The thing about authenticity...

When I reflect on my previous six decades of existence, the one theme that comes up is who am I and what is my purpose here on this little blue ball? I know that I was a disappointment to my parents, who wanted a baby of the male persuasion, and got me, instead. My mother named me after my father, probably as an apology, the dimiunutive of his name, at least, and I could have gotten away with that had I remained small (I was just a peanut when I was born, barely 6 lbs.). But I didn't. By second grade, I was a head taller than all my classmates. At 12, I reached my current height, 5 ft. 9 in., and went around shaped like a question mark trying to blend in. That didn't work. I have never blended in anywhere. And, because they were unhappy with me, my parents did their best to mold me into a more acceptable me. This had the effect of totally confusing me. My real self, the one I was born to be, disappeared beneath a lot of criticism and advice. After flailing about a lot, in my 30s I went into therapy, and the true quest began. But, how could I become something I have never known? In the end, all I could do is invent myself from scratch. I became watchful, taking in the various personnas that I encountered, looking for examples. Audrey Hepburn was a possibility, but so was Coleen Dewhurst. One was facade, the other all substance. Which led me to my battle with form and substance. I love the former, like all my stuff and do my best to put forth the appearance of goodness, and the latter, well, that's harder to live up to. In my current metamorphisis, I am all about substance. I wake up each day with the intention of being a blessing to the world. Sometimes that means just not sniping at the poor counterperson who is making my non-fat latte. Even the doctors take an oath that includes "above all, do no harm". If that is the best I can do everyday, well, so be it. But, hopefully, there will be a moment where I can bring some light into another's darkness. This means that I must be fit, physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. That is the goal I seek today.

Dvorak, a 6B pencil, and a trashy novel...

That about sums it up. Break is more than halfway gone, sigh, and the sum of my accomplishments dwindles daily. I am getting cozy with The New World Symphony, which I think is just delightful, though it still resembles movie music. My shoebox drawing is nearing completion, thank HP. I didn't like this project, don't like the drawing, and will be just thrilled when it is behind me. Tomorrow, I will be painting some eggs. No, not on the eggs, but an acryllic of brown eggs in a bowl, an homage to Julian Freud, who did an absolutely transcendental painting of this very subject. Also, I really need to mow the back lawn, and now that I look at it, the front one as well. That always seems such a daunting project, yet, when it is all over with, I am always happy with the result, a neatly trimmed up yard. So, I think I will curl up with my new trash novel that I picked up at the Salvation Army thrift store yesterday, while I was prowling and looking for furniture. And guess what! I get a senior discount there, 1/2 off! Now, there's a good reason to get old. Right.

Hey, I'm breaking here!

Ah, spring break. While the kids are off to exciting parties in exotic locations, I am happily sitting here at 11 AM, in my sweats, piddling away at the computer. Adieu asymptotes. Ciao Caravaggio. Toodles tenebrism. Plans are to work in the garden, eat lots of good food, do a movie or two, walk more with the dog, and yes, write a report for art history, do some algebra homework, and finish the dreaded shoebox drawing. Slooooowly. No hurrying. Like they say in Hawaii, by 'n by, brudda. That is such a luxury. Anyone who says money can't buy happiness ignores the true value of it. Money can buy time, the one thing we never seem to have enough of. Time to watch the flowers bloom (roses are out, so sweet). Time to sip the coffee and stare off into space. Time to prop up on many pillows and read trashy novels. Okay, it's not exactly exhilerating. I've been there and done that. It got me into a lot of trouble. So, I'll take the backyard over Ft. Lauderdale any day.

Holidaze here...

Easter has not been my favorite holiday since I grew too old for my Aunt Theresa's backyard egg hunt. I did that for my kids, of course, later, and learned that it is good to count the eggs before hiding them, so as not to be surprised on Memorial Day with petrified or putrified remnants of Easter. I do think that Easter is a good reminder of the fact that life on this little blue ball is transient. I like what Nate said on Six Feet Under, when asked by a grieving woman "why do we have to die?" Nate said "To make life important." That's a good thing to remember. And I think we do, even if we don't think we do. The daredevil defies death with every circuit of the track, the devout sacrifice pleasure for the promise of a better existence, and the dilletante rolls around in pleasure for its own sake, and frequently dies sooner because of it. Me, I just try to savor each day. It is a task, too. My natural state is misery. I lived in my martrydom for most of the first half of my life, and while I was not griled like St. Lawrence or shot full of arrows like St. Sebastian, I do have scars to this day. So I have to often bait myself to get out of bed. This week it was pumpkin pie for breakfast. Food is my passion these days. Some would think that sad, but food will never forsake me and walk out just before my birthday. Food will never tell me I am fat, even if it was the instrument of that condition. And, anyway, once it gets me out of bed, I am off for other pursuits, like education, which I find eminently pleasureable, and sometimes really difficult, too. Whatever, this life is much more because it will end. And that could be any moment now.

Things that suck...

Getting old is so interesting. I am blessed in that I do not look my age, though I am not sure anymore what 62 should look like, anyway. And the real blessing is that I don't feel my age, either. I have just a tinge of arthritis, in my right thumb, probably as a result of jamming so many times in softball when I was a kid. Coordination has never visited me in any phase of this lifetime. And I get sciatica once in a while, probably a result of sitting crooked when I drive, which I seem to do a lot (got to get out there and wave at those cows, you know). I am an impatient person, and want to get going without paying attention to my posture, so HP gives me a pain in the butt to remind me. Sigh. What really irks me is this thing about forgetting stuff. I have gotten a lot better about noting the placement of my car in lots, and especially in that hella-huge parking garage that just opened at the college, but still can occasionally be seen wandering helplessly around pressing the red button on my keyless remote, with a dazed expression on my face. That is, if I can find my keys at all to get out to that parking lot. Lately, I have made a ritual of putting them, and my sunglasses, both of which are essential for walking out the front door, in a drawer in my little roll-top desk. That has worked really well. But then there's my cell phone. I use it seldom, and it tends to live in the car, where it rests perfectly in a little niche in the dashboard connected to the charger that goes into the cigarette lighter socket. Occasionally, I stick it in my bookbag, or my purse. When I went to look for it yesterday, it wasn't in any of those places. It also was not on the kitchen table, here on my (admittedly messy) desk, on top of my bedroom bureau, on the floor by the bed (where most lost things wind up), on the living room coffee table, or under the seats of the car. I always pray to St. Jude whenever I lose things, and he has been admirably efficient in that regard. I have only lost one thing that never returned to me in the 16 years I have adopted this practice. So, this morning, I made one more sweep of the area, then sat down to have a little talk with St. J, and it occured to me to check the pocket of my jean jacket, and voila! There it was. How sweet it is. Except it would be infinitely better if I could remember in the first place. Sigh.

Creating here!

Today, we drew each other in drawing class. It was a hoot. I drew little Serena, who has a sweet heart-shaped face. The best thing was that her drawing of me was very flattering. I just love that kid! And then I worked on my self-portrait in painting. As usual, mine was different from everyone else's work. I actually did what the teacher suggested. Well, I am kind of timid and don't know what the hell I am doing, I don't have a lot of choice here. Anyway, I mixed up a lot of different values of skintones, from pinkish to brownish to grayish to greenish (like under the chin) and just kept putting them where I saw them, and voila! There I was, with a gigantic ear and a jawline that went clear to Chicago, but it was definitely me-like. Today, I got to cut back the ear, parse the bangs with some intervening skin, shorten that jaw, highlight and undertone my hair, and put in little touches like light on one side of my face, little sparkles in my eyes, shadow of my glasses over my nose. And it is really much like me. I am not unhappy. This is good. I think even the teacher was impressed. I know I was.

Things change...

I used to pride myself on being up on the latest technology. I had the latest, most up to date computer, once upon a time, an AT, large footprint, 40MB hard-drive that was partitioned 32/8 (Big Bad Mama and Lil Squirt). I menued that sucker myself, in Basic. In color! Just 30 little years later, and I have totally lost the ability to interact with my operating system. I have been trying for an age to get all these file out of my startup file so that I don't have to wait for them to load before taking off into the Internet ether. And now, even my VCR has revolted. I have this neat DVD/VCR dual deck in my bedroom, which suits me just fine, because I like doing movies in bed, with Boo and my big mug of hot chocolate. Recently, the DVD deck has refused to play. I tried all my tricks, like new batteries in the remote, open the little drawer and shut it a few times, turn it off and on a few dozen times, etc. Nothing worked. Then I asked a whole bunch of people, and the concensus was that to get it repaired would cost more than a new one, and so, I bit the bullet and bought one ( I also do not like to sacrifice or suffer without my creature comforts). And I couldn't get it to play, either. As a last resort, I got out the manual. And, voila, I figured it out! I also figured out how to get the OLD one to play, too. Sigh. Now it looks like the new one will go into the back room. Whatever, I feel very smart, and rich, both at the same time. And it was all an accident of hitting the wrong button on the remote. What a world!

Me and the weather...

For a big-boned German-Scots-Irish fraulein, I have an amazingly touchy little body. Other women sail through menopause without a single twinge, while I stew and turn red and my glasses fog over, every twenty minutes, 24/7/365. I am easily chilled, too, and almost froze off my extremities Wednesday, when I looked out and saw sunshine, and went off in too little clothes. The wind was up and it was icy cold. Then I got my barometer headache. My sinuses do not adapt well to changes in the barometric pressure. I slogged to school, of course, but am really off my feed, and now hunkered down, fortified with aspirin and praying for sleep. Last night was better, but still, not a whole night of rest. Oh, and gee, there's another hot flash! Actually, when I think about it, I am my own microclimate, self-contained as it were. Lucky me! Homework is on the back burner, as well as midterm on Tuesday in art history. If nothing changes in the next few days, the pressure should equalize for a while. Oh, and maybe I will be able to finish mowing the back lawn. That would be nice.

A side dish of humility...

