Final post of 2010

2011, 2011, 2011, 2011... I'm practicing. My fingers have learned how to hit the two, then zero, then back to the one, then the zero again. It's a nice dance back and forth across the top of the keyboard. 2011 is heavily laden on the port side.

Avast, Mateys!

I haven't posted much recently. Why I can not fathom. I enjoy writing for this blog. Sometimes my thoughts run toward blog posts, sometimes they wander aimlessly.

I went on a date last night... with a girl! OK, it's not that spectacular. Last night I met a friend of mine from school, a young lady the same age as Light, at the restaurant where she works. She got off work at 9:00. I got there early to have a baked potato. That restaurant makes the best potatoes! Neither of us knows how they manage to make an ordinary Idaho spud taste so special. Anyhoo, after work we dropped in on a mutual friend who didn't happen to be at home at the time, but his den was full of iniquity in the form of half a dozen late-teen-early-20s ruffians playing a video game. They seem to be nice enough young people, though from the 45 minutes we were there it's hard to judge their collective character. There may or may not have been

some prophylactic glaucoma treatment involved. I was merely a witness to what may or may not have happened. The video game was intriguing. It involved a motorcycle driving up impossibly steep ramps made of various materials including but not limited to diamond plate, wood planking, and concrete.

Then she and I went to the movies. I finally saw "Tangled". Me likey. She and I have been talking about going together to see this movie since it first came out, before the end of last semester. It was good to finally get together with her, and to see the movie.

In other news, I ordered my textbooks online. Big news, I know. But that's not the point of the story. One of the books is for the Senior Seminar course required of all potential graduates in the psychology program. It's title is Finding Jobs with a Psychology Bachelor's Degree. I received email notice today that my order has shipped. In the order description this book is shown as "Finding Jobs With a Psycho."

I haven't posted since before Christmas. Here's the update: Christmas happened. There's not much more to say. My mother gave me a picture frame made with elephant poop. That got a good laugh from the assembly. Looking at the elephant poop website linked above, I see that they also make social stationery. Be the first on your block to write your holiday thank-you notes on elephant poop stationery.

Light made beef stew for Christmas dinner. It was good. I made yeast rolls. They were good too. There was some other stuff, but I can't remember what. Other stuff happened on Christmas day, too, I'm sure, but I can't remember what.

Superman has been on vacation from work since before Christmas. The 19th was the last day he worked. He'll be back at work next Wednesday, the 5th of January, 2011. (more practice) I get so spoiled having him at home with me like this. After all these years, we are still eager to spend time with each other. Warm fuzzies abound.

He had a dream last night about the two of us going to IHOP for breakfast. We're about to make his dream come true. He said it was a nice dream, though I haven't heard any details. Speaking of IHOP, did I tell you about the location in Gastonia, NC? One of the major thoroughfares in Gastonia is Cox Road. At the Cox Road exit from I-85 there is an IHOP. I've heard they answer their phone "IHOP on Cox." Say that out loud, a couple of times if necessary.

Alright, enough of this foolishness. I'm going out to breakfast now. Ya'll have a good day and a happy New Year.

P.S. Remind me to tell you the latest on Diva.

Update:

I took a picture of my pancakes at IHOP.

They have a new menu item. It's the love child of a cinnamon roll and a pancake. There's cinnamon filling goop between each layer and the whole thing is dribbled with a cream cheese frosting, then of course topped with whipped cream. As soon as the waitress walked away I said to Superman that it looks like the pancakes have been covered with jizz. He laughed and suggested they'd been given a facial. The whipped cream is, what, a celebration of the affair? It tasted good.

Ramblings

• I love having a whole day in which to do whatever I see fit. No homework! I had a lovely long nap this afternoon. I do miss working in the clay, though.
• Superman and the kids got home from his parents' home last evening. I often forget just how loud and lively Sproing is until he comes back after a few days away. Things were peaceful here with just C and N and me. I'm glad Superman is home again.

Saw Diva yesterday. We had a meeting with her therapist and reps from two state mental health agencies (not agencies, exactly, I think, but something like it). The meeting was to plan for her leaving the Residential Treatment Facility (RTF). Ugh. I like her being there. She's safe, everyone else is safe, and I don't have to do much besides make some decisions and visit every couple of weeks. These agencies are here to help her transition back into the home. She isn't currently ready to leave the RTF, but she is making a lot of significant improvements (it seems).

Here's the thing: She's good at making improvements, or at least following the course for a while. Then when I'm feeling comfortable and beginning to trust her again she attacks. It has happened so very often that trusting her is extremely difficult. I need to see long-term evidence of genuine change. "Long-term" means that I don't want her in my home again until I can be sure. I'm thinking a couple of years. The state agencies are thinking within the first quarter of 2011. Don't know what we're going to do about this. I won't let worry consume me over this issue right now, but it's something that will work along in the back of my mind for a while.

• N and I made gingerbread men yesterday. We're supposed to decorate them today, but he slept late then stayed in his room most of the afternoon until C got home. I took a late nap and didn't wake up until 8:00 this evening. Now he and C are in their room watching a movie and I'm in my office doing this. It may still happen tonight, or it might get pushed to tomorrow. Or the day after tomorrow.
• I got most of my Christmas gifts wrapped earlier this week when the family was away. Yesterday when I was in Columbia to see Diva I had the opportunity to do some more shopping. That's a good thing, as I hadn't found anything appropriate to give to C and N. Greenwood has a piss-poor selection of fabulous stores in which to buy fabulous gifts for fabulous gay young men. Yesterday I discovered World Market. Wow! I found so many fabulous gifts. I found something for Superman that he has wanted for a while, but I can't tell you what it is now because he reads this blog. :) I also won't tell you how much I spent there, because he reads this blog. :-p I even got a few things for myself, and found a plethora of great gifts for my gay guys. Most of their gifts smell good. I have a lot more wrapping to do now.
• I went to the dentist today to get my teeth cleaned. I love the feel of freshly professionally cleaned teeth, and I love getting a new toothbrush. Oh sure, I could buy myself a new toothbrush (and often do), but the toothbrushes I buy for myself aren't as thrilling as the one the dentist gives me. The ones from the dentist come engraved with the name of their practice. How fancy is that?
• Superman et al. were on their way home from points west in our little Aveo (Eva) yesterday when I went to Columbia. Manny is in very poor shape and I won't drive him out of town. So I rented a little Ford thingie... I forget. Hang on, let me look it up... Yeah, a Ford Focus. Nice little car I guess, but hardly memorable. Did have Sirius radio, though, which is cool. First time I've had a chance to try that out. Anyway, what I came to tell you about...

...is the rental experience. So I go to the En+erpr!$e place in town to pick up the car which I wisely reserved in advance. The young man doing the paperwork asks me where I am going in the car. I understand the need for that question. It's their car, they should know my plans for it. But he kept asking questions. It's a Southern thing, I guess, trying to be friendly. Or nosy. Or both. He asked why I was going to Columbia. I really don't think the company needs to know that, but whatevs. Told him vaguely that I was going to a meeting. Here's the thing: it's uncomfortable under those circumstances to discuss my mentally ill, institutionalized daughter. I was going to say "to discuss with strangers" but that's pretty much exactly what I do by writing about it on the blog! Hee hee. But this, for reasons I don't thoroughly understand, is different.

