She puzzled and puzzed...

I was thinking about Buddha today, as this was his birthday, I think, April 8th. That symbol for yin and yang, the circle split in two, black and white, each with a dot from the corresponding side, do you think that means that there is a blessing in every trial, and a trial in every blessing? This is a world of dualities: black and white, dark and light, old and young. How can we know joy if we never know suffering? Would you give up joy to not suffer? I don't think so. Joy is too precious. And rain, well that's just so I can appreciate sunshine. And winter brings the spring. Too bad I cannot go back to young now. I would savor it so much more than I did when I was there. Which reminds me, my birthday is coming. Will you still love me? I'm going to be 64. Paul McCartney is single. There's a thought.

Have some perspective, my dear?

Ah, the beauty of other people's travails. I sojourned down to Marin County today, that bastion of the botoxed and beautiful. I used to work down there, and never could get a line on what was happening. Lots of shiny cars, mostly in black and white and silver and gray, with a smidge of champagne beige to add some class. Lots of all-natural-fiber folks, looking fabulously green and firm. Today, I met with three former office-mates. Three of us are retired now. The youngun is still toiling away, though from her residence, which keeps her sane and far from our mutual boss, dear man that he is. I began this day toting about my cross-du-jour, a potpourri of angst that ranges from a sticky situation with a relative to the usual champagne-taste/beer budget stuff. And I came home happy and full of gratitude. These women are facing ailing husbands, chronic illness, adolescents learning to drive (been there, done that, bought the t-shirt). Me, I am hanging together fairly well health-wise, and my greatest responsibility is the Boo, who is at the moment, all well and sassy. How sweet it is, a soupcon of perspective keeps the blues away.

The weather inside...

Just returned from a little walk with little Boo, bag of Boo poo in hand. I noticed that today's weather pretty much mirrors my inner climate. On the surface, it is a pretty day to look at, all sunny and springy. But once out in it, there is a little chilly, goosebumpy breeze that sometimes just gets downright cold. We have not seen the last of winter. And I am kind of bearing my own inner chill, too. There was a time when this was outrageously importune. I am happy to say that my troubles have shrunk down from peaks and valleys to speedbumps and potholes, not major collisions, just occasions to pause on the shoulder of my highway of life and rethink my route. Today, that took me to (soul-sucking) Safeway, and that carrot cake that has been calling me lately is now in my fridge. Sigh.

Taking care of business...

I have been chewing on a troublesome problem now for a couple of weeks. What to do? Is this my fault? What is my part? Stew, stew, stew. And today, I remembered. I never could think myself into right action. The only thing that works is acting my way into right thinking. Wow, what a relief! So I am just doing what is in front of me. I went to a meeting (always a good idea, because others are dealing with real problems, stuff that is probably not temporary, like mine), then I got the car serviced (and only 500 miles late). I stopped at Trader Joe's, where I bought myself flowers. Also, some sushi for lunch, some avacados, some flaxseed cereal, some baby carrots, cage-free eggs, peppermint tea. Now I am here, relaxing into the day, about to take the dog for a walk before I assemble my outfit for tomorrow's trip to Marin County, where I am outclassed even before I start my engine, but always try, anyway. Not thinking too much today. Just taking care of business, as usual. All will fall out the way it is supposed to, any time now.

What. Ever.

Funny how retirement kind of takes the zing out of holidays. Easter, of course, was never a real holiday anyway, falling as it does on Sunday every year, and hell, I got Sundays off every week. I guess, like everything, holidays do that cycle thing. It was a time of new shoes and lots of candy when I was little, then smelly, long high mass early in the morning, followed by egg hunts and stomach aches. I liked the new dress and hat, for sure. Later, I had my own kids, and got to do the egg dying thing, and the egg hiding thing, and learned the importance of knowing how many eggs I had hidden to forestall a nasty surprise on the 4th of July. Then there were the champagne brunches or ham dinners, a long parade of them through the years of my middle-class marriage. Single parenthood moved holidays to more convenient times, as I was seldom the custodial parent on the really important dates. And now, well, holidays are a great time to go to the movies. Or take a walk with the dog, as I am doing this afternoon, now that he is perambulating on all four legs again, followed by a trip to the gas station (at least they are open - another major annoyance is all the stores are CLOSED!) for a gallon for the lawn mower. And maybe a Taco Bell cheesy beefy wrap for dinner. Okay, maybe not. But Taco Bell was open.

Tit for tat...

Happy to hear the professors are fighting back. Yes, I have been to ratemyprofessor.com. Verrrrry interesting. And pretty much dead on, these kids are. The design and composition teacher was a ditz. The geology professor was a peach, and a chili pepper, to boot. The American history guy was ho-hum, but hell, he played the banjo, how sweet it is! Now, MTV lets them tell the other side of the story. Which takes me to the coffee kiosk by Emeritus Hall, where I was tanking up for comparative mythology class, and talking to this other older lady, just chitchat. And I asked what she was majoring in, and she replied she was a teacher. Duh. So I told her how much I appreciate her. I think that's all anyone wants to hear, that those they served feel well served. Never hurts.

We plan, God laughs...

I am a born planner. Give me a year and I will plan the perfect weekend. And all that would be just fine if not for OTHER PEOPLE. A woman I do not know all that well but who I would like to know better suggested we do a retreat together. This was in April of 2007. So I sent in my deposit, and began planning. My dog was a major concern. He is older, and in need of medication at this time, and I didn't want him in a cage anywhere for three days. And, at the very last moment, my dog sitter couldn't. My only option was to trust a guy I really don't trust, because I was also responsible for driving my friend to and from our retreat center. Which made my retreat much more edgy than it might have been otherwise. I don't think I ever really arrived there, at this lovely convent right on the beach in Santa Cruz, with all these lovely other retreaters. We wound up coming home early, my friend to do some work, and me to hug my little dog, who, when I finally got him back, was walking on only three legs. Fortunately, that seems to have cleared up. Let us hope the infection does, too, because he missed a few pills while I was away. All of this teaches me that I must always have a Plan B in my back pocket. It is fortunate that one lesson I have learned from my eighteen years of recovery is to be flexible, and not to over-react to unexpected circumstances. And to always accept the responsibility and look at my part in the picture, because that is the only thing I can do anything about in the long run. And that I am perfectly human, and incapable of seeing the future. Wow, that's a lot! Some people I know who are a lot older than I do not know this stuff. I put myself on the mailing list for future retreats, and will try again next year. As long as I am sober, there is always hope.

It's not easy being me, Vol. XXXVIII

I am getting ready for my weekend getaway, which entails a great deal of thought and preparation, so I am a little distracted. Last night, while blowdrying my hair as I simultaneously heated up my curling iron, and ran the fan and heater in the bathroom, I overloaded the circuit and everything suddenly got dark and silent. This being not the first time I have done this, I know exactly where the circuit breaker box is. Since it is on the side of the house, and our little neighborhood does not have streetlights, I first had to know where a flashlight was. I found it in the third location I searched. Not bad. And yes, two of the little switch thingies in the box were at half mast, so I pushed them up to line up with the other soldiers. And nothing happened. I mulled. Since the computer was not on the now-dead circuit, I googled "overloaded circuit", which gave me all kinds of information, none of which told me how to un-overload that damned thing. Next action was to call Sue, who is a former homeowner and a fount of information on all sorts of things mechanical. Sue told me about the master switch, and that I couldn't hurt anything or myself by turning everything off and on again. I decided to wait for daylight to do that, which means that this morning I had to find an extension cord so I could put a lamp in the bathroom to do my leaving-the-house necessities like curl my hair and makeup my face. Curiously, I know I just saw an extension cord somewhere. At the moment, it still eludes me, so I pirated one from the lesser used side of the bed. Actually, I looked better in the light from the little lamp than I usually do in the bathroom overhead. However, I probably do not want to have to jump over the cord several times a day just to look 55 again. I made a little stab at those pesky switches again before toodling off to school, still loathe to turn off everything. I mean, that's hella-drastic. And once again, it did not do the trick. Off I went to study the Mahabhrata, then a truly spiritual experience at WalMart. Home again, I threw all caution to the wind, made sure everything I valued was off, and pulled the big switch. Nothing. Back to the circuit breaker box, and gee, those two errant soldiers were way out of formation again. I coaxed them back, and voila! We are cooking with gas here! And now I know what to do when it happens the next time. Which, spiritually speaking, it always will. Life on life' terms. My karma.