After wowwing them in drawing class, I crashed and burned in algebra, with a 73 on the last test. Okay, that's a C, nothing to be ashamed of,and, anyway, if I do better on the next two (and, honestly, it doesn't seem that hard to better than that), teacher will drop this one. Meanwhile, I will just keep swimming, as Dory says in Finding Nemo, my favorite spiritual movie. Today, I drew two perspectives of objects in a shoebox, viewing them from holes cut in one end. It was challenging, mostly because I don't see that well at that distance. My eyes work well for objects far away, so driving is not a problem, and I use readers to, well, read and do close work. But intermediate stuff, like on the television, and at the end of a shoebox, well, that's problematical. So I cheated and made the holes larger. That worked just fine, actually, and I got the darned things done. While the algebra left me wounded, I did make some fine drawings of walnut shells on Monday that I am very proud of. Okay, it's not the Mona Lisa, but, hey, even Leonardo had to start somewhere!

That little old artist, ME!

After learning that I am earning a B in painting class, today I got the good news that I am getting an A in drawing. Well, I like it, a lot, and I put a lot into my sketchbook. My elephant was a pip. I finished the drawing of the little building, and beefed up my Fokker (that's an airplane, in case you were wondering). Today, I did two dynamite walnut shells in charcoal. This is a different and wondrous medium for me. I just love smearing value all over the place. And that's what we did in painting class, too, charcoal sketches. Of ourselves. Yep, next assignment is a self-portrait. We looked at a lot of them today, Cezanne, Matisse, Julian Freud. My head is spinning. It would seem that almost anything goes here. I had fun drawing myself, and got the gyst of me on the paper, I think. Hard to say. Whatever, next is a torn paper collage of the portrait, with lots of different colors of paper. How creative can one get, anyway?

Friday, after...

I had a terrible algebra hangover yesterday morning, so I busied myself with prosaic tasks that required no thinking. My house got a scupulous cleaning, which began with emptying the vacuum receptacle of a winter's worth of dirt and silt, which immediately coated the whole surface of the vacuum itself. Fortunately, I am a sensible person, so I got out my blow-dryer and blew it all off into the sunset (I was on the back patio at the time, I've done this before and know better than to do it in the house). Boo was pretty spooked by the time I was done with this process, and had to have a Milkbone to calm down. After lunch and my soap, I headed out on my Friday errands. My path deviated pretty greatly, as I went to the hardware store. This is one of two places which are guaranteed to bring me to my knees (the second is the auto supply store), but I needed some stuff badly enough to brave it. My first and foremost need was a new tub stopper-upper. Since I am female and not adverse to asking directions, I did find one, and a little strainer thingy to catch the hair in, too. Then I needed wingnuts. See, I do know some hardware jargon. Wingnuts come in 99 different sizes, but, again, owing to my common sense, I brought one from the easel that is missing one. I didn't bring one from the other easel, though, only knew it was smaller than the one I brought. I mean, how many of these things can there be? Since there are many more than I could have imagined, I solved that problem by also buying the screw that fit the nut. How smart is that! I also picked up some snail bait, and I ran into two of my college chums, both of whom remembered me, so I felt really honored. Then, on to Target, to get a little pouch to keep in my new bookbag to hold my ID, makeup and $$$. And, I wanted to replace the sunglasses I lost last week (sunglasses and umbrellas are collateral damage to college, I find). Because I was such a good girl, I bought myself a little newsboy cap to put on when my hair is impossible, like about half the time. Did I mention my scholarship money arrived the day before? How sweet it is.

Ahhhhh...

I love it when I get to the point of believing that stepping out my door is another great adventure, and I am there, again. Yesterday, I was on my way to my usual parking lot across the street from school, and I noticed this little sign on the big, new parking garage (which has been under construction forever), and it said OPEN! I was in the wrong lane to turn into it, so I continued on, and, just to be sure, I peeked in as I passed, and, lo and behold, there were cars parked in there! So, today, I parked there, too. Imagine, no more playing chicken with the traffic on Mendocino Ave.! No more lugging heavy bags and portfolios, and trusting that the crosswalk flasher really HAS been activated! Of course, it is three months behind schedule, but hey! I'm happy anyway. The rest of my day was lighter because of this. Yeah, I'm a cheap date, but that is the real key to happiness, in my book. The fewer expectations I have, the happier I am. Which is good, because I had an algebra test today. No expectations there, for sure.

God bless tthat groundhog...

It is the time of year that Californians snicker up their (short) sleeves. While much of the country still languishes under a carpet of dirty snow, the mustard is blooming in the vineyards and the thermometer is edging up through the 70's. Balmy little breezes waft through the acacia trees and the plum trees are in blossom. So, whenever we aren't up hugging trees in the redwoods or lolling in the back of stretch-out limos on our weekly wine-tasting jaunts, we are out in the yard mowing and trimming, running around the lake, playing tennis at the corner park, and chasing our dogs up and down our lovely beaches. And, to be fair, some of us are lined up at the allergy clinic for our shots, too. With all this in mind, I made the big wardrobe exchange this weekend, unpacking my spring-summer wardrobe from its storage containers in the back room, and refilling them with sweaters and flannel pjs. It is like opening a great big surprise package. My, I have some cute tee shirts! And the best news of all; my capris and shorts still fit! That made my week right there. Hell, it made my season.

I am not easily assimilated...

I want my hour back! Change is not my strong suit. I have gotten used to the seasons changing. It is easier than moping around a lot, muttering under my breath. And spring is nice, actually. But couldn't we do it without monkeying around with the time? As I grow older, it takes longer and longer to get used to it. My internal clock relies as much on the angle of the sunlight as my (pseudo) lawn does. It knew to start growing long again, all by itself. Me, I tried to ignore that fact. And for one little person, I seem to have an awful lot of clocks to change, besides the aforementioned internal one. It started with my watch, and, most importantly, my alarm clock. There is the one on the wall over my computer. And, oh look! The computer itself needs changing, which means the laptop probably needs attention, too. In the kitchen, the stove, the microwave and the coffeemaker. Then there are the VCR's, two of them. That's, let's see, TEN clocks. Amend that, eleven. There's the one in the car, also. Well, I lied. The stove didn't have to be changed because it never go set back last fall ( I couldn't figure out how to do it). I am consoling myself the I will, eventually, get this hour back, in six frigging months. At the moment, it isn't helping, though.

Oops...

Midterm grades are out, and I am earning a B in painting. Not surprised. So far, efforts have been less than stellar. Must figure out what is out of whack here. Drawing is better, easier in many ways. I have started an at-home sketchbook, preparatory to doing real drawings, which require more than a No. 2 pencil. Bought a drawing board today, as we begin the 18"x 24" size next week. What a glorious day today is! Spring has arrived, and with it, need to mow lawns. Backyard will need to be whacked down first. I am just about to go wheel the lawnmower out and see if it is in the mood to go to work, again. Lots of things have come up in front that weren't there last year, at least, I don't remember them being there. And my bulbs are coming up, again. It's like magic!

La vie est belle quand je m'amuse.

I have decided that I am either magnificently well-adjusted or totally bugnuts insane. I really like being alone. Thursday, I got home from school, caught the last 10 minutes of my soap, which is all you really need to see, because anything that is going to happen does in the last 10 minutes, or it doesn't happen at all. I had a little snack, some trail mix, and sat down at the computer to decompress with some mahjohng, my favorite computer passtime. To accompany this, I selected an album of French art music, you know, some Debussy, Offenbach, Ravel, a little Bizet, stuff like that. Now, I usually don't think of the French when I think MUSIC. I tend toward the Germans and the Russians. But this selection was delectable. I particularly love that French sense of humor, and it was there in abundance, in Dukas' Sorceror's Apprentice, in Saint-Saens Dance Macabre. I found myself smiling. It reminds me that I need to take myself lightly. Put down the algebra, and all the picky stuff about my painting, that is composed all wrong and over-worked and generally a mess. Angels fly because they take themselves lightly.

A backup apple....

I have painting class every Monday and Wednesday. Currently, we are doing two still lifes, from the same setup, one in brush and the other in palette knife. This means that I lug a bag of fruit to and from school on those days, two apples and one lemon. There is only one apple in the composition, but, you know how unreliable apples are. I take an extra one in case a big bruise springs up somewhere. So far, I have been able to remember and not leave those poor little fruits in my art locker to wither away. Actually, the lemon is the same one I used to draw in drawing class earlier in the semester. Hardy little things, lemons. A little refrigeration goes a long way. And Monday, I am supposed to bring a (white) onion and a (yellow) pepper to drawing class. I guess they can share the bag with the lemon and the apples. I guess that is better than the baseball mitt I was supposed to bring this week, like I have access to sporting equipment. What with trips to the grocery store and trips to the art supply store for yet more stuff, weekends are pretty busy here. And I am doing the brush still life over, because I didn't think enough about the composition and hate the mess I made at school. Well, that will keep me out of trouble for a few hours. Algebra and oil painting. My brain is well-toned, right and left.

Thoughts on a gray Sunday...

I have lost my broom. Cannot find that sucker anywhere. Says something about my process here, doesn't it. And I was all ready to sweep up the camelia blooms that have dropped, too. So I am back here, at the computer, listening to choral music, which seems oddly appropos because most of it is religious in nature, Verdi's Requium, Bruckener's Ave Maria. My life is steeped in Christian iconography these days what with art history and the Renaissance. I get that there was a fervency about Christianity in the music and the art of the period. I also get that artists, if they wanted to create at all, were pretty much restricted to this subject. And then came the rebirth of humanism, and we got to see things like Primavera, and the Mona Lisa. And the middle class rose from the dust, and wonderful portraits and still lifes were created. Very little is now created for the sake of religion, unless you count the recent upsurge of angels, everywhere. Ah, but the angels on my Classic Angel Screensavers are all 500 years old. I saw most of them hanging on the walls of the Vatican Museum, or in the Uffizi. Where was I going with that? I guess I will mosey over to Costco, get a new broom with the savings on ZipLoc Bags and other sundry, absolutely necessary supplies. There's a thought.

That was the week that was...

