Final Harvest

I'm sitting on my futon with one of my three felines listening to Loreena McKennitt's Nights from the Alhambra. Tonight is a new moon and tomorrow is Samhain, a pagan's New Year in other words. I always love this particular sabbat. Even if I don't recognize any other sabbat with a full ritual, I make an effort to recognize this one.

I think my deep and abiding love of Halloween has a smidge to do with it.

This year though I have not sat down to compose my own ritual. I have a vague idea in my noggin about the way things will go and what I want to address, but I've rather enjoyed the prologue to the ritual. I've put the last of the garden to rest. The whithered vines, the fruits that never ripened, the weed blocker, and the drip system sprinklers have been pulled and stowed. The Brussels sprouts have been washed, cut, and are now drying on the counter. It's not as big a harvest as I was hoping to get from four stalks, but it was such a lousy growing season around here it's no wonder. Poor garden just never had a chance to really thrive between the pendulum swings of temperatures and the frequent hailstorms. It sucks that we just never got all that we hoped, but we've got a decent batch of Brussels to keep veggies on our plates for a bit.

 And who doesn't need a bit of Van Gogh really?

I also worked with my hubby to get a little more painting on the house done since today was lovely weather. Bright sunshine, blue skies, and moderate autumn temperature made the detailing and trim work quite pleasant. Although, cats are lousy house painters. You'd think the ones with the bushy tails might have a natural ability, but it really just means a mess to clean up when they get paint on their fur. The last thing you need or want is a kitten with red paint on its tail running through your house. Despite that adventure, the front and the back doors are red and the support eaves are red. It's nice having the accent color start to add to the overall effect--feline interference notwithstanding.

This is Claus. He's not good at painting, but he's adorable. Yes, he has only one eye because his previous humans neglected to give him his eye medicine. They suck.

I hollowed our pumpkin yesterday, so today I made up the seeds. I found a recipe for bacon pumpkin seeds on one of our favorite paleo blogs. Consequently, I cooked some of those and cannot wait to munch on them. Nom nom nom. You have to stir them every 5 minutes, so I delayed starting on this blog in favor of setting out my week's wardrobe for work. I also got some candles in the holders for tonight and cleaned up my ritual area in the basement. It needed some incense cleansing, so that happened. It's much more palatable now and Hissy, our female kitty, knows that it's ritual day. She was all over me as I cleaned and cleansed. She gets rather excited when I actually do a circle. Besides, I'm fairly certain she senses the Samhain veil lifting. The other day I saw her sitting by Poof's grave just curled up in contemplation over his stones. He was her favorite, so I am sure she was lamenting the addition of Claus von Annoying Little Kitten IV (her name, not mine). I trust she'll be with me in the circle as I remember Poofus.

Look at him. Stunning feline. I miss him still. These last few days I swear I've seen him around the house. I know it's just illusion, but it's unsettling the number of times I've thought, "Poof?" and then it turned out to be something else.

Samhain is all about remembering those who've passed on, acknowledging the cycle of life and death, welcoming the coming dark of winter, and casting out all that just serves your life no purpose. I've been toying with that idea a lot as I went about the business of today. With the new moon in Scorpio and the sabbat, it's got me mulling that idea of living the life I want to live. Cast out what doesn't work and live fully with what does. Living according to my personal truths, stripping away what I may have thought was truth when it was only falsehood, and really allowing my own certitudes flourish. What are my certitudes? I want nothing more than to live in accordance with the cycles of the earth, to live in peace with the other beings with whom I share this world, and to live a life where I speak my truths, but listen to others. Listening doesn't mean believing, but it does mean I have to open my ears rather than prepare my argument against.

May your ancestors be close, your cider be tart, and your New Year be brimming of all that fulfills you.

An Unbalanced Existence

Living with chronic conditions is complicated. Understatement of the year right? Well, lately my vestibular system has gone wonky...ok. So it's been since late summer, but it's been getting really annoying lately. I almost fell on the stairs at work. I almost fell in dance class-twice. I ran into the door jamb at home. I felt like I was going to fall off the ladder yesterday while I was painting (it's only a three step ladder). I lost balance in the shower. This stumbling, clumsy, spinning, and falling forward problem is causing me a great amount of consternation.

Totally not feelin' the balance, my goat friend. You go ahead though. I'll catch up in a few months.