My 13 year old daughter is mentally ill. She has severe emotional problems. Does the guy at the rental car counter want to know that I'm going to a meeting with/for/about my 13 year old institutionalized daughter in which I try to convince state officials (of a sort) that she should not be placed back in our home for a while longer? I don't think so. I suspect such a discussion would have made him uncomfortable. It would have made me uncomfortable, which is why I didn't tell him anything.

My two youngest children have special needs. Yeah, they are eligible for the short bus. Thing is, they don't look like it. To see them, to talk to them, most of the time you wouldn't suspect anything amiss. Even when the boy is acting out his oppositional defiance in public, people usually see that as disobedience and a result of poor parenting. As for the girl, she's a sneaky freaky little bitch. (I say that as a loving parent, mind you.) She presents herself well in public until the demon takes over in a mad uncontrolled rage. That demon rarely shows, but the few times it has are frighteningly memorable. That shit leaves emotional scars on its victims, let me tell you. That shit is the reason I don't want her to live here.

Taking a thread from the previous paragraph: poor parenting. I've been accused, and have accused myself. I know I've made mistakes, chosen unwise actions at times. All parents do, to some degree. But I try not to. My intentions are generally good. Sometimes I use tactics that worked well with child 1 or 2 but fail miserably with child 3 or 4. That's a learning curve thing. The parenting of these special-needs children is especially challenging, of course. Their behavior, reactions, modes of interaction tend to inhibit good parenting. Really. I learned about that in my adolescent development class. Well, I learned it in the field, as it were, but my experience and understanding was validated in the course.

But difficult children aren't an excuse for poor parenting. I must continue to do the best I know how. I must continue to learn, to adapt to each child's individual needs. It's enough to drive a mother crazy, as has been demonstrated here many times. Just read the archives. Gawd-almighty, I'm tired.

Am I complaining too much? I don't mean this as a complaint. This is my forum to work this stuff out in my head. Writing it all out helps me process it in my mind. If you write a blog, you probably know what I mean.

It's late, I'm tired, and it's time for me to go to bed.

Platypus in Art

This is the platypus I worked on for so long. I finished him before I started on the narrative about which I posted Sunday night. I took these pictures the same day I took the others, so the time stamp is screwy. I've sense turned off the time stamp feature on my camera. It's annoying!

Looking head-on at the platypus

Platypus, port side, with seaweed under his tail

Seaweed and platypus with log and rocks and more seaweed

Detail of seaweed, back side of platypus, the other end of the log, and some rocks. And turtles.

More detail: seaweed, turtles, rocks

Fish in the seaweed and the back of the platypus

This piece looks better in person. Most of my stuff is difficult to photograph. The fact that I'm a poor photographer doesn't help. And I think the lighting on this backdrop is messed up. We're supposed to take photos of everything we do, using a backdrop for some official art reason of which I'm unaware. The professor insists, and I haven't asked too many questions about that. (I'm too busy asking questions about lots of other stuff.)

Did I tell you I'm taking sculpture in the spring? I know I didn't tell you I'm also taking another ceramics class, because I just found out about that a few days ago. Only problem is that I'm majoring in psychology, and I have a handful of psych classes to take in order to graduate at the end of spring semester. Adding the ceramics class will knock me into overtime, i.e. I'll be taking more credit hours than are officially allowed. I can get an override to do this, and I plan to. Ceramics is that important to me. I'm not sure how important psychology is. It is, really, I just don't know how much. Because I'm good at it. And I'm good at art. So what's a girl to do?

Also, happy winter solstice. And Yule.

Pictures of my ceramic art

Good evening. I am ready to show you some of my ceramic art from this semester. First I present my raku glazed vessel. It's approximately 12 inches in diameter and 11 inches high. It was glazed and fired with the raku method. It looks shiny. And a bit ugly, but in a pretty way

It looks better in person. And the time stamp on these two pictures is correct. The following pictures were taken a week after these, but the time stamp says New Years Day 1007.
Yeah, so ignore the time stamp. This is 3/4th of a set of tableware. The assignment was to make a large plate, a small plate, a tumbler, and a small cup of some kind. I made the 4th piece, but I didn't get it finished in time to get it into the kiln for the bisque fire. The 4th piece is a goblet that I'm particularly pleased with. It won't get cooked until January. Until then, enjoy the other pieces.
I've been meaning to try out that tumbler to see how well it works as a drinking vessel. The thing is sitting on my desk now, stacked up with all the other ceramic work I brought home.

Next is the narrative piece that goes with the personal story I posted a month ago. I worked on this sucker for a good three weeks, maybe more.

top view

"The Church" on the left, my house on the right, a gay couple walking together toward my house. A crumbling archway between the church and my house.

church side view

And a bit of the crumbling archway.

detail of my house side view, with me as the crazy lady in the window

angled view with church on the right, archway behind, and "man of the cloth" being all judgmental and shit

That's supposed to be an altar there on the front right corner along the wall of the church. Behind the preacher-guy you can see a wonky pew, and if you look carefully you can see the gay couple heading down the road.

angled view showing gay couple walking toward my house, with mini-me in an apron welcoming them to my home

The bit on the left is supposed to portray a homey scene of the hearth. Maybe you can see it better if you embiggen it.

Detail of the front of my house with me welcoming the gay couple

That shadow in front is the back of the pew. I made the pew with distorted angles and such, symbolizing the distortions of the church and the altered perspective of the scene.

And that's about all I'm going to say now. I should be posting more often for the next three weeks until school starts again. I have some other pictures of artwork to share, too. Stay tuned.

It's the end of the semester as I know it

I am so tired. Slept a long time last night/this morning. Didn't get up until almost noon, went to bed around 9 last night, I think.

Had some unpleasant interaction with Sproing last evening. He had a bad day at school, and was grumpy when he got home. I asked him if anything was wrong, did he have a bad day, is everything alright? He grunted some non-answer at me but wouldn't say anything more. Then he got more grumpy. He was taunting me and I was trying not to be drawn into his web. Things escalated. I got my feelings hurt, and cried. I don't like doing that with him. Mama tears are like hitting below the belt. If I'm going to fight, I want to fight fair. But the tears were an honest response to his behavior. It was a mess. We apologized after a cool-down period. Then they boy had a good talk with Superman about what was bothering him, and felt much better afterwards. I was still a nervous wreck, so I took a chill-pill (Ativan, I think it is) and went to bed early.

Had my last final exam yesterday morning. It wasn't an exam, as such, but a presentation of a project we'd been working on in teams. Adolescent development and things that parents should know about their adolescents. Then, amusingly, I came home and had a conflict with my 12 year old adolescent. Irony is a bitch.

Did some good art this semester. Was challenged, had fun. Really like my art prof. Cool short bald man.

Am so tired I'm having trouble writing this. Can't make the words do what I want them to do. Spend as much time correcting misspelled/typo words as writing the post itself. Time to go lie down. Will return.

checking in

I'm not dead yet. Tired, yes, but not dead.

Finished my last class of the semester yesterday. Next week is final exams. I should be sleeping right now, but I really want to touch base here. I miss my blog peeps.

Clay in my veins. Art animates me. Psychology tickles a different part of my brain/body/soul. My attentions are divided.

Don't want to celebrate Christmas this year. Did I say that last year? It's too late, I'm too tired to check the archives. I don't want to celebrate Christmas this year. Twitch asked me today what I want for Christmas. Nothing. Honestly. I've already gotten his gifts. Bought my Mama's gifts, had them wrapped and shipped by amazon.com. Did that shopping while I was on the phone with her when she told me what she wanted. L-O-V-E the internet.

