Solidarity heart connections

Writing that last post reminded me of a memory that I want to share. Back in 2009 ( I think), Isreal was again bombing Palestine in sustained airstrikes. I was a teacher at a charter elementary school whose owner/president was a right wing Christian. To get the job, I had to sign a morality clause that included a rule against public unseemly behavior. During the time of Ft Lauderdale public protests against these Isreal airstrikes on Gaza, teachers were told not to attend these protests and if we did, we could be fired if we were somehow public seen or photographed. They said it was covered in the "morality clause". I felt strongly that I needed to let my protests be seen so I defied the rule and went to the protest. While I was there, I stood next to a man waving the Palestinian flag and I got to talking with him. I told him about my undemocratic school prohibition for attending the rally. He bought over another friend and told me they were Palestinian and they wanted to thank me for risking my job to be there. They we so moved, and I in turn was moved by THEM. I made a painting (my first foray into oil paintng) of this man waving his flag. This is my painting of that man and another of me at that protest. It is meaningful to me. If you like this painting, you can purchase a print fit at my Etsy shop.

The other photo is myself with the man in question behind me in the red shirt. He had given his friend the flag and we were now holding signs at a busy Ft Lauderdale road downtown.

Presents are fun; but acceptance of your the present existence is the real gift.

I've been absent a little bit. I miss writing; but I have had physically and mentally taxing difficulties to deal with. My autoimmune challenges keep progressing. I am still keeping hope alive that Enbrel and hydroxychloroquin will start to at least arrest the progression. It takes 2-3 months to feel effects of the biologic injections and I keep having to stop the injections because of poor health so I have only gotten to 6 weeks. But I resume next week.

My hand, elbow and shoulder joints are bad and are limited in how I can use them and very painful. Constant pain makes me sad and cranky!

Also my low immunity causes me to get infectious things easier. I got the shingles vaccine couple weeks ago and whoa. I got such a bad immunologic reaction, I was scared. 102 fever, vomiting, acute painful swelling (baseball size) of lymph nodes in my armpit that traveled up to jaw and cheeks and terrible pain to name the highlights. Two days are a blur. I am still coming out out of it and dealing with waning symptoms weeks later. So, from now on, I need to get medical clearance for vaccines. But at same time, medical practitioners advise I  get all vaccines because I am at high risk for infectious illnesses and cannot fight them well. Catch 22.

The other taxing issue is the sobering reality of my living situation. I am (at this point, and I hope it improves) needing some assistance with some daily activities. I need to hire some help and am looking at once a week. I'll save my tasks for that time but it is hard because some needs are small and ongoing, like opening jars, bottles, carrying laundry, taking out garbage, reaching for things high up, vacuming, bringing in groceries...  I am now having to think long term about my living arrangements and my possible need for increasing assistance. That is a hard pill to swallow. I am now applying for Medicaid so that I can get help paying for in home assistance and possible other increased help down the line. VERY  much bureaucratic process and hard to get accepted.

But what I am having hardest time with is my tendency of longing for the past. I long for my past healthier body. From vain aspects to accessibility aspects to painfree aspects. I am sad and have episodes of "why me?" I am envious of others my age that seem to have better health and abilities. 

Luckily, I am wise enough to know that I need to reign in those ideas and feelings and ACCEPT the present situation and make the best of it. I need to see the world around me as I am just one speck in it. We all suffer, it is a hallmark of being alive. I am practicing being gracious, asking for help  and being clear eyed. I am cultivating contentedness. Letting go of all other stuff that does not serve me. It is tough but I am embracing it. I might fall but have to get back up and keep on trying.

So, it is Christmas Eve today and I have been enjoying my holiday preparations, activities and plans.

With assistance  for rolling out the dough, I made kitty shaped alfajor cookies, planned for a relaxed sweet gathering at my place tonight, champagne is chilled. Since my hair and nails have been destroyed by the medication I take, I even had fun donning press-on fancy nails! I chose an iridescent moon color and love them. I am enjoying my tree lights and handcrafted wrapped presents under my baby live tree. And I am content. 

So, I am enjoying my holiday and hope you are too. But let me leave you with an appeal. We can hold more than one reality in our hearts at the same time. And however we  work to bring contentment into our lives, we must see and act as world citizens and community. We are all connected. There are so many issues I hold dear and work for, but right now, the literal genocide in Palestine calls for worldwide aid and assistance. Please educate yourself on this ethnic cleansing of an entire people. Write, call officials and call for a permanent cease-fire. engage with the boycott and divestment movements towards Isreal. Being anti-Zionist is not anti-Jewish! All world citizens need to keep the resistance alive and in the news and be an ally in whatever way you can. Nothing is too small. 

My evolving Christmas (holiday) traditions

I have been quiet online lately. The despair of watching a US backed genocide of the Palestinian people by Isreal, far right advances in eroding civil rights that were hard won at great cost, chronic pain, Thanksgiving familial get togethers and a sick cat, to name a few distractions. October through January 1st is my favorite time of year. Actually, I am not one to relish New Years, never have been. But it provides closure to the winter holidays. And, now in December, I long to bring in the nostalgic wonder and gratitude for the beautiful traditions I grew up with for Christmas.

Christmas was a wondrous event in my family when my parents were alive, in large part to my mother. She decorated with a designer's eye and spent time on the tiniest details to make us feel special. The decor, the smells, the displays, the food, all made our home a magical place. In my childhood through mid twenties, we  always spent Christmas Eve with our intimate circle of (mainly) other Peruvian families. As all our biological families were in Peru, our families anointed each other familia; we called the grown ups "tio and tia (uncle and auntie) and their children were our primos and primas (cousins). We went all out on Christmas Eve; the 25th was more a laid back, for-the-kids relaxing day of food and brunch with  the families.

