A Mother's Mother

When I was a little girl things were so different. Even scissors were built sturdier. My grandmother had a pair that must have weighed 10 lbs, made out of wrought iron. I've been to many funerals, probably 20 in all--and each one of them were so different but were all about acceptance, accepting the death I would also one day die, even though as a child I didn't yet understand why the hands I touched were so cold and lifeless. And I can remember singing precious memories before I even knew what the past was--as a foreshadowing of a time when I would watch my mother fade away just like she mourned the slow death of her own. At one time I had been scared in the cellar where older people preserved secure tomorrows. But now when I sit down there, with rotting boxes and rusted preserves, the falling apart reminds me of how I should have held onto my childhood and asked my grandmother one more question before she went away. She was born into a strange world and died in a home that was not her own. I remember when the call came and all I could do was laugh with my older sister in childlike denial, secretly swearing life was still about eating whole bags of potato chips in one sitting. Even my parents were invincible back then and it was as if one loss was a drop in the bucket compared to all those still left living. But there is not one now that knows the difference between a weed and a flower like grandma did. She was the only woman I have known to this day, that effortlessly kept the whole family tree standing, just by leaning against it with her weight. I only came to know my grandmother past the time of any sign that she ever believed in the kind of love for which I'm still young enough to hope. She had lived way beyond the days and nights of deciding what she wanted to be when she grew up. Because she had already arrived and now lived every minute teaching me to keep walking even when the load would get too heavy to bear. Life seemed so much richer when all the layers were there and I was sandwiched somewhere between birth and the future. But now each little tear I've cried for her has formed crevices--baby wrinkles, signs of realized mortality that I earn just by living, just like her. Happy birthday mom! Please live to be a mother's mother's mother's mother. I don't ever want to lose you.

Available Balance: 1 Sticky Cent

Deposit Slips 

hair clip 
Ok. So I have this audio/video thing that is automatically debited from account monthly. Well, right now it is pending and I was going to be like 2 dollars and something short if I didn't make a deposit..then i was going to have to pay a huge fee. So I scrounged around everywhere to come up with 2 dollars and enough left over to at least cover this debit from account. So, I went to the ATM machine to make the deposit, carefully counted the change, double enveloped it so it wouldn't come out of the envelope and made my 2 dollar and something in change deposit. Thank God it fit through the slot. And then the little receipt came out and said that I was still negative 6 cents. And I'm telling you I had already gone under my car seats to look for change. But guess what...life is good....I just kept looking everywhere and guess what I found!!! My favorite hair clip (pictured above). Actually it is my only hair clip. Ok, so after I found the clip I ended up finding 7 more pennies. yesss! Soo...I made out another deposit for 7 cents. I made the deposit and I am no longer in the red and I have one penny left to my name. It wouldn't be significant if I had 2 pennies left to my name. So enjoy. You have to click on the deposit slips to see them larger.

Can you tell what this is? I drew it in macromedia flash program. 

Poor Music

The theme of my site is poorart or poormusic. So I thought I would explain a little bit about how I came up with the name. Both my mom and dad are musical and come from musical families. My mother's father could tear a piano up by ear (especially when he was drinking), my mother's sisters all sang and some played the piano and other instruments and my mom's mom sang as well. My dad's family is pretty much all musical. His father and mother both play the guitar and sing. And all of his brothers can sing and most can play instruments too (guitar, banjo, fiddle). My father's parents used to drag him out of bed at some ungodly hour in the morning (4am) to go the local radio station to play the guitar for them to sing. One of my dad's brothers used to sneak out of church and go play with his neighborhood boy band. This particular brother was a diva. There are a lot of divas on both sides of my family. And it is interesting to see the pitiful dynamics go back and forth. My dad on the other hand is the silent diva. He is shy and not as showy. He is like, "here I am, take it or leave it(this is more the way I am)." Also, even though we grew up with music my dad liked to show an outward distaste for music (I guess because of all the years he was forced to play and sing like a good little boy without ever really being in the true limelight). My mom has always wanted to be a great musician but she has always felt inferior to my dad musically (she is more of a diva). It has been a sore spot in their marriage for many, many years--an often unspoken sore spot. Then I recently found out that my dad may have always felt shadowed compared to his younger brother.

