I took a very intense yoga class today and it changed my life. I've taken yoga classes for years but for the past few days I was feeling very anxious about many things and thought I was in pretty bad shape.
Then I took this yoga class at the suggestion of my friend Andrea. At the time I thought: OK, this is good for me but well whatever...but now a number of hours later, it's magic. I am thinking, feeling, seeing everything so much more clearly.
Hooray!
Lots of other stuff is complicated right now, but this is not...and John and I are beginning to see paths and clearings where before we were only seeing obstacles to being together more than we are apart.
Thank you, Keshava! (He was the teacher who I loathed when in downward dog for Way Too Long...but now, he's my hero.)
Thank you, Andrea, for getting me there...and...last but not least...
Thank you, Downtown C train for arriving before I chickened out and went back uptown to take a nap.
Here's hoping I keep going back for more....
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
2 years back in NYC, 3 months married & more everyday miracles
So while the government has shut down, figured I'd celebrate some nice anniversaries. Yesterday technically (Sept. 30) I arrived back in NYC two years ago. My stuff arrived a couple months later, but I started teaching at Bronx Community College the next day. It was quite a whirlwind. I wrote about it here of course, and someday when I have the time, I'll go back and read what I wrote.
I'm sorry to have not written a post in a while, but it's been kinda busy with teaching and some other exciting projects hopefully coming to fruition and visiting my mother in Maine for her birthday. John was able to visit two times this past month, so that was great, too. More than great actually...I miss him so terribly right now. I cannot believe - still - that it takes 7-8 months for him to get a visa Even Though We're Married and he's from Canada (Canada, people! Canada?!). Now with the government shut down, God only knows...
However, in other news, one of the reasons John came down again this month was to go to the doctor with me regarding fertility issues, and as can be expected at 50, things are not looking good in that area. I was sad about that, however it was good to get the information. We can't afford the crazy expensive alternatives, so decided it was time to let the idea of having a child go.
Then, in the way things tend to work in my life, as soon as I've accepted something, another avenue appears. When flying back from Maine to NYC, my seat mate told me that he and his partner had just adopted a gorgeous little baby girl. I asked him how that had worked and apparently it was through the foster system. I had no idea adoptions ever occurred that way, but assumed there was some type of fee. No, there isn't. He was very encouraging. He and his partner are gay and assumed there would be prejudice, which there wasn't. I asked him if they'd think I was too old and he said no. He said that their case workers asked them to send friends their way and he gave me his contact details, which was quite generous. So, a possibility appears. Amazing, right? Will keep you all posted...
Meanwhile, I have not been able to work on the grandmothers book in way too long. I look forward to the day I can return to it. Life has just been full to bursting with other things.
It's late so I'm going to keep this short, but I want to say: hooray for being married for 3 months! While I will be far happier when we can finally live together, I still count July 1, 2013 as the happiest & best day of my life so far. I think the only day that will beat that will be the day John and I can actually live together permanently. I know - I ask for so much....
As for my 2 years in NYC, wow. I am so glad I moved back here, even though the government is insane and America is...what it is...NYC is my home and always will be. The one place in the UK I miss so much it makes my teeth hurt is the Orkney Islands (the islands north of Scotland). I am hoping to get back there to visit as soon as possible. I delayed that this year because of love & borders and would make that choice again, but my dearest hope is that I can return soon with John.
But, overall, life is good. I have found true love with another human being and am finding that allows me to reach out for the work I love, too. I've never felt so strong in my life, because no matter what I try, I know that love is there, so nothing is life or death. It's a glorious feeling and one I've never experienced until now. Wish I had managed to find it earlier in my life, but so entirely grateful it's come my way at all.
I wish this for everyone, because it feels like the meaning of life, if such a term even encompasses what I want to say - maybe more like touching the infinite in the manifest world. The miracle of unconditional love.
I'm sorry to have not written a post in a while, but it's been kinda busy with teaching and some other exciting projects hopefully coming to fruition and visiting my mother in Maine for her birthday. John was able to visit two times this past month, so that was great, too. More than great actually...I miss him so terribly right now. I cannot believe - still - that it takes 7-8 months for him to get a visa Even Though We're Married and he's from Canada (Canada, people! Canada?!). Now with the government shut down, God only knows...
However, in other news, one of the reasons John came down again this month was to go to the doctor with me regarding fertility issues, and as can be expected at 50, things are not looking good in that area. I was sad about that, however it was good to get the information. We can't afford the crazy expensive alternatives, so decided it was time to let the idea of having a child go.
Then, in the way things tend to work in my life, as soon as I've accepted something, another avenue appears. When flying back from Maine to NYC, my seat mate told me that he and his partner had just adopted a gorgeous little baby girl. I asked him how that had worked and apparently it was through the foster system. I had no idea adoptions ever occurred that way, but assumed there was some type of fee. No, there isn't. He was very encouraging. He and his partner are gay and assumed there would be prejudice, which there wasn't. I asked him if they'd think I was too old and he said no. He said that their case workers asked them to send friends their way and he gave me his contact details, which was quite generous. So, a possibility appears. Amazing, right? Will keep you all posted...
Meanwhile, I have not been able to work on the grandmothers book in way too long. I look forward to the day I can return to it. Life has just been full to bursting with other things.
It's late so I'm going to keep this short, but I want to say: hooray for being married for 3 months! While I will be far happier when we can finally live together, I still count July 1, 2013 as the happiest & best day of my life so far. I think the only day that will beat that will be the day John and I can actually live together permanently. I know - I ask for so much....
As for my 2 years in NYC, wow. I am so glad I moved back here, even though the government is insane and America is...what it is...NYC is my home and always will be. The one place in the UK I miss so much it makes my teeth hurt is the Orkney Islands (the islands north of Scotland). I am hoping to get back there to visit as soon as possible. I delayed that this year because of love & borders and would make that choice again, but my dearest hope is that I can return soon with John.
But, overall, life is good. I have found true love with another human being and am finding that allows me to reach out for the work I love, too. I've never felt so strong in my life, because no matter what I try, I know that love is there, so nothing is life or death. It's a glorious feeling and one I've never experienced until now. Wish I had managed to find it earlier in my life, but so entirely grateful it's come my way at all.
I wish this for everyone, because it feels like the meaning of life, if such a term even encompasses what I want to say - maybe more like touching the infinite in the manifest world. The miracle of unconditional love.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Creating breathing space & recognizing family
So, I was going to rush around today like the proverbial headless chicken, but decided against that. This happened because my body needed rest and during meditation I remembered a technique taught to me by a wonderful man named Josiah Hincks, which he learned from Eugene Gendlin, called 'focusing.' Gendlin wrote a book about his invention, so I suggest you read it for proper details, but the basic idea is that instead of retracing the well-worn grooves of your own worry-machine, you step back and look at the feelings attached to habituated ideas until you can feel what the feelings actually are and what they may be telling you. This requires surrendering your ideas of what any given feeling or thought indicates, in other words your own private gallery of cliches. Finding the 'handle' - the name for the feeling that resonates and expands rather than contracts inside you - is a key element here.
(As I typed the above, the salsa machine just cranked up outside my window. I live in a Dominican neighborhood in NYC and this is just part of life. My initial response is shoulders up annoyance, because it is Really Loud...Then I breathe and remember: I chose to live here. If I don't like it, I can leave - well, sort of, I can't afford the rents anywhere else, but still...the point is...the neighborhood majority consensus is that this is fun, not annoying...however, at times like this, I feel very stereotypically white, Northern European, speaking of cliches...)
OK, so back to my more relaxed day (ha ha!) and focusing. This exercise does work and I was able to wend my way through some things that were bothering me into a more relaxed idea of how to walk through this day. Which has led to this moment to write in the blog, which has been laying fallow for a while.
A brief recap of events:
I spent a crazy-wonderful time getting the syllabus together for my writing class at Fordham. Some people thought I was downright nuts for spending so much time creating a syllabus for a composition class, but I did it anyway and am Very glad I did. The first class went well because of it, and I could talk the students through the syllabus knowing it made sense as a whole and was not a series of episodic exercises signifying nothing...as it were...I want them to go on a journey, because writing is that if it is nothing else. You can't write if you can't think and there are aspects of thinking that are impossible if you can't write.
