Sunday, January 29, 2012

Lamp Light/ Mariposa Alma



My desk, again.  With the beautiful lamp that I finally found a bulb for- and my precious things.  I seem to be writing often about my desk lately, but it is one of my magic places where I make things happen.

Yesterday I was upset, and like always I stuff things inside until I just have a meltdown.  And then I am able to step away from the situation and discover that nothing is as bad or impossible as I think it is, and nothing is as easy as I think it is, and everything in this world requires more than a little work, compromising and a whole lot of patience.

So we talked and talked and worked together in the yarden and talked some more....and things are feeling better.  One of our big problems is time and how to spend it~ and our off/on switches.  My biggest issue is that I don't have an 'off' switch- once I begin something it is difficult to stop until it is done, or switch to another task.  I want to marathon-plow my way through all projects...yet, I procrastinate which causes anxiety, so I usually end up trying to do to much in one day (today will shape up into one of those days).  It's like a tidal wave.  When I finish I'm done, but I'm also exhausted and not good for anything but sleep.

We are going to work on sharing the responsibility for things more, communicating better  (which begins with staying awake at the same time), working at working on it.  Hopefully, just a bump in the road, because I do love him and I know that he loves me~ and I know that no matter how much I am used to putting all my energy into one thing until it is resolved that marriage doesn't work that way.  It takes checks and balances and compromises.  It's only year 2, and we have a long way to go, but with a bit of luck we will get there.

It's like the lamp on the desk, and the picture behind it.  The lamp we have had forever- it was one of the first old stained glass/brass lamps that we ever bought.  The harp of the lamp is low, and the bulb base is an odd size- made for old fashioned bulbs- and I have looked for *years* trying to find a bulb to fit.  We even looked for a different harp, but that didn't come about either.  It wasn't until yesterday during one of our multiple trips to the dump that we stopped at Marshburns.  Marshburns is an old ACE hardware store that everyone hates to go to- not just because they are very expensive on everything, but they are not that friendly.... as soon as you walk in the door (and it doesn't matter *who* you are, what color, age, anything) a 'helper' is assigned to you that sticks to your side (not in a good way) every second.  No browsing unless you want the helper to browse with you, which consists of a series of questions (what are you looking for? why do you need it? how about x? x= most expensive choice possible).   Creepy, unfriendly, but after being escorted back into the light bulbs, where my 'helper' tried to solve the problem (in his credit, he was a nice yet dejected young guy without a clue about old lighting)...I found a dusty bulb packet at the very top of the display that I thought would work.  About $5.00 later (one light bulb. 40watt) I got it home, tried it out and behold- let there be light!   And that is a parable-  you may have something precious, but unless you keep working on finding the missing part, it will not be complete.  And finding the missing part may require trips to unpleasant places where you receive guidance, like it or no.  But then the part is recovered, the cycle is complete and magic can happen.  Illuminate, celebrate- and then realize that the illumination lights up other aspects of the puzzle, and now you begin to search for them.  cycles.

As for the painting behind it, well, I was going to write about it but I think I will save that for another day.  Love to all, all is well, we get to the places we need to go.

Catalyst for change


Note: I had the following post on the blog yesterday, then decided it was to personal and took it down.  This morning I re-read it, and realized that while it is personal, it is true-speak and needs to be up, better or worse.
If you don't want to read it, don't- and things are resolving themselves, which I will speak of in a bit.

I know that the only thing you have power to change in this world- really- is yourself. And I need to be the agent of change.  And the blog may not be the right place for this, but it is how I communicate best with my self and others, and I need to write in order to think things out, and I need to share in order to not hold things in so much that I am going to explode. I can't handle phone calls and talking because I can't say what I mean, what I feel, and  it all gets shrouded in 'everything is fine'.  And I know that it is my problem to handle, and no one can do it for me, but something has to change because I am in trouble in my heart.
I am having a hard time right now, because I am not happy.  I do love Mr. Owens dearly, but at the same time, I am not happy and I don't know if it is worth working out, if he is willing to work at it so that we can both change and meet some sort of compromise, or if it is a conditional thing or if we need to be done.  And it is hard to say,  hard to think about, heartbreaking- but truth of the matter is that I have an independent soul and I want to do things, be things, go places- I miss the freedom that I used to have, my center and balance and peace.  Because I get angry, and I stuff it all down, and then it just burns away at my core.  And I know that I was lonely before, that I looked for love thinking one thing, discovering it was another.  I know he loves me- but- again I feel a hollowness.  I don't know if he is depressed, or unhappy, or what exactly is going on but we are having a hard time communicating, a hard time being able to say what we mean, what we need, what we want.  I try to talk and he seems to think that nothing is wrong, that nothing needs talked about, and in the meantime, I cannot breathe.
Perhaps it is me, I sometimes think, because not everything is a one-way street.  I work to hard, and I am constantly stressed because the burden of responsibility for everything falls on me- not just financial responsibility, but the handling of emergencies, the making sure resources meet needs, the picking things up when things fall apart.  And things are falling apart.  The house is tumbling down, it needs repair badly, the yarden is horrible and nothing is done...and I get angry, and ashamed, and I am caught in the snare between "I'm going to do it" and doing it myself- and I wonder if I am just chicken and need to just man up and do it myself (which is probably going to happen)....or what.  Or if we are going to get better and it will go back to the way it once was.  All I know is that I am falling back into old habits (getting up at 3am for solitude and work), suppressing myself, distancing myself from everyone and everything, restricting myself to a life of rules- bottling up my will and my soul.  He doesn't see it that way- because he never says I cannot do something or go somewhere- but still and all the same, the vibe is there.  I've always been good at vibes.  And to be fair, I do know that his life has changed considerably and that he is struggling with the pain, and not being able to work, and fear/denial about the skin cancer (more biopsies next week), and those can cause inertia.  I feel selfish for wanting so much~ and I've never been good at relationships (obviously).  I said for many years that I was to selfish to get married again, and I should of listened to myself.
He would hit the roof if he knew I was writing this- he hates making private things public- but I need to get it out. He doesn't read the blog much anymore, so I don't know if he will see it or not- and while I've spoken of this to him, he doesn't seem to think it is a big deal....and because I love him, and I'm weak, I fall right back into being passive, and the good wife- I so want to be a good wife- but it doesn't seem to happen that way - what am I doing wrong?  I have been working on myself- physically and mentally- and have gotten other aspects of my  life back within some sort of boundaries,   And I am not miserable all the time- it is hard to explain.  I get excited, and happy, and positive, but then I get frustrated and tired.  I work on boundaries but still am unable to refuse requests.  I seek approval through working~ because that is what I know.  He does care for me, and is still very loving and fun but I hate having to be the responsible one all the time.  I've lived this story before- in different ways, different places- but the roots stay the same.
SO, because I cannot change others I can only change myself- what am I going to do?  Write it out.  Try to get him to talk to me today, to agree to counseling or therapy or something.  Be brave and put this out on the blog (trust me, I've been thinking 'oh, I'll just save it as a draft', 'no one needs to know this', 'it will just upset people' 'I'm embarrassed that I feel this way, and that I'm just a quitter who once again didn't try to make things work')....but I don't need to be in denial either.  I don't need to go through life pretending everything is ok when it is not, and in reality I know that I'm not the only person in the world with these issues- it just seems that everyone around me has been so happily married for so long (yes, I know you have bumps in the road)  but how in the world do you all do it?  How do you figure things out about responsibility and freedom, trust and balance and getting things done?  I've always hated to tell people what to do (and like wise be told what to do)- I want *him* to make the decision that things need to change as well.  
I just don't know what is going to happen, or where this is going to take us.  I don't know if this is the start of the end of our story or just a bump in the road.  I do know that I need to change because I don't want to be like this- and I need to find my way somehow- and the only way to do that is to start walking.
Thank-you for listening, and please don't judge him from my words- he is a good man and has been a faithful loving husband- and I am calmer now. and embarrassed. and may not publish this after all, because it is private- but again, I have to put it out somewhere- it makes me sad, and angry, and- well, I just don't know what I am going to do, but I need to do something.

