The Republic of Deb - aka This is How Stuff Happens

By débora Ewing
I've lived in Texas twice: once in San Antonio, and once in what we call Deep East Texas. That's part one of this story.

Part two started in 1997 on AOL. There I met my poet-guru, who gives away guy-secrets for free, and also Linda,who made magic out of my attempts at poetry. She squeezed my hand through the ether when life got weird, and reminded me how we'll survive it. Texas women are matriarchal by necessity, says the guru.

 In one of life's best surprises, the two of them fell in love while I was away from the internet. My guru, known to some as Doc Blossom, eventually moved to Texas and made it bloom, too, for Linda. Literally and in all ways.

I've been trying for the longest to go visit them in person, but logistics have been complicated. I finally went all-in and set a date, and that's when part three happened. Maz is gonna road-trip with me.

I also know Maz via internet, through our mutual friend Rolb Coepmann. We talk a Venn diagram of art, food, photography, and Sherlock on a regular basis. She got really excited when I told her I was coming to Texas.

Maz will pick me up at the airport, take me to meet her parents, and thence drive to the canyon by way of my family's ancestral graveyard. After visiting the poets, we head for San Antonio. There's an itinerary, and we aim to stick to it. Maz watched the movie Thelma and Louise, and determined we need guns.  Hey, there, brother Michael - you see? KIDDING. We don't need no stinkin' guns.

I've said elsewhere that my history with Texas is oil-deep. I didn't want to go the first time, and then I didn't want to leave. My paternal side were early settlers in Comanche County. My daughter was sprouted there. And Texas really is a whole other country, but San Antonio is a separate entity within it - I'll be glad to touch it again. Maz tried to convince me to stay longer so I could see Austin, but I really can't take being away from home too long. And now we're getting to what this post is really about.

I'm almost through my I-don't-wanna-go freakout. I don't have adequate time to self-analyse and figure out the source, but the fast guess is that it comes from years of life screwing up: don't go anywhere nor spend any money, because when you get home life is going to fuck you. You know this one, right? Why does it manifest last-minute, though? What's the deal with having all the plans laid, tickets bought, bags packed, and then suddenly desperately wanting to not leave home?

All contingency plans are in place, everything is booked, and I've been burning CDs all day. I've got the banjo and the world music, and Maz has Adele and Bollywood soundtracks. We are ready to roll.

I found two surprise violets blooming in the yard today, like a sign. Texas, old and new friend, here I come.

Thanks to Al for fixing the picture for me (big orange heart)

Further Reading: 
This is where I'm going, and wherefore and why.  

Comments

Post a Comment

Please comment. Just Don't be a dick. Please subscribe to this blog. Email confirmation will be sent - please verify your decision to receive my validations.

Popular posts from this blog

At Ian's Place - Part One, in which you may find a creature....

By débora Ewing
Image
At Ian's Place - Part One I got this house-sitting arrangement with Ian through a mutual. I live at his place when I'm in LA selling art and while he's on tour, which is usually. Like a hippie crash-pad with only two hippies, one at a time. I picked up his keys at one of Cosmo's parties; even then Ian was en route to the airport. "So you need my schedule? Should I email it?" I yelled a little over the music. I was super-thrilled about this arrangement, but the casualness and unknown variables perplexed me, especially in the middle of a party. Did my momma warn me about this? "Yeah, no, there's a guest room. Should be all made up, might be dusty." Ian seemed distracted, maybe feeling awkward, too. "That guy in the pink t-shirt is Jack. He's my manager. Get my address from him. Hey, take care, man, my ride's here. I gotta go. I like your boots." He handed me two keys, no keychain - one for a deadbolt, I assumed...
Keep Going »