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. This last week, that is. I got irritated and decided to stay in my misery most of yesterday. It was cold. I had a huge load of stuff that I was trundling to painting class, mostly props for the new still life in painting class. I also had some (really big) library books that needed returning, and then did not get my morning brew because I had to beg for some help in the math lab on this really obtuse word problem on our algebra homework. Our drawing class met upstairs, in the room I don't like, and we did perspective drawing, which I detest. And then Kevin waxed eloquent and was, as usual, late letting us go which meant I had about 15 minutes to eat before trundling over to algebra class. We saw slides in painting class, Cezanne and Matisse mostly, still lifes, and then she reviewed our objects. I realized I brought all the wrong stuff. Sigh. Nevertheless, I arranged some of it, and did some quick sketches. Then I slogged back across the streetto my car, totally whipped. Boo and I retired early. This morning I got to have my coffee, and spent a happy hour sipping and calculating my algebra homework. Art history was about Michelangelo, one of my favorites. I had a book about him when I was 20, and 37 years later actually got to see his work up close and personal. Today in class, I was inspired by the amazing vision the man had. I had forgotten the expression on David's face, pained at the necessity of his next act. The artist captured the moment of greatest tension in this magnificent work. I left class feeling great to be alive. I ran into several friends today who were happy to see me. Algebra was fun, and I understood what we are doing currently, always a delightful moment. It didn't rain till I was home and cozy. I saw a sponsee who told me, now that she is sponsoring a woman, how amazed she was at my capacity to listen and not try to fix her. I made my favorite dinner, Mexican pizza, and played a few games with the computer to decompress after paying my bills, while listening to some symphonic music. Life is good today. Funny how that happens.

Hot stuff!

I just got a certificate in the mail stating that I am on the Dean's list at school. Wow, that's swell. And it means I can join honor societies and possibly get scholarships. Now, that's swell, too. It wasn't a goal, not really. I just thought that since I was there, and since I was paying for it, I should do my best and get the most from my higher education. Now, I see there are little perks. Now, that's sweet of them. I wonder if there's an age limit on those scholarships? This should have happened 43 years ago. But, ain't it grand that it's happening at all? Yep. Somehow it reminds me of the time I took the Mensa test. It was in one of my magazines, but I did the time limit and everything. Turned out I was 20 points shy. Sigh. Then I looked at it again, and realized I had passed with 20 points to spare, just didn't add it up right. And I figured that probably, if I couldn't add, I wasn't Mensa material after all. Must mull on this. I'd feel silly sitting in a roomful of kids at a Phi Theta Kappa meeting, wouldn't I?

Saturday, and it's raining...

All my important things are accomplished. Have had my usual non-fat latte, been to my very spiritual AA meeting, and made a fly-by to the art supply store for two 16x20 canvasses for next weeks painting projects. I made myself a hamburger for lunch, and have played a couple of games of slide-tiles with my computer (Iwon both, of course). Now for the fun stuff - laundry, mopping various areas, a wrestling match with my algebra homework, and some Boo love, a little grooming of this kind of scruffy version of my dog. The rain keeps me from pruning chores, alas. Oh, and I have two Netflix movies, Thank You for Smoking, which I've already seen, but isn't that Aaron Eckhart a doll, and Casanova, which I haven't seen yet. How sweet it is! Sometimes I think I am lonely. Not very often, though. Most of the time, I am contented with my own company. Perhaps I am meant to be my very own beloved. You think? Whatever, it is a blessed Satuday, rain and all.

I rule!

It didn't start out particulary auspicious. Today, I mean. I woke with a muzzy little headache and stomped around getting ready to go, doing all those things I need to do, like open the door for the dog, change the water for dog and bird, heat up yesterday's coffee, make sure umbrella was on board. It was cold. It was raining. And the usual army of bozos were making a mess of traffic. One even cut right in front of me and burned rubber getting through the intersection, leaving me boiling behind a red light. I said a few bad words. And considered myself lucky to arrive a school in one piece and relatively serene. There was this bitter frigid wind blowing, and I actually pulled up the hood of my hoodie. In the Coop, I got a large latte and settled down to work on my algebra for the day. My TI-84 and I got into a major battle of wills. It won. So I slogged over to art history. ( I noticed the other day that there is a hole in my jeans where they have frayed, on the side seam of my left thigh. Hmmm, I thought. Though I am proud to have jeans worn enough to have frayed, it was an odd place to have it happen. Then I threw my 40 lb bookbag over my shoulder. Aha!) We are moving from Early Renaissance (Trecento, Quattrocento) into the High Renaissance (Cinquecento). But first, she handed back the midterm, and TADA! I got 50 out of 50. My first hole in one! I can only guess that this is the backlash of my humility B on the algebra test, a modest 84. And, I studied. That works, too. Later, my calculator and I had a meeting of the minds, it stopped raining (though it is still really cold, well, by California standards), and it was my early day, so I got to fight traffic in the other direction, and am now happily ensconced here, ready to tackle solving systems again.

Spiritual hiccups...

Isn't it interesting how messages come from the Universe? Mine usually get repeated, as I am a particularly hard-sell sometimes. Take yesterday. I emerged from the house all het up, ready for my favorite AA meeting. My eye caught something new, and lo and behold, there is a daffodil blooming right by my front steps! I have lived here two years. There never was a daffodil before. Amazing. I picked up a latte, as is my custom, and proceeded to spill the whole thing after one tentative sip. And I just let it go. Just like that. It was, after all, gone. Maybe the third step meeting works? You know, that's the step where we turn our will (choices) and lives (direction) over to our good old HP. Later, I went to a memorial service. Now, I did not like this person at all, mostly because he didn't like me. He thought I was a yuppie! LIke I could afford to be a yuppie. Really. But he was a psychodelic relic, all grizzled and pony-tailed, and dedicated to organic substances while eschewing alcohol. He was also an artist, and his work, while delightful in the brushwork, was, not surprisingly, rather dark and murky in palette. He just never seemed to want to invite any lightness into his life. And he played the VICTIM, a lot. I decided he was one of those lessons I needed to learn about my own propensity toward that ilk. So, I attended his service, where I saw his children, all very attractive people, who admitted, the two who spoke, that their dad could be pretty stubborn. And another friend got up to say that whatever else he was, you always knew where you stood with him. Amen. And some old, old friends spoke on what a good friend he had been to them. I was happy to know that. And then, last night, a friend and I went to see "Venus", with a very aged Peter O'Toole, just possibly the most beautiful man who ever lived. The subject was dying. And he did in the end. Very touching and it spoke eloquently about the fleeting release of pleasure. And just in case I wasn't paying attention, I tuned into the Biography channel, a freebee this month on my satellite, and caught Leonard Nimoy's program on the strange and unexplained. It was about DYING. Specifically, it dealt with the beliefs in reincarnation, and the ramifications of karma. Now, our leader at this funeral spoke of the Christian belief, that we will be raised and appraised in the Last Judgement by the Lamb of God, and only those who have believed will be saved. How very elitist is that? So my mind is filled with things to ponder, spiritually. And my life is ebbing even as we speak. This old guy who died was five years older than I am right at this very instant. Little wake up call, I think.

Little me...

I have a picture of my two-year-old self up on the top of my little cabinet in my bathroom, where I see it often. She has big brown eyes, pigtails and a look of wonder on her face. It is the best picture of me ever taken. Now, Maya Anjelou says that every woman should realize that, while her childhood may have been awful, it is over. But, is it? I think I carry that little person within me. Her dreams, her hurts, her shame, all still are present. I know this because sometimes my feelings just don't match the outer circumstances, and it is clear I am reliving an old belief. Even more poignant is my seven-year-old self, the one that was a head taller than all the other kids, boys included (boys especially, actually), miles of legs hanging out the bottom of skirts my mother had to sew straps onto just to keep them from slipping off my hips. I realize now that I was a pretty little girl, but I felt ugly. I strived to be the best to make up for my other deficiencies, which obviously disappointed my mother, who pointed out my flaws daily. My attributes, and there were many, were ignored. So I formed the habit of surveying myself as a collection of flaws, and even worse, shameful stains of my own making. Seventeen years of recovery and re-parenting myself have healed a lot of this for me, but as in any wound, it is still thinly scarred over, and occasionally, it opens and bleeds, again. If I am diligent in my program of self-care, it doesn't happen very often. So, Maya, I think you are wrong. And I have learned that my child needs to play, a lot. Today, I am drawing an elephant.

I'll have a little guilt on the side, please.

It was an unusual Saturday night. I actually went out, to a sweet get-together of dear friends down in that other universe called Marin County. My friend has a dear little apartment, funky but cute, with a little yard in back, which is good, because she has these two big dogs. Janice is a retired Canine Companion, one of those adorable golden retrievers, and Quincy is a collie mix, long eloquent nose and big sad eyes. They loved me. Well, I love dogs. I scratch behind the ears. I coo and pet and tell them what good dogs they are. So, when I came home, to my dog, the Boo, he spent an inordinate time smelling the legs of my jeans, even got up on his haunches to smell my knees. with his eyes all bugged out so I could see the whites. His expression told me how disappointed he was with me. And, I was overwhelmed with dog guilt. I had been two-timing my best friend! Honestly, I didn't mean to do it! The opportunity was just there, right on Ruthe's rug, wagging their tails and begging to be stroked. So, first thing this morning, he got a little extra on the plate bearing the remains of my breakfast, and I immediately ran to fill his water bowl and food dish in the kitchen, and open the back door should he need to use the facilities. And I promised him, whenever I leave the house today, he can come along. I think a nice ride in the car should ameliorate my shame.

Oh, dismal day...

Raining, really hard. It is always fraught with angst when rain comes day after day here, because of our river and its limited capacity. Flood stage is 32 feet at the Guerneville bridge, which is about 25 feet over its normal level, and yet it happens, at least every ten years. That's a whole big bunch of water, yesirree. And all us folks lucky enough to live out of the flood plain get to drive through hella-big puddles and suffer road closures all over the place. Even the freeway gets closed at the county line where a creek meanders under it. Nature can be downright rude sometimes. Meanwhile, in the little yellow house, I am readying for a quiet day of studying my functions and graphs. I think I am okay here, but it never hurts to hedge my bets. In between problems, I am going to work on my eyes. I drew the skull and four views of eyes from the handout our drawing teacher gave us, but want to spiff them up with darker values (how about that, I'm learning the lingo!) and maybe try a couple more, like the ones he said not to do because they are too difficult. Piffle! I can do difficult! Eyes in profile? No problemo. Actually, they all have turned out to be not too bad, and I am happier with these renderings than I have been so far. Now chomping to go to a museum and do some sketching of sculptures. How artsy-fartsy is that!

Progress report...

