Driving home today I sang along with the song on the radio, Rock the Casbah. Yet my version went, “She really a likes it, Rock the cat box; rock the cat box!” It was a fun reference to the first time I heard the song and what I “thought” I heard. The real version is a little different: “Shariah don’t like it. Rock the Casbah. Rock the Casbah.”
How many songs have you messed up the lyrics to?
My mistaken assumptions about song lyrics started when I was in middle school, high school. There was that “dirty” song Louie Louie everyone talked about. We could never understand their slurring words, so my friends and my version was, “At night, I lay her, I lay her again. A fu&ckin’ girl. ahhh right away, (blah blah, blah blah, something I couldn’t understand), I felt my roll, in her hair…”
The Kingsmen actually said, “Three nights and days I sailed the sea; Me think of girl constantly; On the ship, I dream she there; I smell the rose in her hair.”
Where did my version come from?
Back in the day, my hubby and I liked to sing Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit song to my kids, singing, “And we all love, mashed potatoes” instead of “Here we are now, entertain us.”
How about the Police and Don’t Stand Too Close to Me? I assumed they sang about the book by Neville Cross. But it was more like Nabokov, who wrote Lolita. (I just looked that up last week!)
And the Duran Duran song nobody understands, Blinded by the Light. I sing, “Wrapped up like a douche you know you’re rollin’ in the night.” Actual lyric: “Revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night.”
Where do we get these versions?
Most songs are clear and melodious, and it’s easy to sing along with the band. But sometimes you think you hear one thing and it’s really another. You trip over one word and your common sense follows that crack in the sidewalk, and you never know the difference.
I always thought Jimi Hendrix on All Along the Watchtower said “Plow man, dig my herb” (like he was getting high or something). Instead he said “Plowman, dig my earth.” (Can you dig it?). Or Don’t Bring Me Down by ELO: “Don’t bring me down, Bruce!” instead of “Don’t bring me down, groose!” (What is a groose?)
All in all, the words may be wrong, but the intentions are real. And so is the fun.
What songs do you mess up?
Are you ready for Christmas? I can say that I am not. It’s not that big a deal for me.
Now before you hold me as a scrooge or anti-sentiment protester, let me explain. Which you knew I would.
I celebrate Christmas every day.
Sounds ludicrous, I suppose, but I really do.
The lights. I love Christmas lights. I have a strand of white under my counter and a strand of blue over my window. If I had my way I’d have Christmas lights in every room all year around!
The gifts. Heck, I give gifts all year long. I came across a champagne glass with a dolphin stem at Goodwill, and bought it for my bestie, as she loves dolphins. I buy my friends lunch, take my grandkids to the movies, give gifts to family and friends for no reason. I don’t have to have a special day to give gifts from my heart to those I love.
Christmas dinner. I eat like it’s Christmas day every weekend. I share meals with friends, family, and even bring treats to work for all to share. I give to food banks and food drives throughout the year. That’s the spirit year round.
Christmas carols. There’s nothing more beautiful than listening to the choir sing Christmas carols. Their voices are magical, spiritual, a path to the supreme and mystical. And Christmas songs are fun to sing all year long. During the summer my grandson and hubby were singing “Jingle Bells” while I retorted with “Summer Breeze.” We both had our way and it was fun.
Santa Claus. I sometimes shudder at the thought of a little boy or girl being forced to sit on an old fat man’s lap who has a big bushy beard and hair and a deep voice going “Ho Ho Ho!” I don’t know you! Santa is a jolly ol’ fellow, but he’s not on my top 10 list of year-round celebrations.
The Christmas Tree. I have lots of plants in my house, and lots of trees on my property. I hang windchimes and oversized ornaments on the trees along the trails so I can enjoy them all year around.
The Baby Jesus. This is what Christmas is really all about. A baby who was born poor and died poor, but lived a full life, teaching us the way to live. He talked about friendship, patience, and compassion. Love and understanding. He taught us to love our neighbor, our family, our children. Not to beat them, frighten them, bully them. He showed us how to be a good person.
I try and live that life every day. I don’t need a special day to be nice to someone, to share with someone.
Neither do you.
Christmas is just another day of being alive, another chance to be kind to someone. To listen to someone. To accept someone for who they are, for what they want to be.
Celebrate Christmas today and everyday!
Based out of Geneva, Switzerland, Istvan works as a freelance illustrator who’s mastery of Vue, Cinema, Zbrush, and Photoshop are obvious.Multi-lingual and multi-talented, Istvan has created a number of digital works that stand on their own as artworks, and work together to form gallery-worthy series.
His mathematical-designed insects are gorgeous.
More of Istavan‘s artwork can be found at https://chaoticatmospheres.com.
When you’re young, you can’t wait to have a party. It used to be all your friends at your house with party hats and games; today it’s Chucky Cheese or Rock Climbing parties.
When you’re a teen you often just go to the mall with some friends or hang at someone’s house for your birthday. Big shows of celebration of your day of birth are embarrassing.
When you’re in college, your birthday usually turns into a bender, with loud music and laughing, drunk friends playing beer pong or beer bags.
When you’re in your 20s and 30s you often have kids, so your idea of celebrating your birthday is having your parents babysit while you get a night out for dinner and/or a movie.
When you celebrate your birthday in your 40s or 50s, you’ve usually got a good group of friends around you, so you enjoy throwing a big bash at your house or at a friend’s house. You drink chocolate martinis and eat hors d’oeuvres. You play music from your teens and dance around the living room with a beer or a glass of wine.
When you head into your 60s, celebrating your birthday takes a different turn. Your birthday parties entail taking the family out to dinner for something “different” like hot wings or Thai, and you try not to think of how many years you’ve got left to sing “Happy Birthday.”
I’m not in my 70s yet, so I don’t know how I’ll spend them. I try and be a glass half full kinda girl, but when there are more years behind you than in front of you, that’s a hard task to keep.
Yet these birthdays are the most important. Because I’ll tell you one thing.
Another birthday means you’ve survived.
I’ve survived Cabbage Patch Kids, 8-Tracks, The Freddie, and Howdy Doody. I’ve survived 9/11, the impeachment of Nixon, and the death of Lynyrd Skynyrd. I celebrate being alive and full of love and hope, even in the face of runaway Twitter or bashing poor Charlie Brown tv shows.
I celebrate because I’m alive. Looking around me, that’s not always an easy thing to be.
So what does a 66-year-old do for their birthday?
How about sushi with my family then the grandkids over night then go to see Wreck It Ralph Wrecks the Internet tomorrow? That’s love, no matter how you celebrate it.
Celebrate YOUR birthday every year. Every day.
Make your heart happy.
Si Scott’s love of music inspires the flowing nature of his hand-drawn designs, beautifully and precisely executed.
Si’s multi-faceted approach has led him to work across a wide spectrum of projects, from advertising campaigns to branding, publishing to editorial, and interior design to album covers.
More of Si Scott‘s drawings can be found at https://www.siscottstudio.com/.
He draws very lifelike portraits of ordinary people and celebrities using pencil and charcoal.
His style is known as Hyperrealism.
He brings portraits to life, as if they were standing right next to you.
More of Kelvin Okafor‘s amazing works can be found at www.kelvinokaforart.com.
Indeed it’s another Saturday night.
I’m alone, my other half is working. So I have the whole evening to myself.
So what should I do?
What do YOU do when you get 5-6 hours to yourself?
I often start with big plans that eventually fade out to vegging out watching TV. What a waste of a Saturday night.
So what I”m really going to do tonight is write. A new story, or maybe on an in-progress one. I’ve got a little scary movie going on in the background, not loud enough to have to pay attention, but more background noise cuz I’m all alone.
A good friend of mine suggested I write a story based on my last blog about “healing hands.” I might do that, although I have no idea on how it will end.
But more importantly, I’d love to know what YOU are doing tonight. On a Saturday night. On a night you get to yourself.
I don’t always get a lot of responses to my posts, but I love when my friends post back. This would be a fun time to hear your side of the story.
Tell me about your Saturday night….
Another Saturday night and I ain’t got nobody
Ain’t got no money so I can’t go play
Guess I’ll write about travelin’ through ti-i-me
I’m in a happy way
As you may (or may not) know, I have a runaway mind. I have to be careful when I’m driving not to let the story take me away from paying attention to the road. For I sometimes get an idea and just run away with it until I’ve lost a minute or two.
I had one of those ideas this evening on my way home from work.
What if, for some unknown reason, you woke up one morning and were able to heal anybody by just touching them? By squeezing their arm?
The first emotion would be shock. Then reasoning. Research. How did you get that power? Would the person stay cured? Grasped from the hands of death at the last minute?
So you’d start healing people. First some you know. Colds, heart problems, bad eyesight. You are amazed!
Word gets out. Doctors and universities and private companies want to research you. See how you do it. They may want to dissect you or put you in a tank and take tests.
But you’re not interested. You want to cure people.
According to some quick research, there are 7.7 billion people in the world, and 95% of them/us are sick with one thing or another. My little calculator turns that into 810,526,315 people are sick around the world at any one time. From cancer to colds, you’d be their cure.
if you were to see 30 patients an hour, 24 hours a day, that’s curing 720 patients a day. That doesn’t factor in sleep, meals, and rest time. So if you could cure 720 people per day, it would still take you 1,125,730 days to cure every single person in the world. And that would be only the people that are sick at this moment in time. Not the millions that will get sick tomorrow.
Saving the world is an overwhelming thing, isn’t it?
Before you know it the press would be all over you and Hollywood would want to make a movie out of your life. You would have thousands of doctors calling you every hour just to see if you could take a look at their patients first.
Then you would have to choose who you would cure first….a grandmother with lung failure, a child with pneumonia, a mother with three kids who has cancer. Not only in your city but in millions of cities around the world.
You would want to cure as many people as you possibly could. But who is first? You would have to make criteria. A hundred spreadsheets at a time of who is to be saved and/or healed first.
Everyone’s mothers and fathers would call you and come to your door begging you to save their child. Their husband. Thousands would be outside your home every day.
Curing them would prevent you from going to hospitals and hospices around your neighborhood, your town, your state. Not to mention the other 49 United States and people overseas.
See how my mind wandered?
I don’t want the power to heal sick people. I don’t want the responsibility of choosing between people I love and people I don’t know. Or deciding which illness is worse. They are all worse. Some will die because you couldn’t get to them in time to cure them, and the guilt would eventually be overwhelming.
The rest of life will go on as it should, whether you cure their cancer or their sinuses. People will still die, people will still be on waiting lists for livers or kidneys. And people will still be sad and cry.
It’s the way of the world. And no amount of instant healing will change the ending of the story.
So be careful what you wish for….
The Spanish painter Salvador Dali (May 1904 – January 1989) remains one of the most controversial and paradoxical artists of the twentieth century.
Over last few decades, Salvador Dali has come to be seen as a prodigious figure whose life and work occupies a central and unique position in the history of modern art.
Most of Dali’s works revolved around painting and sculpture work, and he worked as a graphic artist and designer as well.
