Graduations… celebrations…

Tonight was the last telecon class of my Kaizen-Muse Creativity Coaching training. What a cool bunch of women I’ve met, all extremely talented in their own right.

I had a breakthrough this week on some concepts I’ve been lugging around with me, that didn’t serve me well. I’ve been in the habit of limiting myself with the use of negative self-talk, one of the many self-sabotaging “tools” if you will, and find that I am not the only one afflicted. In fact, it’s so rampant that I’m amazed any of us get anything done.

I’ve found that I get the most done when I simply ignore limitations (whether real or imagined) and plod through to reach the other side. Worrying about something accomplishes nothing… except perhaps putting off the task at hand for that much longer. Many of us are so busy worrying about how NOT to do something, to wiggle out of a responsibility, that the task would most likely be completed within the time period we spend on avoidance.

While researching “looks” of successful websites/blogs, Jill (Badonsky, the author of Nine Modern Day Muses and a Body Guard, and co-creator of the Kaizen-Muse Creativity Coaching program) suggested we take a look at this site. During my perusal, I came upon this article, which I wanted to share with you, because it strikes a deep chord for me and I suspect (since I am not very different from most creative types) it will in you as well. I especially like the Yoda quote from Star Wars… because that line was like a sucker punch when it came whizzing at me during a recent re-watching of this movie… and it sounded like something my father had said to me… “Don’t try… do!” Makes sense. It is somewhat akin to another quote, this one attributed to Henry Link: Those who hesitate because of the fear of making mistakes are being passed by those who are busy making mistakes and perfecting themselves.

There are many times I’ve asked people to do something, and I’ve received the “I’ll try” reply… which I have found translates into, “Nice try… I don’t think I’ll be trying to do this anytime soon, suckah!” and amounts to absolutely nothing, but they’ve managed to tell you no without really telling you no (thinking they have also avoided to hurt your feelings, when really all they have done is piss you off because they’ve fallen short of your expectations).

Well… I’ve rambled on plenty long on the subject, and will cap this post off with a short “suggested reading” list having to do with NLP (neuro-linguistic programming):

Magic of NPL Demystified by Byron Lewis & Frank Pucelik (ISBN 1-5552-017-0)

NLP: The New Technology of Achievement NLP Comprehensive by Steve Andreas & Charles Faulkner (ISBN 0-688-14619-8)

Mental Coaching-Utilizing Neuro-Linguistic Programming for Better Quality of Work Life, Job Performance, and Lasting Behavioral Change by Trygve Roos (ISBN 1-55395-469-6)

Trance-Formations: Neuro-Linguistic Programming and the Structure of Hypnosis by John Grinder (ISBN 0911226230)

Reframing: Neuro-linguistic Programming and The Transformation of Meaning (Paperback)by Richard Bandler & John Grindler (ISBN 0911226257)

And… happy Chinese new year! Be well and prosper!

Who is that masked man?

My pink and black postcard is ready to go out. I started out with a sketch of a Venetian Carnivale masquerader and worked a pink background on watercolor board with US ArtQuest’s watercolor palettes. They’re glittery and fun and when I need to take myself a bit more lightly, I pull them out. I layered on several coats of the stuff through a paper doily. I love the resulting texture. Then I transferred my sketch onto the board with graphite paper and added dark paint and texture on my masked man as well. I’m grateful that I only have one (as opposed to nine) to do.

I’ve been thinking on a lot of things lately. I picked up Doreen Virtue’s Divine Magic (Hay House Classics) last week, and have been reading it since mid-week. Interesting stuff, this… not new, per se, but neatly, concisely packaged, along with a “meditation” CD. It’s inspiring, in the least… whatever it takes these days.

Everything about my professional life, lately, seems to be ill-fitting, except perhaps the regular paycheck. I’ve spent most of my adult life in the corporate world, working as what can be equated to a servant position… that of secretary, though nowadays the term administrative assistant is by far a more politically correct designation. And as with all positions of servitude, the degree of palatability is entirely dependent upon the person you serve, and to a lesser extent the nastiness of the other wenches in your household, so to speak. Some days they behave, other days not so much.During a rather philosophical discussion with one of my co-workers, I was advised to “rise above it” (as opposed to wallowing in the slop of the pig sty). Some days this is easier to accomplish than others. I truly feel that my calling is not amongst these ranks, though it does provide a steady and dependable flow of income. I’ve most always picked the easier route in my life, choosing not to rock the boat even though every ounce of me was screaming that I should tip it over. Other times, when I’ve done just that, after the dust settled and the other passengers in the boat smoothed out their disheveled hair, I always found that I was in a better place (at least on a soul level).

But it’s always good to have a plan…I’ve almost completed my Kaizen-Muse coaching program and can now officially be called a “Kaizen-Muse Creativity Coach.” As with any new clothes… shoes… titles… this one will take a while to feel comfortable in, but I’m sure I’ll adapt. That… and I’m just about convinced that I’ll be winning not one, but TWO very big lottery draws… I’ll keep you posted… maybe even throw a party.

Birthday feasts…

Gabriel and my birthdays aren’t even a week apart, so we went to The Melting Pot for a celebratory dinner tonight. I’m so stuffed I could have been wheelbarrowed home… two hours’ worth of eating… Wisconsin Cheese Fondue… Caesar Salad… Seafood, Meat/Poultry and Ravioli Fondue… capped off with a Bailey’s Irish Cream and Milk Chocolate Fondue. Mmmmm… urp! Delish! A once a year extravaganza. We would have made the Romans proud (good thing I’ve started riding my bike to work).

More random thoughts and philisophical meanderings…

* Guilt, though a natural by-product of the human condition, is best utilized as a springboard for striving to better ourselves, not turned around to lay blame for our own shortcomings on another party
* You can not lay blame if you take personal responsibility (or ascribe to the concept of personal responsibility); attempts to control others, or mold them into our perception of what we think is optimal, is fruitless… a waste of time, energy, and personal growth for all parties involved
* Taking responsibility for our actions does not directly result in success/failure, which in and of itself is relative to our limited perception (like peering out of a straw to view the universe)
* Being attached to outcome limits growth; that is not to say that one shouldn’t always strive to do one’s best, but to realize that the outcome is fluid and it is what it is, taking on a life of its own, so to speak
* Embrace the duality of existence… both its darkness and its brilliance are integral to its wholeness, and not honoring both leads towards imbalance
* Humans, while we claim to embrace individuality, seem to be hard-wired to a herd mentality; any individual who asserts a perspective differing from the commonly accepted norms usually is vehemently opposed/ridiculed/ostracized/penalized/eradicated until his assertions are verified and become accepted, resulting in the resetting of the collective perspective or norm

Did you know… ?
* Quantum mechanics purports that previously chaotic subatomic particles, through the mere act of observation, become coherent

Colors of India… coming along

I’m coming along with the sketching for the Colors of India postcards…

New Journal, Second Entry

Watercolor and gouache

Reference images are laid-out

I’ve selected the images and laid them out. Now to start work on rendering them and then painting… nothing is ever simple with me, eh? Why I can’t just do something simple (like a collage or use some decorative papers) is beyond me. I always have to push myself to my creative limit.

New journal, first entry

Graphite, colored pencils, watersoluble colored pencils

So… here we go again…

Performance anxiety and the blank sheet…

I’ve printed out all of the reference images that I intend to use for my “colors of India” piece/postcards. Again, I plan on using a larger sized 400lb watercolor paper sheet and cutting into nine pieces once I’m done. My pens and pencils are at their ready and yet I’ve been circling the table warily, not quite ready to get started. You know I’ll feel a sudden rush of inspiration at 9PM tonight, after an afternoon of birthday partying with a pack of eleven year old boys at Boomers, just minutes shy of my bedtime, don’t you? Yes… of course.

Instead of sitting down at the table, I’ve been surfing the ‘net and ogling other people’s work… reading little snippets of book reviews and excerpts on Amazon… looking for an elusive csoki csucs recipe… and have finally decided that I must categorize and itemize my watercolors and gouache on an Excel spreadsheet, and perhaps make a run to Sterling Art to fill in some (if any) gaps I have in my colors. Alas… my large Ziplock bag of paints is calling…

Color Postcards Gallery

click on image to view photo gallery

I finally mailed out my RED (Mar. 1st) and Turquoise-Brown (Apr. 1st) postcards today. I didn’t take any photos of the postcards after my completed pieces were cut up into sections, so all of the postcards in the gallery (when you click the photo above) will be of others’ work that I received in this exchange since January. The next color (my theme, “colors of India”) is due out on May 1st. I’ll get started on them this weekend and see how much I can get done. I’m aiming for mailing out next Saturday, the fifth of May.

Turquoise & brown… almost done

Watercolor on 400lb cold press Arches paper…
Still a work-in-progress… but closer to being done

The latest development on my turquoise-brown postcards. I think I’ll be doctoring up two of the nine cards once they’re cut up, but I think I’m done painting now. It’s funny… I just get bored with something and even though it’s not ‘zactly perfect, I’m ready to move on to something else. As my friend Sanaz from work would say: “It is what it is…”

Oh… the souffles never happened, but I did make some kick-ass crepes on Sunday morning for me and Gabriel.

Neeeeeeext… turquoise & brown

Watercolor on 400lb cold press Arches paper…
Another work-in-progress

I’ve started on the next postcards (which should have gotten out on or around the 1st of April already *sigh*). I don’t believe in making excuses, just on making good, so I’m working to catch up on the postcard production process this weekend. I’d intended to go to the Griffith Observatory for a jaunt, but have changed my mind… will to it some other time instead. I think we’ll play catch up this weekend… Gabriel on his homework and I on my art projects and things. I picked up some little ramekins the other day at Crate & Barrel and have decided to experiment with making a souffle… should be interesting… potentially disasterous… potentially delicious… it’s a 50-50 toss up.