School is like a spaceship launch. It starts off looking pretty benign, just a little steam billowing out the sides. That's the honeymoon, time to get all excited about learning new stuff. Then the countdown, three, two, one and BOOM, you'd better be suited up and onboard, or you are toast. This weekend, I am drawing eyes for drawing class. This is progress, because last week, we only got to draw ears. My first algebra test is on Monday, so I am doing the chapter test, odd problems only because the answers are in the back of the book. No, I really do the problem first, before looking up the answer. Really. And I will be writing a short paper for painting class, on a book my sweet little teacher left at the reserve desk in our fabulous new library, Hawthorne on Painting. Oddly enough, there were no illustrations in this little tome, so I went online (God bless the Internet) to see his work. I found it highly eclectic, portraiture, landscapes, and still lifes. Apparently, he just loved to paint. And his style varied according to subject. He was capable of finely rendered portraits, but his landscapes were a cross between Monet and Van Gogh. Anyway, his message was just put one color next to another. This is the way my teacher paints, as well, as if his canvas were one giant paint-by-number project, except the numbers are in his head. Probably a good way to do it. It's definitely an instinctive process that evolves out of just trying things. And, if there is time, I will be perusing a scholarly book about Cezanne and the end of impressionism for Art History, in preparation for a paper due next month. All in all, not a bad way to spend my time. Not at all.

Get thee behind me, hubris!

Like the good little student that I am, I did my homework for drawing class. We were assigned to draw a wine glass and a clear tumbler, studies in ellipses, ellipses, and more ellipses. I actually bought a champagne glass at the weekend flea market for a dollar rather that muck around in the morass that is my garage looking for my packed-away wine glasses. Then I set up my little 5 X 5 inch card and drew away. Well, today in class, he selected my drawing along with two others to show to the class. Gee, ain't I special! Actually, he spent more time on what was wrong with it, and, while I liked mine better than most of what the others had wrought, I got to see where I need improvement. This is good, right? This is why I am a student and not the teacher. I am remembering this now. My process seems to be I start, I hate it, I keep going, it gets a little better, and in the end, it is just wonderful, too wonderful to have been done by me. So I just keep working, just keep working.

Hot Saturday night...

After wrestling with my algebra homework, I took me, myself and I to the movies last night. I had been wanting to see Pan's Labrynth for weeks (RottenTomatoes.com didn't give it a single splat), but could not find anyone who had not already seen it, and my regular movie buddy is not up to edgy, dark films. So, I thought, I'll just go alone. Like, it's far from the first time I have done this. I went to the movies by myself almost every Saturday afternoon of my teeny bopper years. Then, you got a double feature, two cartoons, a newsreel, and an episode of a serial (Zorro, Flash Gordon, Captain America, etc.) for 30 cents, and a box of Flicks for another 10. Now, it cost me $6.50 (senior discount rocks!), I skip the candy, and get very excited over all the previews, which I missed for 8 years living in west county and going to the Rio (quonset hut) Theatre, where we got one movie a week, and seldom anything extra. I was not the only single in the house last night (I checked, of course), there was another woman a few rows in front of me. The movie was everything I thought it would be, dark, tense, scary moments, and some enchanting stuff, too. Actually, it was like a double feature packed into one movie, two interwoven stories, and either one would have made a great film. Some stuff I just couldn't look at, very brutal. But it was a great statement about human nature, and the atrocities that power can wrought. I came home knowing that was time and money well spent, something that does not happen very often in this strange life. Happy to report that I am a great date. I thanked myself afterwards, of course. We're planning on going out together again, soon.

Put me in coach, I'm ready to play!

Just a little impatient here. I brought home my drawing pad, so I could spray it with fixative and do some homework. We're supposed to draw a transparent glass. Not very challenging, you say? Right. So far this week, we drew drum sets (!), pipes, and little bottles. Also, we did a design with little flat stuff, like matchbooks and nail files, both positive and negative. Really boooooorrrrring! Where's the meat? Last semester, I drew Da Vinci portraits. I drew a sheep. I drew leaves and shells, not just their outline, but their details with contained shadows. I really want to draw STUFF. I am sure this will happen, and really, I could be doing it right now instead of griping to the whole wide world, but gee, I might do it wrong. And I want to do it right. That's why I am taking this class. The good thing is that I find whatever I am drawing, it absorbs me in a way nothing else does (except painting, of course). I love doing this. And I am poud of my ink bottle. Very proud.

The thing about virtue...

So, every morning I sit dutifully in the right hand lane on College Ave., knowing that it is at the moment the only lane that goes straight under the freeway. The left hand lane is for those headed north on the freeway. And you would think that we would book right along, since some people turn south on the freeway from the right hand lane. But, no. We sit and creep, and sit and creep. Because those yahoos who breeze by in the left hand lane are CUTTING INTO MY LANE up ahead. Now, I find this irritating. Here I am, being so righteous, and these evil people are getting somewhere much faster. Does that seem right to you? However, as I, once again, sat there this afternoon, headed in the opposite direction, I remembered something. Virtue is its own reward. Now I really get what that means. And probably, these misguided souls who toss off a friendly wave while CUTTING INTO MY LANE will have really bad Karma, that will hopefully fall on them, from a very great height, soon.

I did this!

I brought my drawing stuff home with me, so I could spray it with fixative, and work a little on my drawing of the fruits, the pear and the lemon. The sketchbook is now sitting on the kitchen table, and I keep flipping it open to look at my work. A friend told me recently that this happens to her, too. She even stopped the car several times driving home from a day of painting to admire her work. It is hard to imagine that I created these images. Well, perhaps I didn't. Perhaps I was in the ZONE, that place where I connect with the Universe and let spirit guide me. I think that is why I am so stoked about this process. It takes me somewhere else, and when I just let it happen, great stuff rises up out of the paper, almost all by itself. Good thing that drawing can happen anywhere, because today is a day for bed and cough syrup and a big box of Kleenex. What fun! The last time I drew a lot, I was 12 years old. Horses. Yep, I went through one of those periods of being in love with the big graceful beasts. I copied all the plates out of My Friend Flicka and Thunderhead. I never showed them to anyone. I've changed. Now I want everyone to see my work. See what I can do? Wow.

End of the week potpourri...

Did I mention that those smarmy old men were back at the entrance to our little college, mini-Bibles in hand, trying to dispense the natural antidote to education? I guess I missed them last semester because I actually parked on campus, and they are not allowed to do that there, just on the streets around us. These men could just as easily be flashers, in my opinion. On one hand, it must be nice to feel so right about something you want everyone else to have it, too. On the other, it is even nicer to know that everyone else might not need it like you do. Whatever.

I made several drawings in my drawing class, little ones. And I like most of them. We drew our hands again, and I felt like a veteran at this exercise. I did a faithful hommage to Garfield from the daily comics. And I drew a pony, a trout, a chimera and a doll. Kevin says I have a "strong" hand, which means all my drawings are rendered pretty dark, even with the HB pencil, the hardest one we use. Well, why mess around? This is supposed to be fun. Enthusiasm, that's my middle name.

I figured out how to solve for x, all by myself! I am used to the teacher going over how to do the homework before we do it. This teacher, dear as he is, lets us twist in the wind a little, and try to figure it out ourselves before divulging all those neat little tricks he has up his sleeve. I kind of like that. I like thinking my way through things. Besides, my new bud says I can find everything I need online. Well, duh.

In Art History, we learned all about the Trecento, the sensibly named Italian 1300's which most of us know as the 14th Century. This was the precursor of the Renaissance, and the beginning of amazing progress in art (as well as a lot of other pursuits). What fun we are having with all these slides of altarpieces. I wish I had known some of this when I was there, at the Uffizi and the Vatican. Oh, well. Really good reason to return!

And I am making this painting, all in earth tones of yellow ochre, burnt sienna, raw umber, black and white. Surprise! You can make green, blue, pink, and orange with those pigments. Mine is different from everyone else's. Well, they are all really different. And we saw this video of Milton Resnick' process, which seemed to be swear a lot, slap paint from can on huge canvas, then drop brush wherever, so it dries up all stuck together with paint, then throw it away. He did make some amazing works in this process, impasto paintings with inches of paint dried onto the canvas, very abstract and primitive.

And throughout this process, I am still sick. I got this cold, which is now a tight dry cough and a headache, some sneezing, and could be headed for laryngitis if I am not careful. Advice from friends in the know say it lasts three weeks. Not if I can help it. I'm off to bed with my expectorant, nighttime cold capsules, and a bag of sugar-free coughdrops.

A lemon, a pear and I...

So, classes are under way for the new semester after those first meetings where taking the roll is the most exciting part of the classtime. Even though we are all adults (and every teacher reminds us of this at our first meeting), every teacher also feels it is necessary to read their syllabus to us, word for word. And even though I had all the equipment necessary according to the syllabus for drawing class, I was still missing some that Kevin required. I did remember to bring my fruit, however, the aforementioned lemon and (somewhat overripe) pear. My first drawing was pretty lame, and not at all up to what I feel I should be able to do. Well, I am still not well, and Kevin is pretty picky, picky, picky. This is probably good. This will probably make me a better artist. I sure hope so, anyway. Algebra is a lot easier, so far. I remembered a lot of what we learned last semester, and am picking up the graphing calculator stuff right and left. And the painting class is a real hoot. We are doing an abstract first, with a limited palette, and I am just having a blast slapping paint onto my canvas, stepping back to admire it, then slapping away some more. I have made less mud than some of my fellow students, and interesting things are happening. Mondays and Wednesdays, I am in class from 9 Am till 4:30 Pm, with only a half hour break for lunch, not nearly enough to get anything at the Coop, and I was lazy and didn't bring anything yesterday, so I came home hollow and dragging. Tuesdays and Thursdays I have a two hour break between only two classes, and get home before 2. Feast or famine. I used that time today to organize all my stuff, like move the scissors from the drawing bag to the painting bag so I can cut smaller paint rags, and move the ruler from the painting bag to the drawing bag so I can make windows for drawings. And I got those pencils I was missing, and titanium white to add to my palette, and more graph paper, all at our bookstore. Now I feel ready to do my nutso schedule again tomorrow, as soon as I take the fruit out of the bookbag, and make my sandwich, and put a note on the door to remember it when I leave tomorrow, after putting down food and water for the dog, opening the back door for his easy egress, clean the birdcage and give her seed and water, etc., etc.,etc. It never ends.

Welcome to the nut farm...

