women

Word Girl Meets Visual World – Finale

A person who forgoes the use of his symbolic skills is never really free.
Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience, 1990

For my final attempt to fulfill the “Winter Silence” challenge, I decided to return to a medium and technique with which I was already familiar – bead applique.  Now, if you have difficulty imagining me sitting, quietly, for hours on end wielding a needle and thread, you’re probably not alone.  But you’ve probably never seen me around beads.  “Winter Silence” took many hours, and in the week leading up to Art Day I beaded until my fingers bled (from sticking myself with the beading needle when I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open).

Winter Silence: Third and final piece

While the photos don’t fully capture the final piece (which is framed, making it difficult for a novice like me to photograph), I loved the final product.  Why?  First, because it conveyed the theme without words.  Second, because it does so without being directly representational.  Third, because I envisioned this scene in my mind and the end result is not too different from the original conception.

Imagine show and tell on the second Art Day…each person unveiling their attempt(s) to create something within specific parameters, using a specific set of objects.  Each person brought completely different projects to the table. Stephanie’s son commented that hers looked less like “Winter Silence” than like “Winter Slaps You in the Face”, but I loved seeing them all individually, and their diversity as a set.

We have now had five Art Days.  Each day, each project, has been different.  Each of us is developing a small collection of challenge pieces.  One Art Day was devoted entirely to stained glass projects, Paula’s forte.  The most recent saw us all arrive with so many supplies that they took multiple trips from car to house to get everything into the work room.  We still laugh a lot, and talk, but there is a lot more actual work getting done, too.

So, why have I taken three posts to share the story of Art Day and my recent efforts to explore a more visual form of expression?  On one level, it is a way of honoring the experience and the wonderful women with whom I have shared it.  On another level, though, I want to share an experience I am growing from.  Like many people, I suspect, I am reluctant to try new things unless there is a certain level of success guaranteed. I avoid situations in which I feel or look foolish.  Which, for most of us, is what happens when we try something we’ve never really done before.

Art Day has helped me keep at it, learn how to play without undue emphasis on the end result, to compare and contrast my work with someone else’s without a need for ranking the results. I am learning to communicate in actual images rather than verbal imagery. And the sheer fun and concentrated effort required to create is truly a joyful discovery.  Art, and as Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi says in Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience, a joyful life “is an individual creation that cannot be copied from a recipe.”  In other words, living life is an art: our time, energy, activity and emotion are the media we have to work with. And in order to live fully, we have to stop waiting for only those things we can do perfectly from the start.  Risking being an amateur or a failure or a fool…that’s how we work our way through to the joy.

The Question

Have you ever had one of those minor interactions with someone that was truly not intended to be more than a brief conversation or comment but which, unbeknownst to that individual, sent shock waves through you or made you reevaluate yourself?  I had one such moment a few days ago.  I was one of the committee members hosting a reception at work.  Many of those present had noted, and commented on, the fact that our male colleagues had congregated at one table while our female colleagues gathered at another.  As the event was winding down, I happened to be seated at the table with women, and a faculty friend said, “I suppose I should wander over to the other side.”  I responded that, as usual, I began the event at the table with the men.  My friend asked me what I meant, so I said that, in social situations, I typically begin by joining the predominantly male group.  And then she asked me the question which has been tickling the back of my mind ever since, “Why? Don’t you like women?”

I was nonplussed by the question, but I took it as I believe it was intended: a quick, curiosity-provoked question from one friend (who happens to have a research interest in female friendships) to another (who happens to occasionally make sweeping and broad generalizations).  And my quick answer was, “Of course! I love women!”

In the intervening days, I have caught my mind wandering back to the question, as well as to my initial comment that I find it easier to join groups of men in social settings.  Why is that?  And what does it say about me?  Do I have an underlying issue with women?  Have I bought into the cultural bias that women are just grown up mean girls?  When did I start talking about “mean girls” as if I actually accept this concept?

Here’s what I’ve decided about those questions.  First, I gravitate toward groups of men because their conversations are generally easy to enter into, especially if I don’t know the individuals in the group.  They are talking about things, about stuff they do, about events that have recently taken place.  They are not talking about their feelings, or wondering what someone meant when they said, “Don’t you like women?”  I am not saying that men don’t do these things.  They just don’t usually do them aloud at work receptions.  It is easy to sit on the outskirts of these discussions, occasionally ask a question, or find a moment to tell about the time you tried whatever activity is the subject.