Walking in L.A.

click on image to view photos on a separate page

I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before, but Erin Mahoney’s book Walking L.A.: 36 Walking Tours Exploring Stairways, Streets and Buildings You Never Knew Existedis fabulous. My friend Bonnie and I decided to do Walk 16 today, starting at Hancock Park and the La Brea Tar Pits. We scaled the Page Museum’s steps onto the roof top terrace and surveyed the area. I was surprised by its airy quality, feeling as if it was floating. We peeked in to the museum really quickly and decided to return on our way back so that I could pick up a few things, particularly the largest and coolest mug I’ve seen in a while.

The book suggested a stop at Mani’s along Fairfax, so Bonnie and I sat down for a cup of coffee, some healthy desserts and a chat. The cherry-apple turnover I had was wonderful, but Bonnie’s chocolate almond mousse cake was so good, I almost regretted not picking that instead of the turnover.

I’d recently visited the Farmer’s Market with Pascale and Co., so it didn’t hold anything of great interest for me, and Bonnie was not all that interested in the shops so we quickly walked through that part of the trek and onto the next, which took us past Pan Pacific Regional Park and up to Beverly Blvd. We went into the Erewhon Natural Foods Market in search of some bandaids for my ailing right heel. Every time I wear these darned shoes (purchased at the Walking Company, no less), I get fantastic blisters on my right heel! The box of bandaids was $5 and not large enough to really be effective, so I decided to ignore the smarting heel and walk on. We poked into a photography gallery along Beverly Blvd. and continued on to Vista and Martel avenues. The houses were so quaint that I couldn’t resist snapping some photos.

Back at the start of the walk again, we stopped at the Museum shop so that I could pick up the coveted mug. I also picked up a few items for Gabriel, who had decided that he wanted to go to the skatepark instead (more on that later). As we passed by the L.A. County Museum of Art for the second time I decided that I would have to make a return trip just to see the museums and the galleries along this stretch.

We were hungry for some food and decided to drive to Little Ethiopia and stop by for a late lunch/early dinner at one of the restaurants that lined Fairfax. Across the street from the restaurant was a shoe store where I finally ditched my implements of torture masquerading as shoes and purchased some $10 slip-ons. The restaurant competition appeared to be stiff as there were several establishments side-by-side and across the street from each other. Interesting food… I liked the spices but the meat we had was tough, and the slightly sour flavor of the flatbread and the dumplings left me nonplussed.

I arrived minutes before Steve and Gabriel showed up, coming home from the Etnies skate park in Lake Forest. There’s a good reason why a) they make you suit up in protective gear and b) make you sign disclaimers prior to setting wheels in the park. Gabriel took a spill and banged his chin in one of the concrete bowls and his chin was lumpy, discolored (and apparently sore). So… we spent three hours in the Hoag emergency room waiting for a set of mandibular x-rays to be taken, to make sure nothing was broken (and it wasn’t–phew!).

Inspiration and other illusive things

Click image for link to John Copeland’s site

My friend Kelly Kilmer mentionned several weeks ago the fabulous collection of images from John Copeland available for purchase in a book. Being the book whore that I am, I immediately ordered it and then waited… and waited… and… well, you get the idea. It finally arrived today and I must say, it was worth the wait… it’s f’n awesome! Much smaller than I’d imagined it would be, it was produced in a sort of catalog format in conjunction with his September 10, 2004 exhibit at the 31Grand Street gallery in NYC. As Kelly had mentioned in her post previously, it is textured, layered, raw. I can definitely see Barron Storey’s influence in John’s books of journals.

And, if I wasn’t so damned flattened from my day of work, I’d pull out a journal and have at it… but sleep beckons instead. The 5:30AM alarm will ring before I know it…

TMI but sharing anyway…

Well I’m sitting here, in all my glory, body wrapped in a towel and hair turbaned, waiting to hear from my doctor’s office. I’m trying to get in for an appointment today, but I may end up slugging it out at the walk-in clinic, if they can’t squeeze me in today.

Yesterday I got news that I was anemic (9.4 hemoglobin count) and judging by the amounts of ice cubes I’ve been inspired to chew on lately, that was not such a great surprise. I’m also at 41 days since my last, well, you know… and so there’s something wigging out with my hormones I’m thinking. And finally there’s that nagging, dull ache that I’ve had on my right side, just under the bottom part of my rib cage… it’s been a little over a week and shows no sign of abating, so perhaps it is tied in to all of the other goings-on of my body as of late.

Guess I should brew a pot of coffee, since I haven’t had any yet today… If I was the least bit energetic, I’d tackle some more of my tax stuff, or write something (other than this blog)… something grand and inspiring.

Red "color" postcards – eck… enough already!

All kinds of media on illustration board…

Okay… I’m done. Some of the mediums ran a bit when I sprayed it with the clear lacquer but it adds to it. Since this piece will shortly get cut up into nine pieces, I felt the bottom right corner piece needed something else… so I added three bits of mica with a laser print of a dried flower. So, with that… I’m done. On to new horizons…

Red "color" postcards… almost done

All kinds of media on illustration board…

I’m almost done with these… feels like something is missing, that it’s not quite done yet, but I’m getting bored with it, and it may go out like this… I’ve already got plans for the next one, which was supposed to have been out beginning of this month. The color theme for the next one is brown-turquoise, and I’ve already received many cards to date. Unlike myself, the others can actually get stuff out on time.

I finally finished reading Neil Gaiman’s American Gods which was fantastic, and I’m now almost half way through Reading Lolita in Teheran. I went on Thursday for some blood work… not feeling quite myself these days; looking forward to seeing what the test results glean.

Okay, so I’ve been quiet…

Our little tourist group, on Hollywood Blvd., following a brush with
Al Pacino in the Marmont stairwell (the irony is not lost on me that we
left the “real” star to gaze at the symbolic ones embedded into the street)
click on image to see the rest of the photos

…but I have a perfectly good excuse. Apart from entertaining my out-of-town visitors, the day they left I came down with a whopper of a flu, with 103+ fever and all that jazz. It took three days of bed rest and several more days of not a whole lot of activity to get back to some semblance of health… now my neck is spasming and the only thing that helps at the moment is a half a tablet of hydrocodone taken every six hours or so.

More photos (and blogging) to follow this weekend.

What Questions Do You Ask?

This morning I awoke to my usual hundred-something emails, which, of course, ninty percent of are junk. I do get good ones too, though, and I found the Digest version of posts from one of the Yahoo groups that I am a member of, Belle Papier. One of the members, Judy Carlson, writes:

I received a post from my dear friend who is battling lung cancer, and doing very well, to my eternal joy. I would like to share part of it with you.

Human life is a quest. We are on a journey the end of which is not in sight. Searching, longing, questioning is in our restless genes. The practice of philosophy is a way of life that results from falling in love with questions—-the great mythic questions that can never be given definitive answers. Who we are and what we will become is determined by the questions that animate us, and by those we refuse to ask.

The difference between Einstein and Hitler depends on the questions they asked. What you ask is who you are. What you find depends on what you search for……. Imagine the different type and quality of life you would have if the main question you asked when you got up each morning was each of the following: Where can I get my next fix of heroin? How do I serve God? What will the neighbors think? What happened during the big bang when the world was created? Who will love me? How do I get power? How can we destroy our enemy? How can we end violence? Where will I spend eternity? How can I make enough money? Who are my friends? How can I be comfortable? Is my cancer curable? How can I become famous? How do we heal the earth? Where can I get food for my children?

What is your quest? Your question?

* What is the purpose of my life?
* What ought I do?
* For what may I hope?
* Whom do I love? Why?
* What curtails my freedom?
* How can I escape from the constricting social, political, sexual, and economic myths that were imposed on me by my family and culture?
* To what cause, idea, faith, may I surrender without destroying the integrity of my self?
* What does it mean to experience the sacred?
* How can I live a spirited life in a world dominated by a secular-technological-economic vision of reality?
* What is my credo? My philosophy of life?

Such thought-provoking questions… things that I wonder about, on and off, all of the time… and also wonder, likewise, how others’ questions differ, and why? Why is it that I wonder about ‘the purpose of my life’ while others wonder about very different things, if they wonder at all?

How did I get here from there?

Pencil sketch on index card

It’s so strange, this life. It’s strange that one can be in a room full of people and yet still feel alone and how when a heart is filled with love, even if one is by oneself, one still feels sustained and not lonely. Most times I simply ignore a whole lot. I pretend that all is fine and that I am fulfilled. I spend so much of my time making a living and attending to others that it leaves me tired and spent. I escape into sleep but awaken unrested… tired and dissatisfied, as if I’d forgotten a most crucial ingredient out of my spaghetti sauce but can’t quite put my finger on which one it is. Most days I simply ignore that slight incongruence, and eat the food and make like I like it. Other days it just doesn’t work so well, and I quietly call my own bluff. Today is such a day, I suppose.

Valentine’s day is just a few days away, and I can look forward to a card with a few words in it. Nothing meaningful, because I know in my heart that such a thing between us has long since been extinguished. I’ve been alone for so long now that I’m not sure what I would do if I wasn’t. There’s a certain comfort in it. Never having my expectations dashed because I don’t have any. I still dream of being wholly loved, sometimes, and awaken with wet cheeks-my eyes leak of their own accord. Sometimes I dream that I have that most elusive thing, and feel as though a fire flutters in my chest like a butterfly and burns like the sun. I dream that I am loved for all that I am… cherished. Then I awaken to… now… this.