An amazing thing happened this morning; I woke up both early and well-rested. So I dressed and headed out for a civilized non-fat latte and cinnamon-walnut croissant at the Cafe on my way to my favorite Sunday morning AA meeting. Now, members of this organization do tend to be very distinct in their individuality and proclivities. But I am always amazed at those who are still very stiff and judgemental, as if they are better alcoholics than the rest of us. One such guy is very visible at meetings, since he dresses impeccably in topcoat and trousers, his silver hair coiffed to the nth, and sits off to the side, kind of like a line judge at a tennis match. Today, he kept his shades on for the whole meeting. Now, the ladies of AA are having a hat and glove luncheon, a benefit for our bookstore, I think, and a dear woman has been announcing this for months. But today, the aforementioned man interjected that this violates our traditions, all this talk about hat and gloves. And even when the purpose of the luncheon was illuminated for him, he held his ground. Now, sober is not the most comfortable state a lot of the time. And as much as I would want to be perfect, it just isn't in my purview. So I sat the rest of the meeting with half a mind on the speaker, and the other obsessing about what an idiot this guy is, and why doesn't someone set him straight? If I were that miserable, I would rather drink. Well, that's not what my sobriety is about, so before I left the meeting, I had reframed the incident to realize that we all live in our little cesspools of fear, and this guy was circling the drain in his. He is adamant in his differentness, which sets him up as some kind of icon. We call his kind "bleeding deacons". No one aspires to this status, it just kind of falls on those who know better than the rest of us the only way to do life. Hell, if I want that, I can go back to the Catholic Church. At least at AA, we take what we want and leave the rest. I am leaving Mr. Suave in his cloud of Aquanet. And I am still capable of amazement at what works for others.

Adventures at Riley Street...

I was in a tizzy because I had these two looooooong lists of supplies for both drawing and painting class, and here I was, sick. I dreamt about arriving without them Monday, oh, the shame of it all. So I dragged myself to the supply store yesterday. Lo and behold, big sign, SALE. Loveliest word in the language, in my opinion. I was not the only patron wandering around in a daze clutching syllabi. Fortunately, there was also an army of very knowledgable sales personnel to direct me to all the items that were not where I expected them to be. One even pointed out that there was fixative on sale cheaper than the one I did find. Galkyd? Eraser shield? Tortillions? Hell, even masking tape was a dilemma. But I got most of it, and a little bonus, a really neat portfolio (hey, it was on the list!) on sale, not one of those plastic things with a rubberband closure, oh, nonono. A big canvas one with pockets on the outside and a real zipper! It is now propped up by the door holding my intimidatingly large drawing pads (not sketch pads, drawing pads) and my canvas for my first oeuvre. Now I feel like a total poseur, big phony pretending to be an artist. I think it is like being an alcoholic. You aren't one unless you say you are. Strange but true. Now I have four bags of stuff for school: bookbag, still hella-heavy, for algebra and art history, artbag and portfolio for drawing, and artbag for painting. Each carries its own reading glasses, the one item I cannot do without in class. And finally I get to use that art apron that I was gifted with on a long ago Christmas in painting class, and I am using a flannel shirt older than most of the other students as a workshirt in drawing. Charcoal is mega-messy!

You've. Got. To. Be. Kidding.

Okay, so I just came off winter break, three weeks of nothing-to-do, and school started on Wednesday, that's yesterday, and last night, I got this little scratchy throat. I woke up this morning feeling like I'd been run over by a train. Of course, I could not ditch school. If you don't show up the first few meetings, they drop your sorry ass and give you seat to all those vultures who hang around hoping to add because they couldn't get their act together any sooner. Well, sometimes they just have low registration priorities, but I'm not giving up my seat in any class, nosiree. So I and my sorry ass were parked in our seat this morning, like the good little college student that we are, all tanked up with cold pills, eyes drooping from a night of fretful sleep, if any at all. And I was not disappointed. Art history is going to be super, and I really like my algebra teacher. I have a list as long as my leg of art supplies I need to buy, and guess I will not hop on the old 101 and sojourn into Berkeley to buy them at el cheapo Dick Blick's, since I am SICK. Of course, the gas and bridge toll would add $20 to any purchase I made down there anyway, so perhaps I will not be losing so very much by schlepping over to the local art supply depot, after all. More later. I am down for the count, and not getting up again till tomorrow.

Big Brother has arrived, and he is a Buick.

Well, he's a little overdue, but finally, the Big Brother of Orwell's masterpiece 1984 is here. Imagine, a car that tells you where to go, when to turn, so one can navigate one's way through a maze, like we are driving in mazes everyday. I am astonished by this technology, but more astonishing is that we are a race of people who can invent it, but still can't ask for directions. And I am royally peeved that the driver in this commercial (OK, I'm watching too much TV again) is a WOMAN! I can remember getting carsick while my husband drove round and round looking for an address that wasn't there, or being late for I don't know how many weddings, meanwhile passing gas stations where I know the answer to our question lay. So I'm on the record saying I know how to ask for directions. I can find my way to Mapquest.com, I can print out a map, I can put it on the passenger seat and keep glasses in the center console to refer to it at stoplights. Obviously, men made this commercial. And men made this gizmo, too. Men need this gizmo, a lot more than women need men.

A day in the life...

It was a day to change my clothes a lot. I shed my sleep outfit (cami and panties, thermal tee and jammie bottoms, and fluffy red socks - it's hella-cold here, folks) and put on layers of stuff (tights, jeans, two thermal long sleeved tees, Uggs, fleece-lined jacket and knit scarf) and trudged off to my 11 o'clock meeting feeling like a fat Italian sausage. Home again to pull on my favorite black knit dress, long black boots and white wool blazer to attend a friend's memorial service. Made me want to die so my mother could come and see all the people who loved me despite her warnings. Lovely service with tons of people in attendance. Back home again, and into sweats this time, just trying to stay warm and feel comforted a little. Now back in the original sleep outfit, plus my fleecy white Victoria's Secret (Country collection, very not sexy) bathrobe. It is a night to leave the tap open so the pipes won't freeze. Unusual for California, but not unknown. And we are such wimps, you know. We live in 72 degrees 90 percent of the time, while the rest of the country roasts or freezes. I guess we deserve a little discomfort once in a while. So I am off to snuggle under a whole pile of quilts and watch reruns of Medium with the Boo, and an Alex Cross novel. Hot Saturday night.

Vincent's Kingfisher...

I copied a Van Gogh painting for my final project in my art class this semester. It was interesting because the one I chose, "Bowl with Zinnias", was one of the first experiments Vincent did with color. His early works were very dark and monochromatic in browns and sepia colors. Then he came back to Paris and met up with the impressionists. You could see the excitement in this painting. It was undertoned in red, and leaned toward analagous colors - red, pink, orange and yellow - with only tiny embellishments of complimentary hues. I loved it, and then got terribly tired of mixing reds, so I worked up another painting, this one in analagous shades of blue. This is an entirely different piece for Vincent, a portrait of a bird, very black against the water and reeds. Ooooh, it was fun to do. In keeping with my journey to my artful vision, I worked it up very fast, without a lot of pouring over it, letting it sort of rise up our of the Bristol paper the way Michaelangelo released his statues from the marble. And I would up framing it because I liked it so much. NOt that it is a very good copy. The idea is there, and that is enough. The whole thing is enough. And I love looking at it. It is the consummation of yet another semester of education, the symbol of its successful completion. I almost gave it away, then decided to give it to myself. I worked hard to have it.

Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be. Right.

I woke up this morning with a sharp pain in the muscle of my left arm. Not the shoulder or the joint, which I suppose is good news, but yesterday, it was fine. No pain. I decided it is God's little wake up call to remind me I'm getting old. As much as that beats the alternative, it is still rude. Along with chin hairs and little bladder problems. Not that I am ready to surrender, not by a long shot. I know how to take an aspirin. Lordy, I consider myself lucky that I am not on a whole bunch of prescription meds, such as antidepressants, allergy medication, tranquilizers, high-blood pressure stuff, high cholesterol gunk, heart medicine, anti-coagulants, interferon, etc. I take some pills, yes. Magnesium, and ginko biloba. And phyto-estrogen. All in the spirit of keeping my engine perking. So far, so good. Except for the occasional burp. Well, no going gently into that good night for this sixty-something broad. When I go, they'll hear me coming.

Good news and bad news...

The horrid storm that was predicted seems to have swept through without even a whimper. Power is, as you can see, still perkings. But, alas, my sinuses are all up in arms again, and screaming. I think headaches ought to be gone the morning after, especially since I am doing nothing to precipitate them the night before. On the contrary, I took my vitamin C and some aspirin, nice little cocktail, and hit the pillow at 11 PM, like a good little old lady. Whatever, I am once again similarly fortified and headed out into this surpringly sunny day. Oh, and here is a quick review of the film we saw yesterday in the City because the MOMA is closed on Wednesdays (and how irritating is that), "The Holiday". Now I adore Kate Winslet, and she saved the movie for me with her lovely natural freshness. Of course, Jude Law is not hard to look at either. But that was the high point of this rather bland little story of unrequited and/or undeserved love. Gorgeous sets, an amazing wardrobe and lots of loving closeups do not a great film make. Alas. Nevertheless, I got lots of fashion ideas. Never a bad thing for this country mouse who is admittedly clueless to haute couteure.

Isn't that interesting!

On this first day of a New Year, which is just the day after yesterday, after all, even if we do need a new calendar to notate it, I pulled my cards on the angel table. Couldn't decide if they were good enough to assign to the whole year ahead. My medicine is ELK, which is stamina, and yes, I will need a lot of that. My school schedule is the most strenuous and lengthy yet, although six of the eight hours I will spend there two days a week are art classes, which seem to be more fun than education. I pulled a tarot card, which I don't always do. Lots of bad news in the tarot deck, you know. It was the Ace of Swords, my least favorite suit, and it indicates success and strong emotion. Well, that would be a surprise indeed. And my angel card was BROTHERHOOD, and that was pretty benign, so I pulled another, PLAY. What a mixed bag of stuff! Whatever, I begin this year much more lightly than the last. I think that is because I am now an art major rather than psychology, which still interests me greatly, but seemed too dark for this time in my life. I remember liking really dark and brooding movies when I was in my 20s, before I had lived through all those travails being depicted on the screen. Now, give me Lemony Snicket or Harry Potter. That's about as dark as I want it to ever be again.

Fast away the old year passes...

