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Take Your Seat

March 24, 2015 by Suzanne

Part of being invited to the table is the decision to attend. There will be a future post about the importance of the RSVP (I have feelings about it), but this week, I am wandering through my online world and highlighting five blogs, posts, projects, and/or people who are taking their seats.

1. The Mudroom is one of my new favorite places on the Internet. It’s a collaborative blog that launched in February. Their vision says it all – “make room for people.” And they do it beautifully.

2. I could fangirl about Reverend Wil Gafney all day. Her words are rich. I was searching for a quote from her post entitled The Color Purple: A Lenten Sermon, but all of it is too good to miss. 

3. I am currently taking Jamie Wright Bagley‘s Heart of Prayer course. It’s a guide through praying the hours, and it has infused my last couple of weeks with a renewed confidence in approaching God. Jamie also has a free poetry e-book that I think you need. I love it (and her).

4. I have been following (or more accurately, lurking, as I don’t know if I have ever left a comment) Lisa Bartelt’s blog for a while, and this post is one of the reasons why. I love her passion for justice.

5. This post by Huda Alawa. It reads like an honest prayer.

There are so many people to hear from. Who are some of the voices that you love?*

*It’s okay if it’s your own. It’s better than okay. It’s taking your seat.

Posted in Feast, Invitation | 4 Comments »

On Wearing Pearls

March 23, 2015 by Suzanne

photo (27)

I just love Denton. It’s home to two colleges. It has a thriving local music scene and tons of talented local artists. It is home to multiple festivals a year and its citizens are so fiercely protective of its unique downtown area that no national chain has any real hope of survival on the square (sorry-not-sorry, Subway).

Denton is a casual town. Most days, you could walk into almost any store downtown in your pajama pants, and no one would blink an eye (and thank goodness for that, because Saturdays are for pajamas, even if I have errands to run). When I moved here over twenty years ago from a small town in the panhandle, I had to adjust my perspective of what certain expectations meant. First, most invitations (and by “invitations,” I do mean “fliers”) didn’t mention dress at all.  That blew my mind. And when they did, they didn’t always mean what I grew up believing they meant. “Formal attire” could mean actual formal wear, but it was more likely that it was just a request to wear a dress or slacks. And “casual dress” was less likely a call for a nice shirt and slacks than it was a reminder to wear shoes.

I like that about Denton.

Sometimes, though, I wear pearls.

I shied away from them for a while when I first moved here, because pearls – even the costume strands that I wear most often – really fancy up an outfit. It’s hard to look casual in pearls. And when you don’t look as casual as the environment, it’s hard not to stick out. And it’s hard not to feel out of place when you stick out (and when you’re also 18 – in retrospect, that was probably more of a factor than the jewelry). And most of the time, I didn’t need any extra help feeling out of place.

But one day, I pulled my favorite earrings out of my jewelry box and put them on again. Just two little pearls – one in each ear. With such a simple change, I felt grounded. I felt like me.

Pearls understand me.

Pearls are troublemakers. They start out as an irritation. They are a grain of sand that sneaks into an oyster’s shell, and instead of feeling contrite and meekly excusing themselves when discovered, they stubbornly remain, forcing their environment to adjust to them and growing into something beautiful out of the impact they have.

Pearls are simple yet elegant. They know that they don’t have to make a big splash to be heard or noticed. Pearls are the kind of grown-up I aspire to be. In today’s episode of First World Problems, I admit that I find jewelry shows and stores challenging. Most of the pieces are much more complicated than my preferred style, which is all clean lines and simplicity. If I’m wearing something other than that, it is probably a gift, a uniform, a costume, or an obnoxious plea for attention.

[soapbox tangent] Lest anyone be tempted to make a preference into a rule, let me be clear. Some people look gorgeous in bold patterns and intricate designs, and I expect that their style, while different from mine, does exactly for them what mine does for me. It makes them feel beautiful. It is a visual reminder that they are a presence in this world and that said presence is a contribution, not a liability. There is not a best way to dress. Whatever makes you feel at home in your skin, do or wear that thing. I am 100% in favor of that. [/end soapbox]

A few months ago, I was driving home from an event that called for something a little dressier than my usual attire. It was a sunny day, but the air was chilly, just like I like it to be. When I got in my car, I took down my hair, rolled down my windows, and turned on the radio. With the sun on my arms, the wind in my hair, music in my ears, and pearls around my neck, I was at home in my soul long before I was home in reality.

