Superpowers

And now here is my secret, a very simple secret; it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye.

      - Antoine de Saint-Exupery 

 Ninety-nine percent of who you are is invisible and untouchable.     - Richard Buckminster Fuller

It's happening more and more often.  There's nothing I can do to prevent it.  Sometimes it happens as I am standing in line at the bank or paying for groceries.  (It almost always happens at public events or in public spaces.)  At first I thought it was my imagination - just a trick of the mind; a mistake, perhaps a misunderstanding ? After all, things like this don't happen to ordinary people. 

Wait a minute... who's ordinary???

Funny how we see our selves, isn't it ?  I, myself, am a mass of contradictions!  I am funny but very serious - and not to be taken lightly.  I have a few very rigid viewpoints, but I nearly always give one the benefit of the doubt.  I like socializing and I am interested in people and curious about how others think - yet I spend a great deal of time alone, by choice.  I think of myself as a "good" person who looks for the best in others, and yet has little faith in humanity...  Normal ? ...I suppose... Sane ? ...certainly... But I've never thought of myself as ordinary.  So why should it surprise me that I have developed superpowers...???

Yep.  It's true.  

I know how to become invisible.

Actually - I first became invisible and then I learned how to do it.  The first time, I was sitting in traffic, waiting to pull onto the main road.  Vehicles moved past, sometimes stopping right in front of me, but no one let me merge. No one smiled and waved me in as had always happened in the past. They didn't notice me... they couldn't see me...!  I had disappeared.   The next time it was a shopping trip to Quality Foods.  As I stood waiting to pay for my groceries. the cashier and bagger conversed and joked and rang up my order.  I smiled at one, and then the other; I held out my check - but neither even looked at me.  Without my presence being acknowledged in any way, I found myself back in the parking lot with my cart full of heavy grocery bags.  I was invisible.

The most recent time I disappeared was at my bank branch, located for my convenience in the grocery store lobby.  There were two tellers at their stations but one was on the phone, so a line had formed sort of halfway between the two as customers observed "next person waiting etiquette".  When the teller finished her phone conversation, she looked right through me to the store employee behind me and motioned for him to step up for service.  Wow.  Invisible again!! 

With all this evidence, I have to believe it's true.  And just like the "ordinary" people on that show: Heroes, I plan to step up to the challenge. I will continue to develop and hone my ability to disappear by wearing inauspicious clothing, no makeup and a blank expression  I shall continue to masquerade as just another bland,  unimportant, unassuming, and innocuous middle aged woman.  Those who never look will never see the pretty young woman inside me - the one who is well-read and hip and witty - the one who rescues ladybugs and horses and even tries to dodge butterflies.  They won't know how funny I am, or how kind I can be, or how much love I hold inside.   

They won't suspect that I am anything at all like them.

And little will they know, that I am developing another superpower...  telepathic X-ray vision.  Though they cannot see me, I can see right through them.  As I peer into their self-absorbed and indifferent minds, I plant little seeds... little thoughts... little bits of self'-doubt and self-realization.  I will them to see beyond their biases and assumptions.  I implore them to take stock of themselves and to question their perception of the world around them.  I champion the cause of fresh vision.  

I wish upon them the gifts of empathy and sympathy - for one day they too, will start to disappear.


     ( I posted this seven years ago.  I re-post it shamelessly to let everyone know that though you may catch a glimpse of me know and then, I continue to disappear.)

Detail of "A Singular Path"  mixed media piece by the author of this blog.

 

Fear, faith and conscience ………Lately I have been thinking about good and evil - which leads to my thinking of those who have influenced my thoughts on same…. These vignettes may seem disconnected and for that I apologize….  I did warn of disjointed ramblings and overly analytical diatribes...


When people speak of childhood and how they were brought up I say that I was raised on guilt. It’s true. And my family wasn’t even Catholic. My mother raised six of us by instilling within each of us the persuasive power of a conscience. She couldn’t bring herself to spank or hit us, so when necessary, we were shamed into obedience. This was not due to any “enlightened” child-rearing philosophy (my parents’ child-rearing manual consisted of the Ten Commandments) but rather to a promise made to herself while still a young girl.