A resplendent tree (my mother adopted an unorthodox vanguard aluminum 1970's modern tree with psychedelic lights, lol) and wrapped presents laid out throughout December so the kids could ooh and ahhh all month, and wonder what it hid. Handmade wreaths, Peruvian desserts and wonderful smells permeated our home. But mainly, it was ingrained in my soul as a time for familia.

Now, at 61, my parents long passed, I long for a continuation of the feel of those Christmas', however, adopted to my current life. I am sad that once my parents died, much of the grand familial traditions seemed to have diminished and as family has moved apart geographically and our life-styles and beliefs have evolved, we are no longed as wedded to the gathering of familia at any costs; many traditions we grew up with have fallen to the wayside. My sisters, like many people, now prioritize their familia as being the tight circle they created with spouses and children. Sure, their childless, single tia is well loved but I am not in the inner circle. No matter, I want to create a sense of familia in my home, carrying on my meaningful traditions, old and new. I want my "sobrinos and sobrinas" (nephews and nieces) and sisters to soak up my love through meaningful gestures that harken to our familial roots. 

Travel is difficult for me with my chronic pain, immuno-suppression and financial constraints. So, I am planning a small Christmas Eve at my place for few friends. All loved ones welcomed! I got a live tropical pine-like tree (Norfolk Island Pine) that will do for a humble Christmas tree. She loves heat and humidity so will do well on my porch throughout the year and I can bring her back in to decorate for future Christmases. I am only displaying ornaments that have sentimental meaning. Yummy Peruvian food and desserts will be served and of course I will be drinking champagne on Christmas Eve. I will open gifts on  the Eve. 

I am taking extra effort to give my loved ones a feeling of specialness with handmade wrapping paper. I bought a large Kraft roll and string and am stamping, drawing and stenciling the paper.

I am picking images and designs that speak to the person. For instance, I am including whimsical llamas to reflect our/my Peruvian roots and other paper features a variety of lovely feathers, which are special to two different people in my life. Dog and cat lovers got their companion animals on theirs, etc. It was laborious (my arthritic hands hurt) but I took my time and enjoyed playing crafts. It is not be as elaborate as my mother's grand efforts. (She made beautiful wreaths special for each person. Even finding a tiny wooden violin for my tio, who was a music professor.) But it is the same in effort, sentiment and love.

I am  happy to celebrate and wish someone greetings for Winter Solstice, Hanukkha or whatever. But I was, of course, raised Catholic. I love God, Jesus, Mary, etc. (I also love elements of pagan and indigenous spirituality). But for me, Christmas is a time for celebrating Jesus's birth, child like wonder and showing appreciation for those we love. I even give my doctors that I see most often, my massage therapist, my lash lady small gifts. I make stockings. I drink cocoa and watch Christmas movies. I am a geek for the holidays.  I like to do it. it makes me happy. It's a beautiful thing.

I hope you enjoy the winter holiday season and practice meaningful traditions for you and yours. 

 

I had an illegal abortion at 14 yrs. It was one of the hardest decisions I ever made with long term effects. I do not regret it, it was the right choice. I would not allow someone else to dictate what was right for my body and life, even if it meant unsafe, scary measures. Having a baby at 14 yrs would have meant a drastically tragic path for the me. Once our bodies are controlled and mandatory breeding enforced, women will lose all their rights in all other areas of their lives. Never go back!! No matter your childbearing age... all of us , including men, must support accessible safe choices for women!! Also, adequate, sex education must be appropriately taught in all schools. My high school teachers passed out telephone books (yes the thick ones of 1970's) and intervened in couples sitting in the decorated gymnasium together, instructing us to place the book on the boys lap if we were to sit on our date's lap for pics; because sitting on a boys lap fully clothed was how we could get pregnant!!

Evolving and letting go... fashion/styles edition

NOTE: I am using lots of gendered descriptions of what "feminine" means for me in this essay. I know that all women define what being a woman means for themselves. Some people born female, do not see themselves as "women" at all. That is not my experience and for this personal tale, I refer just to my experience. So, I am using wording that reflect my ideas of what femininity and woman-ness mean to me, a woman born in 1962. If my descriptions feel un-relatable or confusing, consider it a sociological relic from times past (but actually, not so conceptually antiquated for many women today).

I am going through a shedding, a lightening of my personal carry-ons in this life. I am a hoarder of sorts for fashion items: clothes, shoes, purses, makeup. Like all plus size women, I retain my smaller size clothes I once wore with hopes of fitting into them again. And like all femmes who played with high femme costumes at times, I hold on to those vestiges of a style past. 

I have had several styles throughout my life. Playful and curious girl, athletic child through my 20's, teen fox, college feminist, lesbian soft butch, leather grrl and later back to femme. In my forties, I experimented with occasional high femme costumes for select interactions. I played with high heels, fetishy clothes at times. I had returned to dating men after decades of lesbianism and played with occasional stereotypical vixen-like costumes and styles. I was like a little girl playing dress up. I guess I wanted to see what I had "missed" all those decades. I sometimes enjoyed the attention it got me, but generally felt uncomfortable for a variety of reasons. 