Friday, January 27, 2012

Of Milkshakes and Medicine


1909 advertisement.  'Our beers are pure liquid food'.

Grendel has struggled with food all of his life- extreme diet restrictions, constant dysphagia, operations and tests and medicines, diagnosis of Eosinophilic esophagitis.  Hospitals in NC, SC and Texas...resulting in not only treatment of various successes but an addiction to video games (thank-you MUSC! seriously, it's turning into a career that might actually end up paying his student loans!), the realization that riding a mechanical bull is *not* the best way to dislodge food, and that if you are yacking into a trash can loudly they will move you to either the top of the emergency room line or into a more private waiting area as to not gross out already sick people.

Well, this whole thing stayed more-or-less under control for the past few years- one episode in the last two years that was a quick extraction and roto-routing... luckily not ever when he was adventuring off in another country or traveling.  And then, it all blew up again full force on Wednesday.

He came home from work, thought I was coming to the city to see Dr. Mike, invited me to dinner- but I cancelled Dr. Mike (and dinner) because of an assignment I had to finish for grad school.  So he went to the Japanese place (where he goes lots) and got a steak bowl to take home.  This is not normal steak, but rather the very thin soft stuff, similar to the steak in philly cheese steak, that is cooked on the grill with mushrooms and onions and served over rice.  Very small pieces, very soft, eaten with lots of sauce if you are a Grendel.  Anyhoo, he took his meal home and had maybe two bites of it when everything got stuck.  He's been through this twenty zillion times before, so he knew what to do, and some came up but then he started bleeding.  Hospital time.  No available friends to take him, and even if he had a car he wouldn't of been able to drive this way, so he called me- and luckily I was still at school, almost finished- so I picked  him (and his trashcan) up and off we went.

They took him in right off, not only because he had the gross trashcan, but he was yacking up blood and it was quite dramatic (as well as the whole blood-borne-pathogen risk).  We went back into triage, into our little room with all of our stuff (we are absolute champs at this- he had his traveling bag packed with: clothing, toiletries, laptop, cell phone, ipod, homework, books- it weighed a zillion pounds but we have been stranded like this before for days), I wasn't as prepared having been at school and in panic-mum mode, but I still had two bags with sketchbook, paperwork, textbooks etc.  We settled in and they came in and gave him some dilaudid  for pain (strong stuff- Mr. Owens had it for his back- it knocks the pain out and makes you loopy), an IV and a newfangled blue plastic thing to hack into.  The orderly picked up the trash can and said 'do you want this?'....uh, no thanks.   We saw some of our old emergency room friends- a former student who is a tech, the nurses aid who looks like Stevie Wonder (complete with braids, sunglasses and strangely white teeth)- SW has worked there for 26 years, seen kabillions of people, and always remembers us.

The drama continued- Grendel's nose started bleeding as well, quite dramatically (nothing could go down his throat, and the bleeding had to come out somewhere), and he was texting everyone that he had hit up for a ride to tell them all was well (they were frantically texting/calling- his text tone sounds like a bird chirping, and that was kind of cool) and called his dad, the doctor (Dr. Saure, pronounced 'Sour' who is a very tiny, pretty lady under 30, looks like she should be a tv doctor, but she is extremely fierce as we will find out in a bit.  Still like her though and the boy? he has a doctor-crush) showed up and I was exiled to the waiting room, where I got out the laptop, finished my paper, turned it in.  (As a side note, I get a gold star for extreme homeworking- in the emergency room, under stress, on his laptop which he uses for the hardware part of school- meaning that it gets unbuilt and rebuilt all the time.  Luckily it was together enough to work, except that the 'e' 'i' and 'k' keys were missing- so to type you have to hit these little jabby things...ow, ow, ow.  Emergency room was mostly full of sick kids and parents watching politics on tv. Not so bad)

After the roto-rooting out of the food, they came and got me.  And I found the fierce side of Dr. Saure- she gave me quite the talking to about that this was "the worst case she had ever seen, did I realize that this is a life threatening condition and that he not only needs to have a 'GI specialist in his life', regular checks, daily medication and ......well, I felt like the worlds-worst-mother.  Even though he is grown and on his own.  But I respect that- and I like that she was passionate and fierce about his condition, so she gets to be the 'GI in his life'.  (Side note: she gave Grendel the same talking to before hand, minus some information from the procedure.  He later told me "I wouldn't mind having her in my life" in a doctor-crush kind of way.  Hum...she is a bit older than him....I wonder if she is married....plot, plot.  Stranger things have happened...and through all her righteous rage she did mention that he has incredible hair).

What the results were basically was this:  there was an allergic reaction that caused the incident, but the esophagus was already inflamed and patchy.  The blood happened because he tore the lining again- a long deep tear but luckily not a perforation. She explained that because of his history with all this that his esophagus is a mixture of scar tissue, which is thick and doesn't contract correctly for swallowing, and the contracting parts which are thinner than normal because they have to stretch and do all the work all the time.  Food gets caught in the narrow places, everything contracts but the food is wedged where the scars are and not able to move.  Just like any other muscle, the parts that are able to contract become stressed with over work and can tear- but because the tissue is so thin, the whole thing could tear open, which would not be good. Scary.  We are due back to see her Feburary 10th.

In the meantime, he has the steroid inhaler to swallow again, is on a liquid diet and absolutely forbidden from eating meat, bread and potatoes- even mashed up stuff.  She told us that depending on what things look like after this tear has healed that he may never be able to eat those things again-  imagine.  I can't think about that lots right now, and I know there are recipes and other types of solutions, but still- no bread? or potatoes? or meat? and no pills, all medicine has to be liquid from now on......lots and lots of rules.

It took him forever to wake up- like the rest of our family, he has naturally low blood pressure, and the combination of pain meds/ anesthesia/ and blood loss kept causing his pressure to drop very, very low.  They filled him up with IV liquids, bed propped up and had me keep rubbing his feet...and they kept trying to wake him up and ask him questions, which was a bit entertaining.  At first he had no idea where he was, but he did know the date, the President of the US, and his name....but my all-time favorite answer was to the question 'How many toes do you have?' he replied '10, no- wait- 8 because three of them are in a box.'  They turned on the TV and told me to try to get him interested in it and talking- not a watcher of regular TV I was astonished at the choices for late night viewing.  We could watch: politics, golf or preaching (not things that were especially akin to waking someone up) or reality tv including: Jersey Shore, Dog the Bounty Hunter, Redneck Extreme Vacation, Toddlers and Tiaras, Battle of the Exes or a cooking show involving the preparation of Mountain Oysters.  All of which were very disturbing shows..... but eventually he was awake enough to go home.

We drove around until we found an open fast food place with a working milkshake machine in order to get him something cold for the throat (oh- no sodas either- acids.  But she did ok beer).  We went back to his apartment, he went instantly to bed, I finished the uneaten evil steak bowl (which was really good and caused me not a problem at all) and fell asleep on his couch (surprisingly comfortable).  I did wake up when Charles called to check on us...and got to here the neighbor in action.  Grendel's neighbor (kitchen roommate) apparently has Tourettes which manifests as growling and grunting.  I thought that Grendel had exaggerated the situation a bit, but no....it sounded like a rather angry pitbull was next door.  Then he started to sing, which stopped the growling.  So imagine being in a city apartment, late at night, after a stressful day and not much sleep, and there is this odd vocal singing from next door.  No words, no recognizable tune, but it was strangely beautiful and haunting.  I fell back asleep, woke up at 7 in enough time to magic up some lessons for my kids at school today (no easy task since this is only the second day of class in the semester), went back to sleep again.  Later we went to Walmart for his prescription and new groceries- juice, vitamin water, yogurt, pudding, ice cream, soup, naked juice (it's like liquid salad)....then back home again.