It's tough to isolate which condition is making me unbalanced right now. I've had a bit of a migraine burst thanks to the ever-changing pressure systems that accompany the onset of autumn. I've also been under a wee bit of stress with the start of the school year and the fact that I'm being evaluated this year. I've also had some pressures and worries with the dance troupe and play upheavals. I had a cold that wouldn't let up. Who knows which one's to blame at this point really. It could be any one of them or it could be all of them. I'd just really like it to stop.

You tell 'em, NPH.

I had a vestibular flare many years ago and my rheumatologist sent me to an ear-nose-throat specialist who determined my hearing was fine, but suggested that I do some vestibular retraining exercises. This was about 15 years ago mind you. I did those Cawthorne-Cooksey exercises faithfully every morning. They helped. I stopped running into walls and feeling like I was being pulled ass over tea kettle when I was just walking around. It was always worse in the dark or low light. The exercises helped me feel steadier and more stable. So of course I thought things were hunky-dory and stopped them after several months of consistent application. Things were fine for a long time.

And then they weren't.

Then the weird disconnected episodes started again a few years later. I never felt comfortable calling it a dizzy spell or vertigo as the room never spun and I never felt like you do after getting off of a merry-go-round at the park. I just felt like it would be a really bad idea to move until the constriction in my brain stopped. It's almost like being instantly drunk and removed from your body.  It lasts a couple of seconds, but I feel immediately wiped out afterward. Then, I started having them back to back. It was getting to where I couldn't walk down the stairs at work because I kept being pulled forward by an invisible force. My doctor then suggested that they were connected to my migraines. They never happen when the pain does. Actually, they often happen without direct association to a migraine cycle, which is one of the indicators funnily enough. So I started the vestibular exercises again and also tried the Epley maneuver. I wasn't sold on the idea that the episodes were benign positional vertigo, but I figured I'd try anything.

Doubting moose doesn't think so, but sure. Let's try anyway.

I stopped having episodes back to back for a long time. I kept having them every few weeks, but it wasn't a daily event any longer. However, maybe 18 months later, the frequency ticked up again. I got stumbly and unbalanced again. More Epley, even though I didn't have the nystagmus. It didn't seem to help this time around. Honestly, I was really annoyed because the vestibular issues seemed to be accelerating. The benefit of the interventions seemed to be losing its effectiveness. It was frightening to do things like walk out the door let alone get behind a wheel to drive.

It could happen and it scares me.

Lately though, it's been really bad. I can't do yoga in the morning without wobbling over. Turning around in the shower throws me off. My vision keeps getting blurry. I was hoping that the trip to the eye doctor would fix that, but it didn't. My eyes are healthy and my script is fine, but my eyes fuzz out a lot anyway. I thought maybe it was just the contacts, but nope. They fuzz out even with glasses.  Walking down the hall at school I will suddenly have the sensation that I'm floating or that I'm in a fun house where the floor moves. I can't get through my squat exercises or the drills for belly dance without holding on to the wall or taking things more slowly. I hate showing weakness like this. I can do these things ordinarily, but not right now. I have to remediate myself for the time being.

Yes, Jayne. No one needs ever know that I'm doing this because I'm too scared of falling over in front of everyone.

So I started the vestibular training again. I have a performance for class this week and my song is rather fast-paced at times. Part of me wants to switch songs to something slower. Part of me wants to do the whole song sitting down. That's actually an option since it's arms class, but again it pisses me off to consider it. No one else would know, but I would and it's just something that makes me depressed and embarrassed. It shouldn't, but I never feel that my explanations do justice to the sensations and utter lack of control over my movements.

It's only a matter of time...

I guess it's time to adjust my routine. I've added the Cawthorne-Cooksey back in. I suppose I need to check the inflammation angle, too. Time to decrease anything that causes inflammation like sugar and other high carb foods even though I don't eat a lot of that stuff anyway. Increase the breathing exercises and meditations to manage any stress. Most of all, I need to be patient with myself until things get back under better management. Between the lupus, Sjogren's, and migraines, I guess vestibular involvement is here to stay so I best incorporate a daily routine for it, too.

Fuck you, vestibular system. Fuck you.

ADDENDUM: The fact is, I'm tired. I'm tired of fighting right now. I'm tired of doing everything I can to mitigate my illnesses, yet here I am afraid to practice for my dance performance because I don't want to stumble or be a clutz. I don't want to be reminded that I'm sick. I know others have it way worse than me, but gorammit! I do shit to make it better. I do a lot of wellness crap like change my diet, yoga, medications, supplements, and mindfulness. I drink water more than other liquids. I swish with coconut oil because it actually helps the dry mouth and dental hygiene. I still manage to do strength training and exercise regularly. I get plenty of sleep. Why the fuck can't it be enough?