During the course of his career, he experienced many different art forms, and experimented with a few styles, allowing him to further his points of expression. Dali infuses surrealism through his paintings and other art works.
His major contribution to the Surrealist movement is called the “Paranoiac-Critical Method” which is a form of mental exercise of accessing the subconscious parts of the mind to have an artistic inspiration.
He used this method to realize the dreams and imagination he had in his mind, changing the real world the way he wanted, and not necessarily the way it was.
More of Salvador Dali‘s artwork can be found at https://thedali.org/
In the next couple of days, Americans will be posting pictures of turkeys, both fresh from the oven and cartoonish run aways. People will be posting on Twitter and Facebook and WordPress all the things they’re happy for. Thankful for.
I know that most of us don’t need a reason to share our thanks on only one day a year. I am thankful every day for the blessings I’ve received over the years, even if some of those blessings were painful. I have a feeling you do too.
But if you are one of those online thankers, I have an idea.
Leave behind the thank yous for your family, the love of your life, being able to wake up every morning, your grandchildren (blasphemy!) and share something unique and different that you are thankful for. Something others don’t think of very often.
For instance, I am thankful this Thanksgiving aloud for having a clean mammogram. As some of you may know, I had breast cancer 7 years ago. I am one of the lucky ones who have stayed clear. I have friends and friends of friends who have not been so lucky. This thank you links into so many other blessings in my world that I can’t thank my body enough.
So tell me. What unusual or out-of-the way thing are you thankful for this Thanksgiving?
Love and faeries to all of you!
Richard Satava was introduced to glassblowing in 1969 while at Ocean High School in Pacifica, California.
More of Richard Satava‘s glass blowing can be found at https://satava.com/.
I am on my way to writing some chapters for my novel on this quiet, sunny Sunday afternoon. But I was wandering through early, early posts in my Humoring the Goddess blog, and I have to chuckle every time I read this. Here is a post from June, 2011….and don’t forget to stop by later for some great art~
The Importance of Unicorns and Bratwurst
The Importance of Unicorns and Bratwurst. This is one of those ethereal, out-of-body titles that try to connect the cosmic to the ordinary, the magical to the mundane. I was hit by this title some time ago, not having a clue as to what it meant or what I would eventually write about. Even now, as my fingers hit the keys, I have no idea where this storyline is going. But isn’t that so much like our everyday lives?
We start out the week with the most noble of intentions. Perhaps we have a satisfying experience meditating Sunday morning, or are able to sleep in a couple of extra hours. Maybe our football team finally won a game. Nonetheless, our day is delightful, and we end the night feeling satisfied. All is right with the world, with our dreams and our desires.
This is the power of the unicorn. It is the magical sensation that connects earth and sky, dreams and reality, kids and parents. In this hazy-yet-authentic state, the world is a soft, mystical place, offering rewards and blessings at every turn. Our children clean their room without being asked; the washing machine doesn’t screech when spinning; even the movie we choose to watch had one of those feel-good endings.
In the unicorn state the world holds unlimited possibilities. You could actually lose those ten pounds or finally clean off your desk, or even finally start reading that novel you bought five months ago. You are still based in reality, but the remnant good feelings are enough to move you towards the light and find satisfaction in the simplest things.
Monday comes along, a tough day for many. A majority of us will drudge our way to work, blinking at the shortness of the weekend, and find our nine-to-five groove again. Tuesday seems to be a lot harder than Monday. Our failure to go to bed early over the weekend now is catching up with us, along with laundry that has mysteriously piled up and the bills we swear we mailed yesterday. Our favorite TV show is coming on too late for us to watch with any coherency, and the last tape we saved to record said-TV-show was used to record a football game that everyone knows we lost.
Wednesday is hump day and we wonder just who is doing the humping. Our resolve not to eat ten chocolate chip cookies in a row is weakening; our commitment to walk a mile or two after work is being thwarted by thunderstorms or ice storms or plagues of locusts. We can never get our hair to do what our hairdresser did; our plans to cook Coq a Vin has gone by the wayside, seeing as the chicken is still frozen and we don’t have any red wine in the house to cook with anyway.
Thursday creeps into our lives with a thread of hesitancy. After all, school has scheduled your son’s basketball game at the same time as your daughter’s piano recital, both of which are at the same time as your bowling league, which is at the same time your other favorite TV show is on, which you would have recorded had the football game not taken up the whole tape.
By Friday your resolutions are out the window along with that novel you can’t choke down anymore, and your thoughts try to center, not on what has been, but what will be. The weekend is coming; that means a thousand activities shoved into a mere 48 hours.
It means going to visit your mom on the way to dropping off your kid at the mall, fighting the Saturday morning free-sample crowds at the grocery store, and coming home to an overanxious dog who just dumped the garbage all over the kitchen floor. It is hoping the video store still has a copy of that brand new movie that everyone is talking about but you, and trying to decide whether to cook a gourmet meal or just throw sausages on the grill.
This is the bratwurst part, the raw-meat-of-reality part. Bratwurst is a wonderful German sausage, filled with flavor and spices and grilled to perfection. How metaphoric that little pocket of meat and fat is! It is the answer to all the cosmic questions in life! It fulfills the need for sustenance (it is a food group), it nurtures your creative side (sauerkraut? Mustard? Hot or German?) It is available in abundance (you can buy them in a pack of six or three pound boxes), and it affords you the freedom of choice (10 minutes on the grill; burble them in beer and onions for 15 and grill for five; slice them up and fry with potatoes for 20).
How clear it all becomes! This little sausage is the answer to all metaphysical speculation, the answer to who we are and why we are on this planet. It is tasty and filling, satisfying those inner child needs and outer kid bravados. It ties the madness of the week up into a link that goes down easy and can be burped out in a satisfying form later through the night. It is the spice of life.
I never thought of unicorns and bratwursts as the symbols for Life; I always thought that symbol was that little stick person with the big egg head. Now that I have been enlightened, I can see that symbol does look like someone celebrating the bratwurst of life, arms out, joyous and all encompassing.
And the unicorn part?
I’m not quite sure, but I will ask the one standing behind me after I find out if he wants sauerkraut on his bratwurst.
My grandson called and asked if I had any wizard/magician clothes or props. as his school is having a Dress Up as a Wizard or Magician Day on Thursday. Surely Granny, with all her unicorns and faeries, would have some magician wands or hats or capes laying around.
Couldn’t help my favorite grandkid out with his costume project.
Now, of course, I know I’m not a real loser. I’m sure one day I’ll be in the Grandma Hall of Fame.
But I want to be that special grandma. The one who has everything, knows everything, loves everything.I’m the go-to for hugs, conversation, and treats. I am a superhero, the one who plays trucks and watches them build Lego ninjas and dance in the rain and play every new game they get. I have the neat house my grandkids always want to visit, and I’m the one who takes them to movies and chimes “go girl! go girl!” everytime we pass the witch on the window.
I’m not the loser. The shadow. The failure.
Not in my grandkids’ eyes.
Through their eyes I see a different version of myself. I’m cool, I’m magic. I’m loving. I don’t have problems or faults. I have patience, understanding, and empathy. I am wise and gentle and special.
There’s no broken dreams around my grandkids. No failures, no competition. I’m not old; just older. There’s just love and heroine worship from my grandkids. There has to be.
It’s my second chance to make things right. To mold a mind. To hold a hand.
That’s why I should have had had at least a magic wand in my bag of tricks. Oh well. Next time.
In the meantime, I’m all set if they ever have a Unicorn Day…..
Yayoi Kusama developed a distinctive style utilizing approaches associated with Abstract Expressionism, Minimalism, Pop art, Feminist art, and Institutional Critique—but she always defined herself in her own terms as an obsessional artist.
Kusama had a breakthrough in 1965 when, using mirrors, she transformed the intense repetition of her earlier paintings and works on paper into a perceptual experience called Infinity Mirror Rooms.
Kusama’s kaleidoscopic environments offers the chance to step into an illusion of infinite space made from lights and mirrors.
Some of Kusama’s Mirrored Room installations have peep windows into which the visitor merely pokes a head, or little cabins you step inside to gaze out at infinite reflections of yourself – like a child playing with facing mirrors.
Can you imagine standing in the middle of all that light?
More of Yayoi Kusama‘s many faceted art creations can be found at http://yayoi-kusama.jp/.
Sitting on my sofa this Saturday morning, dogs and cats bugging me for pets, hubby gone for the day, I reflect on all the blessings I’ve had through the years, least of all three animals who want my affection and give back tenfold.
I know all of our hearts have been broken one time or another, and, if we are loving, giving people, they will be broken again. But because of that love of life and the world, we are able to survive and appreciate the gifts we have been given even more.
I was thinking about the millennials this morning. All the talk about them living in the “now” and how their financial goals are different from the baby boomers. I know mils that don’t have insurance, don’t have great jobs, don’t have husbands and wives but have live-in partners.
The world has changed.
And, believe it or not, that’s a good thing.
I think true wisdom comes with not having to prove to the world that your way of thinking is right. That true love of life comes in many forms, and yours is unique and different from everyone else’s.
I am beginning to think that the millenials are right. At least in some ways.
They live for today. For NOW. For the pleasure that each day brings.
Baby boomers are stuck in the thought process that if we do “A” now or wait until we are “A” then we are allowed to enjoy “B”. So women (and men) don’t do the things their heart wants to do because they are waiting until they’ve lost enough weight, made enough money, earn enough vacation. It’s not just a point of going out to dinner or finding the right bathing suit, either. I’ve known people who have been waiting years to do what they want because they’ve made some imaginary goal that they’ll never make.
Millenials want to do something? They figure a way to do it today.. Now.
That seems like jumping without a parachute to those of us older fogies that are tied up in mortgages and car payments and monotonous jobs we’re afraid to change.
But it’s living in the “now” for many others.
Which circles back to loving every moment you are alive, despite the broken hearts. I thank the Goddess every morning I am able to open my eyes and get out of bed. I am thankful I can listen to all kinds of music and read books that intrigue me and play with my grandkids and hug my hubby. I am thankful I can look out the window at the brushing of snow and pet my cat and watch the birds in the birdfeeder and write a story and find a pair of socks to keep my feet warm.
That is living in the “now.”
That is taking the madness in the world with a grain of salt and moving forward every day in a positive way, making the world a better place than you left it. It’s not waiting to share the love. And to take it, too. You deserve it. We all deserve it.
Don’t wait until tomorrow to give your love. Tommorrow may be too late.
The elections are over, candidates came and some went, everyone believing they know what’s best for my/our community, our district, our state. One falls and the other takes up the march. In the end, the stalks of corn whistle and whine and sing the song of tomorrow.
I just started watching “The Agony and the Ecstasy” about Michelangelo. It begins by covering his amazing sculptures such at St. Matthew, the tomb of Juliano, and the Medici tombs, including the tomb of Lorenzo. He was 24 when he carved the magnificent Pietà of St. Peters, and 26 when he started to carve famous statue of David.
And he was 33 when he started painting the Sistine Chapel. That huge, vast, empty ceiling.
33. What were you doing when you were 33?
I was working in downtown Chicago and had been married for three years and had a two-year-old when I was 33. The little painting I did was more a passing fancy, and the writing I did would not explode in earnest until ten years later.
