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Jon and I both reacted, in similar, but different ways to the 2016 election.

We both decided we didn’t wanted to spend our time being angry and arguing our beliefs, so we decided to act on our beliefs instead and turn our anger to good.

Jon found good work to do supporting Refugees and older people who would be hurt by the new government policies.  He started the Army of Good, so many of you, who have given money to support people in need.

My art has become a vehicle for my actions.  I began voicing my ideas and beliefs on women’s issues even more than I had in the past.  Spreading the word of women voice,  freedom and strength though my Flying Vulva’s and other works.

Both of us went to issues that were personal to us.  And we support each others work in different ways.

Jon and I talk about our choices to act instead of argue in our latest podcast, Staying Grounded In The Trump Years.  You can listen to it here.

And you and listen to any of our Katz and Wulf On Bedlam Farm, podcasts anytime by clicking on the Podcast buttons on my blog.  It does take time and money for us to create our podcasts, so if you like them, want to and are able to,  you can donate to them by clicking on the Support my Blog  button.

Thanks for listening!

Jackie sent me a card, with a poem in it by Ursula Le Guin,  along with her payment for my How to Keep Your Husband quilt, which she bought.

I want to share the poem, with you.

It speaks to me of the fear I’ve felt in my life and my choices to go against my instincts in order to  conform and  “feel” safe. I see now that feeling of was really a trap.  A way of keeping myself from me.  Safety with a heavy price.

Looking Back   By Ursula Le Guin

Remember me before I was a heap of salt,
the laughing child who seldom did
as she was told or came when she was called,
the merry girl who became Lot’s bride,
the happy woman who loved her wicked city.
Do not remember me with pity.
I saw you plodding on ahead
into the desert of your pitiless faith.
Those springs are dry, that earth is dead.
I looked back, not forward, into death.
Forgiving rains dissolve me, and I come
still disobedient, still happy, home.

A few weeks ago I wrote about “thinking big“, not in terms of size but as a state of mind.   I wrote about not getting caught up in the things of life  that can make me a “small” person.

When I began making my “How To Keep Your Husband” quilt I was thinking big.  I didn’t think of it that way at the time, I just had an idea that I thought was a really good one and acted on it.  Unlike some of the other “big” pieces of art I’ve made, this one got its hooks in me and wouldn’t let go till it was finished.

Usually I work on a big piece a little at a time, working on smaller pieces in between.  Often these big pieces need the space and I need space in my decision-making.   And that process also works out practically, because while I’m working on the big piece, I’m also making money on the smaller pieces.

Because I dedicated two full weeks to my “How To Keep Your Husband” quilt, and haven’t sold it as quickly as I usually do, my bank account has gotten unusually low.

This is not a plea for money or for someone to buy my quilt.  That’s not why I’m writing this.

I’m writing it  because it’s the truth about a part of my life that I rarely show on my blog.  I’m writing it because it helps me to sort out the truth from my anxiety.   Because doubt, no matter where it occurs in our lives, is universal, something most humans feel from time to time and it’s too easy to lose faith.

Like so many other people, when it comes to income,  I live week to week.  I’m lucky to have a loving and supportive partner, so I don’t  have to worry about being homeless or hungry.  But my income is an important part of the our income.

This is the life I chose.

It’s not one where I get a regular paycheck or benefits.  But I do get to make the choices about how to spend my time and what I create.  That’s part of the trade-off and especially at times like this, when I get anxious about money, it’s that reality that helps keep me going.

This isn’t a lament or complaint, I don’t believe anyone owes me a living and I’m grateful for my life.  The fear is an old one, a fear I’ve always had that I can’t take care of myself.   But It’s actually  my taking responsibility for my life and decisions that gives me the determination I need to keep going.

I believe in my How To Keep Your Husband quilt.   Whether it sell in 3 days, 2 weeks or not at all, I’m  glad I made it.  My art is my voice, expressing what I’m thinking and feeling is not a luxury anymore for me, but a necessity.

And each time I get scared like this, scared about not having enough money, scared that I can’t take care of myself, it’s a chance to pull myself back.  It’s a chance to recommit myself to my art, to my life’s purpose.  I get to remember what’s really important to me and to choose not let my myself get small.

And then I get to go into my studio and make something new.

Jon left to pick up his daughter, her husband and his granddaughter at the Albany Train station. They’re visiting for a few days and their train was delayed, broken down on the tracks.

The thermometer outside the kitchen window read  89 degrees.

Jon wouldn’t be back for another two and half hours at least.  I knew the river would be crowded today, it always is on the 4th of July, but I thought of how I could be stuck on a train or driving into Albany and decided to act out my gratitude by going for a swim.

I pulled out the shorts and halter top I use as a bathing suit and got dressed.

Usually on a Thursday evening,   I’d be getting dressed for my Bellydancing class, but it was cancelled for the holiday.   I looked in the mirror and tucked the bottom of the halter top up under my breasts.  If I were going to Bellydancing, I’d be wearing a cholie and skirt, my belly bare.

The last time I wore a bikini bathing suit top, I was probably 6 or 7 years old.  For the first time since then I looked at my bare belly in the mirror and thought that I’d like one now, to wear with my shorts when I go swimming.  I actually thought I looked good.

I was really  free from those old tired body image beliefs, I was for the moment anyway, and  I thought that this was my own kind of Independence day.

The watering hole on the Battenkill takes about 5 minutes to get to by car.  I turned on the radio and as if affirming what I was feeling, Lizzo was on Fresh Air talking about how 10 years ago she decided she was going to like her body just the way it was.  It took about 7 years, she said, before she began to believe it and still has to work on it sometimes.

Cars spilled over from the unofficial parking lot on the edge of the corn field at the swimming hole.   There river wasn’t too crowded though,  most of them belonged to people tubing and Kayaking.

At first, the water was cold enough to take my breath away, but my body quickly adjusted to it.    I floated on my back, treading water.

Down river from me  an  older woman walked carefully on the rocky river bottom dunking her whole body in when it got deep enough.  Up river, a little girl walked along the bank then jumped in the water and rode the current back to where her mother was talking to friends.

I felt like I was looking back and forward in time.

I was never that little girl.  As much as I would have wanted to,  I would have been too afraid to do what she did when I was her age, and my mother never would have let me.  But I did think I could be the older woman, twenty years from now.  Still coming to the river to cool off on a hot day.

I stayed long enough to get a chill then was back in the car, windows open driving home, singing the lyrics from Lizzo’s song I memorized after stitching them on my quilt,

“And she never tell me to exercise
We always get extra fries
And you know the sex is fire
And I gotta testify
I get flowers every Sunday
I’ma marry me one day”