The day before everything...

Don't know what happened, but this little sweetheart grew all up and now, after college and law school, will be a blushing bride on Saturday next. Festivities begin tomorrow, and will continue for the entire weekend, as is fitting. She, unlike her mother, knows how to delay gratification, and has spent the last 11 years getting to know her guy, and now they are ready to step out as a wedded couple. Gee, how fast the years have flown. And how happy I am today, that she will probably not know the pain I have slogged through getting divorced from the man I thought was the love of my life, or my mother's wounding mouth. As much as I love my solitude, my little yellow house with the fur people, my multitudes of friends, a partner to share a history with would be nice. Sort of the cherry on top of my white chocolate mousse with raspberries and whipped cream sundae, but it would just make everything complete. Nothing is impossible, I know. Surprises happen every day. And, soon, I hope, there will be a new little muffin in my life. That seems to be the plan, and gosh, everything else she has planned has happened. What a gal!

Bless this mess, a reprise...

Do you suppose that lack of patience can be an artistic tool? Tired of this particular piece, and the model is even more tired. Had to make up some of it to compensate for dead roses. Don't particularly care to do very much more, and it looks like plenty has already been done. Moving on. Today's agenda includes the search for a fancy hanger for the bridal gown's close-up, prior to being filled up with the bride, that is. If all else fails, I will pick up some satin and batting and make one, with a pretty bow on it. It's good to have a plan, right? Also need to take wobbly bits to the gym for toning up. Probably too late for much more than Bandaid, but it's better than nothing, and feels ever so righteous. I talked to little kiddo today, and all is proceeding like clockwork, and am I surprised? Decidedly not. This sweet woman-child has planned every aspect of her life to date, with very little happening to throw her off-track. Gee, I wish I had done my life like that. Mine has been a constant mystery, with unpleasant surprises thrown in every so often. Guess it has made me stronger. Like, one is always stronger in the broken places. Whoopee. Happy to dance around for my daughter, though. Certainly, she has done her homework. Bless her little redheaded heart.

I'm just trying to matter here...

Well, T minus 3 days to the first of the wedding weekend extravaganza events, the rehearsal, the rehearsal dinner, and the post-rehearsal dinner afterparty, latter of which I will definitely be skipping. I got the hangers for the table runners today at WalMart, non-slip extra large guys so that hopefully, they will arrive not too wrinkled. I stopped there after my noon women's meeting mostly because of serious dearth of Milkbones here in the little yellow house, which winds up making everyone unhappy, then thought of napkins for the breakfast and snack items I am taking for the little houseful of women who will be dressing, getting hair and makeup done, and generally yucking it up with the bride before the ceremony. Very excited about that part of the weekend, watching my lovely and accomplished daughter don her designer gown and step out to begin her life as a married woman. Strangely, though she is 31 years old, an attorney, and definitely a grown-up, she will always be my little redheaded sweetpot, the one who cried when the seagull stole her hotdog at the San Francisco Zoo, the one who would lay with her head in my lap and watch videos, drink hot chocolate, and eat Orville Reddenbacher's caramel corn on our Saturday nights together. Motherhood is a mixed blessing, for sure. I miss both my kids, my son and my daughter, every day. Not the people they are now, though they are sure precious and wonderful, but my 4 year old son, so sweet and trusting and brave, and my 11 year old daughter, so curious and eloquent with her words and deeds. That will be true all our lives together, I guess. And I do want to believe that the best is yet to come. Certainly our lives together, my children and I, have been full of all kinds of wonderful as well as awful stuff, and isn't that the way of the world, anyway? Who can hurt you more than those you love so very much? Why would I be hurt if the clerk at Safeway told me she hated me? Who cares about the clerk at Safeway? But when my baby girl said that, wow, pierced me to the core. Even though I knew she didn't mean it, not forever, anyway. A long time ago, I made a promise that I would always leave my kids with love, in case I may never see them again, and they could remember me with kindness. That has not always been easy. So, taking my sweetest, kindest, most loving self to the wedding, to be auxiliary person, just the Mother of the Bride. It is Sweetpot's day, she and her lovely man. Pictures to follow, for sure.