Some people are just gifted. Some people are just magic. Some people have something we will never have.
I don’t think the competition back in 1508 was as extreme as it is these days. There was no Internet, no Facebook or no blogs. No telephones, no printing presses, no TV or Xeroxes. Oh, I’m sure there were many sculptors back then. Sculptors and painters. But to have your work noticed and remembered and studied and worshipped — that’s a totally different story.
I have no idea how to sculpt anything, no less chisel a man out of marble. I may paint my pithy version of an alien landscape, but I have no idea how to paint people and ceilings and landscapes.
He knew how to create art from blocks of stone and angels from paint at the same time people lived with thatched roofs and bathed once a year.
When you stop and take a look at the history of art — really take a look at how such marvelous creations were created in such sparse and simple times — you cannot help be be amazed.
You don’t have to be “into” the arts to appreciate the talent and stories that echo through the hallways of time. A calling was all that was needed; a calling to an artist who had the talent, the patience, and the dream of making something bigger than themselves.
You may not have the fame or endurance of the masters of old, but you do have the talent and the inspiration. Throw yourself into your art, and let it flow through you and onto your medium.
Don’t compare yourself to artists like Michelangelo di Ludovico Buonarroti Simoni or Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn or Marc Zakharovich Chagall. You are your own magic, your own muse. You hear music others can’t hear. Follow that calling.
And take a look at some of the artists of the past. Learn about their art, their history, their passions.
Maybe you will see yourself reflected in their creativity.
ThSeo Young-Deok creates hyper-realistic, life-size sculptures of human figures fashioned exclusively from welded chains taken from industrial machinery and bicycles.
Seo explores the relationship between humans and their environment by repurposing iron chains, which are part of the industrial world.
Seo Young-Deok’s work centers mostly around the human body, and his pieces highlights his understanding of human anatomy.
Most of his sculptures are made by welding individual pieces of iron together, and he sticks to the conventional methods of drawing, modeling, casting, and welding to create his pieces.
Seo Young-Deok sculpts both of male and female subjects in a number of poses and postures, from sculpted heads to busts, torsos, and standing figures.
You can find more of Seo Young-Deo’s amazing chain work at http://youngdeok.com//
I am not a sticker-on-the-car kinda gal. Besides a yearly state park sticker, I’m pretty much a clean car person. That doesn’t mean that I don’t smile when I see a family of stick people or dog stickers or Wall Drug bumper stickers on someone else’s car.
Which brings me to a sign I saw on my way back home from up North yesterday. My hubby and I drove past a pick-up truck with writing on their back window. It said, “I eat ass.”
I was surprised at the nerve of the younger driver. We laughed and shook our heads, wondering what that even meant. I even looked the phrase up on Google.
That inane phrase is still popping my popcorn. I can’t help but wonder: What the hell was that all about? Why was that idiotic phrase spread all across his back window?
He and his buddies probably got a laugh raising the hair of fairly moral people. But then I started to think of this guy’s probable role models.
You have the President of the United States of America tweeting things like, “When you give a crazed, crying lowlife a break, and give her a job at the White House, I guess it just didn’t work out. Good work by General Kelly for quickly firing that dog!”
You have a woman who was caught on video yelling obscenities at a family speaking Spanish at a Virginia restaurant, at one point yelling at them to “Go back to your f—– country. You do not f—– come over here and freeload on America.”
You have a six-year-old telling school authorities that she was being bullied, and instead of getting help, her mother reports her daughter was “told off” for telling what the school believed to be “tales.” The mother said that even the adults involved have been no help, as the bully’s parents “mocked” her daughter on social media.
This is the kind of madness that runs through the conscience of people. These are the kinds of absolutely stupid and intolerable things that people are inspired by.
I believe that most of us are pretty normal. We love, we hate, we confess, we hug and make amends. We maybe don’t understand the workings of the world, but we do our best to raise our kids and take care of our parents and be helpful neighbors.
But there are some that have no seed of tolerance or understanding. There are some who can’t feel good about themselves unless they belittle and bully someone else.
I’ve gotten to the point where I don’t care what your back story is. Get over it. There is no reason for you to take your problems out on everyone else. Human beings have a choice. They don’t have to choose to be animals to others.
People say, “What can we do about it?”
My friends, I don’t have the answer.
I have never had the inkling to bully or belittle or be a show-off smart ass anyone, so I don’t know the cure for the disease I see around me.
Maybe all we can do is be nice to each other, even when we are in pain or confusion ourselves.
If you see someone being bullied, step in. Stop the madness before it spreads.
If you see someone being treated unfairly, speak up. Stop the madness before it spreads.
If you hear sexism and prejudice and intolerance in the news, tell others how wrong that is, and stop the madness before it spreads.
Don’t be that person. Don’t allow those negativities into your heart and soul. Stop others from going down that path.
Stop the madness before it spreads.
By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.
The artists of the past were not exempt from painting images that scare the beejeezes out of you.
Let me share some famous nightmares with you.
Cassius Marcellus Coolidge (September 18, 1844 – January 13, 1934) was a drugstore owner, painter, bank owner, and inventor.
But Coolidge (who at times signed his work Kash” or Kash Koolidge) became well known as the creator of the dogs-playing-poker genre of painting, a subject which grew out of the 19th-century tradition of visual humor.
From the mid-1900s to the mid-1910s, Coolidge created a series of sixteen oil paintings for them, all of which featured anthropomorphic dogs, including nine paintings of Dogs Playing Poker,] a motif that Coolidge is credited with inventing.
His work was purchased by cigar companies, who made copies of his paintings as promotional giveaways, and by the printing firm of Brown & Bigelow who made his work widely known by using it in advertising posters, calendars, and prints.
I took the day off from work. I slept late, went to the store, am fooling around on my computer, and am going to nap again. I think I am so sleep deprived the cosmos made me take today off. After all, you can’t make magic…you can’t BE magic…if you are too sleepy to think straight.
So before I doze off on this cloudy Friday afternoon, I wanted to give you a sneak peek at the galleries coming up:
I am so fascinated by the magnificent ideas that have come from the souls of creative people. I don’t believe you have to understand or even like a piece to understand the passion that went into its creation.
If you have enjoyed the small selection I share here Sunday nights (and other nights when I can’t hold back any more), please find your way to my Sunday Evening Art Gallery for a more extensive selection.
Tell your friends to follow me too! (how shameless of a promotion is that?)
Until we meet again, enjoy art of all sizes and shapes. It’s what makes us unique in the universe.
My first reaction (after amazement) was a little sadness, for I always want to see the rising moon from the far end of my property. There’s a cornfield on the other side of the back back back gate, which makes the horizon long and flat and dark.
There’s something about a full orange moon that fills me with magic. I become young again. I want to play, I want to do magic, I want to write magic. I want to see faeries in the woods and elves walking along the paths.
My imagination soars when I’m outside with the Lady of the Night.
Yet I missed this one — one I could have easily have watched from the very beginning. But I was out to dinner with a friend.
A friend who has just beaten cancer. Again. She has done chemo and is now going through radiation.
A friend that is full of life, of hope. I love her stories…she has so many of them. After what she’s been through, she is a gift from above. She has children and grandchildren that adore her, a husband that supports her, and everyone she meets becomes a friend of support through this bad time.
Maybe that’s what the moon was telling me last night.
Maybe it glowed with the magic of friendship. Maybe it glowed with pride in my thinking about someone else besides myself. Maybe She knew that if I hadn’t taken my friend to dinner I’d be zoning out on TV or some other wasteful pastime.
What’s the big deal about taking someone out to dinner? An hour and half, twenty-five dollars later. It’s an hour and a half out of your busy, busy, oh-so-important schedule.
Yet it is an hour and a half of strength. Of love. Of friendship.
Two people, both having suffered from the horrid demon C, eating soup and chowing down burgers, laughing about work and boasting about our grandkids and our kids and how lucky we are to be alive. We planned for tomorrow and the next day and the next day.
That’s what you do with friends.
One night go out and gaze upon a full moon. Listen to what it’s saying to you. You will understand what She is saying. Your soul will be better for it.
Buried in the archives of the British Museum is this wonderful series of lithographs from illustrator Charles Joseph Hullmandel (June 15, 1789 – November 15, 1850) that transforms the English alphabet into sweeping landscapes.
Born in London of a German father and French mother, he travelled widely in Europe, making drawings and paintings of the places he visited.
In 1817 he met the inventor of the lithographic process, Senefelder, in Munich; the following year he established a lithographic press at his home in Great Marlborough Street, from where he produced prints until his death.
You can find more of Charles Joseph Hullmandel‘s work The British Museum and other sites across the Internet.
I noticed so many office buildings, apartment buildings, gas stations, and more blurring past me, and I wondered what this highway was like a hundred years ago.
A hundred years is nothing in the timespan of life.
But it’s the difference between cars and buggies. Electricity and coal.
And I wondered what these roads looked like a hundred years ago.
Was there a traffic jam with buggies like there was going east on Hwy. 94? Were there exit ramps taking them to landscapes unknown? Office buildings ever other mile filled with thousands of desks doing thousands of tasks?
I know it was still a struggle to live back then. No phones. No electricity. No iron lungs. Child labor. Prohibition.
But they survived.
They survived without computers and electric razors and Porches. They survived without The Voice and The Walking Dead.
I know they also had syphilis and diphtheria. They didn’t have the polio vaccine or a heart lung machine.
You know where I’m going with this.
What do you think the world was like before all this instant ticky tacky gratifications like Facebook and freezers?
It was harder. It was scarier.
But it was quieter.
There was more time to look inside and contemplate our role in the world. Our future. Our past.
We cannot change where we are, what we’ve developed, nor where we’re going. Our children’s children will go places we only dreampt of in science fiction and fantasy.
That’s what people thought a hundred years ago, too.
They couldn’t do a thing about horse dung in the streets or malaria or lack of refrigeration.
But they could dream.
Just like we can dream.
Dream of a quieter world. A peaceful world. A world where time has no meaning, nor does politics or war or greed.
They dreampt of that a hundred years ago.
We can dream of that today. And tomorrow.
Until then, find a quiet place, far away from the maddening crowd, and connect with your soul. You live in a city; find a park. You live in the countryside, find a different countryside. Listen to what the Earth is saying to you. It talks to you, it talks to me…even when you don’t feel like talking.
It’s the only peace and quiet you can find that’s true and good.
And we all need a little true and good in our lives. Right?
Alas, my art gallery affectionados…this is the last evening standing on the veranda, showing off unique and wonderful art. It’s getting to the point where a sweater is just not enough.
As I was wandering from one point to another, I came across this bizarrely amazing artist Ben Ashton.
On his website he has many different types of artwork.
But I came across these paintings and I wondered….what was he thinking?
Was he trying to smear the most intimate parts of the human body?
Looking at the magical paintings, we will never know.
A friend of mine through WordPress, TextileRanger, wrote a blog on Gifts for the Person Who Has Everything. She writes about her birthday, and the best gift she could get was that her daughters came and took furniture and articles that have been sitting around being unused for like ever.