In similar situations, groups of women speak differently — especially in groups where the women are already acquainted with one another.  At this particular event, both groups were speaking about their research interests.  The men discussed topics, instruments, research methods.  The women did, as well, but their conversation was also shot through with comments about how and why this particular research was meaningful to them.  They discussed the circumstances which made finding time for research difficult, or what resonated with them about someone else’s topic.  Very different conversations — each interesting, each meaningful, equally valid.  I just need a little time to warm up to the more self-revelatory discussions.

As you know if you are a reader of this blog, I have written about the wonderful gifts that my male friends and family members bring to my life, the incredible lessons I have learned by observing and interacting with them.  However, today, I am thinking about the amazing women in my life who perform death-defying or life-affirming acts with incredible grace:

  • My mother, who gave birth to 6 kids in 9 years and gave us her undivided attention for two decades.
  • My sister Chris, who nursed her husband, Dave, through stage IV cancer in the 90s, and has fought her own breast cancer in the 2000s.
  • My friend Wendy, emergency room nurse extraordinaire, whose husband says he loves that she sees things she wants to change in herself – and then she changes them (unlike most of us who just talk about changing).
  • My friend Sue who calls her knee replacement surgery and the enforced time off work this summer the “best vacation of her life”.
  • Tricia, who channels her grief from the loss of her son, Nate, into loving work with the SIDS Foundation and as a peer partner for families experiencing the sudden death of a child.
  • Carol, who met and fell in love with Zul, a Malaysian man, in Dubuque, Iowa in the 80s.  Dubuque didn’t get it, but Carol married him anyway.  And a couple of years ago, they adopted the lovely and vivacious Rumela, whom Carol met in an orphanage in India.

These are just a few of the women who inspire me — I could write whole articles about each.  Others, too, or about my sisters Anne and Gwen who make me want to choose courageous paths in my own life.  As I reflect on the question that sparked this reverie, I believe it is good for me to be shocked out of my comfortable perceptions sometimes, and I thank my friend and colleague for giving me reason to pause and reflect.  Perhaps what I’ve written reveals a sexist bias on my part, perhaps it shows that I believe there are culturally ingrained and/or deeply embedded gender differences.  I feel fairly certain, though, that it also reveals that I do, in fact, like women.  More than that, I celebrate their presence in my life.

Hear Us Roar!

Saturday night in July, Cedar Rapids, Iowa.  My friends Molly and Sarah and I sitting in section F, halfway up.  The ice arena floor, bare cement with huge florescent pink ovals taped to it.  Women in skimpy clothes, bearing names like Krash, Toxic Angel, and (my personal favorite) Amelia No-Heart, roller skating in circles occasionally elbowing or pushing another skater to the floor.  Yep, the Cedar Rapids Pink Ladies Roller Derby was in town.

At first, we had no idea what was happening on the floor.  But we eventually caught on, and enjoyed learning the strategy and seeing the display of sheer chutzpa.  Molly hoped for harder hits, while Sarah thought about what her Roller Derby moniker might be:  Sarah Lee POUNDcake or Sarah Lee CupCRUSHER?  I was in awe — these women were displaying part athleticism, part showmanship.  And all of them were just putting themselves completely out there.  All body types, no holding back.  (OK, maybe a little holding back — it was an exhibition and they were competing against their own teammates).

In the spirit of the roller girls, I want to talk about power and strength.  Mental and emotional toughness.  Whether and how any of those concepts apply to me!

