Well, the rain has returned. We had a nice little stretch of sunny spring goodness, so much so that the dandelions and all manner of other wild flora are blooming with abandon. I shouldn’t lament, but I will anyway, though I am now equipped with some rockin’ gum boots and a red hooded spring rain jacket that I managed to blow the two top buttons off of in less than a week. How’s that for superhero protuberances? Guess sewing is on the chore roster this weekend.
Speaking of superheroes… last weekend was the Vancouver FanExpo, this city’s version of Comicon wonderment, which I had the pleasure of attending.
It was (obviously) smaller than the (’08) San Diego Comicon, which is the only other con of this sort that I’ve ever attended, but it did the trick. I was slightly disappointed for the lack of representation from comic publishing outfits (of which there were only two: Arcana – a Canadian outfit, and Aspen), but the fans were out in great number, and they dressed for the occasion. Maybe next year I will too. (Or not.) But seriously… where was Drawn & Quarterly and any number of the big players who must *surely* have enough cashflow to throw some of it towards a booth to connect with the Vancouver fan base?
I found plenty of places to throw *my* money at, as there were many retailers selling books of all kinds of the comic variety, and the artists in the Artists’ Alley (like Diagon Alley, only different) had some pretty sweet art prints for sale. I made acquaintance with some new (and local) artists whose work I wasn’t familiar with, and picked up some small print zine-type stuff which I always love to find but can’t seem to outside of these sorts of venues (or at Meltdown Comics on Sunset, which is no longer just a hop in the car and a drive up the 405). I was also one of the few people going around with a sketchbook and asking for (free) sketches from artists. It’s not that I was being cheap (because I’m not) and I pretty much picked up something from each of them, in the way of comic books or graphic novels or art prints.
On Saturday I had the privilege of attending a Q&A panel with James Marsters and Juliet Landau (find them on YouTube), both of whom were lively and disarmingly engaged with the audience. I’ve never been to an unmoderated Q&A before, so that was interesting and quite delightful. The questioners (mostly) behaved. The lovely Juliet complained of allergies and puffy eye issues, so had on these awesome little sunglasses, and James was trim and dressed all in black looking very yummy. As Dru would say… “rrrrrr-uff!”
And finally, after sharing my newly acquired Process Recess volume 3 (which was one of my new acquisitions obtained at the con) with a gal sitting across from me during my ride home on the Westcoast Express a couple of days ago, come to find out that she is one of the mobile app designers at POF (Plenty of Fish) and we had a rousing conversation about all things art and online dating. She encouraged me not to give up on the process, which I had pretty much determined wasn’t working for me. In light of that conversation I asked a (male) friend of mine to write a profile narrative as if he were me – maybe I’m just not going about it the right way. Let’s see if it’s any better than what I’ve been able to come up with. I guess perhaps removing my Blowjob Princess award I received on one of those silly OKC (OK Cupid) tests from my profile was a good place to start.
I’m tired tonight. Bone tired, despite resting for most of the weekend. Despite the appearance of the sun yesterday and today, and absorbing same like a sponge during forays outdoors over the weekend and at lunch time today.
This is a tiredness of the soul, I think. I sit this evening in semi-darkness, light filtering from the overhead stove light and the lamp at the kitchen entrance into the dining area where I sit at the table with my iPad propped up, the wireless keyboard submitting without complaint to the tapping of my fingertips as I type this. From the lamp’s switch hangs a tiny porcelain rabbit charm with a carnelian bead and faceted crystal strung on a red knotted string – a talisman that is supposed to bring luck and prosperity. I am not feeling very lucky. Or prosperous. Still, I hope that the tide will shift. Soon.
A dream that I had (last night? the night before?) resurfaces as I dig deeper into this sorrow that has bobbed to my surface: I dreamt of Steve and how he pulled out these haphazardly folded, crumpled up blue jeans from one of his travel bags and it is teeming with insects – worms, mealy and earth varieties, pill bugs, grubs of all shapes and sizes, and hands them to me to wash. My aversion to the bugs is outweighed by a sort of stoic resolve in knowing my responsibility, so I drop the pants into the washing machine and get the cycle going. I can’t remember much more than this. Perhaps more will come, but I think this is enough to work with, if I choose to dissect this message from my psyche.
I haven’t examined this dream too much yet. I’m sure it means many things, on several levels. Today I finally popped our marriage dissolution agreement into the mail; I’d signed it about a month ago but then it languished on my desk at work for another month. The signing of it took about a year for me to accomplish. Why this has been such a difficult process for me, I have no idea. It will be four years that we have moved apart (geographically) at the end of this June. By that point it had already been ten months that we had made the decision to part ways, on the basis that whatever love that may have been present at some point during our marriage was no longer there. This end of April would have marked the twentieth anniversary of our wedding. In many ways I am still mourning the end of something, or perhaps mourning the fact that the something that I had hoped would be our marriage never was, and now I am old. I’m not so old that I can’t function or take care of myself, but my youth is gone, and with it, it feels like, also my dreams, particularly those regarding a loving, nurturing, intimate relationship with a another.
All this talk about loving self first in order to be able to love another… on some level it makes sense, of course, but I think that growing to love self through loving another and receiving that other’s love makes more sense to me. I think we all like, maybe even love, things about ourselves. Wholly loving every aspect of ourselves is a more difficult task, and certainly doing so with another is perhaps as difficult. Yet I think it is possible, but it all hinges on how two people relate to each other.
How can we be accepting of our shadow parts when the person closest to us – the one we so desperately wish to entrust the secrets of our soul to – is unable to fully embrace the very parts we ourselves are appalled with, and mirrors back to us the same disgust and nonacceptance we perceive at our core? If the dark sides of ourselves aren’t acceptable to the person who is supposed to love us, then how can we function in the relationship, how can it thrive? How can we evolve and shift our view of our shadow parts if we are asked to disown them, to “fix” them, instead of integrating them in a more positive way and shifting them so that they serve us rather than stymie us?
So I put it to the Universe: let it bring me someone who can see these shadows within me and find them to be beautiful facets of who I am – tweaked a little, perhaps, but still wholly acceptable and loveable in spite of them (and that I may do the same in kind).
Blogging has once again slowed to a crawl. Between fits of writing (both poetry and prose) and shooting the odd photo when I am awed by my surroundings, I also fulfill other functions: single-parent mothering, full time office working, part time (and very novice) yogining, friend being (to many, far and wide, and close), and occasional knitting. (That Hogwartz/Gryffindor scarf is creeping along slowly.) And soon to be (officially) a divorcée. Weird, this final severing. Such a huge chunk of my life tied in to this now defunct part of who I was and identified with, still searching to pick up the threads of where “I” left off and veered off from so long ago, in order to reclaim myself.
My ex-husband has been in a relationship with someone for quite some time now, and yet I continue to be alone in my life. Not because I don’t wish to share it with another, but because I wish to share it with the right person, and we just haven’t met yet. I also continue to nurse past hurts; it is surprising to me how long they take to heal. I wonder, sometimes, if they heal better when you let them show and share them with others, allowing them to be loved away. Still, I can’t seem to do that yet, even though I long to be able to do so, to be able to open my heart again to another.
I am happy, though, in this simplicity. Each time I look around me I appreciate what I have, the beauty that I see, in nature and in those whose lives cross with mine. I see kindness and humour and fearless vulnerability. And love. I am blessed.
the recipe. and silpat mats rule!
The gently falling snow reminded me of this Vonnegut verse that my friend Kelly Kilmer shared on Facebook today:
Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let the pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place. ~Kurt Vonnegut