Help me, Obiwan Kenobi! You're my only hope!

Did I mention that I went gaga for Star Wars? I actually had a pirated copy of the movie (I didn't do it, it came to me in a round about way) long before it came out on video. Remember what a phenom it was? We'd never seen anything like it before. Of course, now we are inundated with digitally enhanced special effects, so much so that story and characters play a backseat role. Where is the Obiwan Kenobi of this millenium? Will we ever see another character with so much, well, character? Whatever. I am thinking, HELP, and that is what came to mind. I am taking my art history midterm tomorrow. All I will have in hand is a pen and a blue book. Everything else must be firmly in place, in my tiny head. The old brain is strained, for sure. Though, I did get my quiz 100% perfect, plus 4 points for extra stuff I threw in because I knew it. So maybe it is doable. I am finding that I learn a lot when material is presented to me this way. Multiple choice is maybe too easy? Oh, not. Thanks to Mr. Thompson who will make the quiz on the Mahabharata multiple choice. I could never remember all those names, for sure. The Pandavas and the Kauravas, Yudhisthira, Bhima, Arjuna, Nakula and Sahadeva, Paraudi, Krishna, Durodyana, Karna and that's just the beginning. Seriously overeducated, no doubt about it.

The yard of shame is no more!

It is, once again, lawn-mowing season in the neighborhood. Mine wouldn't start. The lawnmower, I mean. I filled it up with the dregs of gas in the red gascan that spits all over me when I turn it upside down, pressed the red rubber thingy three times, and sputter, sputter, sputter. Not even a healthy sputter, but a puny, throat-clearing ahem. So I put it back in the garage and went on a concentrated search for the manual. It wasn't where all the other manuals are, the can-opener and coffee-maker and microwave and toaster manuals, manuals I will probably never need to find again, ever. After a quick prayer to St. Jude, who is in charge of finding things for me, I located it in the tool cupboard. And it said that maybe my gasoline was old. Did you know that gasoline could get old? Well, if not, now we all know. So maybe I needed to drain the gas tank and start with new gasoline. Except that it didn't give me any instructions how to do that little thing. While I was fuming away, a friend called me. And she is the queen of lawn-mowers! In all her years of dealing with these balky things, she had never gotten an old gasoline problem. So I followed her instructions of pushing the red rubber thingy five times, trying (really hard) to get it started, and if unsuccessful, let it stew for a half hour and try again. And that worked! The psuedo-lawn is all mowed down and neatened up! And then it died, just as I was putting the finishing touches on. So I am off to the hardware store for a better gas can, one that doesn't have a dribble problem, and a funnel. That sounds like a quicker, easier way to go. I may even give the backyard a little try. Maybe.

How sweet it is!

I finally got my grades from last semester. Well, first I got this dandy little certificate in the mail saying I had achieved Dean's Highest Honors for the Fall 2007 semester. Really? I thought I royally blew the math final, as you may recall. Then this morning I learned I had scored 100% on my mythology test, and I am pretty sure I did the same on my art history test, so I decided I could now look and see what was up with that last semester. And, lo and behold, three As and a B in the dreaded Math 9, Finite Mathematics! Which makes me want to bang my head against the wall for not looking sooner. And the best thing is that I never have to take another math test as long as I live! My mythology teacher told the class today that they had "young and resourceful brains", and when I snickered he told me "yours is young and resourceful, too". And I think now that he is right. Just a little attention and I can remember the geneology of Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth, or that Soufflot designed the Pantheon (otherwise known as the Church of Sainte Genvieve) in Paris in 1755, and that it is Neo-Classical in style. New neural pathways are spitting out all kinds of information even as we speak. So, bravo, synapses! GRATEFUL.

My love affair with Oscar...

It was the 80th Academy Awards Sunday night. I have seen at least 60 of them. Well, that may be in my imagination, we didn't have a television till I was five, and probably they did not televise them till I was around eight, so that means I have only seen 55. And while I would like to say I have seen all the Best Pictures, I will admit that The Unforgiven remains to be viewed (I am westerned out from my youth, Wagontrain, Cheyenne, Sugarfoot, Maverick, etc. etc. etc.), and I skipped The Departed, which just seemed too sleazy. But I did see No Country for Old Men, and was delighted that it rose to the top, since the Coen brothers are idols of mine. Fargo and Raising Arizona and Oh, Brother Where Art Thou bristle with imagination, something that I find in short supply in this world that makes movies of old (and bad) TV sitcoms, video games and amusement park rides. And it is adult imagination, not easy to grasp even for college-educated ones, like my daughter and me. We looked at each other and wondered if the other knew what the ending of that film was all about. Luckily, we are adult enough to admit we don't understand something. And we left the theater feeling good that we had seen this film so we could tell people we had seen it. It just seemed like an adult way to while away a windy afternoon in the City.

PS I also saw Juno, and there is another film with dynamite dialogue, sweetness without the sap, a hopeful little movie about acceptance, surrender, letting go, and redemption. Mostly it was about being different, and how that can or cannot serve you. Diablo Cody certainly knows that, and wasn't she the epitome of daring, wearing a leopard-spotted gown among all the glitz? I liked it better than Tilda Swindon's pajamas, though.

Boo is home, and all is right with the world...

Mothers everywhere know the frustration of dealing with a sick baby, one that cannot say what is wrong, yet writhes in pain and discomfort. Then God gave us dogs, and we all get to know that awful feeling. Boo had been on the mend, then last night, he suddenly was in godawful pain, scrambling around the bed, howling and trying to get comfortable without much success. The first "emergency" vet I called could not see us for two hours. "But" I screamed, "this is an EMERGENCY!" So we went to another clinic. Of course, once he got there, he was no longer howling, and except for his usual vet demeanor, which consists of tucking his tail firmly between his back legs (you're gonna stick that thing where!) and trembling all over, he seemed almost normal. Which led this vet to begin to ring up test after test, xrays and such, till I said, no, I want to take him to his regular vet in the morning. So he got a shot of painkiller, and a prescription for pills, just in case, and home we went. And then it happened again this morning, when the shot wore off, howling and whimpering and scittering around. So off we went, again. Our vet ascertained that it was probably his ears, again, and proposed sedating him for a thorough exam and cleaning. That meant I went home without my Boo. From 9:30 till 3, I was dogless. It felt really weird, and every so often I would look up and wonder where he was. At one time, I had thrown a black sweater on the bed and I thought it was him, stretched out there looking out the window. Lord, I was soooooo happy to get him back. He is sore and kind of dopey still, and not without some pain, either, but on the mend. Not quite my Boo, but a most satisfactory reasonable facsimile. All for just under $500. It's a bargain.

What I did on my (five day) weekend...

My second ex-husband used to put movie reviews on his answering machine's outgoing message, giving plums or raisins, as the case may be. And while I always thought that was rather pompous, here are my reviews of the two movies I saw on this delightfully long, long weekend.
The Spiderwick Chronicles
Harry Potter fan that I am, how could I resist this movie? That young kid from Wonderland had a double role as twins, one meek and mild-mannered, the other a real shit-disturber. I found the interactions of the characters more engaging than most of the computer animation going on, and some of those animated characters were a little too precious for my taste. It was fun on a rather simple level.
Definitely, Maybe
Ah, this is everything I hoped 27 Dresses would be. Ryan Reynolds is sooooo cute (and tall, that's so refreshing in itself), Abigail Breslin is her sweet self, Rachel Weiz, well, they don't get any more sophisticated or disingenuous, do they. Mostly, the star of the show was the screenplay, which was smart and often really funny, a real plus in romantic comedies. I loved it.

In addition to going to the movies, on my weekend I knitted a red scarf, painted two still lifes and a color study of a pear, worked in my sketchbook, read a book and started another, rearranged lamps in the little yellow house, and slept late, every day except Friday, when Boo had to be into the vet early. Oh, yes, I gave Boo his five medications, twice a day. He is terrifically healthy at the moment. And me, I am well-rested and ready to schlep off to school tomorrow with my paintings and the 40 lb bookbag, for my two day schoolweek. It just keeps getting better.