And it got me thinking about birthday presents in general.
I don’t know how many of you still exchange gifts for birthdays or Christmas. In our family, grandkids and kids are a must. Husbands (or myself as a wife) are more of “I need this now so why not give it to me for my birthday/Christmas?” sort of thing. We still exchange birthday gifts with my husband’s family — there’s about 3 grandkids and 5 adults, and it’s been a tradition for like ever, too.
Once you get up in age — and these family members run from 40 to 73 — have just about everything they need. Their collections of unicorns, Precious Moments, or Chicago Bears paraphernalia is fuller than a landfill. Half the time I don’t know what they do in their spare time, so buying something personal gets to be harder and harder.
So the last few years we have been giving food and drink for presents.
I think my family couldn’t be happier.
These are gifts that are fine-tuned to my friends and family’s taste. They are foods and liquors that they would normally never purchase. I once gave a cousin two lobster tails for his birthday. Last year we bought a different cousin a selection of hot seasonings and sauces, because he loves hot food. A couple of weeks ago I gave a girl cousin a bottle of Relax German wine and a tin of Pirouette cookies to go with it. I would never buy a $7 tin of cookie for myself, but it was fun to buy them for someone else.
I think realistically our family and friends have enough t-shirts, earrings, and video games to last three lifetimes. But to pick out something special that doesn’t have to find shelf space is probably the best idea ever. That friend/family member can enjoy that special expensive beer, cookie, or chocolate creme pie more than the shirts that won’t fit or the video game that’s too hard.
Think about what you’re giving to those who mean the most to you. Maybe it’s time to stop the calendars and socks and give them some wonderfully decadent treat to show them how much you care.
And maybe if you’re lucky they’ll invite you over to share said goodie…
Sam Gilliam (born November 30, 1933) is an African-American painter associated with the Washington Color School movement.
Gilliam’s hallmark “drape paintings,” which consist of stained fabric or paper resembling tie-dye, are regarded as a major step in the development of American art.
A pillar of the Washington, D.C., modern and contemporary art communities, internationally acclaimed Gilliam has been testing the boundaries of color, form, texture, and the canvas itself over the course of his long, productive career.
His works have also been described as belonging to abstract expressionism and lyrical abstraction.
More of Sam Gilliam‘s work can be found at http://davidkordanskygallery.com/artist/sam-gilliam/ and other galleries around the Internet.
Now and then there are some that hit pretty close to your life. And it’s creepy.
I just watched two sessions of Cool Kids.
For those who don’t know, Cool Kids is a new show about four “seniors” living in a retirement community who are sassy and a little troublesome. The most recent show was about one of the main stars (Vicki Lawrence) turning 65 and how she didn’t want to even acknowledge it. The foursome went out to a dance club and had a great time embarassing themselves before they went out drinking and met for breakfast the next morning in sunglasses.
65 and wanting to believe 65 is not old. And going out and doing crazy things to prove to themselves they are indeed as young as they feel. Which, in the end, was strained back muscles when they stood up and headaches in the morning.
Does that sound familiar or what?
I’m afraid I identify too closely with these oldsters. They say and believe the things I say and believe. They laugh and pick on each other and get sassy and throw parties they’re not supposed to throw. They fear getting old and being forgotten once they pass. The show didn’t get into grandkids or working past retirement age. Perhaps those will be touched in future episodes.
But what they did talk about and complained about sounded a lot like me.
Vicki Lawrence is 69 playing 65. The other actors are 62, 63, and 75 respectively. All within my age sphere. Their characters — and probably the actors themselves — have been there, done that. And so have a lot of us.
At this point in my life it’s great to see someone else portray my ups and downs on the screen. It’s great to see seniors being proud to be seniors. They may ache a little more and get tired a little more, but their memories of once being young and agile are every senior’s memories.
Of course, my life on the big screen will come crashing down once the show is cancelled.
But for now it’s fun watching the female lead talking about having a Peanut Booze and Jelly sandwich for lunch.
On my way to researching something or other last night, I came across a blog by Brett about becoming a minimalist. She went through everything — I mean everything — and got rid of 75% of her clutter.
Now I don’t know how much clutter she had, or what she considered clutter, nor do I really know what a minimalist is…unless continuously getting rid of “stuff” puts me in that category. But I could identify with her energy.
I had to step back for a couple of weeks to declutter my head. I wasn’t sure what my problem was — I still am not sure. But I realized I wanted to get a little more clear on where I was going and what I wanted.
But I realized I had to cut some of the clutter from my life.
I’ve gone into my WordPress account and unfollowed everyone who hasn’t posted in 10-12 months. They’ve moved on. So must I. I am in the process of going to each and every one of the people I follow and comment on their postings. After all, that was the reason I followed them in the first place.
I decluttered. And I feel so much better.
I’ve also decided that I may not have much revolutionary things to share with those who choose to follow me, but I have my experience and my passions, and who knows — maybe my passion will ignite your passion.
I find that my daily life is very routine, which is just fine with me. But I am into this art thing, and I keep finding amazing art from around the world. Things that amaze me. Humble me. Make me wonder.
Those are the things I want to share with you. Perhaps now and then some sage advice ( like I know what I’m talking about). but mostly I am working on uncluttering my life. Keeping what is important, and letting go of the rest.
What’s left is wonderful. And that’s all I need.
Good to be back.
Russian-born painter Wassily Kandinsky is credited as a leader in avant-garde art as one of the founders of pure abstraction in painting in the early 20th century.
Born in Moscow in 1866, Wassily Kandinsky took up the study of art in earnest at age 30, moving to Munich to study drawing and painting.
A trained musician, Kandinsky approached color with a musician’s sensibility.
An obsession with Monet led him to explore his own creative concepts of color on canvas, which were sometimes controversial among his contemporaries and critics, but Kandinsky emerged as a respected leader of the abstract art movement in the early 20th century.
Kandinsky’s creation of abstract work followed a long period of development and maturation of intense thought based on his artistic experiences.
He called this devotion to inner beauty, fervor of spirit, and spiritual desire inner necessity; it was a central aspect of his art.
More of Wassily Kandinsky’s work can be found at https://www.wassilykandinsky.net/.
St. Petersburg-based artist Vladimir Rumyantsev was born in 1957 in Cherepovets, Russia.
Vladimir paints mainly in watercolor, and his works are full of fun. He has become popular for his “St. Petersburg cats.”
His paintings are well-known and appreciated all over Russia, and many of them found their place in museums across Europe, USA, Britain and other countries.
The specialty of his works is the humorous representation of cats’ lives, often in human roles, which still makes them loved pets.
Perhaps one of his cats are based on yours!
Vladimir Rumyantsev‘s work can be seen around the Internet.
Blogging has become an inexpensive, anonymous way to purge your soul of thoughts, sins, and the uniqueness that makes us human. On a blog you can be anyone. An old man, a young girl. A college student, a doctor. None of that matters when it comes to writing what you think and feel.
Lately I have been wondering the purpose of it all. What is the end game for all of us writing what’s going on and what we wonder and what we feel?
These 152,000,000 blogs have become the paper journals of the past. A safe, anonymous place to get it all out. Some will sympathize, some will give you a “like.”or two. And that makes you feel good…if for just a little while.
But your problems, your wonderings, your achievements, will still be there.
What is it we want in this blogging world? To not feel alone? To be appreciated? To be loved?
It’s a wide, wonderful, terrifying world out there. For us who love the written word or taking pictures of it, it helps when we pull those wonderful, terrifying things into a 3-D world where we can look at them.
Lately I feel like I’m not really contributing anything to the tangling of words that come from 152 billion computers. I follow a number of blogs that I rarely get a chance to read. Life does that when you’re busy working and living. I feel like I’m cheating other bloggers who really have something to say.
But lately I feel like I don’t do anything special enough to blog about. Not in the scope of this massive blogging world. This is not a depressed or disillusioned person writing this blog. I’m doing good. But I think we all get to the point where we wonder, what’s the point?
I think that for a while I am going to go on a journey all on my own. There is nothing to share that hasn’t been written or shared in the library of the Internet. I think I will continue my Sunday Evening Art Gallery blog, for that is a world unseen by most of my followers, and I love — just love — sharing unique artists with you.
Forgive me if I don’t read your blogs, and feel free to stop reading mine. I’m trying to convince myself that likes and follows don’t mean anything to me in the long run. It’s a false sense of popularity, you know?
I will be back. A writer can’t stay away from writing. But I’ve got to clarify what writing is to me. I need to explore fall in all its chilling glory. Just another step on the footpath to tomorrow.
Be well, dream wonderful dreams, and keep coming back for the Gallery.
Nancy seems to find words when I have none. For my women friends, and even the men, a heart-felt blog for this Wednesday…
I was speaking recently with a friend, and he said that he finds himself more fearful now that he is older.
He said, “I feel vulnerable. Now that I am old and not as strong as I used to be, I worry that someone could hurt me. That in a bad situation I might not be able to protect myself. It’s a terrible feeling to have to think about that.”
I was impressed that he could share that vulnerability with me.
But part of me wanted to laugh.
I didn’t, of course. He was thoughtful, sincere, open. So I was open with him as well.
“I understand how that feeling of vulnerability can be overwhelming. But think about this: IT IS WHAT GIRLS FEEL EVERY DAY. Girls – from the time they are small -understand vulnerability. We know that there are others who are bigger and stronger and can hurt us…
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WD, aka Wild Drawing, was born in Bali, Indonesia and has degrees in Fine Arts and in Applied Arts.
He started off as street artist in 2000 and from that time he spends most of his time to work in the streets, even though he never stopped working in his studio.
In the beginning his work involved a full range of the so called street art from paste ups and stencils to installations and freehand murals.
For about ten years he has been focused on mural projects and as a medium he combines roller technique with spray paint.
He always tries to interact with the spot where he is working, by utilizing various elements that existing around, so to create harmony between the work and the place.
His style consists of highly detailed photo realistic technique, influenced by comics and graphic novels. Social phenomena, life style, art or nature often inspire him.
More of Wild Drawing can be found at http://wdstreetart.com/
You find an artist you really like. It’s a particular form they made that has caught your eye. But when you go to their website there are a number of different forms they dabble in.
How do you know which is their main focus? What they’re known for?
I came across an artist who did abstract photography of things like water drops. When I went to their website, they had different categories to choose from: Human Nature, Landscapes, Abstracts, Commercial Stuff, Services, High Speed Photography, Conceptual, Natural Beauty, Graphic Design, Animals, Bugs, and My Ego.
How do you choose which style to share?
I don’t like to choose one from each heading, for I think it takes away from what the series is trying to convey. It’s like multi-colored confetti.
I may showcase something I think is cool, but the artist is really well-known about some other field of endeavor. That’s why sometimes it’s hard to showcase an artist. All of their talents are amazing, but I can only show off one.
Any advice you have to this newbie art collector would be appreciated.
Sometimes diversity is confusing.
I have run out of creative words for the evening — and probably the week — so what is better than an advertisement for my Sunday Evening Art Gallery blog?
