the big ask

i make a lot of stuff up. all the time. about a lot of things. and when i do that, i often forget that maybe all i have to do is ask and i'll find out something closer to the truth (whatever that is...).

for instance: when my ex and i split up, i got custody of his big, old cat, along with my own slightly smaller, old cat. they did seem a set and the ex was moving to Cali, so it just made sense. plus, the boy-cat, although ornery and high-maintenance, was also lovable in his own way. As the years have passed, this furry beast has become a bit more, er, beastl-y. in all honesty, he's just responding to the fact that his body is breaking down, as bodies are wont to do as they get older. and he's got some particular problems (diabetes, near-blindness, weird inner-ear issues) that have been intensifying over the last little while. for a while now i've been harboring some anger at the ex for not being more present in taking care of him (namely to the tune of dollars and cents), and when i moved in with my honey a few months ago, i even entertained the thought of having the ex sublet my place, cats and all (i know, totally wrong-headed idea, but sometimes i'm crazy like that). Anyway, in the last weeks, the boy-cat has been slipping a bit and i stood on the edge of a decision to put him to sleep, as quality of life seemed seriously impaired. So I sent out a message that this action may be imminent, but it weighed on me. i just couldn't bring myself to do it, and the boy seemed somewhat ok and it was just a damn quandry. an either/or, life/death question. then, upon talking to my mom and mi honey, it was posed to me: why not ask the ex to come and get his cat for the duration? of course i made up that a big No-can-do would be the response. Imagine my surprise when the message back was, Yes. I will take him if that's what you want. When's a good time to pick him up? I felt nauseous suddenly. I'd gotten what I wanted, so why did i feel so confused? i'm just not used to it: the asking and the affirmative. when i think all i'm going to get is a No, then i talk myself out of asking. I also do that awesome thing of assuming i'm not right in asking in the first place. wacky. getting this Yes put me in the position of getting what i wanted, and while i'd like to say that gave me a rush, it actually totally threw me off kilter. did i really want this? (actually, yes, i'm ready for the furry boy to spend what he's got left with the guy who took him as a kitten. and me to have some breathing room from his caretaking.) The Yes also let me know that i can always ask, and again, that makes me nervous, tho the powerful part of it is slipping in. I can be prepared for No's, in fact i may be more used to that. but again, i'm sure i've made that up...i get Yes's just as much.

so i tested the asking again. going to get cat food(?!?!?! seriously, a theme here?), i was in what appears to be the most popular grocery store in all of the universe: Whole Foods, Chelsea (apparently it's their special sauce...). the check out line snaked through the store (seriously). BUT at the coffee bar spot in the back of the store there was no one. nada. i was sure the counter lady was bored silly. so i asked her if i ordered something with caffeine, could i pay for my stuff. Yes. Crazy...and this time it felt good to trip past the line-drones on my way out of the store. just ask, i thought.

i've got a few good things on my list-of-now-future to ask for. so even if i make stuff up, as i will no doubt continue to do, as long as i remember to open my mouth and pose a question...why not?

(boy cat on left, girl furry on right)

BTW: because no post would be complete without a little dancy-dance mention, here tis: Dance Luvuhs and I went to see Karole Armitage's new program this week. Truly crazy wonderful. She is by far in my top-5 of choreographers (Jacoby & Pronk in there as well). Her boldness, braveness and all around rad sense of self is beyond inspiring. She was actually one of my first blog postings (January 2010) and my passion about her work and her coolness has changed not one bit. As a mature woman who is doing what she wants, creating how she wants and succeeding, she inspires me. one of her quotes that i feel embodies dance and life is this: “Seek beauty. Show mutability. Move like a blaze of consciousness. Perfection is the devil. Express the eroticism of gravity.” Next to Rumi, she has become someone whose words speak to me powerfully.
Here's a clip of the third part of the show: a merging of toe shoes and rock chords that is stultifying. chaos and love. Drastic Classicism:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yP-0bDaGGvI
Also: one of my dance luvuhs has an awesome blog. her last post perfectly encapsulates how the intersection of the Armitage and life come together. check it out: Buddha Becky.

what will be...

I'm currently working on a book proposal having to do with the tight lacing movement in corsetry during the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries. In sum, this is a form of body modification primarily practiced by women whereby a corset is cinched tighter and tighter over time to reduce the waist size dramatically, the goal usually being somewhere between 16 and 18 inches (from a normal 20-plus size circumference). The reason I'm so fascinated by this process is the psychology attached. The fact that tight lacing was at its peak in practice during the Victorian era when women had very little control over their lives (even less than in previous centuries when at least piano legs weren't covered for fear that they suggested lascivious curves). In all honesty, men didn't have a helluva lot of freedom either, yet, being (usually white) guys, they still had mostly the upper hand.

So what really moves me is how these women found a way to control their body in such a way that it was within respectable bounds—corsets being an expected article of clothing for all women—while still giving a healthy fuck-U to those who would have them conform. Of course the other side of this story is the extremes women would go to in order to stand out in the crowd and be noticed by men—since marriage was still the ultimate expectation of the time. Where i'm going with this is how women lose themselves while still fighting, sometimes to the detriment of their health, for a way to be found on their own terms. As I do the research, i'm reminded of how lucky I am to live in this day and age given my freedom of movement and literal ability to breathe (given that I'm not forcibly laced into a contraption that stops me from taking air fully into my lungs), yet i'm still enraged over and over again when I listen to the debate in Congress about rescinding government funding for Planned Parenthood. Again, ownership? I can't believe this argument is still going on with no signs of it diminishing in ferocity. One of the more telling moments i've come across in my reading is the fact that before the early-twentieth century, doctors paid very little attention to health concerns specific to women. So, for instance, a woman's pregnancy did not begin until she decided that it did, usually when she first felt the baby move. Oftentimes when a woman didn't want to be pregnant and knew that she was because she hadn't gotten her period, it was referred to as a blockage and a tightly laced corset was employed to remove it. (Great information about this in a book called Bound to Please by Leigh Summers.)