I don't need no stinkin' Valentine...

Ah, another pseudo-Hallmark-holiday has come and gone. I am alone here in the little yellow house, have been for three years. And in the past, that was an occasion of much teary-eyed self-pity when the Hearts and Flowers (and chocolates) Day rolled around. However, here is what I have discovered - I have a built-in Valentine, one who knows exactly what I want and has the income and ability to give it freely. And that would be ME! My Valentine bought me pink tulips (which I immortalized in an alla prima painting yesterday), two DVD's, two books, and a comfort dinner of spaghetti with meat sauce and fresh asparagus. It was a warm and wonderful evening, under the quilts with my book and The Jane Austin Book Club on the tellie. And I spritzed myself with my Christmas parfum, and settled in for a night of self-care and gratitude. Boo curled up next to me in the circle of light from my little Tiffany flower lamp. We were the picture of contentment, an island of sweet serenity in a sea of relationships that, let's face it, are not always the happiest. So, God bless us, everyone. Or it that another Hallmark day?

Boo goes to the doctor...

Since we moved to town three years ago, austerity forced me to be circumspect about finances, so Boo got his innoculations at the local VIP clinic, where we got to stand in line with a lot of other frugal folks. Boo is a pretty healthy little guy, so eschewing annual $200 vet visits was not worrisome (I found they always found something to treat, like why waste a 25 mile round trip just for a pat on the head). But lately, his ear washings had not produced very good results, and I noticed little scabby sores at the corner of his lips, and then this big raw patch in the deep groove below one eye. Eeeeeyuuuu. I put some triple antibiotic cream on it, and it crusted over nicely, but still looked icky, so I bit the bullet and made an appointment for him with a new, in-town vet. Fortunately, I have a buddy who is a vet-tech and studying to become a vet himself, who could recommend his employer. My, they are really nice people. Boo got his ears all washed out, his butt trimmed (dingleberry city lately, yuck), and his eye examined. Damn thing is a hot-spot! We don't have fleas, but Boo has all these nifty folds and creases in his little worried-looking face that harbor bad microbes. I clean down in the deep fold above his nose, but generally don't mess with the area under his big brown eyes. We came away $143 lighter, with five different medications: Omega-3 capsule (poke hole in end and squirt into mouth once a day), eye ointment (smear under right eye twice a day), ear ointment (squirt several drops into each ear 2-3 times a day), antibiotic pills (one twice a day with food, so I wrap it in a little cheese and it goes right down), and ear cleaning fluid for his next deep cleansing. I had kids who never needed this much medicine! I am feeling, of course, like a bad dog mommy. But I suppose that noticing he needed help and getting him there counts to my favor. Meanwhile, he is happily ensconced on the bed, not a care in the world. Me, I am just stoked because I finally figured out how to get him to be still - I put a big fluffy towel on top of the dryer and go at him. Too high to jump off, high enough to be able to work with him, and comfy for his little poochy butt. He got weighed today, and is a little too fluffy at the moment. This means we will both be cutting down for a while. Can't hurt.

Winds of reason blowing here...

It is cold. Okay, I know we Californians are really just weinies when it comes to winter. People in Minnesota would call 50 degrees balmy. But for us sun-worshipers who are used to 70 degrees 90 percent of the time, this is an insult to our sensitive little systems. Everywhere I go, people are griping about how cold it is. And they don't even have the really big bubblewrap coats out yet. A nice fleecy sweatshirt hoodie is all I am wearing today, with my Ugg knockoffs, tights under my jeans, and two layers of cotton tees on top, with my little knitted scarf wrapped around my tender little neck. And I will be toasty as I hoof around campus with my gear. And just in case I feel like griping that my nose is getting all red, I saw that little old bag lady going through the recycling cans that line our street on Monday mornings. I had a moment, because mine is not full, and is still sitting by the side of the driveway, so she came into my yard. I wanted to yell at her "hey, that's my garbage". Then I realized she is looking for redeemable cans and bottle that the rest of us just toss. Perhaps I should leave her a special bag full of them next week, marked just for her, tiny little lady with the big shopping cart full of stuff. Sleeping outside in this weather must be awful. So, I am getting all grateful for the day. Sun is shining, birds are singing, and the heater works. How could it get any better?

Wednesday musings, historically speaking...

Just watched a video on YouTube, a site I would never have found by my lonesome, but one my more savvy friends are addicted to, on the incredible advances in our technology, which are expanding exponentially even as we speak. Yet, the Wright brothers first flight was less than 100 years ago. Women in this country have had the right to vote for only 87 years. And we still labor with intolerance and discrimination against persons of color, persons of different sexual orientations, and yes, persons of the female persuasion across the board. Soon, we will have a computer that exceeds the calculating capacity of the human brain. Do you think it will then turn its wrath on all machines perceived to be inferior to it? Just wondering here. How far have we come, really? Not very far at all, indeed.

Mufti moments...

In keeping with my philosophy of when in college, blend, I bought myself a pair of Levi's low riders. Actually, I wasn't aware they were hip slingers. I just saw that they were long enough to walk on. That's a tall girl's wet dream, to fray the back of her jeans like all the tiny little girls. Anyway, they fit just swell. And I really like them. Until I sit down. Then, they creep down and, if my top is not super long, show all my business. I realized, after thinking about it, (like why do they do that anyway?), that is the point, to show off those thong thingies that the younguns are wearing these days. Now, I don't know about you, but I have spent my very long life trying to keep my panties from creeping up the wazoo. There's no way I'm buying those dental floss undies. I may be in the market for a belt, though.

A little flying music, please...

Very gray and damp and cold here in paradise. The day started late, I slept in, what a sweet thing that is. Put on my favorite very soft pink sweater, moussed my hair and went off to my most favorite meeting, where this big guy who is one of my least favorite people endeared me with his spirit despite myself. Hurried home to a helping of my curry that I made last night, then discovered the dog was sick. All over the bed. Sigh. Now doing a heap of laundry and hoping the Boo will be all better soon. Kind of gray inside, too. So I put on some music. Nothing lights up my day more than music, no sirree. Have decided I want to leave this world in the rapture of soundtracks, ET, Out of Africa, Somewhere in Time. Sweet.

If all else fails, throw money at it.

Nasty popup browser seems to have expired. I bought an adware spyware blocker. I have papers to write! I cannot spare the time it takes to zap those annoying windows every 2 minutes! Research! Online games! Okay. That worked. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, after spending all Wednesday afternoon scooting around the art classroom floor, banging and pulling and stapling my self-stretched canvasses together, I got to prime them today with gesso. I really love gesso. I thought my 30x30 canvas was kind of flabby, but after slapping on this goo, it is drum tight. How sweet is that! Biggest challenge was all the free-floating Boo hair that had to be plucked from the canvas' surface, over and over again. Well, maybe what I missed will come out in the sanding that comes before the next coat of gesso. I had this good feeling that I really am an artist, standing there swiping away. There was a sense of pride that I actually put this thing together, and it actually will support a painting. I think the first assignment, which even those of us in the ADVANCED category will be called upon to perform, is an abstract. I hope to make a big statement with color, if she lets us. Sometimes she restricts our palette, which is really irritating. Just try painting without white, or limited to the earth tones. I am sure there is something to know there. Right.

Joy in the morning...

Happiness is:
pancakes with cranberry preserves, sliced almonds and Cool Whip
fresh brewed Sumatra coffee
hair that does not need to be curled
jeans that are long enough (tall girls understand this one) and a little big even though they are my size
a parking place in the campus garage, even if it is all the way at the tippy top
Mr. Thompson's comparative mythology class, where he recited Genesis in the original Hebrew, complete with sound effects, hand gestures, and a lot of yelling
being able to mix and match the colors for my very own color wheel, most of them on the first try
running into a whole bunch of students I have known in previous classes
meeting a whole bunch of new friends in my new classes
abundant good health
salmon tacos with mango chutney (the special today in the Food Court)
homemade split pea soup and broccoli salad for dinner
a new episode of Gray's Anatomy
curling up with Boo and a mystery novel.

