Wanting

So there is no misunderstanding, this blog is about me, and only me. I am talking out loud to myself, not preaching or giving messages to others.

You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
No, you can't always get what you want
And if you try sometime you find
You get what you need

The lyrics to an old Rolling Stones song go through my head on a pretty regular basis. It is a refrain I am familiar with both lyrically and experientially. It happens all the time to me. Sometimes I am the person experiencing the “no” and sometimes I’m delivering the “no.” Other times I am just witnessing someone not getting what they want. All three views are difficult.

I guess the reason I like the song is that it ends on a hopeful note “…but if you try sometime you find you get what you need.”

F and I had guests this weekend. We hadn’t been together for 4 months and we were looking forward to a reunion. For the most part it was very enjoyable. Good to be with one another, good to laugh together. But by the end of the weekend I felt sadness. I felt sadness for me, sadness for F, sadness for my friends. Things change, life changes, people we love change. People we love make difficult decisions that enhance their lives and we make decisions that enhance our lives. They are not always mutually beneficial.

One of my friends questioned if her attachment was wrong. Attachment isn’t wrong. Attachment is painful. That is the lesson of the Buddha. How do you let go of suffering? Let go of attachment. But it’s hard to do and it means not getting what you want. We westerners don’t have a lot of experience with that. We have so much and want so much more. The wanting grows. Even when the desire is periodically fulfilled, it doesn’t last. If we buy everything we want, manipulate everything we want, steal everything we want, we will be left wanting more, something newer, more attractive, a new itch to scratch, a new person to play with.

I’m looking at what I want and questioning why I want it, what will it do for me, what will I get from it, how long will I be satisfied with it? On more than one occasion I have wanted, wanted, wanted something, enough to save or sacrifice, or throw caution to the wind and get it for myself, only to cast it aside, sometimes the same day, as though the act of purchase itself was where the satisfaction was. Using it or consuming it had no relevance to satisfaction.

I am sorry to say I have done this in the past with lovers. Passion and sexual tension drove me to woo and court someone, only to find that the wooing and courting was far more satisfactory than the relationship I sought.

So what, if anything, is the moral of all this? Attachment is suffering, painful, and breeds disappointment and desire, which in turn breeds more suffering. It’s a ring of fire, and there is no way out but to step outside the ring. That’s frightening and painful in itself, but the promise from the Buddhas is that the suffering subsides.

Where to begin? Where I was left. With a sense of sadness that no matter what I wanted or was attached to it could not be fully possessed by me and would not satisfy my desire. Hanging on tighter won't get it. Letting go of it won't get it either, but it will make the suffering go away. I didn’t get what I wanted, but I got what I needed.

This has been a pretty good week so far. Things are going well at work. I am in a good space as far as how much I have to do before school starts again. I've gotten the big things done. Still have lots to do but most of it is behind me.

Things at home have been good. I haven't done any yard work since last week. It's been very, very hot out and I've been getting home near 7 pm. Tonight I'm going to try to get in earlier although it is already 5:15 pm and I have to stop at the supermarket first.

Today is August 1st and that is a day of sad memory for me and Frankye. Frankye's father died on August 1st, 1944, 5 months before she was born. My grandmother died on August 1st, 1985 at age 79 and my friend Ed died in 1991 at age 46. Such a long time for them all. My nephew Joseph and his wife Karen are expecting their first child any minute now. It would be nice to have something beside loss to remember August 1st for.

Filling the Vessel

This has been a good weekend. I've enjoyed practice with my sangha, lunch with a friend, physical activity, reading, socializing with 2 good friends, ballet - live performance, sleep - including 2 naps, TV watching, enjoying Frankye's company, learning how to use Photoshop - suceessfully at times, playing with our dogs...

What could be better than to "fill up" before starting another work week?

The other really good thing I did for myself this weekend was NOT watch the news. More and more I am realizing that watching the news keeps me in a state of anxiety, anger, and fear. There is nothing I need to know happening out "there" on a day to day basis. If there was something really earth shattering happening, information would get to me without my having to watch it on TV. More importantly, the news, whether real or media manufactured, is a distraction and diversion from the real issues and responsibilities of my life. One of those responsibilities is to keep my mind focused and clear. How else to be able to pray for the suffering of the world?

Speaking of suffering, I heard a blurb for an upcoming news program that 2 more American service men were killed in Iraq over the weekend. The pain this causes their families must be monumental. I don't know these people yet I whince when I hear this news. There is so much unavoidable pain in this world caused by the nature of the material world. Why do humans create more suffering and pain, when it is so avoidable?

I read recently that shame is referred to as the "master emotion." It is considered the underlying "push" emotion that motivates our decisions and behavior. Is it shame that keeps us in this war? Is it shame that keeps this administration on this path of war? Are they shamed by no weapons of mass destructioned and forging ahead anyway? Are they motivated by the shame of being wrong and the need to find something, somewhere that will justify attacking another sovereign country and wreaking havoc on its people? Is it shame at what we, America, has done to the people of Iraq that keeps even smart, level headed people from standing firm to get out now? The excuse that we have to fix what we have broken as a justification to keep 150,000 soldiers on the ground is not valid. It just creates more pain and more suffering and more shame.

See why I am staying away from the news? Just that little blurb takes me away from what is really important in my life right now. Not that my head should be stuck in the sand. Watching TV and getting lost in events on the other side of the planet is living with my head in the sand. If my mind is there, it is not here.

A Smile

The Tunnel

Every once in a while I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. The operative phrase there is 'every once in a while.' The other times, the majority of times, I am seeing only the darkness of the tunnel. Is that a flaw in my character? Can I change that by merely changing 'my mind'?

I question it because I don't know if I am seeing the real future or seeing my fears of the future. My fear, my biggest fear is that my senior years will be lived out like my father's. I feel as though I have been putting on hold the kind of life I want to live for my whole life. I've wanted to be free of attachments. I know the teachings, both Buddhist and Hindu, are that you don't need to give up the material world to give up your attachment to it. Maybe I am just in the waking to awareness stage of just how attached I am. I feel it all as burden. I can't give freely to anyone because I see giving as a burden right now.

I'm not by nature a selfish person. I have a natural impulse to give. I have a natural impulse to care and love. Right now it feels like too much. It is as if I'm starving and someone is trying to take my last piece of bread. I know I should give it to them, they are hurting, it is the loving thing to do. I do give it, but with resentment. That is not ok. That is not giving. That is actualized guilt.

So I move on, through the tunnel, but still in the tunnel. I'm looking for the light that will show me the way out but I am not seeing it just yet. I will keep on keeping on.

