Author: humoringthegoddess

I am a writer of fantasy fiction that often surrounds middle-aged women. I am a married mother of two and granny to three, a BoHo Chic kinda gal. I am recently retired and busier than when I worked 9-5. But writing and blogging is my main game.

One Flu at the Cukoo’s Nest

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 3 Comments

1-breathing-masksFlu season around my house landed yesterday.

Three out of four adults out for the count with temps around 101, urpy stomachs, achy muscles, and minus zero energy.

The weird thing about this is that it’s 70 degrees outside, a lovely Fall day. Gentle breeze, soft sunlight, gold and red and orange leaves dancing in the air.

How do you get the flu in weather like that?

Colds and flu and fevers and all that go along with being sick has no place in the annals of Fall. Illness is supposed to hit us in the depths of winter when there’s five feet of snow, or when it’s raining buckets. It’s supposed to hit when you don’t feel like going to work or when you didn’t finish your term paper or when you’re supposed to go visit your aunt who talks too much.

It’s not supposed to keep you home from work to take care of the two littlest ones who can’t take care of themselves.

Or is it?

I took off work so I could take care of my  littlest grandbaby, put him in a stroller and walked around outside and then sat and rocked him on the back porch swing, held him while he slept, then drove to Kindygarten and pick up grandbaby #2 so we could stop at McDs for an ice cream cone after school. Later the three of us sat around and watched the Lego Movie while the rest of the adults owwwwed and oohhhhed and slept on the sofa.

The adults will all be back on their feet tomorrow, a little sluggish, a little achy, but feeling much better than 24 hours earlier. And me?

I’ll be back at work too, great memories of rocking babies in the afternoon breeze,  and sneaking ice cream cones after school.

The flu’s not so bad after all.

At least until I get it tomorrow….

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — Janet Fish

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Janet Fish is a Contemporary Realist American painter whose still life paintings seem t0  radiate and reflect color.

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Fish invigorates the still life form, both by the energetic way she paints and the often witty and ironic combinations of objects that she depicts.

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She often chooses as her subjects objects that are translucent, transparent, or reflective, in particular colored glass.

Janet surrounds these objects with flowers, bright cloth patterns and other objects in brilliant hues, balanced with strategically placed rich darks.

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Fish sometimes works from photographs, but often her paintings are composites of many photographs and still lifes, which she rearranges to form her compositions.

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Her remarkable way of painting light and shadows puts a surrealistic glow on her fantastic art.

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I feel like I can almost see my reflection in her glass works. Can you?

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More of Janet Fish’s fantastic realism artwork can be found at the following sites:

http://linesandcolors.com/2011/03/08/janet-fish/

http://www.dcmooregallery.com/artists/janet-fish

Get Past the Black Cat Thing

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 8 Comments

black-cat-946162872Let’s get this out of the way first.

I know this doesn’t apply to my readers, but get the message out:

DON’T HURT ANY BLACK CATS THIS HALLOWEEN! IF YOU KNOW OF SOMEONE PLANNING SOMETHING NASTY, CALL THE POLICE!! THERE ARE NO SUCH THINGS AS CATS TURNING INTO WITCHES AND VICE VERSA. Cats can’t help the color of their fur, no more than people their skin.

Now that that’s over…

All Hallow’s Eve.

That magical time of the year that embraces too much candy, Midwest rain, and follow-up visits to the dentist. How can you not love a day like that?

According to http://www.history.com/topics/halloween/history-of-halloween, Halloween’s origins date back to the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain (pronounced sow-in). The Celts, who lived 2,000 years ago in the area that is now Ireland, the United Kingdom and northern France, celebrated their new year on November 1. This day marked the end of summer and the harvest and the beginning of the dark, cold winter, a time of year that was often associated with human death.

Okay, I see where the death part comes in. Cold weather, not much fire, working in the fields 18 hours a day — not a happy recipe for long life.

But then empty heads turned to black cats and witches and things they couldn’t explain. Black cats used to rule. They were held in high esteem in early Egyptian times, dating back as far as 3000 BC. I mean, who doesn’t know Bastet? bastet_statue

It wasn’t until  the middle-ages in Europe that the black cat’s rock star status started to go downhill as they began to be associated with so-called witches. The hysteria of witches practicing black magic had just hit Europe and alley cats were often cared for and fed by the poor lonely old ladies (funny how some things never change) later accused of witchery.

So all this nonsense of sacrificing black cats and dark magic and hibbery jibbery came from the fear of cat ladies. Can you imagine? Imagination is one thing, nonsense is another.

I say let’s take this ghostly, spooky, totally Americanized holiday and bring it back to its ancient roots in Egypt. You don’t have to like cats to respect them. Worship you cat. At least let him sit and type with you on your laptop. Embrace the millennium in which you exist and embrace life. Get rid of the fear of the hokus pokus associated with this really delightful celebration of candy and pumpkin pie and the Monster Mash. And knock the nonsense out of anyone who says different.

They say the border between worlds is thinnest at Samhain. I’m going to go out and check the communication between worlds tomorrow night.  Who knows? Maybe my mom will stop by. Or dad. Or my dog Rennie.  Maybe I can catch up on the gossip from the other side. Who’s hanging with who. Who’s doing the Irish Jig on the table and who’s sleeping under it. Who’s got the best bonies in the neighborhood. Which cat is hangin’ with which dog.

There’s always a story somewhere. Whether you’re looking for it or not, it’s there, waiting for you.  Find one this Halloween. Write it. Live it. Sing it.

Who knows — maybe your black cat will sing with you!

 

 

HallowThankMas

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 4 Comments

christmas-scraps-145Ahhhh….All Hallow’s Eve is just a few days away. Time for candy and pumpkins and ghosts…and the official start of Christmas advertising.

Forget what used to be — forget that one didn’t hear “Jingle Bell Rock” or see a decorated Christmas tree until Thanksgiving. I’ve been in stores with entire sections cut off for Christmas decor already, and even heard a Christmasy song on TV last week, too.

I’m not even done raking my leaves.

I’m sure there will be hundreds of blogs and articles about getting back to “old-fashioned” Christmases and values and saying bah-humbug to commercialism. And thousands more toting their wares.

How can we escape the mania that is now called HallowThankMas?

I have a 5 year-old and a 8-week-old in the house these days. They make me want to go all out for Christmas — something I’ve let slide the last few years. Trees and decorations and Christmas Villages — all the stuff that made my Christmas fun through my formative years.

Yet they start advertising toys and merchandise so early, that by the time you get around buying that one “special” thing, that “special” thing is sold out. You don’t even have your Thanksgiving turkey bought and you are expected to decorate your house with garland and lights and blow-up snowmen. If you don’t, your kids, your grandkids, wonder what’s wrong with you.

I know it’s a bit early to gripe about a holiday three holidays away, but sometimes the pressure to roll along with the tide gets to be too much. I already don’t put my tree up until after Thanksgiving; I don’t watch Charlie Brown’s Christmas or Elf or It’s a Wonderful Life until Christmas week. I do drive down Candy Cane Lane during December, and enjoy the parties and appearances of the pretend Santas and the choirs in church.

But there has to be a line drawn between the golden hues of autumn and the snowfall of Christmas Eve. There has to be an appreciation of each special day for its own sake. It’s hard to buy Halloween decorations for your own little celebration when Christmas lights are blinking down at the end of the aisle. It’s hard to get your family together for a Thanksgiving Day dinner when everyone’s planning New Year’s Eve already.

I admit, I’m not an angel. “Sleigh Ride” and “Christmas in Sarajevo” never get old. I make an effort to share the “old ways” with my kids and grandkids, the meaning behind the words, the love, the magic of the Christmas season.

But I refuse to give in to full-fledged commercialism.

At least until Black Friday. That’s when my new TV will go on sale.

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — Kirigami

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Most have heard of Oragami, but have you heard of Kirigami?

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The major difference between the two is that, in origami, you fold paper, whereas in kirigami, you fold and cut paper.

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Typically, kirigami starts with a folded base, which is then cut;

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cuts are then opened and flattened to make the finished kirigami.

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A difference between kirigami and the art of “pop-up” is that kirigami is made out of a single piece of paper that has been cut into a design.

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Kirigami are usually symmetrical, such as pentagrams and snowflakes.

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It is an art that takes a true plan, a steady hand, and a piece of paper.

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Not to mention … imagination.

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Kirigami artists and clubs can be found throughout the Internet.

Me and Motley REALLY Ain’t Old!

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 2 Comments

I was flipping through old posts today and came across this oldie but goodie from a couple of years ago. Just think — I’m two years older than when I wrote this. And I think I need this more than ever. Happy Thursday!

Motley Crue Then

Motley and Me Ain’t Old

There has been a lot of angst going around the blog world lately. Problems, thoughts, ponderings.  It seems to be hitting the 50+ group, although I’ve read quite a few -50 uncertainties as well.  It is like we all are jugging the self-esteem balls, and we keep dropping one or two on our foot. The foot doesn’t break, but it sure as hell hurts.

Motley Crue Now

I myself was going to write a blog about feeling like I’ve really aged in the past year. You know those movie stars and rock stars that come out of mothballs for one reason or another, and you find yourself saying, “Man, have they aged!”  You know — the ones you loved in your teens or 20’s or 30’s.  You cut them no slack for having lived — whether it be through raising a family or doing drugs or surviving tragedies. You want to see them fresh and perky and full of energy. Not wrinkled or bloated. For that reminds us of … us.

I find that at 60 I’m caught between making excuses and living them. The wrinkles and extra pounds and the inability to fall asleep at night and achy legs and feet are from meds, stress, drinking caffeine, sitting at a desk all day, walking the dog, and a hundred other things.  It can’t be that I’m getting old. I mean, Keith Richards looks old. Chevy Chase looks old. Surely ~I~ can’t be looking old like that.

Can I?

This goes beyond our sound reasoning, beyond the I-loved-raising-my-family and the I’ve-been-through-a-lot-of-stuff stuff. It’s the accumulation of all those years of self criticism and/or questionable choices that’s winds up as lines on our faces and girth around our middles. It’s all those rock-and-roll concerts, college parties, and lonely nights.  It’s the sleepless nights staying up with children, hard physical jobs, and watching all those soccer games in the rain.  All these things play with our skin, our circulatory system, our psyche. We do all kinds of good things for ourselves and others. Still the legs ache at night, the circles under our eyes remain, and our hair still turns gray.

The good news is that we can always steer ourselves in a positive direction. We can become pro-active, getting involved in projects and people that keep us too busy to be counting years. We can — and do — make a difference in the world, in other people’s lives.

But still, there are tinges of regret in the eyes of the woman who looks back at me in the mirror. To be honest, there will always be a tiny flicker of sadness that I will never be as beautiful as Angelina or as smart as Einstein or as successful as Steve Jobs.  Now and then there will be a faint whisper of shoulda, coulda, woulda. Looking backwards is a natural action; regret (in some form) a natural reaction. I don’t like the idea that the road is longer behind me than in front of me. Nor do I care for the fact that there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

But then I turn on the stereo or put my ear buds in and listen to my IPod, and my youth comes rushing back to me. And I realize it’s never been gone. And will never leave me.

Come on — I know you’ve got it in you. Put on your favorite music — country song, disco song, hairband song. Turn it on and TURN IT UP. You’ll see you’re not an age — you’re a legend.

When we started this band

All we needed, needed was a laugh

Years gone by

I’d say we kicked some ass

When I’m enraged

Or hittin’ the stage

Adrenalin rushing

Through my veins

And I’d say

We’re still kickin’ ass

Kick Start my Heart, Motley Crue

Don’t Fear Pink

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 3 Comments

detailOkay. When you hear the word “pink”, what do you think of? Girls? Guys?

Girls usually think of girl babies, Barbie doll outfits, ribbons, shirts. Guys usually think of sissy things.

Why is that?

I have to admit that when I first think of pink, I think it a girl’s color. That is my old-fashioned, Catholic school, 50’s upbringing. I’m sure that’s the same problem guys have, too.

Moms in the millennium are a lot more savvy than that. While manufacturers don’t go out of their way to make pink clothes for boys, once they get into their teens, there’s always a pink dress shirt here or there to set off their wardrobe.

But still many people are gender-sensitive when it comes to that one particular color. Sometimes to the point of over-reaction.

Take the NFL, for instance.

They make a big deal of football players wearing pink during October for Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Accents of shades from fluorescent to carnation to cherry blossom can be found tastefully decorating gloves, sides of shoes, and towels. But once October is done, pfffftttt….so is pink.

Pittsburgh Steelers running back DeAngelo Williams wants to wear pink past the October 31 deadline. His mother died of breast cancer, as did four of his aunts. This is his way of saluting their battles.

Of course, the NFL said no. October only. No exceptions.

Now, I know mostly why the NFL is so staunch about its rulings. After all, one player will want to wear Nikes with a pink streak; before you know it, someone else will want blue and someone will want yellow and it will be a color war beyond imagination. You let one do it, you have to let everyone do it.

Who knows — what if this “pink” thing took off? What if in November someone on the Patriots wore a pink towel, then in December, someone on the Bears wore pink gloves? Would that distract from the game? From the point spread?

There are no rules about hair color. Or beards. So I guess guys dying their hair pink or green is okay by them. But a memorial to a death from Breast Cancer — something we all are fighting — that’s a little too “girly” for  them.

I’m not saying they should change the rules for the NFL. Or any other sport or corporate venue. But this is breast cancer. And breast cancer doesn’t stop growing at the end of October. Someone wants to wear a token color to let the world know they support the cause — I don’t see what’s wrong with that.

But then again, I’m a girl. And I’ve had breast cancer.

All I’m saying is it’s time the world stopped fearing the color pink.

If you fear being judged by the color of your gloves or shoes or headband, then you have a lot more wrong with you than a phobia of a color.

Go Pink!

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — Jose Vergara

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 6 Comments

 

They say the eyes are the window to the soul

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For 20-year-old artist Jose Vegara, he has captured those windows with impecable talent.

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Based in South Texas, Jose has created a series of beautiful and hyper-realistic drawings of eyes.

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The most mesmerizing aspect of the images are the colorful and luminescent irises which expertly catch the light and appear to shine back at the viewer.

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Each eyelash and pore of the skin is meticulously crafted, using only a white gel pen to pick out the highlights.

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This kind of detail is incredible for an artist to begin with — no less one so young and determined.

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More articles about Jose Vergara can be found at http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/03/25/jose-vergara_n_4989013.html and https://instagram.com/redosking/

Ahhhhhhhhh….

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 4 Comments

baby-flash-games9How quickly we forget — how quickly we remember.

I live in a small town in Wisconsin; a town filled with college students, farmers, business people, teachers — and kids.

Lots of kids.

Last night was a fund raiser at Culvers (Yeah Culvers!) for one of the grade schools. So like a good granny, I trudged along with my kids and grandkids to have a Butter Burger and some cheese curds. Oh — and some overly-sweet custard. As you can imagine, the place was packed with kids. Lots and lots of giggly, loud-talking, visiting-friends-at-other-tables kids. Pity the older couples who picked last night to eat out.

Years ago I would have been quite taken with all the rumpus. BG (before grandkids), the world was quiet. Quiet job. Quiet house. Quiet hobbies. But then life reanimated itself in guise of a grandkid. And it hasn’t been the same since.

Waiting for our food to be delivered by one of several guest gradeschool servers, I just sat and watched the dynamics around me. Mothers in ponytails and sweatshirts, dads in ball caps. Kids sharing food, laughing, talking to siblings and friends at other tables, junior servers walking around and around looking for number 50 or 37, some with trays bigger than they were. I was “introduced” to Hayden (who didn’t have a clue what to say…even to my grandson), and other kids who told me their life story of the day.

Some college kids took the corner table; they were as polite to the little servers as they took their cold burgers and chicken strips. Moms toddled behind those too small to serve alone; we all laughed and smiled and helped out when we could.

It was loud and chaotic and it didn’t bother me a bit.  I realized I’d rather be a part of the madness than stand outside looking in at it. That the point of life is to get involved in circles bigger than my own now and then. And not to care. To go with the flow.

As we get older we tend to spend too much time by ourselves. Now, sometimes that’s good. An evening, a weekend alone, brings peace and quiet and does wonders for the psyche. But isolation as a substitute for personal time, even with a full time job, is dangerous. The more time you spend alone, the more time you want to be alone. The more segregated you get. From society, from friends, from family. You have no one to bounce ideas of off, to complain to, to dream with. No one else to complain to.

And pretty soon you are left with only your own thoughts, your own opinions, which slowly whither into shadows, as you care less and less about what’s going on around you.

Going out to the madness of Culvers wasn’t necessary what my psyche needed after a long, tiring day at work. But going out to eat, watching families do family things and couples do couple things lightened up my spirit. The madness didn’t bother me because I didn’t have to take it home with me. Like a voyeur, I could participate for a little bit, then leave the kindergartners and their siblings behind.

I’m not encouraging you to spend hours in the middle of a group of kids or shoppers or football fans. Find a way to weasel your way into the party, get your chaos fix, then move on. Maybe it’s shopping the day after Thanksgiving. A live concert. A high school or college football game. Even a bowling tournament. Watch the people. Laugh at the people. Be one with the people. Just enough to get your adrenaline going and your reactions moving. Then go home to your quiet abode and feel good about being a part of something bigger than you.

Life is too short not to take part in the madness. For that too shall pass, along with the chance of getting one more song in, one more school play, one more tailgate party.

And nothing is better after spending a few hours with children than going home, sitting in your favorite comfy chair, taking your shoes off, and going, “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Silence.”

