My legs. November 27th Sunday

I moved into a new apartment. It is a genuinely nice feeling. one thing that I like is the bathroom. For a long time in years, I have had my own bathroom. I came here with truly little money. I knew I would not be able to do too many things to beautify my apartment. So, I decided to concentrate on fixing up, as much as possible, the bathroom. One of the things I have there is a great big mirror. And today I got a good look at my body. And for the first time, I had a good clear look at my legs. My legs have been grossly injured. Well, that is why I cannot see the sights of the city and film them as I would have loved to do. It also shows me clearly. I have been in a devout house. This is a house to create women who will never leave their cell in a convent. Hence my crippled legs. Rose. It has been very painful to see it. but at least I could clearly see it now. I know the reason devotees to the convent hurt them. and I think the wanton attack on my health and my body is an outrage. And quite horrible to me.

No, it is not that no one warned me about it. Sometimes, however, no matter how significant others warn you, or if you are hurt or your legs are crippled, all you could do is listen. You cannot avoid it. How was I warned? I feel stupid. Warned? Hello. They were screaming about it all the time. The people of the religious order, in the house, thought that violent talk was the cat's meow. They could not have loved it more period from the weird and violent pictures in the Chapel to the incessant celebrations of the horrible demise of human beings in the name of All Saints Day, there was a steady stream of violent talk. Obviously, they were doing something. And obviously, I could not do anything about it but just endure consistent repeated violent and useless attacks on my body and my mind.

The thing that really revolts me, the thing that really perplexes me, is how I managed to get there in the first place. First, I am a pacifist. I hate violence. I get sick thinking about it. When I was a little girl, I did not even like sad endings in television programs. My parents would go through television programs with me to make sure they had a happy conclusion. So how did I end up in such a bizarre place for me.?

I came there once again as I have throughout my life because I did not have a place to find to live. The halfway house I had lived in for about two decades was centrally located downtown. Obviously in a troubled neighborhood. Obviously, since halfway houses are part of the periphery of a prison system, bloody attacks were common there. But one thing they did was make sure I could walk. Another thing they did was make sure I did the housework there. In the halfway house I mean. By the time the thing closed, because of lack of funding, I was so heartily sick of doing housework, that the small, tiny cell I found myself in, which only had a bed and very Spartan furniture, was a relief to go to. Because I did not have to do housework. I did not have to do it anymore.

That is another strange thing that I do not understand. Before I left my family's home, I mean, my mother forbade me to do the housework. That was my mother's domain. These were her expensive instruments. That was a long time ago. And yet I have retained throughout my life a great distaste for doing housework. So how did I end up in this halfway house? In which white place, was to clearly do the housework? That was so painful that the next step for home became a convent in which the modus operandi was extreme violence. Talk about going from the frying pan into the fire.

So, as I said before, I got a good clear look in my legs today, for the very first time in a long time. And now I see what happened to me when I moved there. They beat me up clearly. Like they do to the pious women who go there. So, it could look like that I have taken the cloth and I have willingly forsaken the world and I would never leave the convent or my cell. Everybody I talk to (albeit there were very few I talked to) warned me. But it seemed like there was nowhere to go despite all these warnings. Just for your information, as the years went by and the deeply devout Were able to muster a great deal of money and looked with great disdain at inferior beings, there was, in this house of religion, a steady consistent stream glorifying violence. Not only was that the most important icon in the house, but it was also a symbol that made you focus on torture. The crucifix. There was no way I was going to follow that religion. There was talk about hell. but as people talked about hell, I looked at the devout women dressed in Gray and white and morbid colors like that. At first, I did not believe in my heart, and I still do not believe that they are righteous. And second, I did not feel they were good. And third of all there was no way I would come anywhere near them to listen to anything more than what they could not avoid telling everybody. That included, as far as I was concerned,  their religious teachings, and all talk about my lack of ability or dignity as a human being. The most I wanted them to do was just go away from them. Despite the beatings, which obviously were not that easy to ignore, I maintained a great distaste (and still do) for the concept of violence.

As I write this down, I realized just how much I was in trouble there. I also feel deeply, as usual, that the gross injuries that were inflicted on me were useless. I do not want to move to the country, I do not want to become religious, I hate to stay at home like I do, and I hate it more because it is due to a violent beating. I also realize, quite grimly, and maybe stupidly, and uselessly, I was the outsider there that way paid because everybody was wonderfully delighted with violent talk in that religious place. So, what was I to expect?

