Good things in tough times.

Earlier this evening I had my nightly phone call with the husband. It was upsetting because I had to tell him the computer system he's been contemplating buying to go with his Korg keyboard, financially speaking, isn't an option right now ... nor in the foreseeable future. I had to explain the nasty and ever increasing costs of living over the past months vs. his lower income since having to change jobs earlier in the year. But, we are like thousands of others trying to make ends meet on a tighter and tighter budget. It's depressing as Hell. It made me feel miserable to burst his bubble on the computer. It felt even worse to explain why. Yet, there isn't much to be done about it. Life is what life is for all of us at present and we do the best we can.

But even sitting here feeling sad, upset and wanting to do nothing but sit in the middle of the floor and have a good cry, I had to stop and think about how there's still an incredible amount of abundance in my life. It lead me to think about something in particular that has happened recently that I have neglected to share. Sorry about that, but I've been sort of keeping it close to explore the feelings privately for awhile. This seems like an good time to talk about it.

Back in September I posted about a woman I referred to as "Anne". In that post I told you about dealing with the issue of my belief that Anne did not like me. As things ironically go, a short time later I posted the surprising bit of news that Anne was interested in reconciling the situation between us. I yammered on about my reaction and feelings and all that fluffy stuff. I left it hanging with no conclusion as to whether or not Anne ever came to talk with me. Well, she did and I'm damned happy about it.

While I won't deny we are both still stepping a little lightly and being cautious, I think it's not unrealistic given our history. Neither one wants to go backward into any of that again, or step forward wrongly with each other. It's quite natural that we take time and build the friendship, just as any two people trying to get to know each other would do. But personally speaking, I'd say she's become a welcome addition to my list of friends. It's nice. I'm glad things are as they are between us now. I look forward to the discussions we'll have (she's smart and funny), things we might do together (she's creative and crafty), things we'll learn from each other (things as ordinary as cooking tips to big stuff like life lessons), etc. as friends do with time.

The whole experience has already been such a lesson for me for a lot of reasons. It's a lesson in being willing to resolve things I find to be unpleasant and would prefer to just walk away from. It's humbling to be given a second change at friendship. It's been an opportunity to express thankfulness and appreciation to someone I thought I'd never be speaking to again. It's been a lesson in opening myself up, to understanding forgiveness, and being understanding of the feelings of others in a way I really hadn't been able to do before.

And it set me up to puting some of these lessons into action with another person I know with whom I've recently had a misunderstanding/miscommunication/conflict ... for which I'm largely responsible. I took something she said, read an incorrect meaning into it, and slammed her for it. It was wrong, but at the time, I really did feel her comment was snipey and hurtful. As is in my nature to do, I lashed back. (There is indeed real and fitting truth behind the decriptions of the traits of our astrological signs and I am a Scorpio.) She, of course, responded in kind.

The me of not so long ago would have just said 'F' it and walked away. Written it off and moved on. But this time it all just didn't sit well. I chewed on it for a bit and then discussed it with a friend whom I have the deepest respect for. I value his opinion and trust his advice. He pointed out things about myself I hadn't really been aware of, helped me re-evaluate and look at it from the other side of the fence. That evening I apologized to the person I had created the conflict with and have made arrangements to meet with her to discuss it one-on-one so that she may say anything to me she would like to say further about it. I plan to extend my apology again and, hopefully, put it behind me as a lesson learned. Maybe it will be resolved and it won't, but this time I couldn't let the conflict linger for years. I couldn't turn my back and attempt to wish it into oblivion. This time I am making the effort to confront and resolve it with good intentions and sincere apologies for my part in it. I'll let the Divine take it from there.

And I think that's a good thing even if it's hard to do. I think, even while the realities of everyday life are hard and troublesome and I want to sit and cry, it's a good thing to still count the blessings I have. I have the gift of a new friendship. I'm really trying to move forward positively in dealing with a negative aspect of my personality - a personal growth thing. I have a friend I call talk to about all of it and know I'm heard, never judged, and cared for enough to be told the truth - even if it stings. Even though I've got problems and trying times at present I'm still wallowing in abundance when I open my eyes and see it. And that's most certainly a good thing.

Namaste, y'all ...

A day to be thankful ...

Happy Turkey Day, y'all ...

Technically speaking, I think every day you should remember to be thankful for what you have. I'm saddened how anymore it seems to require a holiday to make people stop and remember to be grateful/thankful. When I light that stick of incense every morning I take a minute to say "Thanks!" for all the good stuff in my life ... and "Thanks!" for all the not-so-good stuff, too. Good things, well, are good things. The bad, they help you appreciate the good and they are lessons to learn from. Of course, that's my humble opinion.

The things I'm thankful are probably simple and ordinary to most folks, but I'm okay with that. My list includes, but is not limited to:

• Every day is a new opportunity to try again.
• The gift of being human.
• My Spirit Guides and how they care for me, protect me, and help me on this journey.
• The ever evolving and growing connection I have with the Divine source.
• Every event and every person who has contributed in one way or another to my being who and where I am today.
• That I know what true love is.
  
• M. Personal and I won't elaborate.
• The husband and all he does for me.
• The miracle of the incredible friendships I have in my life.
• My home, it's comfort and protection.
• Tuck, and the sweet and goofy bundle of furry kitty-love that he is.
• Open Hands and the friend/business partnership I have with three amazing people.
• The ability to paint and the joy of art.
• The change of seasons even if I'm not particularly fond of cold weather. - But hey, knitting and knitted stuff is a bonus to cold weather, so it does have it's upside!
• Knitting and stores full of delicious yarn.
  
• Coffee and flavored hot teas - most wonderful stuff.
  
• Books! A person can never have enough books.
• Rubi, my pretty little Jeep that reliably gets me where I need to go.
• Thick, warm socks.
• The invention of electricity and light bulbs.
• Camping and the campfire.
• Creeks, especially one you can camp next to.
• Adobe Photoshop.
  
• Chocolate truffles. Need I say more?

Yeah, I could sit here for a long time and rattle off dozens of things, but you get the gist. Like I said, items on my thankful list are rather obvious. But maybe that's as it should be sometimes. Too often we forget about those simple things, everyday things. The things we take for granted, like having a car that starts on a cold morning or a glass of sweet iced tea on a hot summer day. Those are the things that make up our lives moment to moment. Yes, be thankful for the big stuff, but don't forget the small things.

So let me leave you with this image of considerable charm and the magic of love ...

Photo swiped from CuteOverload.com

At last ... an accomplishment.

I decided to take yesterday, Sunday, off from any form of work. No housework. No store work. No art work. It feels like months since I've been able to do that. Always a list of a gazillion things needing my attention or to be done hovering over my head like a big dark cloud. Even the few times I've curled up on the couch with the husband to watch a movie has been overshadowed by the knowledge of what else I should be and/or could be doing with that couple of hours. I've been feeling like all I do is work and no play. Not a good thing.

I really needed a break. Downtime. My time. Just a day to do what I wanted and nothing else. I spent the day kicked back on the sofa, pot of tea at the ready, watching movies and knitting a scarf my friend Rena requested as a present for her friend Michelle. The yarn is a lovely super bulky acrylic bouclé in a cherry & burgundy colored fiber blend by Red Heart. I had started the scarf a couple of days ago, snatching an few minutes here and there, but hadn't gotten more than about 10-12" knit. I used my favorite size 11 bamboo needles and a plain garter stitch.

I've only met Michelle once and wasn't sure about "size". She's not a tall person and about average in body size. I also wasn't sure of her scarf preference. Some people like big fluffy scarves for warmth, some like small and more as an accessory than for being functional. I opted for an in-between.

Since Michelle actually picked out the yarn herself, I figured the scarf needed to show off the yarn more than the stitches ... and bouclé, being all bumpy and twisty, isn't conducive to showing stitch pattern anyway. I don't really remember the number of cast on stitches, somewhere around 12. It measured out to be 4" wide. Using the size 11 needles with such a bulky bouclé kept the knitting dense, disguising the plain garter stitch (which isn't my favorite in appearance). It shows off the both the puff of the yarn and it's bi-coloration nicely.

