Sweet & Sour

Sometimes when  you do a great number of things, it leaves relatively little time for things like blogging.  Right now is a particularly weird time, because I'm in such a time of transition.  Some things are ending while others begin, and making all of those things happen smoothly requires a lot of time and a lot of work.

Since I last wrote, I've been up to the usual stuff.  I've been teaching hoop classes, working with my Tangled Woods students, working on making things for Dead Man's, and trying to keep my house in some semblance of order as things are removed from the store and have to find some place to go.  I have also started to do some work for a neighbor to bring in a little extra money, and am doing all I can to keep up with my responsibilities for the Watertown Chamber, even though my attention is really elsewhere at the moment.  I also celebrated Litha with the coven, which was fun but weird.  Litha is the summer solstice, which marks the first day of summer and the longest "day" (in terms of daylight hours) of the year.  This year, however, it was stormy and overcast.  It's always a bit odd celebrating a sun festival on a cloudy day, but the gods definitely have a sense of humor, so we try to take it all in stride!

Probably the biggest thing that has happened since my last entry is that Matt and I have begun the daunting task of packing up the store in preparation for the move.  We have been putting it off for a while, probably because it is an overwhelming task, but maybe even more so because it's a bittersweet thing to have to do.  I think we have both gone through a period of feeling a sense of defeat, and I think we both needed time to step away and process that before we could muster the motivation to jump in.  However, now that we have started, things are moving along super-quickly, and I think we are both feeling a sense of relief.  Surprisingly, having taken the plunge, there seems to be no more lingering doubt, and everything just feels positive.  There is still a lot of uncertainty about the re-opening in Nashville part of things, but this part, at least, feels absolutely right.  We had reached a point with the store where our options, basically, were to try it somewhere else or give it up entirely.  We are nowhere ready to give up on it yet, and while we have no way of knowing what giving it a shot in Nashville will ultimately mean for us, we just couldn't stick it out in Watertown anymore.  It was beginning to drain us dry...not just in terms of finances and resources, but also in terms of energy and enthusiasm.  We got a fair amount of criticism there towards the end, but whether or not it was apparent to the outside world, we know that it wasn't because we weren't working or trying hard enough.  It was like managing a 3-ring circus trying to keep a store going that not only had nothing, but that consistently lost more and more money.  And there were no more hoops to jump through...at least not that would make any difference.  We still believe that what we want to do will be powerful and well-received somewhere, and I think we'd be doing ourselves a disservice not to at least try it somewhere else, sink or swim.  We can tell that there are some people in Watertown who think we're doing the wrong thing, and that's tough.  It's always hard to stick to your guns when people are telling you you're making a mistake.  We would never be so bold as to say that we don't think Watertown will ever improve in terms of business and prosperity.  I don't even really believe that.  We just don't have the faith anymore that that change is right around the corner, and can't really wait any longer.  This isn't a hobby for us.  We are throwing literally everything we have into it, and it was starting to feel like if we didn't do something to make a change we would just be throwing it all away.

And so, ever onward we move!  I think that's why it actually feels surprisingly good to be bringing this chapter to a close.  Even though we will have a period of down time and recovery before we'll be able to re-open, it feels good to be taking some action.  It does suck to feel disenchanted with Watertown, but hopefully we have taken this step soon enough that we won't feel bitter about Watertown.  Since we don't live directly in Watertown, we won't necessarily just be there all the time, so I'm sure it will appear that we have disappeared.  And for a while, that might be the case.  Our focus really is elsewhere right now.  But one thing we'll never regret about starting Dead Man's there is the people we have met and the friends we've made, and hopefully once it's all said and done, we'll be able to stay in touch with them.

And now it's on with the rest of the day!  I have to get some work done for the neighbor, and I really need to catch up on some housework.  I also have a Chamber officer's meeting today, and a Tangled Woods coffee night at Cafe Coco this evening.  I'm looking forward to that, because I'll get to see some tradition-mates I haven't seen in a while, spend time getting to know some of our students a little better, and meet some new seekers.  After that, Matt and I are going to see Nick 13 at Mercy Lounge.  So it will be a full day!

Happy Birthday Sweet Sister...

Jacklyn Elizabeth Morris

June 22, 1982 - May 30, 2010

 

 

I think of you every day.

Love and miss you.

 

My Two Dads

I know it's the name of a cheesy tv show, but I really did have 2 dads, and doing anything to honor Father's Day wouldn't feel right without remembering both of them.

