Lichen In a Dream, w/c painting  KSR

How do you fall asleep?  Turn over on the left side.  No, it’s too warm that way, maybe the right side is better.  Draw left leg up, no, right leg, no, I’ll just leave them straight down.  Wish my feet would stop twitching. My legs won’t stay still.  What do they call that?  Restless leg syndrome.  I’ve got it.  Oh damn, leg cramp again.  Jump on it.  There that’s better.  Maybe I’ll just prop the pillow up and try to sleep on my back.  Dr. Advice is sleeping softly and Charlie in his little bed is sleeping.  It’s not fair.  Why can’t I sleep?  I’m so tired.  Had a busy day too.  That should have worn me out.  I could take a sleeping pill if I had one, but took one once & it messed my brain up the next day, so that’s no good.  I could turn the light on and read I suppose, but it would wake everybody up.  Why does this happen to me all the time?

It was a nice time today having lunch with the girls in Alameda.  I always liked the restaurant too.  Went even though I was dentally challenged but the cute young waiter brought me a huge bowl of spumoni ice cream and a glass of milk.  Everyone else had sandwiches.  Mine was better.  Cheaper too.

Lots of news I can think about.  Dolores has sold her house.  She was married a week before me and has lived in that house for 56 years.  Asked Helen how long she had lived in hers.  “I was born in it, so 85 years.”  She’s going to have another shoulder surgery.  Dolores sold hers in less than a week to a young single woman who loved all the religious stuff she has sitting around and the kitschy stuff her grandkids always liked.   Joan lives in her grandmother’s house.  They all looked pretty good considering.  Joan had a TIA recently and fell.  She was a ballet dancer and has bad knees, but has a wicked sense  of humor.  Marge gets more bent over each time I see her.  Just think, I’ve known them all since they were 15.  Everybody has something.  Guess that’s life in the fast lane.  Now what’ll I think about?  I don’t want to think about troubling things or I’ll never get to sleep.

Get up and check the e-mail.  No unread e-mail in my inbox.  Maybe  play a few games of solitaire.   I never win.  Now I’m tired but not sleepy.  What in the world is the sleep secret, and why can’t I find it?

Come on old girl, you can totally do this.  Get back in bed and check out the sheep population.

What? It’s seven o’clock already?  I must have fallen asleep.  Good.  Got to get lunch ready for three more girls today, so get up out of this nice comfy bed I love so much and get cracking.  Can’t wait till tonight so I can snuggle back into these covers.

“In the cellars of the night, when the mind starts moving around old trunks of bad times, the pain of this and that, the memory of a small boldness is a hand to hold.”  John Leonard, Critic


The Practice—-  watercolor painting by kayti sweetland rasmussen

“There’s some seven billion of us on this Earth and we are all interconnected.  There’s this idea of six degrees of separation that we are only six links away from any person.”  Psych 101 assures us that when two of us come together, there are really six people involved in the conversation, ie the person he thinks he is, the person you think he is, and the person he really is.

Awhile back I was being interviewed for a newspaper article prior to a show I had been preparing for 18 months.  The reporter and the photographer crowded in upon me, one firing questions as to what I had meant in this or that piece, the other clicking away.  Then the article came out, and though complimentary, it wasn’t at all what I thought I had said.

The truth is that we unconciously perform in a slightly different manner for each occasion.   I am deeply sympathetic or joyful to someone who requires it, yet I may be businesslike to the telephone company or the garbage man, and yet flirt with the waiter!  Why do you think that is?  I am still me.

At an art show or gallery opening I am comfortable wearing an otherwise outrageous outfit, perhaps even a feather boa, but I am equally comfortable, and most times I live in blue jeans and tennis shoes.

We are all the above things.   We are a compilation of our entire life experiences; the things we did or wished we had done, the interaction between family, friends, enemies. We are absorbing knowledge, wisdom and patience each day of our lives.

Like the little dancer in the painting who wants desperately to be out with her friends, we are learning patience and endurance, and at some point in our lives we will be happy to have practiced our “en point.”  Though I no longer dance in reality, I will always dance in my heart.

And yes, these are my shoes.