Possibilities

 So the day began with another tussle with the great minds run amok at YouTube, followed by irritating Facebook trying to get in on the action with annoying text notifications (how in the world did they get my phone number and how do I delete it?!). I did have some reflection on some of the ex-boyfriends in my life, and how, with some of them, I’m glad they are solidly in the past. Others, I occasionally wonder how they are doing, and how my life might have turned out differently if they came through with their purported promises to marry me. But my fate lay with Michael, my palms predicted it anyways (my palm lines show an “M” on each hand). 

I had an interesting discussion with Fetter yesterday, where he suggested I consider, down the line, approaching a gallery in the Short North about possibly showing some of my artworks. Only one gallery seems the appropriate place for my works to be displayed: the Lindsay Gallery, home to folk and outsider art, located just south of the intersection of Third and High streets. It’s a small little place but I used to visit it often when I was with Andi working with the Roy G Biv Gallery in the late 90s (or was it early 2000s?). Back in those days the Lindsay Gallery was in a different location, on a corner, I can’t remember exactly where. Regardless, perhaps I can get up the nerve to approach the gallery owner? Fetter suggested I give them the link to my podcast interview as an “introduction” to what I am all about, then I was thinking maybe I take “Manic Quilt” to show them to peak their interest? We shall see.

I’m still going to have my own little show here in May at the house, with Michael serving as my Theo, setting prices for each piece and collecting the cash in his mitts (LOL). I’ll have old and new pieces on display, and I want Michael to set up the speaker system outside and select some Apple playlist to play tunes for visitors. Perhaps I’ll have cookies and lemonade as well. Oh, what fun we could have!

Yes, perhaps I’ll get mom to come with me for a look-see at what the Lindsay Gallery is currently showing…wouldn’t hurt to just go in and walk around, let mom get into some discussion with a random stranger about what’s on her mind. And we are also going to go to the John Glenn airport to grab a coffee and take a seat, watch people hurrying to their destinations, maybe chat with somebody there too. I want to go to the Greyhound bus station to people-watch, but mom says that’s too dangerous. Harumph, I may just go anyways?

Well it’s just another Gray Lady Day in January, we are though planning to go out to dinner at a local Chinese place, Bendi. I hope they have dumplings on the menu, my favorite! Here’s looking at you, kid, and all that jazz. Have a great day!

Where The Streets Have No Name

 So I’m remembering, oh back 15 or more years ago, when I was out of my mind driving along Morse Road towards Hamilton. I passed this street called “Leather Stocking Road” or maybe it was an Avenue? Not sure…then there was also that time I was tripping the light fantastic, driving in that black rental car from an Enterprise Car Rental that used to be on E. Broad, and I parked it on the near Westside on what I’m convinced was Price Street—though I could be mistaken, who knows with all the developers razing property on the West side (didn’t Huntington Bank get the first crack at that land over 20 years ago?). Anyways, to try and suss out the proper names of these Columbus (and vicinity, of course!) streets, I have begun a little hunt by ordering my first of a series of old, trusty Rand-McNally maps. (Note to self: Did the Nashville Predators, with Soros in net, defeat the Toronto Maple Leafs last night?) My first 2002 map is due next week; I’ll also be on the lookout for 2016. Rand-McNally, like Google Maps, is known to make errors…thank goodness some of my memory is still intact though. I mean, streets like Cherry Bottom off of Morse have no sign at all!

I’ve been trying my darndest lately to be low key, but the strange things keep happening…Michael is alternating between watching Sid Vicious and movies about Jeffrey Dahmer; Arlene Sheak is now on Facebook (and I thought she was worried about safety?!) and trying to friend me; Mom wants to see a Christian Rock Band at Whitehall High School on Yearling Road. I guess I’m gonna trust my instincts (for now) and stick with mom on all this—though I’m reserving the right to walk out of the school (Lord knows I snuck out of high school more than once!).