Go ahead, spit on my grave!

When I think of my self, I see this kind of innocence. Makes me want to eschew steaks, and leather. Really, as humans go, I am pretty benign. Nevertheless, I noticed that the cowwoman got UNFRIENDED! This is the new way to express unhappiness. Push the button, and bang, no more Facebook buddyhood. Well, in the end, no one is someone for everyone. Oh, quick, write that down! There will be those, who, on my demise, will cackle and rub their hands together with glee. My third ex-husband, for instance, who would then garner the infinitesimal bit of pension I now live on back into his control. My mother, certainly, although losing me would mean she could no longer be my victim, and might actually have to take some responsibility for her own actions instead of blaming me. But, realistically, I would have to pop off the planet today, as she is 90 years old and on the verge of her last breath every moment now. Really, I just want to be a good person. And I want to be the same person for everyone. Authenticity is my primary goal, as a matter of fact. And because I had the mother from Hell, I want to be kind to everyone. Strangely, I don't think I was unkind. I was just my self. And gee, who else can I be? Everyone else is taken.

Some days you're the windshield, some days you're the bug.

Definitely a bug day today. Lots of busy dreams about being lost, or dirty, or just not belonging. I dragged sorry butt out of bed in time to get all spiffed up for the meeting, then sat through steering committee meeting afterward, where we steered admirably, trying to stay on course, which is always the trick, isn't it? Made myself a consolation hamburger sandwich. At least it was on cracked wheat sourdough, and really, really delicious. Then a friend and I took our adorable dogs over to a local dog park so everyone could admire them. Pickle had a ball, racing about with her blond tresses streaming out behind her, very glamorous. Then to the Village where we had some really yummy ice cream. Cheesecake ice cream. Oh, dear, there goes the diet for today. Now in sugar coma, which is better than previous general malaise. Better now than later, as the WEDDING looms, T minus 7 days and counting. Weather is lovely at the moment, warm without upsetting any sweat glands, nice cool breeze. Would be just nifty if it kept up through next weekend. Meanwhile, I peck away at pastels, now with gloves to keep pigment from under fingernails and around cuticles. Grooming must take precedence over creativity till the big event is history. Doing odd things like trimming eyebrows (cannot pluck, follicles die and I would wind up with bald forehead), shaving chin hair, grinding away at heels with shredder thingie, exfoliating, depilatating, stuff like that. This is my one appearance as MOB (mother of the bride). I want to be stellar at it. It is all good. Dogs are all pooped out, neighborhood is quiet, time for a steamy novel and some Masterpiece Theatre.

Dogs of other days...

Here is Beany. Cute, isn't he. Yeah. He is visiting for the afternoon, and will soon be sojourning here in the little yellow house for a whole two weeks. Goodie. Beany is a terrier. That is terror with an extra syllable. He came to live with us when we lived in the house on the edge of the world, where the neighbors were far, far away, and everyone had a dog. Nature's alarm system, you know. And when I returned to civilization, Beany stayed on there, since that was where his beloved, the wild man artist was. And now he lives in the wilds of East County, on many, many acres where his barkiness is not a problem. Here is different. Here are neighbors all over the place, going tsk tsk at best, and WTF at worst. Have locked him in for a while to give the neighborhood a rest. Hasn't shut him up. Even as we speak, he is pressing his nose against the back door and yapping his tiny mouth off. Till this moment, I have only worn my ear plugs at night. That is about to change. God had someone else in mind when he made Beany. Excuse me. I have to go yell a little.

All about loss...