If you read my blogs and haven’t been over the the main gallery to check out my unique art collection, you don’t know what you’re missing. I highlight artists that take creativity to a new and unique level. That includes the classics as well as the newcomers on the block.
Here’s a sample of what you’re missing:
Follow my Sunday Evening Art Gallery blog for new and wondrous art every week! And tell your friends!
I think I would have a field day if I were a psychiatrist psycho-analyzing myself. Don’t you think you would too?
I would have the obvious analyzations such as being bullied in junior high (who wasn’t?) led to my insecurities about my looks for the following 55 years; dating the same guy for three years in high school only to be dumped when I graduated (who hasn’t?) was a waste of time; or I could have been a writer 40 years ago if I knew anything about the savings and loan business. Those kind of growing up stories we all have. I grew up and survived and found the right guy in the end.
But I wonder how my 65-year-old mind would be dissected today?
Since I can’t fall asleep these days (guess my body’s waiting for retirement to sleep), I get hooked on the strangest things. Not long ago I finished 80 episodes of King’s War, a Chinese TV series with English subtitles. I’ve always been a scaredy cat but now I’m downloading horror movies to watch before I go to bed. I’ve recorded all these cooking shows to watch but all they do is make me hungry so I watch Cabin in the Woods instead. I’ve not made my way through those awful Saw movies, but I saw a predecessor which kind of laid the path before my feet, and it wasn’t bad.
What happened to the introspective, insecure girl who used to watch movies like A Hard Day’s Night and Camelot?
What happened to the woman who felt ethereal? Cosmic? Enchanted?
Perhaps I’ve just gotten older. Perhaps those movies that once pulled my heartstrings would bring an incredible amount of memories back that I just don’t want to deal with.
I think it’s because I’m afraid that if I open that door of emotions I’ll never survive. Not that I have any crushing loss in the past — as a matter of fact, if I had a huge loss, that might make more sense. For I would have something big and real to cause my pain and confusion.
It’s the little things that upset me. Memories of friends I’ve let go. Things I could have done differently with my kids. Cousins I lost touch with. Jobs I should have worked harder at. What should bring me hours of fond memories actually makes me sad. And I don’t want to go through all the uncomfortableness of reconnecting with people long gone out of my life.
I figure handling Freddy or some foreign samurai is a lot easier than trying to remember the girls I used to go to the dances at the Navy base with. Maybe I’m ashamed to know that I don’t remember what I should remember.
Scary movies are safe playgrounds in the fact that I would never go or do the stupid things the characters go or do. I would never explore that tunnel or turn around to see what that guy by the truck was doing with that body wrapped in the sheet. I can handle movie madness because I wouldn’t do anything so shallow or crazy.
But I would do the stupid things I’ve done.
I really do have fun watching the Chinese movies and TV shows. They take me to a time and place I never knew existed. Maybe that’s what scary movies do, too. Take you to places you’ve never been. Nor would ever go.
But I will always go back to my past.
Wu Guanzhong (吳冠中, 1919–2010) is one of the best known contemporary painters of Chinese origin.
He has painted various aspects of China including much of its architecture, plants, animals, people, as well as many of its landscapes and waterscapes in a style reminiscent of the impressionist painters of the early 1900s.
Wu’s paintings have the color sense and formal principles of Western paintings, but a spirit and tonal variations of ink that are typically Chinese.
Natural scenery is reduced to its essentials – simple but powerful abstract forms.
Wu Guanzhong passed away in Beijing on June 25, 2010.
You can find more of Wu Guanzhong‘s artwork across the Internet, including China Online Museum.
A most major distraction
I glance towards colleagues
Writer’s idea of humor
Creative jokesters, these bards be
Fly lands in someone’s hair
Restless in its annoyance
Won’t someone give him a sugar cube?
Lots of people with no socks
End of summer, end of sandals
Autumn nips of cold and gold
Summer Solstice come and gone
The robes of Fall begin to unfurl
Protect us from Winter’s breath
Soon the fly will hear the call
Change of seasons
Taking its sugar cube along
On its never ending journey south
Hope he wears mismatched socks, too
(c) Claudia Anderson
Fong Qi Wei showcases the radial symmetry found in flowers and the beauty of their individual components by tearing them apart and placing each part separately.
By doing this, all of the various textures and shapes get to stand out on their own, becoming independent sections.
“I am fascinated with the intersections. Intersections are places where boundaries break down, and these are areas where really interesting things happen.”
“Boundaries are comfortable and static.”
“In particular, I am interested in the intersections of the sciences, art and technology.”
There are so many beautiful versions of Fong Qi Wei’s art that you must go to his website to enjoy them all: https://fqwimages.com/
Lot of drama going on around us these days. Some, like the 17th anniversary of 9-11, can’t be helped. Me, squirting chocolate frosting across my desktop and computer as I try and get it out of my donut, is self-imposed.
I am at the point in my life/career that I’m tired of learning.
I know they say you’re never too old to learn something new. But that’s not always the way it is. I think it’s just that I’m just tired of pushing temporary info into my already crowded brain.
Our world is whirling around us faster than I ever thought possible. In writing a blog for work about teaching coding to youngsters, they said in 10 years the coding we learn now will be obsolete, as new ways of coding and doing things change.
So I’m starting to wonder then…. why bother?
I know we need to deal with the now now. To keep a job these days you need to be on top of things: trends, programs, new ways to collect and control data. Yes, the methods will be time-saving and more efficient, but you still have to learn the darn way first.
I used to be bothered by the image of the old person sitting on the back deck in their golden years watching grass grow. But nowdays that seems so appealing.
Working for a living is much different than it was when I was a linofilm typist back in the day. Of course, I’m sure my dad would have said construction was different when he was discharged from WWII.
I know. Everything changes. Get over it.
But you get to a point where your brain just wants to stop being stuffed with meaningless stuff that won’t make a difference a few years from now.
I’m tired of learning. What I want to do now is experience something new every day.
Learning how rainbows are formed from water crystals in the sky isn’t important. Seeing the rainbow is. Knowing how they built the Eiffel Tower or Mount Rushmore isn’t important — seeing them is.
The hows have never stuck around in my brain to begin with. I wanted to be an actress in high school but I could barely memorize a paragraph. I wanted to be a marine biologist but I lived in Illinois. A lot of things I had to learn just to get a job, just to get by. And marine biology wasn’t it.
I don’t want to learn any more programming or data entry or try to sell my business. I want to learn what I want to learn, not what I have to learn. I want to learn French and how to crochet and how to cook a souffle. I don’t want my future to rely on how much I remember after I learn it.
Maybe this is a “getting old” thing. More likely it’s a millennial thing. Most of them do pretty much what they want to do. They work, they save a little, but they don’t tie their money up in in huge bills like mortgages and fancy cars. They take their free money and spend it. They experience things. Not memorize things.
Tonight I’m going home from work and sitting on the deck and watch grass grow. Why not? Nature has a lot of things to teach us, too.
Don’t wait to experience life. To experience the world. Don’t wait until you’re rich enough or skinny enough. For enough will never be enough. And you’ll never experience the beauty of the world sitting behind a desk in a fluorescent lit cubicle.
I posted this a couple of years ago — it’s still fresh and beautiful in the hearts of those who remember.
And we will always remember.
To send light into the darkness of men’s hearts — such is the duty of the artist. ~ Robert Schumann
Lady Liberty Memorial – 9/11 Memorial Museum
Flight 93 Memorial, Shanksville, PA
Swiss photographer Fabian Oefner, 28, from Zurich spent four weeks researching gigantic gaseous formations that can be spotted beyond our own galaxy, the Milky Way.
These spectacular pictures may look like NASA footage of far off galaxies.
But in fact the star-studded images have been created with some fiber optic lights in someone’s home.
Two hundred bright blue, red and orange fibre optic lamps were hooked up to just three AAA batteries to produce the incredible sight of one of the universe’s most spectacular and creative phenomena – the nebulae.
Oefner created the images images by taking long-time exposures of several fiber glass lamps (exactly, those ugly-looking lamps, that were extremely popular in the 90`s) moving around in a darkened room.
Afterwards, several images were multiplied in Photoshop to achieve the density of such a structure.
While this gallery tends to shy away from Photoshop as an art medium, I believe the initial set up and photography was amazing, so it warranted a space in the gallery.
More of Fabian Oefner‘s work can be found at http://fabianoefner.com/.
But I have to recommend another blogger to you. Have to. Because every time I check in with her she’s drawn another great piece of art.
Her name is Sharon Mann and she the creator of Make Art…Magic Happens. I enjoy her art because I just enjoy her art. Every day is an attempt at something new. Sharon seems to enjoy her art, and it shows.
I also love her blog because she is real, with real feelings. In Sharon’s “about” section I read she lost her husband and best friend about a year ago, and her art is her therapy. It’s almost like her creativity is an extension of her love and loss. Check her out.
I find this same mixing of fantasy and reality in my friend Ivor‘s blog at Ivor.Plumber/Poet. Ivor writes mostly poetry. I sometimes have a hard time reading his poetry, for there is pain there, tinged with hope. Ivor lost his wife and friend almost six years ago, and much of his words are about love and loss and pain.
There are others I follow who have similar stories to tell…stories of sadness, loss, of wandering and falling and getting up again. Some of the names escape me now, but it all swirls into one pool.
I sometimes wonder if all bloggers are like this. Their art, their poetry, their stories, so wonderful because of some loss in their life. I follow those with life-threatening illness, with degenerative eye disease. It’s funny, because I followed them first because I enjoyed their writing. Their point of view. Their pain is almost an after effect.
I am lucky. Except for the loss of my brother a few years ago, and my parents long ago, that kind of pain has not knocked at my door for some time. I know he’s there…she’s there…waiting for me to drop my guard so they can slap me with the cold reality of life and death and some unknown illness. I have to stand guard, for I know once it comes it will rip my heart out and leave such a big hole I will never recover.
For now I will revel in the work my blogging friends do, no matter what the cause. I have led a wonderful life so far…who knows what the future will bring. I put whatever I have in my writing, whether it’s pain or joy or contentment or sorrow. I will deal with the highs and lows of death and beyond in my next life.
I’m too busy being who I am in this one.
The work of Sara K Byrne is definitely multilayered.
Her images are double exposures – a technique that originated with film cameras. Basically a segment of film would be exposed to light twice.
The darker areas in the first photograph would record light in the second photograph.
More of Sara K. Byrne‘s amazing work can be found at https://sarakbyrne.com.
Went away for a long weekend camping with family. I ran around with both grandsons until I passed out at night. I want to live a hundred years. Two hundred years. I want to run around with every grandchild in my bloodline.
Thinking about all that makes me teary.
So I thought I’d come on back to writing.
But I can’t seem to find my inspiration anywhere. I mean, I’ve looked all over for it. Down in the library, under the kitchen table, behind the nic nacs. Yet I can’t seem to find it.
I hear it whispering late at night, when the lights are off and the summer breeze blows through the windows. I think I hear its laughter around the corner, just a step ahead of my treading gate. I sit on my sofa, looking out the window, at the sun setting behind the trees, and I wonder where my inspiration went.