So, I, like I said, I made a pot of tea and popped in the first movie. I picked Das Boot because it's a long movie, I've seen it several times, and could "listen" more than watch. I'm not one of those enviable knitters who can knit without watching what they're doing. No sir, I've gotta' watch every stitch or I make a big mess. All things set, I started knitting. And knit. And knit. And knit. Three long movies and two pots of tea later I'd knit up another 60" of scarf, making it a total length of 72". Nice and long.

On Saturday after the store closed, Rena and I drove up the mountain to Asheville. Our first stop was Asiana for sushi. Very tasty, I might add. Then we zipped over to AC Moore crafts store to buy beading for the scarf. I thought it needed a bit of extra pizazz. We found a cool pre-woven rick-rack & bead combo by TrimTations. Matched perfectly. After finishing the knitting part of the scarf, I stitched the bead-trim to the ends. If I do say so myself, I think it turned out rather pretty.

See for yourself ...



And that was about the extent of my day. Not too bad. Only downside was it made me want a lot more days just like it.

Namaste, y'all ...

Decisions, decisions.

I'm lying there in bed last night, completely frustrated over my attempt at painting. I reworked that damn butterfly from Hell seven times and STILL didn't like it one iota. Not one. Not even half an iota. Niet. Pas. Nicht. Non. Não. I don't even like it multilingually. And I stewed, just as I said I would. Stewed into the wee hours of the night.

Eventually, comprehension set it. I hate the shape of that damn butterfly. Wings are wrong. It's too flat. It's just wrong all over. Wrong. And then the question of what to do about it began rolling around in my head.

Damn butterfly.

--- Ah Ha! ---

Paint over the little bastard. I don't even care if it does screw up the background, which I was actually starting to like. It's acrylic. Get over it and paint over it. Adios old butterfly. Start fresh. A better butterfly. New and improved butterfly. Painter friendly butterfly. Nice butterfly.

So I did. Poof! A few swishes of the brush and bye-bye butterfly. I can't begin to describe the feeling of relief. No matter that so much effort disappeared in a matter of 2.3 minutes. It was good. It felt good.

Why does it take so long to figure this stuff out? Why do I keep working at something until I'm frazzled and cranky and hating every minute of the process? Why is it that I have such a hard time of recognizing a block and moving around it? I do this surprisingly often when I'm painting. It's as if I get stuck in trying to make something right (or work) and worry with it like a dog with a bone. Do other artists do that?

Anyway, I pilfered through my reference material, found a butterfly I like much better and have just finished drawing it onto the canvas a few minutes ago. On a roll now. At least, I was until I started thinking about coloration. Sheesh! Decision making time. There I am, feeling rather sassy and all geared up to sling some paint and Wham! I've got color issues.

I guess I should go sit and stew some more.

Namaste, y'all ...

All's quiet on the western front, that is, when the cat is sleeping.

Life Of Leisure

Wow! It's been eons since my last post. Okay, maybe not eons, but close. Where does the time go? February was last week, wasn't it? Scary, this getting older thing and the way time zips by like a dragonfly on speed. The getting older part isn't bad. It's just the time thing that bothers me. Too much left to do. Good thing I plan on living until I'm 102. Since I just turned 44 yesterday, I've still got a long way to go.

So what's been going on over the past month? A lot. Big changes at the store. We've started our own publication called ACCESS. Considering there isn't much in the way of being able to advertise locally, it made sense to take matters into our own hands. Granted, it's going to be a huge, and sometimes frustrating, undertaking to put together each month but I think it's well worth the effort in the long run. Unfortunately, this is only our second month and it's too soon to gauge it's effectiveness. The response from people who have seen it has been positive and that's encouraging.

So far, both issues have taken far longer to get ready and to the printer than they should have. Both times there have been deadline issues, program issues, file issues and such. I know it's going to take awhile to really get the kinks out and have it be relatively easy to do monthly in a timely manner. That's the nature of graphics, printing, advertising, distribution, etc. I hate to say it, but it brings back bad memories of my days in the graphics industry and I'm not much likin' that part. But like I said, it's our best shot at getting the advertising we need to keep the store moving forward and the doors open.

Other changes are happening at the store as well. Some associates are gone, some hanging on, and some will probably go by the wayside before long. That's okay. Those who want to be there will be there and make use of the space available to them. Kind of like weeding the garden so the flowers have a better chance to grow and flourish. I'm disappointed about some of them not working out as I had hoped. Unfortunately, you can't make someone take advantage of a good opportunity, nor can you force them to do anything they aren't ready or willing to do. You just have to move on to the next thing and forget what didn't work out. I try to think of it as a positive thing (weeding) and believe the store will be the better for it.

Work in the studio has been painfully slow, almost non-existent. Although I've sneaked an hour here and there I haven't made much progress on the work-in-progress. It's really frustrating, wanting to paint and not having time ... or having a little time and not wanting to do it. To be perfectly honest, the painting isn't going like I want and I'm disgusted with it. I can't figure out what to do or where to go with it. Like having a flat tire, dead on the side of the road and no spare in the trunk. Do you wait for a ride or start walking?

I won't lie, I dread the thought setting it aside and starting on a new piece, but that's what I may have to do. Maybe I could try doing it smaller? The large canvas feels overwhelming given the amount of time I'm able to get in there and paint. I just don't know. Stew on it for awhile longer I suppose. But, I do have a few photos to add to the Wet Brush page on the website. Hopefully I'll get them posted in the next few days.

The quit smoking - hypnosis thing didn't work out after all. The therapist remembered another appointment she'd scheduled prior to scheduling mine and it kind of left me hanging. I'd gotten myself all worked up for that day and poof! No-go. Considering that she'd felt that I was going to be a "challenge" and had to do extra research in order to work with me, the difficulties we'd had with scheduling in the first place, and a couple of other issues, when I got her email about the prior appointment my confidence level in the process went straight down the tubes. I'm extremely disappointed and don't think, knowing how I am, that I could get it back very easily now.

I guess it means I'm going to have to figure a way to just do it on my own, even if I have a melt-down in the process. (I'm not sure if I'm kidding about that!) I do know if I chose to seek out a different hypnotherapist I'll have to find one with years of experience under their belt. Thing is, I just don't feel all excited about it like I did. My bubble got burst. I'm actually feeling rather sincerely crappy and sad about it. I felt like I'd found a viable source of help and the rug got pulled out from under me. But I'm not giving up on quitting! As I said, I just have to figure out a way to do it by myself. Wish me luck.

Got Tuck fixed. Knocked in neutral. Nipped & tucked. Poor fella'. Surprisingly, you wouldn't think anything was out of the ordinary with the way he's been ka-zingin' around the house ever since he got back home. One would be inclined to believe he's been smoking the catnip on the sly. Either that or he's happy as Hell to have come away from the vet's office alive, if not totally intact. At least it's over and done and he won't start doing that male cat thing of pissing all over the house to mark his territory. Folks, if you've ever had a boy cat markin' up the house, you make damn sure it isn't likely to happen again with any new boy cat you get. Pee-ew!

Well, sorry to end on a pissy note, but hey, I'm tired and I've still got lots of stuff to do before bedtime. But then, maybe I'll go to bed and get up early instead. Hmmmmm .......

Namaste, y'all ...

More changes and good days ahead ...

No changes on the painting this weekend but a few other interesting things happened ...

1) Had a phone conversation with Sheila, a new friend and one of the associates with our store, this past weekend. She's simply delightful. She's a hypnotherapist and I'm going to have her help me with my smoking issue. Yes, I'm a smoker. Form your opinion about that and move on. I've smoked since I was twelve years old. I will be 44 in November. I've been trying to quit for a long time. Trust me when I say this, it's far easier said than done. You don't have to give me all the hoo-ha schpeel about how bad it is for me, what a nasty habit it is, blah, blah, blah. Heard it all before. I've attempted all the pills, patches, gum, tying myself up with rubber bands and assorted other gazillion and fifty three ways to stop smoking. Hasn't worked thus far.