The funny thing is, when I arrived there, seeing that there were three meals a day, and no housework to do, I felt that intense feeling of relief. For years I felt that. And as the years progressed, I got increasingly severe beatings. Go figure.

 

Situational constraints changes things

I drafted this article before I changed residences

Prejudices and Problems

The gallery in our residence is my responsibility and has been my sole responsibility for about ten years. Although I had the permission of the management to put my exhibitions up this did not mean I had the support of one or two people. In fact, although people on the floor would complement my work from time to time one woman summed up the general attitude towards the project. I will never forget what she said but it hits the spot. She said no one ever cares what you put up on the wall: it is just a wall.

Despite this fact, I put up about forty different exhibitions in the corridor. I do not know what the order that runs place thinks about the art, but it was clear to me that most people who passed by our floor did not hold store pf the idea of art for art’s sake. Very soon, the works that the house sold had their price dramatically lowered to a small sum of money. A symbolic sum. I never really asked if the money went to the chapel, but I have always assumed that was the deal.

So, despite the fact I passionately believed in the value and worth of art (I am an artist) I had the dubious pleasure of working years on a never formally recognized or supported the gallery. Once an observer told me what it looked like. She had a friend that put up an exhibition on the waterfront. It took a long time to put up and he worked on it hard. But no one ever knew about it. And no one would ever see it. It disappeared without a trace without anyone having a suspicion that it had ever even taken place. This motivated me to create a copycat of the exhibition online called the Lost Gallery. This online exhibition exists to this day.

The Second Floor

The staff allowed the gallery to exist because it became useful for the people living on the second floor where it took place. The fourth floor of the residence was for international visitors. They were coming and had important things to say and associates to talk to in and out of the community. The first floor was where the offices were, and this was for residents who had more difficult problems. They too had people talking with them because they needed the support necessary even to just live in the residence. The second floor, however, was the floor where women were much more isolated. The general rule of the thumb was that on my floor, women were unable to say what they felt. They had no visitors and no discussion. (Mostly residents had to keep quiet and out of the way. This was a situation that was difficult (and this still is). It led to visitors avoiding the second floor because the women were difficult. So, second-floor residents became isolated, and their problems often remained unsolved. They also got a bad reputation with the floor.

 

The Exhibition and Change

When I started the exhibition, things started to change. As the artwork, I collected got more expensive another reason to stay away from the floor evolved. There was an expensive art collection. Remember what I said about the women on the second floor. I could sum it up with an old expression. Life is cheap. Society labeled us as middle-aged and isolated and relegated us as insignificant. But the ladies on the floor. became more important because there was something of worth on the floor. There was an expensive art collection and therefore they too were expensive. At least more expensive than before. This made a major improvement to the kind of women that got shelter on the floor.

The Course of Time

So, the deal is, that the community felt that art was not worthwhile. So, with time, the second-floor art achieved a purpose, organically, mostly. It became an avenue to redefine the worth of the women on the floor. It became a source of their own empowerment, a redefinition of their worth. Situational constraints, the very disapproval of art for art’s sake, became a tool to change the role of the art. It set up a greater worth of the inhabitants on the second floor, and for the shelter in general. And in this manner got more community resources and help for a population of chronically neglected.

Over time, the art that showed on the floor became more valuable. Right now, we have a series of hand-sewn tapestries framed with custom-made hand-carved wood frames installed there. They are examples of an inherited art collection. Even ten years before, the presence of this collection would have not been possible. Years ago, someone might have, in a fit of confusion, defaced one of the tapestries. Or one or two might have mysteriously disappeared. But I am happy to say they have remained unharmed in their respective places for a respectable couple of years. Life goes on.

My Position

Practically, because I have worked for over a decade at the Gallery, about a year ago the establishment that runs the place gave me the permission to assume the position of Artist in Residence of the place.

As for myself, after years of working on the gallery, and having a new exhibition of work each season it has been about two years that I now tend to a permanent unchanging exhibition. Right now, the home is in transition as the religious order is selling it. Management asked residents to vacate the premises in the coming year. So, I am now taking advantage of the situation and finally looking for an avenue to secure, permanently my extensive collection of art. So far, I have no information on how to do this because I have truly little money to live on.

