Last night I went to see my friend Nell's improv show~ if you live in Bloomington, you should really treat yourself next weekend. She's amazing and honest and wild and rare.I've known Nell since I was a little girl~ she and my mom were friends for years, and one of the YouTube clips linked on her site is an improv piece about my brother's birth.
(In related news, my brother graduated from Harmony middle school yesterday~ he's so extremely awesome. His graduation project centered around family recipes and he created a cookbook. It's perfect and funny. More about that soon.)
So, last night's performance was wonderful. If I had lots of money, I'd go to every one of her shows, because they're all different and unpredictable. Last night's theme was basically sex. Good theme. And because sex isn't really just about sex, there were all kinds of layers within the piece...
At one point, she was talking about her wedding day, about going to a fancy salon to have her hair done. The stylist was edgy and rough with her and after she'd not-very-gently washed her hair, Nell handed her a twenty and walked out. In the piece, she said, "I can't be handled on my wedding day." And a few minutes later~ "I cannot be handled this LIFE!"
And of everything that touched me or made me laugh or catch my breath, THAT was the thing that stayed with me the most last night.
I cannot be handled this life.
I've been feeling handled, handled poorly and carelessly- and I haven't known what to do with it. I have to wonder what it is about me that tells certain people that they can treat me that way, but I need to find a way to turn it around, to say wait a minute... It's not OK to push me around or talk to me like I'm stupid.
How do I make this clear without stepping over the same boundaries?
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The other day at work, I propped the front door open.
The air was so clear and I wanted a cross-breeze whooshing through the house, so I opened the door wide. Miss K, two-years-old, was upstairs sleeping. Miss Z was at school, last day before summer. And I was in the kitchen, cleaning up old messes and making new ones~ and I heard a sound. A little tappity-bump.
Two little house finches had flown in together and were trying to convince the dining room window to let them out. I said quiet little somethings and walked very slowly toward them, frantic wings and eyes. One doubled back and flew away, right back out the front door. But the other stayed pressed to the glass pane, wing outstretched, eye on me. And then I was reaching out, scooping up her little feathered body, talking softly, and she let me.
I held her and walked slowly to the door, talking the whole time~ she didn't try to get away. She looked at me with her head cocked, but she was still. I could feel her little heart beating so fast against my palm. And then I let her go, and closed the door.
That's how I want to be handled, too. And I know that the world won't always cooperate, but I can keep those moments close to heart and try to be more clear, kindly so, about what I'll accept...