It just seems to be that time again, when things are leaving me. My dear friend died. Then a relationship went away. I lost a whole big bunch of money I really wanted to spend another way by crunching my bumper. My parents are fading. My favorite meeting is losing its meeting place. Even little kiddo getting married is a kind of loss. She was so busy with wedding plans, we were unable to do our usual Harry Potter cinema thing. I had to go all alone to see the last movie. And it really is the LAST movie. Tears eluded me until yesterday, after Harry defeated He Who Must Not Be Named. It all hit me at once. So I muddled through this day with a little ache behind my eyebrows and a big one in my heart, knowing it will all work out in the end. I deleted all the spam from The Scooter Store and Cialis (getting old means really interesting spam), worked away on this little pastel, which, once again, I wanted to be abstract but somehow had a mind of its own, and watched some totally unredeeming stuff on TV with a warm puppy on either side of me. Not planning anything very uplifting for the rest of the day, either. It all seems kind of overwhelming at the moment, though I am sure I will be all right. Extra trip to the gym, though, to take care of all those TJ pistachio cookies I consumed in a moment of self-pity. Hey, it beats taking a drink. Or a valium.

Let me say this about that...

Well, I am not perfect. You're surprised, I bet. And, gee, I wouldn't want to be, because then, there would be no goals to work toward, or happy trudging on the road of destiny. I do my best to be of help, where I can, and use my vast experience to be of service in this sorry world. And the longer I live, the sorrier it seems. This society, whose goals are labels and glitz, is way off kilter. The means have become the end, it seems. Get rich, be happy. And step all over everyone and everything that stands in your way to get there. And what do you have, then? A swimming pool attached to a big house, fancy stuff everywhere, and a conscience that is filthy with guilt and remorse. Unless you are a sociopath, in which case, who cares anyway. Believe me, living a more modest and austere life with a clear conscience beats that, every day. Of course, stuff is handy and lots of fun to have. I love my car, which takes me wherever I want to go whenever I want to go there. It is a modest little car, inexpensive to drive and maintain, but still, a precious thing in my tiny life. And I adore my computer here, dinosaur that it is. It boots up just fine every day and gives me all the news I need, a thought for the day to keep my spirit all fluffed up, and mail from dear ones and business folks, too. I don't need much more than that. And I think that is the secret to happiness, which is, by the way, a decision I make on a moment by moment basis, anyway. Okay, back to the secret. Happiness is not having what I want, it is wanting what I have. And expressing gratitude for that, every day. Love that I know that. And, gee, a swimming pool would be nice, too. Not perfect. No, not at all.

Nothing much happening on fairly regular basis here...

It's a good thing that I decided I don't like drama, because we don't have any here. Well, the dogs love to yap at passing folks, get all excited until I yell at them to come in, porch privileges are revoked. And that's about it. I did the gym again this morning, then hit Costco for staples like pineapple upside down cake, which I am eating in honor of my friend who passed recently. Nothing she liked better than eating. Well, in the absence of other appetites, it spins my beany, too. And all those trips to the gym should keep me from spreading out to the size of Wyoming. I hope. Meanwhile, I worked some more on the tropical landscape. You know, it started out to be an abstract. It just kept getting tighter and tighter. I loosened it up a little in the end, but gee, definitely not an abstract. Trying again, tomorrow, when nothing much threatens to happen, again.

And the rest of the day, well, whatever...

I did make the gym (yay, me!), then Trader Joe's for some flowers and good stuff to eat, then home to make a tiny steak and mushrooms for lunch, with steamed veggies, and, of course, dessert of rice pudding, and some almond butter cookies, oh, my, so GOOD! Then I tried my hand at this little ditty, which is still in the making but coming along, shades of Hawaii and all that wonderful tropical stuff. Guess I got tired of birds, and saw some rather wonderful, colorful, loose and fun landscapes this weekend, and said I CAN DO THAT! Well, not exactly, but I can do something, yes I can. More will be revealed here. Now all pooped out and ready to crash on couch for reruns of Bones and some reading and some Pickle/Boo love. Retirement rocks. Only drawback is you have to be OLD to have it. Old is not all that much fun at 4 PM when one has spent every last drop of energy. Food sounds like a possibility, too. When in doubt, eat something.

My day so far...