I know emotions ebb and flow, fly high and dig low, and comes back around sooner or later. But while I’m on the flow, on the low, I wonder if I’ll ever be amazed at my own work again.
Does your inspiration come and go? Do you listen to voices on the wind and wonder if there’s a story there, and nothing comes to mind?
I remember those times that I felt possessed. It wasn’t me writing…it was some gypsy spirit or wood sprite or Shakespeare himself writing through me.
Since I’ve lost my inspiration I might as well be writing a grocery list.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been off playing with children who don’t care about much except play and treats and snuggling and watching fun movies. They don’t know much about ego or the evil in the world. They love out loud, they trust completely, and they are comfortable with everyone in the family tribe.
Part of me wants to be a kid again. To not care about anything on TV but fun movies and cartoons. To go outside and ride a bike and kick a ball around the yard and draw on the driveway with chalk. To be a child and not punch a time clock or put numbers in a computer or think about death.
And then, when I wrote a story or drew a picture, it would be the best in the world. My parents and friends and family would think I was the greatest writer in the world, and would tell their friends who would tell their friends.
From the sound of all of the above, I better find my inspiration soon. I can’t keep running around all day acting like I’m three. I wouldn’t be able to watch the last season of Game of Thrones. It’s rated R. And no three year old is allowed to watch it.
Tell me….do you lose your inspiration? How do you get it back?
- As a paper engineer, Matt Shlian’s work is rooted in print media, book arts, and commercial design.
He frequently finds himself collaborating with a cadre of scientists and researchers who are just now recognizing the practical connections between paper folding and folding at microscopic and nanoscopic scales.
Of his work, Shlian says: “In my studio I am a collaborator, explorer and inventor.”
“I begin with a system of folding and at a particular moment the material takes over.”
“Guided by wonder, my work is made because I cannot visualize its final realization; in this way I come to understanding through curiosity.”
More of Matt Shlian’s amazing work can be found at https://www.mattshlian.com/
Everyone loves music of one kind or another. I’m big on new age jazz, upbeat classical, and hair band rock n roll. But my favorite music is definitely Irish music. There is something magical about the chords and dreams of a land across the sea.
My mother was Irish — she was actually a Heinz 57 kinda gal, but I’ve pulled out the Irish in her to celebrate as my music of life.
A couple of weeks ago I went to Irishfest in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, a three-and-a-half day celebration of everything Irish. But the main reason for my two day foray was the band Gaelic Storm.
Now I know I’ve talked about their music before. It’s upbeat pub music, as they like to say. Lots of songs about drinking and wandering and being Irish. They were the band playing Irish music in the movie “Titanic,” but for more than a glance they weren’t part of the movie. But they’ve gained quite a following in the last 20 years, Milwaukee Irishfest being one of their promoters all these years.
The crowd that Saturday night was the biggest of the fest — there must have been at least a thousand people in front of the little stage. I was three benches back — I always love to see them up close.
The reason I’m talking about this group is to highlight what is magnificent about any live performance. For an hour and a half, these one- to two-thousand people sang along with every song, jumped and danced, held phone lights up in the air, and just became one dynamic force.
One of this Irish band’s favorite crowd pleasers is a song about the bond between Ireland and the United States. Of the Irish and the Americans. Patrick Murphy, the lead singer, always starts out this song by saying, “We are not democrats. We are not republicans. We are human beings that need to take care of each other.”
There is something about music…live or otherwise…that transforms each of us. Live is better, for the energy bounces off every individual and onto the next. For two hours everyone is one. Country, classical, blues — it doesn’t matter. We are what God wanted us to be.
We all came here from somewhere. And we’re all going to the same place in the end. Why not spend that time in between listening to music?
Cross the waters, thousands at a time
All we owned was in our hands
Holding tight to faith and something we could find
In this strange and distant land
Took one last look behind
Open hearts and open minds
And these colors that we held so dear before,
We planted them together on these foreign shores.
My green, white and orange, the red white and blue
Yeah, my green white and orange, the red white and blue
Young and hungry, ready for the brawl
We were driven by desire
No way back, we were prepared to risk it all,
We’d been tempered by the fire
We built the roads, we built the rails
We shared our songs, we shared our tales
Now our colors fly together side by side,
And we lift them to the sky with peace and pride
My green, white and orange; red white and blue
Yeah, my green white and orange; red white and blue
Lift your colors every woman, every child every man
Our song has just begun
We fall together if together we don’t stand
We are many, we are one
Not everyone will live to see what we dreamed this world to be
When we doubt we’ll have the strength to see it through
These colors show us all the way to what is true
My green, white and orange; my red white and blue
Yeah, my green white and orange; red white and blue
Yes, my green, white and orange; my red white and blue
Yeah, my green white and orange; my red white and blue
Yeah, my green, white and orange; my red white and blue
Yeah, my green white and orange; my red white and blue
Then I had coffee with my bestie I shall call LuLu.
LuLu has just gone through eight rounds of chemo for cancer. She has been in the hospital twice for dehydration; she has lost weight and all her pretty dark hair. She’s had sores and she was anemic. She would cry for an hour over real things and no-things.
And yet when we got together she was happy, talkative, and optimistic.
It’s natural to think that there, but for the grace of God, go I. If the shoe was on the other foot, your sad friend would be thinking that themselves, believe me.
Our friends, our parents and friends and brothers and sisters didn’t ask for their battles. They didn’t IV leukemia or chrones. They didn’t eat one sweet roll and get diabetes. You get my drift. They didn’t ask to have this life and death fight.
It just happened.
It will happen to all of us.
Our friendship has been growing year by year. What started as riding together turned into coffee and muffins and chats. She needed to get out of her house — she needed to talk. And when something big’s going on in your life, you want to talk. You need to talk. You need to understand that you didn’t do anything to get on this side of the fence, and that everyone around you is helping push you back to the other side.
I’ll never forget the day I found out I had breast cancer. I came back to work from the doctor and pulled my little section together and just told them. I couldn’t imagine hiding this from the people I worked side-by-side with. They were friends. Maybe we didn’t hang out after work, but they were friends that cared about each other. Including me.
I made my way through it. LuLu will make her way through it.
Sitting there tonight, gnashing while gossiping and whining together was the most magical experience I’ve had in a long time. We talked about everything. Our being grandkids addicts. We have no money. We hate cleaning house. We have husbands and kids and co-workers. We have fears and tears and dreams of going to our youngest grandkid’s wedding.
LuLu didn’t ask for this burden. But she’s not going through it alone. That’s what coffee and muffins are for.
Take your friends out for coffee and muffins. You never know what burdens they’re carrying. And even if they don’t have a burden to bear, it feels good to talk about husbands and kids and co-workers.
Especially over blueberry muffins.
HAPPY CELEBRATE YOUR CREATIVEFRIENDS WEEK!
This has been a great week. I loved sharing the blogs I enjoy reading. There are so many others that I didn’t get to share — but there is always time one day in the future. Know every blog you write is putting magic in the air.
Like I said last year, there are thousands and thousands of bloggers out there. You may follow three or three hundred. The purpose of this made-up week is to encourage you to interact with those who write/paint/travel/share with you. If you like what you read, click that little LIKE button. REALLY like what you read? Drop a comment! We/you/they love to hear back from you!
You are all magic. Listen to that voice inside you and let it inspire you. You only go through life one time…make it magical!
One of the blogs I’ve followed is Glorialana Magazine. I don’t know if her name is Glorialana, or if it is a reference to glorious thoughts and emotions, but her blogs always shimmer with an ethereal light. Maybe it’s the way she shares historical events or her favorite artists, but I always feel I’m floating on the clouds as I read her. Maybe it’s just because she starts each blog with “Hello God!” How can you not feel the magic that is to come?
Thank You for August-Hedonist.
And Thank You for this happy possibility to write these words I was struggling for them with the enemy of self-criticism and guilty. I had sat down at the desk, opened this page with intention to write something – and checking gmail, surfing Dailymail and etc. were hugging my creative essence. I had felt a bitter aftertaste when days by days spending with a celebrities gossips and aliexpress things I closed an empty page in Glorialana.
My dear friend, the Angel is awaking me up. Vladimir Rumyantsev, the painter, by his tender brush has drawn my creative vulnerable essence as a cat with yellow eyes hiding under the chamomile umbrella. I am afraid, yes, I am afraid, because my inner self-critic prevents me to see you. But Your Love and light is stronger I see in your eyes and I remember how I love your eyes, how I love your smile. You are important for me because I feel that I can enlighten your world. Perhaps it sounds a little grandiloquently – I live because of You.
Because of You I have find a new motto for Glorialana Magazine – “Romanticizing The World” inspiring by German poet and philosopher Novalis “To romanticize the world is to make aware of the magic, mystery and wonder of the world; it is to educate the senses to see the ordinary as extraordinary, the familiar as strange, the mundane as sacred, the finite as infinite.” Beautiful aim, task and motivation to wake up and to write for You.
“Darling, wake up, please. Today is the 11th of August. Are you going to sleep whole summer?”, tender voice of the Angel is whispering. “Are you going to sleep and miss the symphony of berries, apples, pears and poetic picnics with you love? When are you going to enjoy my company? Life is short and happiness is subtle. Please wake up the world is waiting!” I has woke up and opened my eyes happily feeling your breath.
We live this August – Hedonist. Hedonist comes from the Greek word hedone “pleasure” and is related to hedys, which means “sweet”. And you know referring the topic of hedonism I have found a brilliant book “A Hedonist Manifesto: The Power to Exist” by Michel Onfray.
“Enjoy and have others enjoy, without doing harm to yourself or anyone else”, Michel defines hedonism. In these simple words the philosophy of my life is packed.
In hedonistic style we are celebrating my awakening enjoying Summer Berry and Champagne Soup with Floating Islands Gordon Ramsay has blended for us.
Thank You for You. Because of You I grow and glow. Because of You I have found the meaning of my writing here – “Romanticize the Word and Enjoy and Have Others Enjoy, without doing harm to yourself or anyone else.”
Enjoy Summer! Enjoy August-Hedonist!
Make your way to Glorialana’s world and let her sprinkle some sparkle on you!
Anyone who can post every day AND make it fun to read has to be in my top blogs. Ann Koplow and her blog The Year of Living Non-Judgmentally has been running for 2063 (as of today), and her photos reflect her day-to-day world. She says ” I sometimes say I’m a clinical social worker, sometimes I say I’m a psychotherapist. Whatever title I use, I work with people at a major teaching hospital, and I specialize in group therapy.”
What she should really say is that I’m a blogger through and through.
In the last two thousand and thirty-eight days of blogging and living, I have never said, written, or thought, “I give up!” Today, I am saying, writing, and thinking it. Why? Because starting yesterday, every time I use my laptop to try to create a new blog post, contact WordPress support, or do many other essential tasks, all WordPress gives me is this unhelpful, unchanging screen:
That gives me nothing and no way to post or to get help.
I’ve given this a lot of time and many attempts at solving this. My mind is giving me no more ideas and options.
I give up!
