Future

 Dear Will --

 

So much up and down since I came back.  I lost my tablet the same day I noticed I'd been mischarged $2280 by a New York Hotel.  Fortunately, I had an email that proved I had cancelled and sicced my Chase Bank on them and had my money back in a couple of days. The tablet, I fear, is gone. And last Tuesday instead of working so much on my triggers I just had a grief tsunami in Sarah's office. And then yesteerday at the 8 o'clock St. Francis service there was a lovely canticle for our Prayers of the People section that had this:

Prayers of the People based on “The Canticle of the Sun” by The Rev. Rick Morley

 

The Canticle of the Sun is a prayer/ hymn attributed to St. Francis of Assisi.  Theologically, it identifies the elements of creation as sisters and brothers to humanity, and calls upon the  forces of nature to praise God with us, and us with them.

 

Intercessor:  

Let us name with thanksgiving those animals for whom we care.

Me:  Sequel, Winston, Poppy 

Let us name with thanksgiving those animals who have been

our companions over the years and are no longer with us. 

Me:  Max, Rafferty, June Juhmpa, Birdy, Sasha

And let us remember the unnamed, unknown animals with whom we

have shared in the circle of life.

And I thought of how you were far more interested in crossing the Rainbow Bridge to meet June Juhmpa and Birdy than Jesus, and I told Pastor Elizabeth that after the service. I miss Birdy and sometimes call Sequel by her name. I thought of how I watched the spirit leave Rafferty's body as I held her while trying to give her water from a dropper.  I thought about how I touched your hard, cold dead face before you went into the ground. And right now remembering your last die I hope my death is more peaceful than yours. But you are peaceful now.

I know now I'm moving but I can't decide between buying a house in Eugene and returning to work with VST. If the latter, rather than selling the house I'd pack up my stuff and rent it out

I need to think of my "family," at this point - two dogs and a cat.  I COULD abandon the cat or try and rehome her because she's not all that much of a companion (she's no Rafferty) but my conscious won't let me so if I go to Canada I'd have to find a pretty run down rental that allowed both dogs and cats. Whereas buying a house I don't need to think about permissions.

So I'm praying on this. Whatever I choose to do, I'm now looking around at everything as temporary. Of course, considering that every second of the day we're closer to death, everything is.

 

 

 

New York New York

 

 Dear Will.  ......   Once the plane set down and I got my bag and a taxi (after 3 1/2 hours sleep on the plane) all the anxiety left and I was in travel happy brain.  I had a big day!

Love, Kake 

----------------------

I started this entry on September 14th and am finishing it on September 29th. I reported in short bursts on the Book of Faces. In spite of all my anxiety and panic attacks before the trip, I did very well, staying up late, enjoying myself, being safe and aware when necessary, basically enjoying the energy and crowds of "greatest City in the World."  

I carried Will with me in the form of the little doll and also traveled with Beary Fox, my usual companion.

I walked and walked for hours and hours, both on sidewalks and in museums. On Stacey's recommendation, on Wednesday morning, after visiting the super ugly exhibit at The Gagosian (blech ... two other galleries had ugly art as well) I walked the last 10 blocks of the High Line because it was suddenly there on 23rd street and even though it was raining and I was tired, I walked it up to Macy's and then enjoyed the Subway back to Times Square from there. I'd forgotten to pack my yellow slicker so I was happy to not be soaked.

I wound doing everything I wanted to do this particular trip.  I saw six shows, seven if you count my hour of Episcopal bells and smells at St Thomas on  5th Ave. I loved each show I saw.  On Sunday, I enjoyed seeing Elizabeth McGovern in her play, Secret Conversations in the afternoon, and then going to the hour and a half long set of bangin' tunes called SIX. In between shows I walked through MOMA, once again thinking the fifth floor has one of the most lovely collections I've ever seen.  

 

My Monday museum experiences were the Museum of Broadway (fantastic use of objet AND posterboard histories) and the "Superfine" (Black Male Dandyism) exhibit at the Metroopolitan Museum of Art. The Broadway History Mueum offered many options for selfies and "you-take-ities". 

On Monday night I enjoyed that huge production that is The Great Gatsby, with it's millions in sets and costumes and wonderful dance sets.  Sadly, the lyrics weren't great and it's not quite cricket to make Daisy so nice as she was an absolute bitch who destroyed those around her.  But it was super fun to watch and I bought a $70 hoody from the show that says on the back, "Where's the party and can you take me there?" 

My other museum experience was visiting the American Natural History Museum on Tuesday after a walk up the bridal path of Central Park and talking with dogs. What I really wanted to see was the great concrete "underground" createed as an architectural showpiece in the insect area. It was well worth the visit to New York all by itself.  Standing inside the structure is so different than seeing pictures of it.  It's really awe inspiring. 

