New Project

While cleaning a couple of weeks ago, I found buried in a stack of books Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way. It's about unblocking your inner creativity. You know, that voice that tells you to buy all the pretty markers and that gorgeous pad of paper, the one you're always telling not to be stupid, you can't waste your hard earned money on anything so self-indulgent and frivolous, and that type of equipment belongs to Real Artists, not wannabes. Yeah, it gets hard to hear that little voice after a few years or decades of that. I made it to Week Four in said tome back in the 90's. But I just gave up after that. It's a 12 week program, so I almost got a third done back in the day.

Not that it matters now.

I decided that I would begin again on December 17. Nevermind that it is my son's birthday. Nevermind that it's the Christmas season. The actual inspiration was several days in the making, during which I was repeatedly - and I'm not just feeling sorry for myself, I swear on the soul of my sweet Pawli - discounted, disenfranchised, marginalized and generally made to feel less than worthy by the World At Large. Examples: I went to work and said hello to the first person at the door - got nothing in response; I clocked in and went to my desk, saying hello to the next person I see in my office - again, NADA. I went through 5 hellos before I got one back and I really tried to project my voice. My facebook stats went uncommented upon. My phone did not ring. My emails were not returned. I was too old to participate in a phone survey. So, I was feeling a little less than loved and I found this book, which we (us royal types) will refer to henceforth as TAW, and decided that dammit, I had to do something just to make sure I was still breathing in this world.

Week One is about recovering a sense of safety. I did my morning pages 7 out of 7 days and one of them was Christmas Eve. The pages are stream-of-consciousness, and sometimes I didn't even have that, I just wrote affirmations over and over. Or the day's schedule. Or what happened yesterday. I was supposed to do an Artist's Date, which is supposed to be an hour or two spent alone doing something that feeds your soul. This was hard to accomplish. Had planned on watching Holiday Inn in the den one night, but the heater chose that night to spew black smoke instead of warm heat and the plan choked to death on kerosene fumes. In what might possibly have been an act of synchronicity, I found myself snowed in Sunday morning with Love, Actually on the dvd player.

It *is* one of my favorites.

So, that was Week One.

Stay tuned.

And now, more of the same!

Yep, I went and pulled the lever on my local voting machine yesterday. Technically, it was more of a button punch, but no matter. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose, as the French say. Not that I was expecting anything different, but I was hoping, foolish me, that voters might have learned a few things since Carter was in office. No such luck. OMG! We voted a black man President and I'm STILL poor!!! More borrowed language: The petite bourgeoisie panicked, prompting poseurs and protégés alike to protest. In ridiculous numbers, apparently. And I shouldn't be surprised. I went all Crack Rock Steady after W's re-election. It's tough being sorta blue in a mos def red state. I don't have a clear cut political ideology. I understand that folks need to help themselves. I also understand that sometimes people need help, too. At my most radical, I'm all for free electricity and water (a per capita amount, naturally - not unlimited), because producing them wreaks havoc on OUR world. And just to put it out there, if it was free, goodbye lawsuits? Not that litigation is inherently evil, but there does to seem to be a class of professional instigators who sue for fun. I am perfectly willing to be wrong about this!

Anyway, I am dutifully trying to adjust my attitude to the new reality. Basket Case? or Blockheads? A little of both, I'm afraid.

Midnight to Six, Man!

So, 7 years ago, my day, and my 5th decade* on the planet began with this piece of musical perfection on the radio as I walked my dog in the darkness before the dawn. Still in that darkness, but that's another story. Here, at the beginning of my 48th year (again, counting from ZERO), I pause to reflect on what, if anything, I've managed to learn or figure out during my walk around the earth. Fear not. This is not a life lesson. This is not an Impartation of Knowledge. This is only aimless pondering. Kinda like Peggy Hill's Musings.

These things I know: I'm done with fashion/beauty magazines - tried to read Glamour at the doctor's office the other day, could not have been less interested. I'm done with keeping up with the pop-culture Joneses. You know who you are. And you will give up one day as well. When you have a *life*. I'm done with trying to be what I'm not. I'm done with owning stuff. Stuff is meant to be used, not collected and I do not want to spend The Last Half of my life dusting. I'm all about the comfortable shoes, but I'm not settling for ugly ones yet. I am not opposed to some 'give' in a fabric. Particularly in a waist band.

Not much for 47 years. Guess I better pack a lot in in the next 47.








*Man, that's some complicated math! Ages 0-10, Decade 1; 11-20, Decade 2; 21-30, Decade 3; 31-40, Decade 4. I am *not* in my 50's. Yet!

New Template!

whaddaya think?


Looks a little more polished, maybe?


Is that a good thing?


Tell me.