I want to say that I'm fortunate enough to have a wonderful father-in-law, and since both of my dads are now gone, Matt and I spent most of the day with him today.  If it weren't for him, Father's Day would be a poor excuse for a holiday in my world, and I'm glad to have him in my life.  

But at this point all I can do to honor by dads on this day is something along these lines...simply remembering them...so here it goes.

Daddy

Billy Joe Goforth Jr. (Jody)

1961-2003

I never called him anything but Daddy, maybe because I got to spend so little time with him around that age when that transition would usually happen.  To this day it's what I call him to myself.  He was so much fun, so hard-working, and very generous and genuine.  He had many skills, but was humble enough that you might never have known it.  It's funny that this picture is of the 2 of us in the swimming pool, because moments like that...goofing off in the swimming pool, spending time with family at BBQs, listening to music together, playing frisbee in the front yard...are the things that seem to stick with me now.  He loved to spend time with his family, and considering the things that I couldn't have possibly known were to come at the time, those simple memories of just enjoying being with him, without seeing a gray cloud in the sky for miles around, are little treasures to me now.

I feel entirely ripped off in my relationship with my Daddy.  My mom took us so far away from him when I was so young, but before that I can barely even remember her.  It was all him, my Grandma (his mom), and my sister.  I felt ripped away from him, and from everything I have seen, everything I have been told, and everything I know within me, he was the parent that I was "modeled" after.  I know that I am so much like him, I look so much like him, and I even see him looking back at me sometimes when I look in the mirror.  But in the years after I had to move from Louisiana to Colorado, halfway across the country from him, I was only able to see him for occasional visits, if I was lucky.  I finally moved back to Louisiana when I was 15 and got to spend some wonderful time with him, amazed at how alike we were and how perfectly right that felt, but it was so short-lived.  He married a horrible woman, who slowly tried to isolate him from his family, and gradually succeeded.  Several years passed when seemingly every visit with me meant a fight for him with her.

In May of 2003, a few days after I graduated from college, he killed himself.  He didn't leave behind any explanation, so we can only guess at what drove him to it.  Though all of his family tried to reach out to him and keep from losing touch with him, I suspect it ultimately came down to loneliness.  He had been isolated from everyone he loved, and that was not in his nature.  He needed the love and company of his friends and family.  The news of his suicide was possibly the most devastating thing I've had to endure, aside from the news of my sister's suicide.  I feel like at so many turns in my life, I missed a chance to have more of a relationship with him.  I know it wasn't my fault, and that as soon as I was in control of my own life I tried as hard as I could, but none of that changes the fact that it's too late now.  But in so many ways, he was what made me make sense in this world, and I hold him in my heart as a reminder of my own identity when I need it.

Tommy

Thomas Edward Morris Jr.

1962-2009

I was, I guess, about 7 years old when this guy came into my life.  As you can see from this picture, Tommy was a party animal!  He was just a guy my mom was dating at first, but I remember thinking he was very funny and sweet.  He also loved music, like my dad, which made me like him.  Before I knew it, I was told that my mom would be marrying him and that my littlest sister was on the way.  Tommy went into the army, which took us to Virginia for a while, and then eventually to Colorado.  What followed was bittersweet to me.  I was crazy about Tommy and my new baby sister, so I had these great new additions to my family, but I was so far away from the main family I had really known up to that point.  I guess I didn't understand why starting a new life that included Tommy and Macy necessarily had to exclude the people who had raised me.  And once she was away from them (and their watchful eyes, I guess), my mom became crazier than I'd ever realized she was before.  I had learned to fear her from as early on as I could remember, but the violence escalated once we were away, I was more afraid of her than I ever had been.  When she started to push for Tommy to adopt me and Jacklyn, she used fear to force us to go along with it, and I am still torn up about that.  Even though I was only 8 when the adoption took place, in moments when I'm being particularly hard on myself, I wish I had been stronger, stood up to her, took her "punishment," and not put my dad through that hell.  I was forced to call him and tell him that I no longer loved him and he was no longer my dad, so he needed to sign the adoption papers...and I could hear the pain in his voice, but I did it because I was scared and I didn't want to be hurt.  I should have refused.

My mixed feelings about the adoption had nothing to do with Tommy, though, and we had discussions about it years after the fact.  We realized that my mom had lied to both of us, so that she could orchestrate things the way she wanted them, and while neither of us regretted it, we both agreed that it put a lot of people through a lot pain at the time that we wish we could have avoided.  In hindsight though, adoption or not, Tommy would have gone on to be more than a step-dad and someone who I truly considered a second father.  There are so many things he did for me, even after his divorce from my mom, that he didn't have to do.  Had he not, though, I have no idea how my life might have turned out.  It kind of scares me to imagine it.