I also was influenced by "mi reina" (my queen), my mother, who died in my late 40's. My mother was a beautiful, high femme style icon in my world. She manifested herself as an elegant and yes, sexy woman all her life. The woman wore heels until close to her death in her 70's. She had a svelte figure that she encased in stylish dresses, accessories and when she "dressed up", watch out! She was a feminine beauty most women aspired to. I have such glittery memories of her stepping out with my dad, heavily perfumed, makeup, hair and nails impeccable, and clothed in awesome outfits that always included the highest of heels (her favorites: Charles Jourdan’s) She was sumptuous and classy in her outfits and impressive jewelry. Her Latin flair colored her aura and choices. And yes, she donned a mink and diamond rock like a diva!

I guess, after her death, I was trying to channel her when I tried stepping up my feminine style game. It was a beautiful gift she left me. And one I am finally tailoring to suit me as I now am, but in her spirit. I would say now-a-days, the style I aim for is feminine, elegant, sporty at times, comfortable and creative. Sometimes sexy/sensual but not in overt, over-the-top ways like high heels, tons of makeup and tight, provocative minimal coverage clothes. I want to present flair with fabric choices, colors, style and hints of sensuality at times. Comfort is now a big consideration, especially since my mobility has become compromised with my rheumatoid arthritis. It is still evolving. (For example, this is my 2023 Halloween Cat Woman outfit.) But one thing I know for sure, some things do not suit me anymore. And I am letting them go from my wardrobe. No more saving them for a never coming occasion where I will need/want to present in that old way.

So, thanks to the helpful Breast Cancer Foundation donation service, I can release these items for re-use. First among them was clothing that are too small for my body. Or that are a style I no longer care to wear. Next are the high heels and other uncomfortable shoes. It is creating space and feels liberating. I am more intentional when acquiring  fashion items these days. I want to love my pieces. I am also overhauling my cosmetics drawers. Having sold cosmetics over a decade, I have lots of makeup. Most of it expired. I am loving the bare palette this creates in my life to redesign myself! 

Ouch

 

I have an appointment with my pain doctor this morning. After that, I have my infusion therapy. Ever since the awareness of opioid addiction swept the medical field, it has been very difficult to get pain medications for non addicts experiencing real pain. Ugh! The refrain I hear from my rheumatologist and other doctors is "I am not a pain doctor. See a pain doctor" whenever I ask for pain medication. Even for Tylenol with codeine. Even in the emergency room upon discharge. You go from dilaudid and morphine in the hospital to, if you are lucky, six tramadol upon discharge. When the condition has not been resolved!

I have severe pain in so many joints and throughout my GI tract (RA can affect organ systems too) that I have difficulty walking, holding a mug of coffee in morning, sleeping, eating and just being able to work a half day or shop for groceries. Not to even mention laundry or cleaning. Constant pain is awful and leads to depression and hopelessness. It is very isolating because you cannot participate in life with others. I cannot work now. 

My latest new pain came with a right shoulder rotator cuff tear from lifting a full carton of almond milk from my top shelf in refrigerator. YES!! I tore my rotator from lifting a carton of milk. RA is wreaking havoc on my shoulders and the whole joints are affected and predisposed to rotator cuff injury. Now, I cannot lift or use my right arm. Cannot carry any weight while lifting arm outward and do not have full range of motion. My insurance denied the necessary treatment.  So I am just left with a gimpy arm. My other shoulder had three partial rotator cuff tears and and I had to shell out-of-pocket $1200 for two PRP injections (which greatly helped) and had cortisone. It still hurts but is way better. Now my right shoulder. But no pain medication. Just heat and cold, rest and Tylenol. It throbs with stabbing pain all day. My fingers are numb. This new pain is added to my  daily pain in spine, neck, knee, hands. So I am eager to see my pain doctor today. 

Dr K, my pain guy, specializes in spines. I have gotten relief from terrible cervical nerve pain with two epidurals and we will address lower back nerve pain upon insurance authorization. Since I had to be taken off my DMARD methotrexate due to risk of intestinal perforation (I was SO sick for 6 weeks) , my RA flares have fully blossomed. I am now starting on biologic Enbrel. But the affordability of that medicine is a problem. With assistance and insurance, my co-pay is over $1800 a month for four injections! See separate posts about US laws that let pharmaceuticals patent life saving medications, resulting in diabetics and other illness patients not able to afford their life saving medication!!

When I see my pain doctor, I have to be drug tested each visit to ensure I am not overusing or doing drug no-nos. You are treated like an addict. The medical mantra is that pain management does not take away all your pain but rather the aim is to "help". They do not even aim to take it away. They will not prescribe potent painkillers ongoing. Each month I try to get  12-21 Tylenol with codeine. It is not enough at all but I dole them out with care and try to make it last for that month. It is like squeezing blood from a rock, lol. Frankly, I am at the point in my life that I do not even care if I become a functional pain med addict as long as I can resume some basic life activities. Really. But no, they won't let you. So, I am off to see Dr K and do our dance. I appreciate him and need him. 

I hate posting downers and complaining posts. But I need support and want to hear from or reach other chronic pain sufferers and our/my supporters. I know that most people are ignorant about chronic illnesses and RA in particular and we are invisible sufferers. So much change needs to happen for healthcare accessibility. Capitalist profits-over-people business model has hijacked the insurance, pharmaceutical and hospital systems. Good doctors cannot provide the care they know their patients need. 

I publicize my predicament to put a face to this political travesty. It is not a sexy issue like war and climate change, but it affects such a huge swath of people across the country and we are literally dying from greed. I urge activists to take on healthcare accessibility issues and I urge friends and loved ones to not turn a blind eye to the needs and predicament of their friends and comrades.

