I have an ipad.
I never quite got the hang of the ipad.
(I kind of hate it,
but I can do Instagram on the ipad so that is good.
I hate Instagram.
Too many rules and not enough suggestions.
The 21st century has been hard on some of us.
In my attempt to embrace the 21st century I have my first smart phone!
Last night, after 11, I was trying to read a facebook message on my SMART phone.
Up pops a box that informs me that facebook messages are going the way of the dinosaur
and I need to get facebook MESSENGER.
At least that is how I interpreted it.
I load messenger app.
Waiting for me are four messages that I have never seen before.
One was for the studio opening of a friend!!!!
Another was a Mother’s Day greeting.
The other two? Well, it was after 11 pm so I don’t remember.
Messenger invitation went out to a few friends.
One wrote back that she just uses the regular facebook messages because Messenger takes up too much room on her phone!
I don’t want my phone taken over by something I don’t need.
I try to figure out how to manage data and storage.
I can’t figure out how to unsend the invitations.
I can’t figure out how to delete Messenger.
I delete everything I can get to that I don’t recognize.
Games, tv, videos, music, all sorts of stuff that I have not a clue how it got there or what it is.
Notification boxes flare up telling me that apps will revert back to what was originally on the phone. Hmmmmm?
What exactly is an app?
If it came with the phone is it really an app?
I delete a lot.
The ones that say deletion will severely impair my phone I leave alone.
I hope I left them alone.
This morning my phone pinged a few times with Messenger messages.
Now I am trying to figure out how to turn off notifications without turning off the ringer.
A Michael Hyatt article shared a studied indicating
the typical office worker is interrupted every THREE MINUTES!
The resulting productivity loss is
equivalent of missing 5 (FIVE!) months of work a year!!!!!
Just think how productivity would soar with interruptions only every SIX minutes!
Would the average office worker get another 2 ½ months of work done each year? Would America be GREAT again!
It was good to receive those missing messages, BUT at what cost?
How DANGEROUS is Messenger to my productivity?
How much room does it indeed take up?
IS facebook messages TRULY going away?
And how did we so quickly buy into the myth of Poverty Culture?
Why didn’t we see the flaws in the study when it came out?
One small village and the results was extrapolated to the world!
How can I make a difference to disperse the myths?
I have a new phone. Samsung Galaxy 5j. NOT one of their exploding phones. (I HOPE!)
I have no contacts as there was an, um, altercation at the AT&T store.
Not so much an altercation as much as the clerk was really pissed that I did not purchase my phone from AT&T so EVERY SINGLE ANSWER TO EVERY SINGLE QUESTION WAS,
“I can’t do that, it is not an AT&T phone.”
Please hear the teenage snark when you read, “I can’t do that, it is not an AT&T phone.”
He was not a teenager so his snarky responses were triply irritating.
After one snarky reply, I was pissed. Surly clerk. Surly customer. BAD combination!
He did not KNOW it was not an AT&T phone when I walked in.
From the beginning he was creepy but with veiled pleasantness.
My new NOT AN AT&T phone uses a micro SIM card. While transferring the phone number from my old card to the micro card he realized I had not purchased my phone from AT&T. He has my original SIM card.
The clouds rolled in and darkness and snark descend!
Dum dum duuuummmmmmmmmmmmm.
The relationship sours.
He told me I would not be able to use the internet with my phone because, “It is not an AT&T phone.”
He told me I would not be able to use the date because, “It is not an AT&T phone.”
He told me he could not transfer my contacts because, “It was not an AT&T phone.”
I said something matching his snark followed by “What CAN I do?”
He said, “YOU CAN LEAVE THE STORE.”
And I left.
It was not until I got home that I realized the jerk still had my SIM card.
(Jerk is a judgmental, immature name calling and yeah, JERK!)
I contacted AT&T and told them I wanted my card back.
I have not heard anything other than they really want to, “make this right and keep me as a loyal customer.”