Tommy was a prankster, a nurturer, and most of all a protector.  I think both of my sisters and I have thought of him that way.  He was the one we all went running to when we were in real need of help.  He was Macy's dad by blood, and therefore I guess obligated in her case, but for him it had nothing to do with a sense of obligation with any of us.  He didn't have to continue to have anything to do with me and Jacklyn after his short marriage to our mom, but he chose to.  He genuinely loved us, and was truly that generous.  Without him, there would have been many times in all of our lives when we wouldn't have had a safe haven, but he would not have let that happen.

He was killed in a head-on collision by a drunk driver in January of 2009.  I still get so pissed off when I allow myself to think about it long enough.  I know he wasn't ready to go yet.  I know he wouldn't have wanted to leave any of us behind so early on.  I know he would have wanted to wait until he saw that Macy was going to be settled and happy without him.  He was the glue that held our family together, and now that Macy and I are all that's really left, at least around here, I know that we both feel lost without him all the time.  I think the things I miss most about him are how much I laughed when I was around him, and the fact that if I really needed to I could cry to him.

In many ways I am lucky.  Some people never know their fathers or have horrible dads.  I was fortunate enough to have two that were beyond compare, at least to me.  They both taught me about unconditional love, resilience, how to be selfless, how to persevere, and even how to love and laugh when faced with hatred and strife.  I wish my time with them had not been so short, but I do thank the gods more than words can express that I got to have each of them in my life long enough to become the person I am, rather than the person I might have become if they had not been there. 

 

My Rooster is a JERK!

Yep, that's right!  I'm talking trash about a rooster...

Yeah, that's the one!  Just look at him...the beast!  OK, I admit that he may be a swell-looker, but I promise you that beneath all of those flashy feathers and markings, there is evil in his soul!

My small flock of hens is actually quite lovely and pleasant, and I don't mind having them around at all.  This one is a particular favorite...

They don't actually all have names, but I just can't avoid coming up with something to call them, and it usually ends up being somehow associated with their physical appearance.  This is "Speckles," and she lays green eggs.  

In general, I love having chickens around, but man roosters can be such a pain in the ass!  An aggressive one can be completely unpredictable in his mood swings, and will be set off by the most random of things.  He just might not like the shoes you're wearing.  Literally.  I have had my shoelaces attacked.

If you think a rooster,  because of his thoroughly non-threatening size, couldn't possibly inflict any real harm, you are so, so wrong.  They are freakishly fast when they want to be, and if they take a notion to mess with you, they will charge at you at full speed, completely un-phased by what you would think they would consider your dominating size and stature.  Should they catch up to you, they have talons, and those talons will hook into your skin.  I learned that the hard way one day when I went into my chicken house to put down food, and a different rooster thought he'd just see about that.  Before I even realized what was happening, or knew I had done anything to offend, he was hooked into my calf, and began repeatedly pecking my leg at an amazingly rapid speed.  Beaks are sharp.  Pain was inflicted.  I also learned in that moment that roosters are surprisingly strong, and he had quite a grip on me.  After prying him off, I walked away from that situation with a leg torn to shreds and dripping in blood, much wiser in the ways of farm life.

Since then, I have made use of the old "walk softly and carry a big stick" philosophy.  At this point, we just have the one rooster, and with him it seems to work.  Even when he is clearly feeling feisty, if I have some sort of branch, rake, shovel, or other sort of "big stick" when I approach, he sizes me up, somehow registers that item as heavy artillery, and keeps his cool.  I don't even have to do anything with it...it just acts as some sort of a magic shield against attack.  I have learned from experience, though, to protect the lower legs, so I usually keep it low and close to the body.

Today I embarked upon an extremely standard part of my routine that the rooster is often around for with no fuss.  I went out to the goat house to let them out for the day and went to check on the progress of the vegetables in the garden.  Before going back into the house I was planning to stop by the shed and get something out of it, which was apparently my offense.  Up until this point, the rooster was nowhere in sight for today's routine, so I hadn't picked up one of my "big stick" implements.  And then, when I started to make my way toward the shed door, out of nowhere he was there, making it very clear that he would have none of that.  He guarded that shed door like the black night in the Quest for the Holy Grail!  It was equally militant and comedic in its ridiculousness.