I’m Not Going There

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 8 Comments

65933_com_201106021652521973.gif1029cFor all of you expecting my usual, cheesy, astral sense of middle-age blog, sorry to let you down this evening.

There was something going around the Internet earlier in the week that had me more than unsettled. As often as not, I just breeze past the headlines I don’t care for, but even in doing so this time the impression still lingers.

And it was only from a headline.

Some parents decided to show a video of their son’s final moments of a high speed crash they were in. I don’t know if the kids died; I refused to read the article. The kids were high, that much I know. But I didn’t, couldn’t, read the article.

My first reaction was: Who would share something like that? Why would they share one of the most painful, horrible, moments of your child’s life?

My politically correct side answered first. The parents shared this video so that others can learn from the tragedy. So that other kids will see what happens when you drink or get high and drive. That through their tragedy other lives may be saved.

Then my mother side chimed in. I am a grandmother. I have been blessed with two sons, a wonderful daughter-in-law, and two adorable grandkids. I weathered many storms with my kids as they were growing up, and we all survived. I love them all more than life, and would be crushed if anything like this happened to me. My life, my love, is my family.

My liberal side popped in. Who are you to say what goes on on the Internet? You are not a monitor. You don’t like what you read? Pass it by! Ignore it! Stop telling others what they can and cannot talk about. Life is not a bowl of cherries for everyone, you know.

Then my mortal side interrupted. This upsets you because you fear death. Death is the normal progressive end of life. The one thing you cannot control. You cannot let go of anyone you love. Your fear of no afterlife taints everything you think. Everything you do. Perhaps the boys are in heaven now, feeling no pain, no confusion, nothing but eternal peace.

Then my smart-ass radical side chimes in. Who in the hell are you to judge if they went to heaven? How do you know there even is a heaven? You are so quick to judge. You didn’t even read the damn story. You have no idea why the parents shared the video. Quit yappin’ about stuff you don’t know anything about.

My practical side offered a rebuttal. This was a tragic event in so many others’ lives. There are different ways of coping, different ways of healing. A moment’s misjudgement has changed thousands of lives in ways no one ever imagined. Instead of reacting, or over-reacting, acknowledge their pain, then go hug your own kids. Your own grandkids. Tell them how much you love them, warn them of the dangers of drinking or getting high and driving.

Things circle back and the mother reappears. Those boys were someone’s baby. Someone’s little guy. Children are not supposed to leave this world before their parents. They are supposed to grow old and have children of their own. They are not supposed to get high and race and crash and die and leave their parents with broken hearts. My own heart hurts. And I don’t even know them.

Which led towards the comment that started this whole conversation.

Who would share something like that?

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — Fabergé

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The Age of Faberge6bc106705542b2a887bbfa8f696e5259

The age of elegance, of decadence

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The series of exquisite eggs shaped by Faberge for the Imperial Russian family between 1885 and 1916, is considered as the artist-goldsmith’s ultimate and most long-term achievement.

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Gold, diamonds, rubies, enamel, all decorate the over-the-top gifts to the Russian Tsars Alexander III and Nicholas II as Easter gifts for their wives and mothers.

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 These are often referred to as the ‘Imperial’ Fabergé eggs.

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The House of Fabergé made about 50 eggs, of which 43 have survived.

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Two more were planned for Easter 1918, but were not delivered, due to the Russian Revolution.

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It was a time of rarity; of riches beyond compare, and poverty unimagined.

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And from those Easter gifts created long ago, a name, a heritage, was born.

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 Fabergé.

Your Title Here _______

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 4 Comments

What is in a name?

Moreover, what’s in a title?

Society as a whole these days has developed name tags for every nook and cranny available. From companies as big as Apple to small ones like John Doe, Inc., everybody has to have an extra few words after their name to distinguish themselves from the guy in the cubicle next door.

Who sets the qualificiations for these titles? Who gets to say what qualifies as a Graphic Designer vs a Graphic Artist? And does one’s qualifications need to be set in concrete in order to be respected?

I personally know people that hold the following “titles”:

Internet Data Conversion Analyst Specialist

Author

Intuitive Life Coach

Catalog Coordinator

Artist

Creative Art Director

Tax Specialist

Consultant

Some of the above titles are corporate; others are personal creations. Can you tell the difference?

It’s one thing to hold onto a title in hopes of getting the next one up the ladder. Senior graphic artists usually make more money than graphic artists; art directors more than assistant art directors. Titles often are reflective of the time, education, and experience put into one’s life status.

But often these same rewards take hold of our creative minds and pigeon hole us into corners we cannot get out of. If I don’t have a career of writing copy or documents I don’t have much of a chance for a job labeled “writer.” If I don’t have a degree in finance or accounting I can’t be a financial analyst, no matter how much math and economics I know.

We must leave the corporate titles to the corporations — there is no getting around big brother. But we can do something about our own titles — our own definitions of who we are.

Robin Storey wrote an interesting article on Writer vs. Author: What’s the Difference  (http://www.storey-lines.com/2013/04/writer-vs-author-whats-the-difference/). In it she said, “When I Googled ‘difference between writer and author,’ I came across the site ‘Difference Between,’ which explained it clearly. If you’re a writer, you can write about other people’s thoughts and ideas, but an author has to come up with the idea, the plot and content. ”

But in the same article, someone else said, “In other words, a  writer is focused on the process of writing, and as soon as they publish one book they’re on to the next. Whereas an author is someone who remains in the past, resting on their laurels and promoting their book instead of getting on with the next one.”

So am I an author or a writer? Does one get more respect than the other? Didn’t the author have to be a writer in order to be an author?  Am I a graphic artist or graphic designer? Don’t artists design? A beautician or hair stylist? Don’t beauticians style hair? An Internet Data Conversion Analyst Specialist or a Data Entry Specialist?

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. People will always see what they want to see. Once we step away from the way Corporate America sees us, we can better focus on a label that will fit us like a glove (even if the glove is fingerless..)

I took a (what was for me) big step today on Linkedin. I added a title of Creative Art Director to my work experience. No, I don’t have a M.F.A., nor do I work at an Art Gallery. But I am the master, er, mistress, of my own Art Gallery — Sunday Evening Art Gallery. I do all the research, the design of the site, the contacting artists and the decisions about what art is unique and what is ordinary. I have customers (viewers), take advice from readers, and spend hours upon hours devoted to my Gallery.

And I’m going to own that title. Just as I am owning the title of Author AND Writer. I’ve had articles published, and, hey! Doesn’t the mere fact that you are reading this mean I’m a writer? And I’m published?

Don’t undersell yourself. If you are well-versed in a subject, pick a title that reflects that. Don’t be afraid to take a creative spin on your creativity and sell it to the world. If you want your name on something, do it. You know your own limitations — don’t back down. Don’t let the corporate world define your personal space.

And while you’re at it — give yourself a raise!

 

Get Your Exotic On!

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 5 Comments

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Saw this picture on Google+ the other day, and it made me wonder — what’s your exotic?

Most of us are closet voyeurs at best. A peek here, a daydream there. Then back to work/family/football games, content with regular sunrises and sunsets and football fantasy pools.

But you know that somewhere deep inside you’ve got an exotic idea. An exotic dream. An exotic fantasy.

And most likely it will never see the light of day.

But I wonder — are exotics different when you’re younger?

I used to think it would be awesome to be dropped into the middle of Japan or China and find my way out. Oriental worlds are as foreign to me as the canals on Mars, so I thought getting a real fix on a world where their language is nothing but mixed up sticks would be quite exotic. The trip never materialized, but my curiosity continued.

I am the same person at 62 than I was at 22. And 42. But my idea of exotic has changed through the years. Octopus was high on the list, as was caviar and croissants. Now days, ate that, done that, so exotic has to be a little more … risky. Makeup? Nails? Travel? Space Travel?

My dreams and my pocketbook are miles apart, but that hasn’t stopped me from dreaming and researching the exotic. I looked up “exotic” in relation to clothes, and too many kinky selections popped up, so I will settle for BoHo for now. 

Food is an easy slide into the world of Exotic. Spices like Grains of Paradise (also known as Malaguena pepper) from Western Africa or Furikake Wasabi from Japan.  How about pho from Vietnam or  pambazos from Mexico or Tim Tam from Australia?  Our own American cuisine can be exotic, too, with turtle soup, grits, deep fried Coke, and alligator fritters. Who knew?

What about music? Can you tolerate strange melodies and different instruments? Different countries highlight different styles. How about Art? There are so many different types of art that exotic becomes an everyday word.

One cannot get hung up on words (unless you’re a writer). You have to explore words that dance on your dreams, words that make you say “Oh!” and “Wow!” and “Really?” It doesn’t matter if your version of a word is different than the next person’s. Who cares? Life is for us to explore. To dream about. To play with.

Exotic is just one of those play words. Like Unique. Adventurous. Surreal. Luscious. Savory. Words that make us want to explore more of what’s around us. To open our minds, our palates, our creative space.

What is your definition of exotic, anyway? Do you have fun with the word? With the imagery? Do you let yourself check out the extraordinary? The unique? The far away?

I like the word “exotic”. It makes me think of Mediterranean edibles and temples in Japan and punjambi’s in India. The exploration of words and worlds makes me feel like a kid again.

And there’s nothing wrong with that…

 

 

Use Your Words

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 5 Comments

 

th (1)What comes to mind when someone describes something as “Mediterranean”? Or  “savory”? When someone is described as a “godfather”, do visions of Marlon Brando come to mind? Or your Uncle Hal?

Descriptive words are as varied as the world is wide.

Having given credit to a very general cliché, let’s think about the concept.   We are conditioned to react to words based on our own experiences. Images flash into our minds before we even can think about them. That is why your choice of words in your writing is so important.

For example, at NLP Language Patters for Advertising  http://blog.nlp-techniques.com/2012/07/mmmmm-write-persuasive-advertising-food/, the author writes: “The menu psychology research found the use of these five descriptor categories in the labels, food descriptions (or both) help increase sales dramatically…Visual (handcrafted, slow-cooked, fork tender); Gustatory (crispy, creamy, spicy, melt-in-your-mouth); Health & Diet Words (low calorie, all natural, organic); Memories/Nostalgia (Ye Olde, Homestyle, Made from Scratch); Geographic (Cajun, Sicilian Style, Southwestern); and Brand Names (Jack Daniels Sauce, Oreo Cookie Ice Cream).

“They also say to avoid what are now considered menu description cliches: zesty, sumptuous, mouth-watering, indulgent, unforgettable, world-famous, smothered, hearty, flavorful, pan-fried, special, and using apostrophes (“”).”

So even when you think you are using creative words you might not be using the right creative words. Describing food is no different than describing thoughts, motions, locations, and ideas. From blogs to novels, descriptive words are the bridge between the mundane and the magical. And as writers we have to be able to dance on that bridge.

I used to be the queen of descriptive words. Every look, every thought, was punctuated with adjectives, as if the reader couldn’t figure out for themselves if the hero was aggressive or merely forward. These were good times, for in them I developed the art of language, and each over-used description eventually was either changed or deleted.

But how do you spice up your writing so others will get your meaning yet interpret things for themselves?

I have a hard time describing my blog as “spectacular” or my art finds as “fantastic” because the words are so generic and over used. But I still want to grab the reader’s attention. I want to tickle a nerve that’s been hidden for quite a while so the reader comes back for more. So in my quest to sell myself and my wares I need to find words that describe me and my craft and hone in on those words. Make them mine.

Developing a writing style of your own is important.  Read others’ writings. The Classics. Descriptive passages from Lord of the Rings or Farewell to Arms might be miles apart in style, but both are endless rivers of creativity. Take a look at free verse or rhymed or sestina  poetry and see how each word is stretched to its full extent.

Then find your own style and stick to it. Now, Stick To It is different than Never Change It. If you have a fancy for words, by all means use them. Then re-read your work and see if you needed all those words to describe your point. If you are a writer of few words, make those count. There are some words that can replace a paragraph. Learn them.

Words are music. They sing, they explain. They carress. They express. And they all are yours for the taking.

Use your words.

 

Dream A Little Dream

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 4 Comments

GODZILLA - 2014 FILM STILL - Photo Credit: Warner Bros Pictures

In my late night cannot-sleep mental meanderings, I often think how cool it would be if the afterlife were nothing more than eternal dreaming. Long after the neurons stop flashing, I’d still love to exist on a dreamplane someplace. Meeting people, doing weird things, drifting here and there, trying to make sense of nonsense.

Although the way I dream, I’d still have to have a “cosmic” wake up now and then.

They say we all dream. It’s just that some of us linger in the twilight longer than others. Hence, not enough deep sleep equals insomnia, dark circles under the eyes, and weird dreams.

Do you remember your dreams?

I would love to remember more of mine, although the more tendrils I pull out of the dream base, the more nonsense I find.

I do a lot of walking from building to building, making my way through warehouses, offices with eternal hallways, crossing city streets, and back through theaters and more underground buildings. I do a lot of “boss” dreaming, too, past and present, in offices I’ve never seen in my life. Strange people show up in my dreams, often TV or movie types, people I’ve often never given second thought to. I also still dream of my mom, although she’s been on the other side for 30 years.

Of course, weirdness is relative. I’ve seen godzillas in the distance but never a unicorn. I’ve flown and jumped off buildings and been able to take giant bounces down the street but have never gone to another planet. I write a lot of time travel stories, but I have yet to dream about going back in time.

In other words, I don’t encounter my daytime daydreams in my nighttime ones.

Maybe on some level that’s a good thing. Not being able to distinguish dreams from daydreams might be the first step to insanity. And I’m already a deal off-kilter.

But then, that would lead to quite an interesting writing career. Wasn’t Edgar Allan Poe and H.P. Lovecraft a bit on the “eccentric” side? (see http://brainz.org/10-writers-who-were-mentally-disturbed/ for a little eye opener).

I wonder what Stephen King or Dean Koontz dream about?

Maybe I don’t want to see where those tendrils go…

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — Abandoned Cars

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A silent sentinel stands guard

car2

Over abandoned fields and woods

car1

Their glory now only their failing memory

7

Did I once carry children?

3

Did I go to the prom?

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Did someone die here?

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Memory rots as their steel turns to rust

8

Their framework as abandoned as their dreams

car1

Their stories known only to the winds of the past

a9995a8370b390713bcf4ddbaf346a44

Announcement Fun for Friday!

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 3 Comments

****

Happy Friday!

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Just popping in to share some fun, amazing stuff this Finally Friday!

First — there is a new Gallery open at Sunday Evening Art Gallery! Amazing images, Amazing inspiration…

Star Stuff

v838-monocerotis

Star Stuff

Goddess Blog:  http://wp.me/p1pIBL-16Q

Website:  http://hubblesite.org

Of course, once you get to the front page, check out the OTHER galleries! Awesome, unique Art.

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And, once you are done flying through the Universe, there are other ways to celebrate, as today is …

Hug a Vegetarian Day

International Ataxia Awareness Day

Love Note Day

Math Storytelling Day

National Comic Book Day

National Crab Meat Newburg Day

National Food Service Employees Day

National One-Hit Wonder Day

National Psychotherapy Day

Native American Day

Save the Koala Day

World Dream Day

World Pharmacist Day

National Research Administrator Day

National Tune-Up Day

National Lobster Day

So tip your food service employee extra today, while you eat lobster and read a comic book…

Let’s Change Our Work Hours

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 8 Comments

keep-calm-mondayMonday Monday, can’t trust that day,
Monday Monday, sometimes it just turns out that way
Oh Monday morning, you gave me no warning of what was to be
Oh Monday Monday, how could you leave and not take me.    ~Mamas and Papas

 

Monday’s really aren’t that bad, but somehow our culture has psychologically made it the fall guy for all jobs we hate and bills we have to pay.

So I put it out to you — If mankind — or rather the working world — could work their “8 Hour Day” any 8 hours straight they choose, could Monday (or any other day) be still successful — and less stressful?

I will use myself as a shining example. As I’ve gotten older I’ve found myself to be a night owl. Or rather my body thinks it’s a night owl. I love the evening, the night — I could stay up until 1-2 a.m., windows open, music, writing, folding laundry, whatever the calling.

I also could sleep in until 8 or 9 a.m. every day after that, too.

So why couldn’t I punch a time clock at 11 am and punch out at  7 pm? Or some mornings punch in at 9 am and get out at 5 pm? Or punch in at 1 p.m. and scoot at 9 pm?

I know — first off you say I should get a second shift job. I don’t think they do my kind of advertising work at night.

I know — you also will say that companies can’t have people coming and going all the time; that their utilities would have to be on 24/7, which would cost more money to them, and less to me. Well, my household utilities are often on 24/7 — or 21/10 anyway, so it’s time for companies to join the millennium.

I want to be able to wake up with the birds when I want or sleep until they’re at their noon siesta. I want to wake up and see it’s raining and turn over and sleep a few more hours. I want the freedom to wake up peppy and prepped or sluggish and sluggy, and have both be an okay start for the day.

I suppose it’s one of those wasted daydreams like what I’d do if I won the lottery or lost 50 pounds. But I live on daydreams. I dance with the Arts, with the Muses, with the Dreamers and the Philosophers. Free thinking is a blessing, a gift, and a burden. Rather to carry that burden than others that exist around me.

But back to the flexible schedule. I suppose the truth is that I’d push the start time further and further back until I was working the night shift. Which is time to go to bed. Guess it is all just a continuous Celtic Knot with me at the center.

I suppose retirement is the only out for me. Or lots of half-days off. Or winning the lottery. My best chance is the last one.

Got a dollar?

 

 

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — Craig L. Haupt

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 2 Comments

In a Wonderland they lie, Dreaming as the days go by, Dreaming as the summers die: Ever drifting down the stream — Lingering in the golden gleam — Life, what is it but a dream?