Dreamtime animals

I am blessed with the gift of dreams. I dream long, colorful, interesting stories. While most dreams are just regular dreams; some are very powerful and seem to be actual visions and messages. The characters are more significant and the message or story depicted more profound and meaningful. Even the colors are amplified and magic is afoot. Common themes are dreams with significant people, mainly family, and dreams with animals, often set in far away or long ago places. 

Let me tell you about my dream animals. As a child, I often dreamed, drew pictures of and imagined adventures of my young self living in the Amazon jungle. I carried a spear and had a raccoon by my heels. We were both scrappy and looked for ruins and adventures. I am sure my Peruvian family and relatives made the Amazon a real fantasy adventure land for me. I remember my grandfather calling me "princesa Inca" (Incan princess).  This fueled my fantasy of jungle and Andean adventures. I still dream about jungles and wild places. And I still have a soft spot for raccoons and like to photograph them and feed them in parks. They represent a fiesty side that is not afraid of anything. Of course, I have a soft raccoon puppet.

Another animal that has visited my dreams all my life is the bear. Big brown bears coming at me, frightening me, but not killing me. I am always alone in remote wilderness and surrounded by bear (s) who decide to play roughly with me, pawing me and rolling me around with their strong paws. I play dead or go limp and wait out their play-time with me. They are ferocious and large but I always escape by being passive and quiet. I smell them, feel their fur and hear them but stay still. They eventually move on.

The most significant appearance of an animal came in a visionary dream that seemed to take place in a deep jungle. I came upon a ferocious looking, huge,  long white snake with an eloquent, decorated,  tribal looking woman. She imparts wisdom to me and in the end, the white snake leaves her side and becomes my companion and protector.  This animal came so strongly that I got a glass snake to keep near me. I could not find a white snake.

This past year, I had another visionary dream with my mother, who has passed on. In the dream, I am on a quest/job she sends me on  and out of the thick bushes/trees in her backyard spring out four animals. All powerful and dangerous animals; and I have to be careful to avoid or make a truce with each one, all while completing the task my mother sent me on.

The first to jump out or rather pounce forward is a black panther. She is followed by an alligator. Then my old friend the big brown bear and lastly an elephant. 

The dream had such an impact on me that I want to bring forth those animals in my everyday life. I am eying a cellphone case with a black panther, a pair of gloves with a cute elephant image on them and I am making art with bear imagery. I have not decided how to bring the alligator into my life. Maybe living so close to the Everglades is enough. I actually took the picture of this one here. 

I welcome feedback on meanings or messages you think these animals may be imparting to me. Or ways you work with animals in your waking and dream life. 

People will surprise you... you just never know

My bff DL recently relocated to Ft Lauderdale from another state. I am so happy to have him near me and we spend much of our time and lives together. We are companions, going through life together. I helped him find his apartment and I have gotten to see how he transformed a barren space to a cozy, warm home. I do remember his former house being full of curios and momentos from times long past. It invited guests to linger and spend time on one shelf here, one corner there, looking at and hearing stories about the many items he memorialized. But lately, I have seen another side of my friend's home decor and love to tease him about it. I lovingly call his apartment the Ft Lauderdale Erotic Museum.

DL is a quiet, thoughtful man. His gift is being able to digest complex intellectual subjects (often theoretical in nature) and expound upon them to others. He is a sensitive man who feels his emotions in his core. He is so compassionate and gentle in his interactions with people, animals and the earth. That is one reason why I love him.  Sometimes, this author struggles to keep up with what I consider a deep dive into emotional depths that I term touchy feely. I am also versed and able to understand and express my emotions, but I do not like to, to the extent that he does. Luckily, DL is a patient forgiving soul and forgives my impatience (one of my biggest character flaws).

Now, the Goddess gave us this highly sensitive and expressive soul, but she threw in a quirky twist in his makeup. DL, who aches to express and share his emotions is not comfortable expressing nor talking about sex. 

When we tried to court and be a "couple", this led to many misunderstandings and barriers for me. I interpreted his lack of overt sexual interactions as a lack of interest. (Granted, we were long distance, but I was used to romantic interests still engaging sexually across the miles.) And my attempts to bring out sexual flirting and seduction was met with silence/discomfort on his part. In our in-person relating, DL holds his particular sexual traumas (that we all have) central in his body and mind. He is beautifully in touch with his tender side. But his lust is shy and secret.

So, imagine my surprise when I visit his new apartment and see an ever increasing amount of erotic and sensual art and imagery! Actually, some are downright lusty and sexual, lol. His art on walls, table tops and everywhere, consists of sensual depictions of naked women and more explicit sexual imagery of men. This is from the man I cannot even get to talk openly of what type of person turns him on or does he like porn or masturbation. 

But I delight in looking at his erotic displays around his home. They are so much and everywhere that I laugh and refer to his pad as an erotic museum. I tease him that we need to get it listed on the guides for 'sites to visit' in Ft Lauderdale. He has a healthy sense humor and takes it jokingly.

This dichotomy just drives home the fact that you can never really make any kind of assumption about another person. They can, and probably will, always surprise you. And isn't that one of life's delights?

Scary monsters

 Boo! Sorry for my absence, but I have been a sick kitty. I have been struggling with severe gastrointestinal issues since Sept 28th. Primarily the result of my RA DMARD medications methotrexate and hydroxychloroquin. DMARDS affect people with nasty side effects but for me who already has super fragile GI health, this was second time this year it laid me out. (And before you ask why I take them, despite their nasty side effects, they have given me my life back as far as allowing pain/fever relief and more daily mobility.) This month has been filled with hospitals, inability to work or resume basic activities like eating and moving around. I'll spare you the details but ... whew! I have missed three weeks of work and hope to return in one more week; that is if my job still awaits me. 

