I Think We've Moved

I think we've moved. Here.

Perhaps this old blog has served her purpose. She gave me a voice to explore things that hurt. Things that needed to be examined. Things that needed resolution.

And for that I am grateful.

But lately I’ve felt the need to explore more outside myself than inside.

This forum may be the new place and way to share. It’s quick. I can blog from my phone and keep track of ideas, inspirations and things that made me smile. It’s also a space I can write in depth if the mood strikes – just like the “old days.”

I don’t know how long I’ll be over there. Maybe a week. Maybe years. It just feels right to try something new right now.

We'll see.

See you there?

Haiku

{photograph taken at Riverbend Park, Findlay}

Assignment: Write a haiku based on a season. Illustrate it any way you choose.

What The Hail?

{the size of the hail at our house}

{hail across town!}

Been an interesting few days. . .

:: the worst stomach flu I've ever had.

:: the biggest hail I've ever seen.

:: a desperate push towards Friday and a much needed day off which will make a four day weekend.

:: because of the aforementioned stomach flu I'm terribly behind on my creative challenges. it's catch-up this weekend for me!

Ordinariness

Creative Assignment: Day 7

"Today, I want you to replace any old ideas you have had or currently have about the word ‘scrapbooking’ with this one phrase… ~artistically combining words and images~"

I've never thought of myself as a "scrapbooker." I've always thought of it as cutesy and cotton-candyish. Neither of which describe me very well.

But I dove into the assignment anyway and decided to do the whole thing digitally. There were no scissors, no glitter and no glue sticks in sight!

And I loved it.

If The World Ends Today

If the world ends today. . .

I will be sitting on my front stoop, sipping coffee and watching the sun peek over the back fence.

I will be examining my flower beds for glimpses of bright color among the green fronds and emerald blades of foliage.

I will be making breakfast and putting a load of towels in the washer.

I will make a half-hearted attempt to do some cleaning but secretly I will be wishing I could take my book into the sun and disappear into words for awhile.

I will be taking dogs for walks at the park and meeting a friend while we all raise money for cancer research.

I will be firing up the grill and adding something good to the symphony of scents floating from grills all up and down our street.

I will be cracking open a microbrew after watching Ali mow the lawn.

I will be singing in the kitchen and looking forward to a softball game tomorrow.

I will be getting a full night's sleep and anticipating coffee on the front stoop tomorrow morning.

I will not be counting on the rapture. I will not be fearful of hell.

And I would not change a thing about today, tomorrow or yesterday.

A Tree

Assignment: Draw a tree that is you. The trunk is the most important thing about who you are as a human being. All the branches radiating upward should be expressions of the trunk of your soul.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

~ St. Francis of Assisi

Scribbles

The assignment for last night was to scribble. Doodle. Close your eyes and draw.

Good Lord. I sat there staring at my paper planning how to scribble. Seriously???

There is something wrong with me. . . I'm just sayin'.

This art thing is messin' with my head. After I finally un-planned my scribbling and just did it I remembered how easy this all was when I was four. I could scribble and doodle and draw all day. It was easy and it was fun. When did I lose that? And more importantly, why did I let it go?

I painted for quite awhile last night and felt so relaxed.

Then I went to bed and had a very uncomfortable, restless dream. It was about my parents and had vivid themes of their avoidance of me, abandonment and selfishness. I woke up feeling very confused and uncertain. As I sat down, still feeling groggy, to write about what I had dreamed I realized that the themes of my dream were the same root reasons that I have ignored the drive to create – avoidance, abandonment of something I loved and selfishness.

Maybe dreams are more important than I have the tendency to give them credit for. And maybe it's all hogwash. . .

While I was painting last night and thinking about all the things I used to know as a kid and had forgotten one of my favorite Dar Williams songs came into my head. It's called "When I Was A Boy" and is such a sweet, melancholy song.