I often wonder what it is that I’ve done to deserve it, this void. Is this what it’s like to be dead, I wonder? This nothingness. Except for the sex… which is like a giant black dwarf threatening to implode upon itself and suck everything right along with it into darkness.

Does this love that I’ve been hoping to find in my lifetime even exist, or is it the sawdust that stuffs the fairytales of the world? Is it something hoped for but never attained? There have been moments in my life when I would have sworn otherwise… when I was certain that there was such a thing, because it burned hot and bright, almost consuming me. But… when a fire burns and there is no one to stoke it, eventually it loses its fuel and is extinguished. How can it be so hard to find another whose heart burns as brightly for you as yours does for them and still being able to keep the fires stoked and burning? It is a mystery to me.

My heart beats for my son… he is its driving force and while the fire ebbs and flows there is an ember amidst the others which shall never burn out, miraculously infinite. Oh… wait… it is unconditional love… a mother’s love for her child.

Color postcard swap… incoming!

Artist: Nona McCarley Parry, New Zealand

Artist: Mary Godfrey, Independence, MO

Artist:Debbie McGavock, Florissant, MO

Artist: Lori Zimmermann, Ojai, CA

The above cards are from the color postcard swap that I’d instigated. This month’s theme was black & white. Some very fine examples of just that… enjoy!

Catch-up posts…

Been busy this week, what with a parent-teacher conference, doctor’s appointments and the like. I’m posting a few doodles today… one is a pencil sketch of Keanu from many months ago, the other a pen & ink sketch of no one in particular, both on index cards. I love drawing on these… not sure why. Well… sleep beckons… hope the iron pills I popped will help make me feel a bit more spunky by tomorrow.

The magic of tungsten light…

I have always loved the glow of tungsten light. Magritte, one of my favorite artists as a teenager, apart from his fanciful subject matter drew me by his treatment of light (featuring tungsten light in may of his paintings). It gives me a warm fuzzy inside… not sure if this is something peculiar to me, or whether others feel this too?

Gabriel and I had dinner at Britta’s Cafe again last night. We got there just in time to nab one of the two little barstool tables for two. The place was completely booked and the wait was well over an hour for a table… and I was starving. In fact, I’d decided that I’d wanted to go there for dinner quite a bit earlier during the day, since I hadn’t eaten a whole lot and was craving another one of their little 3oz filets. Like butter! Gabriel is feeling rather poorly again. He’s come down with another cold and is congested and snorfling.

         
(Click to see enlarged view in separate window)

We got back last night and watched some TV. I don’t PMS like most… rather than turning into a raving bitch, I simply become weepy, and even the most innocuous things (like the animated Stitch film) will have me reaching for the hanky. I just wiped all the spots off of the inside of my glasses created by my exploding tear ducts. Fortunately the melancholy is of short duration, and doesn’t linger on, so I feel just fine.

Now that I’ve gotten this post off of my chest, perhaps I can fall back asleep once again.

Writing… "thought kernels"… and Neil Gaiman

Pencil sketch – Neil Gaiman channelling
Keanu Reeves (or vice-versa?)

During my lunch hour I like to surf the web and catch up on my blog reading. I usually cycle through the ones that I have listed in the links section of my own blog. One of my favorites is Neil Gaiman’s. I marvel at how prolific he is. This led me to pose a question to him (I elaborate below).

Invariably, when am at work, or at the oddest of times (like the middle of the night… I’ve been know to get up to jot down a thought), I get these little flashes of inspiration. I’ve dubbed them “thought kernels” because they usually are not complete in and of themselves, but much like seeds could potentially be planted and grown into complete works. I had such a moment at work yesterday, and proceeded to email myself with the thought. As much as I hate to postpone working on these ideas later, I often have to set them aside because of other things I have going on. Not necessarily writing projects, but rather things like work… or the dishes… or laundry… etc.

I also tend to start on a bunch of things, when the inspiration strikes, and then allow the sparks to burn themselves out, always moving on to the next brightly burning project instead of completing the previous one. Quite honestly, this is an aspect of myself that I find really annoying and would love to change. In any case, I asked Neil how he deals with these obtrusive “sparks” and how he kept on task with projects when he still had a “day job” (assuming he’s had one at some point in time).

I struggle with these things. I’m at a starting point in this industry at a point in my life where my would-be peers have pretty much already established themselves, and do not have to deal with the “beginner” issues that I am faced with. By the same token, those who are at that starting point are usually quite a bit younger, which also means that their responsibilities differ from mine. I have a family… a job that provides us healthcare benefits. A 401K plan. Our level of comfort depends on the portion of income that I generate. I can’t just live out of a suitcase on a friend’s couch and eat ramen until the something fabulous materializes. So… I try and do as I am able, as time and energy permits… and hopefully someday it will pay off. Until then, may the journey be worthwhile.

Birthday celebration(s) in review…

Moleskine journal entry – Pencil sketch of the livingroom at the Chateau Marmont

Party’s over… not that there was much of a party, but I definitely rung in the new year of my birth in style. I went to see David Lynch and Donovan at the Kodak Theatre. The theatre is impressive with its central spiral staircase and the architectural elements it comprises of. The event itself was interesting, though not quite what I’d imagined. David was introduced and the format for his portion was basically a Q&A session collected from various audience members and written onto index cards. Laura Dern joined him on stage to ask the questions. A pianist, whose name I can’t remember, interpreted each question and response musically, stroking the keys in tiny little snippets. The questions (and their respective answers) were rather repetitive, and mostly quite evasive. David was quite funny… warm… real. He seems to be a delightful man… I’d love my own Q&A session with him, one-on-one.

On the other hand, Donovan was quite phenomenal. He spoke a little of his background, of the evolution of events that led him to TM and how it affected his life and more specifically his music. Then he played… a lot! It was quite wonderful. I noted his green guitar and the stag image on it. He also quite gleefully greeted “all the witches” in the audience right before he played “Season of the Witch” which was met with whoops from some of the audience members. Interesting… perhaps he is a TMer with a penchant for wicca?

In any case, the concert was the highlight of my evening. Afterwards I cabbed it to the Chateau Marmont for a very late dinner. The osso bucco and the gingerbread cake with poached pear and whipped marscarpone (along with the glass of muscat) that I had were phenomenal.

I wasn’t in the mood to get to sleep immediately afterwards and ended up watching a Naruto movie on DVD which one of my co-workers (thanks Henry! *smiles*) gave me… it’s a Japanese movie (with English subtitles) called Naruto and the Snow Princess. A bit different than the TV show (I was pretty impressed at the lack of “censorship” in that Kakashi Sensei at some point says “Oh shit!”). I am definitely a cartoon geek, my current favorites being Naruto and The Avatar.

The next morning my friend Kelly Kilmer and I met for a breakfast at the Marmont, taking up residence on one of the sofas in the “living room” to exchange our Christmas gifts (and I got my birthday presents as well). Amazingly enough, we both purchased things for each other without duplicating anything, which is saying a lot (since both of us are absolute *ahem* book whores). I scored big time… the whole “Black Orchid” comic series, minus an issue here and there… Barron Storey’s 1996 Watch Annual… the three issues of the “Death” series… the Japanese version of Yoshitaka Amano’s “Fairies” book, which I’ve picked up and put back down countless times at the book store.

After parting ways with Kelly, the rest of my day was spent slumming with the Hollywood crowd in the Marmont “living room,” typing away at my story on the laptop. I am such a slow writer. I suppose we all work differently. I have to carefully churn the words around in my mind and come up with a perfect turn of phrase. It will take me an eternity to write out this story, but oh well! Kelly read the stuff I’d had in the morning and was quite impressed (and I don’t think she was just being polite, but perhaps).

While I took up residence there, a fellow came in with two men, looking for a place to settle into. He was also accompanied by the largest black wiry-haired dog I’d ever seen. “Miniature horse” were words that entered my mind. They found a good spot and sat down; the dog seemed to have disappeared. Throughout the afternoon while I was banging away at my story, these folks were in talks discussing what I’d assumed to be a movie project of some kind. The theme of the story they were discussing was very similar to something that I am working on, only my treatment is going to be different than what they are planning. In any case, after their meeting was adjourned, the fellow with the dog came over to me, asking “Would you like to meet George?” Sure I would… George (the dog) sauntered over and proffered his tail end for a rub. I obliged, to which I was told that the dog dug me because he only did that if he liked you. Phew… what a relief! Wouldn’t it be nice if all humans did this? How much simpler life would be. (“Hello! You smell good and I like you… would you rub my rump please?”) In any case, George’s owner, Steve, introduced himself by his first name and I have no idea who he was in the big picture of things. And I’m a big picture person if there ever was one.

Afterwards, I went over to Book Soup for some perusing and whiled away some time. For dinner I had decided on eating at Le Clafoutis. I must admit, I was somewhat disappointed in the food. I ordered a chicken with penne dish… the chicken was diced into these tiny little cubes and appeared to be pan-fried; the penne was in a lemon creme sauce. Not bad, but the chicken really threw me for a loop… the whole dish tasted somewhat fatty and despite the lemony sauce, very… indistinct and rather unmemorable. Can’t say that I’d ever choose to eat there again.

Tuesday morning was an unwelcome intrusion to the churning ocean of creativity that I’d been floating in since Sunday. I ended up taking an additional vacation day, and instead of staying at home I stole away to a local Starbuck’s with my laptop and wrote in the morning. I worked out the text for the visual story that I mentioned earlier, and will work on the sketches for the illustrations this weekend. I plan on making 20 hand-bound art books. There will be 20 images to accompany not a whole lot of text. I’ll be making the prints using my Print Gocco, and then hand-tinting the pages with watercolors, walnut ink, acrylic paints, or any combination thereof, so essentially, each of the prints will be slightly different due to the hand-coloring. I haven’t yet decided on the binding technique I plan on using, but I suppose it would be a good start to at least get the 20 drawings completed… or begun.

