My Achy Breaky Tooth

I am always grateful for my excellent health (knock on wood), but in the dental department, I was not in the best gene pool.

Growing up, I knew every dentist appointment would invariably mean drilling and filling. Despite being a Crest kid. Remember chewing on those funky red pills to see where you missed brushing? Ewww. 

I never took novocaine, because I thought I was Super Girl or something. Or just afraid of needles.

Then when I hit 18, I stopped having cavities and went on my merry way. Until about my mid-40s, when the fillings started falling out and molars began to wear down.

Most recently, my dentist discovered that one of my molars had cracked. A root canal was done, but it didn't work, as I was still having pain. So the tooth is coming out, and in its place will be an implant. 

The first surgery is to remove the tooth, and pack the space with cow bone so the bone can regrow and form a new base for the implant. Then in a few months I will have the implant put in, and then a few months after that, a crown will be fitted for it.

So I just took my last mega-dose of ibuprofen before my surgery tomorrow, and hopefully that will be my first step toward being pain-free. 

If You Have Never Been to a Leather Fundraiser, You Are Missing Out

Last night I had the honor to serve as one of the bootblacks at a fundraiser at a nightclub in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.

I love working at fundraisers. 

The bar was crowded and full of energy. Smoking was legal here, so we have the dark plus the smoke plus the hot bodies and thumping music...it is the perfect atmosphere to bootblack.

There is also entertainment, of the burlesque/drag queen type. I never get to see the acts because I'm usually bent over a pair of boots but it's fun to listen to the hoots and hollers.

My favorite part of these events: the auctions. Usually there are two: a silent auction, where you write down a bid on a piece of paper, and then others will come by and put down their bids, etc. And then there is the live auction, and we all know what that is.

Sometimes you can get some great stuff at these auctions for bargain prices. The pool table was covered with leather boots, jackets and toys, for incredibly low prices. 

And then there are things that you don't see anywhere else. Like this neato black stool with a glow-in-the-dark bootprint:

Hand-made and painted, with a real boot used to make the print. I got this for $15.

These events really put the "fun" into fundraising. :-)

Defining Myself

To be thrilled at the opportunity to provide useful service, aroused by a pleasant nod, and satisfied by the proverbial job well done, is the mark of a slave.-- Laura Antoniou, The Marketplace

The above quote really speaks to me, and not because I consider myself a slave. In fact, people who identify as slaves and do their best to live by however they define "slave", have my full respectful admiration.

As a Bootblack, however, every single word in that statement applies to me and how I feel about my service.

I got a lot of helpful responses, both on- and offline, to my most recent post. And I am so grateful to everyone who took their time and energy to help me work these issues out.

I think if there's anyone out there who are fledgling Title-holders, with sashes sparkling in your eyes, I suggest you seek out those in the community who know what they're talking about, and get whatever wisdom you can.

This will be my last post about Titles, but I did want to add one clarification: I have never once been approached to run for any bootblacking title.  I'd be lying if I said that didn't hurt, especially when I hear other folks humblebragging about "all these people telling me to run!" 

But that is when I must look in the mirror, and tell myself to quit whining and just keep shining. Because it's not about me.

Making a Difference in the Leather World - Is It Possible Without a Title?

I have been trying to figure out this whole "Title" thing and what it should mean to me. 

Up to now I haven't commented on the IMsL logo controversy. Personally it was very upsetting to see that an image of a gun and a purple dildo was chosen to represent Leather women. I applaud the decision to pull the logo -- though I'm still left wondering how the design managed to be chosen in the first place.

In any case, as a Bootblack, I am eligible to run for titles, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thinking about that.

I think running for a title is, first of all, a personal choice. What's good for you might not be good for me. Running for a title is a commitment...some titles are easier to pursue than others. 

I have had a few title winners tell me not to pursue a title. "Because then it just becomes a job," they say. That's easy to tell someone once you've got the title, isn't it? 

I heard of one Bootblack contest in which the contestants had to wear three different leather outfits during the events. I am not sure what that has to do with our craft. And the rule would definitely exclude me, as I can't afford that much leather. 

There are questions I need to answer honestly to myself.

• What is my personal mission in the Leather community?
• Do I really need a title in order to carry out that mission?
• Is it even possible for me to make a difference without a title?

The final bullet point in that list is one I'm going to need some outside help on.

Notes From the Desert

Once upon a time, there was a young girl who was raised Catholic and loved God with all her heart, with all her mind, and with all her soul.