Gratitude Journaling -November 1, 2021

 

Gratitude Journaling -November 1^st

 

S: let us start with gratitude for the present moment. Recall something you feel thankful for today maybe it is a person. or an experience. or even just a feeling. Whatever it is bring it to mind with every little detail. something you feel thankful for. Think about why it matters. what it means to you. How it adds to your life or your experience I will give you a minute to reflect.

K: I am grateful and happy with my new Snowball Ice Mike.

1.       I like the fact that I can easily record the instructions for my meditation.

2.       I like the fact that is faster than writing when I write down my own thoughts.

3.       I like the fact that it looks professional.

4.       and I like the fact that it hears me much better than any other recording device I have. This makes my work much easier.

 

S: Let us think about something you are grateful for in your past. Remembering the good moments throughout our lives can help lift our spirits. So what is one thing you are grateful for in your past? It could be a lesson learned or an experience or a person. Visualize it filling in every detail and reflect or journal about this thing and what it means to you. the feelings it created for you or the value and added to your life I will give you some time.

 

K: I am proud of the fact that I had some time as a news correspondent.

1.       It gives me the ability to have the courage to create even if I sometimes feel very ugly.

2.       I also like the fact that I traveled extensively around the world.

3.       A woman in action is often in very Spartan circumstances. So, this makes it easier for me to have a sense of pride when I live poorly.

It is not perfect but with this knowledge, I could function with a sense of my own self-worth.

 

S: And finally let us think of the future. we all have something to hope for, to look forward to. it is a place you will travel to or someone you will get to see and spend time with. or a change you are working on to create in your community or even a delicious meal you are going to cook today. Reflect on what you are grateful for in your future right now. write or think about how it will add to your life and why it matters.

 K: I am grateful that I have amassed enough materials and figured out how to label and identify all my books.

Today I am going to go downstairs to do some labeling for my supplies. I am going to have such an enjoyable time by saving time afterward. It is going to be a relief.

I like to work on it a little bit. Each time I work on it I think of something to make it more efficient. I realized I am not a professional but at least I am getting it done.

I finally figured out to just do the labels and not worry about doing it on the computer at this time it takes too long at this time. I must get the job done.

 S; Your gratitude is so powerful. Just reflect on gratitude for your present past and future.

I am grateful for my past present and future

 You are alive and there is so much possibility and what can come next. In the words of Maya Angelo: “This is a wonderful day.  I have never seen this one before.”

 When you are ready open your eyes and let your arms rest softly.

 

Gratitude letter June 11th, 2022, to myself

Answering the daily shine Monday, June 6

S: Mondays can be a lot. You are maybe diving back into the work week or the hustle of whatever your day today is…. but I like to think Mondays are a great day for gratitude. Because even though we can't know what the week holds we can be grateful for this chance to show up. We can be grateful for this opportunity to see what happens and we can be grateful to take on this week alongside people we care about.

Studies show that writing gratitude letters can improve our own mental health and if you give it to a person you write about, it can help them feel good too. It creates a positive ripple effect. So today let's try writing a gratitude letter together.

K: I find it very difficult to communicate with anybody today and have felt this for a long time. So as usual I'll be ready to letter to myself until I can get rid of this all-encompassing bitterness.

S: Now think of someone you would like to show appreciation for. It could be someone who's made an impact on your life, or it can be a friend or a family member who makes you smile. or maybe you would like to appreciate yourself. It works to take a moment to think about who you're grateful for and start your letter addressing it to this person

K: OK I'm going to start by addressing the letter to myself.

Dear Kathy……

 S: now think about how this person has impacted your life. Like how you met and reflect on meaningful words phrases or lessons they've shared. Or fun memories that stick out in your mind. Orr how they've shaped your life for the better.

 if you are writing a letter to yourself, think about one of your shining qualities, you're proud of. Or a moment where you showed strength and courage. I'll give you a few minutes to write and no there's no right or wrong way to do this just see where this exercise takes you to let gratitude be your guide. I'll let you know when you have 30 seconds left but you can always hit pause if you want more time