Don't know what we're going to do with/about Diva at Christmas. NOT going to bring her home! Don't really want to visit her, either, but probably will.

OK, really, now is a bad time to think about all these things I should/want to/don't want to do. I'm too tired and stressed, which means I don't want to do anything. Maybe by next weekend I'll be more inclined to try to give a shit.

I'm at the ceramics studio right now. Recently put my mud away. Have been working here often, many projects due by the final exam time next Wednesday morning. It's 1:30 a.m. and I'm still in the ceramics studio. Going to shut down the 'puter now, go home, shower some of the stink and mud off of me, and go to sleep!

Reporting

We survived Diva's visit. The whole thing was slightly surreal.

Since she's been gone we got an Xbox. She was excited about that, and Sproing taught her how to use the controller to play a couple of his games. He was very patient with her. They got along very well, as I mentioned in my previous post.

When it was time for dinner everyone came into the kitchen to eat. We had two tables set up, one of them a door set on saw horses. That's always fun! It means Thanksgiving to me. Anyway, we all came into the kitchen, got plates and served ourselves. Except Diva. She sat in front of the TV in the living room. We had to call her again, then she came in and sat down at the last available spot at the table. She just sat in front of the empty plate with a creepy blank look on her face. I said "Honey, take your plate over and get some food." She stared at me for probably 30 seconds before getting up. She got one thing then came back to the table. I suggested she go back and get some more stuff, and Superman helped guide her through the decision making process. She ate what she got, and expressed a liking for the sweet potato casserole when Sproing put up a fight about eating the 2 tablespoons of sweet potato I gave him.

I napped for an hour after dinner, then got up to go with Superman to return Diva to her rightful place. 70 miles 4 times in one day is a pain in the ass. He and I had a very nice time together on the way home, and an even nicer time once we got home.

Diva is crazy. She often does not show emotion, or if she does it's inappropriate to the situation. She has what psychologists call flat affect (a'-fect; n). It is one symptom of schizophrenia, as is command auditory hallucinations, which she's had. That's when she hears voices telling her to do things (like kill us in our sleep). She's not been diagnosed with schizophrenia, and she may be too young (will be 13 next Saturday) to qualify for that diagnosis. I won't be at all surprised if we hear that she is schizophrenic.

It was stressful having her here, and I think we won't do that again. C and N both recommend that she not ever come back here. They went out after dinner in order to get away from her presence, as both of them were very uncomfortable with her in the house. I locked the doors to my bedroom and office while she was here, and asked the charge nurse at the facility to check her for contraband when we took her back. After we left her, Superman visibly relaxed. He didn't realize how guarded he was until he no longer had to be.

In other news, N wanted to hit the Black Friday sales today. C, who isn't a big fan of that sort of thing anyway, had to go into work and make donuts to keep the citizens of Greenwood fueled up for their power shopping. Since N doesn't have his drivers' license yet, I got up early and took him shopping. We left the house shortly after 6:00 and were gone for 2.5 hours. We hit Wal-Mart first, then went to what passes for our mall. I got a couple of Christmas gifts for Sproing and N bought himself a few garments. I got up really early. I can feel a nap approaching rapidly.

Mid Thanksgiving report

So far so good.

C's boyfriend N accompanied me to pick up Diva. He and I have never had a lot of time alone to just talk. The trip to the loony bin is 1.5 hours, which we spent in enjoyable conversation. I find that conversations in the car seem to be most productive.

We retrieved the girl child and came home. She's grown recently. I nearly didn't recognize her when she came out of her dorm, a new hair-do being part of the camouflage. She looks pretty good, though the poor thing has a terrible acne outbreak. Her 13th birthday is in 9 days. Welcome to teenage-hood.

As soon as we got home I locked the doors to my bedroom and my office. Light locked the door to her room. And yes, we're keeping a close eye on her. She and Sproing are getting along famously! This makes my life easier.

Light is doing most of the cooking. Superman managed the pork loin. I helped cut up the bread for the stuffing. I wrote out the recipe for the stuffing for Light. It's a good thing she and I think so much alike, else she might not be able to use it at all. The recipe I wrote is more of a guideline, really. There are practically no measurements, and the spice list is open source, so to speak.

I am very tired. And hungry. It's 3:15 and I had no lunch. Neither did anyone else, of course. Dinner should be ready soon. That's been the response for the past hour, but from the sounds of things I think it really will be soon. After we eat and I make a half-hearted attempt to help clean up, my plan is to take a nap. Superman and someone will take Diva back to the loony bin.

That's about all I have for now, and Superman just came in to tell me that dinner is almost served.

Merry Thanksgiving to one and all, even the beloved Canadians who had their Thanksgiving weeks ago.

I had a good day... and drunk blogging

I've had a spate of bad days over the past couple of weeks, but have felt pretty good most of this week. I had 2.5 glasses of wine and some spiked coffee this evening, and my head is floating about half a head above my head now. Feelin' groovy.

Superman left here Sunday to visit his parents. I may have mentioned before that his father is in poor health. Today (24 Nov) is his 79th birthday, and Superman wanted to visit and be there on his dad's birthday. He had a good visit with the folks. He left their place around noon and drove to the city where Twitch attends school to retrieve the boy. They got here at 9:17 this evening (he notices stuff like that). Superman is compressed, and has been attempting to decompress since he got home, having spotty success. I'm glad he's back home. Things went pretty well while he was gone, but it is very good to have him back where he belongs.

So Twitch is home now, and Light got home yesterday (Tues.). Tomorrow morning I will drive to Columbia to retrieve the Diva. She'll come home for Thanksgiving dinner, then go right back to the loony bin. I'm a bit uncomfortable about her being here, but I feel obligated to include her in the holiday observance. I think I'd feel more uncomfortable (read: guilty) if we excluded her. The plan is to keep a wary eye on her at all times, and no one will be alone with her. It's a tricky thing. Yes, there's some resentment being served with our holiday meal.

Speaking of the meal, Superman and Light will be doing the majority of the cooking. I'll go get Diva, and hopefully he will drive her back in the afternoon. After being on the road for 9 hours today he might not be thrilled about another 3 or so. Eh. It's what we do.

Twitch is home. He can be an annoying pain in the arse. Sproing is having some trouble settling down tonight, and Light is in the room that Twitch and Sproing share, singing to her little brother. Sproing loves that. They developed that habit last summer and it was a good way for them to build on their relationship. Twitch was at school through the summer and missed that fun. Well, he's trying to go to sleep now and is entirely put out about all this melodic sweetness. Oh, get over yourself, young'un!

I mixed up a batch of ginger snap cookies this evening, and the batter is currently in the refrigerator acquiring the necessary firmness for shaping and baking. Shape and Bake, not the same as Shake and Bake. I also baked two pumpkin and one pecan pie. That's about the extent of my contribution to dinner. When I get back with Diva tomorrow (probably close to noon) I'll do some further consultation and perhaps pitch in with some real work. We'll see what needs to be done.

This post is boring me. There is some other stuff I want to talk about but tonight is not the time to do so. I need to discuss art and psychology and uncertainty and internal conflict and that sort of thing. Hopefully I'll get back here to do that before next week. I have a bunch of homework to do this weekend, too. Right now, though, it's time to go to bed.

I hope everyone has a lovely weekend, a happy Thanksgiving if you live in a place where that applies, and peace and security within your life.

