey hot sauce crack for Hillary-bots keep telling me Hillary has a lock on the black vote.
Hillary did not have a lock on the crowd at the black-run, soul-food serving night club I patronized yesterday. Then again, Oakland is full of smarter than average people. True, that city's politicians are doing their best to steam the black out of Oakland, selling out the city to rich, white, anonymous, out-of-town speculators, pushing blacks out. Out to where? Out to where?
On another recent outing in Oakland, I sat for a long time at a no longer functional bus stop before I bothered to read the bus stop was no longer a bus stop. The shelter was still there, that's what confused me. As I had sat too long, I remembered the time I had a great conversation, at the same bus shelter, with a black man my age or a tad older, telling me, with past dreams in his eyes, of his proud past as part of the Black Panthers, which, that man had informed me, began in Oakland, began as a way to feed hungry black children. As I had listened to that former Black Panther, and as I engaged in a reverie about him last Saturday while waiting for the bus that was never gonna stop where I was, I was somewhat transported to the excitement of the black community beginning to own its power.This excitement is trying to catch fire again.
The Black Panthers were shut down by illegal police surveillance, illegal FBI plants and just plain old illegal set ups. The Black Panthers were heros and Black Lives Matter are heroes.
And none of them carry hot sauce wherever they go.

Thursday, September 15, 2016

beauty cosmos uplift


the end of protest

written on Apr 22, 2016, right after hearing this visionary scholar.

I heard a former Berkeley resident, Micah White, same age as my daughter (born 1982) at the Brower Center. He is the only American co-founder of the Occupy Movement. I almost never buy books, but I bought his. I read library books. The title: "the end of protest * a new playbook for revolution". In December 2011, the San Francisco Chronicle called Micah White one of the "most fascinating people in the Bay Area 2011.
White is in favor of a transaction tax on international financial speculation, the reinstatement of the Glass–Steagall Act and revocation of corporate personhood. He is against advertisement and consumerism. He is known for popularizing the term "clicktivism", which denotes a form of internet-based activism which includes signing online petitions that he argues is damaging to the possibility of political change. And he notes, in his new book, that revolutions happen when there is an awakening and research has correlate all great 'awakenings' to times when there were many sun spots on the sun. I asked him in the Q&A if we should be looking for sun spots.
I wanted to ask him if he thought we should be inwardly developing our human capacities so we will be alert to the right moment but everyone else, mostly males, asked very detailed activist questions with very long preambles (so male!). The female who was calling on people to ask questions didn't even call on a female until I pointed out she was only choosing males. But, imho, studying when sun spots appear so I might sense when it is the right time to act is very much like my inner, energetic, intuitive life as part of this cosmos.
He gave a lovely answer when I asked if we should study when sunspots appear and then concluded by looking me right in the eye and saying "I really do believe in sunspots, I am sure awakenings occur when the sun has sunspots." And I said "So do I."
He said we need an entirely different way of governing. He did not say but I am suggesting that to arrive at an entirely different way of doing governance is analogous to snakes shedding skin, lobsters outgrowing their shells and humans outgrowing aspects of themselves that no longer serve them. Change is the only constant. We live in a majestic cosmos. And I very much believe the Cosmos steadily pulses the right wisdom towards humans and that wisdom will get picked up sooner or later. According to Micah White, the right thing happens when it is supposed to.
And I agree with Dr. White (Yep, he has a PhD): clicktivism damages the possibility of change. If I am capturing him accurately, he cited a Chinese war stragetist who said the people who win wars do not win the most battles, and those who do win the most battles always lose. Dr. White said that our current form of government thrives on protest that serves them but does not bring about meaningful change. Our current form of government uses protest to keep us in line, allow us to think our activism matters but it doesn't. Like this example: people coordinated the largest anti-war demonstrations in the history of humanity before the Iraq war, not just in this country but all over the globe and those protests did nothing to stop the war. We need a whole new way of doing things. And, now this is me talking (I did not hear this tonight but he might agree with this), when something totally new is required, until it appears, it is hard to see it. As he did say, the Occupy Movement founders had no plans, just an idea and suddenly there were Occupy Movements all over the world and a huge tent city on Wall Street.
My spirits were flagging. Dr. White cheered me up.
And he is such a cutie.