I arose late, and even then Boo looked at me like WTF, up ALREADY? We're both getting uber-old here. After popping my wonder pill, the tiny thyroid hormone that starts my engine with a roar every day, and brush, brush, flush, flush, I toddled around the corner to the kitchen to mix up a mess of Greek yogurt pancakes with TJ's apple-cranberry butter and (Lite) Cool-Whip, which I consumed like a vacuum cleaner, saving the very last tidbit for Pickle/Boo. I put on my workout clothes, always a hint that I expect to show up at the gym sometime in the future, made the bed, and here I sit. Have checked email, cyber-lurked in kid's lives on Facebook (little kiddo washed her Blackberry, I don't feel so bad), and sent confirmation to Face to Face of my entry in this year's Art for Life, my little blue pig, Willoughby, named after that stinky guy in Sense and Sensibility who jilted Marianne. Oh, and I looked at a gallery of celebrity baby bumps and read an article about portraying madness in theater. Any minute now, I am off to the gym. Yes. And, having completed the newest stage of sew and sew, I get to mess around with my pastels this afternoon. Totally inspired by a visit to a local gallery to see my classmate's exhibit, and some other really remarkable art. Ready to leap into this with elan. And inspiration.

Starting over, and over, and over

I went with a friend to see Company last night at our local Summer Repertory Theater. Really fine and clever production, with superb singing and acting and dancing. Talent all over the place. And what an interesting play. It seemed to be about married vs single existence, but really it was about how alone we all feel, and how no human power can alleviate that. No one was particularly happy in this play. Which made me ponder why I am so happy most of the time, here in the little yellow house, all by myself with the fur people. Oh, none of these folks had a fur person to cozy up to. Well, none of these folks had a yard, as they all lived in NYC. Still, they could have had a CAT. Maybe they would have been happier? And none of them had a spiritual life. Well, they were all in their 30s, when it appears one is bulletproof. That may explain some of their disaffection. Well, a lot of it. Knowing that I am part of something much larger than I am, knowing that I can reach out for help whenever I need it, that's huge. Moving right along, time to get butt in gear and do errands. Groceries! Library! Gym! All worthy pursuits for a fine summer day. And I closed my lady's mouth a little and like her better. Now see other adjustments that need to be made. Later. Time to pack away the pastels and SEW. Kiddo needs 8 more runners!

The long, hard road to nowhere...

Feeling low today, as I contemplate the death of a woman who had so much to give to the world, and did so with amazing elan before cancer took her away. What a strange journey this is. I just feel like I am on this big ball, hurling through the void, aimlessly. what can be the purpose of it all? Okay, enough with the philosophical claptrap. It is what it is. I am not in charge here, thank HP. Certainly, if I were, it would be a lot fairer. A whole bunch or really undeserving people would live tiny, short lives, and the rest of the really fine folks, the ones who contribute, would live forever, as shining examples of humanity. Except, how would I know who they are? So much is hidden, you know. We all hide from each other beneath our little masks. Which leads me to this painting, which is definitely going to change. Thinking I need to close her mouth, for one thing. I like a lot of it, the colors especially. Luckily, I can change it with a flick of the wrist. Because she kind of got goofy in the end. Yeah, definitely less teeth. Like this is an earth-shaking problem. And, really, it is my only problem at the moment. And I got a whole bunch of new ideas doing what I have done so far. And I will be hurling around some more tomorrow. Going nowhere.

The up side of old...

I am happy about being 67 years old. HP blessed me with a fine, resilient body that responds well to the weinie workout at the gym and a moderate diet of mostly healthy food. I share my little yellow house with my two fur people, who never ask where am I going, when will I be home, or complain about the same meal, day after day after day. I have five rooms here, and they are all MINE. And no one looks at me funny when I crawl into bed every night around 8 PM, turn on the TV and watch reruns of Bones or Murder, She Wrote while doing cryptograms or reading the latest Sue Grafton or Janet Evanolvitch tome. Funny, I just can't seem to do one thing at a time, not here in the little yellow house. Until last night, when summertime TV hit a new low, and I wound up watching this International Mystery on one of the many PBS channels in the current lexicon. It was a German who-done-it, with subtitles, and I spent the first half hour wondering why there was a German division of the Venice police force. Then I realized these were Germans PLAYING Italians. How strange and thoroughly international! All the men, even the heroes, were pretty homely guys, some downright scary ugly. All the women looked like Gina Lolobrigida. It totally absorbed my attention because I had to read the subtitles to follow the plot, and the inspector's daughter was a sparkly little redhead that reminded me of mine at age 15, and it was really suspenseful and Venice is so very beautiful. It is easy to forget how very young my country is until I watch films shot in places like Italy, where everything of value is hella-ancient. I did like the lead actor a lot. He was lumpy and frumpy, but also twinkly and smarter than anyone in the story gave him credit for. And his Sofia Loren clone of a wife was two inches taller than he. Brave man.