I like my students very much. I'm teaching the adult class in the evening, so most of the students have life experience, a level of maturity and focus because of this. There is a wonderful diversity of backgrounds and I expect the experience of hearing their voices to be a rich and rewarding one. My dearest hope is that they can learn from each other as much as me, and my most cherished hope is that they will all become better writers by the end of the class.
I did do a little work on my grandmothers book, but this has had to go on back burner right now for a number of reasons, including trying to get some other writing into various journals, etc.
(OK, cancel the salsa party bit, I just realized looking outside, this is a block party of some sort, but led by people in suits, so I think it's a Christian thing. That would account for the sort of sappy sound of the music, which was missing the usual hip-swiveling bass-beat. Wow. OK, so like I'll be leaving soon, and pray to my God/dess that this event ends before the wee hours of the night...the big advantage of Christian stuff, one hopes, is that it will not attempt to compete with after-hours clubs...)
This past week, I spent with my beloved Canadian husband, including a gorgeous day at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens (what an amazing place - I've been there before, but as with so much, when I am with John I feel I'm seeing more beauty than usual or somehow giving myself time to Notice - what a gift of love). It's so hard to only see him a few days a month, but we do try to make the best out of it when he's here.
In other news, I am in the middle of a theater conference here in NYC, one event of which I am not attending right now, because of the aforesaid desire to not race around. But will be finishing this post up soon in order to go to some other stuff this evening. 'Theater as Theory' is the conference theme and we invited participants are meant to respond to performances this weekend with performances and/or papers, talks, etc. of our own next weekend. I like this idea very much. My Ph.D. argued that theater can be seen as an act of philosophy, so obviously I sympathize with this conference's agenda. I'm glad, too, to see something like this here in the US, as most of it I saw was in UK. I fear events that are more theory than theater, but them's the chances you have to take when walking this weird road.
(OK, heard a mic check, so this could be a revival meeting OR perhaps a political rally - elections are on Tuesday for our primaries...as you can tell, by all this muttering on my part, I don't speak Spanish, so am guessing, using non-verbal signs...from the 5th floor...)
So, will keep you informed as to whatever performance I may do in response next weekend, dates and times, etc. There are a lot of interesting folks attending, so there should be some interesting work. The events will be open to the public and at Glasshouse Project in deepest, darkest hipster Williamsburg, but if you can stand the block glasses and day-glo skinny jeans set, it may be worth it.
Finally, before I forget, yesterday I was so moved by a Rosh Hashana service I was invited to by a dear friend who was giving a sermon about redemption using her own personal experience. I cried through the whole damn thing. I've never been in a synagogue before, and I'm here to tell you, they are Gorgeous. The whole service was moving, my friend's part especially, but the rituals involved, the remembrance of the dead, the Kaddish, the lighting of candles, the Ark, well...it's just breathtaking. I was able to simply sit and cry about 9/11 in a way I have not had the space to do so anywhere else, watching two families who had lost their dad/husband/brother in the towers light candles in remembrance of their loved ones and other members of the congregation who had also died that day. A simple, profound and deeply human gesture.
This was a reform synagogue so some of the rabbis were women and much of the language in English translation is gender-neutralized. Therefore, I was able to hear the message of needing to hold hands to move through the darkness. Such a heart-healing idea and one that is deeply in synch with my own spiritual practices that involve an interconnected community. I am stunned by the Humanity of Judaism, which seems to somehow embrace our frailties rather than run screaming from them or ask us to somehow, become impossibly divine ourselves. The idea of "god-wrestling" (meaning arguing with/struggling with as Job does, e.g.) is sanctified and I love that.
So, I thank you my dear friend, Elinor, for sharing this day with me and your whole family for embracing me.
I am also a theater director, so could appreciate, too, that the Days of Awe (i.e., Rosh Hashana: New Year to Yom Kippur: Day of Atonement) are damn, good theater. I could see the seeds of much of American theater in this service, including musical theater (lots of amazing singing) and dearest to my heart, the experimental theater of Richard Foreman. I knew he considered himself a religious theater-maker and identifies strongly as Jewish, but seeing the aesthetics of the synagogue and the rhythm of the service allowed a whole new part of his work to land for me in a deeply emotional, spiritual place. So, kids, if you're into Foreman's work and have never been to a synagogue, go. It'll make a lot of his work fall into place.
So, now to a theater conference in Williamsburg...to see what there is to see...Life continues to surprise at age 50 and long may it continue (both life and its surprises). I don't have actual children, so watching young folks make their new scene and work is heartening for me in a special way. This is my family, these are my 'off-spring' (and ancestors) - these god/theater-wrestlers - those who search without ceasing because what we are looking for is always just that little bit out of reach...Complacency isn't an option. Usually there is little to no security in this life, but there is great freedom without which we would perish.
I'll know you when I see you on the road. And you'll know me. I look forward to our meeting.
(As I typed the above, the salsa machine just cranked up outside my window. I live in a Dominican neighborhood in NYC and this is just part of life. My initial response is shoulders up annoyance, because it is Really Loud...Then I breathe and remember: I chose to live here. If I don't like it, I can leave - well, sort of, I can't afford the rents anywhere else, but still...the point is...the neighborhood majority consensus is that this is fun, not annoying...however, at times like this, I feel very stereotypically white, Northern European, speaking of cliches...)
OK, so back to my more relaxed day (ha ha!) and focusing. This exercise does work and I was able to wend my way through some things that were bothering me into a more relaxed idea of how to walk through this day. Which has led to this moment to write in the blog, which has been laying fallow for a while.
A brief recap of events:
I spent a crazy-wonderful time getting the syllabus together for my writing class at Fordham. Some people thought I was downright nuts for spending so much time creating a syllabus for a composition class, but I did it anyway and am Very glad I did. The first class went well because of it, and I could talk the students through the syllabus knowing it made sense as a whole and was not a series of episodic exercises signifying nothing...as it were...I want them to go on a journey, because writing is that if it is nothing else. You can't write if you can't think and there are aspects of thinking that are impossible if you can't write.
I like my students very much. I'm teaching the adult class in the evening, so most of the students have life experience, a level of maturity and focus because of this. There is a wonderful diversity of backgrounds and I expect the experience of hearing their voices to be a rich and rewarding one. My dearest hope is that they can learn from each other as much as me, and my most cherished hope is that they will all become better writers by the end of the class.
I did do a little work on my grandmothers book, but this has had to go on back burner right now for a number of reasons, including trying to get some other writing into various journals, etc.
(OK, cancel the salsa party bit, I just realized looking outside, this is a block party of some sort, but led by people in suits, so I think it's a Christian thing. That would account for the sort of sappy sound of the music, which was missing the usual hip-swiveling bass-beat. Wow. OK, so like I'll be leaving soon, and pray to my God/dess that this event ends before the wee hours of the night...the big advantage of Christian stuff, one hopes, is that it will not attempt to compete with after-hours clubs...)
This past week, I spent with my beloved Canadian husband, including a gorgeous day at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens (what an amazing place - I've been there before, but as with so much, when I am with John I feel I'm seeing more beauty than usual or somehow giving myself time to Notice - what a gift of love). It's so hard to only see him a few days a month, but we do try to make the best out of it when he's here.
In other news, I am in the middle of a theater conference here in NYC, one event of which I am not attending right now, because of the aforesaid desire to not race around. But will be finishing this post up soon in order to go to some other stuff this evening. 'Theater as Theory' is the conference theme and we invited participants are meant to respond to performances this weekend with performances and/or papers, talks, etc. of our own next weekend. I like this idea very much. My Ph.D. argued that theater can be seen as an act of philosophy, so obviously I sympathize with this conference's agenda. I'm glad, too, to see something like this here in the US, as most of it I saw was in UK. I fear events that are more theory than theater, but them's the chances you have to take when walking this weird road.