Life is good!

Mythological morass...

Happy to say I found my way here and now have bookmarked this site in my new browsers bookmark file. I am sure there is an easier way, but gee, I am too overloaded to learn anything new at the moment. Let me exposit on my comparative mythology class. Of course, I expected we would be looking at different cultures, and indeed we are. We will be reading the Popol Vu, for instance, the sacred text of the Mayans. But our first assignment is to read the myth of all myths, Genesis. Yeah, it meets the criteria of a myth: anonymously written, pertaining to a supernatural being, widely accepted culturally, and totally without factual support. So, we learned, are the gospels. Not written by Matthew, Luke, John and Paul at all. Those authors were assigned to the scrolls at the Council of Nicea. So, where is truth in all this bullshit? Certainly that stringy guy in his Salvation Army suit passing out New Testaments on the sidewalk by the college looked like he knew the truth, and was eager that we all know it, too. I think this is one of the very classes his literature is hoping to neutralize. And I think it is really important to exercise my mind, one of the reasons I schlepp off to school instead of laying around the little yellow house, thumbing through my new O magazine and throwing crumbs of my hotcakes to Boo. Actually, I got to do that, too, this morning, while sipping my freshly brewed Sumatra that I freshly ground first thing. Oh, it is all so confusing. And upsetting. I want to know what is really true. Guess Dan Brown might have been right. It appears anything goes, biblically speaking.

What a bother!

I seem to have picked up a hitchiker on my system. Lots of annoying windows opening in Microsoft Internet Explorer, which I have never used. Not popups, though. Popups are blocked. I have been in every file I can think of trying to fix this puppy. Finally gave up, decided my browser was infected, and downloaded another browser, which works, but did not keep my bookmarks, so I could not get to my blog. How annoying is that! Anyway, the new browser seems to be unperturbed by this pest, so I will have to find out the address of my dashboard, because I have never needed it before. Gee, I miss the good old days, you know, when dirt was new and one could interact with one's operating system and viruses were just a gleam in the evil geeks' eyes. Anyhoo, here is the scoop on school, which started yesterday. It is always a zoo the first few weeks until attrition sets in and the weak drop off the tree. Parking was a little dicey, because my classes on Mondays and Wednesdays don't start till noon. How sweet it is! Even so, I plan on going in early tomorrow, to do my assigned reading for art history before class, and get a parking place in the new garage. I love the sweet young thing teaching this class, and her syllabus promises that we will be able to critique and compare and identify art from the French Revolution to modern day. Sounds like a deal. Painting in the afternoon will begin with that most rewarding task of stretching our own canvasses. I did this last semester and it is a hoot, crawling around on the floor, looking for tools that get covered up by the sheet we use to keep charcoal from the morning drawing class off our jeans. Staple guns, hammers, pliers, all bamboozle me, but I am up for it, yes I am. I have all the tools, and the grit, and plan on assembling two of those suckers in the allotted time. And I have a friend in class from last semester, so we are all juiced up to have a roaring good time. Today's classes were comparative mythology, taught by a Robin Williams wannabe who actually knows all the languages he spouts, and principles of color, taught by a gal who actually may be older than I, which is refreshing to say the least. She is not very exciting or animated, but I bet she knows her stuff, and we will be doing all kinds of projects in class, sort of kindergarten for grownups, things like color wheels and grey scales, so if she is articulate enough to explain how to do them, it will all be good. We got out early, and I thought, oh joy, I can get home to watch my soap. Right. I spent a happy half hour trudging around the garage, looking for my car. One woman actually laughed at me. Oh, well, I must have needed the humility. If I can find my way back here, more later.

I surprise myself sometimes...

Last summer (and the summer before), I had a list of things to accomplish. It was essentially the same list, and it remained unaccomplished through the second summer. Don't know what that was about, but everything seemed unimportant when compared to long sleep-ins, Disney movies, detective novels and my Netflix queue. Then, all of a sudden, over winter break, a measly three week sojourn in the darkest days of the year, most of it got done. Don't know what that was about, either. Usually winter is a chance to semi-hybernate, eat things that are not good for me like See's candy and sugar cookies, and do all those other things listed above in abundance. After I assembled my little art table and stool, I needed a place to put them, which required mucking out the studio that had become piled with all the canvasses I had painted over the last two semesters, plus my drawings, bags of art stuff, portfolios, design projects, etc. All the paintings are now hanging on the wall of the studio, where they can be observed and I can make the decision to keep them, rework them, or paint over them. Hmmmm. I made a portfolio out of cardboard from the table carton with tape and wrapping ribbon to hold most of my drawings. I put hooks up on the walls to hang my bags. With the new table tucked into the corner under the window, it is a cozy and hospitable place to work. Then I got the four paintings framed. Because the rabbit was not deep enough (I thought it was 5/8 in., but actually it was 3/8 and the painting stuck out a little), I decided to secure them into place with duck tape. How easy is that? And if they come lose, well, there is always my trusty staple gun to hold the tape down. Life is good when you own duck tape and a staple gun. There are now four new paintings hanging here in my little office. The frames are just right, not too formal, not too casual, subtle but striking, too. It is so empowering to have created something of permanence, something that is worthy of displaying. I get to believe that I truly am an artist when I look at them, as I often do. Anyway, while mucking out the studio, I found the material for the kitchen curtains I was thinking of making last summer. So I hauled out the sewing machine, put up the ironing board, unearthed the sewing box, and had at it. Now I have sweet tie-backs over my table, and it looks like someone of substance and taste lives here. Did I mention that I also knitted 8 scarves over the break? Five were gifts, three I kept for me. Busy little bugger, that's me.

What a difference a day makes!

You know, I have worn my hair long for the last 10 years. That's because I wore it short short for 15 years before that. I do that, glom onto something and just hold on to it, forever. Well, I got tired of it. I have weinie hair, really soft and shiny, but really really fine. It kind of just hangs there. And when the wind blows, what a mess. It kept getting in my mouth, like when I was bent over my drawings in the figure drawing class. I hated that. Half the time I clamped it up behind my head or cinched it up in a ponytail just so I didn't have to curl it with my collection of curling irons. Curling it really doesn't work anyway. The slightest moisture and the curl just dies. So I went cruising on the Net yesterday looking for a new look for me. And printed out the picture, and took it to my favorite haircutting person, and voila! Brand new me! Well, not quite. Actually it is a new rendition of old, old me from 10 years ago. Whatever, it is like laying down a heavy package. Wash, blow dry and I'm out of here. Of course, that is all it will do. No more improvising with hair implements when it is sticking out funny. However, from my research, it is unlikely anyone would be surprised if it did stick out funny. Most of the 'dos I saw stuck out funny anyway. If I get tired of it, I will grow it out a little and wear a bob. It has been about 25 years since I had one of those.

Small triumph here...

I don't know if I mentioned it, but I ordered a little drafting table and stool from Dick Blick, and the damned thing arrived yesterday. This was a little soon. I had planned on getting the studio all cleaned out first, and of course, I took the holiday as a day to loll about doing nothing particularly exemplary (saw dynamite film, Juno, loved it), and yesterday seemed to be an extension of that holiday, just getting settled back into routine, and lo, is that the doorbell? And is that FedEx with two humungous boxes? Of course, first I put my paintings into the frames. I was dying to see how they would look all dressed up. And that is how they look, like my paintings kind of gussied up. The frames are exactly what I wanted, now just need to figure out how to get paintings semi-permanently situtated within, and get them wired for hanging. Anyway, after breakfast and a couple stiff cups of coffee, I decided to tackle the assembly of my new furniture. Have I mentioned how handicapped I am, mechanically speaking? Nevertheless, I went about it with great elan, full of confidence. I can read a diagram. I can use an Allen wrench (kind of backwards at first, it works best if you put the short arm of the L into the screw, wish I'd know that a lot sooner). I put the stool together first, and did a bang up job, if I do say so myself. Then the table. It is adjustable, so it was a little trickier. One screw just refused to embed itself into the end of this dowel, that I had to hold while trying to get that sucker to go in. I wound up leaving it sticking out just a little, and it can't be too important anyway because the thing is all together now, and really super. Except I wound up with spare parts, two washers. I thought, how thoughtful of them to include extras for people like me who lose things so easily. Except then I noticed they really do belong in the assembly. So I am steeling myself for another tussle with the Allen wrench to put them in. I think they are actually important. Did I mention I own an electric screwdriver? And the bit for Allen bolts was too small for the ones in my table kit? What can I say. It's a guy thing, this fascination with drill bits. One needs to have a lot of them, I guess. This is frustrating, but also a good lesson. Look carefully at the diagram before screwing.