A trip to Columbus Metropolitan Library may soon be on my agenda. My Ida Tarbell book on Standard Oil has arrived from the Worthington branch and I need to pick it up. And the library also has those wonderful, err, protected, non-circulating books which I hope include the old photographs from the Ohio Citizen Journal and Columbus Dispatch, and yes, yes, the Columbus Messenger (or was it Columbus Post?). I’m hoping too they have some old street maps as well…what a treasure trove to explore (unless some strict librarian has hidden away in some locked box the meatiest morsels of all?). 

Although I did have an extremely productive day yesterday, laying out my first two pieces in this new series of artworks, the first, an Ode to Andi, the second some rather forced commentary on the English royal family, what I am most proud about yesterday is giving my last $1 bill in my wallet to the black gentleman at the intersection of E. Broad Street and James Rd. collecting monies for the New Life Church. Was not lost on me that I was only one of very, very few trusting enough to roll down their car windows to give—but what with the wretched media scaring everyone yesterday morning about dastardly new strains of illness infecting everyone, who’s surprised no one wants to trust anyone else? I took a risk, didn’t think twice about it. Kinda reminded me of my days as a cub reporter, eager to find the news back in Madison County (but sigh, guess I wasn’t that good. The Associated Press only gave me Second Place).

Have a good day, dear reader(s). Remember, Give If You Can!

Exploding on the Scene?

 Well, so. This morning did not quite start off the way I imagined, what with GI tract challenges (and another shower!), the hounds howling while I was bathing and Michael, naked, screaming down the stairs at them. Goodness, what a racket so early in the a.m.! I’m thinking of all those turn of the century Rockefeller oil rigs in Long Beach, California—a familiar picture of which I finally saw yesterday when I opened that old, most familiar book of mom’s from my childhood called, “America’s Yesterdays.” That book was pivotal in my childhood, I would spend hours looking at all those Library of Congress photographs and reading the text accompanying them. I’m fairly certain I memorized the text, my photographic memory was taking root and I delighted in what I saw (though a few photos were somewhat powerful and should be appreciated with caution). 

I am happy to report I had an excellent night’s sleep, and I did not have any troubling dreams (at least that I can remember). It’s gray outside today but I don’t find that bothersome. I’m wondering if I should try and jazz this blog up by adding photos or some kind of far out graphics, but no, I’m not so sure I want to mar the perfection of just text on the white page. There is something about black and white complimented by only primary colors that intrigues me so. I am definitely put off by that pink and purple Apple unicorn emoji—who cooked that creature up? Yikes.

So I had my meeting with AA sponsor Shawn yesterday and he directed me towards a prayer App (yes, those do exist) called, “Pray As You Go.” I am hesitantly going to give it a try—I figure, why not, perhaps this can help ease my troubled mind and seeing as I cannot seem to find a church here yet not meddling in politics, I will utilize my trusty red iPhone to guide me towards Enlightenment. Shawn and I also had a very telling conversation about insurance, with him switching from All State (which was charging too much money) and us sealing a good deal with good ‘ole Pro-gressive. And then we discussed dishonesty, something all of us struggle with and I argued will never overcome. “Practice not perfection,” he reminded me. Hooray.

I’m not sure what I will do today, but seeing as I’m freshly bathed, I’m definitely presentable to the world. I’m thinking maybe a jaunt out to mom’s or maybe to Walgreen’s to get some of these photos on my iPhone printed off so I can begin preparing some new collages? Or do I go to Blue Key print shop to get the Boomer/Nash photo copied? Maybe do all of these tasks? Of course walk the hounds. There’s some rain in the forecast but it’s stopping soon. I do so want to laugh today…I mean when your day starts off with bowel problems, can you understand how one might hope for a sunnier day? Yes, indeed.

Ok that’s it for now, gotta have my coffee and call mom. I wonder if she remembers “America’s Yesterdays.” Something tells me she does!

From the Sleep of Dreams (or Whatever It’s Called)

 So alas, dear reader(s), I’m up at 4:00 a.m. again, to the train horn, and I’m sitting here feeling most restless, irritable and discontent about the early wake up. So let me do something I promised I would do last night, which is start the morning off with a prayer.