A Word to the Wise Not Heeded

On January 17, 1961, outgoing President Dwight D. Eisenhower made a speech, referred to as the Military-Industrial Complex Speech. Here is an excerpt from that speech:

Until the latest of our world conflicts, the United States had no armaments industry. American makers of plowshares could, with time and as required, make swords as well. But now we can no longer risk emergency improvisation of national defense; we have been compelled to create a permanent armaments industry of vast proportions. Added to this, three and a half million men and women are directly engaged in the defense establishment. We annually spend on military security more than the net income of all United States corporations.

This conjunction of an immense military establishment and a large arms industry is new in the American experience. The total influence -- economic, political, even spiritual -- is felt in every city, every State house, every office of the Federal government. We recognize the imperative need for this development. Yet we must not fail to comprehend its grave implications. Our toil, resources and livelihood are all involved; so is the very structure of our society.

In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist.

We must never let the weight of this combination endanger our liberties or democratic processes. We should take nothing for granted. Only an alert and knowledgeable citizenry can compel the proper meshing of the huge industrial and military machinery of defense with our peaceful methods and goals, so that security and liberty may prosper together.

Well, that warning was not heeded and now America has a government that goes to war because it has an industry for making war. Add to that a former top executive of the major defense contractor profiteer sitting in the seat of the most powerful Vice Presidency in the history of the United States, and you have exactly what President Eisenhower warned against.

But what is the face of the Military-Industrial Complex? By what name does it go by?

Dick Cheney is an easy choice for poster boy for the Military-Industrial Complex. He has been in government service most of his career, except for the period of time that Bill Clinton held the office of President. During that time period Cheney served as the Chairman and CEO of the Halliburton Corporation. The very same corporation that received an unbidded contract from the federal government to provide civilian services to the military for the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. That unbidded contract has reaped billions of dollars in revenue for Halliburton.

During that same hiatus from government service, Cheney co-founded the The Project for the New American Century, "a non-profit educational organization dedicated to a few fundamental propositions: that American leadership is good both for America and for the world; and that such leadership requires military strength, diplomatic energy and commitment to moral principle." Look what comes first and what comes last in that list.

So, I declare that the face of the Military-Industrial Complex, will in my mind be embodied as Richard Cheney, Vice President of the United States of America. Our own Manchurian Candidate.

Looking Back At Ya

It seems to be a pleasant enough morning. It's amazing how the scenery has changed so rapidly. We didn't have rain for so long and everything was in one phase or another of dying. Our grass not only turned brown but it actually disappeared in large areas. Fallen leaves covered most of the ground area.

We've now had about 3 - 4 weeks of rain several times a week. There are huge tufts of green grass all over the place. Plants I trimmed weeks ago are blossoming and thickening. A small little plot of land that I put wild flower seeds in is now covered in small green seedlings. I checked on the bird feeders yesterday and found that some of the seed on the flat tray has begun to sprout. The trees are full of fresh green leaves. It all looks so lovely.

more later...

These Eyes

Sometimes I wish I had a magic wand and could just right things that had gone askew. Instead, like a bystander on a subway platform, I watch as the train batters in and out of the station. I can’t stop it. If it were running someone over, or leaving someone behind, I could do nothing about it.

Life is that way. We live alone, but with company. No one on earth could possibly know my experience. They can see parts of it but they can’t know it. Not even Chang and Eng Bunker could live each other’s experience, even though they were attached their whole lives.

There are 6 billion people living on this planet at the same time as I and yet I feel a deep well of loneliness. We are not family, even when related. We are a collection of 6 billion solitary human beings simultaneously experiencing something we call life. We can observe the external response of others but that is as deep as it gets. That makes for a lonely feeling, or sometimes a welcome sense of relief, as others seem to be having a more difficult time than I.

I'm sometimes distracted by what I observe and fool myself into believing that it's our experience. But it's not, and I always come back to this place of recognition that no one sees out of these eyes but me.

How Creative Are You?

You Are 85% Creative

You are an incredibly creative person. For you, there are no bounds or limits to your creativity. Your next creation could be something very great... Or at least very cool!

How Creative Are You?

Yadda yadda yadda....

commitment

Homeland Security

I was watching TV this morning and heard Sally Field talk about Boniva. She said, “I have this one body, and I have this one life…”

That got me thinking about this one life. I thought about Sally and how she had chosen celebrity. She is an actress. She’s a good actress. She chose to express her art on a wider media, not the stage, thereby insuring a wider audience, and fame, if she succeeded. Both of which, she has achieved. Sally’s decision means she bought into the dominant culture to some degree; probably to a large degree.

I, too, have bought into the dominant culture. I don’t pursue fame or fortune. Yes, I’d like more money, but I don’t sacrifice for it and accumulating wealth is not high on my to-do list. It never has been. But I sacrifice some happiness and personal freedom for the dominant culture.

I let fear rule my life. Unlike in my youth, I am less afraid today of physical violence, and more afraid of not having enough in old age. I’m afraid if I don’t stay in the rat race, I won’t have a retirement of comfort, which I think I’m entitled to. I’m afraid I will be working well into my 70’s, which may happen no matter how conformist I am.

Breaking this down I first come to the belief in “entitlement.” In life, there is no entitlement. Does a lion in the jungle feel entitled? Does a squirrel in my yard feel entitled? Do they feel they’ve earned the right to be fed by me or all the other life surrounding them? So I have bought into the culture of work hard and long and someday you can sit and just play. I feel entitled.

In America, a retirement of leisure is a 20th century addition to our culture. It began with our grandparent’s generation, but has really blossomed for our parent’s generation. But it’s a fluke. The opportunity for that to continue has already been dismantled. Yet my generation still functions as if we will have the golden years our parents have. And I am right on board with them despite knowing it won’t happen that way.

I’m 55 and more and more I think about my present instead of my future. I fear the future and that keeps me living my present as it is. The world is becoming a more volatile place, economically, violently, and ecologically, yet I keep on the same path like a horse with blinders on running a race toward a cliff.

Sometimes I sit in my chair at home and I look at my surroundings and I feel no attachment whatsoever to any of it. I wonder sometimes what stops me from getting out of the chair and getting in my car and driving away, forever. Other times, I feel so safe and comfortable here that I can’t feel the madness in the world that surrounds me, as if they were two separate entities.

Someday I may decide to make a radical change. That doesn’t mean I won’t go to work. It doesn’t mean I will move. It doesn’t mean I will do anything different other than clinging to the fear as a justification for how I live my life. Or it may mean physical change. Either way, it will require living my life outside the confines of culture, regardless of how that culture changes or what the culture dictates.

