Part Six

Where the Two Worlds Touch

Joan Lansberry

February 14, 1997

We had a happy Valentine's day. Laura's card to me was especially nice and made me cry. The words were especially meaningful.

You're the one who's always needed me. Believed in me, and helped me see How wonderful our life could be- My wife, my friend, my love...

The photographer came today to take our pictures for the article on Starnet. He brought a large lightbulb for a light source, three white umbrella-shaped devices on stands to direct that light, and other tools. He must have taken at least fifty pictures of us. We were positioned in all sorts of ways. He had us all laying down on the ground for some shots. In another, he had us near the door, to get the soft light, and put me standing on a chair above the others. It can't be easy to cram four heads close together for a close-up. I wonder which one he will use.

I look forward to a weekend without sewing! I got everything done. Whee!

February 16, 1997

The article was very well written. There was one small inaccuracy which Laura corrected in the Starnet comments section.

Yesterday and most of today I was fairly down for the count. The foe was the sinus headache that always follows "the monthly". But this afternoon I finally felt human. I drew something! And it turned out good. I was inspired by Gary's deeply encouraging words:

My question would have to be with you having such an ability of expression through color and at the same time such a vibrancy of spirit, why still lifes and mandalas? Why aren't the sweeping movements of the dance which is life embodied there? You're revealing your life by laying yourself on the Internet, so...Why don't I see that in your work? Do not in the slightest way think that painting was crap. It has a vitality that only is waiting for you to break free and reach into the source which had brought you joy. Something good is coming in your work and I sense that you're holding back on purpose. The warning is always there that time slips by and then is gone. Now is the time for the internal fire to be released until it burns the world with its life in all the ways it can. But I see something ready to spring like a tiger and think the time is now.

"Spring like a tiger" led me to choose a tiger. I found a good photo in a calendar we have. I could sense the powerful presence in this tiger.and if I may so, I think I've captured it. There's life in the 'old girl' yet. I am indeed pleased.

February 20, 1997

Today was an unexpectedly good day. At first I felt bummed because Laura and Julia were going to Tucson and I had to stay at home. But as I busied myself with projects, that feeling vanished. I scanned four pictures for the web site's Family Album; a baby picture, one of me at age fourteen, one of my mother and one of my Dad and I that was taken by a professional photographer. All made good additions.

After cleaning myself up (best as willing to endure, with no hot water!), I finished the last of the sewing. While I worked, I enjoyed chatting with Helina and listening to music. I had fun inventing harmony to Cherish the Ladies "Broken Wings". All in all, it was a very mellow day.

Laura and Julia were successful as well. Laura learned the odd bump above her knee that was worrying her was only a fat deposit, nothing frightful at all. And we restocked our cupboards with plenty of food.

Now the relaxing evening awaits.

February 22, 1997

SUCH GREAT POWER Fire, glowing, flaming burning white hot deep within: It can warm with its great heat, igniting the inner engine into action. Such great power, for good, if reason is at the wheel. Such great power, for ill, if left to flare up and blaze, runaway, out of control, destroying all in its path. Gone then, like the burnt forest, which takes so long to heal, may not heal. May not, ever again, reach into the sky with its ancient green spires. Fire, let us not be consumed, yet not your candle be extinguished, Fire, for your power is so great, Yet We are the keepers of the Flame, and the balance is in our hands. JAL, 2-22-97

later in the day

In the afternoon, we watched the old movie "Forbidden Planet". It was most interesting as a forerunner to the Star Trek series. The differences and similarities were fascinating. The crew of the spaceship had suits equal to any of those worn by the Star Trek's various crews. yet, how strange to see a team composed of only white men! The one woman in the movie was your basic blonde bimbo concerned mostly with the dresses she wore, however sexy she did look in them. She would never trouble her pretty little head to even be curious about her Father's explorations.

However the theme of good vs evil, conscious creative beings dealing with their inner demons, present in all Star Trek episodes, was dealt with here. The author referred to it in the Freudian concept of the ID, with unconscious evil thoughts and desires. How appropriate the poem I had just written earlier is to this theme. I prefer my poem's conceptionalization, although, for I don't believe we have unconscious evil thoughts and desires we are helpless to control.