Now that I am a bit better, I invited my bff DL to come over and do an art project for halloween with me. We let our inner child out and the theme was spooky ghosts and ghouls. We used a challenge prompt from  a You Tube art journaling guru. I usually do not create such child like and literal imagery but I felt that Halloween brought out a simpler child like style.We made the project our own through our interpretation of what was scary and ghoulish. So, instead of traditional spookies, I portrayed what is scaring me most intimately in my life: the inaccessibility of the medications I need to live. And the monsters in this scenario are the F-ing greedy, pharmaceutical companies and insurance industry. 

You see, cheaper DMARD medications like methotrexate are making me too sick; so I need to transition to biologics for my treatment. But biologics are sooo expensive. The latest biologics that boasts all the bells and whistles; the ones you see on commercials, can be up to several thousand dollars per injection. I need weekly injections. My doctor has applied for authorization and been denied by my insurance. Now he is going to apply for an older (not cutting edge) biologic called Enbrel. It is $1700+ per injection; again I need weekly injections. The methotrexate is really making me seriously ill so I need to transition to these biologics; but methotrexate (a popular chemotherapy drug for cancer) is so cheap, that is what insurance companies keep tell us to keep trying. 

So many hurdles to clear. First, I have to get my request for Enbrel approved by my insurance. Then I have to try to find a way to afford the weekly co-payment which is many hundreds of dollars per week. My only hope is to get an affordable patient co-pay assistance from the pharmaceutical company that makes Enbrel. I hope I qualify. So I began researching who makes Enbrel and how to ask for financial assistance.

And low and behold, I see both Pfizer and Amgen are both attached to the drug. Two pharmaceutical companies put out my drug? Then I came upon this article explaining how they joined forces to "rake in BILLIONS" in what was referred to as their "golden age" of biosimilars. Now, I know that pharmaceuticals give us life saving drugs. I know they have to recoup their money spent on R & D. But does anyone really think that they spent billions? The profit margin is so obscene, it is immoral! They know most cannot afford this medication they need, but they will help a select few (for public image) and screw the rest. Profits over people.

This is the rawest example of capitalist greed gone evil. It makes me sick, quite literally.

So, this halloween, my scary ghouls are pharmaceutical and insurance companies. In my drawing I fancied the pharmaceutical man in a fancy top hat, a la Monopoly money guy and the rich tycoons of past years. He carries a money bag and has vampire fangs because they bleed us deadly. The floating medical insignia is bleeding out, failing to live up to it's oath. And there are the poor patients. Ghostly and crying tears of blood as they succumb to their illnesses. Yes, yes, no masterpiece. But it felt good and I enjoyed making this reality tangible on a child like level. 

This halloween, may you acknowledge your ghouls and monsters and most importantly may you find collective ways to exorcise these monsters out of existence. It is long fight, but hey I do love me a good vampire slayer story! 

A room of my own

 

Published in 1929, Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One's Own is a important work of feminist writing. Woolf’s essay examines the educational, social and financial disadvantages women have faced throughout history.  It contains Woolf’s famous argument that, ‘A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction’. I have a fondness for this book because my college boyfriend, P, gave it to me when I moved into the university dormitory. I was 'officially' starting out on my own; well sort of,  as my parents paid my way in college. But I was taking an important step in my development into a grown woman.

Four decades later, I still am drawing lessons from this book. 

Recently, I have gone through a creative blossoming; reclaiming my love of painting. But I was trying to work with paints, etc on my cramped desk space. I was making a mess of my computer and desk and I did not have space for my tools. This is not how an artist works. And I am an artist. I needed a real studio space. 

Now, I had a dining area that was mainly being used for coffee, morning internet scrolling, mail and medication/supplement storage. I had wanted to make that space an art corner for myself ever since I moved here 21 years ago. But my mom insisted that I needed a proper dining table, however small. Where would I serve guests at dinner parties? Where would I eat? It is the civilized thing to have. So, I caved in to her dictate of how a proper adult woman should live. But the truth is, I have never thrown a dinner party here, nor do I want to. And I eat all over the house, lol. That is not important to me.

So, I got rid of my table area and got a six foot utility table and I created an art space. It is rudimentary at this point. I use my parent's china cabinet to store art supplies. (Sorry mom) I have an easel and I invested in paints, canvases and paper. This is an unglamorous photo of the space I have carved out for myself. I am still working on it.  Like Virginia Woolf, I too believe a woman needs money and space to practice her art. I do believe my mom forgives my etiquette lapse and that she is happy for me. Now that she is in the spirit realm, I think she sees the bigger picture and  just wants me to live my own version of an authentic life. Her 'hija' makes art, not dinner parties. And I am thrilled with my uncivilized home that lacks a dining area. 

This is a detail of a larger self portrait. It captures the shy, self conscious baby lesbian I was in the mid 1980's, spending the night in a tent with her crush, CW. We snapped pictures of each other and I found this one of me she took. I look back at my younger self with tenderness and acceptance. It was included in an exhibition put on by the Broward County Art Guild. 