~~Lewis Carroll

SHe loves me not

Craig L Haupt is a Maryland based artist who works with Pen & Ink, watercolor, color pencil, and acrylics to create whimsical abstract images.

The words of artist Craig L. Haupt are as honest as his works.

25, 2/24/09, 9:43 AM, 8C, 6828x8664 (468+1128), 100%, Custom, 1/40 s, R48.8, G4.1, B19.9

“Though having earned an Art Education degree in 1999 (at 50 years old) and taking the required art courses, I am for the most part self-taught.”

Bowling, 12/2/10, 12:38 PM, 8C, 7052x8123 (232+1382), 100%, Custom, 1/40 s, R69.8, G29.2, B45.3

“During my professional career, the early and latter part has been mechanical drawing/drafting. From childhood to present, I have been surrounded by my doodles and countless stick figures that have never left me.”

Pirates in a bathtub

“Over time, they all have been unintentionally blending to create a menagerie of different subjects.”

41, 9/30/09, 2:57 PM, 8C, 6612x7596 (528+1464), 100%, Custom, 1/40 s, R46.5, G2.7, B18.9

 Craig’s artwork can be found in several spots around the galaxy — his blog is  www.craiglhaupt.com, his website is http://www.clhaupt.com, and his FaceBook Art Page is Craig L Haupt.

The couple

Take some time and explore his works. You will enjoy them as I do.

Why I Write

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 12 Comments

man writing a contract

I write to tell my story

I write to share your story

I write to entertain

I write to be entertained

I write to escape this reality

I write to capture this reality

I write to make you smile

I write when I cannot smile

I write to make you feel

I write when I don’t want to feel

I write to hold onto the passion

I write to release the passion

I write to calm my thoughts

I write to excite my thoughts

I write to understand the world

I write to escape the world

I write because of overactive emotions

I write to make sure I have emotions

I write to hide my insecurity

I write to reveal your insecurity

I write so that I never forget

I write so that you can forget

I write to be understood

I write so that I will understand

I write because I am a writer

I am a writer

Because I write

Four Points in Black and White

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 8 Comments

success_failureContrary to what philosophers and psychologists think, life is really black or white.

Success or failure.

You can’t “almost” win a football game. You can’t “almost” get published. You either win the game or you don’t. You either get published or you don’t.

Yes, there are ever-increasing varieties of gray and cadet blue floating around between the two, allowing us to find a comfortable medium, but the reality is, as my friend Yoda says, “Do or Do Not. There Is No Try.”

This kind of cold reality does little to boost waivering egos. From kindergarten soccer players to ACT test takers, the world’s pressure to be a winner vs. a loser makes the grey evening darker and more obtuse.

How, then, in this truly black and white world, do we find — and retain — a healthy dose of ego? Of self worth? We merely need to how to play the game better, that’s all.

1.  Expectations

Earth to Human. There can only be one President of the United States. One first-place winner in American Ninja Warrior. Know that from the get-go, and strive accordingly. While “anyone can grow up to be president,” know that the other 242,470,820 adults in the U.S. may have something to do with that goal, too. Hone your expectations to your energy, ability, and luck.

2.  Goals

Everyone wants to hit the game-winning run, lose 40 pounds, have 10,000 followers on Twittter. But everyone knows that most times you can’t do it your first time around. You have to lose 5 pounds before you can lose 40. You have to learn how to Tweet before you can invade the Twitter market. You get my drift.

STOP SETTING UNREALISTIC GOALS FOR IMMEDIATE REWARDS!

Goals are a marvelous thing. An important thing. One thing kids today don’t get is that you have to do the work to get the reward. You only set yourself up for failure when you run faster than you can think. Set smaller goals. Get input, advice. Setbacks. But don’t give up when you don’t run the 4K after walking for three weeks. Be kind to yourself.

3.  Redefine

The old adage “Success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles which he has overcome” by Booker T. Washington still holds true today. I’m not saying you need to constantly stop and smell the roses — you’ll never get anywhere if you spend all day in the garden.

Can you be a winner if you lost a contract or a game or an argument? Of course.  Your effort to stay and complete what you started automatically puts you into the “winner” category. Can you be successful if your repeated attempts to lose weight don’t work? Yes you can, if you use what you learned in the failure to try again another way. One thing the ego refuses to give up is it’s drama of having to always be right. It’s all in how you look at the situation. You don’t always have to be right.

4.  Know when to cut your losses

That always sounds like a cop out, but I’ve seen people pound ideas and stories and escapades into the ground, destroying good intentions, because they just can’t stop trying. Years ago someone’s grandfather’s friend’s second cousin told someone that you do it or die. And some people are willing to do just that.

There are times when you just can’t move the dial into the “success” category. It’s not that you haven’t adapted, changed, tried. Your attempt in the first place puts you in the successful category. The result doesn’t. You continued your effort and it JUST DIDN’T WORK. Instead of trying “one more time”, sometimes it’s better to shelve the attempt and move onto something new. Keep the old goals as well-meaning but perhaps not well-thought-out.

It’s when you get burned out, stressed out, crabby, diseased, and physically sick that you’ve gone way past the win/lose line. You’ve lost all perspective. And that, to me is a failure, period.

Go for it — enjoy it — put your heart and soul into it. But give it a break, too.

Practice make Perfect.

 

 

Who Am I Tonight?

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 5 Comments

Alright Readers, Writers, Painters, Sculptors, and all other Creative Musi —tumblr_n768syHP341tp9r4eo1_500

I have been on the writing rollercoaster for quite some time now, enjoying the ride when I can get it, thinking about it when I can’t. It feels good to admit that I have focus, a purpose, and a plan (at least this week).

Before I settled on my current plan, I entertained another idea. A book, a novel, that would have taken a lot of research and smart thought and emotes in worlds I don’t often delve into.

I was going to write a book about dementia from the patient/subject point of view.

Being a mixed genre writer, I was going to throw in some faerie stuff in the prologue, and have that be in the patient’s thoughts throughout the book. The ending I was going to leave up to the readers. It wasn’t going to be campy; it was going to be merely a different take on the situation.

It’s a great idea. A great story. But then I started to think. I don’t know anyone with dementia. I don’t have it (yet), don’t have family with it, or friends, or acquaintances. The thought itself terrifies me, so that would have been my point of view.

After a lot of thinking and rearranging and NOT being able to rearrange my life, I decided to go in a different direction, working with something that I’m already familiar with, something I think will be a hit.

But one of my fears was that those who did have loved ones going through this tragedy would be offended that I “took it too lightly.” I mean, mixing faeries and memory loss and loss of bodily functions — what was I thinking?

So what I wanted to know was, have you ever written/painted/created something out of your comfort zone? Did you finish it? Did you do anything with it? Did you get any reaction because of it?

Maybe you’re pretty clean-cut but wanted to write a sex or demon novel. Maybe you wanted to paint a nude of someone. Or sculpt a piece that, in one way or another, was offensive. Did you do it?

Society is strapped with bungee cords that hold us back from doing anything too off-kilter. I admit I often am a victim of it myself. I often wondered if I took a Stephen King turn at a short story if my family would think I’m psycho. Or if I wrote 600 Shades of Grey if my grandson would coil back in horror.

There is a little of us in everything we create. Even when we step out of our comfort zone there is still a thread that holds us to our sanity. To our safety. I know there have been plenty of artists who have pushed the boundaries of sanity, decorum, and sacred truths to make their art known.

I admit I’m not that adamant about testing the waters of propriety. I know there are plenty of sexy novels out there written by 60 year old little ladies, sculptures of nudes by conservative bankers, and all that. Somehow they either create a persona — a pen name/life — that takes the brunt of the criticism, or are so confident in who they are that they really don’t care.

I haven’t totally trashed the dementia idea, but because of the structure of my life at the moment I can’t give it the time, research, angst, and especially the respect, it deserves.

I’d really like to hear if you were tempted by another “you” — and if you ever followed that Muse.

And don’t worry — I won’t give away your secret —

— you will.

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — Dean Russo

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A native of Brooklyn, New York, Dean Russo draws inspiration from urban landscapes and his love for dogs to create truly unique artwork known for its brilliant colors and bold abstract designs of mesmerizing shapes and symbols.

SONY DSC

To create these one of a kind images he uses a minimum of ten mediums per painting including pastels, ink, oils, pencils, wax, charcoal and spray paint.

3-french-bulldog-dean-russo

“I used to paint portraits of rock icons and Hollywood stars for so many years with my dogs by my side. Till one day I thought, why not paint my two favorite subjects?” says Russo.

ms-understood-dean-russo

Initially inspired by his two cocker spaniels, Dean began working with rescue centers to raise awareness and donate his work.

2-whippet-dean-russo

Dean strives to communicate a message that encourages people to choose adoption, to acknowledge the world-wide failure of breed specific legislation and to combat dog fighting around the world.

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“When a child sees, hears and acts upon my message, I feel successful. Anytime someone puts a message of love or respect towards people or animals into the universe it builds like a ripple. I hope I live long enough to see my ripples come back to me. That will make me smile.”

8-great-dane-dean-russo

Dean Russo’s designs can be found on t-shirts, posters, tote bags and framed art. His creations of dogs fills the world with magic — and love.happy-shepherd-dean-russo

You can fulfill your love of Dean Russo‘s art and dogs at :

http://deanrussoart2.myshopify.com and http://dean-russo.artistwebsites.com,

Start Your Strategy Now

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 5 Comments

militarycatStrategy.

A powerful word. A plan of action or policy designed to achieve a major or overall aim. It could also be coined for military operations, but that’s not where we are today. (At least I’m not…I dunno about the cat on the right, though).

Sounds so easy. Set a major or overall aim. Write out a plan. Follow the plan. Achieve the major or overall aim.

Why is it we start out with such good intentions on getting to that “policy” yet find we are wandering down the Yellow Brick Road?

I know a number of you out there are creative souls. You write, you paint, you go to art fairs and gardening seminars and are speakers at conferences. You know what you want to do, make a plan, and carry that plan out. That is why you are successful.

I am not. Yet.

It seems that every time I turn around another light bulb goes off, lighting my way to fame and famine of the writing kind. This is not the 70s — you must be a part of what confuses you in order to be a part of the bigger confusion. I must say I love those light bulbs going off, though. It’s like the Goddess has smiled down upon my pudgy body and says, “Hey girl! You done BoHo-ing for the day yet? I’ve got an idea here! ” And somewhere between all the confusion of my life I find  time to listen.

I had an idea for a new novel. Exciting, challenging. A lot of research, a lot of medical stuff. I used a prologue from a different story I started a few years ago (and never finished), and adapted it to the New Novel.

That’s the last I’ve worked on it.

I have so many other projects that fit into my time schedule that writing Gone With The Wind Book 4 just isn’t in the picture. And that’s just the fact, Jack.

You all have projects in different stages. Some are realities, like actually finishing a novel, or entering a writing contest, or finishing the painting or sketch you’ve worked so hard on. But time isn’t the same across the universe. Where you have time to do an art piece with mosaics, you don’t have time to  write a blog. What started as a three-section painting now may have to be reconditioned as a one-piece masterpiece. We just can’t do everything we set out to do.

And the sooner we “get” that, the easier our strategy becomes.

As you know, I am a BIG advocate of getting out there and putting your Creative Mark on the world. Whether you are 20 or 80, if you’ve got a goal, a gift, go for it. That’s where strategy comes in. Figuring out the pros and cons of your forward movement.  What would it hurt if you e-mailed or Twittered a favorite author/columnist/blogger and asked them to take a look at your work? What harm is there in sending off a letter offering your presentation skills or your gourmet talents?

All they can say is NO.  All they can do is ignore your efforts.

BUT THEN:

Last July I went to the Art Fair on the Square in Madison, WI. There were hundreds of different artists in hundreds of different venues. I found the artwork that I thought would work in my Sunday Evening Art Gallery; took their cards; and e-mailed three so far. They all were honored I liked their work so much and had no problem with me highlighting their work and their website.

All that angst, that fear, walking around the art fair, telling myself I’m not a curator or a famous art critic, was for nothing. These people were friendly and open … and said YES.

So now my strategy is to produce what I promised.

And how much fun is THAT?

 

 

 

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — Gazing Balls

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 2 Comments

th (2)

I used to like to walk the straight and narrow line
I used to think that everything was fine
Sometimes I’d like to sit and gaze for days through sleepless dreams
All alone and trapped in time
All alone and trapped in time

ball5

I wonder what tomorrow has in mind for me
Or am I even in it’s mind at all
Perhaps I’ll get a chance to look ahead and see
Soon as I find myself a crystal ball
Soon as I find myself a crystal ball

large_stainless_steel_strong_style_color_b82220_gazing_strong_ball

Tell me, tell me where I’m going
I don’t know where I’ve been
Tell me, tell me, won’t you tell me
And then tell me again

b

My heart is breaking, my body’s aching
And I don’t know where to go
Tell me, tell me, won’t you tell me
I’ve just got to know

gazing-globe-12

Crystal ball
There’s so many things I need to know
Crystal ball
There’s so many things I’ve got to know
Crystal ball

040-B-2T

If you should see me walking
Through your dreams at night
Would you please direct me
Where I ought to be


I’ve been looking for a crystal ball
To shed the light
To find a future in me
To find a future in me

445

Crystal ball
There’s so many things I need to know

Crystal ball
There’s so many things I’ve got to know

RNB-b

Crystal Ball by Styx
Songwriter: Tommy Shaw
Crystal Ball lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

Obsession or Therapy?

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 2 Comments

15 - 1I’m in trouble.

I thought that by the time I got to mid-middle age I’d give up collecting “things.” You know — weird oddities that tickled your fancy back in the day, but now you’ve got so many you need a room with wall-to-wall shelving to keep them all in.

My thing was unicorns. IS unicorns. But my desire to pick up every stray statue/stuffed animal/poster has dwindled through the years. I’m content with my headboard full of uni’s and pegasus’s and the occasional dragon. Plus the corner curio. Plus the dresser. Plus the bookshelves. Plus … you get it.

Now I’m hooked on something which, on the surface, seems a lot less harmful. After all, it they don’t take up shelf space.

I’m hooked on gifs.

For those who know the word but forget the meaning, a gif is a computer image that moves. I’m sure there’s a simpler explanation, but you get the gist. Waterfalls have running water; skies have sparkling stars; women have flowing hair. I don’t know how they are made, but I think they are so cool.

I’ve started a collection on my laptop; they have their own folder and their own corner of the desktop. Now it’s not so bad — maybe 20-3o or so. What am I going to do when my collection dips into the hundreds? I tell myself they are for blogs and writing columns and … well, for enhancement of whatever I create in this three dimensional world. There is always a logical explanation for everything. All you need to do is find it.

But really they are just cool to watch. It’s like magic. I don’t want to know how its done, nor do I want to start creating them myself. I already have 1,000 things on my to-do list; creating moving pictures is not one of them.

I supposed in the short run it’s safer than collecting salt and pepper shakers or antique cars. I don’t have to dust them. But I’ve temporarily cut myself off from one of my Google+ communities, for it’s nothing BUT gifs. And I admit. I am weak. I can see me having a folder of 500 by year’s end, taking up good computer space. I can see me wasting time watching water fall instead of writing or reading. And that is not so cool.

My writing to-do list is nearly as obnoxious as my household to-do list. I really don’t have time to be downloading and watching every moving pic that tickles my fancy. But for now it seems I’m addicted. Hopefully, it will go by the wayside like roller discos and mullets. But until then — be prepared.

Do you collect things that you really don’t need to collect any more?

Another Chance

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 4 Comments

Hot Flashes and Cold FeetAs I’m always saying, the clock ticks eternally forward. While we all notice the seconds, no one feels it as much as one who has already spent a good deal of their life counting.

I’m not going to lie. I want to live forever. I don’t have a strong, religious faith in place, so I have no idea what’s in store once I close my eyes for good. I haven’t left a whole lot behind for posterity, except maybe a refinanced mortgage and a unicorn collection. I’ve made a few people smile with my writing through the years, but standing on the beach or walking through the woods or watching a funny TV show leaves a smile on their lips, too.

And sooner or later my name will blow away in the dust of time, as billions have before me. But I will have had an accomplishment that will keep its mark in me through the Great Barrier and beyond.

I’m a grandmother for the second time.

This time my grandbaby’s entrance was a little shaky. It’s amazing how something that seems so simple on the outside can be so complicated inside. Life is a miracle. There is no doubt. How we get from a spermy and eggy into a president or opera singer I will leave to the biology majors. But so many things can go wrong on the familiar path we all walk that you have to stop and think — and thank — something, someone, else for getting all parties through.

Second grandbaby is a boy, and he and mom are doing just fine now. It brought back memories of one of my past pregnancies — one where the outcome wasn’t so positive. But that was 35 years ago, and this is now, and fate has smiled on our family and friends and brought another soccer player into the family. His older sibling is starting kindergarten tomorrow, so what a better off-to-school treat than a baby brother.

How appropriate his arrival came after my last post about Getting On Track. About sometimes feeling like a loser because I go up to the cabin to write but I often do anything BUT write.  Half way through my retreat the Goddess and Buddha and whomever else had other plans for my idle time. And it wasn’t writing. Nor was it windchimes in the breeze or naps in the afternoon.

It was welcoming another being into the world.

It was being there for mom and dad and CJ and Papa and Nana and Great Grandpa Lyle and Great Grandma Katie as the new baby came wrinkled and breathless into this world.

It was preparing the world for a new chance to get it right. It was dreams of baseball and homework and trick-or-treating with yet another child of the world. Another chance to get it right. To make the world right.

You can’t ask for a better chance for an afterlife than that.