On Tuesday afternoon I visited with old married couple and long time friends Lee and Jay. I've been very EType4 envious of them having apartments in Provincetown and New York (and now a house in Palm Springs).  But after visiting their little space, which was very warm after my half-hour walk from the museum to 96th Street and very loud because they'd opened the windows rather than turn on the air conditioner and sirens were pretty regular.  But these guys are used to living near sirens.  But I was no longer envious.  I discovered that having space to live in is actually more important than living near 24/7 excitement. Good to know.

 

I finished up Tuesday with the event that sparked my decision to go to NYC -- Seeing Bill and Ted as Vladimer and Estragon. They actually seemed a little stiff at the beginning, perhaps because we were the first packed preview house.  But they loosened up during the second act.  Before the show I had a seat in the Ambassador club (poorly spent money but well spent because of my neighbor). I was settled next to another single woman, a Russian psychoanalyst called Tatiana. At one point, after I'd told her I was a widow she waved her beringed hand at me and said, "He is here with you now."  That was worth the ridiculous cost of the pre-show hang-out.

My last day, Wednesday, I decided to walk down to the galleries in Chelsea in the morning. As noted, lots of "meaningful" ugliness. But a small gallery, the Sims, had a display of lovely encaustics in a set called Whispers of a Light that Blooms by CJ Cowden.  I bought one of them and had them ship it to me. Sadly they didn't ship it with information (like the local gallery) so I had to look it up again.  

Then Wednesday afternoon I saw Hadestown (stunning retelling of the Orpheus and Eurydice story as jazz fable) and Operation Mincemeat (utterly brilliant Brit musical about the famous Man Who Wasn't There of WWII with five actors rotating through 82 different roles.). 

My hotel room was a wonderful part of my trip, as I was on the 22 floor of a Marriott on Broadway and 54th Street.  I spent plenty of time just RearWindowing.  Never turned on the tv.

All in all, it was a great trip and I'm now doing my best to keep the energy of the city in my heart. 

 

 

 

Anxiety

 Dear Will:

I’m going to the city that we shared in joy for fifteen years … or at least we were joyful until our last trip during which you had a visible stroke and then shit yourself on the way to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

I had so much grief then.  So much grief right now. I’ve been crying off and on since yesterday afternoon when I went to visit your grave.  Your coffin is probably gone by now but your carcass, full of formaldehyde as it is, is probably still lookin like yourself, floating in a dirt bath.

Right now I’m sitting in the RDM airport and there is NO ONE around me.  I’ve never flown a red eye in the states before.  It will be interesting. I decided not to take a nap at the hotel when I get in but go to breakfast and then to a fancy schmancy church.  And then in the afternoon I’m seeing Elizabeth McGovern as Ava Gardner.  Very excited for that.  And then I’ll either crash or pick up one more play.

I’m going to move from Bend, sooner rather than later.  I’ll be leaving your grave and our house and all our Bend memories behind. Bend is so different than it was when you settled there. I miss our regular life together so much.  I miss your body so much.  But I am so grateful you left me with enough money to pay people to touch me and listen to me, even if I’m saying things the other person doesn’t want to hear.

My recent work with Sarah has been very powerful. I can talk to her in ways I’ve never talked with other therapists, telling my point of view of what’s going on based on my understanding of communication theories. (Ie, I sometimes deconstruct the appointment as we’re speaking). We worked on your negging the last time, worked on how you insulted my body, especially that one time, and how you never told my I was beautiful or even pretty or attractive. Because I was fat. You built on my family’s stated perception of me.

Reminds me of the Kandor and Masteroff song, “So What”

When I had a man, my figure was dumpy and fat
So what?
Through all of our years he was so disappointed in that
So what?
Now I have what he missed and my figure is trim
But he lies in a churchyard plot
If it wasn't to be that he ever would see
The uncorseted of me
So what?

For the sun will rise and the moon will set
And you learn how to settle for what you get
It will all go on if we're here or not
So who cares? So what?

Sarah asked if you’d ever shot off your mouth rudely and critically to others.  I told her the Dorothy story and the Bob Barber story.  We did EMDR around that particular remark about my boobs and how hurtful it was (in the fucking middle of making love). Maybe that’s why you told one medium that you were mean to me and you were sorry about that.

There was so much that, in contemporary thinking, wasn’t working in our mid-Century relationship but what did work worked so very hard, worked so very well, that I can’t stop missing you, loving you. Fortunately, the pain of your absence, while continual, isn’t always at the same level. My love for the dogs, my delight in being a fan girl, and (of course) weedy weed all raise the temperature of the ice cold weight of you gone. I will have lots of fun in New York. It will be interesting to see Lee and Jay, that old married couple.  I’m not doing their kind of thing this time just to hang out with them.(the offer was a play about Jane Austen or a drag show.  Blech.  Never read Austen.  And while I admire drag performers, I don’t like most drag humor — except the humor of Pantomime Dames.) I’ll go and see them at 2:30 on Wednesday.  We don’t eat at the same time so I won’t be required to eat with them (which has often been a huge pain in the ass, especially when Lee has been in charge of dining).

I didn’t go to the women’s lunch today nor will I go to the women’s retreat as I just can’t keep explaining that “I’m in this group but I don’t identify as a woman or man.” There’s no queer group at church.