I even tried hypnotherapy years ago. It was a "group" seminar a friend/fellow smoker asked me to attend with her. I sat in a metal folding chair, beside a terribly staticky speaker, in a crowded room, uncomfortable as a cat in a puddle. It was cold in the room. I couldn't hear the man conducting the session very well. I spent most of the hour shivering in my chair, looking around at the people there, and wishing I was someplace else. Long story short is as soon as I walked out of the building to leave I lit up a smoke. $40.00 down the tubes. (Or up in smoke.)

So why try hypnotherapy again? Well, this is different. It's one-on-one with someone I really like. Someone I would be comfortable with. In a place I'll be comfortable. And because I want to do it. I want to quit smoking. When I tried the group thing all those years ago I didn't really want to quit, not really. It makes a huge difference. This time, I'm looking forward to it. I've realized my quitting smoking isn't the physical withdrawals that bother me so much. Heck, I quit drugs and drinking years ago without any problems. It's the psychological aspect. It's a mind thing. Just the thought of being without cigarettes messes with my head. This is the heart of my addiction. This is where I have to focus the effort to quitting. I think hypnotherapy will be the key, for me, to breaking the habit. Yeah, I'm looking forward to it. This time I'm ready. It will be a big change in my life, but this time I want to.

2) Two friends, one very near and dear to my heart and the other a somewhat new friend I think very highly of, fell head-over-heels, deep down to the giggly smiley bone, in love. Y'all, I couldn't be happier for them than if they had both won the Powerball Lottery for a gazillion bucks. I won't deny that some time back I planted a little seed in their brains about their spending time together. Both are single, about the same age, have an unbelievable amount in common, and it just seemed like a perfect match to me. Guess that little seed took root. I've been standing back, watching the sprouting like a proud Mamma. Looks like a has flower bloomed.

They came to see me this weekend to tell me they are officially a "couple". They wanted me to be the first to know. As if I couldn't see it for myself! Lordy! They were like silly teenagers. Smiling as if they'd just swallowed a handful of happy pills. His comment was, "Knocked on my ass." Honestly, I couldn't stop smiling either. It was beautiful. I loved seeing them so happy, so full of that mystical, magical feeling called love. Especially early stage, brand new, make you feel all tingly and giddy love. I can't imagine two people more perfect for each other.

And while I am coming to care very much for her, he has been a close friend for several years now. He's one of the few people in this world I actually trust. Seeing him smile, seeing him this happy, is better than words can describe. It's like seeing that illusive thing called "faith in something bigger" live and in action. He is an amazing human being, deserving of all the joy this world (and any other) has to offer. It fills my heart to bursting to see, to be a part of, such a blessing as this friend finding love in his life. It's a gift.

3) In a previous post I talked about a woman whom I called "Anne". I told you about my not being liked by this woman and spoke briefly about the troubles I've had with her. I also told you that because she is friends with some of my friends, I said I was willing to open our doors to her being a part of the store and it's changes if my friends felt she would be a benefit to us. Truthfully, I didn't think that would ever happen. Not because of my feelings toward her but because of what I believed her feeling toward me to be. Well, I have to say I got a big surprise about that this weekend. A really big surprise.

Seems Anne had told a mutual friend she thinks she may have cast unfair judgement on me and is open to mending the fence. You could have knocked me over with a feather. Really. I was shocked to my toenails. I think I was stunned speechless for a minute. I've thought about it since I heard it and am still in a mild state of shock. Naturally, at the first opportunity after hearing this yesterday I called my best friend (the one Anne almost caused me to lose) and told her about it. I needed to hear her opinion on the subject. She was shocked, too.

Part of what surprised me was my split-second initial reaction. Which was, Oh Hell No! I honestly thought I would have had a different reaction. I thought I was past such a reaction. I would have sworn I was. When I analyzed it I understood it was simply more fear bubbling up. Still a deep insecurity of Anne possibly destroying another friendship that I value. The thought of it makes me shiver to my bones. Yes, I have a deep fear on that level. But as I analyzed it further, I felt better because I know these friendships, the ones I fear losing, are stronger than Anne, stronger than anything she could say or do. These people know me and care about me. They would come to me if any problem or conflict should ever arise between us. And the feelings we have for each other would triumph over any conflict. While that knowledge didn't completely erase the fear, it abated it considerably. I'm still a non-confrontational person and part of the fear is in dealing with a conflict should it ever come up. That fear is an old, way back from early childhood, kind of fear. It's the same one I feel when I hear someone yelling or arguing. I don't know if I will ever get over that particular fear.

Anyway, on with the story. I told the friend who told me about Anne's desire to reconcile I would be willing to talk to Anne. But I have a couple of conditions and I don't think they are inappropriate or unreasonable considering the circumstance. The first being that I'm not going to be the one to make the first move. My conscience is clear about the past issues between Anne and myself and I don't feel I have anything to make ammends for. The second is that if Anne messes with any of my friendships, starts any crap, I will be on her like white on rice. I may be non-confrontational at heart, but I can attack when necessary. I won't hesitate to go for the throat with Anne. And, I'll boot her from our store, no matter what, faster than the speed of light. I will not allow her to mess with my friendships, and I most certainly not allow her to mess with the store. Period.

But my second reaction to this is "Wow?!". Yes, both exclamation point and question mark intended. I'm still puzzling over this coming up just a couple of days after my having posted a blog entry about Anne. Interesting timing. The question mark end of it is I'm very curious to see where this will lead. And why, after all these years, is she suddenly having a change of heart/attitude? I think it's partly because Anne has finally realized there was another person, who shall remain nameless, who is largely responsible for the trouble between us. And partly because she sees what we are building at the store, the potential for what it can and will be, and wants to be a part of it more than she wants to keep feeding her ill will toward me. I think it's good. Now, whether or not Anne will indeed call me or come to the store to talk to me remains to be seen.

4) The changes in myself, on a personal level, keep expanding and growing. Instead of feeling so confused and undirected in my life I am starting to feel the possibilites. Like the first glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. I'm seeing questions answered and old issues resolving. I'm thinking about things in new ways, with new eyes and a different attitude in my heart. I jokingly made the comment at the end of the previous post about Anne that maybe what I was thinking at the time showed me I was making progress. Maybe I was more right about that than I realized. I feel I am making progress with me.

I had a very long talk with a friend about my spiritual question/difficulties the other day. The feeling I had at the end of our conversation was relief. It wasn't a great "Ah ha!" kind of relief, more of a putting an extra warm blanket on the bed on a chilly night kind of relief. I felt relaxed in a way I haven't in a long, long time. No, I didn't solve all of my problems nor answer a lot of my questions, but it seemed like being confused and lacking clear direction wasn't as big of an obsticle in my way anymore. It feels like, no matter what my issues are right now, spiritual or whatever, that it's Okay. And it's going to continue to be Okay. I know, can feel, resolutions and answers are coming, and it won't be long. I'm looking forward to what's just down the road because I know it's all good.

Namaste, y'all ...

Cha cha cha chaaaangeeeesss ...

I babbled on last post about my current work in progress and today I'm going to babble some more. Though I haven't posted the update photos on my Wet Brush page yet, I will soon. Hopefully in the next day or so. What I'm going to babble about is the changes that have already occurred in a very short time. Basically, overnight.

If you read last post, I spoke about how a work in progress is just that ... a work in progress. Now, I'm not going to presume to speak for other artists, though I know several who do this, but I sometimes deviate quite a bit from the original "plan" in my head for a painting when I work with acrylic in an abstract way. I almost always start out with something in mind, a thought or a word or a memory I want to express with the paint. If it's a portrait like Preordained, I stick with the program. Abstract is spur of the moment. On the other hand, with watercolor, I usually stick pretty darn close to the plan. There is a reason for that.

Watercolor isn't forgiving the way acrylics are. You don't just paint over something you don't like or isn't working for you. You're talking water, pigment, paper. Although watercolor is thought of as typically transparent, many of the pigments stain (IE: cadmium red) and won't lift from the surface of the paper without scrubbing. While that might be okay on occasion, most times it's a "no-no". Scrubbing the surface of paper lifts the fibers and creates rough spots which then disallow being able to do smooth gradients or blending - such as a soft check or neck area on a face like Orange Kimono. You get a rough spot there and, well, you're screwed. That smooth cheek looks like it has some kind of freaky skin disease. Unless you're willing to shift gears and make the painting more abstract or maybe a collage, nothing else to do but start over on a new sheet of paper.