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — Su Blackwell

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A room without books is like a body without a soul.

— Marcus Tullius Cicero

 

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Su Blackwell is an artist working predominantly within the realm of paper.

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She is a British artist best known for constructing delicate sculptures from the pages of books.

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Su creates tranquil unique landscapes from cutting up pages of old books.

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“I always read the book first, at least once or twice, and then I begin to create the work, cutting out, adding details.”

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“The detail is what brings it all together, the magic element.”

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Su Blackwell’s art is delicate, intricate, and personal.

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She brings the magic of books into this dimension.

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More of Su’s fantastic paper art work can be found at www.sublackwell.co.uk.

Do take time to visit her worlds.

Staying On Task

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 13 Comments

erI could live like this.

Forever.

Up at the cabin: wake up at 5:30 when hubby goes fishing; turn over and go back to sleep; wake up at 7, let the dog out, go out to the livingroom, open doors and windows and let cool air whip through the house, fall back asleep on the sofa till 9; take shower; read; grab a donut; go to library and do research for an hour; come back, have lunch; take a nap; write; go for a walk to lake; eat dinner; write; watch movies; sleep. Repeat. And Repeat.

Then the discombobulation starts. Go to bed. Try to sleep. Since I napped off and on all day, writing plots and ideas now come to the forefront. Get up. Write blog. Write Foreward to new book. Go to sleep at 1 a.m., something I’m trying desperately to change back home.

I came up to escape — to get away, to rest, to write. I’m under constant pressure back in homeyland to learn more, move faster, drive more carefully, clean more thoroughly — all that wonderful stuff that all of us do. So when we travel four hours to my father-in-law-now-my-son-and-our cabin, I do my best to unwind. To unplug.

Somehow, though, unplugging turns into disconnect in a heartbeat.

In my defense I could say my body sees an opportunity to catch up on its sleep/rest, and will be damned if anything gets in the way. That’s why half the time I’m pleasantly lethargic up here. The boys always go fishing; good for them. I hit the second hand stores; good for me. But all my plans for writing often get sidetracked by reading (I’m on the 4th Game of Thrones book now), baking, napping, and listening to the windchimes on the front deck.

Is this the world of the writer? Those who pound out best seller after best seller? Good, hard work followed by a nap in the breeze? If so, I’m pretty much a lackey in that department, too. Cool summer/autumn breezes and birds singing and no traffic and a lake in the distance aren’t always the inspiration for a murder mystery or a science fiction invasion.

I feel like a loser. 16 good hours of writing in 2 days boiled down to 2 hours of research, one hour of writing, one hour working on a friend’s website, and 12 hours of screwing around. The peace and quiet is so overwhelming it overtakes my good intentions.

I think it’s more I’m not as diciplined as I used to be. At home I squeeze writing inbetween playing with my grandson, watching TV, doing laundry and dishes, and yelling at the dogs. And it seems like I get more done.

I’ve screwed off enough for two days. I will go up and delete the word “forever” and replace it with “after retirement.” Until then I need to keep the mind sharp, the words flowing, and the blog pics amazing.

I’ll do that right after my nap.

Going One Way Or Another

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 6 Comments

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According to my online personality profile, Sagittarius is the traveler of the zodiac and considers every day an opportunity for another adventure. This a cheerful, spontaneous, and idealistic individual with an exceptional sense of humor.

Well, I don’t have the money to be a big traveller, but I do try and get away now and then. This coming up weekend is one of those times. Boys are going fishing for 4 days (coming home by dinnertime); a chance to make my days totally up to me. So I have turned the have-to-go-up-north trip for 4 days into a writer’s retreat.

And I can’t wait.

And I know that somehow or another it will get screwed up.

I have made a list of things I’d “like” to get done — “like” the key word, as to leave room for walking and sitting on the deck and nodding off and going to town to hit the homemade chocolate shop.

But Fate and me have a rocky relationship. I imagine it’s going to be more like me setting out my laptop, my notes, opening the window to let the breeze blow through, glass of soda and a few treats at hands-length, and me spending half my time in the bathroom.

My husband says he can’t take me anywhere. And this is not a new thing: I’ve gotten upset stomachs or headaches or whatever almost every time we’ve gone out — for the last 35 years.

I don’t know if it’s my psyche that goes up and over the top, imagining such a good time that it gets sick ahead of time; or my stomach cramping in anticipation; or something innocent I ate the day before decides to do the polka in my intestines. But every time I get ready to have a GOOD time, I spend half my time aching in the bathroom or on the bed.

This time it’s a freakin’ 4-day weekend! No movie stars or famous writers stopping by, no fancy dinner, no wine or alcohol of any kind. I don’t want to mess up, because I have this big novel idea that I want to dig into for a few hours every day. Why is it that every time I go up north I get horrible sinus headaches or crappy stomach problems?

I know — it’s probably psychosomatic. I suggest, therefore I am. I don’t think about it and I still am. These burbles have caused many headaches through my married life; I’m surprised my husband doesn’t have a first aid kit filled with Imodium, aspirin, sinus pills, doggie bags, and crackers. He’s had enough experience in this genre.

So with a Sagittarian outlook, I’m going to be a cheerful, spontaneous, and idealistic individual, and pack my laptop, notebooks, soda, snacks, Imodium, aspirin, and sinus pills, and hope for the best. You can’t keep a good writer down — not when they’ve got the calling.

And, after all, I have written notes in the bathroom before…

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — Angelo Musco

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 What the eyes see and the ears hear, the mind believes.

Harry Houdini

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Artist Angelo Musco‘s painting of an elegant white floating feather is actually a digital photo made out of tens of thousands of naked bodies weaved together using Photoshop. He created this image by first photographing dozens of live models in pre-planned poses, then adjusted the size and color of each body and put them together to form the realistic-looking textured feather.

More of Angelo Musco’s incredible photography can be found at his website  http://www.angelomusco.com.

His other artwork is just as  magical as these feathers.

Do You Get It?

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Black Circle
Black Circle

One of my favorite bloggers, David, posted a 36-word poem the other day, doing his best to “understand” it. http://davidkanigan.com/2015/08/20/oh-well/. a very lovely, emotional poem. I tried to understand it, too. And while a whiff of sense wafted around my senses, I, too, had a hard time with interpretation.

It made me wonder.

Do people who write and paint and sculpt truly abstract things truly understand their meaning?

And, if so, why are so many of us so duh about it?

Look. I know I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed. Sometimes I have to have TV show plots explained to me. Sometimes I don’t get the end of the joke. Abstract, in the purest sense of the word, is, well, abstract to me.

But most times I “get it” after pondering on things for a bit. Eventually the proverbial light bulb goes on and most of what I read/look at/listen to makes sense. (Except rap music). The truly abstract aspect of an artist’s creativity is something totally different for me, though.

An example of this confusing state of mind is Russian artist Kasmir Malevich (1878-1935).  A Polish-Russian painter and art theoretician, he was a pioneer of geometric abstract art and the originator of the avant-garde Suprematism movement (an art movement in Russia that produced abstract works featuring flat geometric forms).

Maybe it’s because I skipped Geometry in high school. Maybe it’s because my teachers taught me to write in full sentences and not in cryptic phrases. But somewhere along the line I never got into simple geometric forms.  At least, not as a form of art.

Malevich explains his aesthetic theory. “Under Suprematism I understand the supremacy of pure feeling in creative art. To the Suprematist the visual phenomena of the objective world are, in themselves, meaningless; the significant thing is feeling, as such, quite apart from the environment in which it is called forth.” He viewed the Russian Revolution as having paved the way for a new society in which materialism would eventually lead to spiritual freedom.

I’m afraid I don’t quite get that from the painting above, either.

What is this roadblock I have to understanding the other side of the universe?  I opened my Sunday Evening Art Gallery so that I could share what I considered Unique Art. Different Art. Personal Art. Something created that, even though in one way or another you don’t always “get” it, there is some thread of familiarity that runs between the artwork and the viewer.

I never studied Art theory either, so that might explain some of my unappreciativeness. I can make a connection between my friend Dawn Whitehead‘s sculptures and the world, even though most times I’m grasping at straws. I can figure out haikus and rambling poetry as long as there is an ending that makes sense.

Words thrown together without an immediate connection — that I have a much harder time with.

I am determined to delve a little further into this Suprematism movement, along with poetry that has category names but no sense. I want to be a little part of every art movement around me, even if at times the art doesn’t move me. A child of the world, as they say.

Even if I continue to get D- on my comprehension tests.

 

Did You Know You Spoke Chinese?

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I have a grandson who is starting kindergarten in a couple of weeks. Ahhh…innocence floating out the window. No, not him — me. Or rather his mom. Brings to mind a blog I wrote back in October of 2011. Think it still rings true.

I Didn’t Know I Spoke Chinese

Do you believe that children and their parents speak two different languages?  Do you ever try and communicate with someone who hasn’t a clue as to what you are saying?

The teen years are stressful for those going through them. Puberty comes crashing in any time between the ages of 12 and 16, estrogen and testosterone fighting for space inside a body that is growing in too many directions at one time.  But hey. What about the ones on the other side of those swings? Those who pay for hot lunches and gym shoes and nail polish?  Not only do we have to put up with I-pods and cell phones, but we have to learn to speak a whole new language in order to be understood.  It is as if we have stepped over the threshold of reality into an entirely new universe.

Life seemed so much simpler when our kids were toddlers. The years between two and, say, five, are probably the most rewarding for all forms of parental figures.  We can do no wrong; our children hang on our every word.  They fear and revere us. They bounce around from moment to moment wanting only to please those in charge.  Pick up your toys?  Of course! Eat your spaghetti?  Of course!  Clean your room?  Of course! We speak, they listen, and things are ideal.

Then comes those “cute” years, say, six through nine.  Everything they do and say is cute, especially when they pout and say “no” with wide-eyed enthusiasm.  Pick up your toys?  No! I wanna play with ‘em a little longer.  Eat your spaghetti?  No! I want pizza instead.  Clean your room?  No!  I gotta have twenty dolls in the corner!  They are starting to catch on to the power of being an individual.  They still brush their teeth and do their homework and go to bed pretty much on time, but they learn to manipulate the world by talking or playing or whining, probably all three.

By the time middle school comes around, there is a slight Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde-ish personality starting to surface. Football games and study nights with friends start to take on a bit more significance as our middle schoolers begin to feel the strength of their own convictions.  Pick up your toys?  Oh please, I don’t play with ‘toys’ anymore.  Eat your spaghetti.  Red sauce? I’d rather have cheese.  Clean your room.  Oh mommy dear and/daddy dear — it is clean!  A little clip in their voice should be the giveaway that they are catching on to you.

Just when you think you have settled the beast that rustles inside your child, their high school days hit you right between the eyes. Music becomes some thundering beat with  talking rather than singing; wearing jeans that cut low enough to show off underwear or vertical fissures becomes the fashion statement of the day. Homework becomes an enigma.  School semesters are identified by fall, winter and spring sports, and words like Paris and Pink suddenly take on a whole new meaning.

You wake up one morning sprouting antennae from your head. Your voice becomes a booming echo down an empty tunnel or a high-pitched squeak riding the airwaves.  Suddenly you speak a foreign language: ρτε τα παιχνίδια σας  (pick up your toys in Greek);  съешьте ваше спагеттио (eat your spaghetti in Russian), and 投入您的衣裳去, (Chinese for clean your room). Their eyes become glazed and their expression reminds you of eating a lemon.  One day you are a friendly, loving parent, the next moment you are Godzilla’s cousin.  You don’t know what you are talking about ― your ideas or so old-fashioned they will be amazed if you make it to 50.

How did this happen?  How did we fall off of our pedestal?  One moment our child is reaching up to be held, the next moment they cringe if you hug them in public.  Is this the reward for all of our hard work?  All our love?

Well, trust me.  This too will pass.  As your children approach their twenties, they are amazed at how smart you’ve suddenly become.  Your old-fashioned ideas transform into newly discovered truths of their generation.  The older they get, the more human you become.  Your antennae suddenly don’t seem so out-of-place; as a matter of fact, they kinda look cute on your old frame.  You find a common ground through life and all its ups and downs, and they finally understand what you’ve been saying all these years.  Words and ideas flow once again, and your pedestal gets packed away somewhere deep in their heart, only to be pulled out when you are not looking.

Either that — or you have finally learned to speak Chinese.

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — Paperweights

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From the moment paper was invented, there was a need for paperweights.

Many objects were used to weigh flyaway papers down.

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Obviously, rocks, bricks, and tree branches didn’t work.

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So glass paperweights were created.

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Some of the earliest paperweights were made in Venice in the 1840s.

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The Bohemians improved upon the techniques of the Venetians, and also incorporated the aristry of the French, who really brought the art of the paperweight into full flower.

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Baccarat is unquestionably the most famous and renowned paperweight producer.

Paperweight, Baccarat, 1845-50. CE*66.12.

Other paperweight manufacturers included New England Glass Company, Tiffany, Ysart Brothers, Vasart, and Strathearn.

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No matter who created the beautiful works of art, each paperweight brings its own magic into the world.

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The beauty of a moment reflected in the center of glass

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Gaze into the center of a paperweight and see your past — your future

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You can find more works of beauty and light at:

Collectors Weekly http://www.collectorsweekly.com/art-glass/paperweights

Richard Mores Paperweight Photo Album  http://strathearn.smugmug.com/,

and other places across the Internet.

It’s That Time. Again.

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s-l1000It’s here.

The end…and the beginning.

Here, during the prime Dog Days of August, it has snuck in quietly, bringing legions of supporters with it. A force to be reckoned with. Its shield reflects the colors of whatever region it calls home, the supporters wild and crazy, ranging in age from 5 to 95. And once it has taken hold, it doesn’t budge until the Ice Days of January.

Football is Back.

Dyed-in-the-wool hardcore fans  say that these first three pre-season games don’t count. That teams are whittling down 75-80 combatants to a mere 53. Try telling that to diehards who have waited 192 days, 30 hours, and upteen minutes and booga upteen seconds to be able to wear their jerseys again.

I should have sensed it coming.

The first indication of the season to come was an increased selection of bratwursts and beer. Football jerseys and shirts of every shape and size called out from the front rows of Walmart and Target. Invites to Football Fantasy leagues filled e-mail boxes all over the country.

Yet I wanted to bask in the sun and laziness of Summer for just a little longer. Fight the mosquitoes just a little longer. Try to go to sleep while it’s still light out.

But I was denied.

Today was the clincher. It was declared “Packer Casual Day” at work.

I was afloat in a sea of green, my little navy number 6 a chuckle to the masses. I survived pretty well, holding up my end of the football spectrum as well as I could. I live in  Packer country, you see, where Bears are eaten for breakfast. Silly carnivores…

Football fans of all ages and locations begin to shout at their TVs during the pre-games just as a warmup of things to come. As if the announcers, coaches, and players could hear them. Who knows — maybe on some cosmic level they can. And most times it’s not pretty. Football fans know that technically we are all equal during the first pre-season game — that we all start from zero. But they will also point out that some teams are more zero than others.

It’s not that I have a dislike for Fall — or football. I love them both. But somehow the thought of people sitting in the stands, watching players who will soon be just a name on a piece of paper, the heat at a swell 90 degrees — well, I can think of better places to spend my Dog Days. Like at the beach.

In my house, the blam bang of tackles and missed tackles and stupid calls from coaches and snide remarks from announcers will bounce off the walls from Thursday through Sunday night from now until January. That’s plenty of chaos for me.

Until then, I think I’ll play it cool. Very cool. I’ll just watch the pre-season games in my air conditioned house.

That way no one can hear me screaming at the TV. Stupid refs…

Go Bears!

To the Rennie in All Of Us

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medieval_castle_decorationI don’t know if it’s a girl thing or a Sagittarian thing, but I really enjoy reinventing myself. Oh, I am the same ‘ol person inside, but the outside influences change every so often.

For years and years I used to be a Rennie Girl. Anything Renaissance would tickle my fancy to the moon and back. Every year I went to the local Renaissance Faire, bought lamps and cups and jewelry with dragons and unicorns and faeries on them. I adored the music, had fun playing the (conservative) wench, and even decorated my B&B with medieval flair.

After that wore off, I was off to being an (conservative) Irish Wench. I became a Gaelic Storm groupie; I went to Irish Fest every year, bought jewelry with my Irish family crest, wore green and drank beer and cried at the sad Irish songs, missing my red-haired Irish mother even more than I normally do.

I still keep the Rennie and the Irish Wench in my heart, and they are a part of me that will never leave. But I am a Sagittarius, and that means I’m always looking for my next adventure, my next reincarnation.

I really want to be BoHoChic. (say…bo-ho-chick really fast).

Now, I know I’ve talked about this fancy before. In the last six months I’ve really cleaned out my closet, getting rid of clothes that don’t fit or have never looked right or blah blah.  I’ve also pulled out the more “conservative” pieces and donated them to other conservative people. What’s left are skirts and sun dresses and a couple of wild, flowy tops.

I need more flow.

My conservative psyche evil step sisters keep whispering discouraging things in my ear: You’re too fat. You’re too ugly. You’ll embarass yourself. I’ve had these sisters since grade school, and while I’ve tuned them out most times, they do slip in now and then like a needle into silk. Why I listen to them at this age and point in my life I do-not-know.  But I DO know that BoHoChic is a whole life experience. And I want to wander off that way.

There are connections between being a Rennie and being an Irish Wench and a BoHo. It’s that feeling of freedom I’ve always denied myself. I’ve always thought more of what other people thought of my looks and outlook than I did of my own. Bad habits are hard to break. But I’m making the big push to throw those step sisters out the tower window.