Sorry, this post is kind of jumbled because I'm just writing as it comes to me.

So, to move on to THIS generation. I have 2 older sisters and one younger brother. Even though we grew up very modestly, my mother forced us to take piano lessons from the third grade through the 12th grade. So, all through school instead of being sports children, we were music children. We competed in music competitions and it was a great source of confidence for us growing up. Also, because we grew up kind of poor it was nice to get the exposure to a "higher culture" through participating in musical events and attending concerts at the local theatre and beyond.

But how does being poor affect our music and art? Well, I think that our family has been itching to be in the limelight for at least 3-4 generations back. We have been having underground "singin's" in the basement of someone's home for so long that we're ready to finally come out. Yes, it's fun smokin' it up with all the brothers and sisters, cousins and great aunts and uncles who can "break it down" in the privacy of their own abode--but at some point it doesn't satisfy. It takes money to produce your own music or either it takes the kind of confidence that is more likely attained by at least growing up in an upper-middle class home. As a result of not having the resources to produce music and art--the quality of the music and art can suffer. (I know, I know that some of you will think this is a copout--but I'm speaking only from personal experience).

So that is a little bit of a background about poormusic.

Also, those same dynamics of brotherly and sisterly competition, play out in my immediate family. My oldest sister, Mitzi, isn't really into music that much. My other older sister, Amy, is more of a diva that went around singing ALL THE TIME as a child so that everyone could hear. She won all the competitions. She is singing now full time. She never liked piano lessons and doesn't play that much now, except when it is absolutely necessary.

Then there is me. I'm not as "in your face," which makes it hard for me to survive in the ego driven world of art and music. I have focused more on accompanying and playing the piano. I don't like to PERFORM solo on the piano or even vocally. I feel the best when I am performing with other people. Although, I do enjoy hearing the music I have created--being produced. I have a hard time getting my family to pay attention to what I do musically. My mother talks a lot about the songs my brother has written and she brags on him constantly. (Yeah....I have a complex).

Then there is my brother. He is more of a diva. The piano teacher always gave him the showy pieces for recitals. He can still remember the pieces that he memorized in high school. He tried out for the country singer competition thingy and got through a couple of levels but didn't make it to the show. He has the guts to try stuff. He is now in the air force country band in washington. Now he is feeling totally inferior to all of the other musicians. He thought he would like it but is having a really hard time with it.

So, I'm going to share some of my family's music with you below. Thanks for reading the whole spill...if you've gotten this far.

Israelites: A song my older sister wrote and is singing.


MP3 File

Average Joe: A song my younger brother wrote and is singing.


MP3 File

Shall We Gather: A song my dad is singing and playing bass on. He was 23 years of age and playing in a band of underground musicians (his relatives and distance kin. This should give you the best idea of my "roots." This is called a recitation. I love these. They make me sad.


MP3 File

Dad: He's singing lead on this one.

MP3 File

Me: Singing and playing some songs, that I wrote, for a small-time producer back in the days when I was trying to do something with music. I didn't know he was recording me.


Me and my brother singing a song I wrote about 5 years ago. It was fun to record it with my brother. The words are "he is the one that satisfies every neeD...not knee."

Women in Cameroon

I posted this video before--on another blog. But I didn't know if some of you had seen it. And I spent kind of like 80 hours putting it together--so, thought I would re-post it on this blog. This is from my trip to Cameroon this summer and the theme is "A Woman's Life in Cameroon." Hope you enjoy.