(OK, heard a mic check, so this could be a revival meeting OR perhaps a political rally - elections are on Tuesday for our primaries...as you can tell, by all this muttering on my part, I don't speak Spanish, so am guessing, using non-verbal signs...from the 5th floor...)
So, will keep you informed as to whatever performance I may do in response next weekend, dates and times, etc. There are a lot of interesting folks attending, so there should be some interesting work. The events will be open to the public and at Glasshouse Project in deepest, darkest hipster Williamsburg, but if you can stand the block glasses and day-glo skinny jeans set, it may be worth it.
Finally, before I forget, yesterday I was so moved by a Rosh Hashana service I was invited to by a dear friend who was giving a sermon about redemption using her own personal experience. I cried through the whole damn thing. I've never been in a synagogue before, and I'm here to tell you, they are Gorgeous. The whole service was moving, my friend's part especially, but the rituals involved, the remembrance of the dead, the Kaddish, the lighting of candles, the Ark, well...it's just breathtaking. I was able to simply sit and cry about 9/11 in a way I have not had the space to do so anywhere else, watching two families who had lost their dad/husband/brother in the towers light candles in remembrance of their loved ones and other members of the congregation who had also died that day. A simple, profound and deeply human gesture.
This was a reform synagogue so some of the rabbis were women and much of the language in English translation is gender-neutralized. Therefore, I was able to hear the message of needing to hold hands to move through the darkness. Such a heart-healing idea and one that is deeply in synch with my own spiritual practices that involve an interconnected community. I am stunned by the Humanity of Judaism, which seems to somehow embrace our frailties rather than run screaming from them or ask us to somehow, become impossibly divine ourselves. The idea of "god-wrestling" (meaning arguing with/struggling with as Job does, e.g.) is sanctified and I love that.
So, I thank you my dear friend, Elinor, for sharing this day with me and your whole family for embracing me.
So, now to a theater conference in Williamsburg...to see what there is to see...Life continues to surprise at age 50 and long may it continue (both life and its surprises). I don't have actual children, so watching young folks make their new scene and work is heartening for me in a special way. This is my family, these are my 'off-spring' (and ancestors) - these god/theater-wrestlers - those who search without ceasing because what we are looking for is always just that little bit out of reach...Complacency isn't an option. Usually there is little to no security in this life, but there is great freedom without which we would perish.
I'll know you when I see you on the road. And you'll know me. I look forward to our meeting.
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Teaching writing at Fordham - hooray - which leads me to a requiem for a deceased mentor/guardian angel
So, the fine people at Fordham University have decided I am capable of teaching a writing class to their lovely students. This will be a composition and rhetoric class, which may sound dull to some, but to me this is quite exciting. Why? Well, here's why: because I've been teaching undergraduates since 2004 in England and in the U.S. and guess what: they all needed a composition and rhetoric class, even the brightest ones. Since I was teaching a class in say interpersonal communications or contemporary performance I only had the time to guide the students in their writing, not teach it outright as its own subject. So, I celebrate this development with great joy and trepidation.
Why trepidation you ask? (I don't know why I've decided 'you' are asking questions, but bear with me, I've been reading essays from the 19th Century - blame the transcendentalists) Trepidation because writing matters so much to me as in it's what matters most to me right now, so the prospect of teaching this skill is both exciting and scary. I feel a tremendous responsibility to get it right, make it exciting, challenging and of course effective. If my students are not writing better by the end of the class, I will feel like I failed. Knowing how to write is the greatest tool a student - not to mention a human being - can have in the contemporary world. Yes, I know, we're all digital and visual and twittified, but still if you know how to write, which of course implies that you know how to: read, listen, observe, bear witness, communicate and analyze, then you are better equipped to live a full life. Some would argue with this statement. I'm willing to debate this proposition with anyone, anytime. Bring it.
There is then, too, this issue of voice. Since Virginia Woolf laid down the gauntlet with A Room of One's Own, the importance of women (and we can extrapolate from this any group who has not hitherto been heard and/or had the tools to write and publish) having a voice that can be heard is a big deal. This is not simply for basic fairness but so that we can see the whole picture (apologies for so much italicizing but I'm obviously worked up...it's that or Initial Caps...) of how people perceive and articulate the world. Without this information, we are only living in a partial reality. I would argue that right now, given the gaps between rich and poor, educated and illiterate, etc. in the world and in This Country (as shameful as that is), we are all the poorer for such a partial view of the world.
I am also particularly pleased to be teaching at Fordham because my second step-father's college friend, Walter, who became a mentor/guardian angel figure for me growing up was a professor at Fordham until his horrendously premature death of pancreatic cancer in his mid-50s. I spent time with him while he was dying (frighteningly quickly) in his West Village apartment in August 1998. He died in October of that year. The grief I felt at his passing is barely explicable, because it felt like the floor underneath my feet had been ripped away. Here was the man who tried to answer all my annoying questions from age 6 onward, who leant the money to me and two other people he didn't even know so we could get our first NYC apartment, who cared about every little thing I did no matter whether he agreed with it or not (and a lot of times he didn't), who helped me get my first theater job in NYC and on and on and on. We had issues as I got older and saw he was human - all too human. I think he felt the same about me as I got older and little more, shall we say, um, bratty? That is the peril of all heroes, they will fall and the worshipper will be Pissed Off, but we got over that. I'm crying while typing this, realizing now how much I miss him still all these many years later - 15 to be precise.
The woman who gave my resume to the person who hires writing adjuncts is someone I met first at my guardian angel's funeral. We re-met in a totally different context a couple years ago and have been cheering each other on ever since. We didn't recognize each other at first but when she told me where she taught I asked if she knew him and she said yes, she had been at his funeral. I remembered then that she had been kind to me the day, but I could not reciprocate because I felt like I was going to pass out. I remembered she had long hair. I could barely breathe. I think it was Halloween. A very Walter thing to have his funeral on Halloween complete with Harold Pinter character looking undertakers in a cavernous Catholic church running the show - in Rhode Island - his home state - and where I was born - orange leaves everywhere it seemed - swirling in the breeze. I had vertigo, nausea, was puking or almost fainting, crying. It turns out Walter had been my new friend's mentor, too. This makes sense to me because she is so lovely and we think in some ways weirdly alike. So there is some continuity here. I like to think Walter is happy. I do believe that actually.
I have a strange belief that all the people I loved and have died are this pantheon of ghosts/guardian angels. I talk to them all the time. And yes, of course, in case you have been reading this blog for a while, that includes my grandmothers. I hear them answer. This probably makes me certifiable, but so far, since I do this all silently, I've gotten away with it. A therapist suggested I write a play about this phenomenon. I laughed, but she may have been right. Stay tuned.
As for the grandmothers book, I am still working on it, though not this week. Right now it's all about creating the Perfect Syllabus...or at least one that's good enough. But you know, it's me, so it has to be The Perfect Syllabus. That and deadlines and applications, etc. I am reading Thornton Wilder's biography, which is turning out to be helpful for the grandmothers book, because he was alive when they were, though he was older, but the detail about the cultural landscape and New England mores is quite useful to help me melt more completely into their points of view.
In other news, my beloved Canadian husband is still stuck in Canada until his visa comes through, but visits when he can. That is both wonderful and hard. Wonderful and precious to be with him when we can be, hard because the visits are shorter than either of us would like. I would not trade it though, because I'm aware that the pain of our separation is in direct relation to how happy we are when we are together. This too shall pass. The visa process will end eventually and with luck that will coincide with him finishing up his business in Canada.
I'm too tired to be more articulate alas, but wanted to write a bit of an update. I hope everyone who reads this is well and following their own internal rhythms through life. I'm re-reading Thoreau (oh yes, my students will be reading Thoreau) and of all the things he got right, that's the thing he got rightest (yes, kids, I know that's wrong grammatically but I have a PhD so I can do this shit now...bwahahahahaha...). In regard to writing in voices as they exist (including PowerPoint): a book I will be teaching will be A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan, which - if you have not read it yet - is genius. She said her main inspirations were Proust and The Sopranos. That about sums it up, except it's better than that.
