WORKSHOP WEIRDNESS – DAY 1 – MONDAY

(Names have been changed to…well…I don’t know…just seemed the thing to do).

The workshop started normally with an introduction and a handshake, then orientation and class outline. I always expect to spend a few minutes getting to know the student before the fun begins.

I’ll call this guy PR (but THOSE initials will change – stay tuned). PR notices the Medicine Bag I always wear and made a comment about how he respects the Native American belief system. OK, I’m going with that – me too, or I wouldn’t be wearing it (because it’s not a decoration or a fashion statement). I’m trying to steer things back to carving, but he keeps interrupting with this, that, or the other about beliefs.

And he’s talking non-stop.

OK, it’s HIS money, he’s the only student…if he wants to waste it on religion.

Red flag ignored  – He said that he felt a connection to me from reading the forward and acknowledgments in my book. He knew there was “some other reason” he “had” to come up here. If he learned some texturing techniques, fine, but it wasn’t the main reason.

(UH-OH)

OK, we need to back up just a bit here. PR was late the first day because his vehicle broke down at the hotel, and he was waiting on a ride to my place from our Chevy dealership. While waiting he meets a local fellow who I haven’t seen in, oh…15 years (and there’s a reason WHY) by the name of Walter (THAT will change, too – stay tuned). He’s telling me how the two of them hit it off and have so much in common, they’re gonna meet up again later….yada yada yada….one more “reason” he was “meant” to be here.

“Oh, you met Walter! How nice! Glad you made a friend already! I haven’t seen him in a long time!”, with a polite smile on my face (thinking “OH BOY, here we go.” I still hadn’t fully realized what I’d just set myself up for).

OK…now it’s noon and I finally got him to pick up a piece of wood. He wants to learn specific carving and painting techniques, so I’ve put together a course that can be done in 5 ½ days….5 days now ‘cause we lost a half day. The first thing I always do, is have the student carve a single feather.

“Well why do I have to do THAT??? What’s THAT gonna teach me?”

(Oh God)

“Well, if you take the time to look at a single feather, you’ll be able to understand all feathers and…”

He stopped listening at this point and blurted, “You know, I’ve lived before.”

(OH for the LOVE OF….)

“Oh really? That’s nice. I believe in reincarnation, too, but we’re here  to learn about carving. Now, by making this feather, you will learn nearly every technique required to texture and paint your bird. You’ll learn how to…”

“I lived in the time of Christ.”

(I was closer than I had realized to the two previous thoughts…)

Pretending I didn’t hear, and thinking “Oh please, NO, don’t let him say it”, I continue, “So the first thing we do is to draw the shaft and sketch in the contours we want to….”

“I walked with Jesus.”

(Well, of COURSE you did, Dear)

I just had to ask, didn’t I, “Oh, so you weren’t Jesus?”

“No, I was John.”

“The Baptist?”

“No, the Apostle.”

(Yeah, and I’m Mary Magdelene)

After a few minutes of dicussing this latest revelation, I try to steer him back on course (the guy’s PAYING me after all. I gotta be nice), I finally get a feather blank in his hands, the contours sketched and I’m demonstrating what to carve on my own blank.

“I’m not of this world.”

(No sh*t. You’re practically Jesus)

“I am alien seed.”

My hand-piece fell out of my right hand and proceeded to spin a chunk outta my floor at 35,000 RPM, my wood fell out of my other hand, and if my teeth could have fell out of my face, they would have.

He must have mistaken my astonishment for, well….astonishment. And an invitation to elaborate.

“My channel, Oceanna, told me I lived 6500 years ago, and my mother was of this world and my father was alien.”

(Well, SOMEBODY in this room has to be alien)

“AND (oh, goody – there’s more?) I was recently abducted by people from another world.”

(And look what happened…they spit you back to Earth).

OK, fast forward to 6 p.m. and we managed to get the 3″ long feather carved. Time to close for the night. I send him home with some sandpaper. I’m thinking the worst is over…I’ll get a handle on this guy tomorrow.

NOPE.

Footnote: I’m thinking what could I have written in my Acknowledgment in my book that would make this guy “have to meet me”. Then a single passage I wrote came back to me…”Mom, thanks for letting me be who I am. I’ll bet you thought you were abducted by aliens, didn’t you?”