I've Got It

Inger has posted several good posts. So be sure to check them out. I love it when she posts warm and fuzzy stuff. Now, totally unrelated--I am a shower freak. I can take 2 showers a day and a bath. Usually, I don't..but that is my inclination. Well, the point is..yesterday I didn't take a shower or a bath. I didn't do anything productive. I didn't go anywhere except outside to get the newspaper where I looked only at the classifieds for a job that I could do inbetween my two part-time jobs. I didn't see any. Or maybe I did. I'll leave that up to your imagination. I got out my "Writing Fiction" book from college (that I read NONE of DURING college) and it just laid on the bed beside me all day--I still didn't read anything but a little of the preface. And then last night I had the TV on--skimming through the channels and low and behold there was a writing program on public TV. It was talking about how different writers organize their writing differently: Outlines, clustering, skeleton outlines, listing, blah blah blah blah. How about this. I write, write, write, write just like I get in my car and drive, drive, drive--without knowing exactly where I'm going. The windows are down, the music is up and having the printed directions in front of me would, trust me, screw it ALL up. Why can't our imaginations guide us with wild abandon. Why must we try to harness a masterpiece and break it all to pieces claiming we can put it back together again?

I've been thinking about going back to school to get a degree that will better serve me. But then I think--there are people who do not have a degree that can get a job in the drop of a hat because they are either very confident or very naive. So, what do I do? I could never answer the questions in kindergarten about what I wanted to be when I grew up. And now I keep growing up and things keep changing but I'm still the same insecure gradeschooler waiting for someone else to raise their hand first.

7 Things List

Ok. Dr. Deb asked if I had done this list. And even though I am horrible at these things, I will try. See? I just wasted one of my 7 cannot do's.

7 things I can do: (thinking, thinking, thinking ???)
- Read music
- Type fast
- Identify smells
- Go anywhere at the drop of a hat
- Harmonize with the vacuum cleaner
- Balance a standing broom in the palm of my hand
- Fly by pumping my arms really hard


7 things I cannot do:
- Dive
- Speak my mind (as opposed to writing my mind)
- Feel confident wearing revealing clothes
- Enjoy small talk
- Improvisational piano
- Assume that someone likes me
- Have fun on a playground


7 things that attract me to the opposite sex (this is kind of general and generic):
- Slowness of speech
- Tolerance of me and others
- Understanding
- Desire to take naps and stay up late
- Patience and persistence
- Mental and emotional strength
- Sincere eyes

7 things that I say most often:
- Are you there?
- You know what I mean?
- Love you!
- Whatever.
- You think?
- Maybe.
- O.k.

7 celebrity crushes : (These aren't really crushes....just ones I like)
Cuba Gooding Jr.
Mel Gibson (From the movie Forever Young)
Richard Gear
Morgan Freeman
Gilbert in Anne of Green Gables
Tom Hanks (In Forrest Gump)
Martin Lawrence

Dirty Money

Need I say more? Ok. If you insist. I've always had dirty money issues. I need money and yet I feel like I can do better work when I am volunteering. Yet I also wouldn't mind having lots of money so that I can buy lots of fine lotions and candles and foods. And yet there are starving children in Africa. I grew up with making sure that my dad got the biggest piece of meat and whatever was left was divided between us four kids and then my mom. So, now-a-days I do enjoy being able to eat without worrying that there will not be enough to satisfy my desire for more. (it was never a matter of REALLY being hungry) Now, I always ask before I start eating if anyone would like some of mine. That is because I can't stand the feeling that someone is just going to grab something off of my plate when I least expect it.

But I can share. I grew up sharing. It just takes a lot of self control to wait for my next bite. I think the reason I have such mixed emotions about money is because of growing up in the church. I was taught that it is more blessed to give than to receive so I've never had the raw desire to fight for a monetary raise, or the bigger piece of pie. I am always afraid to ask how I will be compensated for my trouble. Growing up on very minimal provisions while all the time giving 10 percent of what money I ever made to the church--I developed somewhat of a financial martyr complex. I have donated a lot of my time and talents freely to the church. But, the institutional church has also employed me. And this is where I feel like a hypocrite.

Because, today I was sitting in church, hearing the second sermon in a row on "giving" and I am just feeling like it is completely irrelevant (Even though by people's giving, I am paid a salary). And that really people have no moral, social, spiritual or Biblical obligation whatsoever to give money to "the church." I just can't envision Jesus stopping by the synagogue to drop off his weekly tithe. Whatever. Then everyone has to get into all the intricacies of what the "Word of God" says on the matter. Jesus also pulled money out of the mouth of a fish. I suppose THAT was an allegory.