Now, this is an awfully brutal way to take control of one's body, and in a time when health care was even less reliable (for different reasons) than it is today, I'm not suggesting this was a positive way to live, but it does speak to the way in which women used what was at hand to control what they could. Pregnancy was not a celebration, but a duty, and sometimes a curse as well, one that often kept them bedridden for months. The thought of a woman experiencing passion of any sort was completely negated with the Victorian view being that a normal female would never get turned on. A classic story of the time: A young English girl asks her mom how she should behave on her wedding night, and is told, "Lie still and think of the empire." Sex as duty. No fun.

Again, I'm reminded of how lucky I am to be here now, when I can spend time not only expressing but celebrating my physicality and sexuality. But I'm also reminded of what a challenge it can still be to own the depths and heights of it. It's an individual journey, not dictated by a man, yet letting myself take that trip can be hard. A seemingly simple assignment in class to bring in song and movement that encompasses love kind of tripped me up this week. I realized how hard it was for me to let go in the emotion, even when invited to do so. A little I felt exposed in front of others (even though they are beyond supportive), mostly I was afraid of how dissolving in the complete luckiness of my situation, moving how I wanted to sounds that reminded me of my love(r) and my own desire were mine to have how I wanted, and it stopped me in my tracks. In a way, emotionally I laced myself up rather tightly, yet still I could feel the cords dangling for me to undo. I know all the knots i've made, it's just a matter of loosening them. The more stories I hear, read and write about women, life, humans and circumstances, the more I see that we are responsible to find our freedom and it can sometimes be more challenging to push against ourselves than against blowhards in congress or strictures in society.

These fine characters (from left: Polaire, Willy, Collette) make an appearance in my book. Notice the tiny, tiny waist on Polaire, who trained her waist down to silly proportions and ostensibly admitted to being the "ugliest" actress in the world, yet who knew her power to manipulate an audience with her fierce personality and performance. she was a bit of a punk rocker in her time, not afraid to show anger, emotion, passion...at least onstage. Though Willy, Collette's husband at the time, thought he had the upper hand in starting her career onstage, she went on to leave him in the dust. And Collette did pretty well without him, too. Breathe.....

mama's got a brand new bag

There was a time when I carried around a picture of this marc jacobs bag (see above to get general idea) that I coveted. It wasn't just the bag that i desired (tho it was a sweet chocolate brown leather with some slouchy style and well-placed pockets), it was what this bundle of cowhide, straps and clasps represented that made me want to own it. Not status or cachet, but instead this bag symbolized an anchor in my life to stop spinning.

At the time I was teaching writing workshops in the public schools, and while there were absolutely moments of satisfaction and smiles, it was also a really hectic and taxing gig, both emotionally and physically. I carried with me to every school a massive satchel filled with the students' writing books, groves-worth of Xeroxes with poems and stories to pass out, a couple of tiny speakers and a portable CD player for writing warmups. The bag was huge and every day was dragged to another school in another borough—sometimes two locales in a day—and filled with ever-more stuff. When I spotted the Marc Jacobs advertisement, it was on a subway platform where, exhausted, I was waiting for a connecting train. It dawned on me that along with that purse i wanted a one-trick day. By shrinking my bag I would open up my life, have more freedom of movement...I dubbed this the search for the "little-purse job."

I did eventually get one job at one location at one magazine (with fierce sample sales, though the M.Jacobs bag was never in my universe), and carried one purse, which I still managed to cram full of stuff—for some reason it seems important to carry enough reading material to last me a month or so if I'm ever stuck in the subway. It also dawned on me around that time how disillusioned I was about what I needed, whether that was space, time or communication. For instance, I'd always use a post-it when what I really needed was a full-size (sometimes even poster-size) sheet of blank paper. This (and the bag) became a metaphor for my life. An example of how it didn't matter whether I had tons of room or a tiny amount, I was confused about how to manage any of it. I wondered how I could be more honest about what exactly I needed by taking my time and looking at what was around me. And then putting it in the proverbial bag if needed, putting it aside if not, and being forthright about using up as much space as necessary. I still find myself starting large on a small scrap, then cramping little words in the margin as I run out of space.

How to be bold about staying in that generous moment? being judicious, being patient. Using discretion with the who and what around me. And in so doing, allowing other people to have as much space as they need as well. I've felt challenged lately with time. feel my jaw clenching around wanting answers to things that i can't control, other people's actions that I can't have anything to do with. And i'm realizing that if i just slow down and see what i'm filling myself up with (emotionally speaking) that i'll have so much more room. I've been slower than ever in my studio movement, literally taking molasses-like moments to move my hand over my knee or peel off an item of clothing. I've kept my eyes open and watched the room around me and it's absolutely luxurious, but then suddenly it becomes excruciating and, without thinking, I spin out and roll away. the space feels too much, too raw with possibilities. A billboard-size opportunity to fill up (and i could), a perfect M.Jacobs bag to hold my stuff (and I would). And i will...keep trying.