Acrylics, on the other hand, lend themselves beautifully and perfectly to over-painting. They are opaque and cover each other up when used undiluted or in several layers if diluted not too thinly. When dry, they are somewhat like a thin film of plastic on the surface of the canvas. Where watercolors sort of soak in to the paper's surface, acrylics sit on top of the gesso coated canvas. Applied thickly enough to a relatively smooth canvas you can even partially peel them off if you want. I don't do that. I paint over.

What does this have to do with the work in progress? Well, I started using a dark bluish-purple on the butterfly to create some contrast against the pale blue/lavender background. As I mentioned before, I'm using An Ocean Of Time as a kind of reference for the current painting. On Ocean I used a dark brown to create contrast between the white and teal blue of the "water". I had thought to use the blue-purple as the contrast for the sky on this one. After getting the butterfly all painted up with the blue-purple color I stood back and just hated it. It's too stark. Even at this early stage in the process it just took over the whole thing. It threw the entire painting so off balance I knew if I used it as I had the brown in Ocean the entire work would be heavy and completely ruin the feeling of floating that I'm trying to convey.

My original "plan" was to do the painting quite different than where I've currently ended up. Where Ocean is brown, I'd thought to make this one white or a pale blue or lavender. Unfortunately, I realized I had painted the background so light that I thought the lighter color would not be contrasting enough and the butterfly (and some other elements I plan to include) wouldn't stand out the way I wanted it to. Conundrum. But not. Remember, I'm working with acrylics. I just got happy with the paint and darkened the background with a few thin glazes of paint, yet kept the 'blendiness' of the rainbow colors. Using water to thin the paint helps make different colors run into each other and creates more colors on it's own. Watercolor does this (though I don't use watercolor the way I use acrylics) and it's amazing. There is an artist, Roland Roycraft, who is incredible with pouring watercolor. I'm a fan of his watercolor work. Here's a couple of shamefully snitched without permission images to show you his lovely technique ...

Morning Mist by Roland Roycraft

Fall Birch by Roland Roycraft

Ah, so pretty ...

Now, moving along, this glazing of colors to darken the background pretty much obliterated the clouds I had painted on the canvas and that's okay. After studying them over the last couple of days I decided I wasn't really pleased with how they looked anyway. They were too defined, not as misty and vague as I had wanted. I can do them over, hopefully achieving the original effect I'd had in mind. This is exactly what is so nice about acrylics. If it ain't a'workin' ... paint over it!

Same goes with the butterfly. At the time of this posting it has already undergone several more metamorphoses. Pardon the pun. Right now, as I'm typing, I'm waiting for yet another change in it's paint job to dry. (I've taken a few breaks to paint while working on this post.) I have in my head an unclear idea of what I want it to look like and thus far haven't managed to make the paint cooperate enough to help me solidify the idea. What I'm going for is an effect much like the turtle in Ocean, a painterly effect. Not a fantasy butterfly, not a completely stylized butterfly, something dancing somewhere in between. The problem I've been having is I've been painting it too refined, to near realism and not loose and flowing as I 'see' in my head.

Well, maybe now the paint is dry and I can get some more work done ...

Namaste, y'all ...

It's about time.

As promised in my previous post, I took pictures of my current work in progress and finally got them posted on my Wet Brush page of my website. Honestly, after redesigning the site and creating the page I really thought I'd be making good use of it. Ah well, you know what they say about good intentions and that road to Hell. Anyway, it's got something on it now and y'all are welcome to have a peek if you're so inclined.

The thing about creating the page was to give people an opportunity to see a real work in progress - after all, it's the title of this blog page; people want to see an artist work; and also, it was meant to help get me over the fear factor of showing incomplete work. What you start out with is often times not what you end up with. All the stages in between can be sometimes pretty cool looking and sometimes what I call "the ugly stage." More times than not, until it's near completion, the work lurks mostly in that ugly place. The husband is one of the worst for asking things like, "Why is that spot there?" or "Is this going part to stay like this?" It can be very irritating because, typically, what he's questioning is part of the painting I haven't worked much on. It will be changing, developing, and I don't always know exactly how yet.

When I paint, I move around the image a lot. I work on one area, then another, then another, etc. Typically, I don't "complete" an area until I have worked on some part of the entire thing. A lot of artists out there do finish one area at a time. I can't do that. I like being able to mess with this part or that, build up this and compare it to that, and so forth. I might work one area while another is drying. I might be having so much fun (or trouble) with one area I keep at that place until I'm satisfied with it. Like doing a puzzle. Piece and part at a time.

So, when I show work that isn't complete, I sort of duck my head 'cause I know someone out there is going to look at it and think it's messed up or pick it apart .... all because, like the husband, they have a hard time grasping that IT ISN'T FINISHED yet. Just like with the current work in progress, if you look at it, you will see I changed the butterfly design. I don't show all the photos, but I even changed the butterfly coloration several times. I changed the clouds a couple of times. Nothing, at this time, is set in stone and it's all subject to change at any given moment. And thus, as I said, I'm hoping the page will help me with the issue of displaying unfinished work. That's my theory anyway.

On to another subject entirely...

I had a friend over last night and we spent a long time talking about a lot of things. It was a really nice evening and as it went along I realized more and more why I like this person so much. She's wickedly funny, intelligent, and very insightful about many things. She opens mental doors for me by simple statements she makes or even through some of the questions she asks. She makes me think and I love that. One of the things which kept knocking around in my head long after she left was in regards to a discussion we had about a mutual acquaintance. For ease of story telling I'm going to call this acquaintance "Anne."

Now, Anne, for reasons I can't presume to know or attempt to explain, doesn't like me. I think it was one of those instant dislikes from the first moment we met a long time ago. Honestly, I felt her wall go up the minute I looked into her eyes and said, "Hello." Ya' know, reality is that not every person you meet will like you ... and vice versa. That's life and I accept it for what it is. Although I felt her dislike I tried to be friendly with her, accept her into my life because she was friends with my friends, and because it's just the right thing to do. Do unto others and all that jazz. What was very hard to accept was how her dislike of me infiltrated a friendship I had with someone else. I won't go into details but suffice it to say it created a tension between my friend and I. We resolved the thing, but I pulled away from having any more contact or association with Anne than absolutely necessary.

Some time later it happened again. And again, I'm not going into details. Let's just say that this time it was much worse. It involved the same friend and I came within a gnats' ass of losing the friendship. It almost broke my heart to think I was going to lose my friend. I don't get close to many people and when I do I invest a lot of my heart into the relationship. I see that relationship as a lifelong investment, a commitment, that I take very seriously. Naturally, in response to a perceived threat to my other friendship, I made every attempt to shut anything to do with Anne out of my life completely. I didn't hate her, I simply didn't want anything to do with her. I detached myself emotionally from her and her feelings towards me; pretty much thought of her as if she didn't exist. For a long time it worked.

A while back, it almost happened again with a different, relatively new friend who also knows Anne. The fear of losing a growing friendship I was enjoying and coming to care about, the frustration of Anne harboring her resentments against me, just the whole issue of her having any effect on my life at all really got under my skin for a little while. This new friend and Anne had had a "falling out" and I had encouraged my new friend to try to rebuild her friendship with Anne. But I'll tell ya', Anne certainly felt like a bad penny that kept turning up no matter what I did. I'd been out of any contact with Anne for several years and if anyone brought up her name to me I always said the same thing, "I think Anne is a beautiful, intelligent, creative and talented woman." I do feel that way about her. I may dislike other things about her behavior, but I can admit, willingly so, she has some positives, too. We all have positives and negatives. She's no different.