***

With the pulsatile tinnitus ringing in my ears, I begged for help to turn things over, let Thy Will Not Mine Be Done, and perhaps something new and magical can happen today. I’m so very tired but perhaps I was meant to wake up early today—after all I was having a mighty bizarre dream about eating a large, cold sausage and cream cheese meatball and it didn’t taste good so I was trying to find a microwave in the shop where I bought it…Chip was with me, we were throwing a party and buying soda and beer cases. No wonder I woke up, I know buying alcohol isn’t wise for me. I’m amazed I can even remember this snippet of my dream, as normally I have no recollection of my dreams at all.

I must remember not to call mom all cranky and irritated this morning. It just worries her, then she doesn’t sleep well and that, in turn, worries me. I’m trying to not be so dependent on her, it’s just hard. I get scared and confused and I want her gentle nurturing—but let’s face it, mom isn’t the gentlest creature around, so I probably should be either looking to myself or searching for someone/something else for gentleness. I know my Higher Power is not something I would initially describe as “gentle” but perhaps I need to see my HP in a new light.

Heading off on a tangent, I know I didn’t start experiencing this strange form of tinnitus until around the time I got the Covid vaccine…I did some research and found there was a small group of people who got tinnitus they believed from the vaccine (though none with pulsatile tinnitus like me?). It’s weird, the pulsing just went away—it’s like that, it comes and goes and it drives me nuts. I had my ears examined, had an MRI, nothing was found. But the tinnitus is definitely here. 

So I’m probably going to have to switch gears today and really take it easy. I have a meeting with Shawn at noon but otherwise I can probably orchestrate a fairly low-key day. It’s cold in this house, I think temperatures have dropped again in Columbus. I did get in a fairly sour, frustrated mood yesterday when Michael continued to thwart my attempts to arrange a trip somewhere. Why does he refuse to take me anywhere, are we that broke? I know now how to log onto my IRS account to check our tax returns so I can see how much we are making a year, but honestly I’m frightened to know the truth. I think I got extremely close to the truth when in an, erm, “altered state” last October, I looked at my eyes close-up in the downstairs mirror and saw brown and green “Tiger eyes” staring back at me…I’ll never forget that.

Against better judgement, I tried a tentative log in yesterday back on Wastebook and it subsequently proved to be not for me. Yup, people making their liberal political statements inevitably found their way into my feed. I know now that I will most likely be unable to utilize Facebook for at least two years, maybe longer…crossing my fingers that NYT keeps the politics out of the food, though I know that’s a stretch for them. There’s always Food Network, but maybe they are on some mission too, who knows. Where do I belong, I have no idea. I guess it’s just time for me to put myself in my HP’s cupped palms and let him/her/it take me where I’m meant to go.

I know I’m going to be extremely tired today, so here’s to hoping Michael will be open to getting something for dinner. He appears to have lost his McDonald’s gift card, so I don’t know where the food will come from, as I’m fairly confident I’m in no shape to cook. I had been planning a Mushroom Bourguinon but that definitely seems too complicated now. Perhaps come dinner tonight I can muster some energy for some relatively easy NYT recipe? We shall see.

Speaking of NYT, I am working on an art piece marrying NYT Cooking, Warhol, my Marilyn Monroe yellow Dutch oven, and Green Eggs and Ham, Sam I Am. Stay tuned for something extremely provocative to come! I have no idea if anyone will be coming to my art show in May (frankly I have no idea if I can even figure out how to get photos printed from my iPhone) but I do so hope to have some visitors. It’s been far too long that I’ve been here alone, only with Michael and the hounds. Maybe the Puppet Master might make a covert appearance? Look for the owl in the magnolia tree photograph on my porch!

So at least I’m smiling now, having caught a bit of Adam Driver last night in some movie Michael had on while we were eating Samin Nosrat’s Buttermilk Brined Roast Chicken. I did whip up my special recipe of sautéed green beans and mushrooms with thyme and that complimented the chicken, taste-wise, nicely. Yes, I find I am now in very good spirits so perhaps I will check out the 7 a.m. First Things First AA meeting—or do I head directly to the news in my email box (isn’t that what everyone else does and isn’t that the problem)? But of course there is always the “Good News Bible” in my bookshelf (a book carrying a lot of prominence, though obscured by Michael’s painted skull). Note to self: Did Georgia win the championship last night? Probably.