When a rooster is angry, he will do any number of things to intimidate you with his impressive physicality.  He began charging at my feet, all the while puffing up and shaking his feathers, spreading and flapping his wings, and crowing loudly.  And there I was, devoid of my big stick.  Not wanting to hurt him, not wanting him to hurt me, and otherwise completely at a loss for what to do, I did what I believe any other sane and mature adult would do.  I started acting just like a pissed off rooster.  I started yelling, wildly flailing my arms, and stomping on the ground in his direction.  It was not my proudest moment!  It's a good thing that none of our neighbors have a very clear view of that part of our property, because they probably could have served popcorn and charged admission.

I wouldn't really say that it worked, exactly.  He was still pissed, and once he regrouped, I'm sure he still would have been ready to fight the crazy, large rooster-woman.  But he was extremely confused, and that called him off just long enough for me to get to my pitchfork, which was nearby.  With my big stick in hand, I made by way to the shed door as the rooster fell back.

Ah, rural life!  Sometimes you win, and sometimes the animals do.  Sometimes he's completely mellow and almost seems to like me, and other times he's out for blood.  In this case, I guess as long as I'm carrying my stick, it's a stalemate.

Teardrops & Raindrops

Today I woke up crying.  As bad as it sounds, that isn't actually that rare for me...though it isn't something I thought I'd be talking about this early into this whole blogging project.  It isn't quite the pathetic scene you might imagine.  It has to do with a lot of grief that I still carry inside me over the loss of my dad, my grandma, my 2nd dad (Tommy), and my sister.  I am nowhere near ready to drudge up all of those ghosts here, so I'll just say that the loss of each one of them is still a lot to bear, and there are bits of sorrow inside me still being processed.  Sometimes I wake up without really being able to remember what I dreamed about them, but still able to feel their presence, and that's a hard way to enter into waking consciousness.  I am woeful as sort of a permanent part of my being now, but that in no way means that I am a depressed.  I still laugh a lot, joke a lot, have a lot of fun, love passionately, and am perfectly capable of seeing great beauty in life.  I guess to me, though, grief is beautiful too, because it's an echo of love.

Even though it started out with that weird, haunting sadness, the day didn't turn out half bad.  Wednesdays are always busy for me, because they're the first in a string of 3 days each week when I teach Hoop Dance classes.  They're always the day I introduce something new, but because we worked on a pretty tricky new skill last week, this week was more of a continuation of things we've previously worked on.  That meant that the only thing I really had to prepare this week was a new stretch, and things were fairly easy-going on the hoop front.

I did, however, have a bit of a double-whammy of activity today, because in addition to kicking off a new week of hoop classes, I hosted my coven for the full moon.  For weeks I had been planning this amazing fire ritual, and of course today was rainy and dreary all day.  Thunderstorms came and went, the power was in and out, the dogs scoffed defiantly at the idea of going out, and needless to say...the fire pit and all of the wood were soaked.  Even if the rain let up for the evening, there would have been no hope.  So, rather than scrambling at the last minute to figure out what to do, I made the decision early in the day to come up with an alternate plan so that we wouldn't miss a beat.  If it was going to rain, that was cool!  I'd just come up with something that involved the rain!  Since the rain came with its fair share of thunder and lightning today, I thought that we'd go outside, get good and wet, connect with the energy of the storm, and gather some highly charged storm water to use in workings down the road that needed a little extra "umph."  We were all geared up to move forward with our new plan, and then...no more rain!  Ah, Mother Nature always has lessons to impart!  Be unpredictable, spontaneous, and able to work with the moment you're given.  OK...noted.

We ended up completely improvising and actually having a great time.  We went outside at dusk into an area where we were entirely surrounded by maple trees and fireflies.  We staggered candles all throughout the grass around us, and then did a bit of a storm dance.  A huge wind came through and blew out all of the candles, which was a stunning effect, and then the thunder began to rumble while lightning cut across the sky.  No rain, which meant no rain water to collect, but the energy in the air was still out of control, and we all really enjoyed it.

And now, after a day spent in intense preparation and an evening spent in intense activity, I am in bed typing this, wondering when Matt will get home from over-working himself, and hoping that tomorrow I wake up with a kiss from my husband, rather than from warm tears running down my face.

 

This is Gonna Hurt

"I always say, if it hurts, it means you're growing, and I promise you, 

THIS IS GONNA HURT."

--Nikki Sixx

Nikki Sixx is my hero.  He is actually one of many, but unlike most other things in my life, if I absolutely had to narrow it down to one, I think I could single him out.  I remember drooling over him when when I was, like, 7 years old...before I even understood what such a thing meant.  And now, into his 50s, he still manages to be pretty drool-worthy.