Yeah (snarky tone) RIGHT!
Lesson Learned? When creepy guy vibe radar goes off: DO NOT ENGAGE!
May you listen to your “gut” this week. May your radar be true. May your contacts stay connected.
The impact of seeing the paintings was visceral. The emotion. The shock. The direct correlation in my brain between cutting and the paintings. I remember thinking, “If cutters could see this art, hear his story they would understand what they were doing to themselves and why.” I remember that if they could deal with issues visually they could stop damaging themselves.
I remember BLURTING all this out during a docent led tour.
The docent was not feeling it.
We moved on.
I was deeply moved.
Space. Opening up space. Cutting.
Why do people cut themselves? I kinda, sorta pass out when the nurse takes blood.
Cutting was not an option for me,
but it was for my niece
and for a friend so I did some research.
Why? There is not an easy answer.
For any single cutter there is not even a single answer.
What I am sharing comes from my minimal research and my personal experience.
Before I go there, do you see what I have done?
Are you angry with me yet? You probably should be. For any single cutter. I have reduced a large swath of humanity to a single word: cutter.
White. YOU PEOPLE!
Do you see how easy it is to ignore the humanity of the other?
Full, complete, complex human beings who I defined by a single action. Cutter.
As I am writing that there areno easy answers I found it very easy to use a label. A single label.
I am sorry.
I will not go back and re-write. (Okay, I did a little re-writing!) Let us allow it to be a lesson.
A lesson I will most probably need to revisit again today (and tomorrow and for years go come.)
Why do human beings cut themselves?
The pain is a distraction from the surrounding circumstances. Cutting brings the focus, for a moment, completely into the present.
When there is no control, perceived or in actuality, in one’s life, this is an area of control over one’s own body.
Power/Secrecy. There is power in having a secret.
Cutting releases of endorphins.
So what does this have to do with “Confessions of a Cutter?”
I have never cut myself (on purpose) but I have hurt myself
and my children.
I have cut myself off from things and people I love.
I have done so as a twisted form of punishment/incentive.
I still do it.
I did it yesterday.
We home schooled for 22 years.
This is the first year, Fall 2016,
everyone is either in school or has graduated.
I am focusing on making art and developing a healthy art business. (It is way more fun to make art than to make art and run a small business, but I am catching on! If you knows someone who needs some wonderful art for their home or office or business PLEASE connect us and I will be forever grateful.)
Too often while home schooling, Instead of doing what we loved FIRST we focused on the drudgery.
Instead of enjoying learning and each other and then getting to the less fun stuff, we did the drudgery at the expense of what we loved.
It was wrong. Too often we never made it to the fun as we ALL hated the drudgery.
I justified it by saying the fun, our passions, would be the reward, the carrot before the horse.
Rewards. Carrots. They might work for some.
It did not work for us.
We ended up tired and worn out.
Without energy for each other or for fun.
I am not saying we spent 22 years mired in hell.
For the most part we enjoyed each other and home schooling.
What I AM saying is that many opportunities were lost.
Too much time was spent cutting ourselves off from the better.
Eat dessert first!
Yeah, veggies, too. And brush your teeth after.
But eat dessert first.
The business side of things are overwhelming right now.
I am finding myself cutting myself off from what I love UNTIL I have completed xyz.
I say what I love will be my reward
when really I am just punishing myself.
Cutting myself off from what I love. Cutting myself off from what I need.
There are a couple hundred paintings in my living room that need to be photographed.
What have I been telling myself? Gwen, you can ride when you finish those paintings.
Gwen, you can read a book when you finish photographing those paintings.
Gwen, you can spend time with your friends AFTER you finish those paintings.
Guess how long those paintings have been in my living room?
I am not saying it has been a year,
but I COULD say that.
I miss riding. I miss reading. I miss my friends.