DAY 2 – TUESDAY

I thought Day 2 would not be a redux of Day 1. I was still determined to get a handle on this and get some meaningful work done. Not to be…

I showed him how to lay in the barb lines on the feather for burning, gave him the real feather and told him to draw what he sees on his own. That’s when I knew it just wasn’t going to happen for this poor guy. Half the feather had barb lines running the right way, pointing to the tip of the feather, but on the other side the barbs were pointed opposite…towards the quill-end.

“How come your barbs are going this way on this side of your feather?”

(I’m thinking this guy is just joking)

“Well, you told me to draw what I saw”, as he’s holding the real feather upside down to show me.

(Point taken)

“That’s the way I see it” was a recurring statement.

Barb lines are repaired, burning unit turned on, demonstration about to begin…

“What’s that scar on your wrist from?”

“Broke my wrist in a scooter accident. I had to have a….”

“I don’t have any feeling in my toes”

(DAMN! And I really wanted to teach you my patented Toe Texturing Technique. Oh, well)

“I had operations to fix it and they didn’t work, and I get heat blisters between my toes because I don’t know my feet are too hot and…..”

“OK, back to burning, now. Hold the pen in an…”

“Here, take a look”

(Oh God, please, NO)

Slippers come off and scarred, scabby, blistered feet are held proudly aloft. Apparently, washing those feet must be a no-no, too. I’m assaulted by an odor that could only come from the 9^th Level of Hell.

“PLEASE put those back on, and let’s get back to what you’re paying me for. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

(I’d like to cover ground….about 1,000 miles in any direction, I don’t care)

 

Aaaaaaand the feather barb burning finally starts.

“Did you bring magnifiers for detailing? They’ll really help you to get those lines closer. Here, use my spare set.”

“No, I don’t need them. That’s the way I see the feather.”

“You need them.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t”

“Yes, you…”

(Oh FORGET it…we’ll paint MY feather)

Fast forward. It’s noon (and we’re so far behind). We’re laying out a practice board for contour feathers.

“OK, now feathers grow in a specific way, depending on the bird. We’ll work on a generic layout, so you’ll at least have…”

“My wife hates Lutherans.”

(Double-damn! And I so wanted to show you the recently patented Lutheran Techniques, too. Oh well)

“Sorry to hear that. Now, you’ll see from my reference here, that we need to establish…”

“I know why, but she doesn’t believe me.”

(Oh, do TELL)

“…our flow lines in order to….”

“She was married to Martin Luther, and when he split from Catholicism and it made her mad.”

(Nothing is going to surprise me from here on out, I vow to myself…nothing)

Fast forward again (the previous hours spent the same way. I’m just telling you the juicy bits)…we’ve finally got the feathers sketched on our practice boards.

“OK, now, we’re going to start defining the feathers using this….”

“I crashed and totaled my small airplane. If it wasn’t for my fighter pilot training, it would have killed me.”

(Damn your luck)

“Oh, really? You were a fighter pilot! COOL! What war, Korea or Vietnam?”

“World War One.”

(Ooopsie, silly me)

“As, I was saying. Define the feathers using this bull-nosed taper. Just run it along the….”

“I don’t detect any feminine energy at all in you.”

(OK, THAT’S it)

“What’s that got to do with carving?”

“Nothing. There’s just nothing feminine at all about you.”

(Yeah, and these two things on my chest are a big ‘ol pair of misplaced testicles)

“Maybe that’s what I was sent here for – to help you find your feminine energy.”

(I’m gonna find some “energy” in a second…the energy of my foot to your ass)

“OK, look…you are paying me to teach you something, and I’m not giving you your money’s worth by talking about non-carving stuff. Let’s try to get this back on track. And besides, I’m fine with my lack of feminity.”

(I’m just a LITTLE creeped out, now)

“Once the feathers are defined, we’ve got to knock off the hard edges and start…”

“You’re not what I expected”

(Well, that makes TWO of us)

“Oh, really?”

“No. You’re coarser than I expected. It must be the masculine energy.”

“What do you mean by ‘coarser’?? I haven’t said one effing swear word since you’ve effing been here! All I’m effing trying to do is effing give you what you’re effing paying for.” (OK, THAT was coarse).

Silence (There IS a God)

“Don’t get me wrong. I love the energy that uneducated people have. It’s honest and more connected.”

(OK, that HURT. Is that the same “energy” that’s fixin’ to “connect” this taper to your forehead and perform a lobotomy?)

“Ya know…just because I live in the sticks doesn’t mean I eat the sticks!”