Posted in Beauty | 6 Comments »

Set Your Own Table – Guest Post from Sharry Miller

March 17, 2015 by Suzanne

My friends in the Andilit writing community are gold. Pure gold. I am pleased to bring you my second guest post from that group from artist Sharry Miller.

Sharry-with-installation

Sharry with her public art installation created with local students out of fused glass for Gilson Middle School in Valdez, Alaska

It never ceases to amaze me the ways in which I can contrive to crush my own spirit.

There’s been a lot of press over the years about how we need to ensure our children’s self-esteem is kept high, how the little things we say to other people inadvertently tear them down, how, essentially, we’re all responsible for creating a kinder, gentler world. Within reason, I totally agree with these sentiments. Who doesn’t want to live in a world in which we all treat each other with respect and care?

What about how we treat ourselves, though?

I regularly read several blogs written by, for, and about writers, as well as belong to a couple of Facebook groups of glass artists. I have a whole library of books with advice about living a creative life. One of the messages that’s reiterated time and again by virtually every author and artist is how critical it is for an artist to be kind to herself.

We are our own worst critics. Every single one of us has that little voice in her head that says, “You’re not good enough.” If you tell me you don’t, I’ll call you a liar. Or be very jealous of you. Ultimately, we do more harm to our creative selves by being too self-critical than anyone else could ever do to us.

That voice in my head screams loud and clear. I have no trouble at all comparing myself to nearly everyone else and coming up the lesser. My art isn’t as artistic, my writing isn’t as literary, or at the very least, I’m not committed enough to my art to spend sufficient time on it so that I keep improving – let alone get good. My rational brain usually tells me to shut up, and reminds me, for example, that as much as I love photorealistic art, that’s not what I like to create and therefore it is not my forte. I shouldn’t, therefore, compare my colorful, playful art to that of artists who specialize in photorealistic art. If I try, I can usually validate who I am right now in my life, even if it sometimes feels like I’m making excuses for myself.

And then there are those times I let something outside me, something totally trivial, derail my ego. Recently, it’s been those 5-day art challenges that were running around Facebook. The idea was that an artist got challenged by another artist to share three pieces of her artwork each day for five days, and on each day nominate another artist to do the same. The amount of artwork being shared should expand exponentially (to use the word metaphorically, not in its literal mathematic sense), giving the artists great exposure and flooding the Facebook world with creativity.

What’s wrong with this? Nothing, except…

No one nominated me (whine, snivel).

I’ve been doing some sort of art since I was a kid, although my early forays into that world are better characterized as crafts. Over the years, I’ve cross-stitched, crocheted, knitted, quilted, woven baskets and textiles, spun yarn, painted…you name it, I’ve probably at least tried it. For the past several years, my focus has been working in glass, particularly fused glass. It’s like making magic: putting hard, cold pieces of glass into a kiln, heating it up until it’s molten hot, cooling it back down, and always, always being at least a little surprised by the results. Colors change, shapes meld, parts become whole. For the first time, I really feel like I am taking raw materials and creating something new and unique from them. I am an artist. (Okay, I admit that I choked a little writing that last sentence, but it’s getting easier. Sort of.)

In my ridiculous little brain, I have translated this lack of nomination to share my art to mean that I’m not an artist, at least not in the world of those I associate with on Facebook. It’s not that I haven’t previously shared enough of my work with those groups to remind them that I exist. Of course not. It’s clearly a personal comment on my so-called artwork and my self-proclaimed creative abilities. I might as well just give up now and start gardening or cleaning my toilets or something.

Holy crap. How is it possible that voice in my head can be so loud and overpowering? My rational brain is allowing me to sit here and type these words about how stupid that voice is, but still…still it’s here with me undermining my confidence.

And as soon as I send this post off for publishing, any future nomination will be undone. I’ll know that the nomination had nothing to do with my worth as an artist, but was instead motivated by pity after someone read this rant. I’m not really worthy of being invited to sit at the real-artists’ table.