I just came across this congregation in Texas today who was paying their pastor a salary of $200,000. There is some sort of news release on the church site that says he is not being paid that salary anymore because, he is--by his own choosing, living off of his book sales (his own money). The book is on the New York Times Best Seller list and is (by the way) advertised on every televised church service to millions of viewers (not including the 25,000 that are in the congregation). Anyway, so the whole news release is to prove that the pastor's wealth is not a result of "dirty money,"--that his owning a 2 million plus dollar home is all on the up and up.

I think it is great that 25,000 people can get together in unity and sing really nifty and uplifting praise songs. Don't get me wrong. And I know I am just sharing bitter little bits and pieces. But the main point in all of this--is that I don't know how I fit into the picture. I want to be a do-gooder, but maybe not. I just have a complex that doesn't add up. This isn't in a spirit of criticizing those who believe in what they give and what they receive. This is in the spirit of questioning my own part in the whole scheme of giving and receiving. So please don't comment with Bible verses or sermons on why people should give. I can assure you--I've been there, done that and confessed. And I'm still not ready to put my money where my mouth is.

I Promise I'll Get it Right. Don't leave me.

My solidity flashed before your eyes
and what can be true
when yesterday, happiness ruled
and today I stand before you
in tears once again?

I am not the rock
for you
I dreamed myself to be.
Fear stands between
our wholehearted
embrace.

Asking myself
how I deserve
you
to keep me from falling
everytime
just before I hit
rock bottom.

This is what I have to say
that your deepest
realization
will be upheld by me
when it means
you'll be kept from losing
yourself.

Just as you have saved me
from others
who have never really seen
who I am.

Confessions of a Fraud

So at some point, for some reason...I just started putting "writing" in the keyword search for jobs. I really don't know how or why I started with that.

But recently, someone locally, contacted me off of sologig.com for a writing gig. I went to meet with them twice. We talked, discussed. They seemed interested in me working on their writing project (ghost writing their book). I drew up a quote for the project. "Oh, no can do,(too much money)" they basically retorted.

So they instead said, "well, since you're looking for a job, i was thinking that maybe you could work here as a secretary and write for me on the side." Immediately my pride was like, no way on God's green earth will I compromise myself to do something on terms that were not originally intended or expressed upfront. I thought this was going to be a straight up gig based on what the other person perceived as my talent and experience.

However, we met again and this person said that I could work from home for a flat rate and write and that it would be on my own terms and that there would be a loose deadline for Christmas. (Which by the way is pushing it to get a 200 page book done). Ok, so---I accepted the gig, listened to a 10 hour seminar type presentation of the material. Came home with the tapes and have had them for 3 weeks.

I have only transcribed 4, as of today. Which is going a little slow and of course not 8 hours a day worth of work.

However, I am not working on an hourly basis. So I figure when I start writing, I will spend much more clock time than will be accounted for in the weekly salary and that it will all even out if the book is to be done in 3 months.

I know I know.

Anyway, this person was expecting all of the tapes to have been done already. I said, well, suspend my pay, don't pay me anymore. Let me think on this and I will get back with you tomorrow.

I lost my steam because I sent 2 of my writings, generally on the subject matter and this person did not like them at all. They freaked that I might write their book in a style which they said was too "Tolkien" and that only a handful of people appreciated that kind of writing. And that the writing needed to be accessible.

So I freaked. And was like...I can't handle this pressure. I don't even know if I WANT to do this, much less if I CAN do it.

And THAT's THAT.

Why did I start putting "writing" in the keyword search for jobs? Why didn't I put something more along the lines of "cleaning" "toilets."

I'm thinking that I will just chill on my 2 music gigs which brings in enough to cover rent and insurance and groceries.

And not stress myself like a little skitzo chipmunk trying to save for the future.
Save what?
I should save myself from today, not tomorrow.

I will be back later tonight. Because I have more to say.

Being Real

I have been reading Chase's Blog lately. She is so real. And I see a really huge difference between what she posts and what I post. I don't know if I'm becoming ultra paranoid or what---but I want to be more of THAT. I feel like I am all constricted and tied up. I am so fearful of people. Ok, but here I am talking about how I FEEL. About what I EXPERIENCE. About what I NEED and WANT. And yet I disguise myself behind some analogy or symbolism.