With that bit of not so humble opinion, I bid you goodnight.
Why trepidation you ask? (I don't know why I've decided 'you' are asking questions, but bear with me, I've been reading essays from the 19th Century - blame the transcendentalists) Trepidation because writing matters so much to me as in it's what matters most to me right now, so the prospect of teaching this skill is both exciting and scary. I feel a tremendous responsibility to get it right, make it exciting, challenging and of course effective. If my students are not writing better by the end of the class, I will feel like I failed. Knowing how to write is the greatest tool a student - not to mention a human being - can have in the contemporary world. Yes, I know, we're all digital and visual and twittified, but still if you know how to write, which of course implies that you know how to: read, listen, observe, bear witness, communicate and analyze, then you are better equipped to live a full life. Some would argue with this statement. I'm willing to debate this proposition with anyone, anytime. Bring it.
There is then, too, this issue of voice. Since Virginia Woolf laid down the gauntlet with A Room of One's Own, the importance of women (and we can extrapolate from this any group who has not hitherto been heard and/or had the tools to write and publish) having a voice that can be heard is a big deal. This is not simply for basic fairness but so that we can see the whole picture (apologies for so much italicizing but I'm obviously worked up...it's that or Initial Caps...) of how people perceive and articulate the world. Without this information, we are only living in a partial reality. I would argue that right now, given the gaps between rich and poor, educated and illiterate, etc. in the world and in This Country (as shameful as that is), we are all the poorer for such a partial view of the world.
I am also particularly pleased to be teaching at Fordham because my second step-father's college friend, Walter, who became a mentor/guardian angel figure for me growing up was a professor at Fordham until his horrendously premature death of pancreatic cancer in his mid-50s. I spent time with him while he was dying (frighteningly quickly) in his West Village apartment in August 1998. He died in October of that year. The grief I felt at his passing is barely explicable, because it felt like the floor underneath my feet had been ripped away. Here was the man who tried to answer all my annoying questions from age 6 onward, who leant the money to me and two other people he didn't even know so we could get our first NYC apartment, who cared about every little thing I did no matter whether he agreed with it or not (and a lot of times he didn't), who helped me get my first theater job in NYC and on and on and on. We had issues as I got older and saw he was human - all too human. I think he felt the same about me as I got older and little more, shall we say, um, bratty? That is the peril of all heroes, they will fall and the worshipper will be Pissed Off, but we got over that. I'm crying while typing this, realizing now how much I miss him still all these many years later - 15 to be precise.
The woman who gave my resume to the person who hires writing adjuncts is someone I met first at my guardian angel's funeral. We re-met in a totally different context a couple years ago and have been cheering each other on ever since. We didn't recognize each other at first but when she told me where she taught I asked if she knew him and she said yes, she had been at his funeral. I remembered then that she had been kind to me the day, but I could not reciprocate because I felt like I was going to pass out. I remembered she had long hair. I could barely breathe. I think it was Halloween. A very Walter thing to have his funeral on Halloween complete with Harold Pinter character looking undertakers in a cavernous Catholic church running the show - in Rhode Island - his home state - and where I was born - orange leaves everywhere it seemed - swirling in the breeze. I had vertigo, nausea, was puking or almost fainting, crying. It turns out Walter had been my new friend's mentor, too. This makes sense to me because she is so lovely and we think in some ways weirdly alike. So there is some continuity here. I like to think Walter is happy. I do believe that actually.
I have a strange belief that all the people I loved and have died are this pantheon of ghosts/guardian angels. I talk to them all the time. And yes, of course, in case you have been reading this blog for a while, that includes my grandmothers. I hear them answer. This probably makes me certifiable, but so far, since I do this all silently, I've gotten away with it. A therapist suggested I write a play about this phenomenon. I laughed, but she may have been right. Stay tuned.
As for the grandmothers book, I am still working on it, though not this week. Right now it's all about creating the Perfect Syllabus...or at least one that's good enough. But you know, it's me, so it has to be The Perfect Syllabus. That and deadlines and applications, etc. I am reading Thornton Wilder's biography, which is turning out to be helpful for the grandmothers book, because he was alive when they were, though he was older, but the detail about the cultural landscape and New England mores is quite useful to help me melt more completely into their points of view.
In other news, my beloved Canadian husband is still stuck in Canada until his visa comes through, but visits when he can. That is both wonderful and hard. Wonderful and precious to be with him when we can be, hard because the visits are shorter than either of us would like. I would not trade it though, because I'm aware that the pain of our separation is in direct relation to how happy we are when we are together. This too shall pass. The visa process will end eventually and with luck that will coincide with him finishing up his business in Canada.
I'm too tired to be more articulate alas, but wanted to write a bit of an update. I hope everyone who reads this is well and following their own internal rhythms through life. I'm re-reading Thoreau (oh yes, my students will be reading Thoreau) and of all the things he got right, that's the thing he got rightest (yes, kids, I know that's wrong grammatically but I have a PhD so I can do this shit now...bwahahahahaha...). In regard to writing in voices as they exist (including PowerPoint): a book I will be teaching will be A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan, which - if you have not read it yet - is genius. She said her main inspirations were Proust and The Sopranos. That about sums it up, except it's better than that.
With that bit of not so humble opinion, I bid you goodnight.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Still working on the book
Because working on my grandmothers' book has been so all-encompassing, I haven't had time for the blog. This will not be a long post except to say: yes, I'm still working on the book...and, more than writing per se, my work consists of reading through hundreds and hundreds (probably in total thousands) of pages of one of my grandmother's correspondence, articles (published and unpublished), fiction and poetry (unpublished).
Her correspondence with one man from 1972-79 (the last years of her life) has proven to be fruitful, painful, hilarious, tragic, insightful and totally full of bullshit...Her ability to manufacture an entirely fake childhood & young adulthood (and weave it throughout the correspondence fairly consistently) for this person is extraordinary, as is her prescient political commentary and wit. Then there's her drinking (she tends to count glasses of wine as she writes) and what that does to both the quality and the substance of the writing. I won't say more than this because it's so key to the book, but as you can imagine it's quite a ride into some kind of whirlpool-like vortex - looking at aspects of myself in a glass darkly (both literally and figuratively).
I tend to bookend my work on the book with one friend (texting her when I've been working, sometimes before I begin) and then debrief with John (my beloved Canadian husband - who is stuck in Canada awaiting residency visa for US but with whom I speak every day and who - happily - will be visiting tomorrow for a few days - hooray!). I also need to speak with other folks who have similar experiences with growing up with and/or recovering from alcoholism in order to stay grounded in the present.
Sometimes I go overboard and asking others to help reel me back in or doing the reeling myself is very hard. I'm learning the balance...the hard way of course (I'm an expert in the hard way...) - through experience of doing it 'wrong.' But this is the only way to do it of course. No way out but through and all like that.
I have a number of months at the very least of research ahead of me. I don't know why I thought I could actually write this book without reading all of this stuff methodically, but I did. I was wrong. Shocking, I know. I can be wrong. Horrors.
So, I'm being methodical and am totally absorbed in this task. It feels like a generational inventory, an attempt to liberate the present from this deep past (which goes way back before my grandmothers - have genealogies to prove that - written by grandparents and great-grandparents, etc. - tales of alcoholic demise after extraordinary heroism, etc. - relentless cycles of this shit - going back to the 1600s - seriously).
This research has the salutary effect of making me wildly grateful to be sober, alive and in love with (and now married to!) a man who loves me as much as I love him.
I think this is the bit where my life gets better. That's the message I'm receiving anyway when listening to Whatever You Want to Call It That is Larger than Me in prayer and meditation. Will I be struck down by lightening for saying this? Shockingly, for anyone who knows me, I don't think so.