With the last incident, that it angered me and frustrated me for a couple of days, made me realize I hadn't let go of the fear of her creating problems between my friends and I. It wasn't really her, it was my own insecurity talking. It's an old insecurity, goes way back, based on the experiences of losing people or things I would get emotionally attached to. After a bit of mulling this over, I had to thank her (silently and to myself, of course) for helping me deal with an old bag of rocks I'd been carrying around. It also helped me to see how some of the people I care about care about me in ways I hadn't really been seeing clearly. Valuable learning experience. A personal growth experience. Life lesson. Point taken.

Anne came up in the conversation with my friend and I last night because I had mentioned Anne in relationship to some changes going on in the store. I had wondered if Anne might be another person who could be a part of what we're working on building with this business. Part of me suggested it because I realize Anne is still friends with some of my friends; part because I believe Anne to be creative and talented and a potential benefit on those terms; partly because I know Anne could probably use the money she could make from the store; and because I was trying to be nice. I did tell my friend I didn't know if Anne could get past the "me" part of associating with the store, but I would at least be willing to try. If it bit me in the ass again it would be no one's fault but my own. I did have hesitations and such, but I would try if my friends thought Anne was someone they wanted as part of the business.

My friend, after talking for awhile, asked me point blank, that given the history between Anne and myself, my reservations and hesitations and all of that, why I would even suggest it. I think I mouthed out all of the reasons I thought were behind it. I meant them when I said them. But later, after I was alone and getting ready for bed I realized I think I wanted more the opportunity to truly put it all behind me. I'll say it again, you can't go through life with the thought that everyone you meet will like you. You'll be quickly disappointed and disillusioned on that notion. I don't expect Anne to like me. I don't expect to change her mind. I don't want to make apologies for things I didn't do and try to smooth things over. I don't want to even attempt to rehash any of it. As I thought about it more, I understood it wasn't resolution or forgiveness or closure or any of those things I wanted. I simply want to move forward away from it. But I also realized that I care about my friends and the success of what we're doing that I am willing to accept Anne for the benefit of the whole if she would indeed be such a benefit.

As I lay there in the dark thinking about it I had one of those little epiphanies: Anne has taught me another lesson. I was learning a lesson of the heart ... I have some of the most amazing, caring, beautiful friends anyone could ever hope to have. And although at this time I'm having my own struggle with self-worth and emotional detachment towards myself, blah, blah, blah, my heart is still open to them, my friends. It's wide open. It's exposed and vulnerable and I'm really, surprisingly, okay with it. For once, instead of fearing it, I'm deeply grateful for it. Instead of retreating to my own little world as I would normally do when I'm having self issues, I'm still keeping my heart, and my little world, open to others. Big major step for me. A "Holy Shmoly!" kind of step for me.

I'll take it to mean I'm making progress. :)

Namaste, y'all ...

Back in the saddle again ...

This past weekend I had all I could stand of not being in my studio. It’s been months and I haven’t painted anything. Nada. Nary a drop of paint has touched a brush since sometime in May, I think. See … it’s been so long I don’t remember when it was. Damn. That's just pathetic.

The store, and life in general, has taken a lot of time and effort and there hasn’t been much left over for, energy-wise or creativity-wise, working on art. And lately there's been so much stress in my little world that I don’t want to do much more than crawl in the bed and sleep for three months. Since that isn’t likely to happen any time soon I realized I need to take a mind-break. I needed to find a space to retreat. For me that is painting. I’m not one of those artists who can multitask when it comes to working. I get focused on the painting and tune everything else out. It’s a kind of meditation for me. At least, most of the time it’s a meditation. This weekend it wasn’t.

Why? Three factors. One, the husband was home. Now, you might not think this would be a problem but it often is. I love to be alone when I paint, getting into the process, maybe listening to some music, burning incense, groovin’ with my paints and brushes. The minute I get into the studio and get a brush in my hand the husband invariably comes in to see what’s going on. It’s like the studio has become a huge magnet and he’s iron filings. Y’all, I honestly do understand a non-painter’s fascination with watching an artist paint or draw, but it’s still irritating. They want to watch up close, ask questions or engage in general chit-chat – which is completely distracting to me. It’s like being on display and it makes me tense and easily frustrated. I can’t get lost in what I’m doing, focusing on how the brush feels or how the paint moves across the paper or canvas. I can’t get Zen with the colors and the magic of how they blend together. In essence, I can’t get my groove on. And no, it’s not an option to ask him to not come into the studio while I’m working. I won’t even get into trying to explain the reasons. It’s just the way it is and we’ll move on.

The second factor is a bit more complicated, weird even. Given the fact that I’ll be the first to admit that I’m weird you’d thing it wouldn’t be a problem. Yeah, well. The thing is, and if you’re an artist you might understand this a little better, being out of the studio for so long has a psychological effect … fear of painting. How do you even begin to explain being afraid of doing something you love so much? I already have insecurities about my artistic talents. It’s not an uncommon thing among artists, trust me on that. We are our own worst critics. But the fear comes from this bazaar mind game of thinking about doing the work, craving doing the work, being unable to do the work for an extended period of time and when you finally get to do it, you freeze. You wonder if you can remember how. Like I said, it’s weird. Add a want-to-watch husband and it really compounds the issues, in spades.

The third monkey wrench in my painting works this weekend was a cat (Tuck) who has yet to learn the rules of being in Mom’s studio while she’s working, or trying to work. Creepy had been with me so long she’d learned what she could and couldn’t do. She’d come in, drink some water out of my water jars (preferably one I’d used to clean a paint brush in!), then find a spot and chill out. Tuck, on the other hand, wants to walk on the canvas while it’s wet, stick his nose/toes in the paint, pester me every 2.7 seconds for attention, chew on paint brushes, chase the brush across the canvas when I’m trying to paint, attack my feet, on and on and on and on. He’s cute as Hell but he’s relentless. Naturally, I'd try to be patient with him, be understanding that he’s still a kitten, hasn’t had time to learn the rules (and it hasn’t helped that I haven’t painted since he came to live with me), and of course, with both Creepy and Tesah gone he’s got no one else to play with except me.

Despite all the distractions, irritations and fear, I did manage to get some painting done. It was coming along reasonably well, all things considered, when the husband walked in for the bazillionth time and asked, “So, how does it feel to be back in the saddle again?” There I was, on the floor in the studio (where I like to work with acrylics and large canvases), feeling all bugged out anyway, and he asks me that. I had to stop and make myself breathe. I wanted to have a tantrum. Instead, I just paused, breathed slowly a couple of times, and then made myself say, “Fine.” He hesitated at the doorway for second then beat-feet it down the hall to the living room. I think he suddenly realized he’d just crossed a line.

Simple, innocent question, you might say. But if you know the husband you know that it was a loaded question. It meant he’s very aware of my lack of painting and he doesn’t like it. It was his way of conveying this, sugarcoated and mild mannered. And it really pissed me off. Excuse me, but I’m more aware than anyone that I haven’t been painting. To the bone aware of it. I don’t need to be poked and prodded about it. It’s not like I can pull ten extra hours a day out of my butt and be in the studio working. I do like to sleep sometimes. Anyway …

Back to what I did manage to get done. When I was last painting, I had started an abstract and had gotten relatively close to finishing it. I propped it against a wall and studied it for awhile. I kept getting that feeling that it just wasn’t complete as it was but I couldn’t figure out the best resolution. I tossed around a couple of things but they just didn’t work. So it lingered in the studio, frustratingly unfinished. I took it to work with me one day last week to get my art buddy/business partner Paul to give me his opinion. After some discussion we came up with what I thought was a pretty good idea. Later that evening I started implementing the idea. Halfway through I again propped the work up again to study it. That’s when it hit me … I didn’t like the painting. I didn’t like the way the whole damn thing looked. It didn’t flow, didn’t feel like what I’d had imagined and tried to convey. The colors that had seems so exciting a few weeks before now seem depressing and flat. It had no oomph. It just didn’t work for me.

God is an artist and that’s why he invented gesso. Hail gesso! An artist’s best friend. I got out my big jug, a big brush, and painted over the entire canvas. Granted, it still had the texturizing medium I’d put on it for the abstract but hey, I can live with texture. That canvas was nice and white and clean again. Ready for something new. I feel the need for something light, something less abstract, something like An Ocean Of Time. So that’s what I’ve started. Only it’s a butterfly instead of a sea turtle. Blue’s and lavender’s and magenta’s and yellow’s and green’s. We’ll see where it goes. And you can, too, because I’ve been taking pictures as I’ve been working so that I can put it on my web page, The Wet Brush. I think it’s sucked pond water that I created the page and haven’t had a good chance to use it. I hope to get the images I have thus far up this coming weekend. I’ll let you know.

