About crh

I'm easily delighted and moody. I laugh often, and loud. I love British humor, pomp, and glamour; Latin color, passion, and weather. I love public television, community radio, costumes, my cats, my plants, and my red hair. I want travel and life-long learning. Cheers, crh

The Goddess Isn’t Letting Me Go

Mere days after my biggest artist tantrum, I sold my first drum at retail.

Oy.

I was feeling pretty sheepish after my 2-day fit this weekend. I throw tantrums! Wasn’t I supposed to outgrow that? I didn’t. In fact, they’re worse. I was always a tantrum kid, but they do more damage now. To myself, relationships, property. Like a drum I might have salvaged if I hadn’t stabbed it. (They don’t pierce. That’s something I know now.)

Self-abuse is so… painful. If I were a teenager today, I would have been a cutter. (I used to beat my own head with metal bristle brush until I bled.) (I wasn’t the first to hit me over the head with it; neither was I the only sibling to meet rage at the end of a brush.)

This goddess series has been beyond my capacity to create, but I keep seeing different versions and itching until I express her.

My first commercial sale is my first goddess, at Dancing Crane for $200. My optimistic self would see affirmation in that, but today I’m ashamed. It hurts.

I’ll shelve the shame, I guess, and anticipate joy in this sometime after Monday, when I see my psychiatrist. *sigh*
eve
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June 20, 2017

I was mistaken! My goddess drum isn’t even on the wall at Dancing Crane. Silly me.

It was the first Tree of Life that sold! My first departure from the mandala. Oh, I’m so glad it brought full price! It would hard for me part with for less than $200, but I could have been talked down in person. I don’t know. Maybe not. A part of me hoped it would never sell, and I could bring it home for my very own. Looking at it now, I can hardly imagine what would have struck me then as a flaw. It’s perfect.

Let that be a lesson to you, Christie. Tantrums are wasted energy. Let your work be!
tree-of-life

Post-Meltdown Post-Mortem

Well, first, it’s clear that I have not accepted inevitable failures. Til now, I hadn’t created something I couldn’t save. Each piece had a feature I disliked, but I was satisfied enough to share it.

I’m a perfectionist. It’s held me back throughout my life. If I can’t do it perfectly from the start, I don’t do it. It’s a limiting worldview. I’ve always admired and envied those who take real risks, unfazed by a public experience of trying something – sometimes horribly – for the first time. Or if they were frightened by exposure or humiliation, they braved it anyway.

So there’s that.

Also, I’m looking with new eyes at a belief I’ve held for 2 decades. That I won’t kill myself because I promised not to at 23. I did try once after that, but never again. It made a difference. It got me through the most dangerous years of this illness.

And so because I’ve had success at not dying, I forgot to be vigilant. Yesterday, I told my cats to fuck off, because I can’t kill myself until they die. It makes me sick to even think how that feels to them. I try to tell myself they don’t speak English, but that doesn’t matter. They speak energy.

They’ll forgive me. They always do. I didn’t yell. But they know. My pain hurts them, even if they just register more stress. Dis-ease. God, I hate it when hippies do that. But it’s real. Disease makes us sick. I don’t want to hurt them.

I have to look honestly at my future. I have to fix this shit or I’m gonna kill myself in 10 years. Why not? I don’t fucking care. It’s a tragedy when a young person dies with all her promise and beauty. When a sick middle-aged woman goes… Well, as far as I’m concerned, it’s a choice that belongs to her alone. Some forms of cancer kill. Some don’t. Why is mental illness stigmatized for the same thing? And yet…

It goes against instinct. If I were attacked, I’d fight to live through it. Even today, with a wish for sweet death, I’d campaign for my life. We’re programmed to survive, so if my wiring is telling me not to, my circuitry is askew. So, time to get real. I’m not well.

Awareness… is a good thing, right?

Solstice Sunday

It sucks to be depressed on the most beautiful day of the year. We’re smack dab in the middle of the longest days, with a small cold front from the north. It’s only supposed to be 85 degrees today, in late June! I don’t want to go to the drum circle. I don’t want to go to Earth Jam. I don’t want to get out of bed.

Yesterday, I ruined the first drum I couldn’t recover. It sucks, too, because it was my first PERFECT piece, and then…

I’ve never made a mistake that I couldn’t modify or mask or turn into a surprise success. I told Jax, “There’s something I hate about every drum I’ve made, but she’s perfect! I love her so much. She’s perfect!”