 

February 26, 1997

Yesterday was my tenth anniversary with Laura. Our celebration was not quite what it should have been, I'm ashamed to admit. I got caught up in work and procrastinated. Dimly aware of what day it was, I nevertheless sat and robotically sewed. A tiny voice kept speaking to me more loudly as the hours went by. Still I just sat and sewed. Eventually it was dark outside and Laura knew nothing special was happening. The milestone of ten years deserved better. I fully understand Laura's hurt feelings and got quite mad at myself for the lapse in judgement. We had a very intense evening. The dozen roses I bought much later that night helped to make up for it some.

This lapse in judgement was a lesson, as just the day earlier I had been entertaining such egotistic thoughts about myself. I may not have evolved so much in various understandings, after all. We are so busy looking down our nose at others, we become blind to the pitfalls in the road ahead. Intuition tried to flag me down, but of course, I paid no attention.

February 27, 1997

The house is very chilly, so I am heating up some lasagna in the oven. It will be tasty and warm the house as well. I accomplished something new in sewing today. I put in an invisible zipper successfully. This particular task always had the aura of arcane knowledge about it as in my previous place of employment, there was only one of the six stores that had the required special zipper foot, and one seamstress that did them. We sent all invisible zippers to that store. I ordered the expensive twelve dollar special foot, and figured someday I'd experiment with it. I tend to procrastinate with things unfamiliar and uncertain to me. Maybe soon I will open that scary envelope of tax materials and see what things are waiting for me there.

March 1, 1997

March first already! Time marches along. Both Laura and I spent some time at Starnet, our favorite news source. One article really moved me. It was about a very obese woman, and the special stomach reduction surgery she had. Myrtle Sprague's life wasn't easy. At her heaviest, she weighed 675 pounds. When you're this heavy, the flesh becomes a prison. She couldn't tie her shoe laces, couldn't raise her legs or walk more than ten feet. Going out in public was a nightmare. People would openly ridicule her, she couldn't fit into a movie theater seat, or find anything to wear. Even in high school, when most of us still have our girlish figure, she weighed 300 pounds.

I used to add to these peoples humiliation by staring at them. I would think conceited thoughts such as "How could they do this to themselves?" and I'd wonder how much they ate. I had no understanding of the pain the very obese go through. Myrtle tells of the pain. She hated her body so much, she carved the word `stupid' into her belly. She suffered from severe depression, having attempted suicide ten times in her short twenty-eight years of life.

This surgery she underwent gave her a new lease on life. "When she had the surgery to remove 40 pounds of excess skin, it included the portion with the scarred word ``stupid.'' Sprague remembers that day.``I said good-bye to the old me,'' she says. Sprague's metamorphosis is not yet complete. But she enjoys having her picture taken. She's not afraid to go places. She leads a weight-loss support group." She's telling her story so others like her can know they're not alone, and that there is help for them.

Her doctors are amazed at her progress. ``It's amazing how much progress Myrtle has made,'' Hodgman says. ``I didn't realize how much the weight loss would mean to her emotionally. I guess I didn't understand how losing the weight would stabilize her. I know she has taught me a lot of lessons.''

With the telling of her story, she has taught many a lesson. I will have more compassion in the future. I'll consider that everyone I meet may have things that they feel imprisoned by. We do not know what private sorrows people face.

March 2, 1997

I was resting quietly with Laura , feeling so content. Something about this moment made me want to snatch it out of time, and pin it down forever.

Lazy Sunday Afternoon Just enjoying the moment, I lay spoon-style with Laura, napping. Feeling my belly press against Laura's back with each inhalation. Feeling my tongue slowly losing its burn from spicy hot spanish rice. In, out, press; in, out, press. This simplicity fills me completely. ..........JAL, 3-2-97

later this day...

We watched an intriguing movie this evening. Harriet the Spy wasn't the greatest movie we've seen, but, oh, did it cut to the core! Harriet had a little notebook in which she wrote down everything she saw and thought. She wrote observations of all her school mates. Even her friends did not escape her scrutiny. And she recorded some very unkind things. This book was supposed to have been private. But kids being curious, it was soon an open book. When everyone found out what she'd written, she became very very unpopular.