I am glad that he is ok, I am worried about the future, I know we will find away to take care of it.  One of the things I worry about is this- the whole episode required approximately $500.00  (and that is just the copays- there will be additional percentage bills for the emergency room, anesthesiology, surgery etc.).   I am lucky because at the moment he is on my insurance and I had some student loan money available.  What if I didn't? I know the emergency room has to take you regardless of ability to pay- but there would be no follow up, no medicine, no life-time care that he is going to require.  What do people do?  How do you cope with that? Why is there not some way that we can all get the care we need?  Think about it.  Think for a moment about the amount of money that gets shelled out monthly..... the new insurance standards (for my work insurance) require that our family pays more for insurance because I'm fat  (they go by BMI), Charles smokes and Grendel has this condition.  Ok, I can accept that.  They also now require that we see our doctors *monthly* in order to get medicine refills- which is 35 x 2 for Charles and I, the GI will count as a specialist, so that is $81.00 co-pay a pop.  Grendel is an independent student with a part-time job without benefits- there is *no way* he could afford his health care....and when I can't carry him on my insurance any longer (he will be automatically kicked off when he graduates and/or becomes 25) he will have to pay higher premiums because of his condition.  This scares me to death.  I can't even find a humorous way to look at it....

At the moment though, I am thankful that Grendel is ok, that I had the money, that we have insurance, that he is not allergic to dairy (otherwise, what would he eat? Not a clue)....and that life goes on.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

I just wanna have fun!


Cyndi Lauper by Liz

Back to school today- with the kids.  Haven't had them for a bit, and have had great illusions of getting tons of things done, and like always 'this semester will be different!'  I will be organized, they will be engaged, we will make art that makes people go WOW, everyone will get along and I will stick to my diet!....um.....well, I'm trying...

Seriously, I don't know where the time goes.  In my perspective, I don't have allot to do (after all I've taught these classes for 15 years), so it should be easy.  I've been in grad school forever so that should be easy as well- and digital photography?  One class is a snap (no pun intended).  I berate myself for wasting time and not getting stuff done in a timely manner- my poor AP kids suffer the most and I don't even know where they are going to *sit* in the classroom (this semester they are randomly stuck in with my beginning level students, so, the logistics is I have 8 student work tables, plus the supply table.  Each table sits 4 kids max.  Each class has 30 beginners, and random AP ranging from 3-6 students....who require lots of space, and who deserve my time.  SO....yeah. do the math.)  

Don't get me wrong, I love my work- everything pretty much about it (except when I get fussed at).  This morning- it's 5ish now- I 'slept in' till 4 after basketball duty till 9 last night....showered, and am daring to take a moment to myself to read the news, drink my coffee, write (because I deserve that time)  BUT...guilt.  Because I also have to:  post my recorded live class from last night, daily announcement and answer emails from the virtual school, finish getting together my syllabus and first week powerpoints onto the new flash drive (and double checking them since some things have changed....why? because I never ever quit reinventing the wheel), check my ECU discussion boards, finish (well, no. truth: start) an assignment that is due today  (it's *just* a mission statement.  Which is like haiku written by lawyers- short, precise and legally binding), go see Dr. Mike after school in the city.....and my poor husband is totally neglected and hasn't really seen me since I fell asleep in my chair at 8pm Monday night.  He never complains, but I feel guilty- he deserves some attention and companionship.  Grendel does as well- and he keeps calling me and everything I am talking to him something happens and one of us has to go- I haven't seen Melissa in months and we have a huge presentation that needs worked on, plus I miss her, and there is not a travel time in sight.....and I do miss everyone.  I know that I feel better connecting like this, and I am awful at phone calls, but sometimes I just miss sitting down with a cup-o-tea and talking.  Or watching Rawhide with Mr. Owens.....

It's ok.  I'm beating myself up and that was NOT the intention here- I know I work hard, work well, and love much.  I know I am not as lazy and selfish as I think I am.  I know that I am very slightly stressed out (sarcasm) about today, and I know that I feel incredibly guilty for not working on my AP kids stuff, not writing their critiques (which they seriously need), and I know I won't have much time for them today.  But...I am feeling a bit better right now~ because I have let this out to the universe, I shared my freaking out with you, and now I'm ready to do something positive about it.   Thank-you for listening, and I mean that.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Is it even possible?


Every day I read my horoscope, usually first thing, and today was no exception.  Along with a general caution to watch my words, and the way I set priorities (which is random to others, but makes perfect sense to me) was the warning that, "It doesn't matter how serious you are about improving your life, others may still believe that you're just being extra weird today."  

I can identify with this- I've always been a bit different in perspective, and once I grew up I grew into my.....'weirdness'.  Let's talk about that- you see, for me, I don't see it as a necessarily negative thing, even though Dr. Carol told me not to categorize myself as weird, eccentric etc.  which was her view of them as negative qualities, qualities that kept me from seeing myself as worth of a 'normal life'.  It's not that I'm not worthy of a normal life, and I wonder sometimes why a normal life never quite happened for me....but do I try to turn myself into what is 'normal' or do I embrace the life that I have?  

I have high goals for myself.  I know that I am creative and smart, and that sometimes my brain gets carried away and I have a difficult time 'shutting down' and stopping working once I get started.  I know that I hoard ideas like treasure, tend to laugh allot (and kinda cackly, which is kinda cool), don't dress like my age-peer-group, have a different perspective and style in general.  I am used to people stereotyping me as the 'crazy art teacher' because it is a stereotype that fits- and I'm ok with that.  I do get exasperated when people don't take me seriously when something is important, and I have a strange fear of people thinking I am vain- root of my insecurity is that self esteem is conditional, and I tend to mistrust praise.  But, back to being weird.

It's the way I think.  I'm not linear, I'm all over the place, pull it all in, mash it up and create something.  I jump around and *then* I line it all up pretty- it's curious because the educational technology classes I am taking at ECU support this.  Apparently, it is the way computers gather/sort/present information, and it is how we are taught to design instruction- we are all over the board then line it up for delivery.  I love that, and I love designing instruction.  Yesterday I did another staff development workshop for my art teachers and it was incredible- even though it was a potentially boring/negative topic dealing with something they are naturally resistant to (alignment of curriculum).  I also split up my job as county lead- because while I love doing the academic part, the staff development, state meetings, statistics I am awful at public relations, organizing and hostessing events, smoozing with the media and all the 'pretty' parts of the job.  So I handed those off to Rochelle (who *rocks* at it- she is the queen of advocacy and public persuasion) and Carol, who is one smart cookie. And I am so relieved- 

I need to do more of this.  Say *yes* to things I want to do, that I know I'm good at and can do well, and *no* to things that make me crazy.  So at risk of sounding vain or crazy, a brief clearing board of the brain:
Make me crazy:  parties, social events, business attire, purses, heels, painting letters, telling people what to do, budgets/money, telephones, choosing rules over people, intolerance of diversity.
Good at: research, ideas, presentations, public speaking/teaching, working independently, planning, making things out of nothing at the spur of the moment, linking information, writing, computers.

Now, this is in a work-world context, no so much a personal context, though many of the behaviors carry through.  The manz is still trying to understand my concept of fun, which is research/development of ideas and creative work.....but we are working on it ; )

Monday, January 23, 2012

6 Word Wonders!


Mother has sent me an article- I got it in the mail Saturday, which actually didn't make it out of the mail box until Sunday- about describing your life in 6 words.  And that has inspired me to play a game, in which I've been back-burner thinking about it ever since.  In the article it had the burbs of various people- celebrities and regular folks- and I thought it was very curious what they defined their lives by: appearance, what they did or didn't do, how they felt at the moment, accomplishments, goals, emotions....etc.  Good, good brain candy.