K: OK today was a tough day in the morning. I was crawling around trying to get my head straight in figuring out what I would do. I knew I wanted to go out for breakfast, but I somehow got muddled and distressed as to figuring out where. Luckily, I got to go to my favorite restaurants on Saint Lawrence Street. I arrived there and I realized the whole bloody street is closed. That means I would have to walk about a mile to get all the way home. This would take too much energy for me to get home. that would mean I would be useless after the walk. so, I was thinking of going downtown to an expensive store and just picking up my stuff and taking advantage of the more expensive bus schedules and not having to worry about walking too much. I was thinking about which direction to go… should I go east or west north or south. But as luck would have it, I finally hit the thrift shop and I was glad I did I found 1000 things. One good thing was I found an ice cream scoop. if I would have gone online to my favorite store, I would have to pay 1000 times more for the ice cream scoop. I found all sorts of stuff. Things worked out well because I found a faster way to get home as well. You just must use your mind; I just must use my mind. sometimes you must just sit down and think it through and this time I did it.

S: or reflect on your gratitude now I want you to imagine the receiver. Or you are opening the gratitude letter. Think about their response facial expressions and body language. Maybe they're smiling and beaming at your letter they could also feel overwhelmed and excited. On a separate page in your journal write down a couple of words you hope they feel.

K: I hope that I think of this and that I feel proud and pleased that the **** in my head is somehow getting together. often, I am muddled and confused (I also feel down that my portable Blender doesn’t blend- I was so looking forward to my breakfast smoothie).  but also, I have times when if I sit down and quietly think I figure out what to do and they get things done. This is new and this is rewarding.

S: Amazing work today. Gratitude is an incredible self-care and community care tool and know that you can always turn to it. you can keep this gratitude letter as a reminder of all you're grateful for or if you feel comfortable giving it to a person who wrote about it, I encourage you to do so just extending kind words and the surprise of a handwritten letter is enough to make someone’s day

¨Place both your hands on your heart. connect to this place where your gratitude lives… where your most caring self lives… and repeat after me: I am filled with gratitude.

Attaching to the Day

 Monday April 18^th

Three questions you can ask yourself each morning to attach to the day:

1.       Why does the work I do matter to me?

2.       Who are the People who support me in my success?

3.       What would I like to focus on today?

Why does the work I do matter to me? Why do I find it meaningful?

I surround myself with colour. I suppose it is in rebellion to the fact that society and the education system have relegated me to work that I find unpleasant in one particular manner or another. I do not know why. People talk about suffering the unpleasant stuff to gain endurance and understanding. But once you are in a position of taking difficult jobs it is there for a lifetime. Like it is a lifetime of enduring, for a large part of your life, unpleasantness. You never escape from it. At least that is what I found. Either significant others in the job refer to me as someone low or base. Or I work an unpleasant job. For example,  my repetitive job is agonizing and monotonous. Like doing one thing the whole time, I am working. Let us say entering receipts. I have no other occupation but doing that the whole time.

Or significant others make it clear that to them  I am stupid or brutish. I am a very poor woman at this time.  And yet I try to dress attractively as befits a woman who is working. I have my own company and poverty permitting, I spend all of my time trying to find that secret sauce to get rid of my own condition of poverty. And the big part of the struggle is believing in my own dignity. I find it quite terrible to think of wearing only one or two dresses. Like a uniform. Case in point, the mask thing, with the pandemic, bothers me. Simple dress codes and masks hide your face. You have no face. You have no identity. That is why working for the poor, or the rich, and taking nothing for yourself, bothers me. If you have no possessions that, is it. I find it does not make my life easier. It makes one truly poor. If you were to die tomorrow, you would have no testimony to your particular talents or that you existed at all.

When I work, I work always to create a legend of myself. It sounds contradictory: I on the one hand am extremely poor (and with low self-esteem because of it). And yet I try to surround myself with colours. Always colours. If I do not create a work of art, I create a fantasy world. I think about my life, problems, and solutions. I mull over situations both past and present. I keep on saying to myself, having no paying job, that I am base. And I suppose that is why I immerse myself in colours. If I were feeling better, I would love to continue going to the high arts. Also, if I had more money. Now the money I spent on live performance is going to money spent on my computer work.

Contracts, contract, contracts. Always contracts. Just today I had internet installed in my new apartment. They only do it with a two-year contract. Of your internet will be very slow. I also have a two-year contract on my phone. And yet, As I write and listen to Netflix and Spotify, to YouTube, and Facebook, I feel connected to somebody out there.