Tidbits

I had a nice quiet weekend. I went to the hospital both days to visit with Lori. We haven’t had time to hang out for hours just chatting or being together for years now. There are usually other people around or we just meet at a restaurant or her house for lunch during our work week. While I would have preferred to spend time in a place other than a hospital, I was glad I was able to spend time with her as long as she had to be there. Hopefully, she will be released today.

A funny thing happened the other day. I was getting ready in the morning, showered, washed my hair, cleaned my ears with Q-tips, put on deodorant, installed teeth, went through my usual ritual. Before leaving the bathroom I tidied up, putting the towel to dry, wiping the sink, securing the toothpaste, tossing the q-tip into the trash, lighting a match. My usual routine. I thought I had used 2 q-tips but only one was consciously trashed, the other, I assumed, had been ‘unconsciously’ tossed in the trash.

I went into the bedroom and gathered my clothes. I sat on the bed and put my socks on and then my underwear. As I stood up to pull up my underwear, low and behold, a Q-tip head was peaking out of my navel. “Hmmmm,” I said to myself, “so that’s where it went!” It was then, like the previous Q-tip, consciously trashed.

I’ve been keeping up with the Dick Cheney “I-do/I-do-not-have” Executive Privilege regarding documents in the Vice President’s office and his assertion that the Office of the Vice-President “is/is-not-part” of the Executive Branch. This man is the most obnoxious, corrupt person that has ever been a heart-beat away from being called Mr. President. Why hasn't he been indicted for something? He has, in the past, claimed executive privilege when he didn’t want to turn over documents of activity in his office as relates to the Valerie Plane exposure, and also claims he is not part of the executive branch and therefore exempt from the order governing the handling of classified information. Make up your mind dip shit!

There is something bothering me. It is a partial deja vu experience I've been having. let me explain.

In the summer of 2001 the BIG news story of the day was the disappearance of Chandra Levy and her affair with Congressman Gary Condit. The media hammered this story during the summer of "no other pressing news" to death. Every news program had the latest news (which was nothing) about the case and every cable news channel had program after program of talking heads specualating on whether Gary Condit killed her, hid her, impregnated her, etc. This was like an incessant drum beat throughout the summer, through to September 11, 2001. It wasn't spoken about again after the terrorist attacks. When Chandra Levy's body was found a year after she disappeared, it did not receive front page headlines.

There was plenty of horror to report on for months and months after 9/11. Then came the wars, Afghanistan first and then Iraq. Then came the devastating tsunami in southern asia, killing hundreds of thousands in a moment. Then came Hurricane Katrina, the devastation, and the absolute apathy and ineptitude of FEMA. Then came the lull.

The news media thinks that Americans aren't interested in war talk so they rarely explore that reality extensively. The Bush administration is betting that without the visuals of flag-draped coffins returning to America, words alone aren't graphic enough to rile Americans to pay attention to the details of the war. So we have a small percentage of our TV news coverage devoted to the wars.

The deja vu eperience comes from the inordinate amount of time and media coverage given to the absolute bullshit life of Paris Hilton. If I was Osama bin Laden, I'd be thinking that America was not paying attention. Our president and vice-president are so absorbed in keeping their inadequate and illegal activities from becoming the new scandal. Paris Hilton is being treated as if she were an important part of our culture and we are held in rapt attention to her trials and tribulations. 20 people are running for an election that isn't even happening for another 17 months. What a great time to knock down another building or drop a dirty bomb on a Washington street. Will it take another terrorist attack on American soil to stun the media out of their tabloid mentally?

Nature Watch

The wild life around the house often fascinates and amuses me.

Despite the current news that common birds are dying off at alarming rates in America, there seems to be an abundance of birds living around Little Pottsburg Creek.

I recently cleaned and refilled the bird feeder on the side yard. I can watch from my seat in the den as birds approach, land and nibble. Last Saturday I did some pruning there and left the half full contractor's bag in the yard. This morning I realized I left the bag too close to the bird feeder. I watched with amusement as an industrious squirrel used the half filled bag as a springboard to land on the bird feeder. When he first landed the birds nibbling on the feeder flew off, but in less than a minute they returned, munching seeds side by side with the squirrel. There's something so sweet about watching birds eat from a seed feeder. It's engrossing too. It's like watching a fire in the fire place.

In another part of the yard I put out dried corn on cobs in a special feeder for the squirrels. Last time, I put two cobs in the feeder that usually holds one cob, because the cobs were small and I was able to fit two in. The squirrels love these treats and go through them pretty rapidly.

This morning as I was holding the door open for a very slow Ally B. to jump up into the house a cleanly stripped corn cob fell out of the tree right in front of the door. One of the little squirrels must have pulled out that extra cob and brought it up into the tree. I looked from the kitchen window to see that there was only one cob left in the holder, and that too had been stripped.

I enjoyed a nice quiet evening last night. I watched some TV, retired at 10:30 and read until 11:10. Except for a 2 a.m. wake-up by Allie B. to be released from the bedroom for a sip of water, I slept well. We all arose at 6:15, fresh as daisies. Even Yeshe who has been nursing a bad back of late had a little more zip to his exit from bed this morning.

Hopefully, I will find out today if I will get a new assignment at work. Either way, I just want the decision to be made so I can move on. Not that I've been sitting around idly waiting for them to decide. It's just that having something out there and waiting beyond the date I was told a decision will be made is a little nerve wracking.

Wednesday. Hump day. Almost ready to head off to work. Maybe I'll write more later.

2:00 P.M.
I was informed this morning that I wouldn't be getting the new assignment. And it is ok. Not without disappointment, but ok. So now I am busily preparing my goals for this coming year, in this position. They're due soon.

Fryday

That is a play on words, but it is how I usually feel at the end of my work week. Fried. It's not that my job is so hard. It's that my job is a lot of work, and I care about getting it done. But I dont fight this job, my co-workers or management. That would be too much. And I wouldn't have lasted here for 10 years if I did.

This has been a week. A milestone yesterday, a push to write more in this blog and in my journal. A commitment to myself to explore my feelings more. A commitment to read another novel. Getting household chores done. Getting and sending a Father's Day gift. Yeshe being injured and slowly recovering. My mother changing her mind 3 times in a week about when she was going to come by to visit. F not being able to decide if she is actually going to go away next week or not. Trying to turn vegetarian while slowly becoming anemic and craving rare beef. Fighting fatigue that comes with middle age.

Last week I applied for a new position here. Today I had the interview. It went well. I think I'm very qualified for it and probably won't get it. It could be a paycut although I asked that I not be offered the job if it were going to be a pay cut. I should know by Monday. But I enjoyed the interview process so much that it almost doesn't matter if I get the job or not. I would like to but if I don't, it'll be ok. I did good.