This morning, at not-quite-3am (I have been keeping Martha-Stewart hours, but my brain functions at its absolute best in the very early morning.  Then we cruise control through the rest of the day...and today I have to teach teachers, so I must go get that ready in a moment....) anyway, this morning I woke up trying to decide if I wanted to get up and work or try for some more sleep.  I played with the 6 word idea thinking I would doze off- but then I created a 6 word epitaph for myself that I just *had* to share on facebook.  (Why? because facebook gives me the illusion that people listen to me, and sometimes I make them smile).  So my six word epitaph for today was:   Sorry, can't die now, still busy.   (I was going to say 'to busy' but then couldn't remember if it should be 'to' or 'too' and didn't want to flaunt bad writing on my status.  Casey- help me out here- I can never, ever remember which 2 to use when.... and you are the queen of English).

While the epitaph is true (and why, along with excellent genes, I will live to 100+), it is not how I define my whole life, just this minute.  I think what I am going to do is to keep this idea in mind and compose these little lives as I go along- kind of a fun mind-game to keep me entertained.

My favorite epitaph from a book was 6 words:  "loved to much, tried to hard"  which was actually the epitaph for a dog, and I can't remember the books name except it was set in Nova Scotia, delt with the history of an immigrant seafaring family  in the 1900's, and was slightly grim- and I cried buckets when the dog died.  Does it to me every time.

So, some of my 6 word possibilities:

'Still haven't paid off student loans'

'Imagination is her source of creation'

'Curious mind, keeping her eyes peeled'  (the family will know that 'keep your eyes peeled' is something we were always taught to do)

'Quiet on the outside, laughing within'

'Loved old stuff, hated to dust'  (except I like to dust- just haven't the time for it)

'Ate everything except chittlins and jello'   (truth) 

This is so much fun to play with!  I'm going to use it with my teachers this morning...and students...and I want to hear everyone elses 6 words...how fun that would be to collect.  And then, find an image for the statement...I feel an art project idea coming on...serious, sad, funny, wise, wishful, despondent...so many possibilities

'But first, I have to work'

'work is play, I'm so lucky'

.

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Worlds


"Every Spirit builds itself a house; and beyond its house, a world; and beyond its world a heaven.  Know then that the world exists for you: build, therefore, your own world."-  Ralph Waldo Emmerson.

I found this quote on facebook this morning, posted by an old friend Susan Sims, who I have not seen in forever but who keeps close on facebook.  (I love facebook by the way- it is the perfect social device for us introverts who like to read- and occasionally type).  Anyway, Susan is a lovely spiritual woman who used to sing with Barbara and Jim back at COS long ago.  This quote caught me unawares- it is new to me- and is feeding my hope/thoughts for this morning.

You see, yesterday was one big disaster~ the husband and I rarely fuss, but when we do we do it up righteously (and that is ok and healthy- if we didn't fuss, there would be things-beyond-fixing).  It was mainly one of my major meltdowns over a combination of work/time/space/money/freedom and our rather dismal budget  (don't even ask how much is left out of my paycheck each month- if we don't *eat* or buy gas...). Money winds me up like nothing else, and I was hitting the budget wall of 'I work all the time, we don't live extravagantly at all, I pay my bills, don't have any credit cards, we have some serious needs (house repairs, lawnmower, boots-) *and* I am at the top of my career as a professional with multiple degrees that have me in so much dept that....well....let's just say that someday I will be one of the over-educated homeless people selling art on streetcorners....and *still* a 'normal' life is out of reach.'   argh.  Mainly frustrated that no matter how hard I try, however good or slack a job I do, my paycheck remains at the mercy of the state. I was really, really, REALLY wound up.... and just melted down into an inferno of redheaded emotion.  Things calmed down and became more copacetic (a 4 hour nap helped) and then we had auction time, in which I worked on student contacts for NCVPS on my phone (I have finally learned how to use texting correctly), drew about 6 pages in the sketchbook, and read 1 1/2 chapters of homework.  Which was slightly annoying because it is a graduate school text that cost over $100, is paperback and about the size of two thick magazines stacked on top of each other, and is full of huge illustrations, ender pages with only a few sentences on them, and lack of....well, lets just say a book published in 2010 for graduate level students in technology should not have to explain that "email is an electronic means of delivering information between one or more people".  Seriously?  (uhoh...I am detecting some rage simmering up to the surface again).

Whew.  Need to step back and refocus, because I didn't want this to turn into another bonfire.  (which came from the word 'bonefire' by the way- which was the practice of burning the bones of meat-animals in order to dispose of excess bones and, as a side result, generate a deep black soot that is the pigment for the best black inks and paints.  Ivory black is the top of that line- because not just any old bone, but ivory itself was burnt. But I digress.)

Now, back to spirits and houses and worlds and heavens~ wisdom and red glass insulators in the kitchen window.  The insulators came from the auction last night, we collect them in a casual way- clear, aqua, pale green, blue.  I had never seen red ones, but here they were- crafted into candlesticks, which is a good thing/ bad thing.  Good because it trashed their value as collectibles so I acquired them (and something else, which will be another post) for $5.00, bad because I would of preferred them unstuck.  But they are beautiful in the window-  and the justification for raging about the budget then spending $5.00 for pleasure is that....well, I have no real justification for it.  They are beautiful, they feed my spirit, and.... this is what happens.  When I spend money that is out-of-the-budget, it is usually on the curious, the beautiful or something for art...and I do it rarely.  The only other thing we bought last night was some metal for scrap- it's tinker season- so that will turn a bit of a profit.  We spent 15.00 total, and Charles is working the smalls now, so all will be well.

And again, my brain has wandered off my original idea of writing and into the details of the moment.  And rationalization.  Anyway, during our fuss, the manz kept saying that 'all will be well' and I was very uncharacteristically negative, which eventually he got fed up with.  (sometimes realistic is negative, but is there a value in that? not so much).  What this quote this morning reminded me of is that our spirit does create our own reality, our own world- and our heaven or hell.  If my spirit is spinning a world of negativity, anger, and frustration- then I am more likely to keep acting/responding that way, which impacts everything around me, which  ripples out until I have created a bit of hell for everyone in my path.  But if my spirit can be teased into positive thought and action, if I can visualize the light in the window, perhaps I will have the wisdom to realize that things are what I make it- and I *can* choose creative grace.  Just as I can create a bit of hell on earth, I have the power to create a bit of my type of heaven~ and that to has a ripple effect.

At school this past week I have spent allot of time with my space- my classroom/office/storage/closet - and while it is normal to clean between semesters, it puzzled people (students, other teachers, our wonderful custodian) why I was doing so much.  I was even asked if I was leaving or changing rooms.  No, what I was doing- and I do it twice a year, every year, but people forget that- was re-enchanting the room.  Turning the negative mojo that built up in December/early January before testing, to the positive.  Creating order, establishing territory, changing just enough things to make it familiar but still new.  This is important- it reconnects me to the space, it helps the kids who are finished with art for the year separate and move on, and it really does re-enchant it.  It is a use of spirit to build a world that is shared with others, a world where hopefully I can create my own blue heaven.

Friday, January 20, 2012

Of actions and words


There are a few things that I try to avoid discussing with most people, and they include: politics and religion. I avoid these because I have my own views, which I happily keep to myself as...well...they are different from most of those who voice-their-views constantly.  Which is their right and privilege, but it is also my right and privilege not to listen.  And to think that in a way, it is bad manners in certain circumstances.  For being so liberal and casual, I'm all about manners.  