Undeck the halls! It's all history, again. A friend sent me an email about the Massai, who do not acknowledge time in any significant way. That is the way of nature, too. Boo has no idea how long I have been gone when I return. His greeting is always the same expression of extreme joy in being with me again. And I know he has no apprehension about the end of his days, either. I envy him that. I spent some time in the night mourning the Canadian ice shelf that fell, and musing about the little spate of earthquakes we have had here recently. Fear is never far away in the night. All my worries are cataclysmic, I am finding. Endings, even the old year passing, are difficult and full of sadness. And when life is good, comfortable and affordable, it is a time to worry more about its loss. I would like that to pass away tonight with 2006. There, a prayer for the new god box. Let go of the old, embrace the new, whatever that may be. Well, it's a direction to steer toward, anyway.

I am happy to report...

Thursday morning before Christmas, I was barreling home down College Avenue after my last final, probably the busiest street in town, in the pouring rain, and was chagrined to see one of our neighborhood flocks of turkeys in the westbound slow lane, five lanes away from the entrance to our little street. It was the little flock, just three big ones, and apparently the stupid flock, too. I figured they were all toasted, extra crispy. Imagine my surprise and delight to see them mosey by this afternoon, all hale and hearty. Just one of those little holiday miracles, I guess. And even though I managed to run my favorite watch through a load of wash, only to discover it at the bottom of my machine, it is still running. Fortunately, it was a delicate load.

And the winner is...

Grades are in, and no surprises. As in speech (yay!), music and art, and the dreaded and hard-won B in algebra. I suppose I am on the Dean's List. Now, there's a first! And scholarship is in hand for next semester, too. Altogether a triumphant semester, and I am grateful to have any little gray cells left at all after 62 years of ripping and roaring. Winter break is excellent. Cold weather is so nice for sleeping, n'est-ce pas? I am wearing my new furry red socks to bed, mostly in self-defense against cramping up in the frigid nights. In fact, I look so cute in my red plaid jammy bottoms, cami and waffle-knit shirt and red socks, it is a shame there is no one here but Boo to see me. Okay, slight exaggeration there, but truly grateful for the heap of quilts I crawl under and the foam topper that holds the heat between the sheets. Honestly, it is embarrassing how little it takes to make me happy these days.

That's all she wrote, folks...

Another Christmas under the bridge. Sigh. It was an easy day for me, starting with Boo kisses, then off to the Alkathon, where I participated in fellowship with my fellow travelers on the recovery road. We are all kinds of folks: old, young, rich, poor, straight, gay, male, female, black, white and every color in between. Street people often show up, some actually wanting to get sober. I saw some of my west county friends, too. Later, I vacuumed a little, dusted a little, and put together dinner for a friend. We exchanged gifts, and I got some sweet little things, especially this beautiful bowl full of goddesses. I like that a lot. Then we went off, thinking we were going to see "The History Boys", but it had gone, so we saw "Little Children", quite an interesting film about children walking around in grownup bodies, mistaking sex for love and fulfillment. As sad as it was, I like that movies like this are being made. We need to examine our values, badly. There is hope, still. People like Wayne Dyer and Marianne Williamson are out there, saying what is really true, that we need to love ourselves first so we can be of use to others. I learned that in AA. Really. No matter what my mother will tell you.

Rode hard and put away wet here...

All wiped out after the finals stretch. Last one was speech, yesterday morning, then home to wrap all the presents, which are now in a cheery pile in the corner of my office. I just got my music grade, an A, yay! I know I was getting an A in art, probably a B in algebra, and that could be my grade in speech, too. Teacher did not admire my last and most heavily weighted speech and gave me an 87. If I did well on final, I may still pull an A, because I showed up every day, and that counts in her class. Well, it was so boring, I expected a reward for showing up. It is over, for good or ill, and I am sooooo ready for this three week break. My house is a disaster area and needs some loving attention. Tomorrow. Today, I just decompressed with stupid computer games, and a trip to nirvana out on Mission Blvd. for walnut pineapple prawns, which I also had for dinner, and will have tomorrow night for dinner, as well. All in all, there is little wrong with my life these days. If there is, I am sure I will find it.

The blessings of the season...

Someone once asked Ghandi if he had a message for the people of India, and he replied "I am my message." Well, wouldn't it be grand if we all did that, became the gift that we wanted to receive? I am working on that. I have been graced with many talents. I can write, paint, draw, sew, knit, crochet, embroider, quilt and I even used to know how to tat, and play the piano. All this is just gifts I was given. My job is to give them back to the world. And sometimes, my job is to receive gifts, too. Saturday, my sister in sobriety gave me an early AA birthday gift, a Starbuck's gift card. Now, I usually don't go to Starbuck's, but my last two finals will have me parking adjacent to one, and I will go armed with a latte to soothe my fevered brow. And later that day, as I wrestled with my algebra, my neighbor raked my front yard for me! What a wonder that was, as I was really torn between solving quadratic equations and cleaning up my yard of shame. Sunday, I took time to hit Costco for one of those wonderful pumpkin pies (I eat a little slice for breakfast, how decadent is that), and found that at last, they had Q-Tips in stock. I am lost without my Q-Tips, and my five year supply had just run out, and they hadn't had any for months. And yesterday, I got a raise! The Social Security people are going to send me $32 more every month beginning in January! How sweet is that! So I am aware that this is indeed a season of sweetness and light. Tomorrow, I am being taken out to lunch. What grace!

Monday, again...

I got up a half hour early this morning, because it is (gulp) finals week, and my first one, algebra, was scheduled for 7 frigging AM. Even then, I was so used to getting there at 7:30, I was (almost) late. It wasn't much more difficult than any of the tests we have had so far, just a little longer and a lot more comprehensive. Wouldn't you know, today is the coldest day so far this year. I remembered to cover my windshield, so I could make that speedy exit of the driveway, but wouldn't you know it, it frosted over in the parking lot while I was puzzing over quadratic equations, and I am out of wiper fluid. What is that, anyway? Guess I will hit the auto store later today, on my break from studying, that is. And I will find out what wiper fluid is, and where to put it under the hood. Now, that's a real test.

Mom does the mall...

Otherwise known as JL in Wonderland. I am so out of the mainstream here. I do very little retail shopping. Costco, Walmart, the outlet mall, all know my face. But Friday, I slunk off to our downtown mall, hoping to catch a couple of pre-holiday sales at the glitzy places that my kids seem to like. I have to admit, Macy's smells very sweet. And, whoa, we now have an Abercrombie & Fitch in our little backwater town! It goes well with the Banana Republic upstairs. The usual three story tree has been replaced with a rather understated, just-larger-than life one, with admittedly more gold trimmings. Perhaps this is an effort to understate the Christian aspects, though trees were in place way before Christ was born, and are really a pagan tradition, anyway. And don't you think we should all get over this religion vs. religion thing anyway? It is all just a way to celebrate the return of the light, which shifts on the winter solstice, December 21. I think we should have solstice parties, where we all dance about fervently, review our past year, and plan our next one. I actually used to do just that thing, with a group of women, on New Year's Day. Anyway, I survived my trip to the mall without damaging my admittedly fragile ego, and got just what I was looking for, which will probably not be the right thing anyway. Sigh.

Hello, Universe?

So much for giving God my algebra test. God could only get an 85, too. Oh, well. Bs are good grades. Yes they are. Classes are over, and I must be growing up, I don't have that old awwwww feeling, like I want to move into the semester schedule and pull it up around me like an old quilt, forever. I am actually anxious to get on to the next one, which I have already signed up for. OK, that's a dangling participle, and I am college educated, right? For which I have already signed up. That doesn't sound right either. Whatever, just need to get through finals next week, and Brian, erstwhile algebra prof, promises the final will be no more rigorous than the chapter tests we have endured so far. Good. And the music class is a snap, too. He lectures intensely on the material, and if I know how to do anything, it is taking really good notes. Art is a presentation of my Van Gogh knockoff, and I have my little speech commited to memory (did you know Vincent was named not only for his grandfather, but a stillborn boy born the year before him, and spent his childhood everyday walking by a cemetary with his name on two tombstones? No wonder he went looneytunes). The only snafu is the speech test. Doesn't seem right to have to suffer through five speeches and take a test, too, does it. I will have to really study for that one. And isn't it just like those ivory tower people to take something as simple as communication and break it up into a whole bunch of obtuse terminology that we have to commit to memory? Sort of defeats the purpose, doesn't it?

Well, that's over!

I talk to myself. This comes in handy for speech class, when I spend most of the day orating for the dog and the parakeet. When I scheduled this big speech, my rhetoric (persuasive) speech, I thought the algebra chapter test was on the preceding day, forgetting that we were a day behind because the teacher was absent a while back. So I wound up with the test back to back with the speech, and holy predicament, Batman, that was a huge chunk to chew all at once. It is now history, for good or ill, thank the powers that be. Now I can skate into finals, algebra next Monday (we will do two days of review, and how blessed that it falls first, my memory will not be too strained), art and music on Wednesday and speech, the really booooring one on Thursday. And then, three weeks to jump around and not think of anything more stressful than Christmas. Oh, dear. It helps that my speech was about STRESS, and I think I will take my own advice, and meditate on inner peace, hopefully to manifest peace out there in the big bad world, or at least in my mother's living room.

Solving for x...

Mathematics is the antithesis to my life. All those axioms that are meant to allow any problem to be solved are pure magic. And the amazing thing is that they work! Every time! My challenge is to remember all the various rules and equations, like x equals -b plus or minus the square root of b squared - 4ac over 2a. Simple, right? Well, as convoluted as it sounds, it does work. Throw in an i and it can solve even imaginary numbers! Now, that's what I call handy. Why are there no simple solutions like this in life? I would happily commit to memory any equation that would solve my life problems. While the quadratic equation always works, it is not always necessary to apply it, as there are simpler ways to find the value of x. That is like my life, too. I will usually take the scenic route to the answer for any problem that confronts me, from my dryer knob fiasco to the angst-ridden morass that was my last divorce. Simpler routes were available, for sure. I think it all boils down to the unemotional pureness of numbers, versus the pure emotionality of life. And as circuitous as the way becomes, I would not give up my joy for anything, not even for the soupcon of pain I must consume to have it.

Go, Insanity!