But I can NOT give up blogging, no matter how many new obstacles life gives me, because this blog and my readers give me so much.
So how can I keep giving myself and my readers more daily gifts?
My phone does not give me the ability to contact WordPress for help, but it does give me the ability to create a new post.
So I can give you, today, this daily blog and give you my latest photos.
Harley is obscured there, just like solutions to my blogging problem are hidden from me now. Is it curtains for my blog? Or will some solution become clear and emerge?
Is there a recipe of steps that will give me back the ability to blog from my laptop? If not, maybe I can give myself comfort with the delicious food Michael gives me.
Maybe some computer genius, somewhere, will give me some solution to my WordPress problem. If not, I’ll just keep blogging, giving up disappointment and judgment.
This is the kind of look I give the world when I’ve had no sleep the night before. I’m going to give my haircutter, Mia, a look at this photo the next time I see her, so she can give me a similar haircut next time.
Even if nobody can give me the answer on how to blog again on my laptop, my phone will be just that good as my daily blogging machine.
I give my patients the choice of five “Coping and Healing” groups every week. This gives me tremendous satisfaction.
If you were lost in the woods — of WordPress or elsewhere — and it got dark, what would you do? I’ll give you all the time you need to think about that.
Michael keeps giving us amazing meals — that’s the one he gave us last night before we gave my son Aaron a ride to the airport.
I took this photo to give me a clue about how to find my car in the enormous and confusing parking lot at the airport, which always gives me a headache.
After I took that picture, we did not give up when we were told that Aaron needed a printed-out visa to board his flight to India, even though a website had given him the erroneous information that he could board by giving the visa information on his phone. Michael and Aaron gave me his bags to watch while they ran to the Hilton Hotel, which had printers which gave Aaron what he needed.
I give up trying to explain that any better.
Is it time for you to give up some comments below?
First, give it up for Jason Mraz performing “I Won’t Give Up.”
I now give up thanks for all people, animals, and things that help me create this daily blog, despite all the obstacles life gives me.
… “You’re golden!”
Keep those pics and thoughts coming, Ann!
Sometimes as a reader you prefer shorter commentaries that touch you personally, like music, movies, trivia, or illness. Ray V. at Mitigating Chaos, says of his blog: “Mitigating Chaos is sometimes very serious, sometimes frivolous and more often than not… somewhere in between.” And that is where I am in my life. His experiences are my experiences. So much fun.
I am starting to feel like David Kanigan, one of my blogging heroes. Just recently, I teased DK that he allows himself to get into crazy situations, simply to have something to write about on his blog.
He did not deny my accusation.
Last night, we were quietly celebrating Megan’s discharge from the hospital and my wife’s birthday, which is today. It was 9pm and we were just getting around to eating when someone noticed that Martha’s face looked a little swollen.
Indeed it did and being the responsible pet owner/babysitter I am, proceeded to place two, 25mg Benedryl caplets in a folded piece of yellow American cheese and gave Martha a “treat.”
An hour and a half later (10:30pm) I was driving down I-20 towards The Augusta Emergency Animal Clinic with a lean Chow -mix that now resembled a plump, red, Char-Pei.
As we arrive, the entrance is covered in blood (not much of an exaggeration. I wish I thought to take a photo) and Martha gives me that “I don’t care how sick I am, but I’m not going in there” look. Well, it is the only emergency vet in the area and they were having a whopper of a night. I was talking to the owner of the bleeding dog and the dog survived its encounter with another dog. There were some mighty interesting characters that made their way through those doors for the hour and a half we were there and I’m sure they thought the same about Martha and me.
Martha was not her “little miss personality” self and had to be muzzled by the staff as they gave her an injection of Decadron and some Hydroxyzine pills to take home.
Additionally, when she gets stressed, her anal glands go into overdrive. If you don’t know what that means, lucky you.
So off we went, back into the rainy, dark night for the 35-minute drive home, arriving at 0128hrs. (1:28 am).
Who needs sleep?
Stop by Ray’s Place and catch a smile or two!
Nothing is more fun to read than someone who writes and thinks like you do. That is what I find in my friend Nancy Roman and her blog Not Quite Old. She talks about her life and it’s crazy cycles with humor and heart. She is the kind of writer that you can say “I’ve been there too!” Like a long-distant friend, she shares her thoughts, smiling as she does so.
Years ago, when I was single – I’d say young and carefree, except I wasn’t quite that young, and I’m not sure I was ever carefree – I went out to dinner with a girlfriend. It was a fairly skimpy meal as I recall, and we were deep in a conversation (probably about work…we hardly ever discussed men; just our crummy jobs), so I suggested we go back to my place where we could continue to bitch and at the same time have ice cream to supplement our small but pricey dinner.
When I took out the carton of gelato, my friend was rather astonished.
“Were you expecting company?” she asked when she saw the container of very premium ice cream.
“No,” I answered. “It’s just a little pint of my favorite flavor.”
“I can’t believe you would buy something like that for just yourself,” she said.
And I smiled.
Because I had learned that lesson long before.
When I was a kid, I knew a lovely old woman who was part of our extended family. Rachel had been widowed for many years. And when I was a teenager, I remember a conversation with her that made a lasting impression. It was one of those small moments that changes your life and you recognize immediately that it is changing your life. I can’t recall what sparked this serious discussion between a young girl and an 80-year-old woman, but we were talking about happiness and loneliness.
Rachel said that the secret to happiness was being nice to yourself. “I’ve lived alone a very long time,” she said. “So I take extra care to be kind to myself. Who else is responsible for making sure I have a good life?” she said. “I often have no company for days on end. So I treat myself like company every day.”
In that moment, I understood.
I see too many people who don’t treat themselves well.
Who don’t think they are worth the good ice cream.
Here are five things you can do right now to treat yourself like company.
1. You deserve to live in a clean house. When company is coming over you always pick up, right? Well, clean the house for yourself. You deserve a nice environment. You deserve a shiny bathroom. You deserve clean sheets when you go to bed at night. A fresh-smelling refrigerator. A clean house is a gift you give yourself.
2. You deserve to dress well. Remember the last time you got all dressed up and felt wonderful about yourself? You can do that every day. I don’t necessarily mean a fancy outfit or an expensive necklace. Just this: When you do shop, buy only what you love. Even if it is a sweatshirt – which I hope it isn’t – but if it is, at least buy one that you LOVE. Too many times I see people shopping whose attitude seems to be ‘good enough.’ As if they don’t believe they are worth the time or energy needed to find something that fits well, compliments them – and most important – makes them happy. Hold out for something that thrills you. Soon you’ll have a wardrobe (even if it is a small one) composed entirely of clothes you love. And so you’ll be wearing something you love every day. Think about how good that would make you feel.
3. You deserve to use your good stuff. Do you have your Grandma’s silver? Some beautiful wine glasses that were a wedding present? Some candles with a heavenly aroma that you never use? USE THEM. Drive that vintage Mustang to the post office. Take out your good china tonight. Light those candles. Treat yourself like company.
4. You deserve to love what you do. Hardly any of us are lucky enough to make a living doing what we love. If you are one of those few – wow. But most of us have to buy groceries and pay the rent by keeping our boring or maybe even awful jobs. That’s just a fact of life. As my mother used to say, “Welcome to adulthood.” But on the other hand, that lousy job is eight hours a day, and you probably need to sleep eight hours too. But that still leaves another eight hours. Every day. Could you fill ONE of them with something you love? Reading, swimming, baking muffins, playing with the dog. You deserve to spend some time with a smile on your face. And what if it turned out that you could do that for TWO hours a day? Double wow.
And while I am on the subject of doing what you love:
5. You deserve to be unashamed of what you love. Eleanor Roosevelt said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” I recently overheard someone ridicule a friend for reading a romance novel. And the romance-lover was embarrassed and actually apologized for her poor taste in reading material. How I wish she had said, “I LOVE this book!” What do you love? Star Trek conventions? Dolly Parton music? Making paper airplanes? Knitting little sweaters for your hamster? You are lucky to have found something that gives you such pleasure. Be proud of it.
You deserve it. You are worth the good ice cream.
Wander over to Nancy’s blog and see if she doesn’t make you feel like she’s living your life, thinking your thoughts.
My second celebration of all things written is the world of poetry.
Poetry is that magic verse that wraps around your soul in the shortest amount of words. To me, poetry is felt differently than stories. They are more intense, more compact. I follow a number of poets, and one of my favorites is Walt Page at Walt’s Writings. He has a lifetime of memories and thoughts, and the way he writes them makes you feel his love, his pain, and his creativity. He is called the Tennessee Poet. I can see why.
I Will Be Back
I will never be gone forever
For I will be back one day
I will return in the words I wrote
In the songs I sang
And in your memories of me
I will be back on the soft breezes
Caressing your soul with soft kisses
I will be in the songs you hear
As you dream
You will find me in your lonesome dreams
Dancing you to the edge of time
I am the man who lives forever
Always a memory
Your love is my reason for being
So follow the sun
You’ll find me in the mountains
You’ll find me by the sea
You only have to look for me
So open your eyes and see
For I will be back one day
Please wander over to his blog and feel the magic from his poetry. He’ll love your visit!
This is a totally made up holiday that was so successful last year I decided to repeat it. I follow a number of poets, artists, sculptors, and everyday wisemen and women, and am always in love with their blogs.
Last year I honored: watercolor artist Carsten Wieland at Brushpark-Watercolors; David Kanigan, fascinated by the world at Live and Learn; a witty and bright Englishman Dave Whatt at his blog DaveWhatt; Maxima, a flowering love poet at Hills of her Chastity; Brenda Davis Harsham, my magical poet at Friendly Fairy Tales; my friend and deeply emotional poet Ivor at Ivor.Plumber/Poet; Catherine Arcolio and her fantastic haikus and pictures at Leaf and Twig; Mark Andre and Katzenworld is a wonderful world of cats and their stories you cannot resist. And finally Darlene Foster at Darlene Foster’s Blog, a writer and a traveler whose writing is so real you feel like you are standing next to her.
Now it is time to honor my second set of bloggers.
I have no award to post upon their website; all I have is a love of their writing and a respect for their path in life. There are so many wonderful writers out there — all speaking from the heart. I hope that you follow the links and find new worlds too. Be sure to follow the links and check them out.
The first choice of my week-long celebration Rita Faes, in her world called Gwenniesgardenworld. Rita is a wonderful photographer. Her gardens are her favorite topics, but she has such finesse with a camera she could photograph anywhere. Her photos make me want to walk through her garden or countryside.
I highlighted her work both here and on my Sunday Evening Art Gallery website. Some of her photography:
Take a walk over to her website and take a look at the magic she collects with her camera. You will want to walk through her garden, too.
Kevin Sloan is a Denver based painter working primarily with acrylic on canvas and occasionally drawings and paintings on paper.
His curiosity and love of travel has led him to live and work in a wide variety of cities across the United States.
Sloan’s work is characterized by a deep reverence for the natural world.
The often symbolic paintings are an ongoing inquiry into the relationship between the marvel of the natural world and the mundane and often blunt reality of the modern era.