(From my perspective this post seems fairly coherent, as if I weren't under the alcofluence of incohol at all. I'll have to check back tomorrow for a different perspective.)

The story of my transformation from homophobe to homophile

I had this assignment for my ceramic sculpture class:

Students will write a 2-4 page (typed, double spaced) true narrative and then design a ceramic environment to illustrate the narrative. The narrative should be about an event or experience you witnessed.

So yeah, I have to depict the story in clay. Artistically. The most significant experience I've had in recent years is learning to embrace The Gay. Here is the story I submitted to my art professor this morning.

Until about five years ago I had my life mostly figured out. I was in my early 40s with four children, the youngest having recently started elementary school. After being a stay-at-home mom most of my adult life, I decided to pursue my dream of driving a truck and became a school bus driver. I finally had a job, was making a little bit of money, and my work schedule coincided with the children’s days off from school.

The other important element of my life aside from my family was the church. We were members of a conservative protestant denomination, and my husband and I were actively involved in various ministries within the church. Our church taught a strong Bible based theology, and there were very few points with which I disagreed. Being curious and intelligent, I had given a lot of thought to many social issues from the perspective of what I learned in church.

In the winter of 2006 I met a young man whose existence challenged my beliefs. C was a 17 year old high school senior who had lived with an inner conflict since early adolescence. He also was a faithful Christian but he was romantically attracted to guys, which the church says is wrong. He kept his same sex attraction a secret until age 17 when he realized that the conflict was not going to solve itself. As he began to accept his homosexuality he slowly shared his secret with close friends. My daughter Light was one of those friends.

Light introduced me to C in December. Although I had strong suspicions, I did not know for sure that he was gay until later in January. By then most everybody at school knew of his homosexuality, and many of those classmates also attended the church where he and his mother worshiped. He had not come out to his mother and was afraid she would find out through the grapevine. The child was full of angst typical of a high-strung teenager under stress. He needed to talk and I was willing to listen. I found him to be a charming, intelligent, sensitive young man who in no way fit the image of a homosexual that I’d learned from the church. I had a conundrum.

Not long after I started talking to C he found an opportunity to tell his mother that he is gay. She did not take it well. She and C’s step-father gave him 30 days to move out of their house. I was livid! I understand her attitude about homosexuality since I held a similar view, but I do not understand how she could banish her son from her home. Because it is in my nature and typical of what I do, I invited him to move in with us. I had grown to love C.

As I got to know and love him, I began to seriously question the church’s teaching about homosexuality. The church taught me that gays were cursed and homosexuality was a lifestyle choice. C’s story didn’t reflect that, and I did not believe that God could curse someone as wonderful as C. I had a lot of questions. It was time to research the issues.

I visited a lot of websites and read some dense books. Initially my curiosity focused on the cause of homosexuality and how and why the church condemned it. What does the Bible really say about homosexuality? Who interpreted it into what my church taught? How has the church’s position changed through history? My attitudes and beliefs changed fast. Within two weeks of beginning my research I realized that homosexuality is a normal, natural variation of sexual orientation, not a choice and not inherently wrong.

My research led to more questions about the nature of gay people. The only gay people I knew were C and his boyfriend, and I was well aware that these two crazy gay boys from Greenwood, South Carolina were not typical of gays everywhere. I went online to meet other gay men who were older and more mature than these two kids. There are a lot of gay men who have their own blogs and that’s where I met some wonderful, interesting people. Many of them have since become my good friends.

This is a good place to end this narrative, but there is more of the story that I want to tell, at least in this essay if not with a clay sculpture.

I questioned the teaching of my church. After careful consideration I determined that the church was wrong. If the church was wrong about that, what else is it wrong about? It’s a domino effect. One of the pillars on the foundation of my belief crumbled, causing the walls to crack. Other clichés happened, which are easy to sculpt but not particularly creative. I radically changed my beliefs over a period of approximately six months. Not only did the walls of my faith crack, but my nerves cracked. I ended up having a nervous breakdown in late April or early May, about two and a half months after Cory moved in with us. The search for meaningful expression of my spirituality continues to this day. I know a lot more than I did five years ago, but I am less sure of where I’m going or what I should do with my life.

So there you have it. And I have no idea how to put any of that into a sculpture.

I would post a new entry but there's a cat on my arms

It's been a while, and I've missed you. I say that often, and I mean it every time.

I'm getting tired of school. It's tedious. Perhaps I'm bored with it. This is probably normal. I'm not going to fret about it just now.

The leaves are finally turning. It's the middle of November, for cryin' out loud! Don't we usually see fall colors earlier than this around here? I don't remember. Sad, I've lived at this latitude for close to two decades and I can't remember what fall looks like. We've had some cool days and a couple of light frosts. Today and yesterday were overcast with some rain, which I enjoy in moderation. Sometimes the clear bright days of fall are too bright for my tired old eyes. The rain is restful.

I'm currently procrastinating. I've got two important assignments that need attention, one that's due tomorrow morning. That's what I've come to tell you about. I'm having a hard time putting this mess into words, much less figuring out what to do with it once it's written. Let me explain.

Art. The assignment is to sculpt a narrative, to tell a story of something from my life. First of all I need to write the story. That's the part that's due tomorrow. I've decided (and the professor strongly encouraged me) to tell the story of my transformation from homophobic right wing religious goody-two-shoes to the more open, affirming GLBT advocate I am today. Those of you who have followed this blog for a while know the story. It's a story of abstract concepts without many concrete nouns that are easy to depict with clay. I've been struggling since last Friday to figure out what parts of the story to tell and how to tell it. Right now I'm rambling here on the blog, tossing around ideas in hopes that things will coalesce.

the church - religion - belief and conviction - cognitive dissonance - evidence to the contrary - change, radical change - reexamination - love - acceptance - curiosity - emotional upheaval - nervous breakdown - [have you identified any concrete nouns yet?] - rejection/acceptance - questioning fundamental assumptions - personal growth -

That's about it, as far as I can think now. I'm now going to take my ramblings to the document and make the mess there, then hopefully sort it into a coherent narrative. If it works I'll post it here later.

More art

"Think for a minute about what makes you fabulous and how you can celebrate it."-- Laura Mercier

This is the other fertility figure I made for ceramics class. It's a complicated piece, not easy to see in photographs. And for some reason I missed taking a shot from one other important perspective. This side, for instance,
only shows the hollow side of the female part. If the camera were behind it looking toward where the camera is now, you'd see better the mound of the pregnant belly. So, the pregnant belly of course represents life.

But lower the view slightly and you see under the belly (you can't see it well in this shot) at the ribs in the hollow, at a representation of death. That's the idea, anyway. And those things to the right of the belly are supposed to be a woman's breasts, though some have said they look like something else.
Flip the whole thing over, and here we see the male side of the figure. I had lots of fun doing this side.
If I were to do it again I would change a few things, but this is what we got. And I like it.

The fertility figures were our first assignment. I just finished the third assignment. I have pictures of 66% of the second assignment. We made 3 vessels, and two of them are finished. This evening the class will fire the third pot using the raku technique. If I have the gumption I will take some photos of the process and my finished third pot.

I have a hard time posting pictures on here. The damn things don't format the way I want them to. I want to show you my vessels, particularly the ginkgo pot. I'll do that in another post, though, hopefully soon.