Let the fun begin!

School, finals, holidays are all history now, and today is (jumping up and down) my sobriety birthdate. Yep. Eighteen years now. My, how the time doth fly. And most of the time, I feel about that old, emotionally, at least. I also have gained some wisdom, none of it by myself. Nothing I know is particularly new, though some little metaphors I coined in my tiny little mind, but the concepts are as old as our race. Like be kind because I feel better about myself when I am, so I have let go of needing to be right. Most of the time. And today is the only really important moment. Yes, I am all excited about the frames I ordered for my paintings, and the table and stool for the studio, which up till now has been a cluttered mess and will now get organized into a workable space. They will not come today, however. Today I will lunch with a dear woman and receive my first birthday chip at the noon meeting. It is a funny moment, that, knowing that all I did was stay out of HP's way and not drink, one day at a time. It is still good to celebrate that admittedly small achievement, knowing that there are thousands who cannot do that. I was saying to a sponsee how wonderful it would be to be able to just give sobriety to those I think need it. And she replied "It wouldn't be very valuable if we could." So true. So, into the day to see what gifts there are in it.

Old is the new fresh...

I am feeling my age. First, I had a mental breakdown during my math final. Most of what I thought I knew, suddenly I didn't. So, to forget how ashamed I was of myself (I should have studied, didn't, just couldn't face it anymore), I went to the movies, where I saw the new National Treasure, because I knew it would be inaninity squared, and I didn't want anything that made me think too much. It sufficed quite adequately. When I got up to leave, I think I creaked. Two hours and I was in total body lock. Sigh. So I guess old has arrived, and I need a new word to describe the reality of my existence. "Young" doesn't cut it anymore. So I decided on "fresh", as opposed to "stale", which is what happened to my mother. She is the personification of one of my favorite bumper-sticker wisdoms - if you can't be a good example, you'll have to be a horrible warning. There is nothing that can excite her, she has done and seen everything, ho-hum. Whereas I go out the front door and get all excited because the camelias are blooming, again. I am blown away by a blue bowl of tangerines, which I hope to paint a portrait of today. I love my new book of Egon Schiele's work that my daughter gave me for Christmas (we do that early in our family, don't ask), and it will give me pleasure for years to come. It is like that menu item in my "view" dialogue box, "refresh". I want to keep my mind always refreshed by wonder. Beginner's mind, you know. That's the place to hang out.

Just one more thing to take care of (sigh)...

As if it wasn't bad enough that this is finals week, horrendous cummulative math final, enormous drawing project final, icky-picky trompe l'oiel painting project final, and, okay, not so big sociology final, not to mention Christmas, which comes early in my family, the Saturday before, and my house looks like downtown Bagdhad, yesterday, my kitchen sink backed up, again. I have an first-name basis relationship with a plumber because of the pipes in the little yellow house. While the bathroom backing up is horrible, and mega-expensive, at least that does not accrue to me, as it is usually roots in the main line, and those belong to my landlord. But the kitchen is another story. The kitchen backs up when I have the audacity to use the garbage disposal. That clog has me written all over it. Of course, I hit Safeway for their drain cleaner special of the week first, even though I knew it probably wouldn't work, and the plumber would stare at me incredulously when I told him I did it. Like dude, do I look stupid? It's like this: $6.99 or $147.00. Duh. This time, not only did it not work, but before I did it, it was draining, very slooooooowly, but draining. And after, nada. It was Sunday, so I bought a bigger bottle of some different stuff and tried again. And again. When I went to bed last night, there was all this foamy stuff just sitting there in the sink, looking back at me (I always try running the garbage disposal, too, like hey, it could work, and that makes all this pretty foam). Before hitting the sack, I looked up my plumber's phone number, so, even as I speak, the phone book is sitting here, open to the finger-walking pages. But, lo! The Christmas Miracle Fairy visited me in the night, and my drain is clear and gurgling merrily! Ah, the things I must be grateful for these days. Makes me want to shop with that $147.00 I just saved.

Fast away the old semester passes...

Tomorrow is last day of regular classes. Except they are not regular. No homework. Math is a dead week, and attendance is discretionary. Not so for me. I need all the help I can get, so I will be there, as bright and bushytailed as I can get. Painting, well, my final one is pretty done. Actually, I think it is overdone, and doesn't need any more picking over. The homework project needs some fine tuning, but is almost there, too. Drawing, that's another story. I turned in my portfolio today, but the final project isn't even started yet. Thank the powers that be, it is not due till next Wednesday morning, at the godawful hour of 7 AM. I forgot that 9 AM classes have that problem. Sigh. Really, only one horror to get through, and that is next Thursday, also at 7 AM, the math final. Well, it is all doable, and will soon be over. I intend to just lay around for several days, drinking oolong tea (which I hear speeds up the metabolism something nifty) and watching reruns of ER and Without a Trace. After I sell back my books and my calculator, which I hope to never see again. Adieu, simplex program! So long, sinking fund equations! Freedom, thy name is winter break.

Ah, youth!

I just got some CDs made for me by an old lover who shared my generation, and is a collector of old vinyl 45's, has been since our youth, and has a seemingly endless library of 50s music, not just rock and roll, also showtunes and that jazzy stuff, the folk music stuff, all of it. He loves to make me mixes , and I get all juicy when I listen to it, especially when I come upon a Johnny Mathis tune. God, I loved that guy. Still do, I guess. I am planning on obtaining a turntable that hooks into my computer just so I can record my vinyl, now residing in a box in the garage, on CDs and put them all on my iPod, too. My youth lives within me still. I listen to this music, and think I want to be in love, but wait! I am, with me and my life. I am the person I have been waiting to show up for me all my life. Good news. Wherever I go, there I am!

Sometimes I amaze myself...

Today was portfolio review in painting class. I had 13 paintings to discuss, and 2 more coming. My, how prolific am I! My final painting is almost done, too, a trompe l'oiel (fool the eye) of a collage of brightly colored shapes I cut out and stuck onto this piece of corrugated cardboard with push pins. The painting has all those details, the corrugation, the push pins, everything. It is pretty dynamite, if I do say so myself. I was kind of amazed. It only needs some fine tuning in the cast shadows, some edges that got a little blurry, and get all those pins the same size. I have to admit, it is soooooo much fun when I can actually do the assignment with some elan. I am waiting for the moment when I am comfortable saying that I am an artist. It is coming, for sure.

My, my, my...

The Catholic Church has its panties all in a wad, again. Remember the flap about the DaVinci Code? And Harry Potter, so dark and evil? Well, now it is The Golden Compass, which I understand is very anti-Christianity in its orientation, and aimed at children, tsk, tsk, tsk. How paranoid are there fat old men, all swathed in their golden vestments, surrounded by the utmost of luxury and pomp, making pronouncements of what it good or evil? Personally, I feel they are so removed from reality that anything they say is not even credible. Let them go live in a Sao Paulo slum for a while and find out why birth control is such a good idea. Let them live in a violent domestic environment and come out proclaiming divorce evil. The Dark Ages live among us, still. With their dark little minds. It's ENTERTAINMENT, guys. There is only a method if we are looking for one, which, now, thanks to you idiots, we are.

AAARRRGGGHHH!

My priority registration period just lapsed, and I was unable to get onto the website to register. No problem, you say? Do it by phone, you say? Well, that would be swell, except the printed catalog has not been issued, so I need to select the classes, where? Oh, online! Help! I am sure this will all be resolved, soon, but why is it such a hassle? Expecially now. I am 1) still recovering from my bout with a nasty virus, 2) in the throes of final projects and 3) a math test looms, and 4) Christmas is coming. I think I have been in this place before, but without the added terror of not being able to register promptly. Maybe there are other plans for me? Plans I have not formulated all by my little self? Whatever, please reveal them soon. I have very little hair left to tear out.