Keep your mind and spirit strong

This was a hard week physically: RA pain all over and intestinal issues. RA is an inflammatory autoimmune illness that primarily affects joints but also it affects your organ systems. Aside from deteriorated joints, my RA has manifested in inflammatory bowel disease. I have perforated my intestines several times, many hospitals stays and had two colon resections. So when I get a diverticulitis flare, I am scared. I am back on oral antibiotics for this diverticulitis attack but doctor said I may need to be hospitalized for IV antibiotic treatment (which I have had to do several times). Keeping my fingers crossed.

I am struggling with feeling sorry for myself. I have to stop my methotrexate while I heal but that just means more pain etc. Also, I am a vain grrl; so I hate that my hands/wrist are showing RA nodules and swollen joints. My hands are so pained and stiff in the morning, it is hard to carry a mug of coffee or write until they are warmed up. Then, they just ache and hurt the rest of the day. Hard to hold cell phone for more than a minute. The RA in my spine has me now getting epidurals for pain management and I have gotten cortisone injections in both hands, shoulders and knee. And PRP in my shoulders and knees. All these interventions hurt! But they give me some relief, however fleeting. I try to remain hopeful for  remission someday. But hard to stay positive when I have several health things hitting at once.

BUT,  then I remember how the fabulous Frida Kahlo continued painting and creating while bed ridden with severe pain and illness. And I think of Pierre-Auguste Renoir, French impressionist, who painted 400 canvases after he was diagnosed with RA. He became wheelchair bound and designed and developed a device that he attached to his hands just so that he could hold a paintbrush.

So, toughen up buttercup. And think positively. I remind myself to reframe my experiences and keep hope alive. And I remind myself to be grateful for all the blessing I do have. That's it, all I have to say on the matter. Thanks for listening.

Chosen family

 

I grew up with strong family values. But, being the daughter of immigrant parents and sister, I grew up in the US only having my immediate family around me; the rest of my family lived in Peru. Subsequently, I was pretty isolated; I often felt I only had my parents and sisters to call mi familia. I visited Peru and relatives visited us in the US, so I knew that I was part of a much larger extended family. It is just that, unfortunately, I did not grow up with my extended family. Add to that situation the fact that my brown, Spanish speaking family were living in a deeply segregated US South in the 1960's and you can imagine that we only had each other to lean on in the midst of the racist realities of our lives. 

I felt like there was siege mentality in the neighborhoods I grew up in: violence, bigotry, isolation and danger. Our parents taught my sisters and I that we could not trust "Americanos" and that we could only trust familia. It worked to keep use safe.

But  as an adult, I craved a larger circle of family. And I developed friendships that were pivotal in my development. In college, I came into my own, and met some of my closest lifelong friends. And I learned that I could create a larger family by choice. I learned that while blood ties are serious ties to be respected and nurtured, sometimes friends come into your life and can then become a different type of family. The love of my parents and sisters is profound and huge but I will not be talking about them in this post. I want to talk about the friends in my life that I view as part of a chosen family. I have formed around me a small circle of people that I love, respect and cherish and with whom I see a future of always being in each others lives. 

I want to tell you about one such friend, DL, that I have known since 1985. We met when I was an activist in college. I was active in anti-Apartheid work to get our university to divest  from South African $.

That led me in to community organizing efforts around anti-racism efforts: Anti- KKK movement and Rainbow Coalition electoral politics. I met DL organizing for a Rainbow Coalition candidate running for Louisville Mayor in 1985. I identified as lesbian at the time and DL identified as bi. We worked along side each other for years. And in the late 80's I moved to San Francisco at the age of 25.

I have never returned to living FT in Louisville again, but I visited. And each time I visited, I would meet up with DL and it always seemed like we just picked up where we had last left off. In the last decade, DL and I, on Facebook, kept up more. And at the ripe ole age of 60, I spent a month in Louisville reconnecting with friends and DL and I forged a new commitment. 

Time had taken us both along circuitous routes.  I was lesbian for decades but at 40 years of age, I began dating men and came out as bi. DL has remained queer (which we both identify as now) but most of his adult relationships were with women. We both never married, never had children and still shared the same values. DL was facing retirement and wanting to jump start a new life and thinking of moving. The time was ripe for a connection and sparks flew the month I was visiting. We had always said we loved each other and we trusted each other. So a romance started brewing. We spent a lot of time together or on the phone/video chatting. We fell for each other romantically. And DL, decided he wanted to move to South Florida to start a new life with me close by. We were clear that we would not live together. I want my independence. 

But there was another reason for not cohabiting. At 60, I came out as polyamorous. I had come to realize that monogamy was not really for me; I have a deep distrust of monogamy and often felt suffocated in monogamous relationships. Plus, I just don't think the majority of people can do monogamy and I was not going to be anybody's fool. Better to be honest and caring and intentional with my affections. My flavor of poly is pretty tame. I choose to have a sexual relationship, maybe two. But I also include non sexual, non romantic relationships. DL is not poly but loved me enough to want to try to be with me anyway. He chose to be monogamous. 

Well, Lots of talking, visits back and forth and a couple health scares later, our love had deepened and we felt confident that we would be great sharing our lives together. But in practice, I /we came to see that while we are on the same page as far as loving  each other and wanting to create a sense of family between us, the romantic/sexual compatibility was not a great fit. Yes, it was painful to acknowledge but we were brave enough to talk about it openly and state our needs and wants. And you know what? The fact that we are not compatible as lovers did not affect our desire to be in each other's lives. We are still going to be there for each other, as life companions and friends.

So, tah dah! This week, DL moved to South Florida and I am so thrilled to have my friend close by. We are chosen family to each other. DL is choosing to remain single romantically for now. I will have a lover. I see him as my companion and Friend with a capital F. Here we were at the beach. Did I mention? He is white.