There must be something wondrous about being more than a little nuts. Look at Van Gogh, tortured soul that he was, how much fun it must have been to be out in nature every day, slapping paint on canvasses. And Wagner, who learned the hard way that it is not a good idea to diddle your patron's wife right under his nose, thus losing wife, patron and mistress in one fell swoop, but still went on to write sterling operas, and the librettos as well.. And Mahler, the last of the great romantic composers, living under the double whamee of being both nuts and German, who became so enamored of poetry about dead children, he composed a symphony about them, and then his own child died. Those crazy romantics left a legacy of amazing art behind in their crazed wake. I feel redeemed in an odd way, because my life has been up till now semi-hysterical about half the time, the half where I was not beaten down with depression. Now that I have mellowed with age, I expect that the nuttiness will just exude, hopefully all over many joyous canvasses. It is the reward for living a long life, that we old folks get to be eccentric, which is a polite word for INSANE!

Mystical mathematics

Okay, I am up-close and personal with negative numbers, exponents and rational numbers (square roots to the uninitiated), but I draw the line at imaginary numbers. That's right, imaginary numbers, like negative square roots. Wait a minute, if you multiply two negative numbers you get a positive number! Square roots cannot be negative! Oh, yes they can. You just express it as a complex number (real and imaginary) using an "i" (for imaginary, I suppose). Since I live in a real world, it seems hardly necessary to be mucking around with imaginary numbers. However, the teacher seems to think there is a use for all this somewhere out there, like around Pluto, which is now an imaginary planet, too. And perhaps the whole world is imaginary, so the imaginary numbers are really the real numbers? You think?

It's all downhill from here...

What I have learned this semester: how to solve quadratic equations, copy a Van Gogh (for fun, not profit), speak extemporaneously, and discern Debussy from Ravel. Oh, and Mahler had a soft side. Okay, not all of this is terribly useful. It sure was fun mucking around in all that art and music, and I even like the algebra. Which is a good thing, because I get to do even more of that next semester. I will miss Brian, though. He is a big goofy guy, who never tells me my questions are stupid, which they are most of the time. I could have skipped the speech class, happily. But in the end, it is the class in which I have interacted with most of the other students, and that is always rewarding. Every semester end is a triumph, just completing what I started. I have a garage-full of things I have started, but never finished. I just promised my writers' group that I would finish a short story during the semester break. Really. Anyway, finals loom, just tow weeks away now, four of them. I am taking my supplements and resting up. They are all but one at 7 AM. God must be laughing up his sleeve.

Wagner rocks! (And other sundry items...)

Last night, we saw a DVD of Wagner's opera Die Wakure (The Valkyries), second in the Ring trilogy. My only encounter with Wagner was an abortive trip to the San Francisco opera house for Meistersinger, his only comedy. We left after the first act. Music is wonderful, but there just isn't anything else going on. The singers tend to just stand there, and go on, and on, and on. All his operas are 4 or 5 hours of this. Well, not this one, at least not all the time. The Valkyries (Wotan's daughters, who swoop down from Valhalla to bear the heroes fallen in battle to sit at Wotan's feet) leap about in their armor and helmets quite a bit. Brunnhilda is the head Valkyrie, favored daughter of Wotan, and at the end of the opera, because she has disobeyed her father and a couple of other little rules that got Daddy's wife (not her mother) all pissed off, Wotan strips her of her immortality, puts her to sleep, and calls on Loge, the god of fire, to surround her in flames till a hero wakes her with a kiss. All kinds of paradigms going on here. Well, Wagner wrote his own librettos, and was certainly a hero, in his own mind. Anyway, it was dynamite, partly because Wotan was pretty hunky, and probably 20 years younger than Brunnhilde, not unusual. Singing Wagner is so difficult, most singers don't even try till later in their careers, to keep from blowing out their voices like old rubber. So, I almost feel like attempting the Ring cycle, sometime. Maybe.

On a brighter note, all is mended, plumbing-wise. At least for the present. Problem was roots in the line, which are (yay!) the landlord's expense and not mine, because it cost $253 to fix. Gone are the days when you could call Roto-Rooter and plunk down $60 for a little clean-out job. Sigh. But what a pleasure to not have to stand in a foot of water to shower, and to flush just once! It is amazing the things for which one can become grateful.

A'plumbing we shall go...

Well, tra-la, plumbing is still all conflicted here in the little yellow house on Wild Rose Dr. Most of the time, I am delighted to be female, all ribbons and lace. Until a crisis like Saturday morning, when I made the unfortunate decision to run the washing machine before the tub had drained, and the whole thing backed up all over the place. Really disgusting. Well, it could have been worse, I suppose. Nevertheless, it has been a regular comedy of errors since then. I called the Rooter people, who couldn't come till Sunday morning. Forbearance is not my long suit, but they are the experts. Right? So, the little guy arrived early, caught me in my pjs looking pretty rumpled, couldn't find the clean-out trap (clean-out trap?) and quoted me $402 to clear the line after removing the potty from its mount. Well, no deal. I decided to grit my teeth and wait till I could talk to my landlord about this. When I got dressed, I mosied outside, and lo and behold, there was the clean-out trap, right in plain view, right where one would expect it to be. So the Rooter people are either pretty dumb, blind, or just plain crooked. I must look like an idiot. Well, plumbing-wise, I guess I am. Now have appointment with another plumber, and will get this thing resolved, hopefully for less than $402. It would be nice to be able to flush in one fell swoop. You really don't want to know the details here.

What a treat!

First treat, no Thanksgiving with the family. We had a birthday dinner recently for my oldest brother, and that was enough for all of us. Second treat, a Eureka marathon on SciFi channel. I picked up on this show from its premiere. It's funny and smart and a lot like Northern Exposure gone high-tech, with lots of quirky characters swirling around the central guy, who is new to the scene and pretty much clueless. A whole day of watching Sheriff Carter negotiate the vicissitudes of the techies-gone-wrong, that's delicious. Then my son came to brunch, and we ate and schmoozed for a happy couple of hours. When he left to do the turkey thing with his Dad, I headed down to the Alkathon (marathon AA meetings, 24 hours of them on holidays) where I heard a gritty chair from one of our local miracles, and hooked up with a friend to go to a movie. We saw Stranger Than Fiction. Now, Will Ferrell is not my cup of tea, but he was remarkably restrained in this, so restrained he appeared depressed, actually. And Emma Thompson was over the top, in a truly ingenius way. The whole movie was hilarious in that delightfully cerebral way, with the jokes so intellectual, you had to be in the loop to get them. The audience in the theatre clapped when the credits rolled. Now, that's a good film. Home afterward for a Lean Cuisine portabello pizza, pretty yummy, actually, and more Eureka.
I turned off the light after Gray's Anatomy, after Christine got her comeupance for her hubris, and I for one felt it well-deserved. All-in-all, a swell way to spend a holiday.

Everyone's a critic...

Phoebe-bird does not hesitate to express her disdain if one of the selections on my listening disk is not up to her standards. First it was Orff's O Fortuna that sent her into paroxysms of squawking, then Berlioz's March to the Scaffold, and now Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries. We agree on the second and third selections, Berlioz's angst was way over the top, and Wagner is always so puffed up and self-important, but I like the Orff, wonderful and fresh, nothing else like it. We are in our choral and ballet mode, so opera is on deck, along with the Brahms German Requium. Most of this music I have known for decades, like the Carmen Suite and, give me a break, the Nutcracker. But clever guy that he is, the teacher has thrown in some Mahler, who, surprise, has a tender side, and that wondrous Debussy Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun, and some sparkling Ravel, too. And how much I do love that Carmen Suite, even after 6 decades of familiarity with it. Bizet could really write that Spanish stuff, even though he was French. One of life's little paradoxes.

Ups and downs, what else is new?

As happy as I am that my knob came, and the dryer is now all sparkly again, that is how unhappy I am to report that the toilet is leaking. It is now shrouded with towels, awaiting attention. Now, I need my toilet. I only have one, you know. Tonight it going to be interesting, to say the least. And, let's see. I got 100% on my art exam (yay, me!), but only 88 on my algebra test. Now, that's a good grade, yes? And, it is my cumulative grade in the class so far, 88.2. Only 1.8 points from an A. Think I can pull that off? It would be something of a miracle, I think. I will try, of course. Whatever.

New stuff happening here...

It was a week to celebrate. I got the highest grade on the midterm in music class! In fact, the only four to get an A were our little group of four muskateers. We sit together, but got different ones wrong, thank goodness. None of us need to cheat; we study. And, even though we didn't get the algebra test back, I am pretty sure I did well there, also. I went to my appointment with my counselor expecting her to frown at me for changing my major from psych to art. Instead, she literally jumped up and down in her seat, she was so happy for me. I was pretty happy, too, because I no longer have to take statistics to transfer, just Math 9 or 10, both of which are easier than the next leg of the journey, Math 155. So I can look forward to two more semesters of lots of art classes, with a little math sprinkled on for tartness. Today, I am celebrating the completion of the draft of this hellacious outline for my final speech, the rhetoric. That's persuasion to you not in the communication loop. I always thought that meant spin, but it was originally the vehicle for persuasion, because it used to be based on truth rather than fallacies. Anyway, now I get to paint for a while, a real treat. Our final project in art is to copy a masterpiece, so I am going to practice with a Monet. Oh, and my knob arrived yesterday, so I can do my laundry sans pliers. How good is that!

Well, that's over!

Algebra test at 7:30 AM today. It was not too brutal, just one question that had me spinning, mostly because I am not very neat and tidy with my figuring, and tend to get little things like positive and negative numbers mixed up. I knew how to do everything, though. Just a matter of if I did it right, and so far, there is usually a surprise booboo somewhere in the mix. Then we had a test in art, like, what is a complementary color and what is a primary color, stuff like that. It was pretty breezy, actually. And after, I got to work on this page of one-inch squares, all different colors. It wound up looking like a quilt. I just tried to not make the same hue twice, and to put one complimentary color and one analagous color next to each other everywhere. That didn't work out exactly as I had planned, but I am not unhappy with it. We also went over to the museum in our new library, an compilation of works both by and collected by an African American woman who has a very strong message to impart. She is pretty pissed off, I think. Well, she was brought up in Berkeley. Need I say more? Now, I am sipping more coffee, just trying to stay awake for the afternoon appointment with my counselor, and music class tonight. Nuts, I think a nap would be nice, since I don't have any homework. There. A plan.

Magnesium, anyone?

