Week 8 The Artist's Way

/begin crazylocosounding new age testimony

I saw it again. A wolf. Running hell for leather across Veteran's Boulevard. I was this close to hitting him, so much that I had to swerve and I nearly hit a truck in the other lane. He - the wolf - never wavered, never gave me a glance, never seemed to notice he was running perpendicular to the flow of traffic. The driver of the truck gave me a are-you-crazy-lady? shrug and sped on heedlessly. This is a six lane road! It was a busy school morning! Have I mentioned that this was the second time I'd witnessed this? Examination of this under Occam's razor leads to only one conclusion: it was a hallucination. Well, more accurately, a vision. A vision of my spirit animal, the wolf.

No, I have not started smoking crack. Gravity is still functioning for me nicely and the sun still rises in the ... east, is it? I can never remember. That and the spring-forward, fall-back thing - it could just as easily be spring-back, fall-forward, couldn't it?

But I digress.

I suppose what really made me pay attention was the fact that this exact same thing happened twice. Or I had dreamt it first and then it happened In The Real World. But either way, that's significant, don't you think? I don't know what it means exactly, but information here indicates that the wolf teaches steadfastness and helps us find new paths and journeys. One standout sentence from that site: Sometimes transformation accompanies Wolf's lessons.

That sounds way cool, no?

To honor my wolf vision, I am wearing moonstone earrings. They are actually simulated moonstone because I am an impulse buyer. Perhaps my spirit totem will teach me to read the fine print.

/end crazylocosounding new age testimony

Week Seven, Artist's Way - Recovering a Sense of Connection

Had to add another two days to this week to get 'er done. Will basketball ever end? I thought I was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, but it turned out to be a train. A big ass train.

This week was about connections and the recovery thereof. Tasks included some fun stuff, like listening to one side of an album just for joy; wearing a favorite article of clothing for no reason at all (cue Forest Gump); buying myself something wonderful & self-comforting (my purple polka-dotted robe); and creating a collage. This was supposed to be done very rapidly, but as I went dumpster-diving for the unread-by-me magazines, I took my time looking them over. Another reason I had to add two days to this week! But my collage came out pretty cool, I think, and I am so ridiculously proud of it that I'd like to hang it on my refrigerator.

But I'd have to clean it off first, so...

A good week on the Artist's Way. I reconnected to my inner adventurer in a nanoway. I signed up for a class in meditation. All by myself! With strangers! And I gave a good two minutes of thought to standing up and telling some of ThatSchoolWhichMustNotBeNamed's basketball parents to sit down and shut up and stop acting like schoolyard bullies. But I decided that was perhaps not a risk it would be wise to take just yet.

Learning! I'm doin' it!

Continuing The Artist's Way - Week Six

My first draft of that came out WARtist's way. I think I like that better. I'm not an artist, I'm a WARtist!

Yeah, right. (which is proof that two positives CAN make a negative)

To be blunt, Week Six sucked. It was all about abundance, playing What If again and examining the idea of God's - the Creator's - will for us. One particular quote, which I will now mangle, stood out for me: God didn't make just ONE kind of snowflake, but an INFINITE variety of snowflakes, so he must adore creativity. Which is a provocative idea. But God also created accountants and the need for them, so maybe he's a little OCD too. The idea that God wants everyone to be creative is fabulous, but we can't ALL be artists, can we? Doesn't someone have to make the soup, so to speak? That's the leap of faith I can't seem to make - that if I am meant to be an artist/writer, I should just do it and let the money follow.

Too fond of eating, I suppose, to be that reckless. And I'm not at all sure I'm meant to be an artist/writer. Do you like that slash? I don't. Writing seems so concrete to me, and drawing/painting/creating things out of other things seems so ... spiritual? Like you have to be tuned in to something and it flows through you and out into the work. I've written a couple things like that, none of which immediately spring to mind, and certainly not *this* blog post, but I've never HAD to paint a picture or draw a line or fingerpaint for that matter.

I guess that would be my


....


wait for it



ARTISTIC block.


Mwahhahahahahahha.

The Artist's Way - Week Five!

in which we try to reconnect with a Sense of Possiblity by examining the attitudes and ideas we have about the nature of God the Creator and also by examining what Julia calls Virtue Traps we build around ourselves. Maybe the subtitle of this chapter should be Remember When You Weren't Everything to Everybody? Or, How I learned to let go and let others make their own peanut butter sandwiches. Or something like that. Tasks were all about lists of ten: ways I am mean to myself (I had a HARD time with this one - I am pretty kind to myself as a rule), ten items I would like to own (surprise! I want a VW camper van!!). If I were 20 and had money, what would I do? If I were 65 and same, what then? A lot of what-if'ing and idle dreaming and I am pretty darn good at that.

The Virtue Trap stuff rang dishearteningly true. As I look back over my adult life, I realize that I've gradually surrendered every second of solitude I once treasured. I was a weird kid, I freely admit, and I liked being alone. Not all the time, but I was, as my mother was delighted to find out, totally content with my own company. Once I got married, I still had some alone time, because we worked different shifts a lot. Once the first child came along, it got a little harder, but I was still in college, so I had the class/commute time. Out of school, with baby #2, it got even more scarce and somewhere just disappeared completely. Last summer, I found myself on a Saturday all alone - kids off with friends, husband working. And I had no freaking idea what to do! I had completely forgotten how to be by myself. So, I took the dog to town. Literally. Pet Smart and two dog parks! A big day for her. What I realized from this chapter is that I need that alone time.

The Artist's Way - Weeks 3 and 4

Up to date, I'm not. The good news is that I'm busy doing the stuff, so I don't have time to blog about it. And to be fair, week four was media deprivation week, so technically I wasn't allowed to blog about it.