Last night I walked OUT of my living room and went to this season’s first Tuesday Lecture at the Modern. It was good. I did doze off a couple times. Not because it was not fascinating, I have four pages of notes to prove that it was, but I dozed off because I am wrung out.
Cutting myself off from what gives me energy and inspiration is self-defeating.
I did not self-identify as a cutter until 7:23 this morning.
I was walking Wesley and watching a truly magnificent sky unfold.
As I was watching the sun and the clouds and the blue interact I saw the Lucio Fontana painting from eight years ago.
The memories leapt to the forefront of my consciousness and I knew that the revelation from so long ago was not for cutters, it was for me.
I am a cutter.
Today I begin a new journey.
Today may we all choose to spend a moment with who and what we love.
Early one morning I found a silver screw on the studio floor. It looked important so I picked it up and put it “someplace safe” so that I could find it later when I discovered what it belonged to. Screw, secure in the drawer of lost things, I sat down to work on the computer.
My “office” set up consists of a folding bar stool and a work table. The folding allows me to quickly and easily stash it out of the way. My work table is a hand crank adjustable standing table from Ikea. The sorta sitting and sorta standing combination is perfect for painting and working at the standing table. The added height is easier on my knees.
I had an epiphany! Not a slow motion epiphany. A spine crushing epiphany.
In an instant KNEW where the big silver screw belonged.
It had been holding my folding chair together.
I think I might be shorter now. I only remember landing.
Legs straight out in front of me, still sitting upright on the wooden seat wondering WHY I had not invested some time finding out where the screw belonged. Just me and the floor.
I was right. The screw WAS important!
The first two weeks my ribs hurt when I laughed or drove or tried to roll over. The next four weeks it hurt to ride. Last week I was able to ride pain free! (I hurt like the dickens the next day, but now WHILE I was riding!)
I have a clear understanding that procrastination hurts.
May all your screws be tight.
May you follow through with the tiny details. May all your landings be gentle.
in the Park Cities Presbyterian Church parking lot.
A woman 10 years older than myself with salon blond hair and an old wine-skin mind-set felt obliged to YOU PEOPLE me as I was leaving the parking lot after delivering art.
I use the old wine-skin metaphor for two reasons. She looked like she had spent a goodly amount of time poolside and/ or in a tanning bed. Secondly, her old-time religious ideas were so firmly set in stone that she felt obligated, or justified, in voicing her disdain for me.
Her designer clothes, jewelry, and very expensive car all said money, money, money.
I am more than okay with people who have money, money, money. Some of them buy art. Some of them lavish their earnings on charities. I hope to join their ranks some day!
Money is not the problem.
Money is not the root of evil. Money is a construct that works quite well.
And it is way easier than hauling around chickens, precious metals, and beads.
What one becomes when one has a good amount of money is where the potential problems lay.
I know “salt of the earth” people with lots of money.
I know “salt of the earth” people with very little money.
Money, having or not having, is not the problem. The problem resides in the heart.
On a beautiful sun shiny morning last week this woman spoke from her heart and labeled me – wait for it! – liberal.
Her presence in the church parking led me to believe she was quite possibly a follower of Jesus. A sister in Christ.
Her mouth and judgmental words and attitude implies otherwise.
The exact words out of her holier-than-thou mouth were,
“YOU PEOPLE SCARE ME!”
With my eyes popping out in disbelief, I demanded, “WHO is YOU people?”
Bottle Blond with her right hand raised to her heart and her fingers fluttering spit an explicative, “Liberals!”
And she stomped off in a self-righteous huff. I really wanted to say something ugly but I had been YOU PEOPLEd!
My privileged middle-class white lady position had spared me until that moment. It stung.
What set her off?
My “Black Lives Matter” bumper sticker.
I ordered “Blue Lives Matter” bumper sticker over a month ago and was going to put them side by side. My “Blue Lives Matter” bumper sticker has not come. The Blue Lives Matter bumper sticker people stole my money.
Want to know what is WRONG WITH CONSERVATIVES?