Who are the people who support you and your success? Who is in your corner who wishes you to do well? These are the people who are rooting you on. Even your younger self.

I am listening to meditation apps, and they repeatedly talk about getting rid of all this techno bulls**t. of unplugging. To go for walks, to read a book to get back into nature. Is there anybody out there who has had a world of only this? And has been sick at heart from the relentless reality? I find the social network like watching television but doing something that I dreamt of as a child. Now I can interact with the action. I do not do it very much. But the computer gives me a world of thought to step into. Like writing on a blog that people will read. Instead of being just myself, mostly unable to talk or mingle. But the contracts are scary though.

Occasionally in my life, I meet a celebrity. I really find these meetings very important. Impressive. I find a thrill in them. It is an old habit. I know that often they are not the way they look when they are “famous” Often they go back to being and looking regular. But I trip on the extraordinary encounters I have with celebrities. I believe I know, from life experiences certain celebrities write to me or about me. From another world perhaps once our very brief encounter has ended. But even though the message is not perfectly what I want it to be. I feel touched and important when someone writes a song with me in mind. I hear on the radio. I see it on YouTube. I still trip on it after so many years.

What do I want to focus on today?

The challenge is, for me, to look at the big picture. Right now, I just moved into my own apartment after living in a religious community for decades. SO, there are dozens of boxes of stuff to put away. The move has been taking up my time for months now. I just paid the movers to move me and there are still a lot of things in the old place. I have been packing. Now I am unpacking. Now really cool stuff that is happening. For example, I now have an easy chair with a stool for my feet. What a luxury. There is enough room for this. So, I do not have the time or energy to do the seven artwork a week (one for each day) as I want. But I am placing my stuff in the best way possible. So, although I am not producing as much as I would like I hope this experience will reap more and better positive work output. So, for now I focus on placing my stuff. Not only unpacking but getting the best bang for my bucks.

Note: APril 25, 2022

As I read what I wrote before, I think of myself as black: I write resembling someone with the same thought perspective as Willy Loman in Death of a Salesman written by Arther Miller in 1949.

 

 

 

The Benefits of Boundaries.

 

Answering the Podcast: The Daily Shine. it's Monday, March 7

There's a tweet I came across recently that I want to share with you. It's from a woman named Sierra. she wrote ‘my therapist said to remember that the other side of giving your all is being empty and if you continue to give your all you'll continue to be empty. Giving your all is unregulated and has no boundaries. Give Your best.”

30,000 people like this tweet. The other side of giving your all is being empty. It's an incredible mindset shift. so often we want to give our all to every aspect of our lives, but we must remember to save something for ourselves. That's where boundaries can be so helpful. boundaries give us room to do our best but protect what we need for our own well-being. maybe that's saving some of your emotional energy or physical or mental energy.
reflect on a boundary you can set this week; one that will serve you. I want you to think of a boundary you want to set this week a boundary that will help you give your best but not your all. maybe it's how much time you spend working or how much energy you give your friends or family or even time spent on social media.

 

It's moving time. So, this is a no-brainer. There's so much to do with moving that I'm running around like a chicken with his head cut off. First, I must take care of three major things. My inheritance, my personal collection, and the gallery for this residence. all had works that were installed and rather large archives. So now I have the daunting task to take all this off the wall and pack it properly. This is a time-consuming task. Never mind the fact that I don't know what's going to happen and as I pack it properly, I realize it's also packed so nicely it's easy to be confiscated. There's another problem. Because these are valuables, I do not feel comfortable just placing them even if they're secure in boxes in which they are not clearly identified. First, there are the labels that you put on the boxes and you could use a general term like merchandise or the personal collection or promotional material. But when it comes to separate valuables (like the individual perfume bottles of my collection) then it's necessary to identify where these pieces are going. There's nothing worse than giving away boxes of important possessions without even knowing what they were and who it went to. So, as I pack them carefully (and you can see that perfume bottles are made of glass and are fragile) I am filming them and as I film them, I must catalogue them. This is time-consuming. I'm on pins and needles so much that I am not knowing when to work I when to relax. I also have my regular work to do. and to top it off it's time to change of season for the wardrobe for. So, I must set a boundary as to when I relax. Recently I've been working so hard that I don't notice the time. And when I stop, I start to weep with stress.