So, about the quote leading this post:
"Think for a minute about what makes you fabulous and how you can celebrate it."
-- Laura Mercier
It was in my daily email quote. I suppose my art could be said to be part of what makes me fabulous. Celebration, though, is tricky. I don't like to do it. Perhaps showing you this piece of art is a way to celebrate.

So there you have it.

Yeah, whatever

Saw my therapist today. She says this is probably as much about hormones as anything else. We had a good talk. She said I don't necessarily need to go into the crazy. On some level, the past is the past, and as Pumba says, "put your behind in the past."

I am sad. There are tears. But it wants to be anger. Anger isn't safe for me. I'm not allowed to get angry. I don't know why, but it would be bad for me to be angry. Maybe I'll figure it out, maybe I'll let it slide for a while longer. My therapist says if I go ahead and do the angry thing most of this will clear up. Right now I just can't do angry. Maybe later. I'll pencil it in for the 35th of Juvember.

I have developed a pocket of infection just inside my right ear. This happened a couple of months ago, too. Hurts like the dickens. Tried to get in to see my doctor today, but the only available appointments conflicted with my therapy appointment, and today therapy was more important than a sore ear. I can go to the urgent care doc-in-a-box this evening or tomorrow morning.

That's all I've got for now.

so, you see, it's complicated

Insanity - a perfectly rational adjustment to an insane world. -RD Laing, psychiatrist and author (1927-1989)

Been feeling a bit crazy this week. I have been getting so much better over the past 6 to 9 months. There for a while I was functioning on a relatively high level of sanity.

Something slipped.

I'm not sure what happened exactly. I know when. I described/explained it here. But there's more than that. It's opened up the dark places. In some of my classes I'm being exposed to concepts and information that are bringing up some unresolved issues, or some such psychobabble.

And I wonder, do I need to go into the crazy to fix this? Is it even fixable, first of all? Can I act like a reasonably intelligent adult as I explore these uncomfortable events from my past? Or must I dredge through the mucky emotions, too?

Here's a possible connection. I recently bought some CDs of music that was significant in my life during one particular phase of adolescence. There was some shit happening with me then. It's possible that the tunes have reached something subliminal.

I'm rambling. I'm lost. Don't know how to proceed. I see my therapist tomorrow afternoon, and that is a very good thing. Maybe she can suggest some guidelines for this crock of shit.

Tired. Have no idea whether this mess makes any sense at all. Don't have enough gumption to care right now. I'll apologize later. In the meantime carry on with your lives, citizens.

Request for book recommendation and a sexy baseball player

No, I'm not requesting this sexy baseball player. I'm sharing my appreciation of his gorgeousness. May I present Tim Lincecum, pitcher on the World* Champion San Francisco Giants team. Tim Lince-yum!

Now, on to business. The third big assignment in my sexual deviance class involves reading a book in which some kind of sexually deviant behavior figures prominently. I have chosen "Lolita" by Vladimir Nabokov. The professor suggested "The Story of O" by Anne Desclos. We're trying to think of other novels that deal with some kind of paraphilia or sexual deviance, novels that are a bit more academic than the steamy romance novels a la Harlequin. Any suggestions?

*By "world" I mean the United States of America plus Toronto, Canada. It's an egocentric thing on the part of my fellow countrymen. On behalf of them, I apologize to the rest of the baseball-playing world. While I'm at it, I apologize for American Football usurping the name "football" for something that is clearly not so much about feet and the ball.

But I digress.

I haven't forgotten you

And here we have some of my art. This is a piece from out first assignment, which was to make fertility figures or something suggestive of fertility. This here is supposed to be a pregnant pig with really big teats. The swirls give her visual interest and maybe suggest the curly tail, except that this curly tail has gone wild all over her body. I don't know, people. Sometimes these things come to me like that.

Madame Pig from the other side. She's about the size of a small fist. Oh, and pay no attention to the time stamp on the photo. I accidently changed it and haven't fixed it yet.
This fertility figure is more a maternity figure, I suppose. The form is supposed to suggest a mama bear, and there are her two little cubs. The one lying down looks like a baby gerbil to me, but I meant for it to be a small bear cub.
Mama bear's back is all dressed up with a symbol signifying what she eats (salmon) and where she lives (Pacific Northwest)
Here they are snuggled all together in the protection of Mama's embrace.
There are more figures from this assignment, one pretty boring and the other amazing. I'm too tired to load them now. Remind me if I forget later. Tomorrow in class I will take more pictures of the latest completed assignment. I may also photograph my current work in progress. I'll try to get some pics posted here.

I'm quite busy this semester, as I've mentioned. And that's all I have to say about that. Today I am amazingly sleepy. Almost time for my next nap.

We had a lovely Samhain (Halloween) celebration over here last night. A core group of young people, C and N's closest friends, came over and we had a feast and celebration. I cooked a lot of food! I didn't realize that I was doing most of the cooking, but when the table was set, there was all this food that I made. Superman fixed some of those really skinny steaks, I can't remember what they're called. That was our emergency back-up meat. The guys bought a very nice pork loin, but for complicated reasons it did not start cooking as early as it should have. It was finally finished when everything was over around 1:00 this morning. I just had a piece of the pork loin for lunch. It's amazingly good! We may have to do that again, only plan it better next time.

Late last night I had an attack of the blues. That so doesn't describe it, though. An attack of the black? I was overcome by a painful sadness, a mourning of what I don't know. I felt closer to crazy than I have in a while. It was a familiar feeling. Maybe that's what I was sad about, that it was so familiar. I don't know.

One of the elements of our celebration was masks. We had been instructed to bring a mask to wear. Last weekend I drew out some sketches for a mask I had in mind, and yesterday afternoon I made it. Thing about my mask, though, in concept it was less of a mask and more of an unmask. C is the only one who understood the significance of it, simply because he knows me so well. I used a piece of black craft foam, the thin lightweight stuff that is easy to cut into shapes, but stays stiff enough to not fold up under its own weight, mostly. I dunno. Look it up. Anyway, I used this piece of black craft foam, cut into a shape similar to that of Robin's mask. Instead of being smooth across the bottom, I cut it so that there were extensions from the outside of the eye area that ran down the outsides of my cheeks, sort of. One on each side, sort of curling out around my cheeks. The top of the mask above the eyes went up, forming the apex of a semicircle that surrounded my forehead, from the temples, up over the forehead, then back to the other temple. Don't know if I've described it well.

But on to the concept of the mask. The two pieces that ran down around my cheeks I covered with a line of clear rhinestones, diamond-like in appearance. Those were my tears, tracking down my face to my chin. This was a sorrowful mask. Recently, I'd say over the last few months I've been pretty happy. There haven't been many of those sorrowful days. However, the sorrow and pain are always with me, usually not far from the surface. Deep enough these days that it isn't too obvious to most people. My mask unmasked those feelings, and though the celebration was going along very well and I was tired but happy, suddenly the sorrow rammed into me. I sat on the ground for a while, then moved to the lawn chair and sat for a long time after everyone else went inside. C and N came out to sit with me. C held my hand and asked me those questions that must be asked. Do you intend to hurt yourself? Are you planning to kill yourself? He's a good friend and I love him very deeply. And no, I had no intentions of doing myself in. We discussed taking a very small number of pills to calm my raging emotions/nerves, and that is what I decided to do.