For now, it’s late and it’s time to get some sleep.

Namaste, y’all …

This goodbye came way too soon ...

Why it happens is a question there is no satisfactory answer for. Some say it's just life. Some say it's God giving you an angel for a short time. Some say it's just a mystery. I think I'm inclined to believe it's a bit of each. I just know for certain that in the short time, two months and one week, Tesah was a part of my life I came to love her very much. She was a sweet, delicate, and precious ball of dust bunny fluff. She's been gone two days now and I still look for her to come running across the floor to jump into my lap.

I'm still listening for that funny little burbling sound she made when she thought she was alone and was calling for me or Tuck.

I miss the way she "made biscuits" with her front paws when I scratched her back.

I miss the way she would sing when she purred.

I miss her sweet little face and the way she would touch her nose to mine.

I just wasn't prepared for this loss, not so soon after Creepy passed way, not so soon after Tesah came to live with me. This has been hard. This hurts.

Long story short is that about a week ago I noticed Tesah wasn't acting quite right. Not eating like a horse as usual. Drinking a lot of water. Refusing to play with Tuck. Not exactly lethargic but not very active. She wanted to be in my lap constantly. I also noticed that her abdomen seemed distended more than it should be. I thought she might have eaten something that was blocking her digestive system but noticed she was using the litter box relatively normally. She didn't seem to be in any pain, just not feeling good. I thought that maybe ... well, I thought a lot of things.

I took her to the vet's office on Saturday morning and Dr. Jennifer diagnosed her with Feline Infectious Peritonitis. She could have been born with it, it's hard to say because she said it doesn't usually show up until 3 months to 3 years of age. Tesah, best we could guess, was about three months old. There is no effective treatment for FIP. No cure. And it's contagious. Being diagnosed with this disease meant two things: 1) Tesah was going to die no matter what I did and 2) she could no longer be anywhere near Tuck.

The things that ran through my mind were these: I was not going to let Tesah suffer just because I wanted more time with her; even if I were that selfish I couldn't keep her locked up in a bedroom, isolated and alone; I couldn't risk putting Tuck's life in further danger (though he's still not out of the woods yet); and that as hard as it was going to hurt I would have to put Tesah down.

And that is what I chose to do. I held her little body in my arms as she passed, humming a lullaby to her as her heart stopped beating. I brought her home and buried her on the hill behind the house, just a short distance from where Creepy was buried on July 5th. This was the first time I've ever had to do such a thing as make the choice to put an animal down. It was horrible.

Tesah came to me on July 6th through my friend Sue, as a buddy for Tuck and a balm to my heart after Creepy's passing. And she was a precious gift indeed. I thank Sue, and I thank God, for the short time she was with me.

Goodbye, my baby Tesah.

Perplexity

As defined by Merriam-Webster's Online Dictionary:

Main Entry: per·plex·i·ty

Pronunciation: \pər-ˈplek-sə-tē\

Function: noun

Inflected Form(s): plural per·plex·i·ties

Etymology: Middle English perplexite, from Middle French perplexité, from Late Latin perplexitat-, perplexitas, from Latin perplexus

Date: 14th century

1 : the state of being perplexed : bewilderment 2 : something that perplexes 3 : entanglement

Synonyms of the word 'perplex' by Roget's Super Thesaurus: confuse, puzzle, mix up, *discombobulate, confound, muddle, befuddle, mystify, baffle, bewilder, dumbfound. ANT. clarify, enlighten, *show the light.

As defined by Carol S. Martinez: stewing in your own juices.

Now, you might be asking, what in the name of St. Peter's pajamas has all that got to do with anything? Well, this post is going to be a long, rambling diatribe in an attempt to explain. Of course, the short of it is the word sums up my current state of existence. Feel free to stop reading right now if that explains it well enough for you. Otherwise, you're welcome to read on and hopefully you won't end up in a state of perplexity, too.

For a long time I've had an internal war raging in my head, in my heart, and it's beginnings are based on those age old questions: What is the purpose of life? Of my life? What am I doing? Where am I going? What am I supposed to do and how do I do it? It's the journey of spirit and I don't think there are many people who haven't asked themselves those same questions. If you haven't, well, bless your heart. Stand up and take a bow ... then tell the rest of us what your secret is. 'Cause we'd really like to know.

Over the past few years the war has gotten louder, stronger, and increasingly more difficult to ignore. Oh, sure, the mundane worries of life sometimes drown it out for awhile. Then it rears it's ugly head and shakes a fist in my direction. It demands attention, much like a two-year old having a full fledged tantrum. A heap of flailing arms and legs, sprawled out on the floor in the middle of the department store isle, wailing and screaming echoing to the rafters.

And there is naught in the world which will console that raging two-year old. No demanding. No placating. No pacifying. No promises of cookies and sticky sweet oceans of candy. Nothing but to drag it out of the store, your shoulders hunched in defeat beneath your flaming red coat of embarrassment and humiliation, and cart it's screaming ass home. By the time you get there you're hopeful it will have expended it's nasty little temper and fallen asleep in the car seat, angelic expression on it's innocent face. You spend the next hour, as it slumbers peaceful and quiet as a church on Saturday night, wondering why in the Hell you thought procreation was a good thing. And you wonder what set that wee bit of humanity off to such an extreme in the first place.

It's a right of passage with two-year olds. Ya' know - the terrible two's. The reasoning behind a tantrum is rather simple ... when confronted with what feels like an intolerable situation the reaction (although an overreaction) is to have a angry melt-down of epic proportions. A monumental cleansing purge of emotion. Like a good cry or a mind blowing orgasm. Being totally in the moment. Being the moment. It occurs on all levels of mind, body and spirit, with complete abandon. When looking at it from a world worn and weary adult perspective it's really an enviable thing.

But, if you're still reading, you're probably asking what the war is all about. What's it's subject? Who is fighting and why are they fighting. The answer to that is both simple and complex. The 'who' is, as you would rightly guess, Me #1 vs. Me #2. Why we are embattled will lead you straight back to those aforementioned age old questions. But that doesn't really explain anything, now does it? So let's roll up our sleeves and get down and dirty.

Me #1 spent most of her life in a cocoon. Dysfunctional childhood and all that psychobabble crap you'll find plastered on the cover of 2.2 million books on the shelves at Barnes & Noble or Walden's Books or wherever you shop for reading material. You can find it all sweetly and safely packaged in the 'self-help' section. I mention it this way because a couple of those very same types of books smacked me between the eyes like a two-by-four way back in 1990. Adult Children of Alcoholics by Jane Woitiz fractured my little cocoon. The second was My Parent's Keeper: Adult Children of the Emotionally Disturbed by Eva Marian Brown. Well, damn. I sprung a leak. It's been a wild ride ever since.

I'm not going to go into a big elaboration of the effects of reading those books. Suffice it to say my eyes were not simply opened, my eyelids suddenly felt as if they had been peeled off. Once the light comes on, it's on, and slinking back to the dark corner isn't an option 'cause there are no more dark corners to slink off to. You pretty much have to sit and stew in your juices, like it or not. It's not fun, it's not happy-happy-joy-joy. It's growth. It's illumination. It's your life and you have to live it every day. You chose ... am I a victim or am I a survivor? Y'all, there's a big difference. Me #1 was a victim.

Me #2 (survivor) surfaced after the rude awakening of Me #1. Presumably, making the choice to be a survivor and saying hello to the light is a positive thing. Well, certainly it is. But it's hard work. Newly awoken survivors now have to learn just how to be a survivor. Being a victim, though miserable, is relatively easy. You sit back and blame the world for what's wrong with your life. You're not responsible. You don't have any obligation to fix anything because you didn't break it in the first place. Survival means realizing you really did play a part in breaking it. And even if someone else helped, it's still solely up to you to fix it. That partner(s) in destruction is probably still being a victim. Unless they get their eyelids peeled back too, they will remain in the dark, they will remain a victim and there isn't a fucking thing you can do about it. You're in a boat, in the middle of an ocean with no land in sight, and you've got two oars and a travel bag with bare essentials.