My grandfather ruled his wife and 3 daughters with a Bible and a bullwhip. If my mother or one of my aunts was disrespectful in any way, he would get out that whip and crack it through the air all the while berating the guilty party with scripture and commandments. Though my mother insists neither she nor her sisters were ever actually struck with it, she was terrified by the threat of that whip and of course, Hell. She never wanted her children to fear her or my father as she had feared her own. But despite being “spared the rod” my siblings and I turned out quite unspoiled……

My mother’s family is descended from Swedish Pietist immigrants who settled north of Chicago, naming their new home Zion (A place under God’s rule). Perhaps my grandfather was a product of his fanatical ancestors; perhaps he just had issues. But he took it upon himself to be a soldier - more of an MP - in God’s army. My mother loved him, regardless, appearing to justify his outrageous actions as “being strict.” My mother is now 88, in very good health and sharp as ever. She recently visited one of her sisters who shared with her some letters between her parents during WW I. The letters reveal my grandfather as a tyrant to his wife as well as his daughters. My mother didn’t disclose anything specific, but said that her mother must have had a very difficult life, much more so than she had ever realized.

I remember my grandmother as a tiny figure, hovering in the background. She stood less than 5 feet tall, quiet - with a nervous laugh and ready smile. I look a great deal like her and knew I had lost forever the chance to know her when she died of Parkinson’s – not even reaching her 60th birthday.  Meanwhile my ornery grandfather lived on to be 97, becoming more and more religiously fanatical. In later years he actually shunned my Aunt Cecilia for her “sinful ways” after visiting her home and finding dust on the cover of the coffee table edition of the Bible. According to him not reading the Bible daily was a terrible sin in itself – and those who sinned thusly were not to be consorted with…

My own parents were profoundly religious, maintaining a strong “quasi-Christian” ideology throughout the early years of my childhood. I say quasi-Christian, because I have never really known just what constituted the foundation of their beliefs. When I was three, my father accepted a position as pastor (?) Brother Young – of a church in California that, to my knowledge, was some obscure offshoot of the\church of Christian Science. This church did not believe in medical science. Everything was to be brought before God in prayer. His pastoring came to an abrupt end about two years later when my three year old brother Ronnie slipped into a coma. He had been ill with what seemed like a bad cold, and then suddenly he wouldn’t wake up. The church members gathered, my mother sobbed and I remember voices raised in prayer and anger. And then chaos. My little brother was taken away, the church members left and my mother was crying all the time.

My parents decided to go against church doctrine and take my little brother to the emergency room where he was diagnosed with spinal meningitis. He might die or be brain damaged even with hospitalization, but had he remained at home, he would surely have died. The church summarily dismissed my father and for the next few weeks while my brother slowly recovered, there was no money coming in. I can remember my mother tearfully pleading with the serviceman not to shut off our electricity to no avail. And then we were packing and moving – back to Illinois to stay with my Aunt Marie, the eldest of my father’s nine siblings, who had loaned the money to go.

There is a photograph of me with my two brothers taken on the journey through the Rocky Mountains. We are standing with our backs to a mountain pass, the old car precariously weighed down by the huge trailer we towed. We somehow made it through the mountains and through the desert – both literally and figuratively. Life improved for us; and my parents took my brothers survival as a sign of having obeyed God’s will. Their religious views were dramatically affected, though their faith was not diminished. My father never again accepted a position as pastor, though he sometimes preached as a guest in subsequent years. His was the “fire and brimstone” style – delivered with an escalating intensity calculated to first frighten and then uplift the congregation. He often sang solos – "In The Garden", "The Old Rugged Cross" and my favorite: "Jerusalem (Lift Up Your Gates and Sing)". These comfort me, even now in my disbelief.

I question everything. I don’t follow the religion of my parents, nor am I blessed with their unshakable faith. I say blessed, because I firmly believe that those who have unshakable faith in a hereafter are happier. And it is easier to follow rules and guidelines than to question and analyze everything searching for meaning… The Ten Commandments and the Golden Rule serve well, and I don’t advocate replacing them as guidelines for living. I absolutely believe in good and evil… the why of that is another blog. I am profoundly grateful to my parents for trying to do and be the best they could, and for instilling in me by whatever means, a conscientious mind.

More patterns of my life: silly cat photos

More pattern on pattern - soft gray tabby Madeline on faded florals

Tabby and white Molly on my living room rug... 

Patterns

Like many artists I am drawn to patterns in nature. I particularly love the regular and seemingly random spots, stripes and myriad combinations of the furred and feathered.  Appaloosa horses, tabby cats, black and white spotted Jacob Sheep, giraffe splotches, leopard spots and tiger stripes - all give me a frisson of pleasure.