(That little voice just said, “Yeah, right. Like anyone’s actually going to read this drivel.” See how insidious it is?)

I didn’t write these words to engender your sympathy or to solicit compliments. My rational brain reminds me regularly how many people tell me they like what I write and what I create (thank you, thank you!), and that I only need to accept those compliments in the spirit in which they were given to believe in myself. Heck, I don’t even need to do that. It’s enough that I like what I create, that it makes me happy – that’s all the validation I need.

I suppose I wrote these words to remind myself that I’m of value whether or not anyone else tells me I am, and to remind you that you are, too. Sure, it’s nice to be recognized by others for our efforts, but not a single one of us needs that recognition in order to be of real value. If you’re not invited to sit at the table of your choice, set your own. Only invite those guests who are going to support you and build up your confidence, not tear it down. Be your own loudest cheerleader, and that kinder, gentler world will be there to greet you.

me and Scout

Sharry Miller is an aspiring artist, writer, and world-adventurer living life to the fullest in Valdez, Alaska. You can follow her creative and life journeys at http://sharrymiller.typepad.com.

She promises to not post too many pictures of her new puppy, Scout.

Posted in Andilit, Feast, Invitation | 2 Comments »

The Party Alternative – Guest Post from JoAnne Silvia

March 10, 2015 by Suzanne

Rose of sharon

I met JoAnne Silvia in the Andilit writing community. She knows how to get right to the heart of a matter, so it is perfectly fitting that she is my first guest poster for this series. I am ecstatic to share her words here today on invitation. 

Years ago, when I was still licking my wounds from divorce and the rebound from hell, I was at church and overheard some people talking about a garden party.

My church family is loving and accepting, but I was in a bad place. I wondered if would get an invitation as those childhood feelings of being outside the popular crowd rose from dormancy. The personal invitation didn’t come.

I would have liked to have gone to the party, but when I didn’t get the invitation, I scheduled something else for that same time. I’d been struggling with some health issues that turned out to be stress related, issues originating from the rebound from hell on the heels of divorce. Knowing someone who did hypnotherapy, I decided to give it a try. It turned out she was available on the same afternoon as the party.  Not wanting to sit home alone whilst the party was going on, I scheduled the session. That way, I wouldn’t be able to go to the party anyway, because I had other plans.

The hypnosis session turned out to be an important step in my healing. Lying on the massage table, I remained fully conscious, but in an altered state where emotions of grief and insights of my needs were easily accessible. I cried out my anguish. Water and dogs, two constant loves, surfaced from my subconscious mind as the medicine I needed. Swimming soothed me. Dogs offered unconditional love.

I know I was in an altered state, because, when I came out of hypnosis, it was the same feeling I felt after giving birth: a profound shift in awareness, from an extremely inward focus, to a suddenly acute awareness of my surroundings. The intense emotions evaporated instantly.

The next Sunday at church, a friend mentioned she was sorry I wasn’t able to make it to the party.

“I wasn’t invited,” I stated simply. I didn’t mean to sound so pitiful.

“Oh.” She looked bewildered.

Not long after that, the person who hosted the garden party had another get-together. She came to me directly and looked me in the eye.

“I want you to come to my party.”  She said it slowly with clear intention.

I firmly believe, now, that my not being invited to the garden party, was an oversight. I know how that can happen, I guess. You think you’ve invited someone, or assumed everyone knew they were invited. Did my wounded state lead me to assume I wasn’t invited?

If the lack of invitation happened today, under those same circumstances, I would assume it was an oversight, and dig around to get more information. Provided I wanted to be included, I would fish for an invitation, or maybe just ask, “So, I heard you’re having a party, Is everyone invited?”

But maybe I wasn’t supposed to go to the garden party. Maybe on that particular afternoon, I was supposed to be lying on that massage table, in the dim light, in that quiet place of personal healing.

JoAnne Silvia
http://joannaoftheforest.wordpress.com/

Posted in Andilit, Feast, Invitation | Leave a Comment »

In Like a Lion

March 9, 2015 by Suzanne

It’s that time of year again when people are ready for spring and it’s not coming fast enough for them so they’re beckoning it, and I’m sitting here like, “Shhh….it will hear you.”