Have a good day all.

Inspirations

 So mom and I met at the art gallery yesterday, so I could seek out Elijah Pierce and hopefully my key inspiration, William Hawkins. I was delighted to find some works from the Derby Fund, including a fabulous piece by Otis Kaye, “U.S. Musical Notes” (circa 1940-1944) and a compelling piece showing a yellow bedroom a la Vincent Van Gogh with prostitution and rats and Baby Jesus (artist unknown). We got in a very spirited discussion with some 20-something young males, replete with mom uttering “ejaculation” when she meant “projectile” (or did she?). I find myself wondering who the current director of the Columbus Museum of Art is—I shall have to contact my dear friend Lucy Ackley to find out what serpentine direction the museum is headed to, as I plan on visiting often in the years to come.

Although the museum was very crowded on Sunday, we managed to find a little bit of quasi-privacy when we finally found the Elijah’s—five of them, replete with things like his “eye” and political themes and persecution and spirituality. Alas, I could not spend any time analyzing the pieces, as mom was suddenly taken with fatigue and had to go to Derby Court to sit down. I was concerned, so I joined her and we shared some Altoids and Tic-Tacs. Then we went and had coffee in the cafe and browsed the gift shop. I found the magnets a little disappointing but egads there it was, a William Hawkins coffee mug with “Red Dog Running” on it (almost as prominent as the loud museum logo LOL). So I now have a “Hawkins of my Own” that hopefully will stay in one piece (no taking the hammer to that one!).

It’s cold today and gray but I got plenty of sleep and I feel well. I’ll be roasting a buttermilk chicken tonight, serving with mashed potatoes and green beans. Legs is demanding his walk this morning, so I need to bundle up and face the elements once again…it’s getting tricky navigating these alleys in search of my treasures—much like the art museum yesterday, I like to make my own way, not feel “guided” so much, rather, throw in some surprises!

I do feel comfortable in Columbus, and today I am definitely liking my shabby abode with my view here of the No Parking sign on the telephone pole and neighbor’s garage and other neighbor’s wood shed. Let’s also not forget Phil Kientz’s father’s house that someone will inevitably try to rook him out of at some ridiculously under-priced cost. Sit tight Phil! You have a jewel box—not to mention that black Firebird you have stored in the garage! 

OK, up I go to get dressed for the day. It’s just another Monday, here in my corner of the world, and I’m seeing possibilities. Ready, Set, Go!

Good Morning Sunshine

 So I awoke this morning early, oh, sometime after 4:00 a.m., and I do get slightly worried because I was up late last night. But I know from experience when I have been slightly off emotionally it can temporarily interrupt my normal sleeping habits, so given yesterday’s troubles I’m not surprised I’m a little under-rested. I just checked the weather report and the sun is supposed to come out today so that should help a little to lift my spirits. I have tentative plans to go to mom’s house today and work on some art—I’m eager to get started on some things and I need to go to Walgreen’s and begin printing off some photos from my trusty red iPhone.

I did start this morning with some readings from Hazelden, which are comforting to me (even though I completely forget what I have read after reading it). I find I do have cognitive impairment still (thanks Risperdal) although I am able to write again after years of an extremely frustrating writer’s block. I’m tempted to just regurgitate all my frustrations with being bipolar on a canvas, but no, I’m far more interested in doing something uplifting and whimsical, something thought-provoking and powerful. Yes, yes I know to always strive to be humble, but something just propels me to try and make a big splash. 

God bless mom, she did spend a good deal of time talking to me last night, calming me down, making me chuckle, helping me to see possibilities with decorating the bedroom upstairs so it is more welcoming. She suggested I name the room “My Choice” and I really like that—I may have a sign made at Amazon to hang over the door. I already have some interesting things on the wall and I should probably go up to the attic and bring down the Daniel Work paintings I purchased years ago. Maybe I just calm down about moving and work on this house a bit and make myself comfortable in my surroundings. Fetter said it was best we just stay here for awhile, not sell, as getting your hands on cash leads to just spending it (though I must say I did enjoy our splurge at Easton yesterday immensely!).