Great work. boundaries can be tough to set and even tougher to enforce. It's easy to want to give our all to someone or something. but you must trust that enforcing your boundary will help you show up stronger in the long run. So, with that boundary you're setting this week I want you to imagine someone is crossing that boundary or you notice yourself crossing that boundary. think about how you'd speak up what would you say to someone else or yourself what specific words would you use how would you speak with compassionate directness. take a moment to write down how you'd communicate your boundary.

 

OK, this is another no-brainer. That’s why I'm journaling now. I have no time and no real ability to talk to communicate out loud. so, the best way I think I could set a boundary to myself or to others is to talk about the issues that I've been thinking about as I prepare to move.

I'm not much of a mover. I found that when I moved most generally it's been a miserable experience. Never mind the fact that I have been beaten up often as I got into my new place. Never mind having a horrible time unpacking. And never mind how bad I looked living for a long time forlorn amongst boxes and bags. since I've been talking about packing let's hit the packing part about the deal.

Now it's taking a lot of time to uninstall and pack my art collection. I now bought the boxes as a matter of fact all the boxes I think I need, and I have packing tape. Last time I moved I had no possessions except for a few clothes and small things. (I lost a large part of my personal art collection but that’s another story) So, I just went back and forth between my old residence and the new residence. I also had furniture but at that time my father was alive, and he paid for that to be transported to my new residence. (They refused it completely at the door but that's another story). No, I am looking and reading that you must pack your possessions into boxes OK. I've been doing that for a while and it's occurred to me I can't do the same as if they were in suitcases. Boxes are quite unwieldy for someone to carry quite long-distance. but all the how-to's talk about packing things in boxes. So, I've been duly packing them in boxes. I also bought them. So, I'm going to continue to do this. But a major problem is how to transport my boxes and my furniture. let's emphasize the cost movers.

So, I must set a boundary with the work I'm doing for moving.  I'm speaking to myself:

I was reading all these things that you should do and must and must do to get packing for your new residence. It seems like an enormous amount of work. And after a certain amount of reading or many weeks of reading, I finally found a very wise caution. The question was asked as to how much time should you devote to working to move. And the answer was to do a little each day. Start preparing about 8 weeks in advance and do a little each day do the best you can. OK, so I've got to calm down a little bit. I am not a Superman do the best you can.

Another thing is to concentrate on the gallery and get rid of unnecessary objects in your room for starters. The lockers can wait. Lots of things are boxed anyways down there

Beautiful job. Finally, I want to Fast forward to the future of you. how will you feel at the end of the week by sticking with this boundary? how will it benefit you and how will it help you save some time or energy for yourself? take this next minute to reflect on how this boundary will serve you.

OK, so I'm really stressed out a lot. I've not been meditating as much as I should. Have not been relaxing as much as I should. I have a difficult time picking up necessary items like comfortable clothing. I think I'm going to have to really try to spend a good amount of time to calm me down. Maybe more than most of the time. I should not work until I'm weeping. I mean you don't have a life if you don't worry about the quality of your life. I work from home, and it's always been difficult setting boundaries. now is the time to take a little more me-time. while keeping in mind that the task I might be doing might need more time. Me time will be increased; I think it's good to concentrate mostly on the move. I'm wondering if I should maybe take a week or two off from answering mail like taking a moving vacation. Maybe that would help.

Let's close with an affirmation: I will set boundaries that serve me.

you do so much but if you give your all every time, you're going to end up empty and you deserve to have something for you.

My Fathers Child

I am not part of the religious order. So, I have always been conscious of my own poverty. One thing I have been doing is amassing collectibles from the various thrift shops so that I can rectify my own condition of poverty. I also arrived here with some valuables for the same reason. Policy, as regards living conditions, confined me to a tiny room and a locker for all my possessions. So, when there was no place, I had to get rid of them. Unmentionable elements inhaled them they disappeared so quickly.

Society has called me many things: a bum, a homeless person, a charity case, a woman with the mind of a two-year-old child. (sociologically). The valuables I have collected: no.

In the quest of my journey of life I can only call myself My fathers’ child. He died a long ago trying to do the only logical thing a real estate broker should eventually do. Pursue his profession to the best he could do. So, when he got the opportunity to buy a beautiful and expensive house, he did it. Assailants murdered him there.