Before they came out to sit with me I had figured out what I needed to do. I had to burn the mask. I removed it, held it in my hands for a while watching as the light from our campfire illuminated the rhinestones. C followed me as I walked over to the fire to drop the damned mask in. Funny how different things burn. That mask curled up on itself, burst into flames, and quickly melted to nothing. I think I felt better. So I came inside, took some aleve for my headache and 1 mg of benzodiazapine. Then I washed my face and went to bed. I felt better immediately. I assume I did, having no recollection of what transpired from then until I woke up at 9 or so this morning.

Today is obviously a sleep day. I've had one nap already, and keep nodding off while typing this. I'm going to take another nap now.

Happy Halloween, Happy Samhain, and Happy New Year to all.

The further adventures of gays in my life

It's been pretty quiet, actually. We managed to get N enrolled in school, and that was more difficult than it needed to be. Things went swimmingly on this end, but people at the school he left were being a$$h0les. He had to officially withdraw from the old school before he could officially enroll here. The bitches at the old school said he had to come in person, fill out the withdrawal form and sign it, and either turn in his books or pay $150. N turned in his books the day before he left. He gave them to the classroom teachers, so the office didn't know about it. Did they investigate? Not until I mentioned the possibility that the teachers might know something. It was the secretary in the guidance office who was being the biggest roadblock, and she was downright ugly to me. I smiled and turned on the sticky-sweet. That works for me. It's heavy with sarcasm, but on the surface it looks so nice. It's a southern thing, like when we say "bless your heart" it really means "fuck you." Depends on the situation, of course. Sometimes I say "bless your heart" and genuinely mean it. I meant "fuck you" when talking to Ms. Secretary.

I happened to be driving in the general direction of that small NC town when I spoke with the secretary. I was taking Light back to school Monday afternoon, and her college town is between here and there. There was some urgency that he be enrolled here by Tuesday because this school was administering the test that all students must pass in order to graduate high school, beginning Tuesday and going through Thursday. Ms. Secretary was stalling for no good reason. I suggested they fax the paperwork here so N could do his magic to it in our guidance office and fax it back. But he still owes $150 for the books. If I take care of the obligation for the books, could you fax the paperwork? No. But why not? (Maybe I shouldn't have used the word 'obligation.' That big word might have confused her.) Well, we just don't do it that way. OMFingG! No, I didn't say that out loud. At that point I told her I was on my way to the school and would pay what he owed for the books, suggesting also that she check with the teachers as to what books he might still be missing. Ms. Secretary realized that I was going to show up in the flesh and beat her bitchy ass, so she let me talk to the lead guidance counselor after putting me on hold for half a fucking hour! On my cell phone, outside my local area. I dunno, do they still charge roaming fees? Superman pays the bills, I don't keep track of shit like that.

So I finally talked to the guidance counselor. She was pretty nice, actually. I told her I was coming in to pay for his books, and asked about the fax option. Well, if his guidance counselor calls me, I can fax the papers, then stay on the phone with him while he witnesses N signing the forms, and he can fax it back. That will work. What the fuck ever. Thankfully our guidance counselor here was super nice and willing to work with the bitches there. And I did all the leg work, so it worked out fine.

Once the bitch (Ms. Secretary) realized I was on my way for real, she backtracked a bit on the book fees. She agreed to talk to the teachers about his books, too. N assures me that he turned in all the books he had, and some of the classes only had a classroom set of textbooks so he wasn't issued a book in the first place. Yeah. Exactly. I had the foresight to ask if these people would take a check. They would take a local in-state check, but... obviously I'm from South Carolina. Can they make it more difficult for me? S-u-u-u-re. Once I got into NC I stopped at an ATM and withdrew $200, just to make sure I had enough to cover whatever bribe they asked for.

I got there just before 4:00. Oh, I forgot to mention that we were in a race with time, because the school offices close at 4:00. I made it with 10 minutes to spare. Arrrgh! I don't like rushing like that. Face to face, Ms. Secretary said that she found two of the teachers who said N had turned in his books. The other teachers had left for the day by the time she looked for them. Um-hm. She said the book fees were "about $40." About? Do we have any kind of invoice? I didn't ask, because I knew what was really going on. I did, however, try to pin her down on a specific price for "the books" because "about $40" means diddly squat. All I got was "$40 will cover it." So I peeled off two twenties and asked for a receipt. Ya know what I got for a receipt? A note on a pink post-it. Come on! I know they have a receipt book. We mustn't leave a paper trail, though, right?

We got it done. It cost $40 (plus gas) and took me 100 miles and three hours out of my way, but I accomplished the mission. The guidance counselor here took care of the rest of the details with N on Tuesday, and he is now enrolled in school again. If he passed the tests he took last week, and passes all his courses this semester, he will graduate in December.

N has received a couple of letters from the mother. She whines and cajoles in print now, but doesn't call and hasn't shown up. No, neither has his sister. I doubt she'd come here, anyway, if she did run away from home. Mother is using the cat as a tool to guilt him into returning. The cat meows at his bedroom door, misses him so much. What I know is the cat is well cared for, and N isn't worried about him.

The household has settled into the new normal. N is very easy-going, easy to get along with. He's not the drama queen S was, and has a much more cheerful attitude about helping around the house. I like that part particularly. All my flatware is still present and accounted for!

And that's pretty much the way things are. Less than a week of drama, and smooth sailing ever since. It's good, very good.

The saga continues: Part the second

I'm hoping part two is the end of everything, after what all happened yesterday.

We left of yesterday with the door bell ringing at 9:00 in the morning. I was expecting another visit from the police, since N hadn't called to tell anyone that he was OK. I would have preferred the police. It was Mother.

How in the hell did she find our address? I didn't ask her. It didn't seem like a good idea to ask, seeing as how I wanted to project an image of Power. She asked if her son was here, and I said yes, he is. Can I see him? No. He is my baby, and I just want to see my baby to make sure he is OK. He isn't ready to see you now. He will write a letter to you and send it to your home. I need for you to get off of my property now.

I only said that once. She continued to beg to see her baby. It was pretty pathetic. I told her to wait in the car, and came back inside to talk to C and N. The doorbell had awakened N from a dream about his mother coming to the house. Prophetic? Probably. I let the poor woman stew in the driveway for a few minutes, then wandered out to talk to her. She'd brought N's 15 year old sister with her, too. I told them again that N wasn't ready to see them yet. I sympathized with her position, and I honestly do. I'm a mother, too. In all honesty I told her this situation is not the best way for a child to leave home, but that N feels that it is necessary. It is his decision. We did not force him in any way to walk out on her like that. I didn't say that last sentence, but I probably should have. I just thought of it as I write. Of course C strongly encouraged the move, but no one forced him. I talked to him 2.5 weeks before Rescue Day, and again the day before Rescue Day, giving him an opportunity to back out. He admitted being scared, but really wanted to go through with it.

N's sister started crying when I said he wouldn't talk to them. I feel sorry for her, but I know that she's been influenced by this mother, too. She herself has run away a few times (I think I wrote about that a couple of months ago) and smokes pot and drinks as a way to cope with her mother's bullshit, according to N.

Mother said "How would you feel if I came and took your child away on his 18th birthday?" I told her that when my children were 18 I had helped them develop their own sense of independence, and if on their 18th birthday they wanted to leave, they would have talked to me about it, and I would have allowed them to do so. I kinda don't think that's the answer she was looking for, as if I care. I told her that my children and I communicate with each other, and genuinely listen to what each other says. I pointed out that N had talked to her about wanting to move out when he turned 18, and she countered "He talked about it, but I said I wanted him to stay with me, and he said 'OK'." Yeah, I did NOT say to her, he said it like "OK, sure, whatever" just to get you off his back because he knows you weren't listening to him and didn't want to argue about it anymore. N concurs. He tells me he brought up the subject a few times and she didn't take him seriously. Looks where he is now, honey!