I'm gonna go home now. The little cub is having dinner sent to the house. No cooking. No clean-up. I want to do yard work, rest, read, sleep, and hang out this weekend. Not sure what F has after work tomorrow but a movie would be in good order. I want to see "Ocean's 13" because it looks like fun and I can look at handsome men.

33 Years Ago

33 years ago today I graduated from Aurora. I remember the day clearly. I was nervous all day and ecstatic after it was announced at the annual dinner dance fund raising event. All graduates during the past year were announced and one surprise graduate was announced. I was the surprise graduate on June 14, 1974.

Looking back now it feels like it was a different lifetime and the world was a different place. It makes me pause and wonder if I have reached my full potential as a person. I wonder if I am even near my potential. I wonder if I have spent my time well, expanding the potential I was thought to have 33 years ago. I wonder what risks I have taken since then that have had the impact on me that completing the course of treatment at Aurora had. It was nearly the first thing in my life I had ever completed. I started Aurora on August 17, 1971, and with several stops and starts finally graduated 34 months later. That's a long time. A long time to be in boot camp.

There are days, maybe today is one of them, when I can't see progress or fulfillment of potential. There are days when I still walk around saying, "how the fuck did I get myself into this mess?" There are days when I still don't know who I am, why I am, or how I got here. But those are only occassional days. Most days I feel settled within myself, comfortable in my own skin, content to live peacefully with myself. Sometimes I think it is a by-product of aging and an indication that the fight has gone out of me. Sometimes, most times, I know it is because I have come pretty damn close to being the person I wanted to be way back in 1974.

Not Settled Yet

I can't seem to get settled on a new look for this blog. This is a bit closer I think. It feels more open and less cluttered. it's lighter, and brighter.

I wonder if being so into the "look" of it is a way to distract from the fact that I have nothing to say.

I only have snippets of thoughts and comments today.

My mother just called and said she and my father were visiting me from June 29 - July 2. I thought they were coming on June 21st. I had planned to have the weekend to myself on June 29th. I had planned to have time alone and time to do work around the house. I guess I will have to do it the previous weekend.

I read the following quote today:

"The terrorists know what they want and they will stop at nothing to get it.... Their ultimate goal is to establish a totalitarian empire, a caliphate, with Baghdad as its capital. They view the world as a battlefield and they yearn to hit us again. And now they have chosen to make Iraq the central front in their war against civilization.... They are surging their capabilities, attacking Iraqi and American forces, and killing innocent civilians. America is fighting this enemy in Iraq because that is where they have gathered. We are there because, after 9/11, we decided to deny terrorists any safe haven." ~Vice President Dick Cheney, Speech at West Point Graduation, 2007

What is this man thinking? I am so sick to death of President George W. Cheney that I want to scream, or laugh hysterically until my sides hurt and my lungs stop working.

Here's more hysteria from the powers that be:

(CBS 5) BERKELEY A Berkeley watchdog organization that tracks military spending said it uncovered a strange U.S. military proposal to create a hormone bomb that could purportedly turn enemy soldiers into homosexuals and make them more interested in sex than fighting.

Pentagon officials on Friday confirmed to CBS 5 that military leaders had considered, and then subsquently rejected, building the so-called "Gay Bomb."

At least that happened in 1994, before the enlightenment of the new millenium. If you could see me now I'd be rolling my eyes.

It is the absolute insanity of the leadership of this country that makes me want to fall out of the main stream of society. Yes, there are lots of stupid people in America. Everyone knows it. Even most of the stupid people know it. It's the stupid ones who don't know it that run for elected office in America. And it's the stupid ones who know they are stupid that elect them.

I was speaking to a neighbor this morning and he was telling me he is moving to a little rural town in Arkansas at the end of this month. He bought 10 acres of land with a 3 bedroom cabin on it. He won't have a full time job. He'll do odd jobs using his various talents and live simple. He said he can build a work studio on his property. He can build whatever he wants or do anything he wants with his property without concern for zoning laws and permits.

It sounded so good to me. I immediately had visions of about 5 acres of quietness somewhere in America with just a water pump and sewage drainage pipe and electricity hook-up. Kind of like a trailer park with 5 acres per trailer. Hook up a trailer to the car and drive away. Come back and hook up the trailer to the utilities and stay a while. Live freely. Why continue the rat race? The leaders of this country are going to get us all killed. It's just a matter of time.

Everytime I hear President George Cheney talk about protecting "U.S. interests" I wonder who's interests they are really talking about. Could it be Exxon-Mobil's interests? or Walmarts? Chevron's? General Motors? Who's interests are they fighting for? Not mine. Not any American I know. What interests do we have? Health care for all. Safe neighborhoods. Freedom of movement. Good, free education for all citizens regardless of age. Support for working people. A healthy environment.

I'm ranting and hadn't meant to. It was probably the phone call with my mother that set me off. Yeah, that's it. Don't get me started. Don't EVEN get me started!

Reflection

The American Heritage Dictionary gives the following as the 4th definition of the word Reflect:

4. To think seriously.

I'm prompted to ask if there is a difference between "think seriously" and "seriously think." I'll have to seriously think seriously about that before I can answer that question.

“There are two distinct classes of what are called thoughts: those that we produce in ourselves by reflection and the act of thinking, and those that bolt into the mind of their own accord.” ~ Thomas Paine

Oh my, if that were a contest I'm not sure which would win in my mind. I spend time reflecting on my life and thinking seriously about things. I rarely do it in writing, however.

Sometimes when I'm thinking about something I get the urge to write it down. The writing process seems so slow and tedious, and becomes what is happening, rather than the thinking happening.

My thought process moves rapidly and roams hither and yon in the course of exploring something. Writing reins in that energy and establishes parameters that I try to think beyond.

Some thoughts can't be expressed in words. They can only be experienced or visualized.

Other thoughts only occur in the context of a long, imagined dialogue or monologue.

A New Face

I've been visually bored with my blog of late and so I have changed it. This is not the final version. I will fine tune and spruce it up in the next few weeks. I'm hoping the face-lift will revitalize my interest in blogging more frequently.

I've changed the description of the blog to read: "Exploring ways to have a more fulfilling life through art, writing and reflection." What I didn't add but have found to be true is that my life and relationships are greatly enhanced by sharing my art, writing, and reflections, regardless of how disinclined I am to do that.

I had a revelation recently about the not too distant future. I have for the last 5 - 10 years been gearing myself up to work well into my 70's. The other day I read an article on CNNMoney.com about how more and more baby boomers will be taking social security benefits before the maximum benefit age. My maximum benefit age is 66, at this point. But I am eligible to retire and begin receiving benefits at age 62. That is 6 1/2 years from now. My break even age is 80+ if I waited until 66 to retire. It just doesn't make sense to work to 66 or beyond. How fast did the last 6 1/2 years ago? Very fast.

