Sunday, November 15, 2015


Me in front of my own personal Mecca (not a very appropriate metaphor today.)
Shakespeare and Company in Paris

Oh, what the heck, let's go straight to Wikipedia for this. It's a good description:

Ianthropologyliminality (from the Latin word lÄ«men, meaning "a threshold"[1]) is the quality of ambiguity or disorientation that occurs in the middle stage of rituals, when participants no longer hold their pre-ritual status but have not yet begun the transition to the status they will hold when the ritual is complete. During a ritual's liminal stage, participants "stand at the threshold"[2] between their previous way of structuring their identity, time, or community, and a new way, which the ritual establishes....
More recently, usage of the term has broadened to describe political and cultural change as well as rituals.[4] During liminal periods of all kinds, social hierarchies may be reversed or temporarily dissolved, continuity of tradition may become uncertain, and future outcomes once taken for granted may be thrown into doubt.[5] The dissolution of order during liminality creates a fluid, malleable situation that enables new institutions and customs to become established.[6]

Do you think we are in a liminal space in the world...generally? Do you think the Parisians feel as if in a liminal space tonight? 
In Depth Psychology, to be in a liminal space is almost as if being baptized. You will be different when it is complete. You are lost, disoriented, maybe terrified, in an unfamiliar place. It can happen during the most profound life passages - birth, death, a job loss, a divorce, a spiritual shift. It can happen when it makes no sense. It happens when "the gods" think you need it is the way I look at it. We are all likely to experience liminal space in our life - maybe many times over. I have. If you pay attention, it is a growth opportunity akin to winning the lottery. But you have to walk straight into the darkness and, then, beg for help.
I feel like we, humanity, need to do this tonight. Beg for help. From the gods, the angels, all higher beings who must be gazing down upon us and shaking their heads. 
Please, God, show us the way.

Sunday, November 8, 2015

What's Important Now: My Husband and My Bag

My water-stained, Velveteen rabbit of a tote / satchel I almost lost.

Just back from 6 days in New York and, for the first time in several years, I can say I'm really happy to be back in Minneapolis. Home. Especially with Lee. That corny's home wherever he is. Charleston, New York, Minneapolis. Well, okay, not L.A. But pretty much anywhere else.

He was so happy to have me home, too. I could feel it. Didn't help that I texted him as we were literally on the tarmack ready to take off - 3rd in line - when the captain stopped the plane and announced a problem with the flaps. I know enough about airplanes to know you don't want a problem with your flaps. You don't even want a potential problem with the flaps. You don't even want a problem with the computer that records the functioning of the flaps. So, I had to tell him I wasn't taking off on time and I know he started to worry.

They fixed the flaps and we took off 2 1/2 hours later. So he worried even more when I told him we were taking off in the plane with the flap problem. But all's well that ends well because I landed, he picked me up, swooped me into his arms and I promptly forgot to pick up my satchel off the sidewalk outside Door 4 at the Minneapolis airport, so happy I was to see him. He had loaded my extra heavy bag into the trunk and I followed like a puppy into my seat. When I got to 510 and we were unloading the behemoth of a bag from the trunk, I realized I had left my satchel (which sounds kind of weird, but I don't know what else to call it) with MY BRAND NEW MAC BOOK PRO WHICH HAS THE MOST COMPLETED VERSION OF MY BOOK sitting there on the sidewalk. WAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!

I know you are thinking, "Are you stupid? Your book isn't in the Cloud?" Well, I don't know for sure. I have a very recent version in Dropbox, but I changed something a couple weeks ago, a change I really like  - the kind where you go "whew!" and I am not sure I put that in Dropbox. So....yes, I'm stupid.

So tired was I from a couple restless nights of sleep, I had to ask Lee what to do. He suggested I call the airport police, which I did and, bingo....they had my bag. So we drove back to the airport. I say "we" because I was clearly a little loopy / spacey (ya' think?) and he didn't trust me to park the car and ever find it again. So, he was a complete gentleman by driving me back to the airport, parking the car, walking into the airport with me at which point I met a policeman at Lost and Found and retrieved my bag - but only after he informed me that I had committed a misdemeanor and (probably if I'd been any younger or more sassy) he could have slapped me with a ticket and court date!

That's what he said, anyway. I was practically kissing my satchel when he handed it to me, so I'm pretty sure he could see I didn't intend to leave it around to cause anyone harm. Besides, if that was my intent, I would NOT have sacrificed this particular satchel. I get compliments on it wherever I go. It is so practical and chic and made by a colleague of mine - Talin Spring whose company is SpringFinn.

Back to Lee. As we drank the cappuccino side by side with that beautiful sun shining in from the Southern sky - the cappuccino which he makes perfectly for me each morning - I felt a spring of gratitude for him. I remembered how he polished three pairs of my shoes as I was packing for the trip. And as he walked out the door today, the look of relief when he said, "I'm so happy you're home. So happy."

So am I.

Sunday, November 1, 2015

Turn on, tune in, drop out

Opener to the show Hippie Modernism at the Walker Art Center, Minneapolis

Whoa. So about it. Born in 1953, grew up in the 60's and 70's and it was just so much fun then. So Lee and I couldn't miss the Walker exhibit - Hippie Modernism. I even noticed that our ages gave us a special entry fee price.

"Yeh, we're totally hippie modernists," Lee said, slightly teasing the very cool looking woman from whom we would buy our tickets - who looked approximately our age.

"Oh, you're artists with the exhibit?" she asked.

"No, not artists. We just want to see it. We lived this. We're old." Lee said. Deadpan.

Then, I noticed, "Wow. We both qualify for the Senior rate. Yep. I'm 62 and he's 64," I said.

"Get out. You're not." she smartly said. I smiled.

"Yep. Wanna see our id?"

"No, we don't need to see that." She laughed and handed us our tickets. And we tripped off to the show.

Well, not literally tripped.

We meandered for the next hour through the later 60's during which time I was slightly too young to get my head around what was happening. But by 1971, when I graduated from high school and headed to college, then moved to San Francisco in the summer of 1975, I had begun to absorb all the ways "the times, they are a changin'".

I realized that I had parents who allowed my moderate exploration into this alternative world - why, I can't explain. I suspect it was less conscious that I might fantasize and more about just having four mouths to feed and a small mortgage to pay.

The only real alarm I set off was when, during the summer I was 17  I decided I would wear hot pants. And they couldn't stop me. God. So embarrassing. I could have been fighting for civil rights or protesting Viet Nam.

Pretty much what I was wearing the entire summer I was 17 - just before heading to college.
What is so astonishing is the innocence. We had ideas about how the world could be different. We had words. We had print. We had paper. We had our actions. We had love-ins and sit-ins and be-ins. We marched and raised our fists and raised our consciousness and raised our hemlines. Then dropped them again. We went barefoot because adults didn't like that. We started swearing for the same reason. Especially using the word "Fuck" whenever another word was actually a more intelligent choice.

We innocently believed we could change the world. And we did. You know that phrase. "Thoughts become things." Our thoughts became civil rights and women's rights and sexual freedom and a return to nature and an awakening to the fragility of the planet and the horror of war. All those things were thoughts first. And it's never been the same since.

In this life, I got my timing right.

1960's bathing suit
Self-contained architecture was a new idea

And in person...

John and Yoko

Remember Buckminster Fuller and the geodesic dome????

Someone had an idea to create a self-sustaining citrus garden.