But today I am going to beak my rule and explain why I put the 'Stop Sopa' sign up on the blog.  Thing is, when asked to identify myself politically, I always respond with anarchist.  Not as in the running around wildly burning and looting punk-rock anarchist that is portrayed by the media, but as in the viewpoint that anarchy is the result of ultimate freedom though practicing personal responsibility.  This includes taking care of myself as an individual, and helping others because I *choose* to, am not made to.  This also includes the freedom to make my own choices, accept the consequences of those choices good or ill without expecting anyone else to solve my problems.  Unless they volunteer to.  This political system would never work in reality, because there are always people who are not responsible, who whine when stupid actions end in stupid results, who blame everything and everyone without taking any positive action to correct the situation.  

Now, in context with the stop Sopa movement, I *do* speak up when I feel that my actions are important and will make people think.  SOPA is something that on the surface may sound like a good thing- stop online piracy act- but at the moment it is to broad.  Like trying to water a flowerpot with a river- to much of something necessary is as bad as to little.  As an artist and educator, I am aware of copy write issues and how they impact mass media, money and creators rights to make money off their works.  However, I also believe in the freedom to share all information- creative and otherwise- in the lovely collective conscious of the web.  I want *everyone* to be able to find/use/share without payment or penalty- because otherwise a price is put on knowledge/art/information that will instantly create an elitist grouping- those who can afford it, those who cannot.  The mirror of history shows us how well that idea worked in the middle ages (otherwise known as the 'dark ages') because literacy was limited to only those in the Church, masons, and very few others.  Even the nobility could not read or write for the most part........when you think of it in this matter, it becomes a bit tense.  Seriously, take your average teenager.  If they have to make the choice to shell out money for: a- a look at the CNN website (Time-Warner owns it, and supports SOPA), b- each reference site that they need for a class project (because SOPA would effectively wipe out lots of Wikipedia) or c- download a hot song to their ipod......guess which one most of them will choose?   For the most part- the art, the social, the videos,  the things that they identify with is what money will be spent upon while knowledge falls upon the back burner~    Money really does change everything.

Basically, as I told the kids, it comes to a point where you have to decide what kind of world you want to live in.  If you choose to be responsible and take action on matters- no matter how small the action, no matter if it is only things that matter to you- then you are walking in your right direction.  You are at least trying to have a say in it- but if you don't, well then, you are just a passenger on the bus.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Hellos Crow!

Crow bag- in progress.

Winter is the time for sewing- I'm taking a bit of a break from drawing in my sketchbook to return to embroidery.  I haven't embroidered seriously for quite awhile- and I don't count this as serious- but I have always kept sewing.  A few stitches and charms onto my brown backpack (rescued from the lost and found at the end of last year- brand new, one of the sling types, a brand I could never afford).  Lots of little random felt charms (I will post a photo of those at some point, when I found where I stashed them all)- basically the Turkish eyes, apples, hearts. And some practical stuff- a camera holder with a swallow and heart, an eyeglass case, a cell phone holder.  (All of which I can't find now either- even though I used them for a bit~) 

I have loved embroidery since Mother taught me how (another gift I owe her!  She is where I inherited all the art from!) and have always designed my own work- all of which I have (that wasn't given away or sold).  I even have things sewn on tiny scraps of cloth- I was fussed at because they weren't big enough to do anything with- but I have them still. (and still, they remain not big enough to do anything with- and also now to fragile).  I have made crewel embroidery seasons (Mother has those- the fox, rabbit, unicorn and doves), a bright, funky 'club dino' denim jacket I embroidered for Grendel when he was a baby, the huge female figures with pomegranates that I did in college, a white work on the centers of antique doilies with tiny tiny tiny crystal beads and pearls.  But this type is different- although I have done it before- and it is much more like sketching than painting.

Felt is a wonderful thing (as well as being super-trendy at the moment).  It doesn't fray or shoot off loose threads, you can cut it into anyshape and it will hold its edges, you can steam it and it will tighten magically to secure the threads. (have to be careful though, as it can tighten to much and warp).  I have been using just plain old 20 cents a sheet craft felt, and cotton DMC floss (I have a ton of it- there are always bags of it at the auction), some stray buttons and beads.  Like I said, I started with the small charm things, just kind of playing around.  Then I made the apple charm.  Then a larger heart covered in white buttons that I have no idea what to do with- it is to heavy to sew onto anything, but is lovely.  Then the crow- mostly done this past weekend when I was watching 'Rawhide' with the manz.  (There is a lot to be said for old black and white Westerns that include a young Clint Eastwood- bad hair but handsome man).  Anyway- the crow turned out bright and funny and I wanted to do something with it- so I dug out this olive messangerish bag that I've had.  It's the bag  I bought to replace my black MaggieBag, but it was swiftly replaced by my discovery of the brown backpack.  (Stay with me- I know- it's a lot of bags to keep up with- I have a *ton* of bags....but then I settle on one and that is the one I use constantly).  So- I put the crow on it.  And then the heart/sun (I am obsessed with hearts now.  In December it was cut paper snowflakes.  I am regressing to grade school)- I'm not quite sure if I like the heart/sun, but it is only in progress and headed for more rays and swirls.  There will be tree branches as well- maybe leaves, maybe not.  It's just growing, but it is such fun to work quickly with felt, and bright colors, loose stitches and shiny stuff.  I don't have to think or concentrate, I just sew- and watch Mr. Eastwood save the day.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Monday, January 16, 2012

A Tale of Two Boots

Mr. Owens Boots

Let me tell you about Mr. Owens~ or rather, let's look at his boots- they tell the story by themselves.  Mr. Owens~ also known as the manz, the husband and various other things, but always Mr. Owens- is a man of steady tastes.  He likes the practical, sensible and sturdy- the known and familiar, the comforting.  His chair, his wife, netflix, chocolate (no fancy or dark chocolate- plain is the best), icecream (again, plain chocolate please), cookies (what flavor? you guessed it! plain chocolate- although store bought branches out to oreos. Not oreo-oreos, but Walmart oreos, and never a double stuff in sight), cheese (American and square), bread (white), hotdogs (beef), classic rock, his stripy afghan, Turrello, home and his boots.

The boots are a measure of loyalty- he has a specific favorite type that is hard to find but once acquired is worn to beyond-the-bone (as in the picture above). It is time for a new pair (you think?) but that is not as easy as it may look- he got a pair for Christmas, but they were waterproof so back they went.  (Waterproof apparently doesn't let your feet breathe).   So, the requirements for the perfect pair of boots are: tan leather, not suede, light colored soles. 8" uppers, with lace holes not side grommets, not waterproof, no steel-toe, nothing fancy, just good plain boots.  Which are amazingly hard to find- and nothing else will do.  So I am still searching~

But in the meantime, his dedication to his likes is quite comforting.  I never have to worry about him straying, or getting the mid-life wanderlust that so many fall prey to- I am like his boots.  Just the right qualities, just the right fit, comfortable- which is amazing seeing as we are opposites in so many ways.  In thinking of his list above, I am opposite in many ways- I like new foods, adventures, change....but we are exactly the same about boots.  When I find the perfect pair (which are my beloved pink Doc Martins) I wear them exclusively until they fall apart... they are *my* boots and I'll have no other.  Of course they are different (what other woman of my age wears pink combat boots with everything?) and make me stand out from the herd- but they are also stable, comfortable, warm.  Just like my beloved Mr. Owens.

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Rose Red

Red roses outside kitchen window at Tanglewood,
early summer.