I do encourage people to bring in your close friends and create circles of community/family. This is especially important as we age and often end up isolated. Make your own rules. Love honestly, and ethically and don't fall for the societal myth that the only true love is romantic male/female monogamy. 

Beach body blues

I got invited to go to the beach for Labor Day. A certain Trini papi chulo (TPC) was inviting me to meet his crew and they had four boats to set out onto the waves. Drinks, sun, surf, possible flirts. I was flattered to be asked to meet his friends, and yes, I had just complained to him that summer was officially ending and I did not get into the ocean once this summer. It was a no brainer, right?

So, why was I hesitant? Firstly, I am not anywhere near as extroverted as TPC. I am loathe to spend a day with any group of people, especially as I knew not a one aside from TPC.  I was nervous meeting his friends. As I am 12 years older than him, I am sensitive to being the oldest one in his group. I worried about how I would fit in. 

And then there is the RA unwellness. My drug cocktail of methotrexate and hydroxychloroquin  makes me fatigued and often nauseous along with other GI distress. Also, my joint and muscle pain would be highly exacerbated walking on an uneven surface like sand. I worried that a full day at the beach would be hard on my body; and again, I did not want to seem unable to hang with everyone.

But the biggest fear I had was having to bare my beach body with an unknown crowd. TPC always looks tasty and trendy. But damn, I do not want to be with a guy that is the better looking of the two of us! Yes, I am that vain. Being older and larger makes me feel unfeminine and unattractive. And my inner high school girl kept cringing and worrying that his friends would say "what does he see in her?" That's it. I said it. I am insecure because of my menopausal chubby RA body. 

TPC said to just throw on a cover up. Yeah, but that would have to come off at the ocean. And plus, I love the sun on my bare skin. I would choose a one piece. Safe and not that revealing. But my "panza" (belly) would be on full display. I have a lot of work to do on loving that part of my body. It is fluffy and scarred and I have the panza of my father's lineage. We have apple shapes. Even with  the emergence of plus size beauty awareness, apple shaped chubsters are still rarely visible. Usually, the plus size models have soft curves BUT with a small waist. 

This model is wearing a two piece that I own (but mine is ocean green). I only wear it when I am alone at the pool, beach or park. I like it because 1) it makes me seem like I have shimmery mermaid scales and 2) I can expose my belly by rolling the bottoms down. I like to sun my belly. Cute eh? I think so.

But I do not have an hourglass figure like woman above. I look more like this beauty ----->  

And that was unacceptable for me in a group.  Sad. I graciously passed on the invitation. I do know that I did not feel even 70% up for it physically but I am mainly disappointed that I caved on being ok with my authentic self. 

There will be other days to try again. In the meantime, when I have relative privacy, I lounge around the pool in my shimmery suit. Letting the sun's rays burn away my shame. Flashing my mermaid tail (with knee replacement scar) in gratitude.

Art Journal 2 The artist within

 

My art circle did our second art journal page. We dedicated it to getting acquainted with our inner artist. 

Our facilitator, Salina, led us in a guided visualization where we joined a community of artists around a campfire. One artist emerges and comes to us. She symbolized our source and inspiration. I chose as my artist a woman named Sue Ellen Parkinson and her painting of Eve as a grandmother called "Guided by Stars". (on left of page). Eve is mature, wise and experienced. She ain't afraid  of no snake! Actually, the symbol of a large white snake is a personal totem for me. It brings the wisdom of my ancestors. She is pictured eating an apple, emanating sensuality, creativity, inspiration. 

Then we came back from this visualization and began  exploring where we are today as an artist. The image I chose to represent me now is a mask painting of Persephone by Lauren Raine.  I love mythologies and her story is a great allegory. Persephone rises from the netherworld having survived all the trials of this journey (my 61 years of living). She springs forth bearing gifts for the world. 

The paint brushes show my preferred choice of art medium and the Van Gogh Chica refers to this blog, which is a vehicle for creative writing  and expression. The World tarot card  positions me as having completed a long journey with peace and harmony to share.

97 and lingerie

This post is dedicated to my girlfriend, C, who I miss so, so much.  In the early 2000's, I sold cosmetics full-time at Macy's. I spent a decade with Clinique, Estee Lauder and such. I had two great gal pals on the floor, one with me at Clinique and one across the aisle at Lancome. C was my partner in crime at the upscale Lancome. She is beautiful plus has a French accent so she was perfect for selling their expensive line. We were known to get into mischief and our shennigans were not just relegated to the workplace. I loved hanging out in her dark, cool apartment that we called her mausoleum or cave. C was going through treatment for a serious illness so she was a trooper just making it to work everyday, a feat not appreciated by the corporate powers at Macy's. But she still managed to be fun, loving and adventurous.

Some of our adventures involved pilgrimages to wacky and interesting spots in Hollywood, FL and Dania Beach. We created our own myths, like the Dragon Man in Dania or the time capsule lingerie store called Melina's. I cannot claim Melina’s as "our discovery" because it has a cult like following in South Florida. But we happened on it by chance strolling along Hollywood Blvd. Hollywood Blvd is a trendy strip in Hollywood that features, restaurants, galleries, boutiques, clubs, etc. Mostly newer constructs. But located at the end of the strip is one landmark store that has been there over 75 years: Melina's Lingerie store. 

First off, you would never know that it was in business, despite the well maintained window displays. It was never open. Melina herself told a reporter that she made her own hours and if you wanted to catch her, best to visit the store at midnight. There is definitely an air of mystery to the business. 