As I think of myself, I am my father’s child. Despite the fact, I see a future of destitution I continue to collect. Right now, I am packing up my possessions very nicely indeed. Even though the afore mentioned elements can nicely and neatly confiscate my valuables I am nicely packing them. My uncertain future holds for me the same fate as any devotee of a religious order. I never had any physical possessions and I do not need or deserve them. But I do. And I am not part of any religious order. In fact, I do not like religion. Go figure.

A Horror of Fat

(The picture above is of  Rosita, the ShowGirl Pig of the Movie SING)

The religious community that owns the building I live in has moved on and they sold our building. So after more than two decades in the same place, it is time to move on. I must find a new dwelling. 

An austere religious order makes many demands that the real world is not concerned with. Management did not allow us to prepare another meal if we did not like the meal offered. There was a fridge to put in meals if you worked or had the medication but only that. two very vocal residents fiercely guarded The fridge and its cotenants. So rather than get in trouble I did not put any food in the refrigerator. I ate what they served. Sometimes it was good. Sometimes, well, it was simple. It was so simple that finally, the lab results came back from the hospital. The medical team told me clearly to make some meals myself. They also cleared it with the management of my home. This must have taken some work.

Someone cleared out some room in the refrigerator. And there is a couple of microwaves. So, with the ingredients, the residence provides stuff at meals I make do. the doctor says (last time I saw him which was a while ago) I am dying. Certainly, when I look at my body in the mirror, I see a horror of fat. The receptionist at the entrance says that if I stay here there is no one to take care of me. So, it is time to move on, I guess. But another thing the community did not approve of was someone in the residence having a normal sum of money to live on when they leave. So now I am up the proverbial creek without a paddle. Once more, the future is uncertain. Once more I am facing homelessness.

The going phrase for someone in my situation is: Well, you come from somewhere. You did not live here your whole life. Where you come from, you just go back to. Another thing the community did not concert itself within the present residence I live in, is the very mortal happening of severe beatings and medical attention. They felt that the endurance of pain was a necessary condition of the people who like me, came to live in. Having had a lot of casual attacks in the place I came from, I stayed anyway.

If You Don't Cook, are you a Criminal?

When I was growing up my mother ruled the kitchen. Touching anything in it or helping was out of bounds. It was her domain. As for the housework, I never bothered doing anything but occasionally tidying my little room. there was a woman that came in once a week to clean up. And my mother did the rest. Laundry was also my mother's domain. She had a washer and later a dryer. These were mysterious machines to me. I remember the smell of freshly cleaned laundry in the winter. She used to hang up our clothing in the little boiler room in the basement to dry. In the summer she had a clothesline in the back. I never thought to help her, and she never asked.

I left home brutally. One day a man came in and threw me outside. He said that this was the last day I would ever be inside, and I would have to live outside from then on. I stayed on the street just outside my house for several weeks: incredibly to myself, day, and night. then he took me to New York for some reason. We got to give Little Stevie Wonder his big break by opening a closed theatre to the passerby so he would have an audience to listen to his music. He had come with his young mother (he was a small boy) all the way from the south to have his big break in New York City. Only when he got onstage, he found out that New York theatres closed Sundays. This guy, Patrick, who kept me outside, somehow had free reins of the theatre. He opened the doors. The Little boy danced and sang. And the rest is Stevie Wonder History.

As for me, I returned home to the house I once knew. No one knew what to do with me. NO one was there who was my family. So, an obliging janitor from the Psychiatric Hospital down the street got me a session as a Playboy bunny model. That is why what I remember from then on, I a blur but that the main thing was a lot of confusion and screaming pain.

I remember a man waiting near the grocery school near our high school offering vague promises of marriage. I vaguely remember ending up as a call girl in Korea. I remember that this guy dressed me up as a vamp for my high school prom and the students elected me high school Queen. As I have been thinking about stuff it comes to me that that is how this janitor from the hospital got the great idea to make me into a Playboy Bunny model. Yes? No?

I remember getting a role in the new Star Trek series on production in California. I was to be the romantic lead opposite the star William Shatner. They did not have a lot of money so they would use one model to play opposite him. I was poor with a broken face. He was going to have a lot of energy. So, he would work to heal my face. As the face would heal it would go through distinct stages. At each stage, I would become another female romantic lead to play opposite the star. My memories are unsure. I remember he chose me for the part because Mr. Shatner was smaller than the rest of the people there: it was a height thing. I was about his size.