My head is bloodied but unbowed...

After totally surrendering to this nasty virus, burrowing in bed with a couple of cheesy detective novels, a cup of hot tea and a plethora of OTC drugs, I am about to set sail again into my sea of learning. I even managed to write that blasted paper, do the film response and begin a painting. Not finish a painting, sorry to say. Accepting my limits is not my forte, but I was not very steady on my feet yesterday. Let us hope everything works all right so I can get through today. As illnesses go, this one came at the right time. I got sick Thursday afternoon, my last day of school for the week, and had the whole weekend to convalesce. This is a very short week, just two days, as we have Wednesday off, too, so I will not have to stay the whole course. So, in a funny way, it was a blessing. I also got lots of rest, which I probably needed. And a couple of people got me as their good deed, never a bad thing. Okay, I am ready. Not going very fast, but still going.

Oh, crap...

You know how it is. You plan, God laughs. I am sick. Lousy head cold. Usually this is not a problem. I keep a handy supply of day and night cold tablets, so I rarely get all messy and stuffed up. Except I was out this time, and I bought another brand, and they didn't work. The good news is that I had just put in a new supply of genuine Kleenex, the really soft kind. The bad news is I used a whole box in the night, and didn't get much sleep because of it. So I threw my sweats on and ran out to Rite-Aid for the right stuff, as well as some nasal spray. It is not a good idea to try to deal with nasal spray on two hours of fitful sleep as well as a headful of cold medicine. Heck, it took two days before I could open the pump thingy on my new bottle of shampoo, and I was unmedicated then. I just hope the new ones work. I am absolutely miserable here. When I get well, I am going to be so grateful for my health. Really I am.

And the beat goes on...

Delightful four day weekend, almost over. Just one more little day, and then back to school. I will be toting two new paintings, both done all in one session each. Shoes again. First I had to search under the bed for the mate to my Dearfoams. I wear my Bear Paws mostly, so these slippers have fallen into disuse. They are, however, eminently paintable, as they are garnet red quilted velvet with fleecy white interiors, very Christmasy and Santa Clausy. After scraping off all the dog hair that accumulated on the one I drug out from under the bed, I set them up on my little corner table in the studio. At the last moment, I added my brass alarm clock, the kind that has the bells on top and a tiny hammer that dings them. It made a dynamite composition, and I am very proud of the outcome. Today, I followed another brainstorm. It rained. I dragged out my rain boots for the trip to the mail box. They are knock-offs of those really chichi ones in the L.L. Bean catalog, $15 at King's Sporting Goods in Guerneville, and really comfortable and waterproof to boot. I also noticed they were rather handsome, so they went up on the studio table next. I toned the canvas bright orange. Almost none of it is visible in the final painting, but it still has a wonderful warmth to it, and is probably the best so far, though I don't have the one of the athletic shoes to compare it with as it is still in the slot at school, drying. I am so stoked! I am able to just go slap, slap with my brush, and my idea just emerges right out of the canvas! This is what I have been working toward all along. Don't you just love epiphanies?

The most amazing thing happened today...

After this morning's math test (not too hard and I think I only missed 1/2 of one problem and one tiny little thing on another, but I could be wrong), I headed off to painting class. We had a critique and it was really good. Everyone has come along and the paintings were wonderful. Then we started on our next a la prima piece. I had toned my canvas black (first time I tried this) and scraped my image in with a dry brush, sort of a grisaille look, that was really neat, actually. I was painting a portrait of my Tommy Hilfiger athletic shoes. This is painting no. 3 in my shoe series. I had this idea in my mind, and for the very first time, I saw it emerge on the canvas! I finished in record time, and voila! My aim this semester (and last semester, come to think of it) has been to loosen up my work, find my muse, and produce fun and interesting, richly textured painterly pieces. And it is beginning to happen! And yesterday, my figure drawing teacher praised my work big time. We drew the head for the first time, and this is where I can really shine. I got a great image of the kid who modelled for us, and came away very excited. It seems that I have found myself, or at least part of myself, that I just never knew was there. What a trip this whirl around the blue ball has been!

If it's Wednesday, it must be sociology...

You know, I wake up in the morning with a fairly good idea of what will happen next. Boo will pad over, sit on my chest and sneeze in my face. I will get up, pee, brush my teeth then head for the kitchen to uncover Phoebe. There is a pumpkin pie in the fridge, and I will eat a slice for breakfast (hey, it has eggs in it after all). When all my preparations are done (food and water for the fur and feather people, back door open for easy exit when necessary, bookbag packed, little purse around my neck, keys in pocket, sunglasses on, Boo's treat ready to throw), I head out into the day. But wait, what is this? My parking permit that lives wrapped around my rearview mirror is not there. I vaguely remember it fell down when I used the sunvisor thingy on Saturday. Since I am sitting on the road about to enter the insanity that is our underpass these days, I could not take further action. And then, at school, I tossed the car. No sign of that sucker. I wound up buying a $3 day pass. Bummer. And then, expecting to draw in figure drawing, we were treated to 2 hours of lecture and slides, while sitting on a tall stool without a back to rest on, or a potty break. After lunch, I trudged over to sociology, only to find class had been cancelled. So I went home. Oh, and I found the parking permit, tucked down between the windshield and the dashboard, where I put it so it would be easy to find. So it is only an illusion that I know what is going to happen next. Life is an eternal mystery. Kind of disconcerting if I think about it too much.

Sunday stuff...

The whole world goes out to breakfast on Sunday. Jeez. My movie bud and I finally got together to see The Jane Austin Book Club today. The only time it was (still) playing was 10:40AM at the local Smart People's Movie Theater, so we decided that, instead of our usual dinner and a movie, to do breakfast and a movie. This was one of those moments when the idea was far superior to the reality, as there were lines of folks out the doors of the first three restaurants we tried, even IHOP. We wound up at the Flamingo Hotel, and it was a great meal, but they were chomping at the bit to get us out of there so they could set up a luncheon, at 9:30 AM! It must have been the time change thing. (Happy as I am to have my hour back, I feel no compulsion to be overly grateful as no one asked if they could take it away in the first place.) Anyhoo, we had a crowd of happy seniors in the theater with us, and what a great film! I am so happy that Jane Austin is in again. Timeless and wonder-full romance should never go out of fashion. I am so ready to pick up this new trilogy of books some enterprising Austin-wannabee has written from the view point of Mr. Darcy, whose first name, in case you wondered, is Fitzwilliam. I will carry this warm gooey feeling around for a while, I am sure. Oh, please. If they can remake Sleuth all stark and scary they can certainly lay a new Persuasion or Mansfield Park on us, right?

My favorite shoes are now immortalized...

I am working ahead in painting class, because I was done before most of the others. Not a big surprise; I work fast and am easily bored. So I began the series of ala prima (done all in one session) paintings. Our instructions were to use a 16x20 canvas and paint 1) a fish on a plate or 2) a hunk of fish on a plate or 3) a package of meat, unopened or 4) fruit spilling out of a paper bag or5) shoes. So I brought my Bass clogs, distressed brown shoes, all lumpy from toes twiddling in them for a number of years, set them on the hind end of a drawing horse, illumined them with my work light and painted a picture of them with my handy dandy palette knife. And it turned out pretty well, if I say so myself. I am not unhappy. That is saying a whole hell of a lot, indeed. In fact, I am thinking of doing a series of shoe paintings, as this is my second one so far, including other objects too, like a hat, or a flower, or a lemon. Whatever. That sounds like a good deal, actually. Fun fast and satisfying. How could it get any better than that?

How irritating...

Now, I just love school. And I tend to gravitate to other students who are older, like I. So, there are these two older gals (older than most of the other students, not older than I) in my painting class. One is this rather over-the-top woman, red spiky hairdo, tres chic outfits, kind of mouthy, and the other is this very sweet blond gal, petite and perky. And they have bonded tightly. Their common ground, besides the painting, is their husbands. Every other word is "my husband", to which the other responds "well, MY husband". Really, how very trite. Now, I do not have a husband. But even if I did, I hope that my conversations would not revolve around him. I would hope that I would have a LIFE. One of my very own, exclusive of the person sharing my bed. I am realizing that I find these women irritating. I do not pal around with them, as I think I have little in common with them, though the blond is smart and funny and would probably become a friend, if the redhead would get lost. And I realize that I am being pretty exclusive, myself. I wonder if I could drop the name of my last ex-husband, and join their club? Okay, probably not. More better I just get over myself, and just keep plugging away at my painting, on the other side of the studio.