Choosing America's Dream: Gaining Knowledge from the Journey

Choice. It's a loaded word. Depending on the conversation, the connotation and implication can divide, unite, or alienate. My seniors are studying the concept of the power in choice. My juniors delve into the myth and ideal of the American Dream. My sophomores study the transformation of innocence to knowledge. My freshman students reflect on the journeys we take in life. Using these unit concepts to guide my teaching for the semester, I find myself reflecting an awful lot on what these big ideas mean to me as well.

Philosophical goat ponders the ideas before him.

The seniors just wrapped up Hamlet. One of the themes in Hamlet is his action versus inaction; will he or won't he. Their final essay dealt with identifying one choice he made, examine how it caused other events in the play, and to offer an alternative choice that would have led to different outcomes. As I sat with my absentee ballot yesterday, I pondered the outcomes of my choices as I darkened in ovals.

Voting moose needed snacks after that.

Cognitively, I understand the theory behind tribalism and human psychology and how fear drives us at our most primal levels, yet as I looked at the very first option on my ballot I simply cannot fathom anyone voting for Trump. While I don't particularly hold with the Libertarian ideas that the free market solves everything and that we should eliminate all the superfluous government offices like federal assistance programs and the Department of Education, I can at least nod and understand why someone might cast their vote for Gary Johnson. I can also step back and look at the values in the Green Party and understand why someone would vote for Jill Stein despite her incredible lack of experience since she is the chosen one to represent their party on the national stage. When it comes to Trump, I got nothing. I cannot even begin to understand the mentality of support for him as it flies in the face of everything I believe. While I know that people change over time and what one said ten years ago does not necessarily translate to what someone might believe now, what Trump has said during this election is chilling. It demonstrates that he has not changed, and he does not feel remorse for anything he has said or encouraged along the way. His comments that his pussy grabbing remarks are "locker room talk" is indicative of his dismissive nature of minorities of all kinds. When it comes to exercising our power of choice, this should be an easy one: Don't vote for Trump.

Well, one would think voting for him is inconceivable.

Unfortunately, some people will. And that's chilling. Some people post on social media that they won't unfriend someone for their political views. I disagree. If you support Trump and openly profess that on social media, I will unfriend you. I don't think it's immature nor do I think it's degrading to democracy as one meme proclaims. I think it's me exercising my power of choice to reject an ideology that would erode democracy if allowed to thrive and accepted into the mainstream. I won't be a party to it. In this, my power of choice to spurn Trump's misogyny, bigotry, and zealotry upholds the values put forth for our country. Trump's values are not my values. I will not accept his values or any agent thereof. You may believe them, but I will renounce them. If that means losing your friendship, better we know where each other really stand. It's only social media after all. It's not like we're bosom buddies who hang every weekend and name one another godparents for our kids, or in my case for our cats.

Be gone, unclean spirits! I cast you out of my friends list.

As for the American Dream, well gee. We sure like to think we're all able to reach that house with a white picket fence and two cars in the garage blah, blah, blah. However, we don't all have that opportunity and don't always see the pathway toward that dream. My juniors just finished The Crucible. Tying that play to the American Dream--oh boy! The Puritans wanted their theocracy, their city on a hill where they could live according to their religious beliefs and lead the rest of the sinners toward the righteous path. Uffda. A country where only one faith is recognized for all didn't work then, and it won't work now. It completely contradicts what America set out to be--a land where all faiths are allowed and respected, but none are supported officially by the government. One of the major themes of the play involves mass hysteria. Doesn't that just sum up the rampant nationalism that Trump spits forth from his self-important podium? We closed the door on the Cold War years ago, but here he is breathing his hatred and vitriol like a frost giant intent on sating his blood-thirst all while earning the support and endorsement of a despot like Putin. Trump's American Dream is not my American Dream. He would have himself on top like a dictator in his gilded palace calling down to the masses of poor people to keep pulling themselves up by their bootstraps even though he's cemented their boots to the deepest possible pits of despair.

How do those boots feel? Too tight? Just you wait.