I also remember the film crew dressing me in a little tiny leopard skin outfit. I was to imitate a jungle warrior, and it was like a cat print bathing suit. They were filming me to make some publicity material for the series and the photographer told me to go onto the street somewhere on Sunset Strip in Hollywood and menace cars with my spear. I remember that.

What I do not remember is my parents or any of the neighbours standing up for me. I remember living in a very repressive household in which sex was taboo, so all this sexy stuff was extremely difficult for me to manage. It was incredibly wrong.

Another thing is that obviously, we were quite poor. So, what I do not completely understand is why my mother stopped me from learning about any kind of housework at all. Why did this little family unit forbid me to do that? Society has both forbidden and condemned this lack for my whole life, I have extraordinarily little ability (and now I am old) to cook or clean. In fact, much of the insanity I have had has to do with starvation and a bad living environment. Even now as I write fortune bids me to find a new place. For many years I have lived in my present home and for many years they did not permit me to even prepare an alternative meal. In other words, once more the authorities forbid cooking. Now that I must leave, I am wondering what is going to happen: Am I expected to gather food anyway I can and live that way? I still do not cook, and I still do not clean very well. I know that you are supposed to do this. And I have experienced living by myself and not being too able to do this. And there has been extraordinarily little support to help me learn how to do this all my life. And yet society has punished me for this lack. I wonder what is going to happen now.

 

Can You Take Meals On Wheels

The most vivid memory I have of leaving the proverbial nest was a feeling of excruciating pain.  I was not the one, who bright-eyed and radiant, left her parent's home to pursue a brilliant and happy university term. Instead, solemn despair was my companion.  And after university, I found myself jobless. These factors motivated me to do two things: the free time I had let me indulge in the flourishing high art scene of my city.  My father had one way of thinking: either you work or you volunteer.  So I spent some hours each week volunteering for different charities.  I suppose it was obvious I was in a considerable amount of emotional upset so I was given many assignments to deal with women in an unfortunate state of poverty.  The choice of volunteering I was assigned to was also influenced by my own personal poverty which was considerable at the time.  for this reason, I got to visit and help many women in extremely poor dwellings.

there were a variety of reasons that such women found themselves unable to cook.  For this reason, an organization around the city, called Meals on Wheels, provided, for a small sum, hot meals for lunchtime. I would arrive at the assigned house, almost always to take the lady or gentlemen to a hospital appointment, and sometimes would find the meal for the day on the counter. or half-eaten on the kitchen table. Sometimes, we would be preparing for the appointment and the doorbell would ring.  At the door would be an often, poorly clad, but cheery young person, with a large red box. She or he would open the box and bring out the various kinds of food for my client (to eat after our appointment).  Often the delivery person arrived on a bicycle, even in the winter.  She or he would wear a uniform that to me, was quite radical.  Bicycle shorts over leggings with sneakers.  At the time very few people wore that type of clothing except for the few daring cyclists who broke with tradition and rode their bicycles all through the snow-driven winter.

The thing that I remember most was the real, gut-wrenching poverty of the situation.  My client, confused or ill, still wearing their humble morning clothes.  The dusty and dark appearance of the apartments.  The fact that their food arrived in humble aluminum containers added to the effect.  It seemed to me that only the very poor would have the unfortunate but lucky opportunity to be able to purchase their one solid meal from Meals on Wheels.

As I fast forward many years into my life and to the present days, it has come to be that I too was offered the opportunity to benefit from the Meals on Wheels.  Duly, I called them up and asked for prices.  I was relieved to find that I could indeed benefit from their service.  However, I had been in a residence for women for many years that did not permit me to cook my own meals.  Now that it is time for me to find another home, I find myself in the rather unexpected position of being too poor to qualify for meals on wheels.  Why? Well, to occupy me and keep the old moral up I have been working on my own company.  I have now, as has been suggested, created a fairly large bank of artwork to sell. therefore I am looking for a space in which I can continue my business.  And the places I have found after a rather lengthy search to date, all demand that you must purchase a fridge and a stove.  

My brother has suggested starting purchasing things like furniture and fridge, a little at a time to release the financial burden.  But if you do not have a fridge or a stove, then you cannot take advantage of Meals on Wheels.  So I am too poor to qualify for Meals on Wheels.  Life deals you some unusual cards sometimes.