There is a lot more to it than aesthetics, though I do think that aesthetics has something to do with it in his case.  I have always been the type of person who is more drawn to a personality than an appearance.  But in some cases, when someone has all of these deep layers of joy, love, sorrow, anger, and everything else within them that they somehow manage to bring to the surface in a way that is fascinating and beautiful and tragic, there is something very appealing about it to me.  Looking at someone like that is like reading the history of a journey. It tells some kind of a story about where they have been, and that to me is true beauty.  I think that's part of what initially attracted me to my husband.  When I first saw him, he was beautiful and tragic and fascinating all at the same time, and it did speak volumes about the personality underneath.

It was my husband's birthday this weekend, and conveniently or coincidentally, Nikki Sixx is also one of his heroes.  It was actually one of the first things we connected over.  So as one of his birthday gifts, I got him Nikki's new book, This is Gonna Hurt, which is a book of his photography and stories.  Matt has spent more time with it than I have, which makes sense since it's his gift!  But in the little bit that I have flipped through it, it has reminded me of why I admire the man so much.

He's incredibly driven, and the fact that he is the driving force behind Motley Crue would really be enough for me, since they have been one of my favorite bands for as long as I can remember.  But it goes so far beyond that.  He's in another band as well, he is an amazing and prolific songwriter, he has a record label, he writes awesome books, he does radio shows, he designs clothes, and he now does beautiful photography.  He works very hard, and for that reason he is a motivator.  He has also overcome a lot of adversity and tragedy, which is an inspiration.  He has literally died and come back to life, only to keep going, do more, and be better.

The thing that really struck me about the new book is how emotional it is.  Every story is so honest and revealing.  He makes no attempt at hiding his flaws, quirks, or sensitivities.  The ability to be that open and vulnerable is something that I have always admired and never possessed.  Sharing is hard for me even with people who I know and love, and I am by nature an introvert, so there aren't many of those.  

The point of this blog, or even this post, is not to obsess over Nikki Sixx, though I know I haven't entirely avoided that.  The point is to explain how I got here, and what has inspired me.  I realized something about myself in reading through that book.  I think that people see me around all of the time, probably lingering on the outskirts or lurking in the shadows, and don't really know anything about who I am, what I do, what I'm like, etc.  It's not that I want things that way, but something about my life's history has made me naturally guarded, and I have a hard time opening up to people without first quietly observing them and learning what I can about them.  I also don't think I'm very approachable, partially because I know I can tend to put off a guarded vibe, and possibly because I don't really look the part, anywhere.  I have always had way too many interests and loves to fully embrace any one scene.  I doubt anyone really has a problem with that, but I can see how it could make it difficult to know how to connect with me on something.

Revealing things about myself is difficult and painful, which is why I introduced this blog with the quote above.  Blogging is not at all in my nature.  Most social networking isn't. I held off on Facebook as long as I could, until I needed a page to promote my business.  And to blog means to share, which isn't a natural part of my routine.  But what is a huge part of my routine is self exploration and growth.  In so many ways, I constantly push myself outside of my own comfort zone in order to grow and learn something new, and when I realized how much I loved that Nikki could reveal so much about himself, but that I couldn't do it, I saw an opportunity to do something uncomfortable and learn from it.  So I guess this is a personal experiment, in a way.  And a blog is the chosen medium because I don't do so well in person, but I am a writer.  Written words come to me much more easily, and while that usually means pen on paper, that would defeat the purpose of sharing, so I think I can adapt to this.

Otherwise, there is no theme to this.  I do a lot, and I usually pretty much keep to myself about it, but this is a forum for me to share it, uncensored.  I actually had a blog set up prior to this one, but I am abandoning it for a couple of reasons.  I rarely ever posted anything on it, and I think that's because it had a very narrow theme relating to one aspect of my life.  I have realized that I lose inspiration when I try to compartmentalize my life too much.  I feel whole when I bring all things together, and that's what I plan to do here.  So there is no telling what I'll be talking about from one post to the next, but it will all have to do with what I'm up to, what I'm into, and what I think and feel about things.

So I guess I'll close with why I chose the name I did for the blog, "Be Strong and Laugh."  Since Nikki Sixx inspired me to take this step, I thought it would be appropriate to make the title a nod to him in some way.  Be strong and laugh comes from the lyrics to the song "Shout at the Devil," and it comes to mind often.  Those are both things I am constantly reminding myself to do, so if this blog has any theme, I guess that would be it.