Speaking of things bought yesterday, Michael found the absolute perfect recliner to replace his banged up old black one, and we got a fabulous deal on it because some wise Asian woman told me I could get savings if I opened a Macy’s account back up. I was at first hesitant to get a Macy’s card again, but I do so love that store! I also got some make up from a wonderful woman at the MAC counter at Nordstrom who showed me how to properly apply eyebrow liner and blush. And I got two pairs of boots from DSW, so it was Merry Christmas for us, just a few weeks later!

Sure, I’ve still got my worries but I’m feeling a little calmer today. I think if I can work to control the stimuli around me, I’ll be ok. The Hazelden readings touched on letting go of control, handing things over to the Higher Power, and I agree with that to some extent. However, having bipolar disorder, I do have to exert a little bit of effort to limit things that get me over-stimulated. I’m doing OK with music right now, just need to watch the volume a little bit. Not so sure about TV. We will see how I do today. I have the bedroom to go up to if it’s a problem. 

I’m looking around here and seeing many possibilities for future art projects…just spied the picture of Boomer next to esteemed Blue Jacket Rick Nash that Glenna made for me, and oh, how tempted I am to use that in a piece! But Michael could get so upset if I removed it. Is there anywhere in Columbus where I can get a copy of a photo in a frame? Better ask Phil Adams, trusty local photographer what he knows. I’m thinking of endless possibilities if I can combine the photo with found objects…hmmmm. Where’s my copy of “The Safety of Objects” by A.J. Holmes?

Well I’m sure I’ll be tired this evening and not want to cook dinner, but I’m thinking easy clams in red sauce with linguini and a salad. I did look at myself in a mirror yesterday and was NOT pleased with what I saw and feel oh so tempted to throw myself back on that radical keto diet again. But no, I just cannot do that, Dr. Larrimer said as much. So maybe I just move into acceptance of this Rubenesque body of mine, stop fighting it, eat within reason, keep up the walks, just do what I can. It’s just I was so ashamed when I was upstairs at Nordstrom and had to be told they no longer have plus sizes in the store—I felt like I didn’t deserve nice, sexy clothes, those were reserved for size 0. But Macy’s did have some suggestive, cute things for me, so I bought those. Perhaps to wear to the Jazz show in March?

OK well that’s it for now. Glad to be writing again and definitely open to the possibility of today being a good day. To the alleys I go!

Some Reflections on Recovery

 So Michael and I have returned from shopping and although I had a wonderful time at the stores, I found I got tired after a couple of hours and now my tummy is upset I’m guessing from the milk in the Starbucks coffee…it’s really, really strange, suddenly I’m having all these digestive problems from suspected dairy products, something I have no allergies to and for the record, I have always had a cast iron stomach that can handle anything. So I’m suspicious, naturally, and wondering if I need to go back to only black coffee and perhaps pay doctors out of my limited checking account to run tests on some mysterious new dairy intolerance?

But I’ll try to forget about that for awhile, and instead focus on what I’m realizing right now: my recovery from my mysterious “episode” last October/November is apparently going to take much longer than I ever expected…I’m at a point now where I can barely tolerate any televised news or news on the radio; and exposure to ads has been getting questionable too. I’m not sure if I can watch movies without trying to suss out Hollywood’s agenda…why is all this strange stuff happening to me? It’s as if I’m on the exact same trajectory I was on in 2016-2017 (sick in October 2016 and hospitalized; sick in January 2017 and hospitalized; sick in April 2017 and hospitalized; finally stable around July 2017). I’m convinced my meds are correct and I’m totally sane; I’m not using any alcohol, weed, or other mood-altering drugs. What is wrong with me?! I guess I just feel in my bones this great imbalance in the world and I’m trying everything I can to stay afloat in this sea of chaos. 

I’ve now had to leave the den so I’m not around the television at all, something I’ve never had to do before. I’m wondering if it was just too much for me to be at Easton? Probably most definitely, I think I was exposed to all those stores, merchandise, people, it just wore me out, I could barely walk at the end of the day, desperate for that Starbucks coffee to quench my thirst and give me a much-needed lift. Dear Michael, he may appear cheap and gruff, but he spoiled me today and he’s doing what he can to make me comfortable and hopefully recover soon. He’s even ordering Indian Oven for dinner tonight (after a lunch out at Mercury Diner!) and I feel so fortunate and blessed.