I can't begin to describe the utter joy this revelation has filled me with. I know I will work after retirement. And that's ok. But it won't be fulltime. It will not be a career. Maybe it will be in an artstore, or a library, or bookstore, or even part-time bookkeeping for a small business. It doesn't matter, it won't matter. It will be the big wind down. I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel and I am refreshed by it.

I have 6 1/2 years to scale down and get my ducks in a row to retire. I don't plan on having a big life in retirement. I don't want to be in this home. Too costly, too big, too much work. I want to live smaller, with less maintenance in all areas. I'd like to travel, preferably in a trailer. I'd like to settle somewhere else as a home base. I know F shares these goals and perhaps if the 2 of us could move this closer to the front burner we can accomplish it.

Bobby

Last night F and I watched the film "Bobby." It was very good. Brought back many menories, not the least of which was memories of my own idealism and ultimate and destruction of same. One of the parts of the movie I found the most engrossing was the voice over of a speech on violence that RFK had delivered 2 months before his murder. It's worth reading, as it holds as true today as it was in April 1968.

On the Mindless Menace of Violence
Robert F. Kennedy
City Club of Cleveland, Cleveland, Ohio
April 5, 1968

This is a time of shame and sorrow. It is not a day for politics. I have saved this one opportunity, my only event of today, to speak briefly to you about the mindless menace of violence in America which again stains our land and every one of our lives.

It is not the concern of any one race. The victims of the violence are black and white, rich and poor, young and old, famous and unknown. They are, most important of all, human beings whom other human beings loved and needed. No one - no matter where he lives or what he does - can be certain who will suffer from some senseless act of bloodshed. And yet it goes on and on and on in this country of ours.

Why? What has violence ever accomplished? What has it ever created? No martyr's cause has ever been stilled by an assassin's bullet. No wrongs have ever been righted by riots and civil disorders. A sniper is only a coward, not a hero; and an ncontrolled, uncontrollable mob is only the voice of madness, not the voice of reason.

Whenever any American's life is taken by another American unnecessarily - whether it is done in the name of the law or in the defiance of the law, by one man or a gang, in cold blood or in passion, in an attack of violence or in response to violence - whenever we tear at the fabric of the life which another man has painfully and clumsily woven for himself and his children, the whole nation is degraded.

"Among free men," said Abraham Lincoln, "there can be no successful appeal from the ballot to the bullet; and those who take such appeal are sure to lose their cause and pay the costs."

Yet we seemingly tolerate a rising level of violence that ignores our common humanity and our claims to civilization alike. We calmly accept newspaper reports of civilian slaughter in far-off lands. We glorify killing on movie and television screens and call it entertainment. We make it easy for men of all shades of sanity to acquire whatever weapons and ammunition they desire. Too often we honor swagger and bluster and wielders of force; too often we excuse those who are willing to build their own lives on the shattered dreams of others. Some Americans who preach non-violence abroad fail to practice it here at home. Some who accuse others of inciting riots have by their own conduct invited them.

Some look for scapegoats, others look for conspiracies, but this much is clear: violence breeds violence, repression brings retaliation, and only a cleansing of our whole society can remove this sickness from our soul. For there is another kind of violence, slower but just as deadly destructive as the shot or the bomb in the night. This is the violence of institutions; indifference and inaction and slow decay. This is the violence that afflicts the poor, that poisons relations between men because their skin has different colors. This is the slow destruction of a child by hunger, and schools without books and homes without heat in the winter.

This is the breaking of a man's spirit by denying him the chance to stand as a father and as a man among other men. And this too afflicts us all.

I have not come here to propose a set of specific remedies nor is there a single set. For a broad and adequate outline we know what must be done. When you teach a man to hate and fear his brother, when you teach that he is a lesser man because of his color or his beliefs or the policies he pursues, when you teach that those who differ from you threaten your freedom or your job or your family, then you also learn to confront others not as fellow citizens but as enemies, to be met not with cooperation but with conquest; to be subjugated and mastered.

We learn, at the last, to look at our brothers as aliens, men with whom we share a city, but not a community; men bound to us in common dwelling, but not in common effort. We learn to share only a common fear, only a common desire to retreat from each other, only a common impulse to meet disagreement with force. For all this, there are no final answers.

Yet we know what we must do. It is to achieve true justice among our fellow citizens. The question is not what programs we should seek to enact. The question is whether we can find in our own midst and in our own hearts that leadership of humane purpose that will recognize the terrible truths of our existence.

We must admit the vanity of our false distinctions among men and learn to find our own advancement in the search for the advancement of others. We must admit in ourselves that our own children's future cannot be built on the misfortunes of others. We must recognize that this short life can neither be ennobled or enriched by hatred or revenge.

Our lives on this planet are too short and the work to be done too great to let this spirit flourish any longer in our land. Of course we cannot vanquish it with a program, nor with a resolution.

But we can perhaps remember, if only for a time, that those who live with us are our brothers, that they share with us the same short moment of life; that they seek, as do we, nothing but the chance to live out their lives in purpose and in happiness, winning what satisfaction and fulfillment they can. Surely, this bond of common faith, this bond of common goal, can begin to teach us something. Surely, we can learn, at least, to look at those around us as fellow men, and surely we can begin to work a little harder to bind up the wounds among us and to become in our own hearts brothers and countrymen once again.

To The Well (again)

From Thomas Merton....

"The person is defined in terms of freedom, hence in terms of responsibility also: responsibility to other persons, responsibility for other persons. To put it in concrete terms, the Christian is not only one who seeks the expansion and development of his own individuality and the satisfaction of his most legitimate natural needs but one who recognizes himself responsible for the good of others, for their own temporal fulfillment, and ultimately for their eternal salvation. Hence, the Christian person reaches maturity with the realization that each one of us is indeed his "brother's keeper," and that if men are suffering and dying in Asia or Africa, other men in Europe and America are summoned to self-judgment before the bar of conscience to see whether, in fact, some choice or neglect on their own part has had a part in this suffering and this dying, which otherwise may seem so strange and remote. For today the whole world is bound tightly together by economic, cultural and sociological ties which make us all, to some extent, responsible for what happens to others on the far side of the earth. Man is now not only a social being; his social nature transcends national and regional limits, and whether we like it or not, we must think in terms of one human family, one world."

~~Thomas Merton. Love and Living. Naomi Burton Stone and Brother Patrick Hart, editors. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1979: 152-153

Ode to a Morning Alone

I love a morning alone. I haven't had one in a couple of weeks. Not one where I didn't have somewhere I had to be sometime during the morning hours. Yesterday I went to KTC and did my bookkeeping chores in the hopes that I could have alone time this morning after F went to work. The morning started off with me being woken up by the Boogies. It wasn't bad though, not like it was 5:30 a.m. or anything. They patiently waited until 7:15 to wake me.