Then there is moving from innocence to knowledge. With every piece of audio recording, Trump reveals more of who he really is. With every Tweet he tells the world what he really believes. With every appeal to the basest levels of our humanity, he demonstrates who he really is as a person. Yet some people continue to support him. Women continue to support him. Those women baffle me. They must find some comfort in being used and abused and devalued by men. They have chosen to remain lesser members of society, but not me. I won't let the President of our country say it's ok to assault another person. I won't allow our President to say it's ok to revoke the vote the suffragettes fought for. I won't let our President pat me on the head and tell me not to worry my little woman head about things since my only real function is to let him pat my bottom and be his play thing. At this point, it's no longer innocence of who and what he is, it's willful ignorance. These people who support him want their racist and sexist views validated by a leader and that leader cannot be America's leader. Other political leaders who "reluctantly support" him because he's the nominee are just as guilty and worthy of rejection. The time of rank and file support in the Republican party has passed. They should all shun Trump's rhetoric. To do otherwise is to play the ostrich and give support through silence. When Trump started his bid, I admit that I didn't take him seriously. I made jokes and wrote him off, but as time went on, my innocence was lost in the knowledge that my country began to slowly raise up a leader who lies, cheats, exploits, and does it all with impunity. That knowledge leaves me with dismay and disillusionment. What are people thinking? They're not. They want someone to lead them into the abyss.

Chew on that for a minute. 

OK, enough. I'd spit it out now if I were you.

As for journey, that's exactly what this election cycle has been: a journey to the abyss. His mouth opens and a gaping maw appears to swallow up our liberty. He would gather us up and ship us out or imprison us if we don't meet with his standards of compliance. To be clear, compliance means total obedience to him. He would have us believe that barring people from seeking the American Dream is in our best interest. He would have us resign an entire gender to pre-19th Amendment era rights. He would have us increase the economic disparity because the common man cannot possibly understand enough about business and the money and should just go work more hours in the mines because that caged bird sings its pretty song for thee right? Just listen to the music. It'll be fine. Less than a month and this journey ends.

Me, too, Samantha. Me, too.

I've made my choice to uphold the American Dream as I understand it. I've gone from innocence to knowledge on this journey toward election 2016. I'm tired, I'm poor, and I yearn to breathe free with the huddled masses on the teeming shores as we lift our lamps to shed light on his shadowy hatred so others see what we see. Then we can slam shut the golden door against Trump and his ilk. I want to hear America sing a song of freedom, and Trump doesn't know that tune.

If I Could Do it...

Know what I did today? I woke up later than I planned. Then I drank coffee and surfed social media for a time. Then I got sick of the political crap because let's face it: Trump is an asshat and needs to be removed from the ticket for his gross misogyny and political ineptitude. Further, if anyone on my friends list is voting for him, I would rather not know it as I think very lowly of anyone who even entertains the idea of voting for him. Alas! I then turned to my second Banned Book Week purchase, John Green's Looking for Alaska. Finished it. Then I did a load of laundry, two loads of dishes (dinner was messy last night), and harvested some gourds. I also helped do the accent color on our house and front door. Know what I didn't do? Memorize lines.

Won't do it tomorrow either.

I wish my reason was just regular old procrastination, but it's not. Last Wednesday I went to rehearsal for The Crucible with the excitement that comes from being less than a month out, a week until off book, and the knowledge that I was eager to start in depth character work on Abigail. Instead of our usual circle up deep breathing exercise, our director placed chairs in a circle. I was confused why the chairs circled, but we didn't. Then he made everything clearer. The previous night, two of our cast members who are married and veteran theater types unexpectedly resigned their roles. With less than a month, it was an insurmountable proposition to replace Elizabeth/Ann and Danforth. When our director said that we had no choice but to cancel, I let out an audible "Oh!" I couldn't help it. I was deeply shocked and immediately saddened. My eyes welled up and my ears turned deaf for a time. I was not expecting two theater people to drop and I certainly didn't expect the show to fold. It didn't seem possible to let something that was coming together so wonderfully crumble because of a decision that I simply couldn't comprehend.

Incredulous Goat calls bullshit on your reasoning!

I've dropped exactly three shows in my life. I dropped one musical because of a deep depression and I secured a replacement I knew could pick up my part without issue. I dropped another the first week of rehearsal because I knew the director so well that I simply didn't want to work with him. The last one was more a declining of the role since rehearsal hadn't actually started. I realized the commitment was too much at the time. I understand that sometimes we have to step out and sometimes there are truly devastating reasons for which no one need punish us. However, as my ears started to tune in again, my director diplomatically told us that the couple simply didn't seem able to proceed in the community theater atmosphere and alluded (albeit with classy high road wording) to creative differences with some of the director's choices. He even made a remark that this show was coming together with exciting moments and he wanted to proceed, he wanted to keep shaping the direction it was going, and he wanted me as Abigail. I appreciated that, but then I thought more on it and realized that perhaps they didn't think a 40 year old woman should be playing Abigail. I don't know if that's true, but it came across that way. If that's the case, then they simply didn't trust in the director's vision, and even though I was putting forth some pretty awesome moments, they were hung up on the ages issue--never mind the fact that the real Abigail was only 11. Whatever. I have no real proof of that, and it may simply be my own insecurity since Abigail is not a role I ever saw myself in even when I was 20.