Take that, Bembridge scholars.

Week Three was all about recovering a sense of power. How one recovers something one has never had is a conundrum I could not solve, but whatevs. Most of the tasks involved remembering favorite things from childhood - toys, games, friends, etc., and remembering things you liked about yourself as a child. I was ridiculously curious about things and I had an active imagination. I liked to read Greek mythology and play pretend Olympus, watch the Wild Wild West on tv and play that with my friend Ian in the wilds of our California neighborhood. Another task was to list 3 subtle foes of my creativity and how I sabotage myself by allowing them to control my time. This is where I discovered the Seat of Sloth that calls my name every night after dinner and, truthfully, sometimes before. I tend to gravitate towards it after the day's work and open a book. Sometimes I read it, sometimes I look at the back of my eyelids. So, that's a place to beware. Nothing wrong with sitting, reading OR napping, but it's hard to be creative there. I do assume some unusual positions when I nap, so there's my creative expression.

Week Four was designed to recover a sense of integrity. What this has to do with reading/media deprivation, I do not know, but I am proud to say that I did not read a book, magazine, newspaper or pamphlet for the entire week. I also severely limited my internet usage. Only work sites allowed! No Facebook! No Elvis! No soccer news! I did allow myself to check email on two different occasions just to see if anybody missed me (and damn your hides, NONE of you did!). I allowed myself to watch tv and dvds also. If I lived alone, I would have chucked that, but it's hard to NOT watch tv at our house. I would have been spending all my evenings in my room. Alone. This does not sound bad, come to think of it. Maybe next time. Again, most of the tasks involved visualizing - ideal environment, what my 80 year old self might say to my present day self, what my 8 year old self would say to her as well - and being good to myself with an extended Artist Date (did not manage) and a ceremonial tossing of some ragged low self-esteem article of clothing. That would be my entire underwear drawer!

Just kidding.

Sort of. Note to self: bras! buy new ones!

I don't recall experiencing any synchronicity during these two weeks, but I have observed that I am not very observant and I'm trying to pay more attention and not just skim through the experience.

Just to define it once and for all, integrity to me is a synonym for authentic. And I want to be my (eeep!) authentic self.

With power. :)

The Artist's Way - Week Two

In which our heroine recovers a Sense of Identity. In order to accomplish this, she will figure out where her time goes, remember things she once loved to do but forgot how when she grew up, make a Life Pie, play If I Could Be... and plan 10 Tiny Changes.

Well, hmm.

A great deal of my time is frittered away waiting. Waiting for the work day to end, for practice to be over, in check out lines, in traffic. I dislike beyond words the feeling of being "on hold" but I tend to internalize that into a kind of finger-drumming, wheel-spinning frustration that is bitter to taste and toxic to productivity because when I'm finally free, all that I can think about is breathing on my own time and not having to answer to The Man. Or The Child, as the case may be. I also waste a lot of time on the internet and in front of the tv and behind books - maybe the book part is a bit harsh. So, I think I need to work on perhaps being more engaged at work. And to remember a book or notebook for the basketball doldrums. And limiting my internet access. I truly believe we all need a little less internet access and more quiet soul searches and some face-to-face just to keep things in perspective.

Coming up with 20 things I like to do - well, you'd think that would be a no-brainer. Proved a little more difficult for me. I like to read, I like to watch TV and dvds, but I do these all the time, so maybe they aren't the treats/refuges they once were. I tried to come up with things that, well, for want of a better phrase, feed my soul. Oh, the humanity. These things include hiking (preferably w/dog), swimming in rivers or oceans (preferably where I can see my feet), going to concerts, rollerskating, writing silly birthday poems for friends and writing letters. Gotta find me some rollerblades!

The Life Pie was kind of a mystery to me. You draw a circle and divide it into six segments: Work, Friends, Romance/Adventure, Play, Exercise and Spirituality. Then you make a mark within the segment as to how fulfilled you feel in that area. My lowest rankers were Spirituality, Friends and R/A. I feel like I've got waaaaay too much work, but it's the have-to variety and not the want-to kind, so maybe it's time for a change there. ( I always envy people who love their jobs so much they don't describe them as work!). Connecting my dots, I created a diamond shape - not that it means anything in particular, it was just kind of cool. Like using a spirograph! Something cool appears just when you least expect it. Gotta find me a spirograph!!


p.s. I really did kinda look like her when I was that age.

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.

When Worlds Collide...

Lars Frederiksen and Branden Steineckert of Rancid, combining two of my favorite things: soccer & awesome hair. Now if they can just grab Tim. And maybe disrobe a little.

Stolen from Branden's facebook.

Fear, Loathing and a Whole Lotta Cat Hair

How do cats do that anyway? Just eject hair at will?

Speck, seen here in the classic meatloaf pose, had to pay a visit to our friendly neighborhood vet after coming down with a smelly ear that somehow morphed into one ginormous abcess behind his ear.

$300 later, he will be fine. Flealess, vaccinated, drained and antibioticated, he will be good as new.

LD to Everton?

SBI sez it's so. But I'd feel a lot better about it if someone besides "source" said it. But, anyway, good for Mr. Donovan, who grows in my estimation just about every single day. Whatever happens, 50% of internet pundits will say he failed. 50% will say he was God-like in his magnificence. None of them will be 100% correct. Let's hope Kickette takes note.

Best of luck, LD. Go kick some Englishter ass.



*Kickette noticed.

Run Run Run, Run Awaaaaayyyyyy

Eddie Johnson's days at Fulham are numbered.


Told ya so. Not braggin', just sayin'.


Not that that's anything to brag about, but I *desperately* need to be right about something today.