My experience so far is this: I need to do whatever is in my deepest heart to do - that thing that recurs and I've batted away because it seems impractical or doesn't follow the linear path I've laid down for myself - even if that recurring idea/nudge/hunch seems like it's 'not me'. Whenever I don't follow that hunch/idea/nudge, in my experience, I get blowback for not doing so either in health issues or seemingly intransigent life problems. When I do follow this deepest heart (which takes a lot of meditation and prayer to touch/feel/hear and then discuss with a few trusted others to make sure I haven't gone off the rails), I am held and cared for in the most astonishing way/s.
I wish this experience for you, too.
Her correspondence with one man from 1972-79 (the last years of her life) has proven to be fruitful, painful, hilarious, tragic, insightful and totally full of bullshit...Her ability to manufacture an entirely fake childhood & young adulthood (and weave it throughout the correspondence fairly consistently) for this person is extraordinary, as is her prescient political commentary and wit. Then there's her drinking (she tends to count glasses of wine as she writes) and what that does to both the quality and the substance of the writing. I won't say more than this because it's so key to the book, but as you can imagine it's quite a ride into some kind of whirlpool-like vortex - looking at aspects of myself in a glass darkly (both literally and figuratively).
I tend to bookend my work on the book with one friend (texting her when I've been working, sometimes before I begin) and then debrief with John (my beloved Canadian husband - who is stuck in Canada awaiting residency visa for US but with whom I speak every day and who - happily - will be visiting tomorrow for a few days - hooray!). I also need to speak with other folks who have similar experiences with growing up with and/or recovering from alcoholism in order to stay grounded in the present.
Sometimes I go overboard and asking others to help reel me back in or doing the reeling myself is very hard. I'm learning the balance...the hard way of course (I'm an expert in the hard way...) - through experience of doing it 'wrong.' But this is the only way to do it of course. No way out but through and all like that.
I have a number of months at the very least of research ahead of me. I don't know why I thought I could actually write this book without reading all of this stuff methodically, but I did. I was wrong. Shocking, I know. I can be wrong. Horrors.
So, I'm being methodical and am totally absorbed in this task. It feels like a generational inventory, an attempt to liberate the present from this deep past (which goes way back before my grandmothers - have genealogies to prove that - written by grandparents and great-grandparents, etc. - tales of alcoholic demise after extraordinary heroism, etc. - relentless cycles of this shit - going back to the 1600s - seriously).
This research has the salutary effect of making me wildly grateful to be sober, alive and in love with (and now married to!) a man who loves me as much as I love him.
I think this is the bit where my life gets better. That's the message I'm receiving anyway when listening to Whatever You Want to Call It That is Larger than Me in prayer and meditation. Will I be struck down by lightening for saying this? Shockingly, for anyone who knows me, I don't think so.
My experience so far is this: I need to do whatever is in my deepest heart to do - that thing that recurs and I've batted away because it seems impractical or doesn't follow the linear path I've laid down for myself - even if that recurring idea/nudge/hunch seems like it's 'not me'. Whenever I don't follow that hunch/idea/nudge, in my experience, I get blowback for not doing so either in health issues or seemingly intransigent life problems. When I do follow this deepest heart (which takes a lot of meditation and prayer to touch/feel/hear and then discuss with a few trusted others to make sure I haven't gone off the rails), I am held and cared for in the most astonishing way/s.
I wish this experience for you, too.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
I'm writing again - with momentum - hooray!
So, after two years - a little more than two years - of writing my grandmothers book or not writing it as the case may be - the whole time beating my head against the wall in terms of structure - an amazing thing happened last week.
I started working on the book again last Monday - dreading the impending sense of doom that usually accompanies this writing process, in part because of the material itself and in part because I have not been sure of the structure. However, I felt it was time to tackle it again - especially since there is an extraordinarily patient literary agent waiting to read some of it. I don't mean that she's waiting for Me, but simply that I told her a while ago I could send something, then my life fell apart (summer of 2011) and that was out. I asked her again recently if she was still interested, which to my delighted surprise she was, then decided to send some pages to a couple trusted writer friends first who were supportive but honest in terms of the structural problems. I knew they were right.
So I put it aside again.
Then last Monday, I dragged the Thing out again, realizing I had to make up my own damn mind about what it was or wasn't and no one could tell me that. This - interestingly enough - came about after two different events that I believe have contributed to this new state of affairs. One, the most obvious, is the fact I just got married to the love of my life. This is definitely part of the new energy, because I feel a love flowing into my life toward me and from me toward John that somehow underpins even the worst feelings the subject-matter can generate. The fact we got married is also part of it. You would think I would be cynical about this after two failed marriages, but I'm not. It also helps that this feels like the first time I've ever been married for real - with no disrespect to the previous two partners intended - this is simply a different creature altogether. I didn't know if I would respond this way, but happily everything about my relationship with John has been extraordinary and outside of any previous experience, so not surprising the being married part is, too.
However, and this is the weirder piece. When I was having my annual dinner with Renee (see June 2011 post) who I see if I'm lucky once a year when she is East, Lee Breuer of Mabou Mines happened to sit down at a table near ours on a hot sticky Brooklyn night. In 1994, I was a resident artist at Mabou Mines, (an avant-garde theater company that's been around since 1970 in NYC), so reminded him of who I was (vague recollection registered in his face, but dim - I know the feeling of knowing you should remember someone but you can't - so did not take offence - that plus the fact I looked and acted somewhat differently then). I was happy to bump into him, however, so I could finally tell him the story of how after seeing a reading of one of his plays (Ecco Porko - he reminded me when I mentioned the year and the surround), which included people seated in a circle and a glorious sense of uncertainty as to what would happen next - plus the inimitable and now sadly deceased Fred Neumann playing the eponymous role - that I realized - after coming home - OH, I can do anything! What I do doesn't have to look like anything else. There are No Rules. That day I began writing what became my first stage text Word To Your Mama. I was able to thank Lee for that moment, because his imagination stimulated mine, which I believe Paul Eluard said is the sign of great art - that it makes you want to make more art.
So, it is interesting to me that on Monday (the day after just chatting with Lee), I started up the grandmothers project with a sense of: you know, this has gotta be what I want it to be. I can't keep worrying about what it's supposed to be. I did some writing, felt the usual level of depression, stopped. Then meditated and prayed to That Which is Greater Than Me But Doesn't Have An Adequate Name (which sometimes I call God simply out of laziness) and said, something along the lines of: OK, Look...so I can't seem to move this way or that - all doors seem closed in any paths I have traditionally taken, You seem to want me to write this book but then I feel like I will be swallowed alive by quicksand when I try to write it. So, Like, What's Up? WTF am I supposed to do?
(Yes, that is the way I 'pray'.) The answer came back, along with a feeling sense to accompany it: I'll get you through this. I knew it was true, S/he would. Then I fell asleep.
When I woke up from a nap, I had a breakthrough idea as to how to structure the book, which I knew was right. Because for once the idea expanded rather than contracted the feeling sense and my imagination regarding the project. Ever since then, I've been motoring along.
Today for example, I worked for about 8 hours. Much of today and yesterday was spent organizing the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of photos I have from both grandmothers. I had to do this before continuing because when I go for one and can't find it right away, I end up lost in a swamp of photos from multiple decades and seeing papers and getting distracted. This very technical problem is one reason I end up feeling like I'm being swallowed up by quicksand. I now have two bulging expanding files with photos and news clippings sorted by decades and sub-decades. There are still some unsorted photos and some I've sorted by guesswork based on hair styles and clothing choices...but seeing it all come together is kind of amazing.
I started the day by surprising myself and writing a short story. The execution was not as great as the idea was in my head (shocking I know), but I tried. That felt good. This had nothing to do with the grandmothers book, btw, just something I suddenly wanted to try.
Because it's about 9000 degrees out in NYC staying huddled inside with my AC and sorting photos all day did not seem like a bad idea. Nor was it.
I'm so excited by this turn of events, I'm even writing about it on the blog. A solid week of writing, with momentum building rather than subsiding seems miraculous to me...it's been a really long time coming. I feel like instead of trying to jam jigsaw pieces together that Almost fit but not quite, the pieces are finally falling into place. So nice. And I feel so proud that I didn't give up on the project. (Though if you read my 'prayer' above, you will realize the giving up or not giving up part didn't seem like a choice so much as a command...)