I won't forget when Peter Pan came to my house, took my hand
I said I was a boy; I'm glad he didn't check.
I learned to fly, I learned to fight
I lived a whole life in one night
We saved each other's lives out on the pirate's deck.

And I remember that night
When I'm leaving a late night with some friends
And I hear somebody tell me it's not safe,
someone should help me
I need to find a nice man to walk me home.

When I was a boy, I scared the pants off of my mom,
Climbed what I could climb upon
And I don't know how I survived,
I guess I knew the tricks that all boys knew.

And you can walk me home, but I was a boy, too.

I was a kid that you would like, just a small boy on her bike
Riding topless, yeah, I never cared who saw.
My neighbor come outside to say, "Get your shirt,"
I said "No way, it's the last time I'm not breaking any law."

And now I'm in this clothing store, and the signs say less is more
More that's tight means more to see, more for them, not more for me
That can't help me climb a tree in ten seconds flat

When I was a boy, See that picture? That was me
Grass-stained shirt and dusty knees
And I know things have gotta change,
They got pills to sell, they've got implants to put in,
they've got implants to remove

But I am not forgetting...that I was a boy too

And like the woods where I would creep, it's a secret I can keep
Except when I'm tired, 'cept when I'm being caught off guard
And I've had a lonesome awful day, the conversation finds its way
To catching fire-flies out in the backyard.

And so I tell the man I'm with about the other life I lived
And I say, "Now you're top gun, I have lost and you have won"
And he says, "Oh no, no, can't you see

When I was a girl, my mom and I we always talked
And I picked flowers everywhere that I walked.
And I could always cry, now even when I'm alone I seldom do
And I have lost some kindness
But I was a girl too.
And you were just like me, and I was just like you"

"DisasterPiece"

I woke up feeling all out of sorts this morning. Not cranky. Not overly tired. Just out of sorts. And I don't know why.

I spent last night creating for the Creativity Boot Camp: Spring Training Workshop that I'm taking online. The assignment was to get messy. To create a "DisasterPiece." There were no more instructions than that and my follow directions, do as I'm told brain kind of freaked out.

Eventually I took a black and white photo from last summer of a cemetery sculpture and painted the background with bleach. That was the only plan I had. The bleach looked like fire. I didn't know what else to do, so for the first time in my life I turned my brain off and just went for it. I crumpled up the photo and tore it into pieces. I smudged it with oil pastels and then tried to put it back together. I thought the background needed something so I destroyed pages from an old Baptist hymnal and glued them down first. Then I glued the photo back over it.

Something about a cemetery, flames and old Baptist hymns just spoke to me.

It's my disaster I guess.

I loved turning off my brain and just doing something.

But this morning I think it has me feeling off kilter. Overexposed.

I hope it fades today. I don't like feeling this way.

And, of course, there is another assignment for tonight. This one involves drawing/scribbling/doodling. And that never goes over well with a control freak who draws like a four year old and expects perfection. . .

What the hell have I gotten myself into??

How I Said No to Fear Today

How I said no to fear and yes to silliness today. . .

. . .I cooked breakfast wearing no pants. {they were still in the dryer and we were hungry!}

Not something i would normally {or really ever} do!

Ali's comment after walking in the kitchen and she finally stopped laughing? "Oh, if I had a blog you would so be on it today!" And I thought, what's fair is fair. So I hereby confess.

And it felt good to laugh at myself.

To Dance

{warning. this is stream-of-consciousness writing. i've been unable to write lately so this is kind of raw. perhaps i should warn you with "danger will robinson! danger!"}

Writing. . .the antidote to self doubt and self forgetting.

That's exactly where I am right now and where I feel like I've been. And I didn't even know that I had forgotten.

The daily-ness of life took over and being on auto-pilot seemed like the only way to keep going. Sure. It was devoid of some small amounts of stress. But I guess it was also empty of the spark of interest and vitality that keep things smoldering and sprightly.

How to get back?

