Peace after war

(to answer the two most common tattoo questions: #1, yes, it did hurt, but no, it didn't hurt much, and #2, $125. There, that's over).



Two things happened yesterday.

My ex came and picked up the last of his stuff, except for a couple of boxes of books. The farm is now mine in all but name, and my husband, other than signing taxes, is finally gone, gone, gone. I wandered about the cavernous lower barn yesterday, looking at all the work that needs to be done, and all the potential that lies there. It was kind of like discovering a cool old tree house on your property. I felt the stirrings of some long-lost twelve-year old.

(there is a nuthatch tapping at the porch roof over my head as I type this. There is something fitting about that. Hey, buddy, knock it off!)

The second event was that my tattoo artist called and said she had a cancellation, and was I interested in coming in at 3:00 instead of waiting until the end of September?

Well, how is that for great timing? So I shook out my wedding-ring pawn-shop money and headed into town. Ithaca was in its usual state of "periods of bright sun alternating with alarming downpours" but I watched it all, laughing and dry, in a chair at Medusa Tattoo.

I had SUCH fun sitting there laughing with Carol, the artist, and one of her friends/clients who wandered in for a visit and gave me a running commentary of all her very beautiful tattoos (and hers WERE beautiful tattoos) and her life, while furious kittens scratched at my upper arm (well..that's what it felt like). Periodically a person would walk in, taking refuge from the rain, and ask questions.

I think perhaps there may be no more interesting place than a tattoo parlor. Lots of people trying to find a way to express who they are--or who they think they are, or who they want to be--in a piece of art that they haul around everywhere they go and have to look at every day. I'm guessing people who come in for lots of tattoos might return just to be part of that comradarie over and over again.

The Latin "pax" I chose for the tattoo means "peace." More exactly, the reconciled peace after war. I need a reminder to continue to try to toss off being angry, and to celebrate those generous people in my life (both female and male) who are true friends, or acquaintances who appear in my life with genuine kindness.

I need a reminder that I am truly blessed and for me to continue to complain has reached a point where anger has served its purpose and it's time to let it go.

If it's not my ex that angers me, it will be something else in the future. There are always complications in life, and let's face it, life is only getting shorter. I want to live the remainder of mind dedicated to a peaceful existence rather than an angry one.

I haven't decided if the cat is resting, or recovering from a bit of a headache (as I smile). That paw by the head doesn't look as relaxed as it could--but then maybe there is some unexpected personal symbolism in that.

As a person who never has a good experience with haircuts ("at least it will grow out"), sitting down for a tattoo was a serious exercise in trust. I'd seen the cats Carol had done, so I was fairly certain she had the understanding to do them right. Nonetheless, until you walk over to their mirror, there is a certain underlying trepidation. I mean, I could have ended up with a really really stupid-looking cat on my arm, forever. Have you seen some of the cat tattoos out there? Most of them are way too "Hello Kitty" for me.

I also thought long and hard about whether I was willing to endure people asking me if I had had a cat named "Pax" for the rest of my life. But given that probably only five people a year are even going to see my upper arm, I'm not too worried about it. I don't commonly run around in sleeveless shirts. Explaining to a few strangers that it means "reconciliation" doesn't seem like such a bad thing to me.

So there you go--two milestones on a single Saturday.

Life is good.