My mother's parting shot the other day was "you are taking calcium, aren't you?" And I lied and said yes, just so we could part happily. Actually, I eat yogurt, put milk on my cereal, have broccoli four or five times a week. I get plenty of calcium in my diet. And my bones are in great shape. In fact, they are 25 years younger than I am according to the scale when I had them tested. Not bad. Then I learned that it really isn't calcium that we are deficient in. It is magnesium. Well, how about that! I have some knobs on my knuckles that I know are calcium deposits, that come from too much calcium, or calcium that my body was unable to absorb, all of which is the result of, yep, magnesium deficiency. And if I get up to snuff, my arteries will all be rotorootered out, expanded, even, and my blood will just rush around happily ever after. Seems like a great deal, considering that 300 tablets cost less than $6. So I told my mother about it. And she said "don't tell me that, I don't believe that." Well, okay. Meanwhile, I am expecting that my skin will get all plumped up with all that extra room in my vessels, and I will look 20 years younger, very soon. Right.

Decisions, decisions...

I made a commitment to paint yesterday when I 1) bought a new bunch of flowers at Trader Joe's, 2) got down the original vase in my 2 year old, unfinished canvas, and 3) laid out a palette. There's the kicker. If I don't use the paint, it just sits there and dries up to these little, very expensive nurdles. So, here I am, in my American Artist apron (now I know why they tie knots in the end of the ties for these bib aprons, I found out after spending a happy half hour fishing the end out yesterday), smelling of turpentine, sitting at a fair distance, trying to decide if I am now happy with the color of the cloth under the vase so I can paint in the flowers I want laying at its base. And which way should the flower be laying, as it were? And which flower should I lay there? I actually don't like the yellow one, it has no leaves on its stem and looks kind of paltry all by itself there. Maybe just some leaves? Or petals? I often put a renegade petal on the cloth. I like that kind of thing. Gee, this is just too much to think about. I think I will make a pot of soup. That sounds like a fun idea on this cold gray day.

Life as affirmation...

When I was in therapy (and I was in therapy a long, long, long time), we used to do self-esteem experiences, like I would write a list of all the things are wonderful about me. "I am a good cook", or "I am friendly", stuff like that. And they were absolutely true, these sayings. Yet, I just still felt like a spare part in the Universe, something leftover from a bigger something that had more value without my participation. In the end, I realized that it was hard to feel good about myself when I was being dishonest about some rather disturbing behaviors, like drinking too much. Getting sober was a great start, but that was all it was, a beginning. There was ever so much more work to do. Fortunately, I used AA as my vehicle into sobriety. The amazing thing about AA is that it teaches that we cannot think our way into right action. Well, duh. If I could have done that, it would have been accomplished long ago. No, we need to act our way into right thinking. "Act as if" is my motto. Act as if I believe in a Higher Power. Act as if I am a person worthy of love. And, hell, act as if I love myself. What a concept! Last night, I made dressing to go with my little rotisserie chicken I bought at Costco. I ground up my excellent Oatnut bread (the heels, just perfect), toasted them in my handy-dandy convection oven, sauteed celery and shallots with some slivered almonds, added savory spices, chicken broth and the bread crumbs, and voila! Amazing dressing. Delicious dressing. Put that with some nice sliced breast meat and the gravy I made with the pan drippings in the chicken package, and I had a holiday dinner all my own, all alone here with Boo and the bird. Cooking was always something I did to nurture my loved ones. It is so nice to now be one among them.

How annoying!

College can't make you smart. I have learned this in various lessons. Like last Saturday night, when I put my washed load in the dryer, and it wouldn't turn on. How annoying! I spread all the wet things around, hanging them on closet doors, the shower rod, on towels on top of the washer and dryer. When they were still sopping in the morning, I took them to the laundromat to dry. Very enlightening experience, the laundromat. Busy place on a Sunday morning, for sure. And when I went to fold my load, there was this one miniscule blue sock mixed in with my load. It was kind of touching. So, Monday morning, first thing, I called the appliance repair places. One just never called me back. And the second one couldn't send anyone until Friday. How annoying! A whole week without my laundry facilities. And, I had to get up early today in case he showed up at 8 AM. How annoying! And he told me it wasn't the switch, it was just the knob. He showed me how to turn on the dryer without it, using plyers. Now, I really felt stupid. Like, where's all that education when you need it? My erstwhile repair guy did not have the part I needed, but gave me all the info to look for it myself. Well, how annoying! I tried the places and they didn't have it, so I had to order it online, a $6 part, with a $7 handling charge. How annoying! Altogether, this little knob cost me $53, $39 for the service call, $13 for the part, and $1 to dry my stuff at the laundromat. How annoying!

Culture shock...

Last night was the midterm in my music appreciation test. I spent the afternoon alternately playing movements from Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique and Dvorak's New World Symphony, making sure I was clear on the differences. I was already familiar with the rest of the selections, well, except for the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto, but that solo violin is a rather big tipoff, you know. And I already knew Teach was going to play the same piece more than once, so I paid special attention to the exposition themes, and the development section, too. And he did. In fact, he played the Dvorak not once, not twice, but three times. Tricky. Well, he is. I know this from our first test, where one word in a sentence makes it false, so one must pay careful attention when filling out one's Scantron. Anyway, I felt really good about this test, like I aced it, bigtime. We were then scheduled to look at Romantic choral music, and begin our section on Romantic opera. Instead, one of the students brought a DVD of a symphony concert of Metallica's oeuvre, starring Metallica and a symphony orchestra. It was awesome, just so daring and amazing, partly because of the lighting effects, but mostly just because the music was rivetting, too. And I got to appreciate the musicianship of the rock stars. Those guys really can play, expecially the drummer. It was a bit of a stretch from my afternoon, but actually rather welcome, because I didn't have to think about it, just sink into it. Best of all, he let us go early, so I got to climb into bed and relax for a happy half hour with Boo before hitting the pillow to get my ZZZZs before geting up to do it all over again.

Foot notes...

I learned when I was in Italy, hoofing it all over Rome on those *&^%#$ cobblestones, to be kind to my feet. As I grow older, they tend to be kind of dried up looking, and cracked around the heels. So I have been rubbing them regularly with lotion, scrubbing them with my little body scrubber thingie, too. And they are getting much more manageable and better looking. Unfortunately, they are also prone to cramping, mostly at night, in bed. It is like a wire between my big toe and my heel just tightens until my toes are all splayed out and the instep screams at me. Walking around helps, but, funnily enough, the thing to do when this happens is to put on a pair of socks. Warm feet do not cramp. Now, how strange is that? And I am happy to report that the slug that has been crawling around on my bedside rug at night has been located. And sorry to report that I found it stuck to the bottom of my bare foot. EEEEYOUUUU!

Third time's an acorn squash...

So, once again, I toted my little plastic bag with a veggie in it, an acorn squash this time, to art class. And, once again, I was the only one to remember it. Our teacher was way ahead of us this time. She came with a great big bag of produce for the kids. And I was excited to paint this sucker, it was just so full and luscious. Then, Stephanie drug out the slides, and we got a half hour of Seurat, and instructions to render our fruit or veggie in, gasp, pointilism. Well, I will try anything, really I will. And I paid attention and learned that Seurat used orange in his skies and lots of complimentary colors, like purple and yellow, red and green, etc. So my painting was just chock full of little dots of all kinds of colors, with the general values of the green and yellow of the squash, its shadow mass, the red mat beneath it, etc. I found it kind of tedious, and felt pretty silly, too. Then we put them up on the wall, I walked back to my seat, and almost gasped when I saw the amazing result of my tiny dots. It was scintillating, my squash. And miles ahead of the kids, who were very weinie about color, and sparing with their dots, too. I worked with mine till there were practically no holidays, those little spots where the canvas peeks through the paint, so it was jewel-like, actually. I just love this, and I learned how to be absolutely fearless in the process. Can you tell how exciting this is for me? I think I have found something very amazing inside me, that I didn't know I had. Oh, my partner used to tell me how good I was, but he slept next to me every night, it was in his best interest to be complimentary. Now, I think he might have been right! At least, I have a platform from which to leap into something new and enlightening. Wow!

A few social psychological observations...

Part of being in recovery is about being awake. Sobriety removes the veil that shrouds the addict, and leaves one naked in the world, anyway. So we arm ourselves with that deep inner strength that was always there to begin with, and put ourselves right in the path of life. That is how I feel as I ply the paths of my community college. Have I mentioned that it is an exceptionally pretty campus, great brick buildings (even the newest are liberally sprinkled with red brick), ancient oaks over manicured lawns. Our new library is 4 stories high and just magnificent, inside and out. So I love schlepping around with my 40 lb. bookbag. Every class is in a different building this semester, so I schlep a lot. And I notice things, like the way the birds sing so happily in the new rain, and the red maple leaves on the wet pavement yesterday. The students are just great, too. What I notice about them is that gals travel more in pairs that guys do. And when gals pair up, it is around a similarity. Body-type is popular; sleek, coltish blonds bond together, as do zaftig little gals. Ethnicity trumps body-type, though, so I see pairs of chicanas and African American girls a lot. Guys are less picky. And the most inclusive group is the geeks. There is a band of them that congregate in the Coop (our cafeteria), always at the same table, and every kind of human being possible can join them. They have an awful lot of fun at that table, too. I realize I am guilty of this as well. If I travel with anyone, it will be someone who is older than the average student. Not that I don't like the kids. Oh, nonono, I think they are just amazing, most of them. I take every opportunity to be kind to them, too. Not that I want them to like me. I really want them to like themselves. I didn't, when I was a kid. I'm still working on that one.

Happy accidents...

I went home shaking my head yesterday, sure that I had mixed up a couple of things on that *&^%$ algebra test, only to find this morning that I accidentally did those problems right! And I got 90 on this test, my best score yet. Still messed up here and there, negative and positve eludes me sometimes, and so does arithmetic. The algebra part I am pretty sure of, actually. Anyway, progress is being made here, even if it is not perfection, which would be nice, for sure. And art was a trip. I took a totally luminous pear in today and rendered it with loving care. Also copied a Weintraub painting of cows coming down a hill. It took forever, building up the cows, then trimming them back, to get them to look less like pigs, but they are definitely coming up nicely, as is the whole painting. Gee, this is so much fun! Now looking online for more ideas to work up the requisite 6 paintings Stephanie wants from us be next week. Whatever, I am so happy I decided to do this. Very exciting semester, indeed.