I could have woke up F as she had to get up at 7:30 to get ready for work, but as she hadn't come to bed until 5:30 a.m., I thought I should let her have at least 2 full hours of sleep.

The dogs were good and they left me to watch TV and drink my coffee quietly. At 8:45 F walked out the door, got in her car and drove to the gate. There she found that a large tree limb had fallen across the lane blocking the road. It fell from a neighbors tree onto the lane and their pick-up truck. F came in and called her job and asked if someone would come and get her.

I went out to look at the tree and realized there was no way me, F, or even a couple of others could move the tree without it first being sawed up. That is usually done by our neighbor Wayne. As a matter of fact it was Wayne's tree branch that had fallen and it had fallen right in front of his house and onto his wife's pick-up truck. But Wayne and the little missus are away looking for a new home and job in Alabama.

I decided I would be proactive and walked down the lane to ask the assistance of A. I called to her from her driveway and she came out, beckoning me to come closer to the house. I told her the tree had fallen on R's truck and did she have Wayne's son's phone number. I know his sons have cut trees in the past. A. said that Wayne's sons could not operate powertools without supervision (they are mentally impaired, which I knew). She also told me why she and R aren't talking, what her health issues are, her frustration at trying to arrange medical appts., her husband's prostate problems, his blood sugar level of 756, the day he called 911 from his hospital bed to complain about a nurse who was trying to kill him by being inattentive, and many other things.

A. told me that if our other neighbor came home or if her son came home she would ask them to get their power saw out and clear the tree. I thanked her and went on my way. Yes, good neighbors are hard to find.

I went back to the house and got my camera. I decided to photograph the tree in case Wayne needed it for insurance purposes. So now it is 11:40 a.m., and my morning alone is passing into oblivion. I am stuck here on the property - like I needed a reason not to leave home today.

I would really have preferred to have nothing to do this morning but sit quietly, write in my journal, read my email, watch the JAG episode I've been saving all week. But then I wouldn't have photos of that to post with my blog.

One Done, One in Progress

The images of Santa Fe linger. It is partially fed by reading American Prometheus, a bio of J. Robert Oppenheimer. What I hadn't realized while I was in Santa Fe, is that Oppenheimer had fallen in love with northern New Mexico early in his life and that he leased and then owned a ranch there from his early 20's. There are many tales about the time he spent there prior to the Manhattan Project being planted there.

I am putting more of the memories to paint and paper. I hope to do more.

The completed one...

The one in progress...

New Mexico Lingers

There is something about New Mexico that has stayed with me. There is room there. The sky is big. The ground is high. 7,000+ feet higher than Jacksonville. I didn't know when we got there that we would be that high up. I didn't think you could visually see the difference. But you can.

It's peaceful there. It's quiet there. There is no background drone of traffic sound anywhere. Not even in the city of Santa Fe. It's really quiet.

The mountains are beautiful. In the east mountains are covered in lush green trees. That's what you see, large, high mounds of green upon green. In the Fall it becomes a vibrant field of color upon color. Then comes the grey of the winter sky and the grey of leafless trees. In New Mexico you see rock. The mountains aren't covered with trees. They are bare, and colorful, revealing many millenium of strata, fallen or split rocks, layers that tell geologists the history of the mountain and our planet. It's so impressive. The mountains are so solid and yet seem so vulnerable in their nakedness.

Why didn't I find New Mexico when I was younger? Why didn't I find it when I had the ability to hike its mountains and walk through the desert searching for bones and artifacts. I had more courage then. Or was it just the folly of ignorance that led me to places with risk? How much nicer it would have been to sleep below the New Mexico sky then to sleep several levels below Grand Centeral Station.

Surprised - Not Shocked

I'm surprised by the events that took place this week at Virginia Tech University. Surprised, but not shocked. Waco shocked me. Oklahoma City shocked me. The killing rampage at Columbine H.S. shocked me. 9/11 happened and that shocked me. So another senseless act of violence against people going about the activities of their lives does not shock me. Not in America. Not anymore.

I feel sadness for the families, friends, and students of VTU, but it is just a small part of the deep sadness I feel for those of us who remember a time before presidential assassinations, mass killings by government agents, students as killing machines, and airplanes used as bombs. Hope and honor and freedom from mental, emotional, and social assault is what we have lost. I mourn the death of my own idealism and optimism. I'm beyond a hope that "something will change."

Instead, I make my world smaller, I keep my attention and emotions closer. I find joy and hope in the individuals in my personal life. My delight comes from the innocence and naturalness of my animals. My honor and pride comes from the priveledge of being loved and from living in a world where the holy still roam and beauty can be found in a rock formation. That and the air I breathe is all there is.

while we played, they played

"Hmmmm. What's this, I wonder?"

"Wow! How Did Alice get in there?"

"Ahhhhh. Nothing like a sand bath on a sunny day."

"Uncle Dwight, what's that in your hand?"

All photos courtesy of Dwight Fisk

The Joke or the Joker

So, Imus is gone. Not just off MSNBC but also off the radio.

*snap* Things change. Quickly.

In the course of a week, I heard 2 prominent, well known comedians make racist comments. One had no repercussions. One lost his job.

The first comment was a joke told by Whoopi Goldberg. She had a special on Bravo that Christi and I happened to catch a week ago. She introduced the last joke she told by telling the audience "the community" would not approve. One can assume "the community" was the black community. She told the joke, the punchline had God uttering the "n" word to a child, and everyone, including me, laughed. She said she would not use "that" word again.

While the audience was still laughing Whoopi told everyone to think about why they were laughing. I have thought about it.

I think a black person telling a joke using white racist attitudes as the punchline gives all of us white people permission to laugh at it. I know for myself that had the same joke been told by Michael Richards, Jerry Seinfeld, Phyllis Diller, Joan Rivers or any other white comic, I would have been horrified and would have been embarrassed by my desire to laugh. But Whoopi's telling the joke meant I could laugh with her, loudly, unashamed, guilt-free. But Whoopi wasn't laughing herself. She was teaching.

The other comment was said by Don Imus, a very funny, in your face, radio personality. In the 1970's I listened to Don Imus regularly. Back then he made fun of southern preachers and cracker sterotypes. He had a favorite character named Billy Saul Hargas from the Discount House of Worship. He was hysterically funny and I would laugh whenever I heard him.