The spacious store had several large window displays. The mannequins were all old time (a la 1950's) women in various stiff poses and wearing all sorts of racey lingerie: crotchless panties, pasties, garters, etc. I especially admired Melina's quirky accessories like this barbershop style straw hat on a scantily clad model.

Then there was the roulette type of luck you took trying to catch her open. But we persevered and were allowed entry one day. Inside, you quickly noticed that it was not a fully stocked lingerie store. Old school racks and mannequins displayed eclectic lingerie.  Not huge selection nor size range. Let's just say, she specialized in a niche clientele. 

But the thing that caught our attention right away was the fact that Melina had the store separated by a thick and heavy curtain drawn across the middle of the store. As we tried to venture a peek behind the curtain we were immediately scolded. In a gravely and menacing voice Melina commanded "There is nothing back there!".  She stopped us in our tracks. Now mind you, neither C nor I are meek kittens, but we obeyed. Under her scary stare, we withdrew, we looked at each other and let our imaginations run. Ultimately, we both concluded that there must be a chained up man behind those curtains. At the mercy of the stern, accented matron who ran this bizarre show.

This became our lore and we continued to embellish our fantasy. To this day, all either of us has to do is summon up a Garbo-esque throaty voice warning the other “there is nothing back there!” and we break into fits and giggles.

Melina's Lingerie store had such a presence that at 97 years old, she received the honor of the city naming her store a historic landmark! This made me very happy. Sadly, Melina closed her doors when she turned 100 years of age. Applause, applause, Melina, I tip my barber shop straw hat to you.

Now, I share this tale to amuse, but also to encourage everyone who feels less sexy because of whatever age is haunting you to be your own diva. I have enjoyed lingerie in many different stages in my life. Some subtle feminine pieces, others straight up fetish. Now a days I like a sensual, flirty sexy appeal. Comfort is more important, so no more tall heels or terribly uncomfortable outfits. As a curvey woman, I always liked corsets. This is a charcoal and ink self portrait of me as a siren in my black lace corset. We all need the pizazz of 97 year old Melina.

Art journal 1

I have committed to a three month exploration of art journaling. I meet with 13 women from all over on zoom  and we create and share. It is led by a teacher/facilitator. I did not know any of these women, I joined a Meetup.com group for this creative project. I am using this as a form of art therapy for me. I think I will like it. This is my first page.

We set intentions for this 12 week creative process. I choose to focus on my physical healing recovery from autoimmune disease. Interestingly, several women in this group are also dealing with health issues. My body and it's distress are something that preoccupies my life right now and is the  source of much sadness, disappointment, worry  and anger. I am working with natural healing efforts as well as pharmaceuticals. Yet I still am living with a lot of pain. My RA is spreading at a fast rate and I am facing several secondary problems that require yucky interventions. Spinal epidurals, possible joint replacement (again), steroids. It is difficult to perform daily activities. I am really down about these developments. 

The evening we got together for our first journal page, my hands were in severe pain. Painful nodules encompassing joints and new fingers now affected. Even though my hands hurt, I was determined to create with them. That is why I started by covering the bottom half of my page red. Red for pain, inflammation, anger. I wanted to start with that and envision a brighter future with a light yellow rising above the red.

Tree imagery resonates with me. I love their grounding presence and am comforted by their shade and solidness.

They teach us a lesson of perseverance and letting go of what does not suit us. Trees breathe and get moisture through their leaves. When it is summer, leaves grow plentiful and when temperatures drop and the tree does not need so much moisture, they shed their leaves. One of my group sisters shared that analogy. Trees are also home to critters and a place to play. 

I love my childhood memories of special trees. As a 5 year old, I found a magical tree with which I could control the weather. I used a coat hanger stuck in one of it's branches to perform my feats. I charged a penny to hot and sweaty neighborhood kids to lower the temperature a few degrees! We really believed it worked. I was a tree whisperer. Around eight, I loved sitting under a huge honeysuckle tree. The shade and sweet flowers and their aroma was so soothing on summer days. Pulling the center filament out of the honeysuckle flower and dabbing the sweetness on my tongue. Honeysuckle has remained a lifelong favorite scent of mine. As an adult, I have had crushes on special trees that I came across. I would constantly touch them, spend time under them and make small offerings to the tree.   Even my family adopted the imagery of a full branched tree as a source comfort and nurturance. My parents' tombstone displays just such a magnificent tree. This is a painting inspired by their tombstone.

Our facilitator helped me quiet my inner critic as I bemoaned that I did not have the right supplies and that I did not like my page. A few multicolored tear drops, collage pieces that point to writing and art as a vehicle for healing and a fiery purification float across the page. The little owl symbolizes my innate wisdom that I learned to recognize over decades. The vertical strip on the left side of the page is an homage to my mother. My mother was a whiz with mathematics and financial affaires. She used to use an old fashioned keyboard calculator, complete with a paper roll displaying the sums. When she died, I found many unused rolls of calculator paper. I could not throw them away; so I decorated them. I stained, stamped and embellished these archaic office supplies and now incorporate them into letters or journals etc.

I reluctantly offer up this journal page for viewing. It is practice for letting go of my inner critic stranglehold on my creativity. My art journal incorporates artistic expression, but I do not see them as "works of art". But it is fun, releasing and getting my creative juices flowing. And the group process of journaling together is a wonderful healing tool. Even my feline companion, B, joined me in this process. 

She sensed my apprehension and vulnerability, so she held my "paw" entire time.