Because the spring will come. Oh, it will come. But it won’t stay long. It will stay for its obligatory twenty minutes at the party, and then it will take its leave, and what will replace it?

Ten thousand days of summer.

This sweet lady at church yesterday said, “It was supposed to be warm today, but it’s so chilly.”

I replied, “I think it’s supposed to get up to 54.”

She looked at me like she was thinking, “Um…yeah. That’s what I just said.”

Oh. A temperature of 54 degrees is cold to you, while to me, it’s very much what I imagine Heaven will be like.

I waver between two reactions:

1. Wanting to collect the names of everyone whom I see lamenting the cold weather on social media so that I can set them up on an email list that will bombard them daily with complaints about the OMG-HEAT when our nine months of summer begin. Because payback. You ruin my perfect weather; I ruin yours. And fight every urge within you to tell me to “cheer up” when I am overheated and nauseated and feeling hopeless because I cannot get cool and cannot keep anything down because OMG HOT.

and

2. Embracing the inevitable and welcoming spring, urging it to hang on as long as possible, because the longer I can avoid turning on my A/C, the happier my world will be.

So far, I’m doing pretty well embracing. I embraced this little gem last night:

blue moon

It really does taste like the first peach of the season. The first peach soaked in beer, of course. But the first peach nonetheless.

So go ahead and come, spring. And feel free to stay awhile. And if you could also stay 65-70-ish, that would be great, too.

Posted in Seasons | 5 Comments »

The Problem with Fun

March 6, 2015 by Suzanne

photo (26)

My word of the year is “fun.” That sounds exciting, doesn’t it? It sounds like the year is going to be full of lots of good times and happy memories. It sounds like a welcome change from the regular, humdrum mode of existence. It sounds…well…fun.

And it might be a fun year. I could look for the fun in every day, just like I looked for the beauty in every day last year, That would make it seem more fun.

What I want, though? ACTUAL fun. Not perceived fun. Not imagined fun. Real fun.

The problem with fun is that looking for it sets up certain expectations. And my expectations are often bigger than my outcomes. I listed some of these expectations at the first of the year: traveling, moving to a house, taking various classes, getting into better shape so that I have more energy. What is missing from this list is the prerequisite for most of these things – extra money. I did rework my budget to make it easier to save faster, but that is still going to be pretty slow-going (insert cliches about blood and turnips here). It’s possible that I need a new list with free things on it, but I cannot think of a single free thing that sounds fun. Not one.

This leads me to the second problem I’m having. I’m not sure I know what’s fun for me anymore. I will see something and think, “Hey, I remember when we did that. I enjoyed that!” Then I will remember how much has changed since then, and it suddenly seems impossible. Or, at the very least, more trouble than it’s worth.

My social situation has fluctuated a lot over the years. Friends have moved or gotten married or had kids or all of the above. These are good things for them that I wouldn’t change. I also learned from these situations that there are a lot of things that I love so much that I don’t mind doing them alone. But “don’t mind” and “enjoy” are two different things.

Also, one thing that is markedly NOT fun for me? Spontaneous plans. Or, rather, having to forego what I was already planning to do and find another time in my schedule to do it in order to make room for spontaneity. That’s not fun. That’s actually stresses me out like crazy. I’m a planner; my schedule is how I keep from getting overwhelmed. But I feel like I miss out on a lot of things that could be fun because by the time they were mentioned to me, I was already doing or planning to do something else.

It’s possible (read: probable/definite) that I am making this harder than it has to be.

Posted in Fun | 2 Comments »

An Invitation To Feast

March 3, 2015 by Suzanne

When I think of what it means to be invited to the table, my first thoughts come in broad terms. I think of empowerment. I dream of burning patriarchy’s house to the ground. I look for new ways to lay down my selfishness and spend a little more money in better ways to ensure a livable wage for people who work hard to grow/make/produce the things I want. I remember my Riot Grrrl days, and I still hear the revolution(s).