I assured mother that N will be enrolled in the local high school and will be strongly encouraged to finish and get his diploma. She cried "I won't get to see my baby graduate!" Not necessarily, he might invite you to his graduation. My further thoughts, not voiced: it depends on you, how much you whine and bitch and make his life miserable, whether or not you accept him as the burgeoning gay man he is becoming. 'Cause, yeah, the gay thing is part of her problem.

You'd have been proud of me. I conducted myself in a calm and direct manner. I did not get emotional nor did I insult her intentionally. She may have interpreted some if it as insult, but I tried really hard not to be insulting. I was, possibly, a bit condescending, but I tried not to be. She is obviously upset, and she has every right to be. She does not, however, have a right to run her son's life anymore. She hasn't figured that part out yet.

After talking to her there in the driveway for maybe 10 minutes, she drove away. Oh, one of the things she said was that she drove this whole way, 2 hours!, to see him and I wasn't going to let her see her baby. I said "I know. I drove that yesterday to see him." That shut down that line of attack pretty quick.

So she left. I came back inside. We locked all the doors and opened the curtains so we could see if she approached again. And that's pretty much part two. But that's not all.

And because so much has happened and I'm not too good at this cliffhanger thing, I'll tell you what all else happened.

Around 11:30 yesterday morning we got another visit from the police. This time the three of us were here; me, C, and N. This nice police officer was a bit confused as to why he had been sent to see us, since the person in question was an adult. Yeah, mother had called. The officer needed to see N, and needed to ask if N was here of his own free will. Indeed, N said, he is. I was quite glad to see the police officer, actually. I'd considered calling the police just to let them in on our side of this little drama.

I invited him in. We were just about to watch a video, and C and N were snuggled up together on the sofa. We explained that N had moved here to be with his boyfriend, was 18, made the decision of his own free will, etc. N told the officer that his mother was manipulative and smothered him, and did not accept his homosexuality. The officer was quite nice. He advised N to not cut his mother off completely, saying this as a friend and a son and a father. We told the officer about N's plan to write to his mother. The officer said it would be a good idea if his mother got some counseling or something, maybe look into PFLAG, to help her come to terms with her son's homosexuality. Yeah, that would be a good idea, but I don't see mother making that step anytime soon. Perhaps we should mail her some PFLAG brochures. It's good information that she should know.

The officer said he needed to call N's mother to let her know that N was fine, and C asked him to tell mother to stop calling and texting his cell phone. So the officer asked if it was one or two calls. No, it was more like 20+ in the past 18 hours. That, he told us, is harassing, and if it continues C should file a police report, which would get mother a summons, and "they would go to court and fight it out like on Judge Judy." Oy. C didn't get any more calls or texts from mother. HOWEVER...

Part the third: Somehow mother got someone to hack into N's Facebook account. Mother, I'm told, isn't savvy enough to know how to do it herself. N's Facebook profile was changed, his relationship status changed to "single" and a message posted that said he had been kidnapped by this guy C, and gave C's phone number, asking his friends to call and demand that C allow N to return home. What kind of childish foolishness is this??? This is NOT a good way to improve the relationship with your son. This is a good way to push him even further away. Amusingly, not one of N's Facebook friends called. They know N is gay, they know he has a boyfriend and that he wanted to move in with C. They're cool.

In addition to hacking the Facebook (which has now been restored to accurately reflect the circumstances), she or one of her agents (sounds all James Bond-ish now, huh?) went through Facebook to C's page and found C's father, who lives out in Arizona. They contacted C's father and told him some cock and bull story to advance their means, the details of which I'm unaware. C called his dad last night to explain the situation, and his dad said that when he got the message it sounded pretty flaky to him. C said "I love my dad!"

I think that's about the extent of things so far. It's all I can remember, anyway. Yesterday was a busy day! I'm very glad I was home. I have a 2 day break from school, so the timing couldn't be better.

I'm going to post this now, take a shower, buy some stamps and mail N's letter to his mother, then take N to the high school to get him enrolled and stuff. Oh, I will take a printed copy of the FERPA regulations/policy/act/law thingie to remind the school officials that as a legal adult, N must receive the educational information and all mailings from the school, and that none of it should go to his parents.

It was a very wise thing that we waited until N's 18th birthday to do all this. Don't you agree? Because now we are golden, and all this shit that his mother is stirring up only reflects badly on her, and could get her into legal trouble. Oh yes, I feel good. :)

The Deliciously Juicy Details, Part the First

Yesterday, October 13th 2010, was N's 18th birthday. Yesterday morning C and I took my beloved truck Manny to the small town in North Carolina where N's mother lives. We arrived at 6:30, before sunrise. We drove to the back of the cemetery that's down the street from N's mother's house and waited for N. His mom took him to school (he's a senior in high school), and he left school to meet us in the cemetery, which also happens to be behind the church behind the school. It wasn't a far walk. N met us at 7-ish. We waited for a few minutes, then drove back down the street to the house. No one was at home, as we expected. C and N took boxes inside and packed up the stuff that N wanted to bring, then hauled the boxes to the truck. We got everything loaded in less than an hour.

I took the license plate off the truck when we were in the cemetery just in case. After we packed up I drove five miles down the road and stopped at a convenience store to replace the license plate. Then we toodled on home to South Carolina. Both of the guys were quite calm, amazingly. When I talked to N the night before he was anxious. C has been a basket case for days, both excited and worried. They both worry a lot. By the time N met up with us he was calm and ready to do this. The whole thing went amazingly well. Manny performed excellently, what with his age and his decrepit condition.

We got home, the guys unpacked the truck, and I took a nap. Later in the afternoon I went to school to work on my pottery. (Pictures soon, really.) Some time after 8:00 Superman called me to say that the police had visited us. Hmmmm. My heart skipped a beat. He said all was cool, that N's step father had called them, asked them to check on N's welfare. N and C were out on a walk at the time, so the officer asked Superman to have N call his home or to call them and they'd relay the message that he was fine.

I got home from school around 10:00, and they guys hadn't called anyone. I joined them in the back yard to help them finish off a bottle of wine. We laughed, talked, drank, and generally had a wonderful time and didn't call anybody. We all went to bed and slept well.

C got up first. When I heard him puttering around I got up too. I tell you, he looks so happy! So happy, relaxed, at ease, etc. You know, the look you get when it's been a long time and you finally have really good sex with the one person you want to have sex with. The attitude you have the first time you get to wake up next to the person you love.

The peace was dashed when the doorbell rang at 9:00 this morning.

We are literally HOURS away!

As I type this my event time clock reads just over 3 hours*!!! The truck is gassed up, C has put a bunch of empty boxes in the truck bed, and Superman will dig out our tarp and tie-downs when he gets home from work.

C and I plan to leave here between 3 and 3:30 in the morning so we can be in N's town between 6:30 and 7:00. That's when N's mother will drop him off at school, and he'll come around to the cemetery behind the school to meet us. Yes, he's sneaking out. I know, I know. He's 18 tomorrow. We've waited like good girls and boys.