I disappoint esp. the ones I don't want to disappoint


no evolution to greater democracy, but to brutal oligarchy

 (from A lecture by Rudolf Steiner given in Berlin on December 23, 1904 - The Work of Secret Societies in the World. The Atom as Coagulated Electricity )

http://wn.rsarchive.org/Lectures/19041223p02.html

"The essential secret, therefore, is this: The human being must know how to keep silence about the paths along which his “ I ” unfolds, and to regard his deeds, not his personal “ I, ” as the criterion. 

The real heart of the secret lies in his deeds and in the overcoming of the “ I ” through deed. 
The “ I ” must remain concealed within the deed!
Elimination of the interests of the personal “ I ” from the onstreaming flow of human karma — this belongs to the First Degree.

Whatever individual karma the “ I ” incurs in the process is thereby wiped out.
Nation, race, sex, position, religion ... all these work upon human egoism.
Only when man has overcome them will he be free of egoism.

The astral body of every nation, every race, every epoch, has a definite color ... You will always find a color which is fundamental in the astral body of a human being who is a member of one of these classifications. This specific color must be eliminated.

Anthroposophical spiritual science works to level out the colors of the astral bodies of its adherents. They must be of like color — alike, that is to say, in respect of the basic color.

This basic color gives rise to a certain substance called Kundalini, which holds together, within the human being, the forces which lead eventually to the spirit.

This leveling-out process will bring war and bloodshed in its train — war in the shape of economic strife among nations, pressure for expansion, suppression in every form, strife in the sphere of investment and profit, industrial undertakings, and so forth.

And by adopting certain measures it will increasingly be possible to handle vast masses of people by sheer force; the individual will acquire greater and greater power over certain masses of the people.

For the course of evolution is leading not towards greater democracy but towards oligarchy of the brutal kind, in that the power of the single individual will immeasurably increase. If morals are not ennobled, this will lead to brutality in every possible form.

This state of things will come, just as the great water catastrophe came to the Atlanteans.”

them highways is slicker than snot

Once, driving home to Minneapolis from Omaha after having spent Thanksgiving in Omaha to meet my now-ex-husband/then-boyfriend's family, we had set off from Omaha with heavy snow falling. We should have just waited another day. We had already irritated his clan because we had run into a blizzard on the way down, stopped in a motel to ride it out and arrived on Thanksgiving. It was considered, by his kin, unseemly, to have spent the night in a motel, unmarried.

His family hated me and I hated them, although mostly I hated them because they hated me. With snow already coming down hard, his sister Ellen had insisted he stop by her place on our way out of town. Then she insisted he go into her place and leave me out in the cold, snow-covered car while she talk to him. She kept him a couple hours and I actually got out of the car, went up to her door and demanded he get us the hell on the road or decide we would spend another night in Omaha. This, he later said, had humiliated him so he had no choice but to leave. Treating me poorly by leaving me in a cold car in a storm, for we were not yet calling it a blizzard, was not humiliating.  You know everything you need to know about that failure of a marriage when I write, and you read, that nothing he ever did to me or in relation to me was ever humiliating, according to him. I was beneath humiliation. I was vermin to his exalted greatness. Say, maybe that attitude is hardwired into my only child's genes, because she also seems to think I, the giver of life and sacrificer of so much for her, is vermin, not good enough for her to deign to, you know, treat me like a daughter treats a mother who gave her everything.

I digress. And don't you  hate it when people write 'I digress"?  I do.

So we pulled out of Omaha around 5 p.m. It was late November, so it was already dark out. Blizzards are worse in the dark. All you can see is the sowing coming at your car's headlights so you drive as slow as possible. Omaha to Des Moines is a short drive. Omaha to Minneapolis is six to eight hours but Desmoines is two hours, tops.

I don't think we got much past the Iowa border when we stopped at a motel. We were worried about finding any room since everyone sane would be pulling off the interstates.

We checked into a non-franchised, old fashioned motel owned by the guy at the desk. Cheap looking, which is why we chose it, but also it was the first motel that did not have a 'no vacancy' light on.

He goes in to check us in, insisting I remain in the car since we weren't married.

We had not considered dinner. The guy running that motel said there was a restaurant a very short drive away but my ex lost his car keys. We found them the next morning. When he had hung up his jacket, he had his keys in his hand and they had balanced on the hangar rod, weighted perfectly on each side.