Then, as often happens to young girls, she grew up. And realized that although the Church had some good things to say, there was a lot of bad things too, especially about girls and their role in the world.

When the girl realized this, her heart was sad but she knew she had to part ways. 

Soon the girl got married and discovered the Episcopal church, and here she felt she had found a home: the liturgy was similar, but the hierarchy was different, and there was more wriggle room to be a flawed human being.

And for many years, the girl was happy. With her life, her career, her husband, her church. She taught Sunday school and Vacation Bible School, volunteered whenever she could, supported the church financially.

But over time, what she thought was a strong foundation in her character, formed by her love of God, began to crumble. 

The greed of the corporate world. The never-ending darkness that seemed to wash a sepia-gray film of misery over the world: genocide, famine, extremism/terrorism, racism, homophobia, voter apathy.

This coupled with the rise of the so-called "Moral Majority" in the 1980s, followed by the Christian Rightwing extremists, with their message of guns, God and glory, left the girl embarrassed to call herself a Christian.

She felt lost and alone. As though she had wasted so much of her spiritual efforts when nothing could be done anyway. The Church no longer seemed to matter.

She left the Church, and started on her own personal journey. In the Bible there are stories of holy men who embarked alone into the wilderness. When they returned, they were changed, they were newly inspired to do their work.

In many ways, I think I am still on my personal desert journey, yearning to come home, but not quite ready yet. It is not desolate, though. There is life here, as there is life even in the harshest places on earth. 

Meditations on Art

Yesterday I had the honor of facilitating a bootblacking skillshare with a group of really cool ladies.

Once in a while I am asked to come to a munch or gathering and "teach a class" but I really dislike that phrase. 

I don't consider myself a very good teacher, in the way that we think of a teacher: standing up in front a dozen or so people and sending forth knowledge, in an organized fashion, done in an entertaining style.

There's really only one way I can "teach", and that's by sharing what I know: so I will plop a pair of boots in front of you and guide you along in how I've been taught to do it. 

And that's what we did: everyone had a chance to get their hands dirty and everyone was able to see that what Bootblacks do is not magic; it's just technique, and anyone can learn it.

But there is so very much more, and I can't communicate that through words. It must be done through actions. Through letting you experience the art by actually doing it.

Bootblacking is simple. Clean the leather. Then either condition or polish. 

Simple, but not easy. Because there are decisions you have to make depending on what type of leather you're working on. That's why I believe bootblacking is an art. An art is something that is done with heart. Even the word heart includes art.

Anyone can paint a picture of sunflowers. But only the heart of a Van Gogh could elevate sunflowers to something wonderful.

What's in the heart of a Bootblack? What elevates a simple shoe shine that you get at the airport, to something so sublime and intimate as the experience you get with a good Bootblack? 

Just things I'm thinking about tonight.

Confession of Sin, and Hope for the Future

I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.
-- Augusten Burroughs

Yes I missed a day. I'm sure you were sitting there, with nothing else to do, wondering where my post for the day went. Right? I didn't think so.

Anyway, yesterday was frikkin busy. But it was all boring stuff so no need to detail all of that.

I do, however, want to take a brief moment to make a disclaimer about myself.

I read somewhere that Lent is a call to weep for what we could have been and are not.

I talk a good lot of talk about caring for others and being compassionate and forgiving but the reality is, I very often fall short of what I consider good behavior in myself.

Or, in other words, I have had my moments.

I have a very bad Inner Snark that feeds on a constant diet of Schadenfreude, which is an emotion that branches off of envy. I have to fight this all the time.

Because my biggest personal sin is comparing myself to others, and finding myself lacking.

The reality is this: there will always be someone smarter than me, and funnier, prettier, skinnier, sexier, and all the trappings that go with What Society Says We Should Be Good At And/Or Look Like. There will always be someone who will achieve more, who writes more, who dances more, who gets more good things, who has more money.

Once I can truly accept that, I will be free to be something that no one else can possibly be: just me. I am me and I am the only one who can be me.

So instead of worrying about everyone else who's better than me at most things, I should really concentrate on being the best version of myself.

Because of these character flaws I have said and done a lot of things that I'm not proud of. I have learned through painful lessons that you can't take back what comes out of your mouth or when you hit that Enter key. All I can do is apologize but then, still, the scars remain.

I like to think that I'm a good person, overall. But in many ways I'm a huge fuck up. In the past and probably in the future too.

Every day I'm given, though, is a new chance to make things better. I can weep, and begin again.