And it’s working.

Everyone does their own thing. Some women enjoy the way they are all their life. Some like to kick it up now and then. Some want to kick but lack the boot skills. I think it’s the newfound freedom I’ve found with writing and art that makes me want to freebird like the texts and canvases I’m finding. I’ve always enjoyed reading and watching things that are a little off-center; why can’t my wardrobe — and attitude — be the same?

I am offcenter anyway. It might be a prelude to dementia, but if it’s coming it’s coming. Why not go into the last 30 years of my life flowing and mismatching and blinging? In 30 years no one will care. Least of all me.

So take your whims and dress the part. Be a futuristic clip or a black-and-white Chanel or a designer chick. You don’t have to break your budget: Good Will and local second hand stores always have your designs flowing through. Let your outside match your inner calling.

And don’t be afraid. I’ve wasted 50 years of my life doing that.

And after all, there’s always something else waiting in the shadows. Maybe one day BoHoChic will turn into FuturisticBoHoBling!

 

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — Michael Massaia

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Michael Massaia’s photography evokes unusual, yet sentimental, emotions.

Bugs Bunny

Bugs Bunny

To create his images, collected together under the series title “Transmogrify,” Massaia spent some time experimenting with the aesthetic possibilities of melted ice cream.

dora the explorer

Dora the Explorer

His long-exposure images capture a subject matter familiar to most — he frames the frozen treats most people’s summer memories are made of.

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According to Katherine Brooks (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/katherine-brooks/), he distorts the childhood favorites by melting them before his lens, until the pops resemble ominous pools of paint or celestial snapshots.

Powerpuff GIrls

Powerpuff Girls

Ice cream? Or something more … surrealistic?

Batman

Batman

A great article on Michael’s art can be found at http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/04/15/michael-massaia-transmogrify_n_7067284.html  by Katherine Brooks.

More of Michael Massaia’s creative photography can be found at http://www.michaelmassaia.com/. And, of course, a more extensive collection of MIC (Melted Ice Cream) can be found at www.sundayeveningartgallery .

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Sleep and Cats and Dogs — Oh My!

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 3 Comments

eyesIt was a beautiful Summer morning. Cool breeze, bright sunshine, quiet countryside. I take the backroads to work; little if any traffic, cornfields and open fields and barns and houses on hills in the distance. Calming. Nourishing.

So I’m driving to work and I ZOOM! around this cute little ruby red car (must have been a Chrysler…great paint color), saying to myself (and them through the ethereal)…if I didn’t have to get to work on time, I’d be you.

Moving at the speed of light isn’t my thing. If you know me at all, you know it takes a lot to get me zinging at all. I’m usually not late for work — but I usually have more than 2 hours of sleep, too.

Clicking off on my fingers the reasons I might have insomnia (husband gets home at 3:30am; ; overworked at work; cats and dogs sleeping in the bed)…What?? Cats and Dogs sleeping in the bed?!?

As I get older I find that I’m really not as much a cat or dog person as I once was. Sure, they’re cute. Sure, they’re loving and affectionate and independent. They are also a pain in the butt at night.  Can’t leave the dogs (3) out to wander through the house because they’ll knock down the babygates in the kitchen and eat whatever is on the counter. Can’t leave the dogs out to wander at night because they will bark like idiots at 3:30 a.m. and wake up the kindergardener (and you don’t want a kindergardener up and crabby at 4 in the morning). Cat’s barred at the door will meow relentlessly every 15 minutes until you let them into the bedroom because, hey — they want to cuddle.

It would be one thing if the cats would just find a place at the bottom of the bed and just sleep. But, like most cats, one has to climb up by my neck, lay on my shoulder, put her arm around my neck, lick my face (ewww) every now and then, and not allow me to turn over without turning the world upside down.

I have no room in a king-sized bed.

I’m not a pet-on-the-bed kinda girl. It’s just become easier than waking up every hour or two because someone is in the garbage or meowing their heads off or scratching at the door or watching TV.

Looking back on that little ruby car, they were just meandering along the road, taking their time, breathing in the fresh air and quiet countryside. (At least that seems like what they were doing). There were no (obvious) deadlines, bosses upset, burned-out co-workers, or garbage picking dogs in their vicinity. Just them…and the morning…and driving 25 mph.

There’s no need telling you that stress is the hellion of the millenium. You used to be able to work 40 years someplace and get a gold watch for your time. Now you’re doing the work of two people, getting barely paid for one, and praying downsizing goes to the next company over. We push ourselves way too hard — and can’t help it. It’s move forward or move out.

I’m tired of working that hard. I’m tired of worrying if I’ll get my work done on time or if I’ll learn the newest version of some program. And the older I get, the more ridiculous the whole working world seems.

Believe me — I appreciate Technology. Agriculture. Science. But I keep thinking we’re paying an awful high price for the privilege. You don’t have a choice. You want TV: you have to work. You want to buy groceries: you have to work. You want to buy your grandbaby a birthday gift: you have to work.

America is such a hurry-up culture. Do it now, do it fast, move on over if you can’t handle it. As much as I preach a “stop and smell the roses” kind of life, it’s not always  feasible. Not when someone is on your tail pushing you faster and faster.

It’s hard to find the middle ground. The middle ground between sleeping in and sleeping at all. Between mowing your lawn and sitting in a chair on it. Keeping pets and living with pets. But we all have to do it if we are to keep our sanity.

Which brings me back to my original thought. Cats and dogs on the bed. Mass hysteria — or mass sleep hypnosis?

Maybe I’ll start eyeballing the comfy sofa downstairs.

 

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Bombardment Central

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 5 Comments

October-18-2011-20-12-49-DoubleFacePalmEven when I am well-intentioned, I tend to screw up. I don’t know if it’s that I don’t think things through, or I don’t know how things work so I don’t know what the outcome will really be — it could be a thousand things. But I always wind up having egg on my face.

I had waited a long time to relaunch my Sunday Evening Art Gallery. I’d added images, found the right theme, cropped the images so they were all pretty much the same size — it was going to be a GO. And it was.

But I didn’t realize that every time I re-posted a blog, or actually posted it for the first time, it would hit the airwaves like a newborn child. Every new blog blew away the one previous, acting like it was the only flash in the pan.

It overtook my Humoring the Goddess Sunday Evening gig with new artist John Lemke; readers didn’t know whether to read A or B or Z. My zealousness almost caused me readers.

I suppose I could blame it on adult-onset A.D.D. I know I’ve been antsy all my life, but only in the last few years have I found a name for it. Not being able to sit still has caused me all kinds of problems, the least of which was almost my job. Now that I’m older it causes me loss of sleep, anxiety, restless leg syndrome — the whole gamut.

It also tends to put my cart waaayyyy before the horse. I have so many projects, so many ideas, so many things in my head that I sometimes think I have hail pounding me on the head. I tell myself to slow down 10 times a day. But most of the time it’s too late.

So to you that were bombarded with Sunday Evening Galleries, forgive me. I more want you to enjoy John and his work, then move along to the next collection, and the next. I put 4-5 images in my HtG blog, then three times as many on the Sunday Evening site. That was the whole purpose behind the SEAG. I’m catching on…it just will take a while.

I hope you will visit both sites more often, and if you have any suggestions for slowing down my pretzelly condition, I’ll take those too.

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Sunday Evening Art Gallery — John Lemke

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In celebration of the re-opening of the Sunday Evening Art Gallery we present…

“But I find that for myself, without exception, the more I deal with the work as something that is my own, as something that is personal, the more successful it is.”

Marian Bantjes, Canadian designer, artist, illustrator, typographer and writer

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Artist and graphic designer John Lemke  starts in various media: pen & ink, charcoal, acrylics, electronics, transforming the basic doodle or painting into something quite different.

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He takes his creation to the next level, adding detailed depth through different media, enhancing the basic piece while tranforming it.

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As a Senior Graphic Designer, John constantly comes across a number of ideas that beg to be enhanced.

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John believes anyone can find inspiration for art. All you need to do is go outside and open your eyes. There is cool stuff everywhere.

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And I do mean cool stuff.

John Lemke’s art can be found  at http://johnsconsin.deviantart.com/ 

and at the Sunday Evening Art Gallery

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I’m Coming to Get You…

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 10 Comments

scaryWhat does it take to scare you? Rather, what does it take in a movie to scare you?

Things have certainly changed since Boris Karloff chugged along as Frankenstein. These days readers and movie goers have seen just about everything there is to see in the blood and guts world. I mean, most of what is considered “horror” is really more “disgust.” How much you can do to the human body and still let them live. Even when the story is clever, there’s nothing about losing limbs and buckets of blood that make those little hairs on your head stand up.

Writing horror isn’t easy. It’s not easy to twist plots and rattle windows and whisper in someone’s ear and have them be truly frightened. Portraying that same creepy feeling on film is not easy, either. I get it. But the more we grow spiritually, emotionally, and psychologically, the more it takes to catch us off guard.

My son gets Netflix, so I decided to take a ride down the horror road and see what I could see. Half of the movies I’ve seen, half I have no interest in. Maybe it’s being older, but just because someone has pins in his head doesn’t make someone scary.

Yet, the way Hellraiser talked, the way he held himself, the way he slowly pried his way into the lives of the unsuspecting — now that was pretty creepy. It turned pretty bloody/gutsy, but the earlier ones threatened more and showed less. I tried one from France: some kids climbing over a locked gate and mountain climbing into the horror pit where some hillbilly wacko lived. (Teenagers are always so dumb.)

I’ve tried old ones (The Scream series), I’ve tried new ones (The Walking Dead). I’ve tried ghosts, monsters, psychos, and snakes. Some make it to kinda creepy, others are just d-u-m-b. The Saw series is nothing but bloody psychological terror, one fingernail at a time. But it’s not horror.

Back in the day, movies like Psycho and Halloween  brought “real life” horror into the realm of the everyday. The Exorcist and Night of the Living Dead put normal people in abnormal — and often deadly — situations. Alien and The Thing took those same situations and put them in outer space or in the future.  Devil possession, zombies, psychos in masks — how can you deal with those?

But as the years passed, what was once novelty became remakes, each one more technically savvy but emotionally empty. By the time Halloween VI or Alien Resurrection came along, nothing was new. We’d been there, done that. Only the stars had changed. And the ability to frighten us.

So what kind of movies twinkle my creepy twinkie?

It’s obvious that humankind wants to be frightened now and then. Controlled frightened. Like frightened for the length of  a movie only.  The Grudge was pretty scary, with dead bodies scurrying across the ceiling and up the stairs. The first couple Aliens were pretty scary, even though by the second one we knew the formula (pick off people one by one). Even though my husband and kids disagree by miles, I loved Cabin in the Woods, because it brought all possible endings and villians to the end. I’m hooked on The Walking Dead — I mean, sheriff driving around, looking at overturned trucks and abandoned cars, wondering what’s up, and the next thing you know — Armageddon! How can you not be creeped out by that?

I loved the old “The Haunting“, and pffffted the remake. I wasn’t scared by windows turning into eyes and canopy beds coming down to squish the heroine — I loved the old black and white because you couldn’t see the adversary. Who can forget the lion’s head doorknob turning evvver-soooo-slooowly? Or the banging and breathing of the bedroom door? You never once saw a bloody hand or face or someone’s entrails spilled on the floor. It was your imagination that frightened you.

And that, I think, is the heart of anything scary. The victims on the screen have to be you, but not you. To be tortured would be cruel beyond imagination. To have a child see dead people everywhere — that’s another story. To be able to capture your imagination and be three steps ahead of it is the true heart of a scary story. To not be able to tell what is real and what isn’t — that’s the stuff nightmares are made of. Movie or not.

So tell me — have you seen any good scary movies lately?

Read (ick!) At Your Own Risk

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 2 Comments

bigstockphotoStickingOutTongue27088I have been working very hard on getting my “new” Sunday Evening Art Gallery website up and running so that you can see even MORE of the unusual, unique, amazing art these artists come up with. There are times when I don’t want to read a thing — looking at pictures will do just fine. So hopefully by a week from Sunday I will have a visual gallery for your perusal as well.

In the meantime… Why not fill your head with a bit of food nonsense? Works wonders for me!

 

An average ear of corn has an even number of rows, usually 16.

Most wasabi consumed is not real wasabi, but colored horseradish.

Oklahoma’s state vegetable is the watermelon.

The winner of the 2013 Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating contest consumed 69 hot dogs in 10 minutes.

The  Dunkin’ Donuts in South Korea offer doughnut flavors such as Kimchi Croquette and Glazed Garlic.

(It’s getting worse…)

There is an amusement park in Tokyo that offers Raw Horse Flesh-flavored ice cream.

(And worse…)

Castoreum, which is used as vanilla flavoring in candies, baked goods, etc., is actually a secretion from the anal glands of beavers.

TMI…TMI..

Coconut water can be used as blood plasma.

McDonald’s sells 75 hamburgers every second of every day.

One fast food hamburger may contain meat from 100 different cows.

Arachibutylrophobia is the fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth.

When taken in large doses nutmeg works as a hallucinogen.

The red food-coloring carmine — used in Skittles and other candies — is made from boiled cochineal bugs, a type of beetle.

To make jelly beans shiny, shellac is used, which is made from Kerra lacca insect excretions.

 

Thank you Buzz Feed http://www.buzzfeed.com/justinabarca/food-facts-that-will-blow-your-mind. 

Makes me never want to eat again.

 

See you Sunday!

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — Tal Peleg

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 8 Comments

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder…

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Or is it beauty is in the beholder of the eye?

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Israeli make-up professional and blogger Tal Peleg paints scenes from fairy tales, imagery from classic novels and pretty embellishments  —  including intricate designs of sushi — onto tiny areas of the face using only liquid eyeliner and eyeshadow.

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One needs a steady hand, a feel for color, and a wonderful sense of play. Tal Peleg has all of that and more.

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Tal says she loves art, color, creation, makeup and all that between.

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Looking into her eye — into her eyes — you see her love of all of the above

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Tal Peleg shows the world that color is makeup’s best friend — and every eye reflects it

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Tal Peleg’s incredible eye art can be found at the following websites:

https://www.facebook.com/TalPelegMakeUp

http://www.tp-artwork.com

http://www.boredpanda.com/eye-makeup-art-tal-peleg/

Friday Night Cheesy Whine

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 2 Comments

tim+allenBEFORE WHINE

This Friday post is mostly for writers, although you of any and all skills can identify.

Yesterday was a pretty crummy day. You know crummies — nothing in particular, but a dozen things coming and going that make you say “I quit for the day.”

I was driving home from work; a lovely stretch of countryside between my work town and home town. Four great  90 degree turns, each one hosting a different view; cornstalks five feet taller than me (which isn’t saying much), no one on the road. It was a slow, steady rain. I was taking it rather slow and steady, too.

A few things happened on this familiar trek; someone driving on the wrong side of the road, a few animals dashing from one side of the road to the other; weird things. The pavement glistened softly, reminding me of my double-rollover last November. People driving on the road who usually never take this route.

You know how a creative mind wanders. Suddenly I had this great idea for a story.  A first-person narrative about driving and getting stuck driving the same four turns and all that sci fi eerie stuff. I embellished it and worked on it all the way home.

The sad thing is, I don’t know when I’ll ever be able to write it. And I don’t think it’s ever as good as when it’s fresh in the mind.

Last night was family, tonight shopping, tomorrow family party — there’s a Sunday Art blog I want/need to get done by Sunday, things I ABSOLUTELY have to get done around the house — when is there time for writing? I don’t often write short stories any more, so when this idea hit me it was like a breath of fresh air. Yet now the air is stale, and before you know it I’ll forget the punchline. I’m already forgetting peaks that once made me excited — it’s like overthinking something. Your original idea is not always what you wind up doing.

I hear you saying, “Just Make Time!” But sometimes that’s just not possible. I’ve been fighting/working with sleep issues lately, so I can’t just go in my bedroom at 9 and write. And if I have to make a choice, prime time with my grandbaby supersedes writing a great story.

I’m sure these things happen with painters and graphic designers and everyone who enjoys being creative.  Maybe I have my priorities upside down. Maybe I need to find that time-travel hourglass thingy Hermione used in one of the Harry Potter movies (so she could take two classes at the same time).

Maybe I should just give upyadda yadda blah blah yadda blablah……

AFTER WHINE

Sat down Friday evening after dinner with the family, the boys played video games (even grandbaby), pregnant mom just relaxed, I pulled out my computer, and finished my story.

SOOOOOO

The moral of the story is: write out your whine, get it out of your system, then shut up and write/paint/draw.

As my hero  Jason Nesbith from Galaxy Quest says — Never Give up — Never surrender!

Money Money Money Mooonnneeeyy…

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 9 Comments

money_dollar_sign_rotate_hb_1_Wishful thinking or Wasteful thinking?

Wasting Time or Planning Time?

Sitting looking at at the lottery ticket I just bought, I wonder — what would I do if I won a million dollars?

What would YOU do if you won a million dollars?

It just be the dog days of summer.  The hard, long, tedious few months of my job where data entry becomes paramount. Too many mosquitoes out to enjoy a lovely evening, trying to fall asleep when the sun hasn’t set yet — daydreams are made from this.

I don’t often buy lottery tickets. I know it’s easier getting struck by lightning, but I’m not one to press my luck during a thunderstorm. So as I sit and look at this little slip of paper that will no doubt take me nowhere, I wonder what I’d really do if I won a couple of million dollars.

Of course, lotteries these days are tens of millions of dollars; for simplicity’s sake, let’s just call it One Mil. You get approximately half of that, so for more simplicity’s sake (I’m really that simple?) let’s say $500,000. Clear hard cold cash. What would you do with it?