Okay, let the idiocy begin...

You have to admit, our Independence Day can be a pretty dumb holiday. Thousands are out there inventing new ways to blow a few fingers off or start little fires here and there. Frankly, I always found it an ideal day to get royally plastered, especially after lugging tons of food in flimsy baskets down to some body of water somewhere, forgetting the sunscreen at some point, then roasting myself a scintillating shade of crimson, thus insuring a tortured night of spraying myself with Bactine. Of course, those days are over. It is egg frying hot out there. We are all buttoned up here, doing our best not to let the house heat up, sipping diet ginger ale and pecking away at the newest bird thing. Tonight, the noise will begin, and I will be on doggy soothing duty, keeping the fur people from jumping out of their skin. And because I live in a particularly patriotic neighborhood, the festivities are bound to last well into the wee hours. Totally dumb holiday.

Sunday musings...

I went to church today. Well, not actually church. Science of Mind is more of a spiritual philosophy, developed by Ernest Holmes, a principle that embraces Universal Mind and our connectedness with one another and all things within that container. I have always liked that premise, that we are all ONE beneath it all. Of course, I like being one with some, and not with others. Sigh. Anyway, I got there early for the 10 AM service, sat down, and watched the congregation file in. I noticed that there were a multitude of women very like me, sweetly dressed and made up, and alone. We all sat on our little islands surrounded by empty seats. And I thought how pathetic I am. The theme for this month is diversity, and today, Rev. Edward spoke about prejudice, how it is far easier to practice than tolerance because it needs no research. Indeed it is predicated on ignorance and self-absorption, and is really about stories we tell ourselves. Contempt prior to investigation, we call it in Program. Great message for me to hear. And later, I saw some of those lone women were actually women I am acquainted with, and if I picked up my phone, I could find a plethora of friends to accompany me in the future. Or, I could arrive a little later, and sit next to one of those carefully put together gals, introduce myself, and make a new friend. Or move on if that is too frightening for her. After all, we are together in the pursuit of a spiritual life or we would not be there in the first place. I find part of that is getting over myself, the fear that others will not like me as I am. Okay, blazing new trails here. And I did run into a friend, one who like me is battling inner demons, and that made the whole trip worthwhile, to know I am not alone in this seething cauldron called life.

If I knew what I was doing, I'd be someone else...

I find life very confusing. Somewhere along the way, I began painting. Then I went to school, to become a psychologist, because folks continue to amaze me with the way they act, and discovered that I liked art a lot better, so I got a little degree in art, and now I fiddle around with art stuff, make these little pictures, and print cards that say I am an artist. And yet, gee, how can that be? I went to a demo by a REAL artist last night, left my poser card, and hope that, when he does another workshop, he will alert me. Maybe after that I can be authentically an artist? I do understand that my confusion has been shared by many who the world at large recognized as amazing artists. We are, as a lot, highly sensitive. Hell, we wouldn't be creative if we weren't, right? Nuts. I am just going to do what I have been doing, playing around with the art stuff. I could be doing worse things, for sure. And I am not bothering anyone. Am I? If so, sorry. Or not. Whatever.

Riding the learning curve, again...

I went to a demo of Sennelier pastels, both oil and soft, and got all kinds of new ideas. Best tip was about paper. The support for this medium is paramount. Too much tooth, no detail is possible. Too little, and you have dust up your wazoo. I did this little guy on the black Tiziano paper the demo artist handed out, and wow, it is fabulous stuff. Must get down to Blick to get some soon. I laid out the drawing with student grade pigments, then put the dynamite Sennelier pigments on top. It was really fast and really fun. Like painting ever so much more than sewing. Beginner's mind has returned. Fun on a summer afternoon.