I've been so terribly negligent about my blog! School is extremely time consuming this semester. I have so much more to say, and pictures to share, too. Yeah, I've promised pictures before and not delivered. I hate loading pics onto Blogger. Maybe I should link to a flickr account, except that I don't have one of those either. Anyway, I have an appointment with my therapist in twenty minutes, so I'm going to let this do for now. I'm out of school for the rest of the week, it being "fall break" or whatever. I've got art projects to do, a paper to write, and various other projects to work on during my break.

TTFN!

*I don't know what time zone that thing references, but according to that The Big Day begins at 8:00 p.m. tonight. Whatever. We'll be home and have him settled in by then.

Look! Blugger is letting me post!

Do you see how many days we have left until the rescue mission? It's getting close. C and Superman and I have been discussing the upcoming changes in the household dynamic. (Oops, sorry. I've been reading psychology journal articles so my head is full of stupid big words.) What I mean to say is that C's boyfriend, who shall hitherto (darn, did it again) be referred to as "N," will be moving in with us in two and a half weeks. I'm excited, mostly, and a little bit nervous about how much time and energy will be required of me.

I had a lovely phone conversation with N this afternoon. We discussed possible fears, questions, expectations, etc. I wanted to talk to him specifically without C being around so that he would feel safe to tell me about any reservations he has about moving here. I think we had a good discussion, and I think he was honest with me. He admits to being scared, but says he is ready to make this change in his life. He wants to get away from his mother, and is afraid she might make that difficult by calling him and putting a guilt trip on him. Hell, she's probably doing some of that already. He says she is allowing him to go, realizing that once he turns 18 she doesn't have a choice. But she doesn't want him to leave. This is going to be interesting.

I'm so busy! School has me stuck to the books. I'm supposed to be studying right now, of course. I spent most of the morning and half the afternoon in front of my computer finding journal articles for my sexual deviance class. We seem to be finished with the sexual behavior aspect, and from here on out it looks like we'll be studying deviance. This week's discussion topic asks what sexually deviant behavior we're interested in. Which sounds like a very personal and invasive question (which I don't mind asking you, but this is a different forum and you aren't obligated to respond), but he's referring to what we've surveyed in class so far. And he's talking about professional/educational curiosity when he asks about our interests. The professor has given a brief overview of deviant behavior that for the most part is not of the consenting adult type. The exception is BDSM, which is the topic I've picked. We've also been introduced to pedophilia, frotteurism, exhibitionism, sexual masochism, sexual sadism (e.g. Jeffery Dahmer according to the lesson), etc.

I've gotta tell you, I'm having a little trouble with the parameters of the deviance concept. (That's more big words, isn't it? Sorry.) Who defines deviance? The culture, of course, so it's often a broad distinction. I haven't figured out where the book draws the line, mostly because I haven't read all of the chapters I am supposed to have read by now. But giving Jeffery Dahmer as an example of sexual sadism, well, that puts it out pretty far.

Consensual BDSM is something I'm trying to get my head around. The bondage part doesn't bother me. If anything, it interests me in a more than educational way. I'm fine with a bit of rough play. I balk at the extreme domination, that which is associated with humiliating the sub. I can't see how that is a healthy expression of a consensual relationship, whether or not sex is involved. Earlier today I downloaded a dozen journal articles dealing with various aspects of the subject. We shall see what we shall see. And if anyone has resources they'd like to suggest, I'm open.

I discovered a website this week, directed there by a classmate who mentioned BDSM in his discussion post. It's about BDSM for Christians. Frankly, I find it disturbing. Not the BDSM, mind you. No, I have a problem with this guy's assertion that BDSM follows a Biblical mandate. I may be overstating his point, but he does justify BDSM from a Biblical perspective. Go see for yourself if you dare!

Did I mention the donut shop in my former post? The shop is wildly successful, beyond anything that anyone expected. They've run out of donuts a few times, with the owner and a crew of guys in the kitchen working their collective butts off making more and more and more. There is almost always a line of people waiting at the counter. I often go in between 6 and 6:30 a.m. and the stream of customers is steady. This morning, a beautiful (too hot) Indian Summer day, when I took Sproing for donuts at 10:00 the line at the counter snaked through the whole shop. C says it's been longer than that, too. And this is with three people filling orders. The place isn't that big. The boss lady has been hiring more help, and the new folks are getting the hang of things. C actually had the day off today. It's his first whole day off since they opened. He had an afternoon off earlier in the week. The shop is closed on Sundays, so that's an automatic day off for everyone. I'm so pleased with the success, especially for the boss lady. This is a dream for her.

And speaking of hot, damn! The first day of fall, Thursday afternoon I saw the temperature displayed on the sign in front of the school when I picked up Sproing. 95F! Yes, ninety-fucking-five degrees! That's 35C, for those who know that sort of thing. Ridiculous. But we're supposed to get some rain Sunday that will bring cooler temps for next week. According to Sproing, who just checked the weather, tomorrow's high should be 75F. I like that much better.

I started this post at 4:00 Saturday afternoon, and it's nearly midnight now. I've been busy, but not with the studying. Family phone calls, various household members needing this or that, etc. And I'm tired now. Think I'll take a couple of journal articles to bed with me, look for a few interesting points to talk about in my discussion post for the class, then go to sleep. If I remember any of it in the morning, I'll write up my stuff and submit it to the class website. In the meantime, Sproing is ready for me to tuck him in, so I'll go ahead and get this sucker on my blog. Maybe, perhaps, if all goes well and I manage my time well, I will be able to post again in a few days.

Friday's attempt

A quote from one of the founders of modern psychology:

"The best years of your life are the ones in which you decide your problems are your own. You don't blame them on your mother, the ecology, or the President. You realize that you control your own destiny."
-- Albert Ellis

I don't totally agree with Ellis, but he's on the right track.

OK, I'll tell you a little something about art, loss, and pain.

Did I mention last spring that I was sculpting a hand and arm in art class? I don't recall if I mentioned it and am too lazy to check. The point is that I was making this hand/arm out of clay in the sculpture class, and it was very good. The professor didn't fire it in the kiln before the end of the semester, but said that there would probably be a kiln firing about three weeks into the summer term when the grad program was in session. So I left it there. And when I came back this fall the piece is missing. I've asked around. No one knows where it is or what happened to it. All they can tell me is that a lot of things were tossed, and it is probably gone. I've been processing that information.This is a scan of the only photograph I have of the hand. I don't remember who took the picture or who gave me the photo. It pains me to look at it because I remember how good the sculpture was. There was a lot of detail and it looked quite realistic. I had to do surgery on the hand when I first got the shape completed because the palm was too square. I took a wedge out of the pinkie edge of the hand so the palm sloped down from the base of the index finger to the base of the pinkie. As you can see I had the creases in the palm and the curves of the base of the thumb and the forearm. It looked really good. And it is gone now.

It's a waste of energy to be upset. What's done is done. No amount of fussing on my part is going to make the thing reappear. I am mourning, though.

And here's the thing: the chunk of clay is gone, but the soul and the spirit and the talent that created the art is still here within me. No one can see it unless I create something else that displays that talent, but I know that I can do it. I was frankly surprised at how well I was able to depict the human hand and arm. I was not able to do that in the early 1980s when I took a sculpture class, and I haven't worked with clay since then. But something happened, I don't know what, and now I can do it.

So what now? We wait patiently, we make the most of the opportunities that pass our way, and we continue to try to make a positive difference in the world. And we cry just a little bit.