The writing also makes John's absence bearable. I'm not happy he's in Canada, but when I'm fully engaged like this in my writing, I don't just sit staring at his absence. He's got a full plate of stuff with which to deal in Canada so he can eventually move down here in a graceful way so my being fully engaged here takes the pressure off of him, too, which I think is good. It also shows me that his love, our love, is strong enough that it can weather distance. Even if it's uncomfortable and sometimes downright painful being apart for both of us, we are finding a way.
Speaking of John, I'm about to have my nightly Skype call with my beloved Canadian, so will wrap this up now... wish me luck with my writing! Oh, and I'm about to run out of money soon, so if you are at all intrigued by the grandmothers project, feel free to send money (!) I'm not really joking, though I suppose I should put together a Kickstarter campaign or something. But for now, just think of me as a literary panhandler: "Will write for food." Sponsor me! Be an arts patron! I'll be grateful and you will go to Heaven! Honest. Plus you'll be thanked in the book (you know that back page part where authors thank everyone - one of those people could be you)! What more could you possibly want?
I started working on the book again last Monday - dreading the impending sense of doom that usually accompanies this writing process, in part because of the material itself and in part because I have not been sure of the structure. However, I felt it was time to tackle it again - especially since there is an extraordinarily patient literary agent waiting to read some of it. I don't mean that she's waiting for Me, but simply that I told her a while ago I could send something, then my life fell apart (summer of 2011) and that was out. I asked her again recently if she was still interested, which to my delighted surprise she was, then decided to send some pages to a couple trusted writer friends first who were supportive but honest in terms of the structural problems. I knew they were right.
So I put it aside again.
Then last Monday, I dragged the Thing out again, realizing I had to make up my own damn mind about what it was or wasn't and no one could tell me that. This - interestingly enough - came about after two different events that I believe have contributed to this new state of affairs. One, the most obvious, is the fact I just got married to the love of my life. This is definitely part of the new energy, because I feel a love flowing into my life toward me and from me toward John that somehow underpins even the worst feelings the subject-matter can generate. The fact we got married is also part of it. You would think I would be cynical about this after two failed marriages, but I'm not. It also helps that this feels like the first time I've ever been married for real - with no disrespect to the previous two partners intended - this is simply a different creature altogether. I didn't know if I would respond this way, but happily everything about my relationship with John has been extraordinary and outside of any previous experience, so not surprising the being married part is, too.
However, and this is the weirder piece. When I was having my annual dinner with Renee (see June 2011 post) who I see if I'm lucky once a year when she is East, Lee Breuer of Mabou Mines happened to sit down at a table near ours on a hot sticky Brooklyn night. In 1994, I was a resident artist at Mabou Mines, (an avant-garde theater company that's been around since 1970 in NYC), so reminded him of who I was (vague recollection registered in his face, but dim - I know the feeling of knowing you should remember someone but you can't - so did not take offence - that plus the fact I looked and acted somewhat differently then). I was happy to bump into him, however, so I could finally tell him the story of how after seeing a reading of one of his plays (Ecco Porko - he reminded me when I mentioned the year and the surround), which included people seated in a circle and a glorious sense of uncertainty as to what would happen next - plus the inimitable and now sadly deceased Fred Neumann playing the eponymous role - that I realized - after coming home - OH, I can do anything! What I do doesn't have to look like anything else. There are No Rules. That day I began writing what became my first stage text Word To Your Mama. I was able to thank Lee for that moment, because his imagination stimulated mine, which I believe Paul Eluard said is the sign of great art - that it makes you want to make more art.
So, it is interesting to me that on Monday (the day after just chatting with Lee), I started up the grandmothers project with a sense of: you know, this has gotta be what I want it to be. I can't keep worrying about what it's supposed to be. I did some writing, felt the usual level of depression, stopped. Then meditated and prayed to That Which is Greater Than Me But Doesn't Have An Adequate Name (which sometimes I call God simply out of laziness) and said, something along the lines of: OK, Look...so I can't seem to move this way or that - all doors seem closed in any paths I have traditionally taken, You seem to want me to write this book but then I feel like I will be swallowed alive by quicksand when I try to write it. So, Like, What's Up? WTF am I supposed to do?
(Yes, that is the way I 'pray'.) The answer came back, along with a feeling sense to accompany it: I'll get you through this. I knew it was true, S/he would. Then I fell asleep.
When I woke up from a nap, I had a breakthrough idea as to how to structure the book, which I knew was right. Because for once the idea expanded rather than contracted the feeling sense and my imagination regarding the project. Ever since then, I've been motoring along.
Today for example, I worked for about 8 hours. Much of today and yesterday was spent organizing the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of photos I have from both grandmothers. I had to do this before continuing because when I go for one and can't find it right away, I end up lost in a swamp of photos from multiple decades and seeing papers and getting distracted. This very technical problem is one reason I end up feeling like I'm being swallowed up by quicksand. I now have two bulging expanding files with photos and news clippings sorted by decades and sub-decades. There are still some unsorted photos and some I've sorted by guesswork based on hair styles and clothing choices...but seeing it all come together is kind of amazing.
I started the day by surprising myself and writing a short story. The execution was not as great as the idea was in my head (shocking I know), but I tried. That felt good. This had nothing to do with the grandmothers book, btw, just something I suddenly wanted to try.
Because it's about 9000 degrees out in NYC staying huddled inside with my AC and sorting photos all day did not seem like a bad idea. Nor was it.
I'm so excited by this turn of events, I'm even writing about it on the blog. A solid week of writing, with momentum building rather than subsiding seems miraculous to me...it's been a really long time coming. I feel like instead of trying to jam jigsaw pieces together that Almost fit but not quite, the pieces are finally falling into place. So nice. And I feel so proud that I didn't give up on the project. (Though if you read my 'prayer' above, you will realize the giving up or not giving up part didn't seem like a choice so much as a command...)
The writing also makes John's absence bearable. I'm not happy he's in Canada, but when I'm fully engaged like this in my writing, I don't just sit staring at his absence. He's got a full plate of stuff with which to deal in Canada so he can eventually move down here in a graceful way so my being fully engaged here takes the pressure off of him, too, which I think is good. It also shows me that his love, our love, is strong enough that it can weather distance. Even if it's uncomfortable and sometimes downright painful being apart for both of us, we are finding a way.
Speaking of John, I'm about to have my nightly Skype call with my beloved Canadian, so will wrap this up now... wish me luck with my writing! Oh, and I'm about to run out of money soon, so if you are at all intrigued by the grandmothers project, feel free to send money (!) I'm not really joking, though I suppose I should put together a Kickstarter campaign or something. But for now, just think of me as a literary panhandler: "Will write for food." Sponsor me! Be an arts patron! I'll be grateful and you will go to Heaven! Honest. Plus you'll be thanked in the book (you know that back page part where authors thank everyone - one of those people could be you)! What more could you possibly want?
Friday, July 5, 2013
I've really done it this time....
Yes, that's right kids, I got married. Again. Third time's a charm (!) This time to my beloved Canadian at City Hall in NYC...so I married my beloved in my beloved city. Or as he likes to call himself: my last, best husband. Pictures to follow at end of this post, never fear.
We got married on July 1, which as any Canadians out there will know is: Canada Day. That's like their July 4, except different. It's about confederation rather than independence...but still involves fireworks. John reasoned that if we got married that day whenever we were in Canada for our anniversary we'd have free fireworks - plus he got the day off work so could travel down to NYC to marry me. Seemed like a plan.
We have been engaged for a long while now, but I have not mentioned any of this publicly for a number of reasons including my pending (now completed as of 6/20) divorce in the UK. Once that divorce was completed, John and I were free to marry, which we did as soon as we could. All of this happened quite quickly and was in process from about my birthday onward, which is why I was keeping radio silence on the blog. We have begun immigration paperwork (a long and winding road of 7-8 months - the realities of post-9/11 life in the US) so John can move down from Canada.
