Figures, Memories, and Tapestry

EXERCISE 004 — EMBODY THE FIGURE

[Choose a picture, embody the pose in the picture, and describe the experience of embodying the pose.]

On bedrest, roughly a week after foot surgery, teaching myself to pee without assistance, experiencing back pain that makes it almost impossible to move, and worried about when I will have to walk down the stairs next week, my eyes look out the doors and I am reminded of sunshine. Today, I can’t begin to grasp embodying a figure. I am too sad to think about it. Embodying right now feels like pain and isolation and fear. I feel trapped in/by my body. What is the relationship between imagination and embodiment? If imagination makes empathy possible, is embodiment a step toward empathy? Can embodiment teach us about our interdependence — our oneness? The pain I am experiencing asks me to take responsibility for embodiment — treasure embodiment, consider health and embodiment, and build a healthier body.

EXERCISE 005 — I CAN’T REMEMBER

[Write a 10-minute piece with the beginning of each sentence — I can’t remember.]

I can’t remember whittling with Uncle By. 

I can’t remember keeping bees, though I did have a conversation once with someone trying to convince me they were a bee keeper. 

I can’t remember climbing the cherry tree in front of our house on Walford Drive. 

I can’t remember hiding in the chapel at St. Mark’s UCC. I do remember thinking that space was as vast and beautiful as a European wonder.

I can’t remember hearing my Turner syndrome diagnosis. I do remember the bean a cheese burrito enchilada style I ate for lunch that afternoon.

I can’t remember my best friend’s reason for breaking my heart. I think it had something to do with not being a good example of friendship for her children. 

I can’t remember finishing a marathon. I do remember seeing my mother’s relieved face as my father and I crossed the finish line 6 hours and 59 minutes after we started. 

I can’t remember cheating in high school Geometry. I do remember “confessing” it to Father Mike. 

I can’t remember smelling bungee cord rubber as I walked away from where I would not bungee jump over the Kawarau River. 

I can’t remember starting bread, though I remember following people who taught themselves how at the height of the Covid pandemic. 

I can’t remember making sushi. I remember breaking the gong at the restaurant where we took a sushi class. 

I can’t remember climbing a mountain. I remember living at the foot of Mt. Baker. 

I can’t remember kissing the Blarney Stone because I was upside down and backwards and freaking out from the 127 slimy steps to the top of the castle. 

I can’t remember deep-sea diving because I can’t quite handle snorkeling, though I have tried a hundred times. 

I can’t remember piloting a plane which worries me as the FAA is dismantled. 

I can’t remember performing surgery which worries me as I wade deeper into my fifties. 

I can’t remember developing vaccines which worries me having never lived in a time of polio and measles. 

I can’t remember laughing at penguins. I must visit them at Milford Sound again. 

I can’t remember knitting socks. It is 30 degrees out and we have concrete floors. I need to find some socks.

I can’t remember bathing in Tirta Empul. I remember the wisdom of the Balinese healer, “You don’t have to carry that weight.” 

I can’t remember defending my dissertation. I remember hearing the words, “Congratulations, Dr. Steedly” the first time.

I can’t remember working jigsaw puzzles with my grandparents. I remember popcorn and home movies in celebration of finishing a puzzle. 

I can’t remember the smell of Chrysanthemums. Do they even have a fragrance?

EXERCISE 006 — STUDY ALBUM ART — TAPESTRY

[Describe an album cover in detail.]

Carole King, Tapestry. You were an 8-track in my parent’s collection. I permanently borrowed you and played you for hours on my yellow 8-track player. I fell in love. A tapestry of soft light through a window. I am not sure if it is sunrise, noon, or sunset. If I knew more about angles and reflection maybe I would know which one it is. Understanding light is important. I could probably tell you more about light if I knew about shadows. Shadows hold half the space. A chest of drawers. A table. A chair. Shadows frame a curly-haired soul. She has curly hair. Like my curly hair. Curly. Unkempt. Beautiful. She has always been me. Feeling the earth move. Asking about love. Seeking friendship. Tapestry was released the year I was born. We celebrated our 50 birthday a few years ago. A long-hair cat sits on the windowsill somewhere between stay and go, today and tomorrow, hard and soft, noise and quiet. Things feel different now.

Read about my MONDAYS ARE FREE exercises here.