I hate it when that happens, Vol. CCCDXXIV

I seem to have thoroughly trashed my right wrist. It hurt, a little, for a long time. I ignored it. Now it hurts, a lot. Lugging the 40 lb. bookbag, lifting the 50 lb. portfolio, grabbing textbooks and huge drawing tablets, all added to the damage. Now it hurts to adjust the fan in my car. So I got a nice brace for it ($11.99 at Raley's), and some ibuprofen. This is good. Already it feels better, now that I am not re-injuring it daily. And, some things are good about this. As much as it is a hassle, I am learning to use my left hand for a lot of things, like opening doors and carrying heavy stuff. I hear that is very good for the brain (we drew a gesture drawing with our opposite hand recently, and I could not tell it from the others I did that day). And instead of pushing myself up off the couch with my hands, I am using the old thigh muscles, and I am sure that they are getting nice and tight because of it. Mostly I just have to remember not to push with it too much. I even drive better, because abrupt movement is what sends searing pain around my wrist and down my hand. Never thought there would be a moment when I pined for an automatic transmission, but here it is. Not missing any school, or letting it interfere with drawing or painting, though. So how bad could it be, anyway. Nuisance, this getting old is.

Friday morning, coming down...

It is a rainy, gray day. Boo is laying on the rug kind of whining, because he wants to go outside. The back door is open, as always, but does he want to go there? Oh, nonono. He wants to go out front, where there is no fence to keep him from the road that those yahoos in pickups like to scream down. I am feeling kind of deflated today. I couldn't finish my math homework I turned in yesterday. I was not alone, most of the class was in that boat. But I still hate it when that happens. Thank HP we have moved on to a new discipline, sets. Very interesting ways of looking at groups of things, ie days of the week, students in a class, etc. Very esoteric. And I finished my painting in class, four fruits on a saturated colored backdrop. After the painting in a limited palette of earth tones, this was a feast. I painted four fruits, artistically arranged against a ground of violet (compliment of yellow) and backdrop of bright blue (compliment of orange), a lemon, a peach, an Anjou pear and a squatty green pear. All are much larger than life, and it turned out not too badly. I got lots of interesting ideas while working on it, and am now ready to move on. To onions, probably. I came home yesterday pretty wrung out, and now am resting. Well, I had to run to the store for milk for my pancakes, and am now about to embark for Costco for coffee, then laundry and cleaning and a meeting, and, well, I'll rest later. There is a big pot of split pea soup bubbling on the stove, perfect for this dreary day, and cornbread leftover in the fridge from my first-of-the-season pot of chili. Smells really yummy. Onward into the day, little soldier.

Want a little frosting on that cake?

In addition to my triumphs in sociology and math, the in-class critique of the latest two paintings went splendidly indeed. Everything the teacher pointed out was good and to my credit. Well, actually to her credit, because I have been following her directions. I am pretty much the only one doing that. With instructions to use definite props (black shoe, shoebox, two lemons and a potato), limited palette (earth tones only), and an 18x24 canvas, other students showed up with 10x14 blue paintings of peppers, onions, red apples, etc. What is that about? Well, I don't know how it served them, but I got an A, on every painting I have done so far. It pays to 1) show up and 2) follow directions. And I have learned a lot. Really.

A little retail therapy...

It has occurred to me that I may have only 20 little years left on our big blue ball, so waiting to have things is pretty, well, stupid. So, I replaced a couple of older things that were less than wonderful lately. First was my digital camera, poor little 3.2 megapixel thing that it is. The new one is 8 megapixels (!) and cost less than half of the first one. Ain't technology grand. It is also terribly tiny, soooooo cute, with a bigger viewing display, too. Thrilling. Then I got this $20 off coupon for a phone system that set me yearning. Mine was a funky AT&T model, with only one cordless extension, and the handset had a cord, which always made me feel tethered to my desk. The display was kind of murky, and it had an irritating ring (I didn't know that until I got the new, melifluous one). So, off to Costco on the first day the coupon was valid, and now I have four cordless phones sitting in the office, the studio, the kitchen counter where I can get it from the living room, and of course, the bedroom. They all have a well lighted display I can (almost) read without my glasses. This gizmo does some really nice stuff, like keep track of the last Caller IDs and I loaded a boatload of numbers into the head handset, and taught all the others my phonebook. I don't even need to look at the display, however, because the phone speaks to me, and tells me who is on the line! Very handy when I am in the bathtub, let me tell you. So no more fear that I will trip over the dog on my way to pick up a call from the Society toBeautify the Desert and spend what is left of this life in a neckbrace. It is pretty wonderful in the end. Ah, the good life, short though it may be.

Oh. My. God.

WARNING: I am about to brag. That is different, I know. Usually I gripe. Or moan. Or thrash about in my existential angst. But today, folks, is triumphant, indeed. I got an A on my math midterm! Who'd of thunk it? I assure you it was just a fluke. I didn't study all that much, just let it go and understood that if I didn't know it, I wasn't going to know it. This is the last math class I will ever take, thank the gods, and really, I am not all that invested in terrific grades as I will not be using the scholarship program next year. However, it never hurts to shine. And my spirit is buoyed considerably. I thought I was really stinking up the place this semester, kind of burnt out on academia. And then, WOW! So, if you see an old woman dancing around and acting tres heureuse, c'est moi!

Sociological me...

Last Wednesday was my first midterm in sociology. Have I mentioned that this is what I thought college was all about? I didn't find it in philosophy ( and couldn't tell you a thing about the subject now, either), or in psychology, which was all about brain parts and neurotransmitters, very little to question. But sociology is all about questions, about seeing the strange in the familiar, and taking it all apart to examine our norms, our values, our beliefs. Culture. Soooo interesting. And that is showing in my performance. Now, I have been kind of hanging my head, getting 14 of 15 on little papers, 17.5 of 20 on bigger ones. But today, I got my test back and I got 78 out of 80, the highest grade in the class! In fact, with 96%, I have the highest grade overall to date! Now, that's hot. This little mild-mannered professor is no pushover, for sure. I really have to put it together just the way she wants it, pay attention to every little thing. I am getting better at that all the time, as my paper got 20 out of 20 for the first time, because I read and followed the directions. So, even though I say I am not invested in grades this school year, it is really nice to know my efforts are being noticed. Very nice, indeed.

Midterm heebie jeebies...

Time for test, already. Good news is they will all be over by 10 AM Thursday, and then it is free-wheeling time again. Bad news is they happen bang, bang. Not much time between them, and tons of stuff to review. Luckily I am up to snuff. I hope. And then there is the painting critique Thursday afternoon. We had a homework assignment, kind of a doozie. Paint a still life of a shoe, two lemons, a shoebox, and a potato, ala prima (all in one session of three hours or less), using only earth tones (yellow ochre, burnt sienna, raw umber, black and white) on an 18x24 inch canvas, in palette knife. Well, it is done, and I like it. It makes me laugh. I will probably keep it, because there is so much paint on the canvas I will never be able to paint over it. While I like palette knife paintings, I need a whole lot more work with this medium before I get it to where I don't make a mega-mess. This definitely feels like college for kindergarteners. I think it would have been neater to do this with my fingers. And what a good girl am I! I followed the directions, did the work (early, too) and I should get a pat on the head, for sure.

Hey, look at me! I'm doing nothing!