I can clear up a great deal of political turmoil toot sweet.
What is wrong with “conservatives” is that I am no longer considered among them.
How does one get more conservative than me?
I am a 55 year old white woman. Southern Baptist until Easter 2014. College educated at BAYLOR, a Baptist University. Married 35 years to the same guy who I met in the marching band. Did you catch that? The MARCHING band! David and I both played trombone for God’s sake. Six children. SIX!!! Two cats. Two horses. One large dog. A fish pond, a miniature cricket farm, and a cabinet full of tiny tarantulas. I live in a suburb of a suburb. I scrub horse buckets every Sunday morning. Wear spurs in public. Drive a 21 year old conversion van. Don’t smoke. Don’t chew. Have friends who do. Seldom drink. Own a gun. Get caught with a knife in my purse every time I go to the airport. Actually READ my bible. Pray. Attend church regularly. Read out loud to ALL my children. I have serious body issues but am unwilling to give up popcorn or pie. I home schooled for TWENTY-TWO years!
HOW MUCH MORE CONSERVATIVE CAN YOU GET?!?
The problem is not money.
The problem is not how conservative or how liberal a person is.
The problem is as it always has been, with the heart.
It is so much easier to go to church than to love.
It is so much easier to label than to listen.
I have written and painted about the lie of the easy answer.
You people-ing is an easy answer that covers a world of lies.
Money is not the problem.
Race is not the problem.
The heart is the problem.
Now I am gonna toss out a scripture and see if it sticks:
1 Timothy 6:10 For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil…
It is not about conservative versus liberal.
It is not about haves versus have nots.
It is about love.
It has always been about love. It will always be about love.
Who you love. What you love.
you have a grand week
and may love inspire you
as you pursue life well-loved and well-lived.
Fuzzy’s momma was feral and only came in for food and to deliver kittens. She did not tolerate being touched.
Oh, the difference a generation can make.
The new trainer, Liz, brought three cats with her when she came to the barn. (Liz is a college history instructor at Weatherford College.) They balance on the precipice between house cat and barn cat.
Shadow is a slighter duplicate of our Fuzzy with a gentler temperament and a quick purr. Her kitten is a spritely calico pounces on anything that moves. Crystal has bold black and white markings on her long lean body and Crystal is the most conflicted of the three. She knows she is a barn cat so tries to be standoffish, but she sorta likes being loved on. Conflicted.
The other two barn cats are tabby cats. Lobo, who has been around for years, got fat when he transitioned from feral cat to barn cat. Lobo doesn’t tolerate, Lobo LOVES the occasional belly rub and indulges us with a deep rumbly purr. Always on his terms. Lobo has his dignity to consider.
Notch the smaller tabby has a beautiful golden brown belly. Notch arrived feral along with a half dozen of his closest friends. Nah, they were not friends. They came from an organization that rescues feral cats, notches their ears, then matches them up with rural locations to be mousers. Notch is the only one who stayed.
Notch is also conflicted. Notch is transitioning to barn cat. Today Notch allowed me to scoop him up into my lap. He could have avoided me, but he deemed to tolerate me if I was willing to put out the effort and commitment towards catching him.
We sat together, Notch in my lap, his sharp claws ever so gently embedded in my knees, waiting for Jubilee. He never totally relaxed but when I lifted his paws he did not protest and he retracted them making us both more comfortable. Reconciled to some expert ear rubbing and he almost purred. Notch hesitated before jumping down and scampering off when I stopped rubbing his ears.
Mostly feral, Notch is moving towards barn cat.
Notch got me to thinking about various people in my life.
Which ones are house cats?
Which ones are barn cats?
Which ones are feral?
Who is moving towards?
Who is moving away?
I don’t have any answers.
Cherie arrived with Sonny Grace so Jubilee and I indulged ourselves in some baby time. Sonny Grace is definitely a moving towards kind of gal and she isn’t six months old yet. Jubilee and I were so happy!