The first think most people would say is “quit my job.” Many say that’s not practical (probably my hubby is in that crowd). But for me, being closer to retirement than my 40th birthday, it seems a viable option for me.

“Give to Charity.” God gives to those who gives to others. It is better to give than to receive. Well, sometimes I consider myself a charity case, so I’d choose my philanthropy carefully.  I’d rather contribute locally — an animal shelter, children’s daycare. Something where I could see my money work right here and now.

“Invest.” Well, paying off my bills would be an investment. Maybe not my mortgage — I’d still need some tax writeoffs. And I don’t think a vacation in Florence or Paris would be a write-off. Oh! But I could start my own business! A travelogue blog! Then I could write off all sorts of travel expenses! After I’m done traveling around the world, I’d close the business and take it as a tax loss too.

All accountants in a 100 mile radius are rolling their eyes at my folly. I’m rolling my own eyes.  I mean, let’s say I was lucky enough to live on 10% of my cash stash. That is $50,00 a year — more than I make a year, for sure, but not quite enough to pay bills AND jet across Europe tasting eclairs and biscotti.

Maybe I’d take all my besties out for dinner and drinks. Like to some fancy restaurant in Chicago. Better yet, I’d make some fancy restaurant food and hire someone else to clean up behind me.

Truth is, with a mere Mil, my life wouldn’t change a whole lot. I’d spend some, save some, waste some. Hopefully I’d be wiser, fuller, and a little more windblown from my travels. I’d still write, I’d still look for strange and unusual art, and I’d still run around with my grandson shooting squirt guns or swimming in Silver Lake.

Life is all about the journey. Not the destination. That’s what they say, anyway.

It sure would be a much easier journey not having to wake up at 5:30 a.m. every morning, though….

 

Let’s Go There Together

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 1 Comment

two-old-ladiesIt is truly the beginning of Summer — 85-90 degrees, thunderstorms out of nowhere, sweaty body parts and streets that wave in the heat (who ever thought?)

Trying to find time to finish my Sunday Evening Art bloggeroonie, along with cleaning, cooking, watering the plants, catch up on Game of Thrones, play fetchie with the dogs, and run around with my grandson. I don’t remember being this busy 30 years ago when my own kids were little. All this running around with lists and markerboards and post-it notes full of things I don’t want to forget make me begin to wonder.

I sometimes wonder if I am at the beginning stages of dementia — I forget names, I forget occasions. I get turned around at the drop of a hankie. I was talking to my bff in the car on the way to the Art Fair Saturday: we were in this big, fun, heavy discussion and I had this great point I wanted to make, and suddenly I drew a great big blank. A white 50 x 50 foot wall couldn’t have been more empty. I KNEW where I was going seconds earlier; it’s just that something (who knows what) distracted me, and before I knew it I was sitting with my mouth open trying to catch flies or something.

The only saving grace was that my friend chuckled, started her own story, and hit that very same 50 x 50 wall. She’s several  years younger than me, and maybe it was contagious, but we got a good laugh out of that one.

How would you know if you were losing your mind?

I laugh at that thought, but it’s just as serious as any other disease or accident that may or may not befall you at any time. When does the joking become real? I mean — when does it get serious?

I am able to do my job fairly proficiently still; I am able to write sentences and make my readers smile and collect unique art and talk on the phone and sketch and stencil and read long, windy books with the best of them. I remember how to get to most places, how to balance a check book, and how to do Excel and Word.

But I also forget names, recipes, and directions. I forget how to reprogram the stupid TV/Dish recorder if I hit the wrong button, and I sometimes stare at the computer screen because I’ve forgotten the next step.

I’m sure it happens to all of us. I only hope that I can make a creative moment out of every mistake that takes me in the wrong direction. I’ve already decided that there is no wrong direction (except walking into traffic). Coordinated outfits and hair styles that last the day are more like a crap game to me. If they work, fine. If not, don’t worry about it.

I often get tired of others telling me what to do, and do make strides to “do it myself.” Which I do. Most of the time. The rest of the time I nod and smile and go into my creative world and do things my way anyway. I go off on writing jaunts and unique art jaunts and kinda don’t care anymore if my family goes with me or not. Heck — I’m even singing “My Way” with Frankie now and then.

I don’t know if that’s the beginning of dementia or Alzheimer’s  — and it really doesn’t matter, does it? if I get there I get there. In the meantime I want to leave my own little legacy behind. Lots of pictures of whatever on my phone. Unicorn collections and fancy, second-hand-store wine glasses. Sappy novels, blogs, short stories, poetry, love notes, unique artwork. And, by golly, forgetful or not, I’m going to have a great time doing it all.

Someday someone will go through my laptop and smile at what was left behind.

(Oh Good Lord — did you see this?!?!)

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — Reflections

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 9 Comments

Goddess2What is Art?

Another one of those cosmic questions which has as many answers as there are human beings. Which is an unthinkable number. Since I am in the final stages of polishing my actual Sunday Evening Art Gallery blog, I thought I’d sit and reflect upon yet another awakening. After this weekend I am going to have to readjust my thinking. Truly open my mind. Again.

I started my Sunday Evening Art Gallery April 9, 2014, because I kept coming across various forms of art that just made me say, “Woah! How do they DO that?” I found it didn’t matter what media the art took; I was just as fascinated with painting as I was etching or ironwork or microscopic snowflakes. The world suddenly became more interesting. And I couldn’t wait to share that “woah!” with others.

This weekend I attended the Art Fair on the Square in Madison, Wisconsin. I hadn’t been there in years. I also didn’t have this newly acquired interest in Art  per-se back then either. Walking around the Capitol in Madison, viewing over 500 artists of varying media, my definition of Art changed by the minute. I heard the call of creativity everywhere I turned. Digital photography. Ceramics. Surrealism. Jewelry. Ironworks. Painting. Every booth was different. Every booth was unique. Catagories were just umbrellas for the cornicopia of creations around me. I’m not kidding.  A necklace was not a necklace. A neckle was a sunburst or a precious stone or 14k gold or worked copper. Paintings were three-dimensional, superimposed, carved out.  No two alike.

Every booth was like that. I was amazed that there could be so many variations of so many ideas. So much energy exploding in so many different ways. So many ideas bursting forth like statues make of stainless steel forks and knives and ceramic teapots with eyes and rabbits with human ears and bracelets of delicate hand-pounded silver. Art was so much more than Renior and Warhol.

The reason I tell you this this Sunday Evening is that, if you have any inkling to discover the world of “Art,”  you should hop on the soul train as soon as possible. Walking the local art fair is the simplest way. The fairs and festivals are not just duck decoys and crocheted christmas trees (although those are fun, too). Every art fair, every art museum, is a melting pot of creative energy. I don’t understand it all — I don’t like it all. But I am fascinated that someone took the time to paint or carve or make the paper or whatever they did to follow their calling.

I am a writer by nature, an artist by choice. You are more than one creative spiral as well. You are a starburst, you are a tree with a hundred roots going in every direction. Take the time to interpret the world in your own way. Design your own version of what you see, what you feel. Know that if you put your heart into your craft you will atttact other hearts as well. Share it! Show me, show your mother, show your bff. Show what the Muse does to you!

What is Art?

What are You?

Good Hair Day

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 3 Comments

CAM01687Yesterday my husband went shopping at Walmart (you know…the wonder world full of wonder things). He called me about noon, as said since he was there buying oil for the car he’d pick up my hair color, too.

This is the first time he’s ever offered to purchase something as personal as hair color. First time in 35+ years. ANd there was something about the combination of oil and hair color that gave me a wee bit o’ the shivers.

Most men (and I’m not picking on you guys) do a decent job of buying toiletries for your lady. I know you wince slightly when you yave to buy those monthly things, but shampoo, deodorant, no problem. It’s slightly harder when it comes to shower gel and toothpaste. Forget things like nail polish and lipstick — I mean, how could he tell the difference between Relish the Moment and Pink Peony? And, of course, there is lip stick, lip gel, lip color, lip gloss — how would he know what to buy if even I don’t have a clue?

Most time hair color falls in that category, too. Most women use the same color every time. Simple Simon. Not me. My hair was really bleached out multi blonde/brown from Disneyworld, so I needed go to brown town. But I often vary my choices between a few. Which colors? I don’t remember. Which manufacturer? I don’t remember. I usually pick the color that never quites comes out the way the box says.

But back to hubby’s gesture. I was going to pick out my own box, but it would have involved making my own trip and possibly buying something “not needed” and taking my time and making my hubby late for work, so I figured, what the heck. So I gave him the thumbs up.

“What color?”

“Brown.”  That was safe.

“Light brown? Dark brown?”

Getting dicier.

“Medium brown. Dark makes me look gothic, and lighter browns still turn out auburn.”

So last night I sat all by myself looking at the box.  Medium chestnut brown.

I’ve never been a chestnut.

But I trust my husband’s intentions (especially now that I think he’s finally over the blonde-me and the grow-your-hair-as-long-as-Cher me), so I went for it.

Maybe I should let him make a few more selections for me as the years go by. After all, one hit in 35 years can be the start of something special.

What do you think?

 

Ask

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 8 Comments

B3hKx3FCIAAGEIG Sometimes — no, wait — most of the time —  I feel like the machine that keeps track of your heart rate. Up, down. Spiky Up. Spikey Down. Rhythmic, predictable. Up. Down. Spikey Up. Spikey Down.

One minute I think — no, wait — I know — I know what I’m doing. Charge full speed ahead. Do it my way. Oh, do the work, do the research, but since most around me don’t listen to me anyway, just do it.

The next minute — no, wait — the next day — I have no confidence at all. What the heck was I thinking? It was a waste of time/energy/thought process.

This year is my Golden Year. Sssssssssixttty Twooooooo….(you know how hard that is to say). Golden because I finally have found a second wind, a second dream, a second chance. I’ve found a calling, and I don’t want to let go.

But also, being sixty two, I have had my fill of other’s ideas, criticisms, and opinions. I’m tired of listening to opinions that go nowhere, eyes that glaze, and minds that are always closed.

Herein lies the spike up and down.

I find I still do need eyes that glaze and closed minds to open my own. And I still need to reach out to others for help.

After all these years I still find that I still am afraid of putting out my ideas to others. I’m afraid of rejection, closed minds, eyes that glaze — all that negative stuff. And I find that all of that gets in the way of getting what I really want.

I know I’ve said this to you before, but don’t be afraid to share your ideas and directions with those who can really keep you on task. Those who enjoy your work and can give you the boost you need to take it to the next level.

Those who can see what you cannot.

Never take suggestions from those whose opinions you respect as criticism. Don’t take them as daggers to the heart, or balloons bursting in front of you. I know that’s the first place we all go. But it’s a waste of time and heart.

Tonight I broke bread — or rather ice cream — with a friend whose experience and friendship I trust. So I threw out my idea(s) for my Golden Stuff, and got some excellent feedback. Feedback I wasn’t expecting. Feedback that I hadn’t even thought of. Feedback I wouldn’t have gotten had I not “put it out there.” I know now that I have more work to do — and that’s a good thing.

Working on your dreams is a lot of work — whether you’re 25 or 55 or ___ (fill in the blank). Don’t settle for yesterday. Or maybe take yesterday and use it for today, which will be for tomorrow. And ask others. Take their thoughts and see if they fit within your own. If they don’t fit, that’s okay. But you’ll never know if they fit until you try.

Let’s work on this puzzle together.

 

Sunday Evening Art Gallery Blog — Rob Gonsalves

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 3 Comments

 

Imagination will often carry us to worlds that never were. But without it, we go nowhere.

Carl Sagan, Astronomer

 

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Rob Gonsalves (1959-) is a Canadian painter of magic realism with a unique perspective and style.

Gonsalves_MakingWaves

During his childhood,  Gonsalves developed an interest in drawing from imagination using various media. By the age of twelve, his awareness of architecture grew as he learned perspective techniques and he began to create his first paintings and renderings of imagined buildings.

Gonsalves_SailingIsland

You can see influences of Dali and Escher, realistic and surrealistic, yet a style that is all his own.

Gonsalves_WrittenWorld

Rob Gonsalves’ work differs from the “surrealistic” category because the images are deliberately planned and result from conscious thought. His work is an attempt to represent our desire to believe in the impossible.

LadiesOfTheLake-225x175

His ideas are largely generated by the external world and involve recognizable human activities, using carefully planned illusionist devices. A touch of magic, perhaps.

Gonsalves-WidowsWalk

It is like he takes what we know, and turns the canvas just enough to make us wonder exactly what it is we are looking at.

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Maybe the term “Magic Realism” describes his work accurately. But then again, why label anything so magical?

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His fantastic work can be found all across the Internet such as http://www.paragonfineart.com/artists/rob-gonsalves.html and Rob Gonsalves.

Growing Corn

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 2 Comments

“Granny…one day this corn will be bigger than me.”
“Yes, Bay Bay…one day it will be bigger than you. Bigger than your dad. Bigger than Grandpa.”
“Then what, Granny?”
“We cut it down, feed people and cows and deer and start all over again.”
“Oh. That’s okay. We can come back here again.”

Yes, my little man, we can do this again.

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Computer Hoarder or Zen Master?

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 5 Comments

animated-gifs-computers-48 (1)Considering how haphazardly I live, organization is not a word that frequently passes my lips. I just have too much information, and not enough room/time/energy to organize it all. But then last week my Irish Muse stopped by, and I’ve been working on Big O 101. Most things around me are falling more-or-less in place.

One place I haven’t had much of a problem, though, is my laptop.

I used to fill notebooks with thoughts, ideas, research, menus for the week. The old-old ones were more like journals, full of angst and awakenings, blah blah blah. Necessary but over. The new ones, though, are a different animal. They are full of things I don’t recognize. Names. Lots of numbers that don’t mean a thing.  Notebooks became jotting books. Need a piece of paper to write down that stupid email address? Write it in the middle of a notebook. Need to add something to the grocery list but don’t have a piece of paper handy? Write it in the middle of the notebook.

I now prefer to document my writing, research, images, and ideas on my laptop.

I must admit I have kept things in much better order than the days of pen and paper. I keep/download too many things on my desktop, but they all eventually find a folder home of their own. I have folders for Stories, Chapters, Essays – Finished, and Stories, Chapters, Essays – Unfinished. I have a Humoring the Goddess folder with dozens of sub-folders.  I have one called Recipes, one called Resumes, and one called Research (which, btw, has the largest, oddest assortment of information I’ve ever seen). Novels have their own folder; inside those are sub-folders of character backgrounds, copy I’ve cut and couldn’t part with, earlier versions from cavemen days, maps of ancient landscapes that may or may not be relevant – all kinds of weird stuff.

I have folders with images: with my downloading prowess I’ve no doubt got three copies of every photo I’ve ever downloaded from my phone. I’ve got family photos, photos I’ve used in blogs, photos I think are cool, photos that are inspiration for other projects, and photos that are…just photos.

I’ve got folders with names of novels I’ve never finished, folders of novels I’ve finished, and books I’ve downloaded and have yet to read. I’ve got cute little folders such as Girl Things, Books-Music-Words, and Family Cards and Art, and boring ones like Taxes and Passwords.

The cool thing about keeping all those folders and documents around is once I open them,  it’s like time-traveling through the galaxy. Where did I get these things? Why were they important to me at the time? What did I want to do with these things?

It’s like a long, long trip through the past.

And although I don’t keep as much falderal as years past, there’s something satisfying about opening a pretzel logic database and actually being able to find something. There’s something fun about thumbing through my Research folder and perusing auras, Rite of Pan, Medieval words, wormholes, and clichés.

What a weirdo! And what a galaxy to explore!

Tell me about YOUR computer. Are you organized? Do you have more ideas than gigabites? Or are you a catcher-catch-can kinda laptopper?

 

 

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — Kaleidoscopes

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 4 Comments

Creativity is a lot like looking at the world through a kaleidoscope. You look at a set of elements, the same ones everyone else sees, but then reassemble those floating bits and pieces into an enticing new possibility.

Rosabeth Moss Kanter, Harvard Business School

green mint

 

humble-novice.deviantart.com

 

www.meipokwan.org

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Kaleidoscope_Dandelions_by_TastesLikePurple

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julienetherland.blogspot.com

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tyreanswritingspot.blogspot.com

A Man-Type Blog

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 11 Comments

th (1)You would think that with the amount of writing I’ve been doing the second half of my life, my family – i.e., my mate/husband/soulie – would get excited when I write something new. I mean, I write all kinds of things: mysteries, comedies, poetry, blogs, biographies, novels – let’s just say most everything except dissertations and financial reports. But noooo…whenever I talk about my latest gig, my soulie smiles and nods and looks at me like a deer in the headlights. Like he’s already changed the channel. Not in a mean way – more in an “I know you so nothing you write surprises me” way. So for all those (mostly) men out there that don’t quite get it, here is a manly blog any man can understand.

Saturday Night Cattle Fever

The weather cracked with electricity outside. Thunder rumbled and echoed like a 9-pin no-tap game. The Super Hero hadn’t seen a storm tumble in like that since the white walkers arrived on Game of Thrones. And he didn’t like it.

The Super Hero adjusted his mask and cape. He needed to gather his herd of USDA Prime steers and head back to the corral before the rain came. His partner, the back-up quarterback, nodded to the Hero. No mindless, idle chatter needed. “Home,” was all he said, his Pall Mall filtered extra-light dangling from his lips.

The heat rolling in before the storm was unbearable. Our Hero hadn’t felt this hot since Anna Nichole Smith’s spread in 1992. But that was nothing to the hockey freeze that might follow if didn’t get his Grade A’s to shelter. Keeping his Eye of the Tiger on the approaching weather melee, the Super Hero shouted, “Omaha! Omaha! Set! Hut!” and the cattle drive began.