It seems to be the question of my ages. The question that keeps returning to me in the endless cycles that my life seems to be engaged in. I get a few areas of myself "together" and then something else seems to fall apart. I change my focus to try and heal that and something else falls out and exposes it's warts and ugly hair for the world to see.

Perhaps I spend too much time analyzing. Too much time staring at my navel and wondering if everyone is as messed up as I am.

Perhaps it's all my illusions of control. The world has been spinning for millions of years without my help and will continue to spin long after I am gone. Surrendering myself into the great unknown of that creativeness and life sustaining-ness calls to me. But the process of letting go seems so novel and strange.

My brain longs for order in the chaos. Neatness in the mess. A plan in the empty slate of the day. That's the way I've spent my life. And it has worked for me. Perhaps the reason I can't just plunge myself into the chaos of creation is that deep down I'm afraid that it just can't work. That if I empty myself of my "plans" and my "control" I will lose.

Lose what??

{Seems crazy when I write it, but there has to be a core of truth in there.}

Planning has worked. I'm "successful" if mostly broke. I have a house, a car, a job, a partner, three dogs, a cat. People who don't plan don't have those things. Do they?

Surrender means what? to cease resistance to an opponent and submit to their authority

But, if I surrender my fears isn't that different? Right now my fears are the opponent. Right now I already submit to their authority. They win. I lose. They shape my decisions and my future.

{fear is a thief. it takes and never gives. how many times have i preached that sermon?}

Tired. Of. It.

I want to paint. To create. To write. To think. To sing. Maybe even to dance.

But I can't do those things when my brain screams YOU MUST HAVE A PLAN. CREATION IS MESSY. YOU ARE UGLY AND STUPID. WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE ANYWAY? YOU ARE NOTHING. NO ONE LIKES YOU. YOU AREN'T GOOD.

And so far, no amount of wishing, pretending, gratitude list-making has made any of those voices any quieter.

So maybe it's time to surrender. To make a mess of things. To lay down the fear of doing something wrong and having someone laugh at me. To tell my brain to shut the fuck up about how no one likes me.

We started the ball rolling yesterday.

And perhaps today I will take one more tentative step towards a dance.

Missed?

{Blogger was down the last few days so I couldn't post. Trying to decide if or how much I missed it. This is the lilac shrub next to our front porch.}

Seven Small Things #197 - 203

197. That I did not design this billboard. Whoever that designer is, s/he is having a bad day.

198. That when Delilah threw up on the bed this morning Ali was in it and I wasn't!

199. I'm thankful that people in our community who need assistance often have a case manager who goes the extra mile, even though it means that this evening it's just me and the mutts.

200. For cruising past two hundred with no repeats!

201. For a project that's pushing me to learn more. I'm much better at Photoshop than I am at Illustrator.

202. That there are Coconut Hershey Kisses. Just a couple will satisfy a chocolate craving.

203. For a new book waiting to be started right now!

Seven Small Things #190 - 196

190. The difference in our poppies between this morning and this evening. {see below}

191. Dinner on the patio.

192. Someone to put antibiotic creme on the cut on my arm I can't see.

193. An afternoon in the 70's.

194. Iced tea.

195. Scheduling vacation days ahead of time.

196. Pulling weeds out of the big patch of mint and coming away smelling so sweet.

Back to the Sweetness and Light!

{this is for everyone who has said those dolls are creepin' them out! back to sweetness and light, cotton candy for the eyes!}

Seven Small Things #183 - 189

183. Homemade breakfast sandwiches :: one toasted everything bagel, one fried egg, two pieces of bacon, one slice of cheddar cheese. . .better than anything at any fast food restaurant I can think of!

184. A slight sunburn on my face and arms. I got my dose of Vitamin D today.

185. Our valiant attempt to keep Delilah from being able to jump the fence. It isn't pretty, but it sort of seems to be working. {not holding my breath though}

186. Ali's first softball games of the year. A double header. They won both. She made the play of the game diving and making a rolling catch in left field.