After work on Wednesday I met with my friend Bonnie for some dinner followed by a show at the Barclay. Dinner was at Britta’s Cafe. The food is absolutely delish. Not cheap, though, but worth dishing out the money for the quality of the food, and the interesting menu items/ingenious ingredient combinations. I’d say it’s right up there with Le Girafe (in Santa Monica).

The show at the Barclay was fantastic. We watched the Hungarian State Folk Ensemble perform to a Hungarian Concerto Homage to Béla Bartók. It was fabulous… the music… the costumes… the dancing… made me feel… Hungarian.

‘Tis "the day"…

Adulthood is over-rated… if I could crawl my way back into my childhood, I’d do it. Not because it was so wonderful, but the sense of security I felt at KNOWing that I would be taken care of… that’s wonderful… and fleeting. Both my parents are gone now, and I am a parent now too, of a wonderful 11-year old boy. Today I turn 43 and still feel much like a child in many ways… hopeful, loving, expectant, young (even though someone who really *is* young would laugh to know that I think that), and beautiful (even though the mirror -or camera- tells a very different story) … although all of that has been tempered with life experience, some of it not so good, and leaving me disillusioned as well, like those things that I’ve always thought would materialize as a child are so much fairy tales and not the substance of real life. So… I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing, even though I make a great pretense of doing just that.

So… today I am going into Hollywood and spending the day loafing around WeHo, looking at books in bookstores and sitting in coffee shops… and this evening I’ll go to the Kodak Centre to see David Lynch speak about his new book and movie and listen to Donovan play some music. My gift to myself will be to go spend a night by myself in a hotel in West Hollywood, and hopefully get some writing done and maybe some arting too, and enjoy myself with little things like book shops and sipping coffee at my leisure, and not feeling the sting of being ignored or uncherished because, hey, I’ll be alone, and will have no expectations from strangers.

In any case, dear readers (whomever you are)… I hope this year that stretches before you will bring you all of the things you desire, and even those things that you might not think yourself worthy of, because I have these same hopes too.

The tribe grows… and the banana peels of life…

Debra Shilanec has a wonderful website called Reach-Dabble-Shine. Every so often my mailbox is graced with an e-mail from Debra with a link to one of her posts. You can subscribe to these delightful morsels of insight and inspiration if you are so inclined. Click on the leaves (above) and you’ll access the one about slipping on a banana peel… you’ll have to read it to understand the rest of my post.

It’s odd how one person’s experience and perception can so closely mirror my own. I loved this particular post… having done the exact same things, and coming to the exact same conclusions. It’s tough to find the tribe… especially in the corporate environment, where “accountability” is really “finger pointing” and “resolution” means “protecting the bottom line”. But… somewhere, out there, there are others, and it is comforting. And… it’s not that I’ve achieved this wonderful self-consciousness all of the time… many, many times I fall back into the usual (almost hard-wired) behavioural patterns, and only after a little while do I realize “oh, there I go again… time to stop this insanity NOW!” But, at least I get there, which is more than some (if not most) of the people I know get to. And… maybe it is the wiring… maybe it’s this insatiable need to be better than I am, not in my accomplishments but in my doing… my journey there.

Winter ATC

“Winter Solitude”
Gocco print, series of 20 ATCs

I had big plans today. Figured I’d get some biscotti baking done and complete some art projects. Little did I realize what kind of work-intensive endeavor one of my art projects was going to be. I’d worked out the layers in Photoshop to print out and then burn my Gocco masters with, but I hadn’t anticipated the length of time it would take to print five layers of masters twenty times. It did turn out pretty cool, though, so I’m going to bed happy. Tomorrow I’ll print the labels and stamp the envelopes and get them out on Monday.

Feast or Famine
Preliminary Sketch altered in Photoshop

I must be nuts, but I just agreed to contribute some art to a swap that my friend, Kelly Kilmer is hosting, in lieu of one of the MIA artists. I plan on using the above sketch to make Gocco prints, though I think I’ll be adding a bit more to it before I settle.

Composing and de-composing

(Click to see enlarged view in separate window)
Old pics

A couple of days ago I drafted a post, saved it and then left to go do something else. I figured I’d take a look at it today and add to/edit it and then post it. After re-reading it, however, I decided to start over… too much meandering into nothing substantive. Talking about naps and how I used to wonder why my parents would need to take them all the time, and realizing now that fatigue catches up to you somehow, as life progresses, and that once we cross that threshold, there doesn’t seem to be any turning back. Well… not the makings of a very entertaining post, so…

Feeling rather nostalgic around this time of year, I’ve decided to whip out some old photos instead. Other than the huuuuuuge specs, I looked pretty damned good… the bikini/shorts shot was taken in 1978 (I was 14), sitting on my dad’s lap… ‘course at the time, I thought I didn’t measure up to the rest of the female folks of the world. Always measuring oneself against another will certainly always end in someone’s disappointment, I’m thinking.

The other photo was taken Christmas Eve 1983, I think. My mom and dad to the left and my cousin Zoli on the right… all of them gone now. How I miss them.

Moleskine journal entry

Moleskine journal entry – pencil sketches
11-29-06

For the love of… books

Book Soup – Audrey Niffenegger book signing
Waiting… reading…

My love affair with books occurred hard and fast, at a very young age. Even before I could read, my mother would read those little Golden story books to me, and I could recite them from memory, simply because I’d heard them so often. I love the pictures that illustrated the stories. They provided just enough fuel for my imagination to launch me into these worlds, making them seem more real, at times, than the one I lived in. My favorite stories were Rumplestiltskin and The Princess and the Pea. I suffered an appendicitis attack during the winter of 1971, and while recovering at the Montreal Children’s Hospital I was accompanied by my whole library of Golden books. Little did I know that they would not be following me back home—my mother had decided that I’d outgrown them and had donated them to the hospital.

I don’t part well with books. I’m sure I’m permanently scarred due to that singular act of goodwill on my mother’s behalf. I gave up borrowing them from the library because I could never seem to bring them back on time… sometimes not at all (and ended up paying a whole lot more for the book than if I would have purchased it outright). So, there began my book addiction, and all that it implies.

Herein began my voracious consumption of books without pictures (or with considerably less than the donated tomes)… Nancy Drew, The Hardy Boys, Archie and Richie Rich comics… Harlequin Romance and other similar syrup (as my mother liked to call them). Thankfully, because I was from eighth grade onward in enriched language arts classes, I got to read stuff that wasn’t normally assigned… like sci-fi along with the usually assigned classics. I started reading Huxley and then moved on to Ayn Rand, Marilyn French, Erica Jong, Margaret Atwood, Margaret Lawrence, Marie-Claire Blais… Anais Nin… D.H. Laurence… Emile Nelligan… and then off into the realms of the mysterious and occult… Ouspensky and Crowley… Jane Roberts… Elizabeth Montgomery… Lopsang Rampa… Edgar Cayce… Shakti Gawain… Jess Stern… and more. On the lighter side, I graduated to The Warlord (for comics) and played D&D with a gang of guys, and started reading lots of fantasy/sci-fi stuff… the DragonLance series… Jack L. Chalker’s Soul Rider series (published by DelRey)… ahhh… and then Clive Barker, Peter Straub, Stephen King, Dean Koontz…

Today my books are mostly non-fiction, how-to books that are largely art related, or related to the process of creating (art or words). I still buy and have a fairly large collection of esoterica… and mythology continues to fascinate me. Graphic novels have become an obsession. And this brings me to my Sunday afternoon visit to Book Soup on Sunset in West Hollywood. Audrey Niffenegger, author (and artist extraordinaire) was present for a book signing of her recently released “picture book” The Adventuress. This book was the last of three books released, and yet was the first she completed. Originally an edition of ten hand printed and bound letterpress books, created during two years of college, it has now been made accessible to the rest of us by virtue of mass printing. I purchased the new book at the shop and brought my previously purchased book, The Three Incestuous Sisters, of similar construct and scope. Widely known for her non-picture book The Time Traveller’s Wife, it was the first of the three books published, though the last one written chronologically.

It was interesting to listen to Audrey speak about the creation of the book (which took approximately two years to complete), whereas the Sisters book took about ten years. She works as a teacher and manages to find time and inclination to write and create works of art besides. We are not so far apart in age, she and I, and I was looking up at her as she stood at the lectern, thinking “That could have been me…” While left-hooking my shadow for my purported “failures” I am given a new sense of hope… that it’s never too late to move toward our dreams. Although, for me, creating “stuff” is an uncontrollable drive that is all-consuming and takes on a life of its own, I find it difficult to stay focused and on-task for long enough to create a completed end product. When I don’t create I reach a sort of critical mass, threatening to explode if I don’t facilitate some sort of exit, though I have yet to build a body of work that is cohesive enough to present to a gallery for consideration. Perhaps it is due to lack of training and knowledge of technique… or perhaps a lack of discipline… perhaps it is somewhat an amalgam of both.