Sigh…I have to own this one. How can I “prove” I’m “educated” after that earlier (and honest) outburst? One point for St. John the Alien.

The rest of the day was spent getting the study board ready for sanding.

By 5:00 p.m. I’m exhausted and there’s one more hour to go. Then the phone rings.

It’s Walter (remember from Day One? The guy PR “connected” with and just HAD to talk to some more?).

“Can we come over?”

(“We??” I’m tired. Good excuse for a break. Besides, the Educated Alien invited him without informing me, first.)

“Sure. C’mon over.”

(How much weirder can this get, after all? I should have knocked that dumbassed thought outta my head with a brick. Rendering myself unconscious would have spared me of what came next.)

Now, the really, really weird stuff starts.

TUESDAY EVENING 5:00 P.M.

Walter arrives at the studio with his girlfriend, Lettie, in tow. Walter is 72, girlfriend is 35. (OoooKaaaaay, thank you, Viagra).

They find a couple chairs. I’ve made a decision to play with this lunacy. (It takes me awhile to learn to keep my mouth shut, have you noticed? Because I certainly didn’t.)

Walter: “Are we all on the same wavelength, here? Are we all gathered in the name?”

(Oh CRAP…I’ve been set up…a stealth prayer group! But wait….he didn’t say WHO’S name…don’t jump to conclusions Lori.)

PR: “Yes”

Lettie: “Yes”

Lori: “Uhhhhhhhh….”

Walter: “Lettie, tell everyone where you’re from originally.”

Looking deep into Walter’s eyes, “A planet in the Orion Nebula.”

(Oh, Saint Anthony isn’t your hometown? How naive of me)

“Tell them where I’m from.”

“The same planet in the Orion Nebula.”

 

 

 

 

(And this where I begin to lose my grip of the Twig on the Cliff of Sanity)

“Where are YOU from, PR?”

(Oh Hell…not AGAIN…don’t get him started)

“I’m from a planet in the Orion Nebula, too!”

(Well, isn’t that NICE? A reunion! Maybe they met in another nebula…you’d think they’d have known, otherwise. But, WTF makes sense anymore?)

OK, the GAS CLOUD aspect does make sense.

“Lori isn’t from the same planet as we are. Where is she from?”

(Damned straight I ain’t from the same planet. Try EARTH)

Looking deep into my eyes she says, “The constellation Pegasus”

(SNAP! goes The Reality Twig. And here I go).

Me: “Whoa! That is so freaky you should say that! I had an idea for a painting just this morning. I can’t wait to get going on it. It’s of a flying horse. I’m calling it HORSE-FEATHERS!”

(It sailed right over their alien heads)

“See, I TOLD you we were connected,” said with a beatific smile only the truly delusional can manage.

OK, if I didn’t want to see it before, I know it now. I am in the presence of a full-fledged bona-fide Nut-Bucket Posse.

Walter: “ Lettie, is there anything you’d like to ask PR?”

Lettie: (With a solemn face) “Well….yes, but….”

Walter: “But what? Open up to the energy. You had all kinds of questions earlier.”

(It’s about this time I start wondering how tuned-in PR really was…you’d think he’d KNOW the question).

Walter: “PR, what can you tell LETTIE?”

PR: “I can’t read her. There’s a wall. It’s not a brick wall, but a see-through plastic wall, and I can’t get through.”

(Oh, fer cryin’ out loud! You can’t read her because your both so muddled, you can’t even read your OWN minds! Here…pick a brick, any brick).

Lettie: “PR, I think I know you. We walked together.”

PR: “YES! I know you now, too….Mary Magdelene.”

(Oh, yippee-skippy – another reunion).

I’m in it now. May as well ride it. Idiot-Brain told me that I had to.

ME: “I know why you can’t read her. It’s me. I’m blocking the channel.”

Walter: “What do you mean? Why would you do that?”

ME: “Because I have (insert your most dramatic voice here, people) A DARK SIDE.”

(Because I have an urgent need to get the HELL outta here. Turn out the lights and lock up when you’re finished).

Walter: “Oh, Lori! It isn’t YOU that has a dark side. I LOVE you. You CAN’T have a Dark Side. But you DO have another inside you.”

“Well, I did last NIGHT.”

(Boing, another goes right overhead)

“He’s still there.”

(No he’s not. He’s in the garage, now. Getting ready to go fishing).