So now what? You start rowing. Most people will start reading every self-help book they can get their hands on. After all, you assume that with 2.2 million of them on the shelves somebody has figured it out, somebody has an answer. I know I did. Then comes the realization that all those books talk a lot but don't give you a perfect answer. It takes a little time, but soon you begin to comprehend a scary truth: it's a cold, hard fact that there is no perfect answer. Nobody really knows the true way of survival. You've got to figure it out on your own. Remember - one boat/two oars/travel bag. That should have been your first clue.

You row a little further. Sometimes in the distance you think you see land. It's a faint, hazy gray spot on the horizon and you start rowing for all your worth. Now, if you recall from older posts, my personal opinion is that the Divine has a really twisted sense of humor. No matter how hard you row you never seem to get any closer. Sometimes it disappears from view so completely you'd think you were in the middle of a desert having some whacked out mirage experience. You're sitting there in your little boat yelling at God, saying stuff like, "But! But! But it was just there! Land Ho! and all that, damnit!" Sometimes, the Divine likes to remind via mind tricks of disappearing land that you just have to tuck those oars into the boat and take a siesta, even when you're not sleepy. Just try to make a two-year old take a nap in the middle of a really good play session. Oh yeah, you can bet your bananas a tantrum will ensue.

Sometimes it goes the other way. You're all snuggled in with your blankie and the Divine whips up a nice tropical storm. Ya' just thought you had those oars stowed away all secure, didn't ya'? How about a real bit of excitement? Let's just see what you can do with hurricane season, smarty pants. Thank you very much, God. Appreciated that. Boat floods. Oars scattered to the four winds. Wet as a herring. Snugly blankie all soggy. No nap for you #2. No sir. Can't have you sleeping on the survivor job. I have been known to give the Divine the finger a time or two. Great act of defiance with only momentary and fleeting amounts of satisfaction. Trust me on that.

When you do finally hit land your shoes are good and squishy, even walking on sand. But damn, you think, that sand feels good just the same. It's spring time and there's warm sunshine, salt breeze, swaying palm trees and coconuts. You think you might like living on the beach for awhile. Were it not for the way sand can gets into everything, including your skivvies even when you're fully dressed and theoretically protected, you would probably stay right were you are. But sand in your skivvies is not a comfortable thing. So you move inland. You wade through swamps, trudging through the mud and the muck, searching for higher ground with fewer creepy-crawlies and no mosquitoes. Again, the Divine only gave you the oars and a travel bag with essentials, not bug spray. You have to keep moving, learning what can help you navigate and survive.

Eventually you get to a spot with soft grass, maybe some shade trees, gentle rolling hills with a scattering of wild flowers. It's summertime and the sun is high. Might get lucky and find a fruit tree or wild grape vine. You think, "Nice place. I'll stop here and rest for awhile." You've learned a thing or two about making use of the things in your surroundings. You've learned that small, dry sticks make a warm fire when you're cold. Leaves and grass make a soft bed and your now dry blankie is snuggable again. Through trial and error you've learned what plants to eat for nourishment and strength, what plants heal wounds, what plants repel mosquitoes. Life seems pretty darn good. The Divine didn't tell you about autumn. Didn't tell you about winter. Oh no, you thought those summer days were endless. You were wrong.

Fall is really beautiful with it's changing colors. The crisp blue sky and a slight chill in the air. It's refreshing after a hot summer of survival. Slowly but surely you see the landscape around you is changing. The colors fade and the leaves fall to the ground. The blue sky shifts towards gray and the chill in the air isn't burned away by a bright sun. Nope, that sun is steadily growing weaker, paler. Little warmth and pallid light. You can't live out in the elements anymore so you start searching for shelter. Before the first flakes of snow start falling on your head, you pack your new travel bag, the one you made when your first one wore out, with all your stuff and start another journey. You head for the distant mountains, where you think you might find a cave to live in, a place to ride out the winter storms.

It doesn't take long to reach the foot of the mountains, to find a suitable cave to inhabit. You've developed skills through the previous seasons. You've started to understand the responsibility of being a survivor. You know it's hard work but you've achieved a measure of success and reaped a bit of reward for your efforts. The Divine patted you on the head. But to make sure you were really paying attention, while you were all secure in your blankie during you're first night in your new cave the Divine called up a blizzard with twenty-two inches of snow and ice. Maybe you learned some stuff, but snow and ice wasn't in the program. You spent all your time in a warmer climate. You were wearing sandals. Sand in your skivvies seems like bliss compared to frostbite.

But the beach is a long way back, down the mountain not up. Survival means you have to make another choice ... freeze to death or figure out how to keep warm, how to find food and nourishment in a frozen world, how to protect your delicate little digits from frostbite. After a nice tantrum, you use your hands, wrapped in pieces of your blankie, to dig underneath the snow and ice. You find wood, moss, sharp stones. You discover snow melts into water when heated. You learn to tap trees for sap, strip bark for weaving. You learn to hunt. You learn to survive through ways you hadn't thought you were capable of. Hadn't even imagined. Your skills develop to an entirely new level. You've mastered your environment vs. it mastering you.

Spring comes 'round again and you start feeling a subtle Divine nudge to move up the mountain a little further. After all, you are a survivor, on a journey of exploration, heading for your mountain top. You know summer will follow the spring and living will be easier. You're experienced and believe you can be well prepared for the fall and winter. Surely there will be shelter up there. Surely there will be everything you need to survive. You pack your travel bag, slip on sturdier footwear and set out. Feeling confident and capable. You climb a distance up the mountain and suddenly you notice some really big rocks scattered here and there. "No problem!", you think to yourself. "I'm a survivor." Oh you foolish, foolish child. You got cocky, thinking the Divine was going to leave you to your own devices. You'd proven you could survive a hurricane at sea, a blizzard at the foot of a mountain. You thought you knew stuff. You didn't know squat. And God was watching.

Gradually the rocks become a little bigger, a bit more concentrated. You have to climb over some, navigate around others. You stumble over one or two. Some, you discover, are half buried beneath the underbrush and leaves. You have to watch where you're stepping more than check out the sights of what's around you. You also realize the mountain is far steeper than you thought. Periodically you have to stop and take a breather. You didn't know the air was thinner up here, didn't even cross your mind. You didn't know the ways of the mountain. You were a flat lander. You weren't as prepared as you believed and it's disconcerting. The travel bag gets heavier but you're afraid to cast anything aside lest you need it further up the mountain.

Days you climb and nights you find a place among the rocks and trees to rest. Spring turns to summer, then autumn. Being a survivor, you know already that the coming winter won't make good traveling so you start hunting and find a new cave to shelter in. You know to prepare as much ahead as possible to help you get through the coming storms, the snow and ice. You've gathered lots of firewood, nuts and berries, you have stones and moss and warm moccasins instead of sandals. You think winter will be a good time for resting, for storing up your reserves for the spring and resuming your climb up the mountain. You have visions of reaching the summit and believe you're going to make it through just fine and dandy.

Happily, you do just that. You weather not one, not two, but four or five snow storms through the long, gray winter. The skills you've learned have proven you can take what comes and survive. But God's still watching, waiting in the wings, preparing you for the next leg of the journey. Letting you get good and ready before the trap springs. And it's a real doozie. Caught between summer and autumn you stumble and roll part of the way back down the mountain. Laying there in a daze you check yourself for broken bones, a punctured lung, a fractured skull. The wind really got knocked out of you. Half the contents of your travel bag are scattered across the terrain like dry leaves in strong breeze. You lost a moccasin. Suddenly it seems just too hard to keep going. The mountain is too steep, there isn't enough time left to climb back to where you were and still prepare for the next winter. All the things you held dear and important in that travel bag are scattered and broken. You think you just aught to give up. Lay there in a little heap of pathetic humanity and stop trying. But then you remember you're a survivor. Now is a good time for another tantrum. It isn't productive, but it damn sure feels good. You then get busy, hunkering down right where you are, gathering whatever you can to get you through 'til you can resume the climb.