In the tale of Snow White and Rose Red, I am decidedly Rose Red- for the most part.  The basic story is this:  Once upon a time there were two sisters, Snow White and Rose Red, who lived with their Mother in a cottage in the woods.  The sisters loved each other dearly~ Snow White loved the arts of the hearth and the garden.  Rose Red loved the wildwood, learning the names of the plants and the languages of the creatures.  One winter night a large bear came to the door of the cottage- at first frightened, the sisters listened while the bear explained that it was just looking for warmpth and shelter during the long winter.  They gave it entry, and it settled by the fire the whole winter through.  In the Spring, however, the bear stirred and went off to gaurd his treasure, leaving the sisters behind.   The sisters too ventured into the woods, exploring the world as it awakened again.  On their travels they often encountered a dwarf- not the jolly kind of dwarf, but the lean and cranky kind, obsessed with treasures of the earth.  The dwarf was often in difficulty due to his long beard (which was constantly getting stuck in things) and his unwillingness to set down his treasures long enough to get himself unstuck.  But because the sisters were compassionate as well as practical-sensible, they came to his rescue clipping the beard loose with their scissors.  Then one day, when the dwarf was stuck yet again, the bear appeared.  The dwarf went into a frenzy, trying frantically to convince the bear to eat the sisters instead of him.  The bear, of course, recognized the dwarf as the treasure-thief and whapped him upside the head, killing him quite dead.  Spells were broken, the bear transformed into a prince, and married Snow White.  Sometimes Rose Red gets to marry his brother, sometimes she stays in the cottage in the wood, sometimes she just hangs out forever with random bears.

I am Rose Red, not only because I am red, but because I love the wild wood, the creatures and the plants and knowing the names of everything.  I love to create and collect, and could care less if the yarden is a tangle- thus the final name of our cottage: 'Tanglewood'.  While I do have some domestic capability- I clean, and do laundry when the mood takes me, cooking is the domain of the manz, and I'm not the best housekeeper in the world.  I get distracted by thinking, then I go off to make something, explore something, do something.  Likewise, unlike Snow White, I am not a natural hostess~ despite a stint in "White Gloves and Party Manners" I am often rather awkward socially~ I have to be *doing* something rather than conversation.  I never know where to look otherwise, and am just able to barely manage small talk...but if I am occupied with sketching or embroidery (which is sketching with a needle), I can listen and speak easier and with greater depth.  It frees me somehow.  

My best friend, Melissa, is Snow White.  She is master of cooking and sewing, and can converse naturally and freely with anyone.  She knows the garden, the secrets of the bees and is blessed with magical tomatoes. The language of spices and smells, tastes and the subtle differences in honey~ how to construct a garment from bits of leftover fabric and well-loved clothing.  How to spin and twist yarns together into long bright scarves, how to make monsters and magic from scraps.  The arts of the hearth are hers.

We follow our own archetypes (I've been thinking of archetypes allot lately), and find ourselves in the old stories.  Our questions, our mirror selves- I am not cut out for the roles of traditional fairy-tale princesses, or even Red Riding Hood.  (As Rose Red I would befriend the wolf, even if I came to harm).  I am not the character that ends up with the Prince and the Castle (btw: the other night I had a dream that Barbie was married to Bill Gates.  They lived in the Castle entry to Storybook Forrest in Pa.)  I am the character that stays in the wood, that evolves into what Campbell calls the 'magical helper'- the one who aids the hero towards their goal.  A different kind of mystery.
  


Saturday, January 14, 2012

Queen Of Wands

This is *not* from the Rider-Waite Tarot, but I like it



"Don't wait for help; you can perform magic on your own" this wasn't my fortune, it was Melissa's horoscope, but she sent it to me and I am happily appropriating it as a guiding voice. And so today I am going to speak of me, and magic and the Queen of Wands.

Long ago I learned how to read Tarot, using the old Rider-Waite deck that was passed along the family. Rider-Waite originally published the cards in 1907, but this deck isn't nearly that old- but it does date from 1959 (date of publication, not sure when we acquired it). I collected many decks over the years, giving away some of them, keeping some, using others for art projects or bookmarks. But the Rider-Waite is the one I use for reading, and it is carefully wrapped with a purple cord and soft cotton, stored in the sandalwood lined courtship box on the mantel. All these precautions are necessary, not just for reasons of mojo, but to preserve the cards from the oils and acids of the skin and air, insects and light. Yet some of them have been damaged from years of use, but they work the same, non-the-less.

I don't use them very often anymore- although I love to read them, I can never read for myself. Never been able to... I'm certain that they lay out just fine- but I am unable to be objective. I read for others though, and have read for profit in the Silver Dove and by request, I have read in bars in New Orleans, in parks, in coffee shops and hotels, and I taught Ariel how to read them for her senior project at school. I don't like reading for money although that is always a temptation- I like reading when people ask me to, and when I am in the mood. Same thing for palms- with even rarer instances of reading- I *have* to be in the groove for palms, otherwise I just see a hand. Nothing else. But then sometimes it comes on strong and I can see the story- and there is a compulsion to tell it, to others, to myself. Magic.

There are lots of explanations for the cards- Tarot cards date back to the middle ages and beyond, in different formats. Mainly as a game that became a prompt for interpretation. The symbols and names describe the archetypes and hero's journey as studied by Jung and Campbell, resonate within all of the stories that we tell each other, and the rituals and celebrations of our lives. The suits are easy enough- they are the old alchemical elements of earth, air, fire, water, found in their forms across all cultures. The magic of the deck can be found in the mathematical theory, supported by physics- both chaos physics and string. How it works is that a random selection of a set is placed in order- constructing a narrative. The selection of the cards can be attributed to magic, fate, fortune, the collective conscious, luck of the draw, the unconscious self - however you chose to see it. The skill of the reader is in decoding the images and creating a narrative that applies to the client. It's like writing a story for that person, at that time. Creative insights from another to help you see your situation anew.

Yet, yet I also believe in the magic of it, because that's what I do.

The Queen of Wands is my card at the moment, the card that signifies me. There is a prescriptive means of signification- according to coloration of the person, personality and response, inclination. Oddly enough, this usually fits- more archetypes. Wands are the symbol for fire and energy- not the element that I mostly am associated with- and yet, it is. I am full of creative energy, intellectual energy- the ability to question, think,discourse, write, create. My natural coloring is red hair and hazel eyes (of the green-brown variety), freckles everywhere, tall and large and strong but not particularly graceful or athletic. The queen of wands is shown with sunflowers, a cat, the season of summer, a throne of lions. The land behind her is barren- all of the green growth is contained in her wand and the sunflower she holds. The magic she makes on her own- and thus we come full circle.

Friday, January 13, 2012

Love Spoken Here


Today is Mother's birthday!  Happy, happy birthday!  I hope that I am still as smart and beautiful when I am 91....I know I will live to be at least 100, and I want to live as gracefully as she does-  which has been true for all of her life.  Style, grace, the ability to create surroundings that are aesthetic *and* authentic.  Not a put on style to suit current trends or tastes, not someone else's idea of elegance or chic, but a true display of her personal style.  Everything selected and placed with care and intention, but warm and resonant.  It is difficult to describe in words, but rather than a house where everyone is afraid to use the towels, or a house that looks like a recent tornado swept through, or a house that is 'delivered' directly from rooms-to-go, a house that is a home.  A home with interesting objects, family treasures, comfortable seating in an arrangement that works for everything (conversations, reading, tv watching), art and books and plants and bits of all of us.  The home is her artform, and she has always done it well.

When I write in the mornings- because that is my time- I sit at my grandfather's desk in the studio.  I drink my coffee out of a plain white mug (just like one of hers! champion of white dishes), and on my desk are a collection of treasures.  Baskets for mail.  A ceramic pot that says 'Ashes of Problem Students' given to me by the Raynor brothers long ago, a brass ink pot and quill from the manz, a beautiful dried flower picture from Romania, a small dragon from Oaxaca Mexico, an antique Krispy Kreme diner cup holding fossils from Sister Sue's, one of my small paintings, a dish with a fish on it that has been in the family forever, and the tin in the picture.  It's like everyone is right here with me when I write- (and there are other things- on the desk, on the wall, everyone is *right here*).