I guess deep down I’m scared that I will really get sick again and be forced back in the hospital. But I think Dr. Levy knows what he’s doing and will have matters very much in hand to prevent that. I know now that it takes a few days for the Risperdal increase to take effect, if I can just hold on and not panic and get myself some place with absolutely no stimulation I can weather the storm until I get stable. If that means getting myself to a bedroom at mom’s or even here with earphones on listening to ocean noise then I’ll do that. I’m not at that point right now, but certainly I learned today that although I had been thinking I was recovered I’m definitely not.

I’m subsequently frustrated and wondering how long this road to recovery will last…I know that when you are in the hospital they keep you on 4 mg. Risperdal (my current dosage) so perhaps it’s as if I’m still in the hospital (even though I got out around November 11). I guess tonight I’m going to take it easy—I did just have some creamy Chicken Korma and a lassi and my stomach doesn’t feel upset so maybe I don’t have a dairy problem after all?

I am feeling somewhat guilty that I’m upstairs apart from Michael, but he wants to watch that TV news and I just can’t tolerate it. More fear factor being pedaled, making all of us frightened and after what I went through last Fall I just can’t be around it. Sweet Michael, he just popped in the bedroom and hugged me. That silly man with the long gray-white hair and Air Jordan’s. Lol. Whoops, I’m feeling something working it’s way through my intestines…sweet Jesus, is this the Kroger heavy whipping cream I used in the Fettuccine Alfredo last night? I just don’t know what’s going on with my GI tract, this is all inexplicable to me…

So let me segway a bit and talk about trauma. I know going through psychosis is traumatic, not necessarily for me during psychosis (as I was manically high and feeling grandiose), but afterwards, when you get flashbacks to the psychosis that come at unplanned times. I think this is why I may never be able to tolerate watching football again, because the TV stations insist on replaying over and over again the unforeseen injuries (and in slo-mo!), it’s just reliving the trauma over and over again. Why do they do this?! And I’m realizing that over-stimulation right now for me (like highway driving and to a milder extent, being at a big shopping center) is kinda trauma-lite right now. So I’m feeling majorly, majorly sensitive right now and subsequently put myself in this near quiet bedroom in an attempt to gather my wits. (Solitary confinement,  anyone?)

Both Dr. Levy and Richard Fetter have told me I now have a severe fear phobia and it is going to take months to recover. I blame the news, Facebook, YouTube, Twitter, throwing myself into ketosis, political strife, and I’ll even throw in Kanye West because Michael got obsessed with him and got thrown off the rails himself. You know I want retribution (perhaps restitution) but You Can’t Always Get What You Want so here I find myself, under bedcovers, fully dressed, wondering how long it’s gonna take before I feel normal again. Sigh.

I’m starting to come to a chilling realization that what if I can no longer watch or read news again? I’m praying it doesn’t come to that, but unless they institute some major changes I’m not quite sure how I can handle it. Sure, I can use mom and Michael as my sources if I don’t want to be totally in the dark. Dammit, I just want to get back to a position where I can listen to/read it safely! I want to be normal! But when right there in blazing headline on ABC Nightly News is the lead story of how a kindergarten kid shot his teacher, how in the hell am I supposed to get better being exposed to this sick stuff? Who’s weaponizing here, the kid or ABC—who runs that news program, what right do they have upsetting all these viewers tuning in during the dinner hour? Gee, could it be ABC is in bed with the Democrats, who want stricter gun legislation, and also sleeping with the teachers’ unions? Yes, I’m sick of it all.

How many months do I have to spend hiding up in this messy bedroom, unable to tolerate the TV, increasingly unable to tolerate noise? Perhaps this is just a bad day, I tried to test the waters with Easton, but as I always knew, that place just isn’t for me maybe. Who knows. We’ve always got, “There’s Always Tomorrow For Dreams To Come True” so I’ll remember that. Thanks for reading, whoever you are. Probably just me and that’s ok. Sweet dreams, pass the chocolate.