I got back into town late Saturday afternoon. I was relieved to be back amongst my own family unit and was happy to feel like a grown-up again instead of the youngest. It doesn't matter how old you are, when in certain settings, you fall into line with your birth order. I'm surprised I didn't break out with acne while gone.
Anyhow, I got back and was pretty much a waste product. I was looking forward to doing nothing but the the crossword puzzle on Sunday when I remembered that Grizzled had signed us up for a glass class. Working with glass was always something that called to him, and a number of months back, he convinced me to go to a class with him. It was not something I ever felt the need to do, but hey... he was asking, and I wanted him to do it. I'm so glad we went.
It was just Grizzled, me and a very wonderful, knowlegable instructor. Since we were working with ovens that were cranking out 2400 degree heat and were going to be carrying around rods with molten glass, we had to focus. We had to really focus. There was no time for imaginary scenarios going around in your head... no time for judgment, no time for anything other than making sure you kept that rod spinning in your hand and doing what you needed to do to that molten blob of glass... at some point after my "second gather", while fusing my colored glass in what was called the "glory hole" (our instructor made the jokes, filthbot did not need to), I realized my mind was completely silent. I had experienced brain-drain, and I felt peace. Even though my mind acknowledged this, it couldn't stay on it for too long as I had to move to the next station, had to keep moving and doing, intensly focusing on the task at hand...
We pick up our paperweights sometime at the end of the week... they spend a fair amount of time in the annealing oven and then have to have their bases polished. They were so hot when we last saw them, I'm not even sure how they'll look. I don't even care. The process would have been worth it had we gotten nothing to take home. The brain-drain was definitely worth it.
When we left, the instructor asked if we'd be interested in doing more. He said it was addictive. Oh, I'm sure it is. I could already tell it was one of those things where once you got the feel, you had to go back to see if you could do it again, and then try this and try that. I'm not sure I need to do glass though. I kind of hope Grizzled does, but I know I need to do something that's hard... well, maybe not hard, but truly challenging... not something you know you'll be good at if you just give it a whirl, but something completely new... something that takes all of your focus and is also a little bit scary. I think the part that was most addictive for me was the brain-drain.
Laura's and fish's posts, as well as political discourse, has brought back memories... memories of being a young, single woman in the city... with a very dismal and unreliable paycheck. I believe I was working freelance jobs along with two part-time jobs... but still, paying for medical care was an issue, so I went to one of the Planned Parenthood-inspired places. It was not officially PP, but was basically the same deal. You paid for what you could, and most prices were reasonable.
Even though we were well into the latter half of the 80's, this place was right out of the 70's. Lots of ferns, lots of paneling, lots of Free to Be... You and Me stuff on the walls. I was fine with FTB...YAM, but did not necessarily want it every time I went for a check-up. It got even worse once I had to go a little more often. You see, you could not get your beloved birth control pills if your blood pressure was too high. I am notorious for having low blood pressure, but when in this place, with all of the questions, all of the doubtful looks, mine would shoot sky-high.
"We'll give you a month's worth of birth control pills, but you must come back and prove you're BP is ok!"
Before these visits I would chant... think of dolphins, think of dolphins, think of dolphins...
But when they'd come in to check me out and would ask something that merited a smart-ass answer, with me giving it, and them taking me seriously, my BP would shoot sky high. I knew the drill... take the woman, who may or may not be abused, to a dark room... and let her think of dolphins for 10 minutes. Test again.
Most of the time I could chill, and the Rx was mine.
There was one time though that 3 women came into the room and suggested it was time to get to know my body.
Huh?? I was in my 20's! I knew my body?? What do you mean?? Know my body??
They produced a plastic speculum and a mirror... I kid you not. I scanned the ferns for hidden cameras...
They told me no women truly owns herself until she can examine herself... see the beauty of her cervix. I told them I was fine with a hidden cervix. My cervix was doing what it needed to do and I also trusted the professionals who checked it out...
They took this 'no' as an issue. I was like, "No, you don't get it... I was raised by a very down to earth mother who was nurse and called a spade a spade. Sure, my father might have been a little squeamish about the workings of daughterly parts, but Mom was fully on board with open discussion. I don't have issues... in fact, I'd like to use my parts with the man I love, the man who doesn't beat me, the man who accepts me as I am... while I myself am accepting me as I am... OK?? Take the Pap test and let me be on my way!"
But they insisted... which I felt was incredibly wrong, but hey... I was at peace with my parts, and as I mentioned, wanted to freely use my parts, so I did it. Woo-hoo! Look at my cervix! Woo-hoo! Yay! It looks like... a cervix... Can I go now???
They tried to give me a speculum to take home, but I think I shocked them when I said I preferred the flesh variety. Fortunately, soon after, I got insurance and was able to go to a Dr, who never once suggested I get in touch with my cervix... a Dr who seemed to understand that I was hip to my stuff... but relied on a professional to look up under my chassis.
(Heh... when I go to add a link to type up above, TypePad says, "Insert Link"... See?? These are the kind of thoughts that got me into trouble at the Women's place!)
Our weather has been so bizarre, I have no idea what month it is. My logical brain responds to what the calendar says... my reflexive brain responds to external cues. Daffodils are done, it must be May. Grass needs to be cut twice a week, it must be June. My senses are telling me it could be any day in a 3 month period, but the other night... after a day of extreme warmth, I smelled summer. I was bringing the dogs in when my nose picked up the smell of sweet, warm plants, warm asphalt... warm, warm, warm... It felt like it was July and I should be 16... and then it dawned on me... it's early April and I am not 16, but EL will be in a matter of days. I once again understood my father pondering how could he have a 40 yr-old child when he was only 40?? Only 40... Heh...
We seem to be back in April today, and work beckons... Onward!
I could hear my neighbor working in her yard today, singing along with the radio... and what did I hear as I approached? "Gimme summer lovin'..." I could not stifle all chuckling. I tried. She asked what I was laughing at when I replied, "Were you singing "Gimme summer lovin'??"
Well yes, yes she was. I was informed it was a classic. I said I was familiar with the song, but was pretty sure it was "some" lovin', not just summer lovin'... because, you know, lovin' is good year 'round.
She thought about it, but said she was pretty sure it was summer... I asked what the difference was?? Did she mean a short romance that only lasts the summer?? Or was summer lovin' "hotter"?? She paused... and pondered, and said she wasn't sure... It was at that moment that a bad, bad poem, from an inappropriate, former co-worker popped into my head and I had to leave before doing anymore damage to neighborly relations:
When the weather is hot and sticky
That's not the time to dunk your dickie.
But when the frost is on the pumpkin,
That's the time for dickie-dunkin'.
God, I can't believe I even remember that... but then I remember so MANY things he said to clients because he was so inappropriate!!!
Also... a shout out to Steve Winwood... my neighbor would like you to know... YOU'RE SINGING IT WRONG!!!