ME: “Oh, yes. But I fight very hard to control it.”

Walter: “Why? Why must you control it?”

“To protect people”

Walter: “Protection? Protection of whom?”

“Right now, YOU.”

I’m not kidding, this sack-o-nuts walks up and LAYS HIS HAND on my forehead, and looks me deeply in the eyes…and says…nothing.

(I’m too stunned to move…wait…what?)

He mistakes my rolling eyes for rapture and jerks back.

(OK, OK…so I DID sort of roll my eyes and hold them there and DID sort of roll my head back on purpose. Because I don’t know when to quit).

“It’s gone. It’s gone! Can you feel it?”

All in the room oooh and ahhhh. And I’m standing there with my teeth in my face (again), trying really hard not to laugh or scream…was I just exorcised???? And by whom? A Christian Alien or an Alien Christian???

“Lettie, can you name this entity that was in Lori?”

(I already told you, my husb…oh never mind)

Lettie: After a pensive moment, looking deep into Walter’s eyes, “Yes. He was here with us earlier. It’s….(dramatic pause)…the Red MAN!”

(A quick peek at my chest to assure myself the Red MAN left his big ol’ testicles behind. I’m kinda partial to them…their location is my only link to “femininity”, it seems.)

Walter: “Oh, oh, oh. Lori you are so strong to control the Red MAN! Oh, Lettie….I can feel the love coming from you now. It’s free! It’s so pure!! Give PR a hug and tell him you love him!”

She does.

“PR, give Lettie a hug and tell her you love her!”

He does.

(Anybody even tries touching me and the Red MAN is coming back to kick some Nebubla ass)

Walter breaks down sobbing.

(NOTHING is gonna surprise me anymore…do you hear me??? NOTHING! Seems to be a recurring thought, doesn’t it?)

“Can I hug YOU, Lori?”

“NO!”

“All the negativity is gone, now”

(Wanna BET??)

PR: “Lori, I see you in a past life. You were a Brave, but I can’t feel the tribe. You’re on a grey horse, and you’re leading two other horses. There’s an adolescent with you…he’s like a young buddy. I can’t get a handle on what your name is, though.”

Me: “Well, I think I can.”

“OH, so you’re picking up on our energy now! Please, what is your name?”

“Well, Native American, (slowly losing the tenuous grip I have), leading horses, and from the constellation Pegasus. (And we’re all wandering in Salvador Dali-land). It’s pretty obvious…CRAZY Horse.”

(Sailed right over their heads…Aaagain).

“YES! I can feel Crazy Horse. You WERE Crazy Horse.”

(WAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Somebody please!!!!)

At this point, I’m dizzy…literally. Time to end this. My cat confirmed it. He came waltzing in the studio like he’s done hundreds of times…but this time he HISSED and BACKED OUT! My CAT didn’t want to turn his back to these people.

Me: “Oh my God! I feel like I have left my body! (Actually, I’m hoping I’ll wake up, plus I’m dense and can’t resist the urge to keep playing) I don’t feel 5′-2″ anymore! I’m TALL! I’m floating!!!”

“That’s because you are descended from the race of Tall People.”

(Oh, well…I should have seen THAT coming)

“I’m on the ceiling!”

“What do you see?”

“The top of your heads!!”

(Because I’m on the CEILING, people!)

Same smiles on their faces…they just don’t GET IT.

“OK…this has gone on long enough. Guys, I’m exhausted. You need to leave.”

(I need to recover).

And, thankfully, they did leave.

Tomorrow is the last day…I’m putting an end to it. My sense of humor is GONE by this time. I can’t go until Sunday, no matter HOW curious I am to see it to its end.

I tell my husband what went on, and after he picked himself up off the floor, he told me that I may have gone too far. “Walter will be back because he thinks you’re serious.”

“Oh, phhtttt. There’s no reason for him to come back. He’s got PR’s hotel number…(my constant companion, cluelessness, just took over my brain. Once again)…”

DAY 3 – WEDNESDAY

Wednesday morning and I was trying to decide if I should stick it out until Sunday. My husband was a lot more freaked out, really, than I was. I think I was just along for the ride…running on auto-pilot.

The decision was cinched about 10 minutes after PR walked into the studio.

ME: “Did you sand the block we did yesterday?”

“No. Remember when I told you I have healing energy?”

(Yes. But I didn’t believe you or else you would have healed those nasty-assed feet)

“Ya….?”

