Annimal's Open Salon Blog

Dreaming about OSers - O My!

Fri, 23 Jan 2009 19:01:20 -0500

It happened January 10^th, 2009. After several hours being on Open Salon, leaving comments and/or messaging back and forth with others on the site, I tiredly crawled into bed. While sleeping, or perhaps in some other state unknown to me, the snapshot photographic glimpse of OSers was this: everyone with their arms flung around each other in a state of camaraderie and good will, with Love and Higher Self prevailing. This was Gift.

At some point during the night, I awakened to the sensation of a vibration in my head and body. It was buzzing, but pleasantly so. It was not sexual or drug or alcohol related, sorry to say. I had the feeling others were participating in this experience, but not in my home. It was musical in that it was closest to many peoples humming or vibrations after bell ringing ; there was a sense of connection with all. This was Gift. I debated getting up to pee, going back to sleep, or what else? I didn’t really understand how to “join in.” My humming skills are as good as my driving skills. I knew I already was part of the group, but really, what was I to do now? Prayer seemed superfluous, words really didn’t belong here. I was so grateful for whatever was happening; I said Thank You, sang part of a song that escapes me now, and slipped easily, blissfully back to sleep.

Earlier in the night, I had the good fortune of reading Mari McNeil’s post “Forgiveness in a pile of Dog Shit”. Read Mari’s post to learn of her own encounter with “a voice.” There are many goodies to take from Mari’s writing, but for now, her honesty about wishing someone else ill, and then BLESSING HIM, over and over was inspirational. That post settled in me, somewhere. Maybe the crook of my knee, perhaps it settled around where the breast tissue connects and spreads into the upper chest musculature. It was this post and others that encouraged me that night, for certain, that we on OS are doing a “good work”; that work is Love, even if every post is not overt in its affections; and you are welcome here. This is Gift.

What has shaped me, part 2

Wed, 14 Jan 2009 13:01:26 -0500

If I could upload old photos you would see those faded red colors, black, grey, faded browns and the worst beigeys from the 65-66 photos. This photo shows a little girl holding her brothers hands, standing in front of one of the ugliest green couchest from the 40's, maybe. And the little girl's eyes are as crossed as the devil is tempting.

The five dollar word is strabismus. But cross-eyed is so much more accurate. I ended up with my first surgery at a tender two years, and it takes little to recall the bright bright scary operating room lights, the murmuring doctor and nurses, white white and black rubber and that smell-yuck-that smell, that black rubber triangle descending is so scary it's going to eat me go away go away go away....

So the two year old gets glasses. These were MUY attractive. Because my mother was so into little girls, I got to have the solid black heavy plastic framed glasses like old men wore. I'm not sure why these glasses were picked out. Maybe that's why I gave them away to everyone I met. Or put them everywhere I could think. The cat. The neighbor's dog. The neighbor's garbage. Between every cushion in our house, perhaps recognizing how dangerous that could be with two older rambunctious brothers. I left them on the floor. That was sheer genius, as far as I'm concerned.

I guess my mother thought she won when the ugly, tight, black band that hooked on the bows of the glasses and wrapped around the back of my head was forced upon me. The band that pushed my short boy hair up and created the "unkempt old man look" that I, no joke, just witnessed again at a funeral last night. The short boy hair that was cut by our beautican mother. Great look for a little girl. Fabulous, don't you think? What all the 3 year olds are wearing this year. Or 67-68.

For those of you unlucky enough to be born with "stereo vision", eyes that work together, let me share some of the better perks. When I play pool or darts, I NEVER count on winning. Why? Because the ball or the bullseye always is in two different places, depending on which eye I look out of. How about depth perception? Take that for granted, do ya. Well, mine comes and goes. Usually, I don't know it's gone until I step down the step and ow! it wasn't that deep, or pour a drink in a glass and it overflows, and we won't even talk about where I see a stop sign-here or across the street.

The phrase eye-hand coordination takes on fresh meaning for me. It is dificult, if not freakin' laughable, to think about a child with brain damage that affected primarily this very thing (see part 1) attempt to catch a ball while her depth perception isn't working and her man glasses are secured to her boy-head with a painful band and one eye sees far and one eye sees near and my mother is yelling again and I am supposed to practice the piano to get coordination in my hands but I hate practice!

No wonder I was overwhelmed. I am not surprised my mother says I knocked the milk over every night at supper. Thaaat must be why she was so unhappy...

My mother didn't win. She didn't win because she never had the desire, love, vision to see her own daughter.

What has shaped me, part 1

Sat, 10 Jan 2009 16:01:37 -0500

My mother bore down and pushed, as stubborn a person as you will ever meet. she gave birth to a tiny girl, 4 pounds 6, with the cord wrapped around my neck six times. I fit in my dad's shoe box, they said.

"She won't live through the night. Not 24 hours. She has 48 hours. She'll be mentally retarded. She can't live with you, put her in a home. Let Shriners take her."

The hospital allowed my father to smoke in my room, because he was such a wreck. It's not like they could take away his birthday.

The oxygen deprivation in the womb caused brain damage, which led to....

The seizures began at two, were not under control until three. That is stretching the truth. They are still not totally controlled.

Anti-convulsant meds are insidious, slowing my metabolism to bear in hibernation heart-rate speed, and draining energy, desire, motivation. Over-medicated as a child, my report cards said "Ann often stares off into space. Could be the medication."

Going to the principal's office to take meds every day on my lunch hour did not make me part of any Cool Kid Crowd. There were often tears, because of being teased.

Mother spent a lot of time teaching me to read, because I was supposed to be so retarded. Somehow I always found myself in Advanced Reading.

There was more character development I must have needed, because clear skin was not my inheritance. All the terrible, awful, very bad things that junior high school boys say to girls that were not Perfection were said to me. When mom took me to the dermatologist, he asked why she waited so long. Even then, I had a J-Lo body ten years before we would hear about J-Lo! However, curve appeal was not the norm for my family or town, so meeting anyone who appreciated my assets would take a while.

Please be gentle to the slow woman

Fri, 9 Jan 2009 21:01:29 -0500

I am so lame, it has taken me days to figure out how to download a stock photo into my personal id space on OS, so I don't have the grey shadow anymore.....

I am so lame, I wrote my first complete post last night, then lost it attempting to download a picture of the queen....

I am so lame, I signed up for my first cellular phone in September 08-and I don't feel middle-aged, but my eggs do....

I am so lame, I don't know how technologically lame I am!