Slowly, year after year, you begin to realize just how far up the top of your mountain really is. You also begin to suspect you might not get there, that the act of climbing is the point, not actually reaching the goal. This is an unpleasant consideration. Everything in you has urged you onward and upward to the top of that damn mountain. This is when you discover a very subtle, sneaky Divine kink in the works. Doubt. It's not a physical situation to deal with. It's a mental one. Doubt opens the door for a host of other things to come crawling in. Doubt is the harbinger for perplexity, the instigator of wars, the fly in the ointment.

Here we get, at long last to some nitty-gritty. Me #1 was a classic victim. I wasn't the problem, the world was the problem. I had an alcoholic father; a not so stable mother; I wasn't hugged and snuggled as a baby; my first bike was a $6.50 used hunk of scrap metal and rubber from the Salvation Army and not the flashy, brand new bike my brother got; I had to make my own cake for my 16th birthday and celebrated alone; blah, blah, blah. Everything and everyone else made my life miserable. It wasn't me. I didn't do anything. After all, I was the victim. It sucked, but it was easier.

Me #2 woke up and smelled the coffee. Me #2 chose to be a survivor. I chose the hard road, the uphill climb to the top of the mountain. I chose to struggle through the mud and the muck; the storms of winter; head-long tumbles down my mountain just to get back up and start the climb all over again. And for what? What was the point of it all? Just what did I think I'd find up there at the top? What would I do with it when I found it? What difference would it make in my life? To be honest, I really can't answer any of those questions. I don't have a clue. And therein lies the delimma. Yet there, hidden somewhere in those answers I don't have, lies the key to winning the war. No two-year old tantrum will give me the answers. I have to keep climbing, keep making the journey up the mountain.

Recently I read a book, Ishmael by Daniel Quinn, and while it wasn't a novel of epic proportions and life changing pros it still made my head swim with thoughts and created even more questions than I already had. Stoked the fires of war a little more. But let's get to the heart of it. More than just down and dirty. True confessions at it's most bare. I'm searching for the meaning of Me #2. I'm searching for what makes my soul dance and the way to always hear that music. The way to live the dance once I've found the tune. I want to know how to live in this material world with peace in my heart yet I want to live in a cave on a mountain and come to know who and what God really is. I want to not have questions with no answers. I want to know what I'm supposed to be doing with me and my life.

Sometimes it's really hard to get up and do another day without feeling any sense of real direction and focus. The mundane worries of life seem to feed off my energy and I don't want to think about the bigger picture of God and my soul and my life's purpose. On the flip side, there are days when all I want to do is sit somewhere, quiet and alone, and wait for God to whisper in my ear and tell me the secret to living. Sometimes I think if I have to answer another phone call, open one more bill in the mail, clean the cat's litterboxes, get in my Jeep and drive into town, dust the coffee table or make the bed just one more time I will lose my mind.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing something wrong. Not looking in the right places for answers. I've read literally hundreds of books about life, spirituality, the meaning of it all and how to have a wonderful life. Every now and then a little nugget of wisdom shows up and gives me a spark of hope, a few more days of willingness to climb a little further up the mountain. Sadly, yet oddly and inexplicably, the hope seems to fade and I'm stuck right back where I was. Full of unanswered questions and a heart full of frustration.

When I look around at other people I sometimes see what appears to be a person who has found a few of those answers. I get both excited and envious. I want to ask them how they did it. What was their trick, their secret to success. But I'm not really even sure how to ask. I know what works for them isn't what will work for me. That's the sneaky part about spirituality ... it's highly individualized. Your way to God will not be my way to God. You can tell me to pray Hail Mary's, to meditate, to open my heart, to open my mind, to chant and whistle and shake marracas 'til the cows come home but that doesn't mean it's going to work for me. I still have a wall and I don't know how to tear it down.

And there you go ... the heart of the matter. I feel disconnected from my spirituality, from the Divine, and I don't know what to do about it. I want to do something but I haven't a clue what that might be. I don't want to spend months and years learning some transcendental hoo-hoo levitation technique (okay, yes I really would like to be able to levitate). I know living isolated on a mountain for twenty-one years ain't gonna' happen. Hell, I find it difficult to sit and meditate every day much less have to get into some complicated metaphysical wand waving, crystal chanting, marraca shaking, drum banging, ceremonial hoop-la.

Then again, my mind rationalizes, ceremony and/or the faithful practice of a spiritual routine creates a safe place to open your heart and puts you in a quiet enough place to hear God whispering in your ear. But why does it feel so ridiculous and fake and foolish whenever I try to do it? And don't think I haven't tried. I have. I've got rosary beads and sage bundles and guided meditations CD's and crystals and statues of Buddha and candles of every color in the rainbow. I've sat in the woods in the day time. Sat in the woods by firelight. I've sat in the middle of a creek and I've prayed in candlelight while soaking in the water scented luxury of my garden bathtub. I've gone to lectures and watched DVD's and read more books on spirituality than God and the law should have allowed to be printed.

Nothing clicks. Nothing sticks. Nothing sparks and lights me up and fills me with hope and spiritual union. No nirvana. No Zen bliss. I'm at a loss about it. I'm at war about it. My heart cries out for something it can't even name. My head tells me it's right there - I'm just not looking hard enough, not climbed my mountain far enough. But I'm so tired. I'm so disillusioned with everything. I'm staring in horror at a world of material greed and chaos, which is falling apart at the seams with corruption and monumental sadness, and I'm lost. I want to DO something but haven't a clue as to what to do. I'm seeing how far we all are from anything deeply moving, deeply meaningful and fulfilling, and I don't see an effective way to change it. And I feel smothered by it. I keep thinking that if I find my own spiritual union I'll find an answer. I'll find hope. I'll find the reason for my life and the purpose for living it.

When I look at the blessings in my life I feel ashamed. I have a warm and safe home to live in; a good husband who cares for me and supports me even if he doesn't really understand me; amazing and beautiful friends I'm not entirely certain I'm worthy of; a new business that has done better in it's short existence than I ever imagined it would - and which also provides me the opportunity to help others; I have relatively good health and insurance to help keep it that way; and I have dozens of other little things that bless my life with abundance to the point I should have absolutely no reason to complain or feel lacking. Most anyone would ask me what the Hell my problem is. Why am I having a tantrum when I've already got so much?

I won't lie to you. It's just not enough. It isn't satisfying and spiritually nourishing. It doesn't feed my soul. Would it matter what car I drove or what job I had if I woke every morning to the feeling of the Divine's light in my heart? I hardly think so.

As I said way back at the beginning. A long diatribe of rambling thoughts that lead nowhere. An attempt to explain what I'm feeling, what I'm thinking about, where I am. I'm sure I'm not alone in these thoughts, feelings and questions. Again, what works for one doesn't necessarily work for another but I would still like to know what you think. What's your opinion? What are your own questions? What do you think the answers are? Would you be willing to share them with me?

Namaste, y'all ...

Fun With Food ...

There are several blogs I read almost every day. One in particular, Cute Overload.com, because of the cute photos of all kinds of animals. But every once in awhile Meg will post something unusual. Today I found the following photos and I was charmed. I laughed out loud. People can be so imaginative and creative. This isn't just fun with food, it's edible art. How could I not love that???

Brought to you courtesy of Cute Overload.com

Here's how our good friends, the Japanese, manage to stay fit and trim so that they can continue to hand our Cheetos-enhanced behinds to us in the cuteness department: Food so adorable you don't want to eat it. Go ahead -- you order a plate of this stuff and see if you aren't still staring at it three hours later.

Bon appétit

Namaste, y'all ...

Because cats can ...

Stare at the sleeping human at 4:30 in the morning until it
wakes up and sees you up close ...


Take a bath in the middle of the dining room floor ...


Nap where you please ...


Play without moving from a good nap spot ...


Flash some paw at the camera ...


Make your mom love on you even when she's got
work to do at the computer ...