The tin is special, beyond special.  Mother made it long, long ago- it must of been in the 60's or 70's because I seem to remember it being on the desk at Headacher.  It is a simple tin- from something? coffee? hard candy? tea?  Painted black and collaged with clippings from the Abby Press.  (How amazing is it that I remember the name of the catalog?  It was a (what we might call new-ageish) spiritual store that sold religious and spiritual texts, signs, cards etc.  I really suspect that Mother got it because of all the lovely text~

Anyway, this tin cheers me and reminds me every morning with the words: "Love Spoken Here.  Home is where the Heart is. Be Happy, Be Beautiful- live fully each moment, cherish others and yourself. Love One Another, Bless this house O Lord we pray, keep it safe both night and day. God's peace be in this house.  Lord turn the routines of work into celebrations of love. Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure that you are. I love you."  Good blessings to greet the day with, good words to remember- and selected with love.
Made with care and enough craftmanship to last for...a very long time.  (Which is not easy. Trust me- working on tins is much more difficult than it looks and this has nary a bubble or loose edge even after all these years and all its travels).

The legacy is not just in the words- though they are important- the legacy is in the creation of something meaningful and beautiful from nothing.  The ability to create something at the moment that lasts forever- that carries with it a bit of spirit of the time and place and creator.  So today Mother, along with Birthday Wishes and Love, I am thanking you for showing me that magic- giving me the gift to pull the useful and the beautiful and the wise into the most humble objects.  To leave a voice that every day says: I love you.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Love in the Land of Chocolate

Mousies by Sam  

Cookies by Bre

I hadn't a chance to post the past few days- busy working, working, working on school stuff (start of new classes at ECU and NCVPS) plus finals at Trask- but this morning I actually have a few moments of 'free time' (cue laughter) and I really want to write.  Trask has been stressful the past few weeks- before break and afterwards- for some reason there is administrative chaos and a combination of 'cracking down' while still attempting to bribe the kids into doing well on exams by promising to relax some rules in the future.  Needless to say, I have managed to continuously screw up here and there- (my kids are too loud, I use to much paper, why are the ROTC kids playing RISK when they are finished with their work?, the T-shirt design needs edited yet again because the hands of our mascot might be interpreted as being a 'gang gesture' so could you just draw him without hands? seriously. seriously.)  So, add to this Mr. Owens trips to the dr. and worry over that (and he broke his little toe the other night as well- avoided sleeping Max and ran it into either the wall or my apothecary cabinet)...and the endless appeals to ECU to please, please, please continue my financial aid for my last three classes- and I have been quite stressy.  And unfortunately it shows- my class room is a mess, I've been snappish with the kids, just not myself.

Everyone knows though that I am comforted by food..... and they have brought me gifts the past two days.  A chocolate apple (which I ate before I could take a picture!).  Mousies made out of  Hershey's kisses, chocolate covered cherries and cookies.  Heart shaped cookies that spelled out "We love you Mama Owens" (yes, some of those got eaten before I could take a picture- and I did share them!).  I love that my kids care about me, and know that I love them.  Beyond the gift of food, the idea of how I play into their lives- I'm not their mother, but they see me as maternal.  Not a softy, but someone who cares about what they do and how they do it, and I try to listen to what they say, respect who they are.  Teach them how to see and create and learn and express- and I try to live up to the title of respect.  When they call me Mother, Mom, Mama (and yes, a few call me Grandma), it is a term of respect- I don't know if it is a local cultural thing, or a Southern thing, or common now- (I would never *dream* of calling my teachers Mother! or of talking to them...) but familiar titles are used here to indicate relationships.  When someone (of any age) is introduced as brother/sister, it could mean a family member, a religious title, or close friend.  The titles of Mother/Father/Grandparent can again mean family member, church elder or....basically...'parental figure' in an archetypal sense.  An Aunt or an Uncle is either a family member, distant relative, respected member of the community.  Abulita is the Spanish for Grandmother  but has become used by everyone as a title for the oldest female in the school.  (which is not me, and who is not Spanish, but *all* the kids call her Abulita).  Cousins are usually cousins, but 'cuz' is associated with gangs/friendships as well.....  As for their blood relatives, of course people are referred to by their normal titles, but you can tell that families are fractured because of the terms of 'biologicals', 'sperm donors', 'baby daddy/mama'...and the convoluted titles that somehow describe that your 'parent' is your Mother's second husbands third wife's boyfriends aunt.  I think we are looking to find families in the community because the old definition of family doesn't work for everyone- and yes, I do think of my 'kids' as my children.  And I love them dearly.

(The manz also comforted me with manzsketti and garlic bread...my diet is doomed...)

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Night Light

Lava Lamp, with glitter.

Night lights.  Let me tell you about night lights, and beacons, and keeping the dark at bay.  When I was little (well, up until I went to college the first time) I required night lights as well as my little pillow and Lassie dog to sleep.  The pillow and Lassie were for comfort and safety, the night lights because I was afraid of the dark.  Well, not the dark, but the things I saw in the dark (real or imagined?  both, I think- I am a firm believer in spirits, and I know there were some about, and I hadn't yet made my peace with knowing them- crazy as that may sound, but that is a story for another day.)  Anyway- nightlights.  And it wasn't just me- but for practical/sensible reasons like safety, being able to navigate in the half-life of sleep without waking up to a bright light, whatever reason- my parents strongly believed in nightlights as well.  In the bathroom, the kitchen, sometimes the hall ways- bits of a glow to guide you.

After enduring roomates, romances, marriages and children I developed the reverse of needing a nightlight.  I can sleep anywhere, it is true- I am a natural, a champ, would be professional if there was such a thing- but I *do* have my preferences and demands.  No tv/radio/music please (especially tv on in the room I am trying to sleep in- that drives me nuts.), no night lights.  Now, I love sleeping in the sun, or by a night window- I love high hotels where the city lights up the sky- but no night lights.  I love sleeping with a votive candle burning (one of the tall Mexican candles in glass, quite safe, preferably the one to the Virgin of Guadalupe which is pale pink and scented faintly of roses).  But no electric night lights. I like the dark, dark rooms, looking about at the shadows when I wake between dreams.

Not so Mr. Owens.  He loves his night lights. He does respect the sanctity of the bedroom and my need for night, but the rest of the house is happily low-lit, fortunately with beautiful lamps collected from the auction.  In the living room there are two art deco style small bronze and stained glass lamps, and a similar lamp in the studio.  By the back door there is the reproduction turtle amber and bronze lamp for letting the dogs out.  And the plain-old stove light is always on for that part of the kitchen.  A candle in a jar for the bathroom- this one is scented like peppermint and snow. There is a lamp in the rose room, but that one isn't usually on unless we have company or I have been working in there.  But the all-star, must be on every night, doesn't match anything but love it anyway, is the purple glitter lava lamp on the tv.

This lamp, this incredible purple glitter lava lamp was acquired for a dollar/part of a trade during one of our roadshows in the summer.  I intended it to go to Grendel (thinking hip guy pad) but it only made it as far as our TV.  I will admit that it is beautiful and fun to watch at night- the purple, the glitter swirls, the little light stars cast out from the bottom and how they suit the background (which you can't see in the picture- our big blue barnstar is on the wall, and above it is the folk-art airplane- they look like part of the night sky).  During the day the lamp is not-so-pretty, but we love it none the less. It's a bit of magic in the night- bright and warm.

Saturday, January 7, 2012

January Sunshine

Red Chairs outside the auction house- old photo.