In the whacky world of US immigration law, my now-husband had to go back to his home country after we got married so as to file paperwork so he can get a visa to live here. There are less legal ways to do this and people generally get away with it, but we chose to go the ultra-legal way...which means of course it'll take us longer. Because the law is written in such a way that it's actually easier to break it than follow it. I doubt any immigration reform will address this, but kinda wish it would. We have a great immigration attorney, however. A fellow named David Katona (in case anyone's looking for one) who is known for high ethics and only taking people who he knows are getting married for real. We are hoping this coupled with the entirely obvious fact to anyone who looks that we are getting married for real will speed along the application. However, the word speed and US visa application are not synonymous and unlike in the UK where there is a possibility of expedited service for a fee, there is no such thing here....
So, wish us luck! There is one possible visa that if it comes through on time John could move down in 4-5 months, but due to weird technicalities that one usually doesn't come through on time before the other one wends its leisurely way through the Montreal Embassy (a known site of visa gridlock for obvious reasons)...
OK, so back to the fun part, the wedding!
First of all, in case you are on the fence about how to get married, let me assure you that a NYC City Hall (technically City Clerk's Office) wedding is as good as it gets if you like the idea of being surrounded by lots of happy people of every possible description about to get married. We took this route for efficacy's sake but it turned out to be an incredible experience in and of itself. While we are going to have another ceremony after John settles here wherein we can plan and invite people, write our own vows and all that, this one turned out to be far more special than we could have dreamed.
The many reasons for this are: the aforementioned NYC experience, which now - happily - includes gay couples - so it's kind of like if you took everyone out of an average subway car and lined them up to get married. This is a great feeling.
The next reason was my extraordinary friends, 8 of whom showed up with only 4 days notice on a Monday at 1pm: one friend, our witness (and my chief friend/ally-in-life), Julie, who came in from East Hampton for the day, two other friends, who I am referring to as bride saves (steeper qualification than bride's maids), Alyson and Rachel, who took half days off from work and managed to make me a bouquet, adjust my dress, take photos and help me shop (Rachel) and do my hair, make a Just Married Sign and be an amazing support (Alyson) and both of whom carried the rings for John and me. Other photographer/videographer friends included Nina (professional photojournalist - you will see some of her photos below), Robyn (international editor and excellent friend), Elinor (beloved friend and ally), Christian (friend since 1986 - mentioned in this blog back in October 2011 when we went to Occupy Wall Street marches together - chief witness to my life since then and all round amazing human) and Diane (lovely friend who happily for me just finished the semester teaching and took a great video of the ceremony). Without these extraordinary people, this event would have been special and wonderful because John and I are so in love, but it would not have been So Astonishingly Special and Wonderful. Because of them, we were not only two people in love who knew we had finally found the one true love of our lives, but we were two people in love surrounded by a loving Community of people who wanted to share in this most precious moment with us and who enhanced that moment with their presence. (Photos of all mentioned will appear below, never fear!)
Then, as if that wasn't enough, we ended up with James Mitchell, the extraordinary officiant who was profiled on Valentine's Day in the NYTimes. You can read the article about him here. He loves his job and perfectly captured the joy and solemnity of the vows with his oracular yet friendly presence.
We had found perfect rings in Portland, Maine at Cross Jewelers that frame our jade engagement rings (photos below). Then, I found the wedding dress and shoes at Second Time Around on the Upper West Side - in about 5 minutes (Nanette Lepore dress and Prada sandals for $200 - amazing). We found John's tux at Century21 - a Kenneth Cole for $250. Only in New York...
OK, so that's the surround. But here's the thing: I was getting married - as mentioned prior - for the third time. This fact alone is incredibly embarrassing (and oddly in line with my family heritage - which makes it even more embarrassing). But it's true. So, how - many of my friends who have known me for a while naturally wanted to know - do you know this is a good idea? You with such a bad track record of marriage. And why on earth are you marrying someone so quickly? Are you (they want to say and almost say but do not quite say) mad??
So, for these friends, here is my answer: I wondered some of this myself, of course, but then I meditated and sat still. Every time I prayed or went to seek counsel from my trusted ally-friends who have some of the same challenges I face in life and with whom I have sought a spiritual solution to same (original typo was soulution, which I kind of like actually), I got the same answer: this is your one true love who has shown consistently through actions as well as words that he loves you unconditionally and without reserve. You love him the same way. There is no reason not to let this happen and receive this extraordinarily miraculous gift of true love.
I told John when he proposed to me (about 2 weeks into our meeting) that I wasn't sure because while I may have another marriage in me, I know I don't have another divorce in me. In case you haven't gone through a divorce, let me assure you, it's soul-crushingly painful. If, like me, you said vows meaning them, the idea that they can be severed comes as a rude shock to the system. I am now of course glad both those divorces happened because it has allowed me to find and marry John, but if I could have my choice, I'd rather never have married either former partner, simply because now that I know what a real marriage feels like, those former marriages feel deeply unreal. I am not blaming either former partner for this by the way. I'm the one that should have known but didn't. True love is so unique and rare than until you experience it, you don't know you haven't experienced it. It's that simple. So it's not a blame thing, it's just the facts.
However, now I know what it feels like to say vows and have them said to me at a time and in such a way that it feels almost redundant. That commitment to each other started almost immediately and shows no signs of abating. Instead, we simply feel more and more committed to one another as time goes on.
Because of my experience of having a miscarriage the day after my last wedding, I was also shit scared that something horrendous would happen on July 2. But it didn't. I was so scared before the ceremony because I felt perhaps I was missing something or making a mistake that somehow I couldn't see, but then as soon as we said the vows and went to Nha Trang restaurant (Vietnamese place around the corner) to settle in for a late lunch, I knew it was all right. My friend Julie says I have never been or seemed happier since she's known me and I know she's right. The photos show the face of someone I barely recognize because I don't remember ever smiling this broadly or feeling so at ease with another human being with whom I am in an intimate relationship.
What makes John so special, among many things, is that when I remembered the miscarriage experience while sitting on the sofa waiting our turn in line to get married, I could whisper this fear into his ear and hear loving words back, be held a little closer and given support I needed so much in that moment. From that moment on, I knew it was all OK. And it was.
Finally, as you will notice, I have - for the first time ever - changed my name. John and I both have changed our surnames to Barclay-Morton. This is a huge step for someone who had three stepfathers and was married twice all without changing her name. This is the outward sign of the deep love we feel for one another and the way we feel our lives are intertwined forever.
Even now that John has gone back to Canada, I can feel his presence strongly. Last night he appeared to comfort me in a dream, so I know it's very deep this feeling - not simply a conscious choice but one that has penetrated my whole being and becoming-in-the-world.
July 1 our wedding day was also the one year anniversary of the memorial service for my beloved stepfather Tom. I did pass this by my mother who said she felt Tom would be deeply happy for this confluence of dates. That he and his patron saint-god Ganesh would be delighted. My Ganesh, given to me by my mother, sits in front of me now on my computer, along with a stone given to me by a friend and a little porcelain frog given by another. I am truly blessed, surrounded by love on all sides.
My mother was very sad not to be at the ceremony, but she is fully in support, having met John in Maine and happy to have him as a son-in-law.
Below are some pictures to give you a flavor of the day (photos by Rachel, Elinor, Christian & Nina):
We got married on July 1, which as any Canadians out there will know is: Canada Day. That's like their July 4, except different. It's about confederation rather than independence...but still involves fireworks. John reasoned that if we got married that day whenever we were in Canada for our anniversary we'd have free fireworks - plus he got the day off work so could travel down to NYC to marry me. Seemed like a plan.
We have been engaged for a long while now, but I have not mentioned any of this publicly for a number of reasons including my pending (now completed as of 6/20) divorce in the UK. Once that divorce was completed, John and I were free to marry, which we did as soon as we could. All of this happened quite quickly and was in process from about my birthday onward, which is why I was keeping radio silence on the blog. We have begun immigration paperwork (a long and winding road of 7-8 months - the realities of post-9/11 life in the US) so John can move down from Canada.