Onward the cattle plodded, their steps falling in line like the Michigan State University Trojan Marching Band. The wind picked up, the sky darkened. All the Super Hero could think about was pizza and beer and darts. If he could only get back to his Man Cave.

Would his cattle make it? Would he make it?

The back-up quarter back threw his GPS in a spiral pass to the Super Hero, who caught it with one hand. Hero nodded. No need to ask for directions here, mister. He’d find his own way. Thoughts of dinner crossed the Hero’s mind as he barely missed a turkey with a 10” beard. Fortunately, the Tom was faster, and the Hero’s permit wasn’t until Fall.

The Super Hero and his cattle finally reached the hill’s summit, the wind howling and the trees dancing. But this was no time for a parking lot party. Not with the storm beer barreling in on polka wheels. He could clearly see his 6 bedroom, 3 bath, bi-level ranch with wrap around cedar deck, hot tub, 30 x 30 pole barn, and exposed lower level complete with built-in bar, 55” flat screen, and leather-cushioned pool table waiting for him.

The prime cuts seemed to know they were home, too, as they poured through the stainless steel gates over to the Scott’s fertilized grass fields. The rain exploded above their heads, soaking both the Hero and his back-up, bringing nourishment to the countryside and fresh water to the hydroponics in the greenhouse beyond.

The Super Hero parked his orange SRT Viper GTS into the furthest stall of his four-car climate-controlled garage, and closed the door behind him. He took his Tony Lama’s off at the back door, did the Discount Double Check to find his keys, hung them on the  on the John Deere key rack, and entered his Home Sweet Home.

The cattle had been saved. Life was good.

And so would be the Rib Eye Angus with drawn garlic butter and the Blue Moon with the slice of orange. The only thing better would be a baseball double-headed on TV tonight, and a shot of bourbon. Both could be arranged.

 

P.S. He didn’t get it.

Calendar Girls

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 6 Comments

thMy Irish Wench Muse came to visit me last night. She was all full of her usual Irish self. I wasn’t writing or researching or hanging with my family, so I knew something was up.

“Read yer blog the other day,” she said, smiling, wiping the kitchen table off.

“Oh? Great! Which one?”

“The whinneh one.”

I should have been upset, but how can you be upset at your truthful conscience?

“Whiny? Why was it whiny?”

“A lotta ‘I wants’ and “I’ canna haves’. And no solution. What kenna blog is that?”

I sat straighter in my chair, watching her bend over a drop of gravy and start to scrape it. “Hey! All bloggers get down now and then. It’s part of the creative process!”

“Aye, and a lotta bees sting people when they’re nah looking, too. And they still manage to make the honey.”

I had to see where this was going and fast.

“Well, I didn’t see it as whining. I saw it as voicing the universal truth of too much to do and not enough time to do it all.”

“Nay — the ‘Universal Truth’ is more like ‘Leave your dog inside too long and he’s bound ta poop somewhere.’ That’s why you need a calendar, lass.”

“I already have a calendar at work. And it’s packed full.’

“Do you get everything done on the calendar?”

“Well, duh. It’s work.”

“Then, my darlin’ writer, you need a calendar at home, too. A Grand Poobah Calendar.”

Tickle me with an oak leaf. That’s how much sense she made. “A calendar I get. But a Grand Poobah Calendar? What is that?”

Viola finished scraping the drip and headed towards the crack between the leafs. A dangerous area. “The term is from one of those operas. The Poobah has all the titles and ‘na much else.”

I didn’t get what that had to do with me and my whining…er…woes.

“If  ya canna make time in your head, write it down. Make the time on the calendar,” she explained, pulling out a butter knife to scrape the caverns between leafs.

“But that means I’d have to be — organized! How can a pretzel be organized?”

She shook her head between grunts. Must have been extra crumbs down the crack.

“How does the Gran’ Poobah get things done? Too many titles, too little authority. At least if he writes the bloomin’ things down he can see what he wants to do first. And he can pretend to do everything, even if everything is 5 or 10 minutes a day.”

Well, that made sense. I helped her scrape the bread crumbs out of the crack and she smiled her little Irish smile.

“You’ve just got to know how to do a calendar, luv. Jam them with all sorts of rot.  Then when you start the day, start crossin’ off. Lines through rot are good for the soul! Makes you pick and choose your rot!” She spit on a slide of old milk. ” You know, I may be a muse but I’ve got other ‘tings I have to do too. I canna babysit you all the time. ”

I nodded sheepishly.

“I’m yer creative Muse, ya know. A lot of work goes into finding projects for you and fillin’ your head with ideas and suggestions. Makes my brown beer turn green half the time!”

“Well,” I said, “you know I love your company. And your ideas. I wish I would have listened to you 20 years ago, before I had grandkids.”

She threw out a hearty laugh. “Darlin’ 20 years ago you had your own kids, and were just as busy! and 20 years before that! Where do you think all that stencillin’ you did at the B&B came from? Or those sky space paintings from yer youth? Or that story you wrote about you and that English guitar player — Paul? Or that story about the beep bopin’ alien growning his own…”

“I get it. I get it. Make a calendar. Put it all down. Bring your plans out of the 4th dimension in to this 3rd dimension so I can get a handle on it and do a little bit of everything instead of none of a lot. I get it.”

Viola nodded and stood. She was beautiful — green eyes, full figure, Irish brogue and all.

“Donna forget — I’m riding up to the cabin with you this weekend. I’ve got a great idea for a poem! Oh, and my sister from Italy is comin’ too! She noticed you have a bare wall downstairs, and she’s oh-so-up with Italian Frescoes!”

UhOh..

 

I Want It All

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 9 Comments

a4d9a6e95ab9b4ddaac67a2adb860cb5Are you your own best friend?
Or are you your own worst enemy?
Have you found a way to balance the two?

I have the world’s best intentions — I really do. And sometimes I’m even able to carry them out. On the other hand, sometimes my intentions last as long as a thought. Big burst of emotion/intention, then big hit of sidetrack/misdirection.

Now that I’ve finally found the loves of my life (except from 9-5), I am finding it nearly impossible to balance it all without falling asleep at my desk.

Everything is temporary, I know. My kids living with me for a few months has been the greatest gift I ever could have received. I spend my day thinking of what my GB and I can do when I get home. He is a bundle of energy (vs my total lack of it), so I try and plan accordingly. I also plan time for him to be alone with his parents. After all, they all WOULD be alone together if it weren’t for me. First act of balancing.

But spending the 5 hours (ideally) between work and bedtime have drastically cut the time I have to spend on the other love of my life: writing. Specifically (at least at this moment) my blog(s).

I know there is no comparison between flesh and blood and words on a screen. No comparison between talking to my daughter-in-law and responding to posts online. This time will soon be gone, and I’ll have evenings to myself once again. Every day is a new experience, a new adventure. Who want to miss that?

But I am a Sagittarius, and I want the glory, the excitement, the magic NOW. I am an adventurer, even though I may fall flat half way through my trek. And I (like all of you) are multi-dimensional. I love creating, researching, building, perfecting whatever it is that sets my heart a flutter. My blog (especially the Art one) is quenching my thirst for personal satisfaction. It is something I can call MY OWN. Not hunting or fishing like the boys; not going back to school like friends; not raising children like my kids and friends kids. It’s something created out of my soul and warmed by the sun and fertilized by the moon. It’s something that has turned from a fad idea to a real pursuit of the extraordinary.

I think I suffer somewhat from the life-is-running-out syndrome, too. I’m getting older:  there are fewer years ahead of me than behind, and there’s tons of things I still want to do. I’ve given up dreams of visiting the museums of Rome or wandering through the moors of Scotland. Discovering the planet China is off my list, too. But I can still do things that make me happy, that make me proud. I’m just running out of time to do them.

My circadian rhythm is so out of whack I doubt I could get it back in line with a baseball bat. I get home, am awake, creative, love the evening, the sunset, the kids, the night. Then I can’t fall asleep. Midnight, 1, 2 a.m. and I’m still cruising through the galaxy. I get up at 6 so four hours of sleep isn’t doing it for me. I’ve tried everything to calm down at night. My fear is that I’ll have to give up everything creative if I want to sleep. Or clean my house. Or even make it to work on time.

I admit it. I want it all. I’m too young to retire, too poor to quit working. All of you creative sprites know how it is when you just start getting into your project and you look up at the clock and it’s midnight. Einstein’s time travel continuum has struck again.

So. I ask you. Any suggestions on how I can do it all?

In this lifetime??

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — Intermission

~ humoringthegoddess ~ Leave a comment

Tonight’s Gallery is a break between worlds. A pause between dreams.

 

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I am so delighted with the direction of the Sunday Evening Art Gallery that I am taking time to make it whole and circular and ever spiraling.  I hope that every Sunday Evening I bring more magic into your life; more sights to share with family and friends; more ideas to bring creativity to your own life.

 

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I hope to expand my site http://www.sundayeveningartgallery.wordpress.com into a continuation of the uniqueness I find around me. That includes changing the domain name and making it a presence like no other.

 

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So for our intermission, let me share a few of my (amateur) photographs of the world around me.

 

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Let us wander the roads and lake shores together, setting our imaginations of fire, and find out what lies just around the corner…

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Where In The World Is….

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 8 Comments

binocularsI don’t watch “Are Your Smarter than a 5th Grader,” because I don’t want to embarrass myself about how much I really don’t know about the world.

When you’re in school, dates, details, facts, and equations fill your brain. Once you get that beloved diploma, though, most of that stuff falls out of your head like dried alphabet noodles.

I was creating a mailing list at work the other day and I had to add all the world’s countries as part of a dropdown menu. Of course, who doesn’t know where France and China are? Smaller countries like Laos and Thailand aren’t too bad either. But do you know where these countries lie?

Anguilla    Belize      Brunei       Gabon     Liechtenstein      Belarus

     Mauritius      Micronesia      Montserrat     Malawi       Togo

I imagine a lot of you do. I, on the other hand, barely know where Prairie du Chein, Wisconsin is (it’s in upper Wisconsin where the Mississippi and Wisconsin Rivers meet).

It gets worse.

I though Liechtenstein was a made up name from the movie “A Knights Tale.” And the Micronesia was an on-purpose play on the name Malaysia from the movie “Zoolander.”

I’ve spent too much time in front of the TV and not enough in an encyclopedia.

If I don’t have any idea where these countries (and more, believe me) are, I also don’t have any idea of their history, their culture, their arts and their food. Not that in the grand scheme of things I’m missing out on a whole new world of culture, but it makes me feel dumb that I AM so dumb at times.

Anguilla is a British overseas territory in the Caribbean.  It is one of the most northerly of the Leeward Islands in the Lesser Antilles, lying east of Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands and directly north of Saint Martin.

Belize is a country on the eastern coast of Central America. bordered on the north by Mexico,  on the south and west by Guatemala,  and on the east by the Caribbean Sea.

Brunei is a sovereign state  located on the north coast of the island of  Borneo in Southeast Asia.

Gabon is a sovereign state on the west coast of Central Africa. Located on the equator, Gabon is bordered by Equatorial Guinea  to the northwest, Cameroon  to the north, the Republic of the Congo on the east and south, and the Gulf of Guinea to the west.

Liechtenstein is bordered by Switzerland to the west and south and Austria to the east and north. It has an area of just over 62 square miles.

Belarus is a landlocked country in Eastern Europe bordered by Russia to the northeast, Ukraine to the south, Poland to the west, and Lithuania and Latvia to the northwest.

Mauritius is an island nation in the Indian Ocean about 2,000 kilometers (1,200 mi) off the southeast coast of the African continent

Micronesia – is a sub region of Oceania, comprising thousands of small islands in the western Pacific Ocean. It has a shared cultural history with two other island regions, Polynesia to the east and Melanesia to the south.

Montserrat is a Caribbean island—specifically in the Leeward Islands, which is part of the chain known as the Lesser Antilles in the West Indies.

Malawi is a landlocked country in southeast Africa that was formerly known as Nyasaland. It is bordered by Zambia to the northwest, Tanzania to the northeast, and Mozambique on the east, south and west.

Togo is a country in West Africa bordered by Ghana to the west, Benin to the east and Burkina Faso  to the north. It extends south to the Gulf of Guinea.

 

So there you go. Countries that watch sunrises and sunsets just as we do; people who work off the land, have families, create art, and live and die by the cosmic clock. Cultures so far away, so removed from our everyday life, that we don’t even know they exist.

At least I didn’t. Until now.

Wonder what they make for dinner in Micronesia?

 

8 (more) Granny Rules

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 12 Comments

CAM00835 (2)I want to start this off by saying how lucky — and I mean lucky — I am to have my oldest son, his pregnant wife, and my 4-year-old grandbaby living with us for a few months. I will never have this opportunity again, so I don’t want to blow it.

Having said that, I have found that when family stays with you (even if it’s for a week or two), the rules as a Granny change. I find I’m not as freebird-ish as I want to be. I have learned that, much to MY chagrin, you have to be respectful of the parents’ wishes, thoughts, and actions.

So for you other present or future grannies and grandpas, here are some rules you should think about.

1.  Bed Time is Bed Time.

Oh, you may be able to squeeze an extra hour out on the weekends, but during the week, there is no watching TV in bed with Granny while eating an ice cream bar or jumping on the bed with the dogs. They need to calm down before sleep time. (So do you!)

2. Bed Time Snacks Are Different.

No more chips and soda before bed; no more cheese sticks and slices of salami, no more Hi-C or Hawaiian Punch cocktails. Pull that apple out from the back of the frig shelf, or pour a bowl of cereal. Act responsible. (Leave the ice cream bars for before YOU go to bed..)

3.  Ask your Mom/Dad

My grandson used to come over and get just about anything he wanted any time he wanted. Now that he’s under closer supervision, I can’t sneak him string cheese or pretzels and peanut butter  instead of dinner. I find myself saying, “Ask your Mother.” I feel like I’m shirking my Granny duties, but it’s better if the stomach aches come from them, not me.

4.  Kids and Pets

I tend to yell at my 3 stupid dogs a lot. I now have to clean up my language and not sound like a truck driver every time the dog pees or poops inside or wraps the leash around my ankle. My grandbaby adds to the furor by picking up my cats around the neck and parading around with them. When the cats have finally had enough, he takes it personally and starts to antagonize them. My language AND my reprimands are a little stronger now days. Not the Granny Way.

5.  Play Age-Approriate Games

Teaching a grandbaby how to use an axe to cut the string on firewood or mowing the lawn with a riding tractor (although grandpa rode on the tractor too) is not what a mother wants to hear. I am always honest with her — much to HER chagrin. While riding down the little hill on a Big Wheels looks as scary as a runaway train, a vigilant grandparent will be there every step of the way. Trust me — past times like coloring and playing with cars don’t hold a candle to a big squirt gun fight.

6.  Give your kids and grandkids space.

It’s fairly easy to trip over each other in one household. Fortunately my husband is gone in the evening and I’m gone during the day, so our 25 minutes of shared daylight doesn’t get in anyone’s way. But once grandpa is gone and I’m home alone with everybody, I tend to start feeling like a sticky note. I believe that evening times are Dad and Mom times, with a little Granny sprinkled in now and then for color. I usually wind up going into my room and writing/watch TV/fold laundry anyway, giving them plenty of time to cuddle as a threesome and talk about me if they want.

7.  No Hands.

And who better to teach a 4-year-old no hands on the roller coaster? Momma and I get sick just looking at them; then there’s Grandpa. And Dad. But Grandpa is the Instigator who looks fear in the eye and laughs at it. (He has a great laugh). If trying something off-center, try and pull one of the parents into it. It’s easier in the long run.

8.  Be honest.

Grannies are always honest…it just doesn’t always seem like it. Most times we are relegated to seeing our grandkids every other weekend, or, sadly, every month or every year. We have to make the most of our time together; after all, we don’t want our grandkids to forget about us once we’re gone. That’s why I tell my grandbaby (and my kids, but to a lesser degree), how much I love them, how much I miss them when they’re gone, how much I can’t wait to see them the next time. We plan things that might not come to fruition, but it’s the fun and love in planning that makes the difference.  I wear my love on my sleeve. And don’t regret the shredded mess at all.

 

We’re going to have another addition to our family in a few months. I have found as a mother myself that it’s easier to let go (to grandparents) by the time the second one comes along. Parents realize that their parents aren’t one step from the looney bin, they’re not Charles Manson followers, and the craziness that occurs is more in the mind than in reality.

Soon we will have TWO kids to spoil. My kids won’t be living with us by then.

Momma — watch out. Granny’s coming —

 

Sunday Evening Art Gallery Blog — The Universe

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 4 Comments

The surface of the Earth is the shore of the cosmic ocean.

Mystic Mountain

On this shore we’ve learned most of what we know.

Saturns Rings

Recently, we’ve waded a little way out, maybe ankle-deep,

Orion Nebula

and the water seems inviting.

Sombrero Galaxy

Some part of our being knows this is where we came from.

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We long to return, and we can because the cosmos is also within us.

Whirlpool Galaxy

We are made of star stuff.

Abell 1689

We are a way for the cosmos to know itself.

Pismis 24

Carl Sagan, 1980 Cosmos: A Personal Voyage

These, and literally hundreds of other images of galaxies, stars, nebulas, star clusters, planets, and more taken by the Hubble Spacecraft, can be found at the magnificent site http://hubblesite.org/. You must go visit some time. Travel through the universe. See where we’ve come from. See where we are going.

You may never want to come back.

READ THESE (gimmicky) GUIDELINES NOW!!