Whatever their excuse, I do not accept it.

Anyway, it was a very emotional night. As we circled up to release the focus, I almost couldn't keep my tears and I felt my lip shiver, and I just wanted to escape. I calmly put on my coat and my scarf, and walked slowly out the truck with my inner monologue repeating, "Just get to the truck. Get to the truck. You're almost there. Do not under any circumstances break down until you are safely in your truck." At which point I crumbled and sobbed for about ten minutes before I finally felt like I could drive home.

It was an ugly cry and I really wanted Poofus. 

He was good when I needed to cry. 

Good cat hugs.

It was awful.

 

We all ugly cry. This was my time.

What's worse though, the next day, the couple sent us all an email about their regret for having to pull out of the show and how they remain passionate about theatre and how they hope they can work with us in the future. What the fuck ever, people. I have no intention to allow that nonsense. I didn't respond. I blocked their email instead. I'm not petty, but I am operating under self-preservation. They have no idea what they've taken from me.

It probably would've been immature to send this in reply, but oh! so tempting.

I haven't done theater for several years. I just didn't have the stamina. I didn't have the faith in local groups. I didn't have the trust in myself to be without physical or mental blockages that I experienced the last few times I had done theater. You see, my lupus, Sjogren's, and fibromyalgia had done so much to my brain and body that I found memorizing lines and interacting with fellow actors too difficult. I didn't want to put my cast members in a position of having to deal with a stand in because my body decided it was time for a flare. For 8 years I stepped aside and simply stopped.
Then the audition notice for this show happened and I wanted it so badly. I wanted to explore the deeper meanings and implications in the way that I always found the answers and themes: performance. I finally said, "Fuck you, Autoimmune Disorders! I'm doing this!"
And now I can't.

Fuck them!

I don't know if there are other motives to their leaving. They didn't elaborate and our director didn't indicate that there was some kind of personal tragedy in play. They just walked away. As theater folk, they had to know what they were causing. They had to know that the show wouldn't go on. They left anyway. I think I'm in the depression stage of things. I had my denial and anger; then we started the bargaining as we tried to figure out how to proceed. There's a potential to postpone production for a few months. Of course, we won't have the ripe political climate nor the fall season, but it's out there.

Quoth the raven...

I think I'm just in depression stage for now. We're in a transition with the belly dancers and now this. I was truly looking forward to being on the boards again. I was actually learning my lines with fidelity, and despite the fatigue, I was managing. I was investigating. I was enjoying the process. The people were good people. The vision was exciting.  I wanted this.

A Winchester hug might make it better.

Sometimes we take chances and they work out. Sometimes we take risks and they don't pan out. I guess this is one that wasn't meant to work out for now. That's not comforting in anyway. It just is. Like I said. I'm in the depression part of this.

Times They are a Changin'

About a week and a half ago, I got a message that the restaurant where we belly dance had to close immediately. It took me by surprise since I had just danced there a few nights previously and nothing was said. It felt sudden and shocking, and I worried for the family who owns the business as I know that they aren't overly wealthy or well enough off to lose their business without warning. Honestly, the last thing I was worried about was what would happen to us dancers. However, last Monday at class, our teacher asked us all about going forward and why we dance. It unnerved me on many levels.

Me, too, Thor. Me too.

We learned that night at class that indeed, the refinery had been making life difficult for our restaurant owners for the last few years, and finally they had found the loophole they'd been seeking. They've tried to break the lease with the restaurant owners ever since they took over running the refinery. Up until now, every time they tried to break the lease with the restaurant owners, they were disappointed when their lawyer told them the lease was unbreakable. Our restaurant owners had ultimately struck a deal with the refinery; they had been told that no changes were imminent and to relax. They were also invited to participate in the board meetings as community members who were invested in the company. Things seemed to be peaceful and in a holding pattern. Then one day, their deal was off and they had to leave the premises without being reimbursed for the month that they had already paid for. Just like that. Poof! The refinery got everything they wanted, which was the property without having to pay off the restaurant owners. The refinery folks apparently set a goal to have everything off that property by the end of 2016. They just have one more restaurant to go from what I can see. They're greedy, have no qualms about destroying a family business, and they're depriving the city of a local restaurant that is not a chain or franchise. It's awful, and I hope that the family is able to reorganize and find a new location. I'm sure they have enough community support to help them with start up costs should they desire to reopen.