Business Tattoos vs. Deb-utante Ball aka My Coming-Out Party

By débora Ewing
Image
Last night I worked out some business card designs, because I realise I need them. I've come to that point in the conversation a few times recently, and I had no business card to hand over. So. My waking thought this morning was that business cards are actually a huge deal. HUGE. They signify that I'm willing to BE IDENTIFIED, not just in the moment, but also later. That I am willing to let select individuals be able to locate me and ask me to do things for them, that I will consider their proposals. I am not only admitting but committing to the Universe and to myself that I will do things. Envoys take what is offered, Takashi.   I have to brand myself, like a tattoo. Unlike a tattoo, I can change my brand later (well, sort of like a tattoo - even there, we have options.)  And that's always been one of my pet neuroses:  avoiding a label.  I can't stand it when someone asks me, "Are you a ________________?" Writer, artist, poet, chef, dancer was...
Keep Going »

PEMDAS, the Ship's Accountant - A Fairytale.

By débora Ewing
Image
photo by Masreth Fatima P EMDAS was a sailor, or he wanted to be...in truth he wasn't a good candidate as he  had one short leg and wasn't older than 12 years. His mother sewed him excellent suits and sent him to the grammaticus for tutelage in exchange for her tailoring skills.  She never told her son that his father was Poseidon, whom she'd met once in the agora. The old god was drunk on mead and didn't seem very godlike at the time, or maybe his swagger was from lack of familiarity with solid land, not so much intoxication. He was alluring, whatever the cause, and she succumbed to his allure on a pile greens and potato peels behind stacks of chicken crates. "You're so smart, and so smart," she'd joke with her son, who also swaggered a bit due to his leg. "The grammaticus is very impressed with your mental acuity. And you have the best suits! One day you'll be accountant for a senator!" Pemdas did not want to be an accountant; he'd...
Keep Going »

Don't Be That Guy at the Party - Mitigating Toxic Relationships

By débora Ewing
Image
I'm seeing a potential negative to all this new-found awareness of self that's permeated the inter-verse. I and many other people are putting our opinions on self-care and toxicity out on the internet, so they all look valid. The awakening to acknowledgement of self is beautiful, and I'm glad to see it taking hold in our society. I've been a life-long proponent. Like with any seemingly-new thing, there's the temptation to jump into the deep end of the pool and fully immerse. And the next temptation is to become the guy at the party who quit drinking and smoking but still wants to hang out. He has advice for everyone on the evils of alcohol. He's trying to be helpful. There are thousands of articles on the internet about mental health, and now we have this blog post. I am not a certified mental health professional. I am observant, caring, possibly communistic in my belief that everyone deserves an equal chance to fall on her tuchas** . And when you fall, I...
Keep Going »

My AA Story - Find Your Tribe

By débora Ewing
Image
I attended an AA meeting once in the early 80s, having hitch-hiked to Daytona Beach with the guy who would later become the father of all my children. Laden with sleeping-bag rolls , we were  befriended by people who live on the beach. They immediately showed us the ropes: you can attend the Meeting and get some free donuts and coffee. You don't have to say anything if you don't want to. There will be lots of coffee. You will need it to stay awake during the 3 hours you aren't allowed to be on the beach. It isn't recommended for newbies to try and congregate under the bridge where the regulars go - folks are territorial. So those who don't have territory stay awake and wander the city for 3 hours. We ended up making another friend - a guy on a Harley chopper who let us stay at his apartment overnight. I had about 8 minutes of terror standing on a corner at midnight, waiting to see if this guy came back after taking away my friend; he did. The guy let us ...
Keep Going »

27 Hours of Philadelphia - Art in the Sky

By débora Ewing
Image
About the time I had my booth set up and I could relax, I realized where I was. One Liberty Place is that tall, pointy building you see in the movies when they show Philadelphia's skyline. We were in there, on the Observation Deck, setting up spooky art. I don't think my art is spooky, quite, but it isn't Disney . I like to call it Creepy Folk . Crows that aren't scared, banjo optional, like that. So I thought this event hosted by Jerks Productions might connect me with my people. I made no sales, but I definitely found my people. I met the Bone Lady - Rocky Digati of Darker Arts Studio , home of Osso Bella Human Bone Jewelry. If you're in the market for a human  radius bone necromancer wand, she's your gal. Rocky gets her bits from discarded scientific specimens. She does own an historic cemetery; she says, "we keep the businesses separate." She's a no-nonsense friendly soul. After setting  up, calming down, realising where I wa...
Keep Going »