Why is personal transparency often mistaken for haughtiness?

I can't stop.
I feel like I'm in a really selfish place lately.
There are so many things bugging me on the inside and I feel like the shoddy hut in "The Three Little Pigs." I could be blown over just like that. Just with one huff and one puff, and I'm down.

Some people just seem like nothing ever bothers them...like they can tell someone else "you look like you've put on a little weight" as if what they are saying will have no negative impact at all--because it's the truth.

The person that HAS put on a lot of weight actually, doesn't say anything because they already feel powerless. This happens over and over again. And the person goes waddling home from landblasted self esteem.

Until one day----they've had enough!
It isn't that they never saw the flaws of the other person. It is that they never wanted to point them out, because they know what it feels like to be hurt over and over again.

But one day, this person has it UP TO HERE.

They look back at the artificial flake standing across from them and say, "Did anyone ever tell you that there is not one real bone in your body, that you could only dream for a heartfelt substance that weighs an inth as much as I do?"

The response?
"Oh, so you're fat AND sloppy! YOU need to learn how to talk to someone like ME. You need to learn that you can't just talk to someone like me, like that. You need to learn humility. Maybe you are fat because you are too prideful to admit you have a problem!"

There is no winning here.
This can turn into a really helpless situation.
So my question is, who is more right? They are both being honest! How do you deal with a situation like this? What do you think?

Scars

If you read the comments, this is a response to Ken's comment.

(This is talking about how our scars can serve as testaments of our past pain so that others can escape the same snares)

I wear these scars
so that you can learn by them.
Precisely incised
by God himself
for you to live
by looking.

And He wished me no harm
He knew
it was you
who in my future
I would save
through providence
of life's etching
on my soul.

So take these scars
revel in them
for an eternity of masses
to be silently rescued
from harm.

3-4 Year Old Emotions

You say I am so cold, but really I'm just numb.
My heart is swimming in a sea of sorrow--
losing feeling with every breathing moment. Something so hard--
yet must be done for fear of what could be or what has been--
to last forever--unhappiness. Your words hold no meaning, but of the past--for now must go on--without you....
never to return without a changed heart--forever...lost
what I had for only you to receive.
Please let me fly--you said you would--away
from hearing, remembering all the good. It was the bad--
unlivable-unbreathable-I must go. Now let me go.
Will time heal? Time must Heal.

What now? When the feelings are gone?
And you've lost all you've known.
What now?
What now? Since you've turned from your past
but memories still last.
What now?
No time to regret
the people you've met
and the things you've done
never run.
And in sadness you yearn
for something that's more
than you've known.

The Death of the Church (Edited Version)

Our zeal takes a grim turn when we fail to resuscitate the life of something that was never living. Rigor mortus has set in and no matter how much we try to move forward our actions are stiff and unnatural. Our community is a graveyard of corporate church corpses--walking hands outstretched toward anything--led by tunnel vision, empty interaction and blank expressions--with the almost silent drone of death that is often mistaken for the sound of revival on the horizons.

We have been mourning the death of our local religious institutions for years. We go through old photo albums of happy times and lively get togethers, and think, "If we could just have one more church reunion or old time revival." But He is not here, He has risen.

We stand mourning, just like Mary, looking for Jesus inside that human grave. We smell the clothes laying limp as a memory of what we once had. We brush up against communion with the living stone but can't see through the bitter tears of standing inside an empty tomb. Fill our pews. Pay our dues. Deny Him three times. Budget for His return.

Whining

I feel like I'm just one big whiner. And I am. But just as wholeheartedly as I whine I will sing your praises. And just as foolheartedly as I whine I'll love you foolishly the more. And every tear I cry for myself, I'll cry two for you. And if you let me cry on your shoulder, I'll not cry over you. I'm a whiner and I'm not apologizing.

No one can make me happy 24/7. That is why sleeping beauty slept and Cinderella's clock struck midnight.

My problem is that I think the ball is supposed to last all night.

It's past midnight and I still haven't slept.

Damn those fairy tales. Damn them.

Yours Truly,

Whiner