We were laughing hard as we entered the hotel room, which may be why we were not thinking clearly enough. We should have gone to the restaurant first, to avoid deeper snow on the way back. But the motel guy had said, when he went in to get us a room "I don't blame you for stopping. Them highways out thar is slicker than snot, aint they?"

Both of us lawyers, of law students, I forget the details, we were unaccustomed to hearing people speak that way. 'Thar' was a new on one me. It was the 'slicker than snot' and the 'aint they' that had us laughing so hard our stomachs hurt.

Then we combed our things looking to find the car keys. We were hungry. We did not find them. The motel guy said that in that weather, no locksmith was going toi come out until morning to cut a key for our car. So he spent what change we had on potato chips and candy bars. that was our dinner.

We decided to pack the car the next morning before we walked the mile or so to the restaurant. After our breakfast, we had decided, we'd call a locksmith. Good call. When he pulled his jacket off the haangar, he found his keys.

If we were just putting our stuff in the room before going out to eat something, why had he removed he outer jacket?

We had searched and searched for those keys. How could they have disapeared. maybe he hid them delibeartely because he sure remained calm. And he didn't blame me, which was tpical for him to do when anything at all went wrong.  Maybe he had been worried about money. Or maybe he was, is, crazy.

Them highways were slicker than snot. And breakfast the next day, which we put on my dad's credit card so he must have been tapped, was great.

And them highways were still slicker than snot but we slogged on, driving slow all day. Blizzards in day light are, for some reason, easier. You can see other cars. In the dark, all you see is a few inches ahead of your own car's headlights: a teacherous way to travel in abysmal white out conditions.

you have to have something to live for

I do not

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

birds warming in a tree . . .

Singing birds keeping warm. . . .

Yesterday, walking home from my monthly coumadin test, as I walked along an unfamiliar residential block, I heard a what sounded like dozens of birds singing. The bird trilling seemed to come from a large shrub-y-tree (not sure if it was shrub or tree). Sure enough, when I got up close, I could see that the branches were quite full of tiny little gray birds.

It was raining pretty hard (for N. California) and it was cold. The birds were keeping warm, I am sure of it.

It was a long walk home, maybe two miles. I didn't hear any other trees filled with singing birds. I guess they all heard one another and knew where to hang out.

It was a lovely gift on that cold, wet walk. As I kept going, I thought of lines from one of the Cat in the Hat books, where the story begins something like "It was a cold, cold, wet day." And then, whoosh, the Cat in the Hat shows up and it is a fun day!!

I was so glad I had decided to walk. I'd rather walk than stand still waiting for a bus. I am warmer if I keep moving. Plus the exercise is good for me. But today, I got a bonus: I can still hear all those singing birds.

Inside the branches, it appeared to be completely dry. Sheltered from wind and wet, the birds would have been much warmer. How lovely that they called out to one another and gathered together.

I awoke sick

I awoke sick this morning. I won't go into detail because there is no specific detail. I feel super lousy all over. For several hours this morning, I actually hoped I might vomit and feel some relief.

No relief. I am out of food in the house, except for some frozen foods that are so old I will throw them out if I ever have the energy. I'm not hungry, my stomach is all tense and unhappy. I have a hunger headache but eating doesnt seem like it would help.

Not eating all day is a special challenge for a type one diabetic.

Feeling physically lousy is the least of my problems. Feeling lousy has thrown me back into the darkest depression I can ever recall experiencing, with the dark thoughts washing up in my mind, again and again, like waves pounding on rocks. Painful pounding of painful longing.

I do not wish to be.

Thursday, September 08, 2016

you don't just get over it


It's called post traumatic stress. Just about the worse thing someone can say is 'just get over it' or 'just let it go'. If I could let my PTSD go, I would.

being ignored is serious injury


Being shunned, given the silent treatment, is widely regarded as one of the cruelest abuses. It amounts to saying the other person is nothing, has no value.

The only times I was not ignored by my parents as I grew up was when they were each using me. My father molested me. My mother turned me into her Cinderella slave. From age 7 up, I made the family weekday dinners until I left for college. I also grocery shopped daily for the food toting the latest baby or two so I could only shop one day at a time. I had to do all the laundry and ironing. Raise your hand if you remember the years before permapress. For years I had to iron over 40 dress shirts, one for each weekday for my four brothers, one each weekday for my dad and one for Sunday for all of them. Plus my school uniform had a blouse so I also ironed five blouses.

