Of fear and alligators

In just a couple of hours we here at the compound will have a visit from one of our long-time closest friends. We don't see her often, she lives quite away, but she still has friends and family near us and this trip she has time to stay a little bit here at Mulberry Hill Farm.

I am trying to figure out if it is rude to pack up my current work and haul it over to my sister's, where dinner will be. She has not met Donna or Nathan yet and the last time she was in my house it was for my sister's surprise 40th birthday party. Barbette's cancer treatment was done and her hair was growing in.

Her visit is important to me. Mandy is 4 years older than I am and it is not an overstatement to say I worshipped her. She was kind and didn't mind little girls following her around like a puppy dogs. My sister and I would share her room on visits up to her family's Vermont farm and the only time she was ever frustrated with us was when we sniffled and snored kept her awake when we slept in her room.

We all had something we collected. For me it was butterflies. Barbette collected frogs and my mother collected owls. Actually, we all still do. Mandy collected mice, and I drew and drew and drew mice on everything. I had different mouse formulas, a certain way to draw the heads, bodies, ears and tails. Then of course I drew them doing different things. Out of fear that my childish works might be discovered and embarrass me I do believe I threw out any that might have accidentally survived. I pictured myself dying, like some artists and poets, and in the throwing out of my things these would accidentally be discovered with other hidden artwork, art I made that I never expected to sell or be seen. Other secrets I could tolerate reveal of, but not artwork that was inferior or childish. Yet, I would be dead. The idea of fearing judgment post-mortem is ridiculous...still, it lurks.

Every time she liked something I drew I was encouraged more, and I am grateful that I was encouraged by everyone, from the moment I put anything down on paper. I could go and go and go and have all kinds of compliments. I copied all of the images of the late sixties and early seventies. I drew fashion designs, imagining that I might someday be able to have my own fashion lable. I thought I might have a future designing album covers. They were the dreams of a child and I carried notebook after notebook, and drew on scrap paper my father brought home from the data processing center at Travelers. When we went to the dump we would scour the piles of trash for discarded office supplies or paper I could use. One of the best trips yielded a variety of ink pens and my affair with ink drawings began. For Christmas and birthdays I always had the latest art supply and I squirreled them away, afraid to use them up. Recently I discarded a box of pastels my father gave me when I was in my early teens. There were only very small pieces left but those pieces had moulded a bit and I knew I would finally have to part with them. The company that manufactured them is gone, and the pastels I was required to purchase for college art classes were inferior. Just over the last several months I have begun collecting and using pastels that finally, finally measure up to the intense pigments of long-ago, and I am very happy with the work I have done with them so far.

Back to Mandy...I only shared elementary school with her for a couple of years, but when her class line passed ours in the halls on the way to lunch or another class she always waved to me. Imagine! A fifth grader waved to me! She taught me to ski and once we needed to get down the mountain fast, so she skied me down the mountain road tucked beneath her. All four of our skies road aligned together, faster than I had ever gone. I have no idea who carried our poles or why we had to get down fast, but the feeling of that speed has never ceased to be alluring. I have only had cross-country ski equipment for years and Donna and I have adopted snowshoes so we can track the local critters. No speed there.

Mandy invented a trivia game that we would all play when we were inside. I can't remember what the subjects were and I vaguely remember something about a radio station contest. A close guess would prompt her to say, in a very official way, "be more specific please!" and the contestants of the moment would keep guessing until she declared a winner, though she was winner when we couldn't guess it. She always kept an eye out for my little sister and me. She taught us how to horseback ride but I preferred motorcycles to horses and still do. Horses smell my fear and I have never been cured of it.

So here is the quandry. Should I haul some of my current work along to show her? When I sent her the rabbit moon card it came back to me and I found I had an outdated email address. This is where I stumble. In my mind it is rude to ask for such individual attention when everyone catching up. That is the purpose for the gathering for all of us. Should I simply ask her to come by the studio and take a look while she is here? My only hesitation there is that the house is in upheaval. I have been single-minded to build inventory, to get the word out with the new business name, finish designing logos and website. I have barely tended to anything else...Donna will periodically set a meal in front of me, or lure me out for a little time. In my imagination my home will be substandard due to my neglect, somehow invalidating the artwork.

How pathetic am I? So much worrying what others think...so hard to set aside the fear of disappointing, the stigma of underachievement.

The pit of alligators I thought was next to my bed as a child yawns open yet again. Then, as now, I am afraid to put my foot down on the floor lest I might be eaten. But the imagined yawning alligator jaws are my own fear come to feast.