The Fourth Ave St Fair is next weekend here in Tucson and I’m in my last stages of prep. I will have some ROCKIN’ good deals as I try to clear out this year’s inventory. I’ve been thinking of the first and only other time I participated in the event and I thought I’d share the story with you all. It is a graphic story and sort of gross, so if you have a weak stomach, I would NOT read on. Skip to one of my other funny posts.
We moved to Tucson just around three and a half years ago. Fresh from New Orleans and the vibrant art scene there, I had high hopes for my new home town. We arrived in Jan and I had applied for the 4th Ave St Fair prior to moving, knowing when our landing date was going to be. We were in a rental home in Sahuarita, AZ and were enjoying exploring the hiking in Madera Canyon. Up the mountain we went, to a trail with some old mines. There were three adults, two children and two dogs. When we arrived at the top of the trail, the mines were just a bit farther, but someone had to stay behind with the dogs since the last bit was up and around a small boulder field. I volunteered to wait with the dogs and sat down on a nearby log.
Over the next couple of days, I noticed I had a yucky looking “pimple” on my butt cheek. It was disturbing and it kept getting bigger and bigger over the next days. (HERE IS A GROSS PART, IF THE IDEA OF MY BUTT CHEEK HAS NOT ALREADY GROSSED YOU OUT, THIS PART WILL) I began to have a low grade fever, and in the ultimately mostest disgustingest turn of events ever, the “thing” on my cheek broke open and started to ooze. The 4th Ave St Fair was a week off. I did some hot and cold compresses over the next week, standing modestly behind the counter in the evenings so my family didn’t have to witness and I could easily clean up. My fever was worse and I ached all over.
After passing out with cold sweats and chills, alternating tylenol and ibuprofen to no effect and being so deeply pained in my joints and body, I went to the emergency room. It was a full moon. It was 10pm at night. I sat for over 12 hours in the emergency room, overnight with a strange assortment of full moon patients. Being so close to Mexico, I heard Spanish just as often as English. I was an Arizona resident for all of 6 weeks. This was NOT New Orleans Toto, NOT New Orleans. There was no Jazz Band, no keg to keep you busy while you waited. Okay. That’s not true of New Orleans Hospitals, but it’s not far from the truth. I can remember my husband being annoyed that he had to see the boys off to school because I was STILL at the Emergency Room. Men. What the heck are you thinking?
After going back to the treatment area, exhausted, sick, sore from sitting on a hard plastic chair for half of a day and an entire night, I had a male nurse. Of course. He asked what was wrong. I informed him I had a puss-hole on my ass cheek. He inquired if I was “skin popping”. Huh? What the heck is that I said? I sometimes pick at my face, I confess, I am an over 40 year old woman who still has acne. He laughed and said that’s not what he meant, explaining the IV drug users will insert heroin under their skin if they have used up all their good veins. I learned something. I never ever would have known that and I’m not sure my life is richer for the knowing of it. I denied IV drug use and any associated “skin popping”.
Now came the fun part.
He looked at my butt cheek.
He called in other nurses to look at my butt cheek.
They discussed my butt cheek.
In all my years as a female in the Navy, no one had ever been that interested in my butt cheek.
After the Dr came in, I was informed that I had a spider bite; most likely a brown recluse spider. I was lucky to be alive to have my butt cheek looked at. I was grateful to have my butt cheek looked at. If you ever see me at a show, however, my butt cheek is now off limits– it has surpassed its maximum number of butt cheek look ats. I’m serious. Eyes on the face art lovers, eyes on the face.
I was now two days before my 1st Arizona Art show. With a puss filled cheek and an order to stay in bed. Now. I had given up my paycheck at a defense firm and was totally self-employed. I needed income. I was NOT giving up the show.
All of you who met me that fateful show three and a half years ago in March should know that all the while I chatted and smiled, I had a kotex pad strapped to my butt cheek to catch the oozes as the strong antibiotics slowly pushed the poison from my system. I had a fever. I was hot. I was cold. I changed my wound dressing in the porta potty at the corner of 4th and 7th. What’s a girl to do? What’s an artist to do? (I cannot favorably report on the Tucson porta-potty experience. Beer. March. Basketball. Yuck. Enough said?)
Needless to say, I have avoided the 4th Ave St Fair until this showing. It was too strange to want to repeat. I just didn’t want to. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to.
I’m reading a book called “the untethered soul: the journey beyond self” by Michael A Singer. In it he talks about Samskara’s– patterns and tetherings we create on our journey through life, they are blockages we hold on to and bits of unfinished business. Well. Interesting idea. I for one am ready to move past my blockages and accept the amazing energies of the universe. I’m going to release my 4th Ave St Fair Samskara next weekend– letting go the energy stored and freeing it up for wonderful things. Won’t you join me? Help me release my Samskara which is titled “brown-recluse-spider-bite-puss-skin-not-popping-emergency-room-all-night-husband-pissed-about-getting-the-boys-to-school-pad-in-a-pota-potty-samskara”. I live here. It is my hometown. And I’m ready for my advantage, universe.
And maybe help me clear out some 2012 inventory that I don’t want to carry over into 2013 either. I can promise the prices will be worth your while!