A little teamwork should do it. I'm sure we could have a  grand re-opening for them.

For us dancers though, it means the loss of a regular gig. Dancing at the restaurant was not a money-making scheme for any of us, but it was a way to legitimize what we do. It was regular exposure for us and for the community to understand what we do. I never wanted to dance there--it was not my goal when I started dancing. Not at all. However, over time it has become something that I look forward to. It's the last of the regular gigs that we have lost.

Yup. That's pretty much how it felt.

We used to dance at the Chokecherry Festival, but we all agreed that we could let go of that one since it involved putting make-up on early in the morning and driving an hour and half to a small community in order to dance outside on Main Street. The year when we lost the  beauty salon as a location to change and had to dress in the bar bathroom was pretty much it for us. None of us got enough out of the performance there to make it worth while. Exposure and performance experience, but not enough benefit to continue the annual event.

How silly of us not to think about what would happen should we lose the other gigs, too.

We always did the Day of Dance in February. This was great fun and we always drew a crowd whether we were at the middle school or at the mall or wherever it happened to be  held. However, the woman who usually organizes it fell ill last spring and the event didn't come together. It's really iffy whether it will continue at all this year. We just don't know.

Us trying to keep our chins up and hoping it was a one year break, not a permanent vacation.

Another event that we usually did was the What Women Want Expo. This one has been shrinking and is under new management. It was always good for us as we would draw the biggest crowd and we had the widest appeal among all demographics. It was a reliable way to boost class enrollment as well. However, someone new is in charge and instead of the usual time slot, they bumped us. Not only that, but instead of the usual hour, they gave us 20 minutes. Consequently, our instructor chose dancers from three distinct age groups and they have 3 minutes total each for songs and probably the shortest beginner class she's ever taught at this event, but we'll be there. This one also seems to be fading away, are changing in an unfortunate way.

What's a performing art without performance opportunities?

Along with the reduction in performance opportunity, our teacher seems burnt out. She's alluded to it before and she seemed to have bounced back, but listening Monday night convinced me that she's done. She doesn't appear to want to keep moving forward with so many unknowns. Her classes have dwindled, we've lost our chief gigs, we've lost our studio space due to a situation not unlike what happened to the restaurant owners--she's also a stay at home mom/home school teacher. I got the impression she was really looking to us to give her an out, but what she asked was for us all to really consider why we do this and to let her know.

Yeah, I got nothing either, Cass. Not a damn clue what to say.

I dance because I love it. It's an inspirational and expressive form of dance that I love. I adore the fact that my body will do some of these things because it's not always the best at cooperating. It feels good to perform the hip circles and the figure 8's when my muscles are tight. I love the music and the costumes and the way it makes me feel beautiful. I love the women I've met. They're my support even if they don't know it. I look forward to seeing them each week. When someone misses class, I notice. If they miss a few in a row, I check in with them to find out what's up. We've built a little club of sorts. We support one another, we help one another, and we uplift one another. When I doubted myself, my ability, and my body, belly dance brought me back to myself. To lose it seems unimaginable.

Share with me your wisdom, Mystic Goat! 

Um, that's not quite what I had in mind.

I don't want my teacher to stop teaching, but I also don't want her to keep doing this just for us. That's not enough. I think she needs to want it, too. Maybe she needs us to lift her up. I know she's not going to want to hear this, but if we lose the restaurant and our other usual gigs, then we need to organize our own shindig. We need to have at least one big gala event to showcase our talents, the craft, and her classes. If we don't keep her achievements in the community vital and visible, then they will fade from memory. All that she's accomplished for herself and the craft will be lost. Fighting for respect and legitimacy in this town was not easy, but she managed it somehow. I'm just not sure how to convey exactly what it all means to me or whether it can sustain her to drive forward.

Fightin' sheep takes no shit and confronts trouble head on! 

I've had a week to mull it over. I've had a week, yet I still have no clue what to say to her. I've had a week to boil down 9 years of artistry and culture and friendship. For someone with an English degree, I should be able to do this. Maybe I'm just too scared to think of life without it because I know what happened the last time I lost an artistic outlet. I don't want to go back there. I don't want to lose them- any of them. I don't want to know what my life would look like without them all.

That seems about right, though.