While browsing a local thrift shop recently, I came upon a wonderful leopard faux fur vest.  The perfect gift for the kitties!  Sure enough, as soon as it was splayed on the couch, kitties claimed it one by one - with a few hissy quarrels over possession.  Generally though, possession rules even in the cat world and nearly every feline has had a turn mushing and posing on the best $2.00 cat accessory ever.

Pattern upon pattern - Garfy on The Vest

Snoochie if full mush mode. More pattern upon pattern.

I once had a harlequin Great Dane and I once had a brindle Great Dane, so when I thought of getting another dog to keep Freda company, I wanted another Dane.  Came up a bit short though, when I spotted Carrie up for adoption.  She's a year old brindle American Bull Terrier (not a pit type) weighing about 45 lbs. nearly the same size as Freda.  I figured it was meant to be as she purportedly got along with cats (very important), other dogs and liked everyone - even toddlers.  (Geez - I don't even like toddlers...)  And she would eat less than another giant dog which was better for my budget.

I met the owner, brought Carrie home and she and Freda hit it off immediately.  By the third evening she was deathly ill.  What started as a bit of coughing the second night became obvious difficulty breathing and a temp of 106.2!  I'd just gotten home from work and saw her trembling and with her eyes all squinted up like she was in pain.  I rushed her to the Vet Saturday night where she was given fluids and meds I.V.  Several tests were done - none conclusive at that point.  I was able to pick her up on Sunday with a tentative diagnosis of pneumonia and oral antibiotics but she went downhill again and had to go back in on Monday for more intravenous treatments - and they kept her for 24 hours before sending her home with I.V.'s and three antibiotics!  (I was once a vet tech so I know how to give I.V. meds and shots.)

I was puzzled when the Vet asked me to find out whether anyone in the previous owner's household had had flu or especially strep throat recently.  He said no - but sounded unsure about recent illnesses.  The Vet said dogs can pick up strep type infections from humans and visa-verse, which was new to me.  I'll never know for sure where it came from - but get this:  I'm sick now.  Within 24 hours of Carrie's onset, I had terrible bronchitis, sore throat, headache, fever, chills and loss of appetite, rather like my new doggie.  Unlike Carrie, at the first sign I hit the Emergen-C, got out my inhaler and prepared for the worst.  I'm coughing so hard I had to buy protection.... (no I'm not explaining this...)

Sympathy illness?  Perhaps.  I could have pick it up anywhere, but a pattern is a pattern - and this looks like a pattern to me.  That frisson I spoke of?  In this case, it must have been the first onset of the chilblains.

We are both doing better - though that vet bill is likely to kill me.  Better photos when we both stop coughing.

Here's Carrie - See her shaved legs and her bandage?  Poor baby.  Apologies for the cacophony of patterns here.  She's a real sweet tiger of a dog.

Who are we, really?

One of my close friends calls me a philosopher, another thinks I am mostly funny and my mother thinks I am "all business."  I'm all of these, but not always at the same time.  Like many people, I am prone to moods - and tend to be reactive to other people's moods and/or personalities as well.  What I am at my core is shy.

I don't think a shy child ever overcomes shyness.  One learns to push past it much of the time; to change behavior, but left to my own devices, I tend to withdraw, avoid confrontation, crowds of strangers, and aggressive people.  I'm still shy on the inside.  I have learned self preservation means saying no - and standing up for myself - and I do feel a bit proud when I do .  But I don't like how I feel while it's happening. It's not comfortable to try to be something I am not.

Gracie is shy, too.

If I were a butterfly or moth, I could just spin a cocoon or chrysalis and emerge as a different "being."  Instead, I weave a cocoon of protection that is intangible.  I am terrible at selling my own work, so I sell through galleries and the internet where face to face sales are rare.  And yet I am enthusiastic and even wonderful at selling the works of artist friends...  Go figure.

Me in another life...  (a black swallowtail to be!!)

It's so hot, and I am too poor right now to afford another air conditioner for my studio room.  When I get home from my "day job", the house is well over 90 degrees, and only the bedroom is cooled, so I make a quick supper, dashing in and out of the "air." I use only the microwave if possible to avoid making more heat.   I can't bring myself to paint unless I can work in the morning on the days I am off - or down in the shop which I can keep cool until about 2pm, when the heat overcomes the small air conditioner there.

This is the hottest summer I've experienced in my 20 years in the south.  I'd move if I could!!!  But September is coming, and any day now, I might have enough extra $$ to get cooler...

Hope everyone out there is keeping cool too.