So maybe it's not my *favorite* pic from the game

but it epitomizes what I felt concerning England's Finest before, during and after this game. Spoiled, with a ginormous sense of entitlement. And they are certainly, pardon the repetition, entitled to some entitlement. My confidence in our USA men went from crazy-demented-hopeful to gloom-and-doom despair. Lampard, Terry, Gerrard, Ashley Cole, etc. Those are some BIG time players. But we played 'em hard, we played 'em fair and there were a couple of points when I thought we could win. In the end, both teams got a point and I believe that was a fair result. These guys might agree.Clint Dempsey, the Mostest from Nacogdoches, and Steven Gerrard exchange jerseys post-game.

ARE YOU READY FOR SOME SOCCER?!?!

Me too. Here's our 2010 World Cup team with Presidents Obama and Clinton. 16 days to go. Surprises for me on this team: Edson Buddle, Johnathan Bornstein, Clarence Goodson. Can't Believe I Forgot About Him Award to Benny Feilhaber. Really! I forgot about him! All I ask is that we get out of our group.

And we kick some Englishter ass.




We have the most Bad Ass Goalkeepers on the planet!

Rust Never Sleeps

But it does take significant time off from its blog from time to time.


Between actual puppy care, learning about puppy care (which has gotten a whole lot more complicated since my last pup!), going to puppy school and yes, work, soccer and a growing addiction to Farmville, I haven't had time to read the paper let alone grace the internet with my prose.

I'll work on that. Longer days ought to help me out. And a housetrained pup. Seriously, I think they are spaying too early and it interferes with their sense of urgency. I will not be getting another pup anytime soon to test this theory, but do invite you to do so. I am happy to report that I think we are on the downhill side of that learning curve. Looking for a big bell to hang on the door for her to ring when she needs curb service. Thanking my lucky stars that my carpet was pretty crapped out anyway and that she has preferred linoleum in general.

She *is* the cutest thing ever, don't you think?

Meet Virginia

well, not that Virginia. And actually her name is Lucinda, but of course we are calling her Luci. She is 10 weeks old in that photo and I, remembering how few good pictures I took of Pawli Paws, have determined to take her picture every single day. I won't bore cyberville with them except possibly on a weekly basis. I am not known for my follow-thru blogging. See the Ponch post down the page - I think 4 or 5 Wednesdays have passed since then.

Anyway, this is Luci and she is very very sweet and very very dirty. She's just been spayed - good lord, they're doing them at birth now (practically) - and she can't have a bath for a few more days. She also came with a bladder infection, so housetraining has been Keystone Kop-ish. She's had her vet visit and should be on the road to recovery rapidly. The shelter described her as a shepherd cross, but her mom was a hound and daddy unknown, but he had some Chow in him. How do I know this? Black spots on her tongue. Same as my sister. By which I mean my mom and dad's puppy, har har har. The vet also thinks she might have some Rottweiler in her, which I have to admit, made my hair stand on end. I'm cool with it now, but she is probably going to be 20 pounds bigger than my ideal size dog. We will learn to cope. (I wrote 'dope' there first - tee hee hee). She's a funny little thing right now. She sits and watches more than any puppy I've ever seen. Not like she's sick, or tired or bored, but like she's studying it all and will put the lesson to use in global domination or something. I have read that Chows are almost cat-like in their aloofness and Rotties are "reserved."

It will be fun to find out who she's gonna be. Besides my beautiful smelly girl, I mean.


p.s. this is her "Pick Me! Pick Me!" photo

Ponch is Stalking Me.

For real. Well, not real real stalking, but the random cyber-media popping up sort that's just a bit uncanny.

It started last week when I trolled thru a Google image search for pics of Tim Armstrong and/or the band Rancid. Found this one showing the band and some guests at a benefit for Tony Hawk's Ride foundation. Note Erik Estrada on the right.

In a little frenzy of Butthole Surfers mania, I found this video for Pepper.


Guess who, again.


So, in the spirit of keeping the dream alive, I've decided to dedicate Wednesdays to random Erik Estrada sightings. We'll call them the Wednesday Weird until we can think of something more clever.



I don't mind the sun sometimes, the images it shows
I can taste you on my lips and smell you on my clothes
cinnamon and sugary and softly spoken lies
you'll never know just how you look thru other people's eyes...


as always, comments welcomed.

A Boy and His Wheels

Pro: I can resume my own life, since I won't be driving him hither and yon.

Con: He'll be driving. Without me and all my passenger seat expertise.

Pro: A tank of gas might last me longer than 3 days.

Con: I'll be loaning him money to put gas in his.

Pro: He can do some of my carpooling chores.

Con: see above.





World, you've been warned.