As an artist or writer, I often feel like I am merely a vessel, a tool by which the “stuff” manifests itself. Maybe this is how the universe came into being… I think I’m ready to build mine…

Posting hiatus… or… yeah, I suck…

Travel Sisters of the Soul Journal

Origami Sisters of the Soul Journal

I know, I know… it’s been weeks since I’ve last posted. Mostly, I’ve led too boring a life to post anything, and my art production has been somewhat sporadic. I finally finished working in the two Sisters of the Soul journals currently in my possession. I need to pick up some boxes tomorrow from the Post Office and send them off. I must say… pretty weak work, but…

For the travel journal, I got to share my admiration of Renoir and comment (here, now) on his fine taste in women… no skinny chicks in his paintings. I felt the same way about Freddie Mercury (i.e., “Fat Bottomed Girls”) and can’t tell you how crushed I was when I discovered that girls’ bottoms were not of great interest to him. I’ve never been to France, but if I went I’d have to spend at least a month traveling around. Paris is a definite destination (I’m told that one can spend a week visiting the Louvre), a dinner cruise on the Seine in a bateau mouche, then off to the south to the Riviera… Nice and environs… and Grasse, where my olfactory senses would most certainly go wild. I’d at one time in my life fantasized about becoming a “nose”. I love the food and the wine, and I’m sure, once out of the larger cities, they’d be happy to hear me spouting the language in my Quebecois French, no matter how provincial it sounds. “Un accent mignon”…

The origami book proved a bit more difficult… I was going to invent a whole story about a mermaid and the hippocampus. I’m about as dexterous folding paper as I am skilled at conversing in Japanese (hi… akudesai… moshi-moshi)… so… those sad looking little fishies are my handiwork. At least the mermaid looks alright… I drew her on vellum, scanned her into Photoshop and printed her out onto a transparency, and then colored her in using Prismacolor and Copik markers and foiling for the scales and boob cups. Not my greatest, nor my most inspired work, but … oh well.

These collaboratives have been somewhat disappointing lately. Everything looks so scrapbook-y and uniform… they lack soul… so I’d hoped that this Sisters of the Soul exchange would be different, but it’s proven to be same-o, same-o. This will be the last collaborative that I sign up for for a long while. It’s time to start working on my own stuff and I’m feeling just about ready… if I were pregnant, I suppose the belly button would be popped out and I’d be at 37 weeks… oh so ready to drop the kid, but not quite.

Things that I love…

+ Salsa so hot it makes my eyes water and my nose run…
+ Ditto for a shot of slivovic
+ Foot rubs
+ Bubble baths, with lights off but candles aglow… solo or not
+ The feel of autumn leaves crunching beneath my feet
+ The smell and feel of autumn air, just before it gets too cold to be comfortable
+ The smell and feel of spring air, as the fever of spring settles in after a long winter
+ Sucking on icicles snapped off of the eaves
+ Laying on a cot up in the Laurentians on a summer night, snuggled under a cozy blanket and enveloped by a blanket of stars
+ Sitting on a log around a bonfire so big, you can’t see across to the other side if you’re sitting down
+ A good book… or five, cycled through simultaneously until all are read
+ Riding on the back of a motorcycle, sidled up to someone who rides like he is one with the bike… the faster we go, the better
+ Freesias and tuberoses
+ Christmas lights amidst the white of snow—it’s magical!
+ Ah-ha moments… and being perceptive enough to realize that they’re happening all of the time
+ Digging my fingers in the dirt while gardening
+ Bourbon roses, but particularly Souvenir de la Malmaison
+ The smell of Freon (go figure…)
+ The smell of tar, as in tar on railroad ties (go figure…)
+ Body surfing in the clear, smooth, turquoise waters of the Caribbean (with someone who can be my eyes)
+ Chocolate… milk, dark… but it’s gotta be the good stuff
+ Traveling to places I’ve never been to before, solo or not
+ The ocean… walking on the shore and picking sea shells
+ A hot cup of espresso coffee accompanied by a shot of fine brandy or cognac
+ Perfumes… with essences of vanilla, pine, patchouli, citrus, rose and sandalwood
+ Doing the no-pants-dance (preferably on a linoleum or wood floor, with socks on), when no one is watching… dancing makes my heart soar
+ The sheen of silk, in the gloriously brilliant colors of India (orange, fuschia, purple, emerald, turquoise, etc.), as much a delight for the fingers as it is for the eyes
+ Flannel (to sleep on… to wear…)
+ Ditto for corduroy
+ Hugging my little boy, and kissing the top of his head
+ Being “in the flow”… when the creative process lays itself down onto the medium at hand, without any protest or struggle

Happy Halloween!

Gabriel’s best bud Spiral aka The Vampire Slayer and Gabriel aka Neo

What great fun we had chasing the kids around going from house to house in the neighbourhood across the street from us. I was astonished at how few children were running about in costume. It seems that this tradition is a dying one. In any case, the boys looked very cool (in fact, at one house the gal who answered the door said that they looked “hot”… Gabriel “Ewwwwwed” while Spiral was mightily impressed with himself. Too funny…

Ahhhh… the movies…

I just finished watching Amelie a bit ago. I’ve been such a sap these days, crying like a baby throughout the movies I’ve seen lately: “Amelie”, “Something’s Gotta Give”, “Nightmare Before Christmas” (yes, folks, I cried at the end, when Jack and Sally finally find each other), “Shop Girl” (OMG… ! I cried like a baby… maybe it’s time for some anti-depressants…) and others…

I recently lamented to my friend, Kelly, that I feel like I’m a teenager again, living a half-life… only half alive, and that if this is this what life is all about… pretty damned boring, if that’s the case. Yeah, I know… movies… not reality, by any stretch of the imagination… but still…

As a teenager I used to have high hopes that I’d meet someone who would really, really care about me. That’s what life was all about, in my mind… finding completion in another person, I thought. Perhaps that is too much to expect of anyone. Now I’d settle for just a deep, heart-felt love… to know that no matter what, that person will be by my side regardless of the difficulties of life… that no matter what life throws at us, if faced together we can surmount it all, and even, occasionally, triumph.

Yeah… I’m a sappy romantic (deep in there… who’d've figured, huh?).

Now, I’d settle for…
     someone who can cook (or at least clean up after I do)…
     someone who will relish a good glass of wine with me (or a good cognac and a cup of strong coffee)…
     someone who will remember my birthday and buy me more than just a card (and not something ridiculously expensive… just thoughtful)…
     someone who will send me flowers even though I mention at some point that it’s a shame to spend money on them, considering their life-span once cut…
     someone who will talk to me about books they’ve read, or with whom I can discuss the ones I’ve read…
     someone who will give me soulful kisses, even though I’m not looking like I did when I was 20 (or 30) …and make love to me with passion and desire because he sees me from the inside out, not the other way around…
     someone who will help pick up our home with me and help me make it more comfortable…
     someone who wonders about the great mysteries of life, and speculates aloud with me, even though we may never come up with the answers…
     someone who will dream with me, sharing his, mine and ours, and attempt to make them a reality, together.

Ahhh… maybe the stuff of movies, and too much to expect… but here’s hoping… and… I’m gonna go pour that glass of cognac now and toast myself anyway…

Mi muzsikus lelkek, mi bohém fiúk

My mother

Translated, the heading roughly reads: We musical souls, we bohemian boys… this was my father’s favorite song, though I don’t remember all of the lyrics and would love to know them all.

Last night Bonnie and I went to the Orange County Performing Arts Center’s Samueli Theatre to Hungarian Festival: Gypsy Fire, which is part of the Chamber Music Series. Both of us have a little (or a lot, in my case) of Hungarian in us, and so we’d decided to check it out. The performances featured The Carpathian Folk Quartet (playing traditional Hungarian gypsy music), Mykola Suk (on piano), and Paul Manaster and Jeanne Skrocki (on violin). The Quaret performed songs which were most likely heard time and again throughout my childhood, and yet though some of it seemed familiar, the violinist’s interpretation of some of the music was off-beat… an almost blues-ey take on them. My favorite part of the show was after the intermission, when the Quartet and the two violinists Manaster and Skrocki were playing back and forth, alternating between bits of Hungarian folk pieces and the classical pieces inspired from them.

I love the sound of the violin, particularly when playing Hungarian folk songs. My parents and their friends (dragging all of the kids along as well) would occasionally go to local Hungarian restaurants… the Piroska in Montreal (later called Csardas and also called the Hungaria) and a Hungarian restaurant in downtown Toronto, whose name escapes me at the moment. The food was always good, but the music… During each of these outings, the songs performed could alternately produce a misty eye or raucous vocal accompaniment, depending upon the piece (and perhaps upon the quantity of alchohol consumed). As though through osmosis, those same songs could bring tears to my eyes as well, or make my heart soar and my feet wantt to kick up their heels of their own accord. I sometimes suspect it’s cellular memory, ingrained into my DNA as inexorably as my hair and eye color.

Moleskine journal entry

Moleskine journal entry using Varsity Pilot fountain pen and Niji water brush

I don’t like Mondays…

Can you hear the strains of the Boomtown Rats’ song filling your head when you see the title? Yup, it’s playing in mine… though I don’t want to shoot the whole day down… just wish I could spend it in an easy chair cozied up to a fireplace, wrapped in a down comforter, equipped with a good book and an endless supply of some sort of warm beverage.

Instead I got up before the crack of dawn, rolling out of bed at 5:30 AM or so, and was dressed and heading out the door by 6:15 AM. I was at work by half-past six and ready to call it a day by 9 AM. Pathetic, I know. But I stuck in there, actually getting some work done and ended up leaving just a tad after three. I’m home know, thinking that left-overs are sounding really good for dinner tonight.