Soon, more concrete images come to mind:

  • Having dinner for the first time in my friends’ new house
  • How risotto-in-progress looks when it’s time to add more liquid to it
  • Ladybug cupcakes and gallons of sherbet punch
  • Champagne and steak and chipotle mayo
  • Conversation that sparks over delicious treats

photo 2 (3)

And finally, pondering what invitation is leads to thoughts of what it is not. For many of us, invitation carries both hope and sting – both fond and painful memories. It’s seeing the picture on social media and thinking, “Hey, the whole group is there…except me,” and trying to convince yourself that it must have been because they all spontaneously appeared and decided at the last minute to sit together, not because they didn’t choose (or worse – forgot) to include you. It’s the public conversation about tonight’s outing that doesn’t notice that there are people nearby whose invitations must have gotten lost in the mail. It’s being overqualified for what you do because you are repeatedly overlooked for what you could do. It’s all the little intersections that conspire to make the way easier for some than it is for others.

It’s the not-quite-finished spot on my table that matches the not-quite-part-of-it part of me.

photo 1 (3)

In the process of writing Feast, I have been listening to stories that reveal that invitation is not as simple as it seems on the surface. I want to listen to more stories, and I’m going to take you with me. I am going to start sharing and telling these stories every Tuesday. Sometimes, these posts will be link-intensive, because there are a lot of people talking about how wonderful it feels to be invited and how terrible it can feel to be excluded. Sometimes, these posts will be snapshots of my own experience.

I hope most of these posts, however, come from you. I’m opening the floor to your experiences. The prompt is simple:

What does it mean to be invited to the table?

You can send pictures or stories (or both). You can touch on things I’ve mentioned above or, because my experience as just one human out of billions is inherently limited, you can touch on things I haven’t even fathomed. It can be a few sentences, or it can be a whole post. I want to hear from you. In case anyone hasn’t invited you to the conversation before, I want to invite you now.

Email your contribution to coffeesnob@gmail.com, including any pictures, your bio, your website/blog link, or anything else you want to include. I will also take anonymous posts (please indicate clearly in the email if this is your wish, and I will honor it).

I look forward to hearing from you. *hands you virtual cup of coffee/glass of wine/cookie/bacon*

Posted in Feast, Invitation | 12 Comments »

It’s My Party

February 17, 2015 by Suzanne

Lesley Gore died yesterday. This makes me sad.

I used to listen to my mom’s old 45 single of It’s My Party. It reminds me of my Junior High years spent lying on my bed on my stomach, writing in my diary (complete with lock and key) about my various trials with age-appropriate melodrama. Overhearing people talk about a party to which I wasn’t invited. Boys whom I like-liked who didn’t like-like me back (and the confession of boys a few years down the road who did like-like me but never said anything because I was so focused on like-liking someone else. A likely story.). A drive in the park with Mom when we talked about things that she had overheard – when she wanted to make sure I was okay.

It’s a song that reminds me of Mom. The song came out when she was about twenty. I often tried to picture her listening to the song on her bed when she was younger, just like I did.

The song might not be the feminist manifesto that her later hit – You Don’t Own Me – became, but its lyrics fit my junior high heart just fine. I named my first Barbie Lesley. She often had parties, and she, too, acted how she wanted to act at them.

Rest in peace, Lesley Gore.

Posted in Feminism, Roots | 3 Comments »

My Funny Valentine

February 16, 2015 by Suzanne

This Valentine’s Day was a weird one. Usually, I’m in one particular mood. I either love all the gush and mush, or I want to wear black all day (convenient, as black makes up the majority of my wardrobe) and ignore all of it. There is seldom any in-between to it.

But this year was different. I was all over the place all week long. It was exhausting.

One minute, I would get all teary over a sweet thing that a friend did for a beloved one, and the next minute, I was cackling over a friend’s “No one really likes your squishy heart vomit; we’re all lying to you” post.

I told residents “We love you every day.”

I responded to the snorty quip, “Bitter much?” with “Um…yeah. Unashamed and card-carrying, actually. Go ahead. Share your naive, uninformed commentary on that. I dare you.” [She declined to share. I have smart friends.]

I loved myself with three of my favorite meals on Saturday – biscuits and gravy (vegan, because love means not having to take a pill) for breakfast, poached eggs and hash browns for lunch, and risotto (with Parmesan…and a pill…because some things are worth it) and roasted Brussels sprouts for dinner.