~ humoringthegoddess ~ Leave a comment

dos-donts-celebrities1The world is full of gimmicks — full of one-liners and sensational promises for everything from growing hair to making money while staying at home.  Just do this. Only $19.95. Follow these 5 rules and 10 guidelines and you’ll be smarter, prettier, richer, and so on.

Well, I want to cash in on that rigmarole, too. Every blogger wants to be popular. Well read. Recommended. Vital to the survival of the planet. Admit it — we don’t care about statistics, yet every time we get a new follower we do the Snoopy Dance.

So in that same (silly) vein, here are tried-and-true rules for you to follow if you want to be a popular, magnetic, P’s and Q’s type of over-the-top blogger.

DO…

*  Write about kittens/cats and puppies/dogs. No one can resist the cuteness of baby animals. Even if they poop in your lap or chew your new pair of shoes, there’s something cute about the whole thing.

*  Pictures. People love pictures. Nature’s a good one: flowers, trees, paths. Can’t beat Mother Nature for a Stress Buster. Makes ya just wanna go out and do the Sound of Music thing, doesn’t it?

*  Use pictures of food. Even if your recipe/story/antidote doesn’t have anything to do with the pic, who can resist an image of ooey gooey caramel or creamy, cheesy lasagna or a bead-sweating glass of whatever? Makes my mouth water just to think about it.

*  Quotes. People love stories that start or end with quotes. Surely Mel Brooks or Clint Eastwood carry the same charisma as Dali Lama or William Shakespeare. Try a “Roses are Red, Violets are Blue” kinda lead in. You’ll knock ’em dead.

*  Lists. People can’t resist lists. The top 5 to 10 of anything is enough to hold their attention. Now, no one says these lists have to make sense — no one pays much attention to the rules once they leave your blog anyway. But they certainly are eye-catchers!

* Talk to make-believe characters. People love being entertained. I know of a blogger who talks to cheeseburgers and gargoyles. Why not you? And, who knows? They may be more informative and entertaining the evening news.

 

Don’t…

*  Go overly long on the length of your blog. I know you want to unburden your soul, explore the possibilities, make new friends, share recipes, etc., etc., etc. But  you and I know that the attention span of most readers is less than that of a gnat. At 600 words you’ve still got an audience. By 800 people are starting to open a second window on their computer. 900 to 1000 words people are throwing a load of laundry in between sentences. Anything on it’s way up to 2000 words might well be voted “Novel of the Year.”

*  Steal — borrow. The Internet is full of ideas. Borrow what you like and make it yours. If you DO borrow directly from someone, give them the credit they’re due. Readers don’t necessarily care if your words sound familiar — they just don’t want to get sued for reading them.

*  Talk about the same thing over and over. If you are sharing pain, share it. If you are sharing music, or thoughts on television shows, share it. Then talk about something else. Show your progress. Your research. Your over-vivid imagination. People love getting lost. Let them get lost in your mind.

*  Make sure every sentence counts. You want to reach as many readers as you can with your message, no matter what that message is. Good bloggers are followed, not by the quantity they pump out, but by the quality. A story that makes you think, makes you feel, makes you chuckle, will stay with the reader a lot longer than one that flashes in the night.

And — (wait for it…) Who needs hot flashes in the night anyway?

The World is Full of A…Donkies

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 4 Comments

3328880852_4310e8f431_zI have known for a long time that the world is full of asses.

Now, don’t misunderstand — there are millions of people who have good intentions, good hearts, who go out of their way to help those they’ve never met. It’s part of being human.

I’m beginning to think being an ass is part of being human, too.

Sometimes one can’t help being stupid. Not paying attention, getting older, driving and texting — the reasons go on and on. I put myself am on that list now and then. Case in point. Asking the attendant if I could go in and wash my hands when they were clearly cleaning the bathroom. I knew I should have turned and just gone to another bathroom, but like a deer in the headlights, I stood there stupidly, asking a question that, if I were her, I’d wanna smack me.

But I’m talking about bigger asses. Not ones who are total horrid beings (like those who drag dogs behind their car or put their pit bulls in fights)…that’s for another story (one I’ll probably never write).

I’m talking about asses who on purpose do things that are stupid. Like they spend their lives thinking of ways to step out of the box and into the silly putty. People who on purpose take up two parking spaces. People who speed like crazy in driving around you only to put their signal on 500 yards further and stop and turn in front of you. People who spit out their gum on a busy sidewalk. People who throw their garbage out the car window. People who smash your cart to the side in the store so they can get to their side of the aisle.

What in the hell are wrong with these people?

Is it the thrill of doing something “naughty”? Were they deprived or beaten or super spoiled as a kid and now they need to check out the “other side”? Did they watch the movie Jackass and think it was funny?

I read on Yahoo today a story about two teachers who gave a “certificate” to a learning-challenged child that read, “8th Annual Ghetto Award” and the category was the “huh?” award.

Who does that?

I followed a well-dressed woman to the check out line a few weeks ago, and one of her items was not marked down like the others. Instead of talking it over with the sales person, she belittled her with snide remarks and complained about the store and customer service and demanded to see the store manager. She had the girl almost in tears. And for what? A few dollars discount?

Who does that?

I’ve known people who’ve had their work stolen word-for-word, theory-for-theory, and advertising-for-advertising, by others who wormed  their way in  by “friendship”, taking what they want, and throwing out the rest like the punchline of a joke.

Who does that?

I know people have their patience tested more than ever these days. Between being denied coverage by insurance companies, the price of everything going up, false advertising, hidden fees, rush hour traffic — all of it gets on our nerves one way or the other. But that is a universal burden, not an individualized one. It happens to everyone in one way or another. Why do some people insist on taking out their frustrations on someone they don’t even know?

How many times have you picked the wrong lane to drive in? The wrong lane to check out at the grocery store? Dressed for sun and the weatherman was wrong and it poured? How many times have you come home and found the dog couldn’t hold it and they pooped on the rug? Or the cat threw up on the sofa?

Shit Happens.   But does that give you licence to leave your mark on the world by keying someone else’s car or making fun of the disabled or showing your boobs to the camera?

Most people are able to get over it. When I hear of people being deliberately mean or deliberately stupid, they add to the stress I’ve already had to deal with.  Sometimes their meanness carries over into bullying or shaming. Having gone through that in middle school, I never had the foresight to realize that they were the stupid, messed up one, not me. Now days I’d blast them open a new….well, you know.

Ignorance is one thing. Stupidity is another. Neither one should be part of one’s life. Yet the media thrives on the latter, until we all are nauseated and infuriated at the same time.  To get your stunt in the paper, on TV, even talked about around the dinner table, is enough for some. And until the time stupid people stop doing stupid things, we will be dizzy with them and their tactics.

I guess it takes a world of asses to make the world go round. Or at least to make us dizzy.

 

Sunday Evening Art Gallery Blog — Glass Houses

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 4 Comments

…People in Glass Houses Shouldn’t Throw Stones…

There are all sorts of glass houses jutting out majestically from other buildings, upper floors, and lower levels. My choice this evening are glass houses that are just that — glass houses.

Standing free and glistening under sunrise and sunset.

~imagine~

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Northfield, IL

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Reiteiland House, Amsterdam

The TRUTH Behind Cats and the Strawberry Moon

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 4 Comments

hdAlright. Now that the Strawberry Moon thing is over, I can tell you the real story of my last blog.

You see, I was walking down the tractor trail along this huge, long cornfield. It happened that sunset and moonrise were at the same time that night, and with MR — I mean Mercury Retrograde (I can say it now) in full swing, I was prepared for anything.

Or so I thought.

As the huge moon crested over a barn in the far distance (a real Kodak moment), I started to hear strange sounds from the center of the cornfield. Now, mind you, the corn is really only stubble; 4-5 inches max. So I should have noticed something strange down the row from the get-go. But you know me — into the Goddess “thing” and blah blah blah-ing to the moon about writing and getting published and all that, I just didn’t notice.

I didn’t notice a gathering of moving things dancing in a circle.

Now, you know me. I’m more pretzel than logic, and my creativity takes me to places I’ve never been before. But I was standing on a dirt road all by myself a quarter mile from home, so I instantly switched to my logic gear (also known as survival mode).

I stood very still, trying to figure out what the commotion was. If it was a band of gypsies or satan worshipers, I was gonna take off faster than Dale Earnhardt. But the “gathering” wasn’t tall at all. Not like human beings. Not even tall enough to be kids.

No — the noise was coming from something no bigger than a cat.

Wolves, I thought. Coyotes. Eating, devouring their prey. Howling and growling and sacrificing to the Strawberry Moon. I felt adrenelin flush my whole body. Yet I had to know. Curiosity was suddenly my deadly companion. So C and I tip-toed closer to the group making all the noise.

All I could hear was, “Mrrrro brrrreeerrr Mrrrrro! Mrrrrro breeerrrr Mrrrro!” Over and over. Chanting. A mantra. Surely they were calling up the spirits of the Strawberry! I would be a gonner if I wandered any closer. But, you know me. I couldn’t resist.

Louder and louder they chanted. The moon kept rising, bigger, fuller, flushed with red, not unlike the Strawberry it was named after. The cold wind blew around me, bringing goosebumps to my under-dressed body. But the chanting got louder and louder.

What in the #($*#@ was going on?

Suddenly the chanting reached its pinnacle, and all in one voice they screamed, “MRRRRO BEEERRRRZZZ MRRRROOOOO!” The moon shook, the wind swirled in a final tornado, and suddenly 7 or 8 cats ran off into the night!

They had been dancing around something half buried between two corn stubs. I was terrified. But I had wandered this far — what could it have been?? Stumbling over the last few rows of corn, smashing a stalk or two (sorry, farmer John), I saw what the commotion had been about.

Half buried in the dirt was a little dark blue football, a big orange “C” facing the Strawberry Moon that now had turned orangy itself. And I knew.

Go Bears Go.

The Chicago Bears needed all the help they could get…

(I told you there was a story there somewhere….)

Cats and the Strawberry Moon

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 3 Comments

catI had a case of the crabbies today, par for most who have to work a whole week after only have worked 4 days the week before and none the week before that. It seemed a number of people I encountered today were a bit “off” as well. I would blame it on MR (can’t say…I promised), but I think it’s just a case of I-wanna-be-anywhere-but-at-work syndrome.

Tonight is/was the Strawberry Moon. You’ve undoubtedly have heard of it — a full moon, close to Earth, makes for one giant strawberry in the sky. So me and my adventurous self took a walk down a wooded path to the back gate which faces a huge corn field, and waited for the moon to appear.

I always think myself a bit weird to begin with, but pacing up and down the tractor road along side newly sprouted corn, waiting for a moon that could show up anywhere across the horizon was plenty weird, too. I’ve waited for moonrise before — I even blogged about one incident (Moonlight at Sunset, http://wp.me/p1pIBL-4e, if you want to go back that far)  eleventy twenty nine years ago (that’s how my grandson counts).

There was a tractor plowing/planting in the field, and I’m sure he caught sight of me once or twice. I didn’t want to have to explain what I was doing tiptoeing around his field (even though he’s a good guy and wouldn’t mind), so I occasionally ducked in the hedgerow lining the path. What a weirdo, too.

But all my weirdness was well worth it when the moon rose. It was indeed a strawberry color, huge and ripe and round and lovely to behold. It was at that moment that the crabbys disappeared…who could hold a grudge against the world with something so awesome in the night sky?

It’s these moments that make me feel so small, yet so immense. If there is no heaven, I want to be able to absorb these cosmic moments as often as I can. For nothing is as holy as a phenomenon in space.

I used to be an astronomy buff; I took classes at the Adler Planetarium in Chicago and even bought a telescope. My scientific side melded with my fantasy side, and a true appreciation of science fiction was born. I think it’s true for all creative people. Thinking of places you can go, things you can invent, spaces you can fill, all overwhelm the senses. Creativity isn’t pidgeon-holed into science fiction realms — I have seen pottery and jewelry and wire sculpturing that escape all dimensions. And all that creativity makes me wonder — what’s next?

When you see the immensity of the moon, something real and bright and ever changing, how can you hold a grudge with the world? Get out of your house, out of your room, out of your car. Go out and experience the Goddess in her every changing glory. Then bring Her energy into you and let it turn your imagination into reality. Be inspired.  Be creative. Be whole.  If the moon isn’t your thing, try the sun. Let the warm rays fill you with hope and strength. Or Mother Earth. She’s a phenomenon all unto herself.

Let go of the crabbies. They never helped anyone get anywhere anyway.

Since my thought earlier today was of writing a blog about cats, I leave you with the image above. Cats and Strawberry Moons have the makings of a wonderful story. Or necklace. Or painting.

Don’t you think?

Sunday Evening Art Gallery — Willard Wigan

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 6 Comments

Willard Wigan might not be a familiar name to many of us, but once you see his work you will never forget it.

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Willard Wigan is an English Sculptor from Ashmore Park Estate, England. His sculptures are typically placed in the eye of a needle or on the head of a pin. His sculptures are so minute they are only visible through a microscope.

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 On average, it takes Wigan about eight weeks to complete one sculpture in a process that is physically challenging. Because the works are microscopic, the sculptor has learned to control his nervous system and breathing to ensure he does not make even the tiniest movement.

When working, Wigan enters a meditative state in which his heartbeat is slowed, allowing him to reduce any hand tremors and work between heartbeats.

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To carve his figures, Wigan uses surgical blades or hand-made tools, (some of which are custom made out of a sharpened microscopic sliver of tungsten), which he makes by attaching a shard of diamond to a pin.

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Wigan uses a range of materials, including nylon, grains of sand, dust fibers, gold, and spider’s cobwebs.

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My mind cannot wrap around an artist who can control and create like this. A true direct connection between Wigan and the Divine is the only explanation I can muster.

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But then again, what is talent but honing that connection?

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Willard Wigan’s work can be found at his website, http://willard-wigan.com, and various sites around the Net.

He is so worth discovering.

Pokin’ Fun on a Friday

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theMy good friend Andra Watkins (www.andrawatkins.com) just wrote a blog that cracked me up. Entitled “How to Have an Easy Career Like Taylor Swift,” her sentiments reflect the sentiments of anyone who’s had to work hard to make a living.

I dunno — maybe it’s just my snickety, granny personality clouding my “universal love and understanding” vision. Or maybe it’s just that it’s Friday. Go take a peek yourself, and see if you’re not smiling at the end…

 

How to Have an Easy Career Like Taylor Swift 

Dear Taylor Swift:
Congratulations! You’re in style, at the top of the charts and sold-out everywhere. I mean, you needed to be an octopus to carry your haul of gongs from the BMAs. There’s no blank space to your trajectory. I like nothing better than seeing a woman shake off the haters and live her wildest dreams.
Heaven forbid I’d ever be mean enough to attack a woman.
Especially one as powerful as you.
But Sweetie, I’m concerned. Power does strange things to people. It slants a world view. Removes natural filters. Causes bad blood. Makes some say unfortunate things
like their high-powered careers aren’t hard.

Read the rest:

http://andrawatkins.com/2015/05/27/how-to-have-an-easy-career-like-taylor-swift/

 

Thanks, Andra, for sayin’ it like it is!

Welcome to my 5th Dimension

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 5 Comments

greatestgifeverWell, I think I’m over my vacation. And I’ve gotten the Art Gallery stuff out of my system (at least until Sunday).  I’m following a few blogs that do “Wordless Wednesdays,” and I’m really enjoying their pictures. And I think — maybe I can add that to my blog, too.

In the next second I think — what’s wrong with me? What’s with this “over-achiever” thing I seem to be going through?

It’s worse than puberty. Or maybe just LIKE puberty. When you blossom into a young lady (or young man), your thoughts are obsessed with sex. Wanting it, thinking about it, dreaming about it.  Fifty years later, your obsession turns from what used to be to what can be. (And trust me — it’s not sexually oriented). Lost between a tedious job and dreams of retirement, your psyche reaches out to do MORE. Whatever MORE may be to you.

I suppose that’s where “too much of a good thing” comes from.

Like too much chocolate or too much lasagna (can there really be too much of either?), too much variety in a blog is not only confusing to the reader but to you as well. Most bloggers have a theme, a direction, a reason for sharing their thoughts. And those who identify with those themes/directions/reasons follow and share and (hopefully) get something positive out of it.

But when you go this way one day and that way the next and over there the next, there tends to be a bit of confusion on the direction part. I could have started my Sunday Evening Art Gallery as its own separate blog, but I found that I wanted to share these discoveries with YOU, my friends. Knowing how eccentric a middle-aged woman (say…62-ish) can be, you can maybe connect my looking for older age direction with odd, unique art.

Thin though that line may be, I’ve worked hard to keep it strong. Introducing another dimension to this already multi-dimensional blog might be the bonie that made the doggie fat. Too much of a good thing leads to a predicable end.

Getting fat and lazy. And that’s already a struggle.

So my friends-who-have-wordless-Wednesdays — go for it. I love trying NOT to say anything to your unique pictures. And I love the added dimension it gives your blog.

As for me — I’m already bouncing around in the 5th dimension. And there’s no no place out there for being wordless.

A New Gallery Is Open! Guido Daniele!

~ humoringthegoddess ~ 6 Comments

Flamingo1-226x340For all of you who enjoyed my Sunday Evening Art Gallery salute to Guido Daniele this past April (https://wordpress.com/post/20906013/3920/), I have finally added a boatload of additional hand images for your pleasure.

Sunday Evening Art Gallery  http://wp.me/p5LGaO-bH

Guido Daniele’s repertoire is far more than painted hands — his body art is fantastic. Do drop by his website sometime and appreciate his artistic flair:  http://www.guidodaniele.com/.

Enjoy!