I had a psychic reading done yesterday. One of my co-workers swears by this man, and a group of us gathered at another co-worker’s sister’s place to take turns with Michael in the study, to perhaps get a glimpse of what the future holds. Truthfully, I’ve become rather skeptical about these things. He picked up on some things, but I’m gathering that perhaps it is more due to a very astute eye rather than some mystically fed information. After years of doing these I’m going to assume that these folks become quite practiced at reading people… body language, tone of voice, mannerisms and so forth. He said many things… some things could have been deduced… somethings hit upon by guesswork and positive/negative reaction from me. We all want to hear that we are more than this… that our potential is much greater than where we happen to be at the moment. Some things he nailed on the head… like what my married life is like—is the rift so obvious that even a stranger who I’ve never met before can read all about it just by picking up on my reaction to a few well chosen inquiries?

What I find the most ironic that even though my experience with marriage thus far has not been the best, somewhere in me there is still a hope and a longing that my expectations will someday be met, whether it’s here or elsewhere, regardless of what appear to be dubious odds.

Jaded…

Moleskine entry with Prismacolor markers

Halfway through Saturday and I haven’t accomplished a whole lot. I’ve been watching Gabriel play his new videogame all morning, and messing around with my blog. I’ve scanned in and added some new (back-tracked) entries, seeing that I’ve not been very good about adding things in the last month or so. Not sure what’s up with that, other than perhaps having reached a whole new level of jadedness (is that even a word?!).

It’s all in the details…

Prismacolor markers on sales receipt

Hmmm… perhaps it’s due to it being Friday the 13th, but doggone it, I tried for hours to sign up for a journaling class today, and NIGHTMARE doesn’t even come close to describing my experience. I had this horrible feeling that I would spontaneously combust, I was so irked. So, nine bucks in the hole and a whole lot of aggravation later, I’ve decided that the universe was telling me NOT to sign up for this thing, no matter HOW much I thought I wanted to participate.

I left the apartment with my son in tow to run a few errands… paid some bills, stopped at the videogame store so that the little man could trade in some of his games for a new batch, and picked up some Prismacolor markers at the art store (not to mention a stop at Tilly’s for a nice new sweatshirt). The rain started sprinkling as we left the shopping center, and by the time we got home, it was pouring in earnest, and accompanied by an occasional spark of lightening.

We stopped for dinner at Pasta Bravo and I decided to test out the markers on the sales receipt. I was in such a foul mood, I figured I’d draw something to match my mood… hence, bubble gum girl was born. She’s green… she’s goth… she’s grumpy… just like me.

Watercolor Moleskine Entry

Thought bubbles… common sense… struggles with imperfection… & a new friend

My husband returned from a trip to England at the beginning of this week toting a cold. Regardless of consuming large quantities of Airborne tablets (straight up… “Oh, I let them dissolve on my tongue… they fizzle… I ate a whole containerful and bought another one over there… maybe that’s why I’m farting like a horse…”) he managed to catch the cold that everyone seems to be ailing from, including about half of the folks in my office. I’m hoping that this is the strain that I caught middle of August and that I will be spared from a second round.

Thought bubbles—
…coughing, incessant coughing… and some snorting, too
“Are you going to take anything for that?” I ask.
“I dunno what to take… what should I take?” he inquires.
(I dunno… we have a medicine cabinet-ful of potential options… do like I do—and that you invariably make pointed, rather unkind remarks about—and read the fucking labels after you figure out what ails you)
“Well… how do you feel? Is your nose stuffy? Does your throat hurt? Are you achey?”
“Yeah, my nose is stuffy… my throat hurts… I’m coughing… but I’m not achey…”
(Okay… something with a decongestant, an antihistamine but no pain/fever reliever…)

Common sense—
Well, I’d like to say that I have it, but it eludes even me sometimes… As I lay in bed last night, after being awakened by an assault of into-my-face-coughing … uh-oh… I feel another thought bubble coming on… (if I manage to avert the possibility of catching this cold, it will be a fucking miracle)… I wonder why I can’t fall back asleep again, even after Steve leaves the bed to sleep on the LaZboy… my heart’s pounding like nobody’s business. It feels like there’s a rollercoaster in there and my heart muscles are having a grand old time… then I remember… I’ve had altogether TOO much caffeine during the day… a get-me-going morning cup of Peet’s coffee at the office… a cup of coffee at the Daily Grill (my bosses took me to lunch today just ‘cuz)… a glass of Diet Coke with my Indian dinner and the last batch of caffeine consumption was after our Barnes & Noble/Starbucks stop, when I picked up a chai tea latte. I really need to limit myself to one cup… I’ve been doing okay with that.

A new friend—
On the other hand, my Barnes and Noble visit bore fruit… not only of the book variety (yes, I did previously mention that I’m a book whore… that has not changed), but I also made a new acquaintance. During my wandering about the store I meandered into the Eastern Philosophy aisle and was welcomed by a woman sitting in the middle of it, with a collection of Dalai Lama books strewn about her. I couldn’t resist asking her whether she’d heard him speak at the California Governor’s Conference for Women earlier this week.
She said “No! Did you? Did you go to see heem?” (note the French accent)
I said “No, I didn’t go, but it was webcast, and I watched that from my computer at home.”
“What did he speak about?” she asked.
“He is so funny! He made me laugh! He did not share any deep teachings. It was mostly common sense things… general life counseling.” I said.
Noting the accent and never one to deny myself this query…
“Do you speak French?” I asked.
“Yes! I’m from Switzerland.” she replied.

We continued on with our conversation, switching back and forth between French and English, and I discovered that she has been a student of buddhism for about a decade. I am rather new to buddhism. Essentially, the fundamental philosophies are based on the Vedas, the same ancient sanskrit writings that the many facets of hinduism are based upon. I always wonder why one way would be preferable (in a spiritual sense) to another way. The fundaments of all teachings are very similar. It’s when you get into the esotherica that it becomes more complicated and consequently more rewarding and/or taxing on the follower. I’ve always been one to refuse to be mired down by dogma… I can’t imagine how eating with one hand and not the other will make a difference to God… or that I will disgrace myself before God by not covering my head because I am a woman.

I’d never heard the Dalai Lama speak before. He is the funniest person! He had a spritely look about him… a mischievous smile that was infectious. Maria Shriver asked him several questions throughout his forty-five minute address to the crowd, and his replies were simple… common sense. I marvel at our modern-day inability to distill a situation down to its simplest element. We are so bogged down by the “reality” of life that we can’t cut through all the bullshit and find a simple answer to our basic needs.

Fabienne and I talk some more, and she asks me what it is that I am looking for. Quite honestly, I’m not sure. When I left home at eighteen for an ashram, my intention was to become a brahmin… I wanted to wear the string and the priviledge of knowing the gyatri mantra. I wanted liberation from this bodily experience… I wanted off this karma ride. I studied the Bhagavad Gita, the Srimad-Bhagavatam and the Sri Chaitanya Charitamrita, attended artis and even performed the Tulasi arti myself on some days. But, during this whole time, something kept gnawing at me. I’d not only adapted the philosophy, I’d adopted the way of life down to the threads (I wore a sari). Living in a Western community, this somehow did not make any sense. Secluded, essentially, from the rest of the population (or “karmis” as non-believers were addressed amongst ourselves), it was not so difficult to uphold the precepts of the philosphy. However, I’d decided that I needed to walk away from that… that if I could not live my life, and find a way to integrate this philosophy into it, then I was not ready to dance among the gopis on Krishna Goloka. So I left.

Last week my Amazon order showed up (yes, there’s the book issue again…) and in it the movie The Little Buddha. Apart from the fact that Keanu plays a role in the movie, and as my son kindly announced to the grocery store last night after seeing the DVD display of A Lake House, “My mom LIKES Keanu…” and then turning to me and saying “Aren’t you going to buy this movie? Don’t you want every Keanu movie?” …to which I replied “No…” I did want to see The Little Buddha. I was delighted with the portrayal of Siddartha. When I’d read about buddhism in my earlier years, I was quite miffed with Siddartha. How could he possibly leave his wife and newborn baby behind to follow the road to enlightenment? I still think that he should have taken responsibility for the raising of his son, though given the cultural circumstances, the child would not have had a whole lot of parental nurturing anyway. So… back to the movie… I watch as Siddartha becomes an ascetic monk, until he comes to the realization, as I did, that we are here in this body for a reason, and we need to deal with it as much as we do with our mind and spirit. It needs to be honored, not ignored. The middle way was born. How profound. Now I must read on, and see if it makes sense to me.

For the longest time I’d been resentful of being here, on this world, in this body. I’ve done just about everything to this body… abused it mercilessly… and yet it is still here. I don’t always like it, and it certainly isn’t the embodiment of perfection, but it’s stuck with me and by this virtue has shown itself to be quite indispensible. While I do imagine that if I was given the choice of getting off the wheel of Samsara, I would choose not to return… but then, perhaps, I would feel a sense of obligation to the world and its souls and want to return, just so that perhaps I can reach the one person who really needs to hear what I have to say.

Decisions… decisions…

It’s that time of year again… hockey season has begun, and I’ve been perusing the NHL site, eyeing one of those Habs vintage jerseys that I just might not be able to live without, and was trying to figure whose name I’d pick to put on it. I’m also bemoaning the fact that in L.A., there is no “Hockey Night in Canada”.

Over the years of watching hockey games (or maybe I should say decades), I’ve watched some great players. On the other hand, some of the greats came before my time, yet their names became part of the cultural patchwork of the neighbourhood I grew up in… for instance, the Jean Beliveau arena in Longueuil (which is where I learned to skate, not well, mind you, but well enough to stay off my duff), is dedicated to a Canadien hockey legend.

Hockey was very popular with the neighbourhood boys (that’s definitely an understatement), and I am proud to say that I knew some up and coming kids who played… from Les Chevaliers de Longueuil, one Hilton Ruggles, who I went to highschool with, and who’d occasionally let me share the back seat of the school bus (and torment me by pulling on my scarf and such)… and my next door neighbour was none other than Carl Mantha, who played for the Laval Titans… both playing in the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League, though Hilton made it on to pro hockeydom on the Brit circuit.