I’m taking the doll that represents you and Barry Fox. And some Snickers.

Thundershower

 Dear Will:

Photo by Rioji Iwata on Unsplash

Big thundershower happening right now. I am remembering one of our few trips to Nebraska when a big storm was going overhead. I think it may have been when we went to Bill's funeral. I couldn't remember when that was and I was shocked, after searching Ancestry, to see that it was in 1994.  Bill was five years younger than you. That was a sad time. A big funeral and so many greasy casseroles after. And one night we were there a big storm blew through. The televisions were on in two rooms of the house through the night, with worry about tornadoes. And I held you and counted the moments between the bright flashes outside and the big booms. Gradually the time between shortened and then the giant crash that came along with the lightening. And then the storm slowly moved off in the other direction and the count got longer and longer. 

That was over thirty years ago. And your longest lived brother Sam died in 2009 at age 87. You decided that you would live to a greater age than he did. And you accomplished it, by four years.

I was really scared of that Nebraska storm. It was so comforting to have you there to hold. Like a thundershirt. 

The new dog, unlike Princess Birdy, doesn't need a thundershirt because she isn't as frightened of loud noises outside as Miss Birdy was. But it does make her anxious. Mr Winston is just annoyed he has to pee on concrete. The cat is in the study on her thousand dollar chair.

I met with a friend whose spouse's funeral was week before last. She is a writer and reminded me about how healthy writing is.  I'll restart my morning pages tomorrow. 

I feel like the past three days have been getting me ready for Eugene. 

Last Day at The Haven

What I haven't seen since last September 26

 Because of the puppy, I haven't been going into The Haven in the early morning and the afternoon just isn't the same thing.  It's really been a waste of money since September and even though I cut back to $165 month, I still wasn't getting my money's worth. So I had Hosanna close out my account this afternoon and I'm typing and having my last free beer.

Carrie and Scott  (owner-founders) have fled Bend for Seattle so I no longer feel a personal connection to the place.  I need to find another spot to write and look at the river.  I've also been having more luck writing in the house these days.

My mind is already getting ready to leave Bend, no matter how much I love my house. 

My life hasn't turned out how I thought it would. I never expected to live past 30 and now here I am age 71 and by myself without any intention of being in an intimate relationship again when until December 26, 2021, being in a love relationship was the most important thing in the world to me. 

I'm not capable of a healthy, loving relationship with anybody else but the dead one. It took us 17 years to work out our best life together. I don't have that much time left. 

I've been working on the memoir as well as transcribing my handwritten "sex memoir" I wrote back in 1995 (I had wondered if I'd counted my "conquests" correctly and, yes, I had).  I'm also having fun with a group called The Narrative Method which is an online project by an art therapist. So I'm trying to be a writer again, and not just a dog walker. Doing my best to make and keep working commitments to myself.

Now I need to go home and put all the things that are scattered over countertops into their proper places so that I have a spot to put this laptop as I crank out the memories, sacred and profane.
 

Deer napping outside The Haven on my last day

 

 

Fun Pun

 For some reason my church decided to say good-bye to the summer with a Hawaiian themed service. The 13 year old boy who lives in my head (alongside Todd from Scrubs) was vewy, vewy pleased.

 

 

The tree of leies in the meeting hall

 

Wow - Good Work Today

 Sarah and I did some good but exhausting work today.

Byzantine devil

We were both deeply present and I talked with her more honestly than I have with other therapists.

We had an interesting discussion about the concept of "worthiness."  She was thinking/saying that my core issue is that I don't feel "worthy" and for me the core issue is "i am bad".  She thought they meant the same thing but for me they don't.  Not being "worthy" suggests or connotes to me that there is an "average" person (B student) who can't become extra special, ie, get the A.  On the other hand,  being a bad person means that one is starting below the average line - that being bad is an F for Failure student of life.

Can I get rid of the core source of my depression? Can I stop the despair cycle?

It would be nice to be healed, like the stooped woman. Luke 13.  Pastor Joseph Yoo had a great, one minute sermon on that in which he identified mental self wounding as analogous to the physical image of the bent over woman.

At one point today I got very angry with Sarah and instead of hiding my anger I told her. She saw the anger as a defensive move. I saw it as something else but we were able to process it and I stood my ground and was honest with her.

See, along with my core belief against myself, I also believe that no one (but Will) is dependable over time and that loving someone is no proof that the very next day after they tell you that you can count on them forever they will not walk out on you and call you toxic and abusive. How somebody is to me today is no proof that they will be that way tomorrow. People are not the sun.  

It feels risky to be as honest as I'm being with Sarah. But it's riskier not to be. 

I remember doing therapy with Phil and how even though we did good work together, some of it got ruined by his stupid Jungian insistence that I was feminine.  I told Sarah today that at one point my brain was telling me that "What if Sarah is like every other therapist and wants to force me into her framework." She was able to hear me and not get defensive, unlike past therapists.