A Roller Derby Newbie’s Guide to Girl Power

  • Don’t be afraid to let them see you sweat. Its true, powerful women sweat, sometimes profusely.  After riding my bike just over 24 miles the other night, I had a crust of dried salt crystals on my forehead.  Every thread of my clothes was soaked.  My hair was a frightening combination of styles:  Moe from the 3 Stooges (on top where my helmet plastered it to my head) and Medusa (out of control curls with a life of their own where the breeze could reach it).  From now on, I will wear the Moe-dusa proudly.
  • Your body is what it is. Revel in it anyway.  When I mentioned that the roller girls were every body type, I meant it — and every type was dressed in tight, skimpy clothing.  They were an inspiration to me as I struggle with the vicissitudes of significant weight loss.  I don’t know how heavy I was at my heaviest, but the highest reading I saw on a scale was 352 pounds.  The effects on my body of that excess are visible, and I can obsess about them…or not.  Every day I need to choose; and I intend to choose a roller girl attitude!
  • If you want it, fight for it. Ok, this is one that the roller derby expresses in a very physical manner.  They push and elbow and trip and generally knock each other around.  In my life, this is more likely to be expressed in fighting for the discipline, the planning, the effort to achieve the goals I want to reach.  Creating a life that is happy and satisfying can be a joyful endeavor at the soul-level, but it is also hard work.
  • When you get knocked down, pick yourself back up. Notice, I didn’t say “if you get knocked down”.  Because you will, we all do.  People let us down, we let ourselves down, the economy tanks, forces beyond our control refuse to do what we prefer.  I can lay on the ground like a bug flipped on its back, flailing my arms and crying “woe is me”  (and Lord knows I have).  But I don’t want to waste any more time on that.
  • If it hurts, skate it off. I watched several women hit the floor in ways that looked incredibly painful.  There were a few pileups as well.  Each time, they stood up, skated around testing out their limbs, then went back to the game.  I’ve been practicing this physically with my knees — I’ve decided that living an active life means that sometimes my body hurts.  Emotionally, I’ve been practicing this too.  After holding on to hurts or insecurities for years, I’m working on letting them go.  Sometimes, this takes the form of forgiveness and reconciliation, others it is more simply choosing not to invest energy there anymore.  I choose healing over festering.

I’m sure there are other items I could add to the guide above.  I must say, I am looking forward to seeing an actual competitive match.  One other thing about attending the roller derby:  it reminded me how much I’ve always loved to skate.  Anyone care to join me at the local rink for the free skate?


What We Desire Travels With Us

I have been thinking about this line from a Denise Levertov poem all week:  what we desire travels with us.  This is true, I think, across distances, across time, across differing levels of maturity or growth.

When I was a teenager, I spent one evening hanging out at the home of my best friend’s mother’s best friend.  Four women, two teens and two in their 50s, bonding over canned peppers (we tasted mild, hot, and fiery) and the ways we experienced our gender.  I’ve never forgotten that night, and I still desire time with my women friends, times of support and solidarity and sisterhood.

Last weekend, my cousin visited and when we got up on Sunday morning, we talked and laughed over a pot of coffee.  Some of my favorite moments have been these unremarkable early morning coffee-klatches with family or friends.  I love a solitary and reflective cup of coffee at the local coffee shop, but I still desire the unguarded and open moments of sharing before beginning the day’s tasks.

My friend Sue is a talented basket weaver and jewelry maker.  “I just want someone to do this with me,” she regularly laments, explaining why she hasn’t created anything lately.  I totally understand her dilemma, because my whole life I have desired the same — companions nearby who share my interests and schedule, who will just be physically present with me while we do our things.

There are transient desires in my life as well…sometimes I think I need this thing or that gadget.  Good Will has benefitted greatly from the purchases made while experiencing these impulses (a brown down coat that made me resemble a human-sized turd; the “Twilight” book series; a host of neon-colored plastic baubles).  But the lasting desires remain steady, even if the surface details change.  An endless summer day that winds down to a magical moonlit night is timeless, though the activities it contains may vary over the years.  The love of dear people who know us intimately is deeply desired, though each relationship takes on its own unique character.

Like the nautilus, that lovely “living fossil”, we carry our homes with us — though theirs is literal and ours is a figurative home.  As the nautilus shell curves inward, into ever smaller chambers, so do our desires:  as we strip away the outer details, we find ever smaller kernels of desire for which our hearts truly long.  And these desires are the companions of our lifes journeys, whether we acknowledge them or not.  What I am learning, on my journey, is that it is acknowledging what we desire, without judging ourselves or our worthiness, that brings us closest to satisfying our heart’s deepest wishes.