Imus' comments last week were not a punchline or a satirical monologue. He was joking around with a friend, a producer of his radio show. His comments weren't funny to anyone else but the two of them. His reference to the Rutger's Women Basketball Varsity team as "nappy-headed ho's" is not funny in any context except as a private joke between racist buddies. His mistake was that he said it all on air. That he didn't hesitate to air those comments, or even catch himself or apologize or clean them up somehow immediately after making them, says to me that the man doesn't have a clue that those comments reveal his racist beliefs.

I wish I could say I was so enlightened as to not have a racist bone in my body. I can't say that. But I know enough to know when a comment or thought is racist and that it should be censored. I believe racism and racist thoughts are habitual, even after one has examined these beliefs and discarded them. The true test of discarding racism is not in intellectually understanding the unreasonableness of your attitudes and ideas, but in doing the work day after day of not laughing at jokes, even when safe, not allowing those thoughts to go unchecked in your own mind, not seeking out others who will "enjoy" it and not be offended by those thoughts or comments. That's the hard part of reforming racist attitudes.

Imus has said he is not a racist, that he had no racist intent. In the past he has publicly vowed not to use racial epithets. I think Imus got fired because he still didn't know that it was not ok to do that privately and certainly not publicly if you want to break the habit of racism.

Santa Fe

Frankye and I have had the priveledge and good fortune of accompanying our friends Christi and Sue to Santa Fe as their guests. We've had an absolutley wonderful time and have seen more beauty than I knew existed. Here are some photos, as words could not describe the beauty of the landscape.

Mean while, back home, the sentient beings we share our home with were on duty protecting the homestead with Aunt Lori and Uncle Dwight. Uncle Dwight has a nice camera and knows how to use it. He took this lovely picture of the Lords of the Manor diligently at their post, keeping the world as they know it safe from preditors.

Photos by D. Fisk, C. Cripps, S. Molare, & C.C. Kessler

Smarter Minds Than Mine

Great is the guilt of an unnecessary war.

~~John Adams

This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness.

~~Dalai Lama

A crust eaten in peace is better than a banquet partaken in anxiety.

~~Aesop

I don't believe in killing whatever the reason!

~~John Lennon

Hatred does not cease by hatred, but only by love; this is the eternal rule.

~~Buddha

Eros will have naked bodies; Friendship naked personalities.

~~C.S. Lewis

As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.

~~Carl Jung

Cause and Cure

I believe in justice and truth, without
which there would be no basis for human hope.

-His Holiness the Dalai Lama

The lack of justice and truth is the cause of pain and suffering even for those of us who have so much physical comfort.

Justice and truth and human hope can change and eliminate all the suffering (but not the pain of life) and evil in the world and move humanity forward.

Catching Up

This past week I feel like I've been catching up with myself. The previous six weeks were a whirlwind of activity and people. I've been busy at work and doing additional duty with special projects. I've been tired and sleeping hard. This past weekend was the first weekend in 5 weeks that I had no commitment to do anything specific and I celebrated it in style.

I got home from work Friday night with dinner in hand and didn't leave the house again until Monday morning at 9:30 to go to work. I spent the entire weekend wearing only a t-shirt. I was a slug. I was happy. I did next to nothing. Yes, I ate and drank, cooked a little bit, slept - a nap each day, let the dogs in, let the dogs out - over and over again, wrote/read email, surfed the web, played computer solitaire, watched tv, ignored the tv but still had it on, wrote and painted in my journal, read a magazine and an art book, sighed a lot, heard F's voice (a lot), talked to a boy on the phone, and heard the sounds of life outside the door. Never left the house. Did I say that already? It deserves being said twice. I loved it.

Now it is Tuesday, a/k/a toosday. Work is still a whirlwind, but I got some big projects off my plate so the special projects aren't a burden. I've been sleeping late each morning, anywhere between 6:45 - 7:20. I really prefer to have more time in the morning to be with myself before I hustle to work, but I've really needed the sleep so I am allowing myself to roll-over that one last time. I'm not in danger of "over sleeping" for work and as a result I still have the luxury of sleeping til I'm done so I don't need an alarm clock.

I bought a new pair of jeans today. I had a discount coupon and so they cost $19.28 and that includes postage and handling. They should be here next week. They are just like the other pair I have that I wear almost every single day and love. I didn't wear jeans for a long long time and now it is all I want to wear. I wonder why we (I) refer to jeans as a pair? Is it because they have 2 legs? A pair is 2 of something, and yet the term a pair of jeans refers to just one clothing item. But I digress.

I've done some more dreaming about trailers and then scolded myself for being obsessive. I've spent time on-line looking at military shoulder bags - again obsessive, hence, scolded. I was sitting in my car the other day eating a bean buritto. It was my lunch time and I had time left to do something before returning to the office. I didn't feel like going to the library. Everything I thought about doing in the 30 minutes I had left involved looking at things in stores. Looking at products. Looking to buy something. Anything. Consuming as recreation. As a time passer. It wasn't ok. I wrote in my journal for a while about the whole thing and then went back to work. Of course, later in my work day, before I went home, I went on-line to ebay to look at the military bags available for cheap. Oy!

So now it is the end of my work day again. I am going to stop at Blockbuster and drop off films then go to get Chinese take-out. I had a good salad for lunch at Bennigan's. They make a nice Greek salad with sliced grilled chicken breast. Very delicious. I went back to work and had a really good evacuation. Lots of energy afterwards and I finished another project and emailed it off. A good toosday.

a paint box

I have many paint boxes. I have an oil paint box, an acrylic paint box, a gouache paint box, 2 large watercolor paint boxes, and about 5 small travel watercolor kits. Most of them have been gifts I received over the years.

When I am painting in little sketch books or my journal, I tend to use my Windsor Newton travel watercolor box whether I am traveling or at home. Until recently, I didn’t have a box that I carried with me everyday in my shoulder bag. About 2 months ago I made one out of an Altoids box. After a short time that too seemed too big.

I recently found amongst my things a little 2 ½” x 3” tin box that can hold 12 half-pans of watercolor firmly. The lid is hinged on one-side and when opened both sides lay flat. The lid can be used as a mixing palette. It’s very lightweight and convenient. It fits in my pencil case or slips into my pocket easily. I have a Niji mini waterbrush, 6" log when capped. Today I used it at work and there was no fuss and no muss. I like it.

I Hate This War

I hate this war. I am so angry at the people who created it. It has caused and continues to cause so much pain and suffering to so many.

I've had my own private protest against this war going for over 3 years now. On the first Veteran's Day after the start of the Iraq war I hung the American flag on the flag pole by the front gate of my house. I have not taken it down since that day. It is looking disheveled, discolored, and worn. It is a metaphor for the effect this war is having on Americans. I will not remove the flag, no matter how tattered it becomes, until the last American soldier is home from Iraq.