I found this photo of Monsieur Beliveau at http://habslegends.blogspot.com/ (cool hockey site, by the way) along with the post:

Jean Beliveau has personally answered every single piece of fan mail he has received since breaking in with the Canadiens in 1950. Replying to birthday well-wishers took 19 days.

“I’ve always thought, if somebody takes the time to get in touch, to try to reach me with a card, then I should at least thank them, acknowledge that I received their good wishes,” Beliveau said.

“Many of the people who sent me cards have been doing so for 20, 25 years, maybe more. I see those right away on the envelopes: here’s one from Renfrew, Ont., another from Detroit, one from Cape Cod.”

I thought it rocked that he has taken the time to answer all of the fan mail he’s received, even now (and it also rocks that he still gets fan mail)!

Then there’s Patrick Roy, who sported #33 while goal tending for almost two decades, about half of which was for Montreal. I’ve been fortunate enough to see Patrick during some home games from a seat right up against the glass, in the corner just slightly behind the goal. Twitchy little guy, but he ruled in the nets, though I never quite got over the fact that he left the Canadiens and went to the Nordiques (who later became the Avalanche).

Well… back to my choices… I’ve narrowed it down to this list… whaddya all think… which one should it be:
* Jean Beliveau
* Yvan Cournoyer
* Ken Dryden
* Guy Lafleur
* Maurice “Rocket” Richard
* Serge Savard
* Jacques Lemaire
* Patrick Roy

Spinning wildly out of control…

Yup, that’s me. And I’d like to attribute the sprained back muscle to the wild spinning, but the truth of the matter is that I did it in a most undignified manner… bending over in the john to pick up one of those cowboy hats (otherwise known as toilet seat covers) that had fallen onto the floor, with my knickers pooled around my ankles. Yeah, too much information, I know.

So… back to the wild spinning. Although I overheard a suggestion for a trip to Magic Mountain this weekend, this has nothing to do with an amusement park ride. In fact, it’s just the opposite. I get so frustrated with myself sometimes… The Critic shows up (uninvited) and proceeds to wreak havoc to what little confidence I’ve managed to muster up with regard to my skill as an artist (or writer). I sit before the blank sheets of paper and balk. My stomach churns. I break out in a sweat. I think of the myriad other things I need to take care of instead of focusing on the task at hand. My mind wanders. I fantasize about Keanu Reeeves (did I just say that? I was kidding…). I think of the laundry that needs to be sorted by color and weight, schlepped out onto the balcony and loaded into the washer, then the dryer… then schlepped back inside and folded and put away. I think about the laps on the treadmill I ought to be doing (not to mention the crunches).

I decide that watching the Matrix movie with my kid is much more appealing than to sit down and draw something, particularly when it’s due to someone in a few days. Researching the mythology embedded into the movie seems to make far better use of my time than to work on anything substantive (like the story I was going to write and stopped writing half a year or so ago)… particularly when I discover that The Merovingian links that I unearth scream “conspiracy” and this sucks me in like a vacuum, as I trail from one weblink to the next, and finally go to bed with my head feeling like a bowl stuffed full of wet cottonballs. I lay down alone, as I’ve been doing for the better part of twelve of my thirteen years of marriage (unless of course it’s one of “those” nights [wink, wink] which for the most part is a less desirable option at times than the half empty bed part, because even on those nights I end up drifting off to sleep by myself once the deed is done. It’s a cruel form of pay-back for every one night stand that I initiated which resulted in my partners feeling cheap and used.

And then I wake before the crack of dawn, after hitting the snooze button more times than I ought to, which renders me late to work, and hence leaving the office later at the tail end of my work day, and starts the whole maniacal cycle over again.

Truth of the matter is (I say that often, don’t I?) I’m not feeling particularly inspired these days. I haven’t been for a while, and I feel so full of shit when I try to drum something up that really isn’t authentic, if you know what I mean? Truth of the matter is… I am bored. My life is like a scene out of Groundhog Day (only different)… same shit, different day… and I just can’t seem to shake that gad-awful feeling and get worked up about something enough to overcome that dreadful sinking feeling.

I’m stuck in the black hole of The Corporate World, at the lowliest end of it, right along with the bottom feeders of the deep. We’re a necessary and useful group, to be sure, but don’t make much of an impression, and the grand entrances are carried out by the bigger fish. Nobody really gives a shit about you, except when you don’t follow the rules. And lordy, there certainly are a litany of rules… a whole “employee’s manual”-worth, biblical in breadth (yeah, so what if I’m exaggerating a wee bit).

There are days I just feel like running away… far, far, away. I remember reading about a fugue state in one of Dean Koontz’ books, where folks run, saliva foaming at the mouth and everything, until they finally collapse. I imagine, at times, that that would be a preferable state. And then feel horribly guilty about even thinking about running away, because I do, after all, have a smallish child (though I can attest that he has a disproportionally BIG mouth at times). The phrase “freedom of choice” smacks of oxymoron to me. Do I have a choice? Well… yeah… between a rock and a hard place, and in my most humble opinion, that isn’t much of a choice at all.

Piece of (my) mind…

For many years now, I’ve been trying (and I think largely succeeding) in consolidating the different aspects of my personality so that I am as authentic at all times as I can possibly be, with all people. It’s taken a lot of work… constant effort and diligence in questioning my actions, my motivations, and wondering whether I’m behaving in a certain way because of what my innermost workings subscribe, or because of exterior circumstances. If it’s the latter, then I need to reexamine myself and make sure to behave in a manner consistent with who I am on a core level when faced with a similar choice in the future.

Today was a trying day. There are days when I marvel at the world. I marvel at how we naively assume that peace can be achieved worldwide when peace, in the smallest of microcosms (one department of a large corporation… or within a family unit), seems to elude us. We continue to be preoccupied with such artifice as what brand of clothes we wear, whether we are thin or not, worry about the number of wrinkles and old age spots we sport, what neighborhood we live in, (amongst various and sundry equally vapid considerations) and measure all others against these set of ‘rules’ and our personal interpretation of what is and is not acceptable. We are so full of shit.

Once, a great man said “Ask not what your country can do for you—ask what can you do for your country.” This theory works on a smaller scale as well. We are so preoccupied as to whether we are being equitably treated that we forget how to treat those around us equitably. My gauge has always been “would I like to be treated in this way?” when I’m saying or doing something. Apparently, the golden rule, though many of us proclaim to be Christians, somehow has lost its relevance, particularly when it comes to gauging our own actions. It seems it only applies in a single direction. Really, I believe that it is the ONE rule that should be upheld, as it is the simplest to embrace, and encompasses all. Don’t do it if hurts.

I’d never heard President Kennedy’s inaugural speech. It occurred several years before I was born, and being a Canadian, it was not something that was requisite course material throughout my schooling. I finally read the whole thing and was moved. The same issues that affected the world then are still pertinent now. How is it that most of half a century has elapsed and we still have only marginally progressed toward achieving the very noble goals listed in this speech, either on a personal, national or global level?

So here is that famous January 20, 1961 inaugural address, in its entirety:

Vice President Johnson, Mr. Speaker, Mr. Chief Justice, President Eisenhower, Vice President Nixon, President Truman, reverend clergy, fellow citizens, we observe today not a victory of party, but a celebration of freedom – symbolizing an end, as well as a beginning – signifying renewal, as well as change. For I have sworn before you and Almighty God the same solemn oath our forebears prescribed nearly a century and three quarters ago.

The world is very different now. For man holds in his mortal hands the power to abolish all forms of human poverty and all forms of human life. And yet the same revolutionary beliefs for which our forebears fought are still at issue around the globe – the belief that the rights of man come not from the generosity of the state, but from the hand of God.

We dare not forget today that we are the heirs of that first revolution. Let the word go forth from this time and place, to friend and foe alike, that the torch has been passed to a new generation of Americans – born in this century, tempered by war, disciplined by a hard and bitter peace, proud of our ancient heritage – and unwilling to witness or permit the slow undoing of those human rights to which this Nation has always been committed, and to which we are committed today at home and around the world.

Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe, in order to assure the survival and the success of liberty.

This much we pledge – and more.

To those old allies whose cultural and spiritual origins we share, we pledge the loyalty of faithful friends. United, there is little we cannot do in a host of cooperative ventures. Divided, there is little we can do – for we dare not meet a powerful challenge at odds and split asunder.

To those new States whom we welcome to the ranks of the free, we pledge our word that one form of colonial control shall not have passed away merely to be replaced by a far more iron tyranny. We shall not always expect to find them supporting our view. But we shall always hope to find them strongly supporting their own freedom – and to remember that, in the past, those who foolishly sought power by riding the back of the tiger ended up inside.

To those peoples in the huts and villages across the globe struggling to break the bonds of mass misery, we pledge our best efforts to help them help themselves, for whatever period is required – not because the Communists may be doing it, not because we seek their votes, but because it is right. If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich.

To our sister republics south of our border, we offer a special pledge – to convert our good words into good deeds – in a new alliance for progress – to assist free men and free governments in casting off the chains of poverty. But this peaceful revolution of hope cannot become the prey of hostile powers. Let all our neighbours know that we shall join with them to oppose aggression or subversion anywhere in the Americas. And let every other power know that this Hemisphere intends to remain the master of its own house.

To that world assembly of sovereign states, the United Nations, our last best hope in an age where the instruments of war have far outpaced the instruments of peace, we renew our pledge of support – to prevent it from becoming merely a forum for invective – to strengthen its shield of the new and the weak – and to enlarge the area in which its writ may run.