More poetic than merely descriptive, the work moves between direct starkness and lush theatricality.
Recurring paired themes are fragility and strength, wonder and sorrow, and loss and resiliency.
More of Kevin Sloan’s remarkable artwork can be found at http://www.kevinsloan.com/
These last few days/weeks/months have been a flutterby as far as keeping one foot in front of another. I took an online test last night that confirmed that I have adult-onset ADHD. That, along with the online symptoms of Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, and dementia, make me truly falling apart.
Alright, I’m not really sick. Well, maybe a little ADHD, but who isn’t?
I think that as the path in front of us gets shorter and the one behind us gets longer, we all tend to be alert for whatever disease/neurological condition sits waiting for us in the shadows. Along with real symptoms, many of us tend to blur the line between a symptom and a life style. I know I do.
Your lifestyle doesn’t include a lot of extra-curricular walking, so every time you feel a pain in your chest you think heart attack. You’ve forgotten where you left your phone or keys that you just put down two minutes ago and you are well on your way to dementia. You can’t smell the roses on someone’s desk and already you have Hyposmia, Anosmia, or Parkinson’s.
What is with us?
It can be exhausting to get hung up on medical twitches. I don’t have a lifetime to turn around built up health problems like being overweight or wrinkly skin. Most of my ailments are from the fact of getting older, period.
But I know more and more people who turn to the Internet to diagnose their symptoms until they are convinced they are going into a diabetic coma, even if they’re not diabetic. They let uncommon sense run over their common sense.
I do believe that as you get older you are more susceptible to things falling apart and weaknesses in your immune system giving way to diseases with 15 letters. It’s part of life. But I also believe that the older you get the more you fear leaving this world. And that any virus or broken hip can be the start of the end.
None of us want that.
So the point of all this nonsense is to pay attention to your body. Really pay attention. Don’t invent, don’t fantasize, don’t whack out. But pay attention.
I did seven years ago and caught breast cancer before it spread. Another time the moment I saw red on my skin I knew it was cellulitis and went to the doctor. Those are the things you work with. The things you pay attention to.
Don’t be checking the Internet for a symptom found in 19,000 diseases and disorders. It just ages you. Keeps you away from the great things in life. The things that make you who you are.
And that person is a wonderful person.
Although with insomnia, restless leg syndrome…
Carsten Wieland is a watercolor artist from Essen, Germany.
During his journeys to the United States he fell in love with abandoned buildings, and after he spent some time drawing them, decided to paint them in watercolor.
He started filling up hundreds of sketchbook pages with small paintings of abandoned farmhouses until he felt brave enough to paint his first watercolor on quality paper in early 2016.
Painting watercolors became his daily therapy and obsession.
His watercolor scapes include houses, scenery, boats, and anything else that calls to him.
You can find more of Carsten Wieland‘s amazing watercolors at https://brushparkwatercolors.wordpress.com.
Alexa Klienbard has focused her work on what human beings must protect in the garden of our Natural Environment.
She has been driven to work on paintings that hint at the potential silence that will be left in our remaining habitats if more and more species are lost forever.
“These shaped paintings are each a single character unto themselves, each one reads overall as a single medicinal plant, complete with “dancing leg” roots, standing brave to the onslaught of man’s collective drive to put his species above all others.”
Kleinbard’s paintings, with their close up view of a healing plant and their far away view of a silent world, offers the viewer a chance to ponder the future of our planet.
Alexa Klienbard has no website, but are for sale across the internet.
She sits alone in the rocking chair
At times it seems as no one’s there
She dresses in her Sunday best
And faces the fields out to the west
A soft blue dress and hat of white
A pair of shoes that now are tight
She hums a song that once brought tears
And slips back gently through the years
They danced beneath the tall oak tree
To Goodman and Miller and Peggy Lee
He held her close and sang a song
Of life and death and love gone wrong
They farmed the fields and raised a son
But never finished what they’d begun
He drove away one summer’s morn
Through fields of grass and golden corn
She sat in the chair and began to rock
And kept her eyes upon the clock
The night came fast and next the dawn
The morning dew sparkled upon the lawn
She never knew where he had gone
Or why she couldn’t come along
Her heart was broken that summer night
And never again could mend it right
She sits and rocks for most the day
And hums the song they used to play
She waits for him to come back home
Until that day she rocks alone
It’s good to have my cord back.
Now one would think that now that I’m whole again with computer on my lap I would be lost in the world of Brigadoon or Etruria or Paris. Stories and poems and downloading new images for my gallery.
I’m really crashing this Monday night. But fear not, creative friends…I shall be dreaming of new stories that may turn into magical stories. Or discovering artists of unbelievable breadth and insight .But not tonight.
So what have I learned from this foolish debacle of senility and long distance longing?
Ah, my friend…all it means that I need to pay attention. I need to make lists, I need to make bullet points and Post-it Notes and write notes on my arm and tie strings around my fingers and look behind every couch and chair.
In the long and short of things, I just need to slow down and pay attention.
Sound familiar to any of you?
Sharon Johnstone is a Birmingham, England based fine art nature photographer. She completed her Fine Arts degree at the University of Creative Arts in 1993, specializing in printmaking.
Of her dew drop photographs, she writes:
‘With macro photography I escape to another little world. I love exploring the tiny details in nature that often get overlooked.”
“I love finding beautiful colors and abstract compositions within nature. I think I am at my happiest when I am crawling around on my hands and knees exploring a small patch of moss dripping with sparkling dew in the early morning sun.”
Sharon takes a unique view of the world through her photography.
And our world is better for it.
More Sharexon Johnstone’s art can be found at http://sjfinearts.com/.
Some time ago a fellow writer told me that he used a voice dictation device (app or purchased product, I don’t know) to get his stories down on paper. I kind of Googled that this morning, and there are indeed all kinds of apps that allow you to dictate your story while you’re doing laundry, picking up dog doodoo or driving.
Do any of you use that sort of device?
I always have a lot of ideas bouncing around in my head. I’ll see something or hear something and think “that might make a good story/poem.” So I fumble around for a notebook and pen and try and jot the input down. Well, you can’t really pull over to the side of the road every five minutes when you’re driving 50 miles per hour to jot down story ideas. Nor can you sneak into the bathroom the same amount of time and write something down while at work.
So I thought…gee…this could be the device for me!
Then I thought about it.
Here’s me, driving down the backroads on my way to work, talking away on my phone/computer/bluetooth device, blabbering away scenes from chapter fifteen. And just when the killer reveals himself, there’d be a 90 degree turn in the road, and I’d miss the turn and blabber straight off the road into the cornfield.
Or what if I’m dictating a poem and I don’t notice the car in front of me has stopped? I have a hard enough time paying attention to the car in front of me the way it is.
So okay. Instead of typing on my computer (which doesn’t work because the cord is 4 hours away…you already knew that..), I dictate chapter three on my phone or Ipad from the livingroom. Again, I know me. It would go something like this:
“At this Vera stood, her well-worn dress falling down to cover Get down from there! the tops of her feet once again. She fumbled with the few buttons at her neck, her eyes and cheeks puffy I told you to get off the table! Stupid cat with sleeplessness, her scar swollen Oh shit I knocked the glass over slightly from her seated vigil all night.”
I think I’m pretty darn good at grammar and sentence structure, as I am a writer and proofreader at work. But the truth is I don’t speak as I write. I’m much more eloquent on paper than I am speaking aloud. So instead of saying, “Clouds and rain and mud and bushes all swirled together in some hideous form of vertigo. Grasping the steering wheel, all Anna could do was hold on. Her brain was being jarred, her body bouncing around as branches cracked and split under the forward motion of her car….” I would find myself saying “She crashed her car in the bushes.”
As much as I love technology, it’s not always my friend. Of course, dictating might get rid of all the “as if”s and “it seemed” and runaway semi-colons. It would save me rereading the story fifteen hundred times to catch all the repetitions. Or all the “he said” “she said”s.
I guess I’m always going to be a computer writer or a pen and paper writer, putting the words down one by one. I’m not the world’s best when it comes to multi-tasking.
And anyway, when writing, it’s like a different person enters my body and speaks for me.
And that person doesn’t drive…
Do you ever anticipate an event in your life that you eat, sleep, and dream it until that day comes? Do you fantasize the day, the evening, so much that you’ve worked out a couple of different scenarios, either of which could be the ultimate experience?
And then do you go to this marvelous event, just to have the event not be anything like your fantasies?
That happened to me yesterday.
I went to the Renaissance Faire yesterday. For you who do not know, it is a medieval world ruled by Queen Elizabeth and her lovely court and her manly advisors and knights. People dress up in authentic garb, anything from bodices and a farthingale to men in doublets and codpieces.
The faire is made up of all kinds of vendors hawking everything from Elizabethan garb to dragon necklaces. There are entertainers everywhere, some on big stages, some standing on the dirt path. It is a jolly good time.
This time I went alone. Now, I have been going to this Faire off and on for 30 years. Times have changed. That’s fine. It’s bigger and better. They have now “theme weekends” to attract more visitors. Swashbuckler Weekend, RenCon Weekend, Monsters and Magic Weekends. Thinning out the original purpose of the faire to attract more visitors.
I used to dress up for these things. My bed and breakfast was the poor man’s Renaissance atmosphere. I collected dragons and unicorns. I bought wreaths of flowers for my hair and mugs and pottery with dragon heads on them.
But this time it felt different. It’s been feeling different the past years.
The vendors were different, the acts were different. No problem. There was the same youthful vigor and fantasy in all the young people there.
All the young people there.
Suddenly I felt I was on the other side of the gate, looking in.
Now you know I’ve got this problem with getting older. It’s a mindset that sucks and that I’m trying to get rid of.
But sitting on a bench in a dress (no costume this year), trying to write down story ideas from lords and ladies that passed by, I realized that all the women dancing around the maypole and all the men dashing with swords were my kid’s age. The singing and the dancing and the bawdy words and acting were all done by kids half my age.
And that made me feel distant.
When I was a Rennie Groupie I was in my late 30s. I made friends with some of the vendors, bought banners and dragon napkins holders — the whole nine yards. I had had a spot (more like a strip of green) where I advertising my B&B.
Now I sit on the sideline, the old vendor’s shop now a broom market; the only banners I find (which I bought 30 years ago) are on the souvenir shop walls. None of what I thought were “quality” items were to be seen. Like those guys moved along, too.
Why does this change bother me?
I truly believe mankind needs to evolve. Each generation takes whatever’s out there and makes it their own.
Maybe I just don’t want them to take my worlds.
It’s like a blog I wrote some time ago about going back and walking the block where I used to live. Nothing was the same. Houses changed, streets changed. Some so drastically I was shocked.
The Renaissance Faire, other faires, are for the young and young at heart. Bringing the thought of gallantry and virtue and unicorns and dragons into a child’s heart and thoughts starts them off on a cleaner path through life.
There’s not a lot of room for crones there.
Or maybe not crones who decided to go alone and became disillusioned.
Maybe next year I’ll get all my over-50 friends to dress up and shop and drink and laugh and dance around the Maypole.
If I’m getting old I’m taking everyone else with me…