And my mom only bought shirts with yokes in the back, which are less common today. I found it hard to meet my mom's ironing standards on the yokes. Those yokes were small, with flat-felled seams and I tended to leave a few crinkles on those flat-felled seams because the iron was wiser than the yokes. Mom discovered my yoke ironing weakness and inspected every one of those white shirts and blouses. I think my blouses had no jokes. I think that was for the males.

Mom put me to work ironing while I watch dinner cooking. She said it was a practical use of my time. I could even keep an eye on her latest babies as I ironed and kept another eye on the family dinner.

My brothers, eventually four of them, had to take out the trash daily after dinner. And, in theory, shovel the snow and mow the grass, things they virtually never did. I used to do those tasks on my own initiative to get away from my family. Shoveling snow or raking grass clippings was soothing compared to being inside the house with my abusive brother Chuck.

I've talked about how I was abused in my childhood ad nauseum in my many years of therapy. Altogether, I've had at least 14 years of weekly therapy. No therapist, hwoever, ever encouraged me to feel my anger.

My first thearpist urged me to recognize my anger towards my abusive husband. That doctor testified under oath that my ex was the cruelest human being he had yet met in 20+ years of marriage counseling. He said "Most people have a certain threshold of decency, if you will, beneath which they will not sink but he has no such threshold as far as I can tell. I have been repeatedly stunned by how cruel he can be to her, and for no reason." 

That doctor had to work with me almost two years before I accessed my anger towards my husband.

No one has ever worked with me to surface my anger about my abusive childhood and now it is too late. I'm old, unloved, too poor to get the help I need but here I am, imploding with anger.

I'm so angry. And I need some help with my anger but I have no access to help.

Then something happened a couple of days ago, the absolute last thing I needed.  I know I need help. I spend all my time crying, with breaks to just think of what I am angry about. I am angry about old, old wounds.

I've been ignored all my life. It's like a had a tattoo on my forehead taht says "Don't pay any attention to me. I'm nothing."  Worse, I know I am nothing.

If my daughter could take from me, and I made some huge financial sacrifices for her, like selling my cuplex so she could go to college (and now I don't have that income property) but other sacrifices she never knew about because she was the child and I was the parent. She relates to her father, who incested her, but she has shunned me for fifteen years.

If even my daughter things I am nothing, I am definitely nothing.  I have no value.

Sunday, September 04, 2016

coddiwomple

good name for my parsifal novel

blue horse



I don't know who the artist is so I annot give attribution.

I posted this blue horse because it reminds me of my mother. She grew up in South Dakota. Her parents had each grown up in MN so they took many trips to visit relatives in MN. On her first trip to the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis, when my mom was about 7 or 8, she saw Franz Marc's "Blue Horses", which were two or three horses done in the 'new' (in Marc's time) abstract art, galloping together, the image capturing movement, light, color and, for some, the horses heavy brathing as they galloped.

My mom said the instant she saw those blue horses, she knew she was an artist. And she was. My mom painted all her life, got exibited in museums (local ones!) and won some prizes.

She never painted any horses. My mom painted many self-portraits. She also painted many garishly colored images of women, having somewhat sublimated her more lusty self.

This image also reminds me of Deborah Butterfield, who, last I knew, did endlessly different sculptures of horses, reminding her audiences of some of the subtle aspets of horses that many don't see.

Saturday, September 03, 2016

they shoot lame horses, why not lame me?

If my only child, for whom I made many sacrifices that she doesn't know about because she was a child and I was the mother, doesn't want anything to do with me, I must be nothing.  I poured myself into her, helping her land in an Ivy with academic scholarship. As many adults who met her independently of me, a young woman doesn't turn out as beautifully as my child did without some great parenting. And I was, more or less, her only parent.

She doesn't know about the many times I offered to fly her to visit her father or his relatives, at my expense, because I saw that not having them in her life hurt them. She doesn't know that I regularly coaxed her dad to come see her, he would agree and then back out at last minute. I did tell her he was coming the first time but he cancelled at the last minute and that hurt her a lot. So I kept trying to get him to come see her but stopped telling her.

I did manage to get him up to see her play Titania. I suppose she only credited him with that visit, having no awareness of how much I worked with him to get him to come.

I offered to fly her, at my expense, to see her grandparents, her aunt the doctor (who I despise).

Now she allows her father in her life but has shunned me for fifteen years. Fifteen years is definitive.

I am nothing. I have no value.  I give up.