"Based on Actual Events" - Memory vs. Reality in Writing

By débora Ewing
Image
Processes are nonrigid, and resemblance to linearity is a mirage. Creative process has to alternate like electricity or cricket batters. I use input/output methods like playing the same song over and again until a painting is finished - the song builds the world and keeps the tone while I interpret what the universe has shown me. What I read is an important input to what I write, even when what I write is my own nonfictional experience. Favourite authors sculpted my understanding of what literature should be. Ray Bradbury is at the top of that list. I met him once at a book signing in Palm Springs, California, ca. 2001. He was more adorable than I'd always suspected he was: those red suspenders and khaki shorts, comfortable shoes and trouser socks. He'd just found out that  Fahrenheit 451   would be assigned reading in France, and he was so happy for his characters. They remained very real people to him, he told me. We had a great conversation before the media showed u...
Keep Going »

How to Talk to Your White Uncle

By débora Ewing
Image
Once again, I did the thing that I tell other White people not to do. It took a day or two for my words to come back at me, to understand them. My Black friend told me about a situation that made me unhappy. It was a situation where she was being treated a certain way apart from the rest of the crowd. But she was more upset by a mutual friend: she felt he'd made excuses for the way she was treated. I told her that her perspective resonated with me, and then I made excuses for my old White uncle. He thinks he's teaching. He's looking at it from a legal perspective. He's from a different era. He's not really racist. This is not Uncle Jim Bob who spits on the factory floor & talks about the good graces of PBR , but a professional in many industries. I didn't realize right away what I was doing.  In this case, my Black friend and I both know our Uncle is an ally. But, perhaps unintentionally, he's either defending the system or conveying that it can't be...
Keep Going »

Movie Review: Certified Copy, 2011 - What is the importance of the original?

By débora Ewing
Image
YEAH, no, I shot myself in the foot on this one because I don't like feely-movies. I was hoping, naively, for more focus on the the discussion of art's impact on society, but really I should have known better. It is sad how judg(e)mental I can remain watching these two strangers enact a very realistic fake marriage of 15 years .  A lot of the time I am siding with the guy: if the wine is bad, you say something. I had to stop watching, though, to comment on a pivotal point in the "marriage" - the pretending wife is complaining that her pretend husband doesn't see her, because he didn't notice she changed her lipstick nor her earrings.  On this I disagree, and I have to credit my ex-husband. Yardy rarely cared if I wore makeup or not. I clean up well, as they say. I often call makeup "battle armor", and it's important when how I present to society is important. It's important when I'm feeling especially unwell and ho...
Keep Going »

Trigger-Happy vs. Bag of Onions, AKA Dr. Who is my Favorite Therapist

By débora Ewing
Image
I'm about to add "trigger" to the list of catchphrases that should be retired due to misleading connotations.  I've seen the term used by people (read: internet trolls) whose only goal is to cause reactions  for the purpose of some creepy short-term gratification. Triggers can be personal and polarizing:  mention the poet Robert Frost and I'm triggered immediately, because how you feel about him is going to impact how I feel about you. The concept of  trigger in therapy has been extremely useful for people who have difficulty navigating every-day life.  Using the word this way implies an element of surprise:  something new sets off a knee-jerk reaction   founded in an unrelated traumatic event.  Therapy can help you create a tool that works to keep you in control of yourself when you're triggered. The phenomenon I'm talking about here needs a different word. It's not a trigger; it does not present as surprise.  It's the thing ...
Keep Going »