I couldn’t leave well enough alone. One thing too far.

I gave her weeks of detached consideration. There were several small attempts at a fix that didn’t work, so I put her away quickly and thoughtfully, certain the answer would come. Finally, I found the solution, which I applied yesterday, to her destruction. There was no taking it back, no coming back, no way forward.

Many years ago, an artist friend told me the secret. “You just have to accept that you will hate 29 out of 30 things you do.” And I had, I thought, but I just can’t let go of how much I loved her. To lose her is killing me.

After the week of tolerating this awful user who just won’t leave, I crumbled. (SO much more to the story of the unwelcome couch-surfer.) I fell deep, deep, deep in the hole. At first I tried to watch the self-talk, but that only made me more abusive. Just be honest about the useless, talentless idiot you are. Stop killing yourself with that insufferable silver lining, and those unbearable lessons in the loss. Shut UP!

There’s nothing to my future but the last of my desperately clinging looks and a body that doesn’t belong to me. I fucking HURT! I have nothing and will die with less.

I’m so sick with this goddamn depression. At the worst time. It’s far worse to shut the door and draw the blinds when the weather is so lovely. I can’t get out of bed.

wind in her hair

If only I’d photographed her after finishing her body and limbs, and outlining her curves and edges. Something to remember her by before ruining everything.

Dating Problems Unrelated To Age

Assholes. Unreasonable demands. People void of self-awareness. Lies.

I guess the only age-related problem here is that I foolishly think I can find and see through red flags better than I could as a young person, so I get duped.

I made-out with an old friend at Building Man. It was both silly and giddy, and meaningful and lovely. He lives in Las Vegas now, but still makes trips to Utah for the big community events. He contacted me on Facebook immediately after the festival to propose a visit to his property. I replied that I wasn’t willing to pay for Vegas. He offered to pay. I was uncomfortable with that, so we discussed meeting precisely in the middle for Cedar City’s Tony Award winning Utah Shakespeare Festival! I was so excited!

I told him upfront that I’m seeing other people. He appreciated my honesty.

He needed a place to stay this weekend to coordinate his 25th Earth Jam (moved to June due to frequent April rain). With Jax’s permission, I offered my couch.

We had a great first day together. Spent the whole afternoon at a volunteer/ artist picnic. I was glad to be involved so intimately with an event, at last, and to finally be useful without getting in the way. I have significant anxiety about not being self-directed at these things, so I find myself not contributing beyond hugging (spanking) people at various greeter stations. (I was born to say hello!)

The next day I worked, and he borrowed my car. (His is broken down in my driveway!) He mentioned getting coffee with a friend after running various errands. When he picked me up at the end of the day, he was visibly shaken. I was happy to lend a listening ear. Until I got the information.

He had been engaged to the girl he met for coffee as recently as FEBRUARY, and ghosted her completely when he left for Vegas. Never spoke to her again. She moved on, and met him Monday to show him her engagement ring. So much did he consider this woman his fiance that he thought she’d bought her own ring for their engagement! He was “blindsided” to learn she was marrying someone else.

We were shopping for groceries by now, and I focused on the task at hand while he droned on and on about the betrayal! He even feigned guilt for lying to me!

“I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be sharing this with you,” he confessed. “I didn’t even tell you about her.” (He also complained that I wasn’t there to entertain him Saturday night, when my prior plans were communicated before he agreed to stay with us!)

He’d thanked me before, for being forthcoming, and withheld the truth himself. Caught in it now, he didn’t even apologize but demanded a sympathetic friend!

I walked ahead and ignored him. He excused himself again and again.

“Sorry, this is gonna take me a minute.” (Hours.)

I went to my room when we got home. He kept knocking on my door to talk about his problems! I told him I needed alone time. He complained that, as a guest, he didn’t have any. (You do. No one else is in the living room to interrupt your privacy, yet you invade my space to rob me of mine.)

Then the girl shows up at my house! HE HID IN THE BATHROOM. She asked if she could come into my room, where she sat down and started to cry! I helped her exit my sanctuary and got her a glass of water, when he swooped in to take her outside.

He returned blaming her “issues” on “female problems.”

SEXIST FUCK.

Do you think you can fool me now?!