I mused about how long it would take someone to find my dead body if I died from a heart attack (and I would die, because there would be no one with me to call 911 while it was happening, much less to unlock the door and let them in when they arrived. I’m pretty much doomed.) and worked myself up into a nice, respectable panic attack, which kind of feels like a heart attack. Well played, Universe.  You asshole.

I barely managed not to live-tweet Chocolat. I sort of regret not live-tweeting it. I love that movie.

I made this list of awesome things I do as a single person living alone that would probably change if I had a boyfriend or a husband or a roommate:

  • Making my bed with the flat sheet on the bottom so that I can sleep curled up inside the fitted sheet like it’s a cocoon
  • My Friday night ritual of staying home and resting in solitude with a TV marathon or reading binge or a big batch of whatever-I-damn-well-please
  • Eating popcorn dipped in goat cheese and calling it dinner
  • Planning my “Family? Nope – just me and the Christmas mice” card (my inspiration is hilarious, and I wish her buckets of love and happiness, whatever that looks like for her. People this funny deserve a willing and enthusiastic audience.)
  • Coming home and EVERYTHING BEING EXACTLY WHERE I LEFT IT. It’s like Christmas every day.
  • Having all the risotto to myself (this might remain a thing even if I do meet a fella. He’s grown. He can make his own risotto.)

So my Valentine’s Week was emotionally chaotic. Just like my love life. I guess that’s appropriate.

Posted in Food, Fun | 4 Comments »

Obsession

February 9, 2015 by Suzanne

You know those days when you are so stressed out that you just want to curl up and sleep, binge-watch TV, read fashion magazines, and eat your feelings, and you’re mad because it’s impossible to do all those things at once?

That has been the last two months for me.

So when I woke up this morning, and one writers’ group is asking what I need to dismantle in my life to leave room for artistic goals, and another writers’ group is asking what is keeping me from achieving the weekly goals I set, the answer came almost immediately.

Job seeking.

I have been saying forever that I want a better way to earn income – specifically, one job/career that is well-suited to my skills and qualifications and that covers all my expenses. And then I resolved to make finding it a priority this year. And I have definitely made it a priority.

But.

Sometimes when my mouth says, “Make this thing a priority,” my brain hears, “Become possessed with making this thing happen tomorrow.” And that’s not the same thing. One looks like keeping my eyes open and not avoiding opportunity out of fear. The other looks like feverishly searching keywords and applying for anything for which I am remotely qualified without stopping to think about whether it would actually be something I’d want to do. One is freedom; one is obsession.

I’m stopping the obsession.

This goes against everything I’ve been taught about productive job seeking. In seminar after seminar, workshop after workshop, it has been drilled into me that, until you find the job you want to do, the job hunt is your job. You make ten thousand copies of your resume (or ten thousand versions, because a good resume/cover letter will be tailored to the prospective employer) and you send it out to all the places. This method seems like it exhibits a nice, can-do spirit. It certainly looks like good advice.

One problem with this method is that I already have a job. Two, if you count everything I do to earn money. Three if you count everything I do to earn money and the writing that (I hope) will bring in money some day. At any rate, I don’t really have the time or the energy or the sanity to take on another “job,” even if it ultimately helps me to tame my schedule.

Another problem with this method is that my entire professional experience defies it. I have never gotten a job I liked enough to stick to it for any length of time by acting like a go-getter. Every job I’ve ever gotten where I did well and where I thrived? An opportunity arose, and I fell into it. More specifically, I got it by performing well at whatever I was doing at the time and by networking. A professor who led the teaching team for the basic course while I was in grad school was impressed by the way I ran my recitation sections, so she hired me to teach my own course at the community college when she was promoted to department chair. She also enthusiastically recommended me to her colleagues at other schools, and they hired me based on her recommendation. A friend with whom I had planned a conference was in a position to hire someone, and she thought of me. Our interview started with her saying, “So you got the job – fill out this application.” I often joke that I don’t interview well, but the truth is that I’ve never really had to interview well (I’m sure if I had to, I’d be fine). I am most impressive when I am in a position to allow my work to speak for itself.

So I’m looking for the opportunities, but I’m done with hunting them down and wrestling them to the ground. Just saying that makes me breathe more easily.

Posted in Andilit, awake the bones, Resolutions | 4 Comments »

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