This is not a recent photo- actually, it is a few years old.  But it has red chairs and sunshine, and today was one of those bright January southern days where the temperature is much to warm for winter and it feels like it should be spring- but it's not time yet, so everything gets a bit tired by the end of the day.  Like me.  I woke up full of ideas and creativity and energy- and spent some of it, made a bit of a thing, then had to nap.  When I nap it is long (always two hours) and a true deep sleep with heavy dreaming.  I was worried about sleeping so much- because I'm taking Ritalin now (which helps immensely with focusing) but it is supposed to keep you up.  They prescribe it for narcolepsy for heavens sake!  Yet, yet I am usually in bed before nine and sound asleep.  And if I am off during the day, I have my nap- if I am not off, I don't have it but stumble around brain dead for a bit.  I asked Dr. Lori about my sleeping so much- she thinks not to be worried because everything health wise tests fine (except I'm a bit heavy)- and it's not being physically tired (as in achy muscle tired) but just *sleepy*- it comes on in waves.  Her thought is that I exhaust myself rapidly mentally, because my mind is everywhere, and I'm multitasking, and I do brain-things very quickly- read, draw, create, type- so I just have to turn off and reboot every few hours like the old computers had to.  On the plus side of things, I am thinking up all sorts of wonderful things to do- which is good because all this excess brain stuff is being channeled into thinking/creating/learning/teaching instead of worrying/obsessing.   At least for the most part.

Friday, January 6, 2012

An Alter Ego~

Hilda by Duane Bryers

Finally a pin-up girl I can identify with!  I discovered the old Hilda pinups, and I like her- she is not small, cheerful, beautiful, goofy and a redhead.  Of course, I won't be trapsing about the world with only a bikini made of flowers (she tends to like those) or wear slippers-with-heels when handwashing (!) my long johns...but still, it is reassuring that other people find this attractive.

I fret about my weight constantly, and I do try- but then again, when I am feeling stressed I turn to food. (which is better than some other things- at least food is legal, cheap and does the job).  I know that I will never be skinny- but I don't want to get any bigger- just back down to a comfortable Hilda-esh size.  And to shape things up a bit.  Of course, I would like to have a magic solution to get there- because I love food and dislike exercise- but that's not going to happen so I have to do the work.  Eat less, cut out snacks, walk more blah,blah,blah.  My friend Donna, the band teacher, is doing the Dukan diet, which is Atkinsish...mostly meat. I could do that but.... meat is expensive.  And I'm lazy. Or something.  Or unmotivated.  When I talk to Dr. Lori, or my new therapist (hum... Dr Penland? Mike-the-Shrink? what am I going to call him?)  they agree that I should lose some weight to be healthy, and that it would help the self-esteem, but at the same time they both use the phrase "you have enough on your plate"  meaning that I have enough things to work on and stress about that I don't need this on the front burner right now.   And they are right, but I also don't need to put more of the weight on, and that calls for awareness and moderation.

So what I am going to do is what I do best- think about it, make some art about it- that helps me to reflect- figure out what I really want to do and how I am going to get there.  I tend to have the world-view habit of letting things go then trying to fix everything at once...and that is not practical-sensible-doable.  One thing at a time, one thing at a time, and in the meanwhile, I'll think about Hilda.

Thursday, January 5, 2012

Strange Fruit


Under the surface, everything is different. Things change- and you have to let them, learn to love the change, accept them as they are, not as you thought they would be.  This applies to just about everything, and life is so much easier if you just let go of insisting that reality meets expectations.  You might be surprised at the results~ not that it is always an easy thing to do.

Yesterday, I learned this threefold.  First, Mr. Owens: he had to have surgery to remove a skin cancer (basal) from his face... he is *not* a doctor person.  This wasn't a light burn-off like the others- but a very large, serious place.  Which meant he was anxious and up all night (eventually I gave up and joined him about 3am), and we went in at 8- he dozed in the car, but that was about it.  We were at the doctors until about 1, he was a trooper (with a little help from more than one Valium - the 'numbing' shots were the worst part).  Other than the pain and the surgery, we actually had fun~ even though he doesn't like going to the doctor, once he is there he is a good patient. (if he likes the doctor.  otherwise, he leaves.)  Anyway, he was teasing the nurses, the doctor, me- asking a zillion questions, very polite and patient even when in obvious pain.  The nurses kept apologizing for hurting him, and he would say 'that's ok honey, no need to apologize, you are doing your job, and you are doing it well'.  We watched lobby-tv, which was the TODAY show without sound as the radio was on- and just talked and talked and laughed about all sorts of things.  I was there throughout the whole process, documenting, feeling both anxious that he was hurting and curious about the procedure.  I'm not squeamish at all, and would of been good at medical illustration stuff~   They did remove a huge cancer- about 3" x 2" in surface, but fortunately not deep like originally feared.  Then they sewed him up- which consisted of having to cut suture lines along the 'smile line' of the mouth and up towards the top of the cheek bone- he will have a dashing scar shaped like  < .  Many subdermal stitches, and about 30+ to close on the top.  The beard was saved entirely!  (The doctor was amazed at the beard- which was older than he was. We had a very young doctor, 3 years out of school, but very vey good). So what I learned from this was patience, endurance, kindness to those even when they are hurting you- that I married a kind, brave man who still gets scared.  And that's ok.

Second thing, was during those early morning hours I convinced him to watch Tangled with me.  He started to , then went off to soak in the tub- came back in a bit for the finish of it.  Tangled is the newish Disney move about Rapunzel.  I have always loved the story of Rapunzel- at least the first part- I always found the second part to be disturbing/confusing because it has been edited and redited that I am still searching for the original.  The one that seems true, and not a pastiche of another tale.  Tangled *barely* resembles the story.  It has a tower, the hair, Mother Gothel (that looks like Cher with curly hair) and that is it... and at first, I resented it.  Disney has a way with fairytales, restructuring them to suit the archetypes of America- in this case, the brave blonde princess (who is still a bit ditsy), the manipulative witch focused on age and beauty, the irresponsible young man that has a heart of gold... and they live happily ever after. Pretty much. The couple is rewarded with love and reinstatement to the castle (even though at the end she has cut her hair and transformed into a brunette), the witch is suitably punished - turning old, falling from the tower, hitting the ground and becoming dust.  I was not happy with Disney's version- it was so very far from the original- but after watching it and reflecting and thinking- I can like it for what it is.  I want to think some more about it, and about the original story, and how it translates across time, but I am willing to give it a chance.  I need to learn that it is ok for stories to have happy endings.

Thirdly, it is me.  I am a strange beast.  I'm not so good at certain things, and I need 'think time' to process every day.  I was up with the manz in the morning, and at the doctors all day, and then home again.  I expected to install him on the couch, baby him a bit, let him sleep off the pain, get some work done and maybe have time to play a bit on the computer (I play with words and pictures, like I'm doing now~).  No such luck.  He gets so highly wound up, and was so physically stressed that he *could not sleep*.  No matter that he had been up for over 24 hours (car naps don't count), had several valiums (around 2) to make it through the procedure, followed by his pain pill at home, ice pack, ice cream, nice cold drinks with straws... he could not wind down.  He tried the couch, the bed with Evie playing movies, the recliner with Netflix, the bed again..... eating, not eating, drinking, not drinking, another half a pill, talking to friends on the phone retelling the story...nada. no dice.  Awake (yes a bit stumbly and slurry- that due mainly to his face being extremely swollen and black and blue)...but not relaxing.  I started getting grumpy, because I wanted to take care of him, wanted to get some work done, and yes- I wanted some play/relaxing time as well.  He finally laid down in the bed, I switched to the big computer and got done mostly what I needed to (and which I should be doing right now, but I want to write)...and I bounced *way* off my diet with an icing rose, coconut m&m's, leftover ham with cheese- I eat when I am tired and frustrated and guilty and I was all three- tired from being up, frustrated that I had stuff to do,  guilty because I was snappish and not as nurturing as I should of been....but he is a forgiving soul and I tried my best.  I finally gave up at 7, he got up and I went to bed- and slept like a rock.  I am much better this morning (even though I have "tight-brain"  which means I am a bit stressy because I have things to do/think about that I am avoiding- money being one of the major ones)... but I have school today, managed to wash my hair this morning, and I feel better for writing this.  Thank-you for listening~