“Well, sometimes I have to wear a back support, but I have so much healing energy that I generate too much heat to wear it all day.”

(Well, that explains why my brain is fried. But why the Hell not are you healing yourself?)

“Here, look at this.”

(Oh God…not again)

He pulls his shirt up to his neck revealing…oh crap, it’s too icky for words.

Then rips open the back support and says, “Feel how hot this is.”

“NO!”

OK, that’s enough. God knows what else he’ll expose if this goes on. The very unnerving curiosity crossed my mind that maybe aliens have three…(now stop that, Lori!!)

“Yesterday afternoon sure was powerful, wasn’t it? I could see in your eyes you were released.”

(Yeah. Released from my spider silk thin Bonds of Normalcy, and thrust into the Realm of What Just Happened Here)

“You’re a lot calmer today.”

(Thank you, Xanax)

Time to tell him. I honestly didn’t want to hurt this guy’s feelings, and even though I needed him gone, I was feeling a little guilty about booting his butt to the curb.

“Look, I think we need to end the class today. You’re just not ready yet. I feel like I’m wasting your money and you clearly aren’t here for carving. I’ll give you a refund for the balance.”

He took it well, admitted that he really didn’t come here for carving, that he was supposed to meet me and the other two….blah blah blah….

That’s a relief. The morning passes pretty much without incident. Instead of having him carve, I’m demonstrating.

Noon arrives…and brought with it the remaining members of (the apparently now) Sacred Nut-Bucket Posse.

(OK, my husband was right)

Walter: “Are we interrupting anything?”

(Would it seriously make a difference?)

WALTER: “Lori, you came to see me last night. So did you, PR.”

(No I didn’t. I had a date with Ambien. I didn’t go anywhere last night, and I CERTAINLY was hoping I wouldn’t dream)

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes you did.”

“No…I…”

PR: “Yes you did, Lori. I was there, too.”

(Oh whoop-dee-DOO…I’ve got this pair of monkey-nuts dreaming about me, now. Lucky me)

“Here, Lori. Hold this rock.”

(And who’s head should I aim for first?)

“You KNOW this rock because you closed your hand over it!”

(Huh? YOU’RE gonna “know” this rock intimately in three…two….one…)

“Look at the markings in the rock. What do you see?”

Took me a second, but I finally made out 5 little holes sort of in a pentagon shape.

“Five holes.”

“Do you recognize the figure?”

“Uhhhhh…..”

“It came from Orion. It’s the arrangement of the constellation Orion.”

(Since WHEN?)

“Well, no wonder I didn’t recognize it. I’m not Orionese. I’m Pegasean.”

(JEEZ…I did it again – back down the rabbit hole…I don’t learn so good)

Me: “I see a dodecahedron.”

“What’s that? Must have something to do with your origins.”

(Um, I thought these aliens could have expanded my limited knowledge of geometry, polygons and polyhedrons…guess not. What have you got to say for yourself, NOW, Mr. St. John the Educated Alien Fighter Pilot?)

Me: “It’s sacred.”

Walter: “Speaking of sacred…Lori, would you recognize the Spirit of Christ if you saw It?”

(Wow….we sure got off the subject of dodecahedrons in a hurry, didn’t we?)

“Well, not being Christian, I probably wouldn’t recognize WHO it was, but I’d certainly recognize great Power.”

PR: “I would recognize It.”

Lettie: “Me too.”

Walter: “So, here we are…gathered in my name.”

(WHAT. DID. HE. JUST. SAY???)

Walter: “Who am I?”

(How many guesses?)

“Ummmm….Walter?”

Walter: “Yes, but am also Jesus.”

(Well, it makes sense that I didn’t recognize you, but St. John and Mary M here sorta missed the vibe, too)

“But I am human, just like you. I even fart after sex.”

(Oh, goddammit…The Twig of Reality just got yanked out by the roots. F*ck you, Viagra)

“OK. THAT’S IT! Everybody out. Time to close up. PR, I’ll help you pack up. Here’s your check.”

Mary and Farting Jesus take their leave – in a 1970-something Lincoln…I was expecting maybe he had enough residual “thrust” in his divine ass-bazooka to propel them both Heavenward…how disappointing.

I’m packing PR up and he says something that made me realize even wing-nuts have their limit.

“Can you believe that Walter saying he’s Jesus? How gullible does he think we are?”

“Uhhhhh……”