I asked if he was moving on to his collaborator’s home the next day, as planned. “Oh,” he stammered. “I haven’t been able to get ahold of her yet. Can I stay another night?”

“What are your plans after that?”

“Well, I went to my storage unit today. My trailer has a flat. And I still haven’t fixed my Jeep.” (Haven’t tried, you mean to say.)

“So you’re renting that U-Haul, then,” I replied.

He confessed he was hoping his partner would loan him her truck, and then he’d see about fixing his tire.

“But you haven’t contacted her yet. What are your plans?”

He promised to figure something out and leave today.

I forced him to leave this morning with me. I dropped him at Trax and took my key. “I’ll call you when I get off work. You can meet me to get the rest of your stuff.”

I’m disgusted.

Midlife Dating Problems

My cousin had his 50th birthday celebration last weekend, and a new guy showed up. Instant click. I asked why I’d never met him at our family parties, where Jon and Jenny’s amazing friends are always in attendance. They’re co-workers, and rotating time-off prevented such a happy meeting. (English professor, for god’s sake. I’m in love.)

We hung out and talked, laughed, drank all night. He stayed for the duration, and helped with venue clean-up at 2am. I got home to a Facebook friend invite and decided, “Hell. Go for it.” I asked him out.

“Oh,” he answered. “I enjoyed your conversation, too, but I’m married.”

Hahahahaha!

“Oh, man! I knew you had a son, but I didn’t even check for a ring!”

“Uhhhh, I take it off to exercise and forgot to put it back on.”

“Bastard! I OWN you!”

We went on, as effortless as the moment we met, and closed with me inviting him to join us for future family gatherings, and to bring his wife and son. “It’s a family affair. My cousin’s have the best friends. I look forward to seeing them as much as my own family at these things. I love to observe happy marriages, too, so bring yours! Also, I feel entitled to crucify you for this.”

It happens when you’re old and single.

Solidarity!

A few weeks ago, my best friend made the announcement that her little one – due in August – has Down Syndrome, by ordering matching shirts for the whole family and posting a photo. I immediately ordered one.

I was so excited when it came that I had to take my first selfie. Perhaps the next time you see my scary shirt (roar!), this sweet, new baby will be in my arms.
dinosaurs are scaryShe’s being named for me. Her middle name is Christine. (In truth, she’s named for all of her mother’s best friends. She somehow amassed a cadre of Christies! Christa, Christina, Christian, and me.) (But Baby Farrah is named for me. 😉 )

A couple of months ago, I posted here about an answer to prayer. This news took me to my knees. I hadn’t understood that Down Syndrome can come with a cluster of health problems, so I prayed for the little one’s heart and strength.

Something remarkable happened immediately upon rising from that prayer, and I knew the angels were with me, confirming that all was well. It took another couple of weeks for the fetal echocardiogram, but I knew that baby was okay. Or if not, no matter what challenges came with her syndrome, they would be surmountable. The calm and comfort from that prayer was undeniable. I knew our baby was okay.

She’s perfect! She’s everything she’s supposed to be. And we get to spend our lives with her! I’m amazed! I’m flabbergasted.

Why should I be so lucky? I get to spend the rest of my life with PURE LOVE? Why should I be graced by this beautiful person, “the one true human,” we’re calling her? Why, how, am I so lucky?

I, especially, feel blessed, because when Jax and I were trying briefly to have a baby, I knew that I wasn’t equipped to be the mother of a special needs child. I was taking a chance, entering the possibility of a high risk pregnancy, becoming an “ol’ lady mama,” and I prayed. I told the angels, “My skill set makes me capable of being a great mom to a child with no immediate and life-altering special needs. Send me a healthy baby. That’s what I can do.”

I couldn’t do the heartbreaking and difficult work of mothering a child with special needs, but my friend can. She’s a wonderful mother! I’ve told her so many times over the years that she’s helped me re-mother my inner child. AND she has a home, not a rental, a partner she gets along with (and makes home home with), and an entire extended family all within walking distance (plus in-laws who visit and take care all the time). She’s not alone, she’s supported, she’s done this a time or 2. She’s ready. She’s the best mother!

This baby is a blessing that I get for FREE! Why? Why me? I’m overwhelmed.

We love her so much!

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Proceeds from T-shirt sales fund Down Syndrome research. 🙂