187. A really, really good weekend.

188. That trees suddenly have leaves they didn't seem to have even yesterday.

189. For laughter. And giggles. And simple smiles.

A Few More

{i think they are delightfully creepy!}

Seven Small Things #176 - 182

176. The first flea market of the season in Tiffin. I love shooting the flea market because there is such a wide variety of subject matter. For some reason I am drawn to things that just touch the edges of creepy. {more of these to come soon. . . i heart these!}

177. Amish fried pies you can only find at the flea market. I got lemon and raisin!

178. Playing in the dirt and getting all our annuals planted. The front of our house looks really good right now!

179. Helichrysum italicum a.k.a. Curry Plant. We found some at the greenhouse yesterday. It isn't what curry is made from, but just brushing up against this plant makes my mouth water!

180. Waking up before dawn and quietly listening to the birds singing in the trees before getting out of bed.

181. That it rained very gently just after we finished planting yesterday. Nothing like not having to water your new stuff!

182. That my cold is finally making it's exit. Slowly but surely.

Seven Small Things #169 - 175

169. McDonald's coffee when you've run out of cream at home.

170. Fridays!

171. The grace found in laughter, even when a mistake has been made.

172. The library calling to tell you that a book you requested is ready to be picked up.

173. Doing a favor for a friend.

174. Milkbone Sundaes x 3 = much entertainment!

175. Wondering why dogs don't get brain freeze!

Seven Small Things #162 - 168

162. Sun flare in my camera lens. Because it means there's sun!

163. That the trees in northwest Ohio are getting leaves.

164. Families.

165. Dogs with big ears.

166. Birthday boys who turned 11 today.

167. Steak on the grill to help the birthday boy celebrate.

168. My camera.

Seven Small Things #155 - 161

155. That in spite of a headache, sore throat and general malaise, I got a big project mostly done and off my desk at work today.

156. For the grace of skipping Bible study when you're sick, even though you can't skip work.

157. How happy dandelions look, popping their heads up all over the yard.

158. Hearing the first ice cream truck roll down our street tonight playing Music Box Dancer.

159. Remembering that I played Music Box Dancer at my fifth (?) grade piano recital.

160. Hearing J. Vernon McGee on the radio in the guardhouse tonight. When I was about 12 my mother would make us come inside during summer vacation and make us listen to Thru The Bible with Dr. J. Vernon McGee on the radio. It was pure. torture. to. listen. to. that. when. you. were. 12. years. old. and. the. sun. was. shining. and. you. wanted. to. go. play. That radio program made me hate Christianity for a long, long time. {I got over it. Hearing it on the radio tonight made me smile.}

161. Watching our dogs eat frozen carrots. They spend more time watching each other than they do enjoying what's right in front of them. Just like some people I know!

Seven Small Things #148 - 154

148. That feeling conflicted means I'm thinking.

149. The smell of lilacs on my desk at work.

150. The way robins, hopping through your very muddy garden, don't seem to mind that their feet are just a mess.

151. Lunch dates that give you something to look forward to all morning.

152. Just enough caffeine in one cup of coffee to keep me going in the early evening.

153. A freshly mopped kitchen floor.

154. Goodwill hunting. . .and finding things that fit!

Conflicted

I awoke yesterday to the news of Osama bin Laden's death. {i go to bed early} I found it on Facebook. The first message I saw was from a friend who I've known a long time. I've known her to have strong Christian faith and values. Her post read, "Thank God the bastard is dead."

It kind of made me gasp. And it set my mind whirling. My heart became uneasy.

Osama Bin Laden orchestrated unspeakable acts of violence, terror and death. {yes. i was there.} He was an enemy of the state, an enemy of peace, and a man who sold out to a misconstrued theology of the teachings of the Holy Quran.

He was also a human that was created by God. The same God that created me. And you.

My heart still feels heavy this morning.

What is my posture supposed to be when something like this happens? So I did what we do in 2011 when we are confused. I went to Facebook.