Everyday something comes out in the news about how this war is mishandled, how our leaders lied and manipulated the truth to get this war. We hear stories of veterans who's lives and bodies have been irrevocably damaged by the war are poorly treated in VA hospitals overflowing and underfunded. We hear stories of helicopter shootdowns, car bombs, suicide bombers and ruthless attacks on Americans who would not be in harm's way were they not sent to Iraq. 3,148 American military killed to date. Stories of innocent Iraqi civilians being slaughtered on a daily basis are mind numbing. The are dying at a rate of almost 100 a day.

This war is an abomination. The leadership of our government is an abomination. We MUST make a change. We must make it soon.

my journal

I have kept a journal for over 30 years. When I was young I wrote in an old ledger. It was huge. 17" x 12" tall and heavy. It had lined, numbered pages and I wrote long narratives in pen. I had that journal for several years. I finally got tired of it and moved to an 8" x 12" bound blank-page sketch book. I began writing in different colored inks, script sometimes, print other times. I began gluing in movie tickets and photos and doing collages. I have filled many, many of those sketch books. I would use one book a year. Some years I had to use more than one book. Whether I had completed the book or not I would start a new book each and every January 1st. Occassionally, I would off road to another smaller art book for special trips or themes.

About 8 years ago I began keeping my journal in a 5 1/2" x 8" unlined book that I bought from Levenger's. Levenger's sells this wonderful book called the Stanley Journal. It has a nice leather sleeve and replaceable journal incerts. I used this journal for about 6 years. As I began to paint more frequently in my journals the thinness of the paper became an issue. While the paper is lovely, it didn't handle fountain pen or markers without bleeding through.

About 2 years ago I began using a moleskine sketchbook as a journal. I've used the 5" x 8 1/4" sketchbook, plain notebook, and the squared notebook. While I love the design and feel of the book itself, none of them take water color paint well. The thinner paper of the plain notebook buckles easily and certain inks bleed through. The heavy sketchbook paper seems to have some kind of coating that causes water color paint to bead on it. However, liking the book itself, I persevered and have adjusted to this quirkiness in the moleskine sketchbook.

My most recent change in journals has been to the 3 1/2" x 5 1/2" moleskine sketchbook. The size forces me to write smaller and to journal alongside drawings and doodles. I've been using the smaller sketchbooks for about 3 years to do small drawings and paintings but haven't used them as a journal. I've filled 1/2 a dozen of these little books and carried them along with my larger journal. Too much stuff. So I'm downsizing.

With money from my mom for xmas I've purchased a cover for my moleskine sketchbook from Renaissance-Art. It fits the small book like a glove. The leather is high quality, durable and attactive. The stitching is strong and should wear well. The cover doesn't hinder the ease and comfort of the moleskine at all. Renaissance Art also makes covers for the larger sized moleskine as well. I'm pleased with this new variation of my journal. I highly recommend this product to other moleskine lovers.

A Birthday

Today is the 54th birthday of my favorite person in the whole world - my sister, Brenda. Happy Birthday Bren! I miss you and hope to see you soon.

February 12th

I remember when the nation celebrated the birthday of Abraham Lincoln as a separate holiday. Prior to the acceptance of M.L.King's birthday as a national holiday we looked forward to 2 national holidays in February - Feb 12th and Feb 22nd for George Washington's birthday. Two 3-day weekends in the coldest month of the winter was a welcome relief from "having" to go out into the bitter cold.

No sense in avoiding this next paragraph.

C & S, "the" best friends, moved yesterday morning to MD. They came and picked up their dogs, the movers packed their belongings and they drove north to their new home. So it's done. We now live 800+ miles apart. For right now it just feels like any other Monday. I don't usually see them during the week. Sometimes C comes over on Wednesday nights, but our usual time together is Friday night and either Sat or Sun or both. During the week we exchange email and phone calls. This week will feel typical. This weekend I am going away and would not see them anyway, and then next week, another typical week of emails and phone calls. After that - adjustment.

I had trouble with my car and it is in the shop. I was in Fernandina Beach and the car was over heating like crazy. I made it back to town and took it to the mechanic and he opened the hood and saw immediately that the radiator was cracked. So the radiator has to be replaced. He will take the opportunity to replace all the hoses and $456 later I should be safe to drive to S. Florida on Friday. I really can't complain about it. This car has been strong and dependable for 10 years. I'm almost at 101,000 miles. We've only spent a moderate amount on general, regular maintenance. It's never been a problem.

I've got a damn cold again. Doesn't seem as bad as it was 2 months ago when I had it. But it's still a pain in the ass. I'm working through it and just feeling like shit, which I would feel like if I stayed home in bed all day with it. Might as well work. F has it too and she has it worse than me this time.

I've been trying to do at least one sketch everyday. I am trying to limber up my drawing skills. I hope to do a lot of quick sketches when we are in Santa Fe in April. I don't want to be so rusty.

The thing about drawing is the more I do it the easier it gets and that happens relatively quickly. But I never feel competent or secure in that and as a result it is not relaxing for me to draw. It creates tension for me. I have performance anxiety about it. Even if it's just me and I can throw the paper away and no one will know. I could still feel embarassed to myself about my lack of drawing skills. I'm trying to get past that and draw anyway. I'd like to work through the anxiety and get to a place where I can enjoy it like I enjoy doing abstract works.

When I do abstract drawings it doesn't matter to me if it doesn't work. Most of them don't. That's okay because I enjoyed the time I spent doing it whether it works as a picture or not. When it does work as a picture it is something I will enjoy each time I look at it. When it doesn't, I just look at the next picture.

And tomorrow is another day.

The Rising Swarm

We've been gifted with the "swarm" visiting us again, teaching me more than I ever wanted to know about patience. Notice I didn't say more than I needed to know. The swarm has grown by one, there are now 7 dachshunds when all together. For the most part 6 hang out in the same place at any given time.

In the morning, the only free and alone time I have, they pile up on my lap, spill across my thighs, make themselves comfortable, and go to sleep. Part of my morning schedule is to write in my journal, do some doodling, paint in wc, etc. What skills I am learning do be able to do all this with a swarm pile in my lap!

This morning I wrote about a dream I had travelling the country in a 5th wheel with (only) 2 dachshunds. I did this quick sketch of the trailer from my dreams while leaning my 3 1/2" x 5 1/2" moleskine sketchbook on Ben's head. Not too bad. A few sweeping strokes as he tried to watch what I was doing. I didn't mind that so much as I minded his snicker when he saw the drawing.

"The creation of something new is not accomplished by the intellect but by the play instinct acting from inner necessity. The creative mind plays with the objects it loves." (Carl Jung)