This resonated so well with my childhood, for I too had taken pen in hand to defame. It was the freshman year of high school. Our assignment for English was to describe someone we knew in such detail that everyone could tell what they were like. I didn't have a clue who to write about. After class, I discussed the assignment with a friend. K. and I had a good laugh as we described another friend. Yeah, wouldn't it be funny to write about C.? She always told us tales in which she had met some boy who took a liking to her. I'm not sure why, but I was certain she was making up the tales to impress us all. Was it because the idea of getting all excited over some stupid boy was foreign to me? I'm not sure, but I was certain the stories were at least exaggerated. K. egged me on, "Yeah, you should really write about C. She really deserves it!"

By then, my head was swirling with all sorts of things to put in the article. We revelled in the 'fun' of this. I went home and honed the article as best as I could. I thought the mystery of who the person was would be a secret to K. and me alone. So when I read it out loud in class, I was totally shocked when the aftermath occurred. Somehow everyone in the class knew I had written about C.! I was mortified. And most certainly C. knew I had written about her! She had one final conversation with me before she never spoke to me again. She told me how she had thought I was so sweet and innocent, and how her grandmother, who was raising her, thought I was so sweet and innocent. She said her grandmother was always telling her,

"Why can't you be nice and sweet like Joan? She'd never say or do anything to hurt anyone." "Well, my grandmother was WRONG!"

By then, I felt so terribly bad. Unlike Harriet, who managed to patch everything up with her friends, there was nothing I could do to undo what I had done. Even K. didn't have much to do with me after that. In fact, after that, I was pretty much the loner all through high school. All my friends were suddenly busy with boyfriends. I felt totally deserted.

It is the one thing in my life I wish I could do over. I wish I had really thought over the consequences of what I had done. If I had any clue at all that she would know I had meant her, I would have never done it. I would have never wanted to hurt anyone's feelings, much less the feelings of someone who was a friend. It was a very painful lesson. But I learned never to put anything in print that you would mind if it got to be public knowledge. You just never know, and you can't take it back. Those words are out there, forever.

March 7, 1997

The addition is coming near to completion! They are painting the interior and exterior. The tile for the tub is being put in. Light switches are in. The two large rooms have fairly large white ceiling fan and light combinations. We're getting excited.

To dampen the thrill just a bit, however, we've had computer trouble. The smaller flaky computer had to have everything taken off of it and put back on. There were several corrupted files that made it crash with increasing frequency. And the larger computer really blew! It was fine until we tried to put the card for the scanner on it. Then a streak of lightening, a thunder crack and the smell of burned innards, and that was the end of it. We will have it fixed. But soon the fancy 166 speedster will arrive. We ordered it a few days ago, prophetically before the old 'big' computer went.

March 9, 1997

How satisfying to get some long overdue letters written, including a 'snail-mail' letter to my old friend Debbie. And I even had some nice stationary with Celtic designs, rather than plain white printer paper.

I acquired the paper at Changing Hands, a fascinating bookstore in Tempe. It is two floors and a balcony filled with the uncommon in literature and music. Laura got restless and suggested we take a trip. Such spontaneous jaunts shake us out of dull, stiff routine, and enliven us . I found a CD called Nouveau Flamenco. Ottmar Liebert's Spanish gypsy guitar is gracefully passionate. And I found a book of Rumi's poetry. I'd copied a few of his poems I'd seen in various places. Some of them are exquisite plums:

Bird song brings relief to my longing. I am just as ecstatic as they are, but with nothing to say! Please, universal soul, practice some song, or something, through me! *      *      *      *      * The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don't go back to sleep. You must ask for what you really want. Don't go back to sleep. People are going back and forth across the doorsill Where the two worlds touch. The door is round and open. Don't go back to sleep. *      *      *      *      * I am so small I can barely be seen. How can this great love be inside of me? Look at your eyes, they are small, but they see enormous things.