Finally, to those nations who would make themselves our adversary, we offer not a pledge but a request: that both sides begin anew the quest for peace, before the dark powers of destruction unleashed by science engulf all humanity in planned or accidental self-destruction.

We dare not tempt them with weakness. For only when our arms are sufficient beyond doubt can we be certain beyond doubt that they will never be employed.

But neither can two great and powerful groups of nations take comfort from our present course – both sides overburdened by the cost of modern weapons, both rightly alarmed by the steady spread of the deadly atom, yet both racing to alter that uncertain balance of terror that stays the hand of mankind’s final war.

So let us begin anew – remembering on both sides that civility is not a sign of weakness, and sincerity is always subject to proof. Let us never negotiate out of fear. But let us never fear to negotiate.

Let both sides explore what problems unite us instead of belabouring those problems which divide us.

Let both sides, for the first time, formulate serious and precise proposals for the inspection and control of arms – and bring the absolute power to destroy other nations under the absolute control of all nations.

Let both sides seek to invoke the wonders of science instead of its terrors. Together let us explore the stars, conquer the deserts, eradicate disease, tap the ocean depths, and encourage the arts and commerce.

Let both sides unite to heed in all corners of the earth the command of Isaiah – to “undo the heavy burdens -. and to let the oppressed go free.”

And if a beachhead of cooperation may push back the jungle of suspicion, let both sides join in creating a new endeavour, not a new balance of power, but a new world of law, where the strong are just and the weak secure and the peace preserved.

All this will not be finished in the first 100 days. Nor will it be finished in the first 1,000 days, nor in the life of this Administration, nor even perhaps in our lifetime on this planet. But let us begin.

In your hands, my fellow citizens, more than in mine, will rest the final success or failure of our course. Since this country was founded, each generation of Americans has been summoned to give testimony to its national loyalty. The graves of young Americans who answered the call to service surround the globe.

Now the trumpet summons us again – not as a call to bear arms, though arms we need; not as a call to battle, though embattled we are – but a call to bear the burden of a long twilight struggle, year in and year out, “rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation” – a struggle against the common enemies of man: tyranny, poverty, disease, and war itself.

Can we forge against these enemies a grand and global alliance, North and South, East and West, that can assure a more fruitful life for all mankind? Will you join in that historic effort?

In the long history of the world, only a few generations have been granted the role of defending freedom in its hour of maximum danger. I do not shank from this responsibility – I welcome it. I do not believe that any of us would exchange places with any other people or any other generation. The energy, the faith, the devotion which we bring to this endeavour will light our country and all who serve it — and the glow from that fire can truly light the world.

And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country.

My fellow citizens of the world: ask not what America will do for you, but what together we can do for the freedom of man.

Finally, whether you are citizens of America or citizens of the world, ask of us the same high standards of strength and sacrifice which we ask of you. With a good conscience our only sure reward, with history the final judge of our deeds, let us go forth to lead the land we love, asking His blessing and His help, but knowing that here on earth God’s work must truly be our own.

And so… think on it… what if greed was replaced by charity… if hatred was replaced with love… if desolation was replaced with hope and faith, not in our respective Gods, but in each other? Imagine…

Keanu take two…

Pencil sketch

Ever the perfectionist, I couldn’t leave well enough alone. My earlier sketch of Keanu wasn’t very accurate… it was missing his spirit. Something was off… his eyes… something. So I decided to try my hand at it again, and came up with the above. Much better. The first one was rendered using an image directly on the computer… the second one was a printed image. It appears the latter, in my case, yields superior results. Still not perfect… but close enough.

The need for speed…

Photo circa 1967
(Click to see enlarged view in separate window)

The need for speed isn’t a new thing with me (witness the photo above, at the ripe old age of three). My first motorcycle ride was when I was five, during a trip to Hungary. I was already mightily impressed with my big cousin, Dani, but after a ride on his motorcycle, I became a permanent fixture by his side. He plopped me, helmetless, on top of the gas tank, and off we went. I still remember the exhilaration I felt as the wind blew at my face and whipped my hair around, but I felt safe leaning into Dani with my back. I have no idea what type of motorcycle it was (see photo… Vera, Dani’s wife, Edit, my cousin and Dani’s sister and Dani).

Dani passed away several years ago, a victim to cancer (of the lung, if I’m not mistaken… he was a smoker). I’ve lost many to cancer in my family… many cousins and aunts and uncles on my mother’s side, and my father as well. Some of it could have been avoided, perhaps, as in the case of my father, who got lung cancer as well. He smoked Camel plain, and worked at MacDonald Tobacco, a Canadian subsidiary for RJ Reynolds, as a machine fitter. I often wonder whether cancer is mostly a genetic ailment, or whether it is a by-product of the environment.

Well, wouldn’t you know it?

Pencil sketch

I find myself alone this weekend, seeing that Steve’s parents came to pick Gabriel up this morning and spirited him away to Hemet for the next couple of days. Steve, as usual, is gone to cover a race, this time in Philly. So I’m home, alone, with a sprained lumbar muscle. What kind of trouble can I get myself into do you think?

Well, I’ve finally lost it. I’m about to air my deepest, darkest, most annoyingly embarassing secret… I have a crush on Keanu Reeves. I haven’t the foggiest idea when it started, or how, but alas, there it is. My friend Bonnie tells me that it’s normal… she used to fantasize about bumping into Ringo Starr in an elevator, and carrying on a conversation with him. She also tells me that it’s because I’m bored and need an escapist fantasy… something to pull me out of the mundane that is my life. I’ve no doubt that’s true.

During my first year of college my sister had a similar thing going on with George Harrison during a particular trying time of her first marriage. Copious amounts of cheap wine was consumed while listening to old Beatles and George Harrison albums. She took it as a divine sign that she had received an invitation to the Hare Krishna temple for Sunday feast and dragged me along with her. Funny thing is, I got sucked in, hook, line and sinker, and on the eve of my eighteenth birthday, left home with my record albums, make-up and clothes to move into the temple ashram. This was, of course, while my parents were conveniently away on a Hawaiian vacation.

During my time there, my sister reconsidered this whole Hare Krishna business, left her husband, donned a pair of fushia lycra pants, went discoing and found herself a real live fixation instead of an imaginary one. She stopped going to the temple and couldn’t figure out what it was that kept me there. I eventually left, almost half a year later, of my own accord… but not after causing much grief and angst within the family (my mom was ready to consult the Yellow Pages for a deprogrammer… hahahha… now that’s funny!). I left the temple, but kept the nose ring, at least for a while. This was before facial piercings on white people was considered “normal”, and my mom, never one to keep an opinion to herself, told me I looked like a pig that was about to be led to the market for sale and slaughter. I finally took it out, figuring I’d never find a boyfriend if I kept it in, and a boyfriend was mostly what I wanted out of life. I was an eighteen year old virgin. That had to be fixed.

So… back from my tangent to Keanu… I think I feel a sort of kinship with him, I suppose. Though he, I’m sure (and unlike myself), has no shortage of people vying for his attention, he seems to be a self-inflicted loner. I’ve been one for most of my life, and although it was not my intention to be this way, that is pretty much the long and short of it. Why? Well, mostly my choice in companions, I suppose, and the fact that I lack the social graces required of someone with an active social life (I think the BS gene skipped me, and though that has a potentially negative aspect, I am for the most part grateful for it). However, how I managed to pick a mate that is forever absent, both physically (a whole lot) and emotionally (more so), I can not say. My greatest joy and companion remains my son, who will someday grow up and move on with the rest of his life, and I will need to contend with what is left of mine. I wasn’t asking for a whole lot out of a mate… or perhaps I was hoping for the impossible. Respect. Love. Affection. Cooperation. Mutual spiritual growth. A sort of communion of the body and soul.

Instead, I have a husband who largely leaves me to my own devices, because I’m not sure he really knows (or cares to know) what else to do with me. It’s a good thing my libido sucks, because I would certainly have the time and opportunity to become a floosy. It’s a good thing that my retail therapy issues have largely been curbed, because we’d have even less money than we do, and an apartment-ful of useless shit to prove it. Nope… I prefer to a) pour my heart and soul into my art (call it art therapy) or b) delve into a book (call it escapism). As the third option, if I had a motorcycle, and I could actually shift it out of first gear AND not drop it, I’d probably be out riding.

Okay… back from my second tangent to Keanu… I marvel at how someone such as he can be alone. Heck, if I could find someone willing to hang out with me, how is it possible that he has not? Is it that he’s made some poor choices in mates? Is it that he has a huge bundle of baggage that no self-respecting, sane, person is willing to tackle (so he’s left with just the nut-jobs who turn his life into a living hell)? Does he have some annoying or gross habits that no one is willing to put up with? Is he a lousy lover? I suppose, collectively or separately, I could have qualified for any one of these points at some point in my life… but not now.

And so finally… yesterday was Keanu’s 42nd birthday. Happy birthday, Mr. Reeves… soulful wishes that you will find what your heart most desires this coming year.

Kim Starett’s Sisters of the Soul Journal

Sisters of the Soul Journal Round Robin
Pencil, Pen & Ink and watercolor
(Click to see enlarged view in separate window)

I received this book a while ago, and had been ruminating on what to add for some time now. The book itself is a 12 x 12 scrapbook album, with plastic sleeves into which pages have been added. The directive by the originator, Kim Starett, was to depict what was in our soul… or what moved our souls. My heart and soul work together as one, and so I chose to depict that. Both this book and Winter Wren’s book will be heading out on Tuesday, to the next person.