In the whacky world of US immigration law, my now-husband had to go back to his home country after we got married so as to file paperwork so he can get a visa to live here. There are less legal ways to do this and people generally get away with it, but we chose to go the ultra-legal way...which means of course it'll take us longer. Because the law is written in such a way that it's actually easier to break it than follow it. I doubt any immigration reform will address this, but kinda wish it would. We have a great immigration attorney, however. A fellow named David Katona (in case anyone's looking for one) who is known for high ethics and only taking people who he knows are getting married for real. We are hoping this coupled with the entirely obvious fact to anyone who looks that we are getting married for real will speed along the application. However, the word speed and US visa application are not synonymous and unlike in the UK where there is a possibility of expedited service for a fee, there is no such thing here....
So, wish us luck! There is one possible visa that if it comes through on time John could move down in 4-5 months, but due to weird technicalities that one usually doesn't come through on time before the other one wends its leisurely way through the Montreal Embassy (a known site of visa gridlock for obvious reasons)...
OK, so back to the fun part, the wedding!
First of all, in case you are on the fence about how to get married, let me assure you that a NYC City Hall (technically City Clerk's Office) wedding is as good as it gets if you like the idea of being surrounded by lots of happy people of every possible description about to get married. We took this route for efficacy's sake but it turned out to be an incredible experience in and of itself. While we are going to have another ceremony after John settles here wherein we can plan and invite people, write our own vows and all that, this one turned out to be far more special than we could have dreamed.
The many reasons for this are: the aforementioned NYC experience, which now - happily - includes gay couples - so it's kind of like if you took everyone out of an average subway car and lined them up to get married. This is a great feeling.
The next reason was my extraordinary friends, 8 of whom showed up with only 4 days notice on a Monday at 1pm: one friend, our witness (and my chief friend/ally-in-life), Julie, who came in from East Hampton for the day, two other friends, who I am referring to as bride saves (steeper qualification than bride's maids), Alyson and Rachel, who took half days off from work and managed to make me a bouquet, adjust my dress, take photos and help me shop (Rachel) and do my hair, make a Just Married Sign and be an amazing support (Alyson) and both of whom carried the rings for John and me. Other photographer/videographer friends included Nina (professional photojournalist - you will see some of her photos below), Robyn (international editor and excellent friend), Elinor (beloved friend and ally), Christian (friend since 1986 - mentioned in this blog back in October 2011 when we went to Occupy Wall Street marches together - chief witness to my life since then and all round amazing human) and Diane (lovely friend who happily for me just finished the semester teaching and took a great video of the ceremony). Without these extraordinary people, this event would have been special and wonderful because John and I are so in love, but it would not have been So Astonishingly Special and Wonderful. Because of them, we were not only two people in love who knew we had finally found the one true love of our lives, but we were two people in love surrounded by a loving Community of people who wanted to share in this most precious moment with us and who enhanced that moment with their presence. (Photos of all mentioned will appear below, never fear!)
Then, as if that wasn't enough, we ended up with James Mitchell, the extraordinary officiant who was profiled on Valentine's Day in the NYTimes. You can read the article about him here. He loves his job and perfectly captured the joy and solemnity of the vows with his oracular yet friendly presence.
We had found perfect rings in Portland, Maine at Cross Jewelers that frame our jade engagement rings (photos below). Then, I found the wedding dress and shoes at Second Time Around on the Upper West Side - in about 5 minutes (Nanette Lepore dress and Prada sandals for $200 - amazing). We found John's tux at Century21 - a Kenneth Cole for $250. Only in New York...
OK, so that's the surround. But here's the thing: I was getting married - as mentioned prior - for the third time. This fact alone is incredibly embarrassing (and oddly in line with my family heritage - which makes it even more embarrassing). But it's true. So, how - many of my friends who have known me for a while naturally wanted to know - do you know this is a good idea? You with such a bad track record of marriage. And why on earth are you marrying someone so quickly? Are you (they want to say and almost say but do not quite say) mad??
So, for these friends, here is my answer: I wondered some of this myself, of course, but then I meditated and sat still. Every time I prayed or went to seek counsel from my trusted ally-friends who have some of the same challenges I face in life and with whom I have sought a spiritual solution to same (original typo was soulution, which I kind of like actually), I got the same answer: this is your one true love who has shown consistently through actions as well as words that he loves you unconditionally and without reserve. You love him the same way. There is no reason not to let this happen and receive this extraordinarily miraculous gift of true love.
I told John when he proposed to me (about 2 weeks into our meeting) that I wasn't sure because while I may have another marriage in me, I know I don't have another divorce in me. In case you haven't gone through a divorce, let me assure you, it's soul-crushingly painful. If, like me, you said vows meaning them, the idea that they can be severed comes as a rude shock to the system. I am now of course glad both those divorces happened because it has allowed me to find and marry John, but if I could have my choice, I'd rather never have married either former partner, simply because now that I know what a real marriage feels like, those former marriages feel deeply unreal. I am not blaming either former partner for this by the way. I'm the one that should have known but didn't. True love is so unique and rare than until you experience it, you don't know you haven't experienced it. It's that simple. So it's not a blame thing, it's just the facts.
However, now I know what it feels like to say vows and have them said to me at a time and in such a way that it feels almost redundant. That commitment to each other started almost immediately and shows no signs of abating. Instead, we simply feel more and more committed to one another as time goes on.
Because of my experience of having a miscarriage the day after my last wedding, I was also shit scared that something horrendous would happen on July 2. But it didn't. I was so scared before the ceremony because I felt perhaps I was missing something or making a mistake that somehow I couldn't see, but then as soon as we said the vows and went to Nha Trang restaurant (Vietnamese place around the corner) to settle in for a late lunch, I knew it was all right. My friend Julie says I have never been or seemed happier since she's known me and I know she's right. The photos show the face of someone I barely recognize because I don't remember ever smiling this broadly or feeling so at ease with another human being with whom I am in an intimate relationship.
What makes John so special, among many things, is that when I remembered the miscarriage experience while sitting on the sofa waiting our turn in line to get married, I could whisper this fear into his ear and hear loving words back, be held a little closer and given support I needed so much in that moment. From that moment on, I knew it was all OK. And it was.
Finally, as you will notice, I have - for the first time ever - changed my name. John and I both have changed our surnames to Barclay-Morton. This is a huge step for someone who had three stepfathers and was married twice all without changing her name. This is the outward sign of the deep love we feel for one another and the way we feel our lives are intertwined forever.
Even now that John has gone back to Canada, I can feel his presence strongly. Last night he appeared to comfort me in a dream, so I know it's very deep this feeling - not simply a conscious choice but one that has penetrated my whole being and becoming-in-the-world.
July 1 our wedding day was also the one year anniversary of the memorial service for my beloved stepfather Tom. I did pass this by my mother who said she felt Tom would be deeply happy for this confluence of dates. That he and his patron saint-god Ganesh would be delighted. My Ganesh, given to me by my mother, sits in front of me now on my computer, along with a stone given to me by a friend and a little porcelain frog given by another. I am truly blessed, surrounded by love on all sides.
My mother was very sad not to be at the ceremony, but she is fully in support, having met John in Maine and happy to have him as a son-in-law.
Below are some pictures to give you a flavor of the day (photos by Rachel, Elinor, Christian & Nina):
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| love this cheesy backdrop at Marriage Bureau - feel so proud to be a New Yorker importing a Canadian |
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| beginning of ceremony with bride-saves Alyson & Rachel |
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| friend & witness Christian - since 1986 - seeing each other through It All |
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| we've got a ticket to marry - woohoo: C714 |
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| 'showered with blessings' - butterfly umbrellas purchased in Montreal at butterfly exhibit |
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| with James Mitchell City Hall officiant extraordinaire |
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| John & me with my grrrl posse: Robyn, Alyson, Diane, Elinor, Julie, Rachel, Nina |
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| Julie being our witness - officially(!) |
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| the ring bit - which was just lovely |
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| my ring..as I was saying vows to John |
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| I have never seen a photo of me looking happier - after telling John about my fears before ceremony - you can see why he's the man for me. |
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