Me: I'm conflicted. Is anyone beyond redemption? Is that even our decision to make? Or do actions prove that someone is so evil that they can never be loved back into relationship with good? I don't expect answers. It's just what's on my mind.

G.A.: I don't think anyone is beyond redemption. Keep hope alive!

T.W.: I'm disturbed that American patriotism has superseded the sanctity of human life. I understand the pain associated with 9/11, but I don't see how this definition of justice is celebrated or justified.

Me: My only response can be humbleness before the only one who can judge. . . and I am not S/He.

H.K.: Preach It, Sister!

R.F.: This is exactly what I've been thinking. I hate to rejoice in the death of any human being. Doesn't that make us just like "them"?

R.C.: I had a great prof in college talking about how if we lose our perspective we eventually, on some level, begin to become what we hate...thanks, Tanya, for putting words to my gut this AM

D.R.: Wow, it took an elusive decade to kill a man, making him a martyr among his zealot followers. I wonder how long it will take to kill a myth?

And I read a few more posts.

N.R.
"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." —MLK

J.S.
Now I lay me down to sleep, one less terrorist this world does keep. With all my heart I give my thanks, to those in uniform regardless of ranks. You serve our country and serve it well, with humble hearts your stories tell. So as I rest my weary eyes, while freedom rings our flag still flies. You.. give your all, do what you must...with God we live and God we trust.

And I close my computer screen and my heart is still heavy. Moments like these find the prayer uttered from my heart can only be, "Lord, teach us to love."

Heading North

{sign on the wall at City Barbeque • taken with my phone}

Is it just me, or does it seem like crazy is winning here of late?

Crazy weather, crazy politics, crazy tragedy.

Sometimes it just makes we want to yell. Sometimes it makes me want to cry. And sometimes it makes me want to move to Canada.

The questions are always more clear than the answers.

Should we allow a very rich, supercilious celebrity to question the legitimacy of our President? We do.

Should we continue to ignore the changing global climate and hope that it will just go away, or fix itself? We do.

Should we keep fighting change, in our medical system, our fiscal structure, our energy policy, because we fear it? We do.

I don’t have the answers. But I am starting to understand this: we have to stop letting crazy win.

The extreme ends of the spectrum keep getting all the attention, and the voice of the middle – you and me – we keep getting drowned out.

I want to stand up and be counted.

Before it’s too late and I book that UHaul headed north.

Seven Small Things #141 - 147

141. Playing with photographs. And bleach. Together.

142. That God is bigger than my whining.

143. Tiny little bottles that make seriously cute flower vases for violets.

144. That I don't have jury duty tomorrow.

145. For sandwiches on toast, where the cheese gets all melty.

146. For the doldrums. Without them I wouldn't remember what energy and life can feel like.

147. The flash of blue I just saw on our feeder and the happy squawking of the jay in the tree above the garage.

Good Enough

Several things happened this week that reminded me that I'm not really good enough at anything.

I'm OK at a few things.

I'm acceptable. I will do in a pinch. I'm marginal, borderline, average, fair-to-middling, moderate and so-so.

I'm tolerable.

But I'm not good.

And these are voices that I've heard and wrestled my whole life. These are the voices that simply have to mouth the words and I will lip read them from miles away and fold like a house of cards. When I heard "thanks, but no thanks" this week my instinct was to become the cartoon turtle in Bugs Bunny, flying into my shell, battening down the hatches and raising the white flag of surrender.

And I'm still struggling. My words, my photos, my creativity, my thoughts, my offerings will never be the best mostly because there will only ever be one best. There will always be someone who is better than me. My challenge is to learn to keep going anyway. My challenge is to not listen to the voices who tell me to quit. To disappear. To avoid.

And so I will. And I will look at what I was not asked to do and I will not judge it. I will not think I could have done it better. And I will try not feel less than any more.

Because isn't that the point of creativity in the first place? It's mine, and it will just have to be good enough.