Okay, sociology is everything I thought college would be all about. We contemplated whether a tree would exist, as such, without the context of society and its symbols (like language). And our answer, the one our little group came up with, was NO! There would just be one big amorphous blob of stuff without any deliniation. And that seemed to please the professor, so I guess we were right, or at least our argument held water. And today, I went to WalMart, as I do at the end of every month when I get paid, to stock up on things like bubble bath, hair coloring, squeaky toys for the Boo, birdseed for Phoebe, and little irresistible goodies like a new lipstick or two, and instead of heading into the store for my assault on the aisles, I parked myself in front, right by the entrance, and stood there for ten minutes, doing nothing. My assignment was to not fidget, not look at my watch and pretend I was waiting for someone, just stand there. Fortunately, because I have a yoga DVD, I know how to stand like a mountain already. Now, I had planned on standing at the curb on the southeast corner, but there was an art show going on, bunches of kind of cheesy oil paintings, painted with a lot of elan, I must admit, so my appointed corner was occupied with canvasses on easels. I chose to stand by the second pillar of the overhang, facing the oncoming traffic. It was in full sun, so I left on my sunglasses, and that made me more comfortable, if possible. At first, I was just terrified. I have spent all my life trying to be inconspicuous, and there I was, standing in public, in front of God and everyone. Then I noticed that everyone could have cared less. No one looked at me, not even the artists who were selling their wares, and in the same area as I the whole time I stood there. I didn't have a timer, though I had considered bringing my kitchen timer (not a good idea to be standing in public, ticking, I decided) and someone said I could set my cell phone to vibrate after ten minutes (I don't know how to do that, even if I could find my cell phone), I finally just winged it. In fact, I got so comfortable there in my little square foot of space, I stood there for fourteen minutes before checking my watch. One old lady gave me a dirty look, and a couple of little ones gazed up at me quizzically, otherwise, I was invisible. Which proves that self is a social concept, and without interaction, I really am nobody at all. How rad is that!

I hate it when that happens, Vol. MMMCCCVII

Once again, I lost my keys. It was my spare set, so I didn't exactly have to freak out or anything. Nevertheless, it is only a matter of time before I lose my main set, too, and then things could get dicey, like I couldn't go anywhere and I know from past experience that it costs over $150 to get Ford to make me a new remote thingy. Now, I kind of looked for them, off and on, for the last two weeks, shuffling through the magazines heaped on the coffee table, pushing aside all the junk on my desk, toeing through the pile of books by the side of the bed. Yesterday, I got serious. I cleaned up the aforementioned messes. No keys. I went through the closet looking in jacket pockets (where did all those jackets come from anyway?). While I was at it, I organized the closet a little. I swept under the bed and behind the dresser. As a last resort, I went through my jean drawer, rifling the pockets, and, on the bottom-most layer, found them in my little jean peddlepushers that I haven't worn forever. Quite a relief. And what a blessing. The house was clean, too.

Adieu, Luciano...

I don't take a newspaper, and since I am not working at home any more, I don't even get sound bites on the radio And my blips on my home screen are always so depressing, kids blowing themselves up and stuff, I kind of don't look at them, either. So I was shocked to see that my idol, Luciano Pavarotti, died this week. I use the work "idol" kind of loosely here. His music saw me through a painful time in my life, led me back to the light, which is what his first name means, you know. He was really a bombastic ass, and when he divorced his wife, I was pretty much over him. Still, his gift was prodigious. I hope he remembered that it was only a gift, as now HP has silenced it forever, reclaimed it. I do have many recordings, including the entire score of Turandot, to remember this man by. And I have now subscribed to the NY Times online, and will be getting daily headlines, movie and book reviews. Not going to be left out of the loop any more.

It's not easy being me, Vol. MCCXXXIV

Truly, I am blessed. Though I am 63, I don't look it. And most of the time, I don't feel it, either. This is despite the need for a whole host of products that I wasn't aquainted with just a few months ago. Like under-eye depuffer. It seems that I sleep on my side a lot, with my down pillow all scrunched up under my cheek, causing me to wake up with these little pouches under my eyes. I tried these little pod thingies, squeeze dab and massage. No soap. Next I tried to train myself to sleep on my back. Yeah, that'll happen. Now I am trying a new lotion, and it seems to be helping, though my basset hound look is still with me until at least noon every day. I just try to stay behind my shades a lot. Ginko biloba is on my list, because I want to keep those neural pathways firing. And I still take magnesium, to help me absorb my calcium. I buy huge bags of tooth pick thingies that help me floss behind those pesky molars in back. And soy, for hot flashes, and Estrin D, to perk up my flagging metabolism. Today, my back hurts. Today, I feel my age, it is aching bone deep. Pardon me while I snivel.

Weather woes...

We are having a schizophrenic September, hot as Hades one day, gray and damp the next. Sad, because we are a monoculture here, and the vineyards will get bunchrot at worst, and harvest will be in November, at best. Serves them right for putting all their grapes in one basket, if you ask me. Of course, I no longer imbibe, so what do I care, anyway. But gray days mean sitting out at the tables at the food court, shivering while scarfing down a 1/3 lb. hamburger and a mountain of fries because I always believe I need more fuel when it gets cold. In fact, I had soup tonight, a lovely black bean soup from Trader Joe's, with a nice salad, to make up for that humungous burger. Then, later on, as I fished around in the cupboard for some tea, I came upon this innocent little envelope of Betty Crocker muffin mix, lemon poppyseed. Gosh, where did that come from? Probably one of my Sunday sojourns at Target, where they now have a whole bunch of groceries, and I see things I normally avoid at Safeway. So, I made them, with some cranberries thrown in for good measure, then broke my eating plan by scarfing one of them down while it was still hot, with (ohmygod) BUTTER! Like, I never do that. Well, never is way too long a time, n'est-ce pas? And it is really cold tonight, I am even thinking I should turn on the heat.

Welcome to the Nacirema tribe...

Our 2nd assignment in sociology was to read this article called Body Rituals Among the Nacirema then write a paper on another of this tribes practices. Well, I read it, and these people were literally obsessed with their bodies! But how was I to write about any other aspect of their lives? I procrastinated. This is my usual solution when I don't know what to do. I even asked the teacher, who told me "You are an expert on these people." Huh? So, I decided, at the eleventh hour, when I could no longer put it off, to read the article again and extrapolate as much information as I could. I had decided to write about dietary practices, so I first needed to learn the climate of their location so I could determine what crops they could grow, what prey they would hunt, etc. And, gee, their location sure sounded familiar. Like, it was my location, too! And then I looked at the name of the tribe, and I got it. Nacirema is American, backwards. Another trip through the article had me howling. I decided to write about mating habits, in the same tongue in cheek anthrospeak as the article. It nearly wrote itself. Now I know that sociologists have a definite sense of humor, which I bet they really need when they are looking through their magnifying glass at our culture. We could all take a page out of their book, and laugh at ourselves a whole hell of a lot more. I know I am.

The very non-erotic naked person I saw today...

We began the drawing phase of our figure drawing class today. Dear Kevin had to regale us with an anatomy lesson first, and some guidance on proportions which were actually quite useful, and then we got down to the nitty-gritty. Don, our model, had stood in his Bermudas for Kevin's talk, then shed every little thing and stood fully frontal for his first pose. I was so busy trying to get everything the right size (yes, everything, even that), I forgot to notice that he was naked. We drew three different poses, from different angles. I took a look at all the other efforts and had to laugh at how many overstated those pesky genitals that were just hanging out all over the place. In relation to the figure, they weren't particulary large, in my estimation, and actually, as genitalia go, quite nice. I got some pretty good stuff down on paper, if I say so myself. I have a way to go, but I am not starting from the very bottom of the pack, that's for sure. It's a God thing, this talent for drawing. What a gift it is. And what a gift this model was, too. Nice body, sweet smile.

What a zoo!

I had forgotten what the first days of school were like. I arrived early and still had a hassle parking. Heck, even getting into the garage was a challenge. The left turn lane was two blocks long, and I wound up on the 3rd floor, the highest I have ever had to go to park so far, so the garage is not a well-kept secret anymore. Because the cafeteria is closed for remodel, there are 6 food courts around campus, all of the al fresco, so I hope they finish that job before it rains. It was a delight, though, after drawing class, to linger over a swell chicken salad beneath the trees, just sitting on the wall of the planter. Two of my friends found me there. But I am ahead of myself. An old buddy, Kayla, is in my drawing class. She is very, very cute, bubbly, blond, and sweet. I think this class is going to be a hoot, because Kevin (our teacher) promises we will be drawing a lot. This did not happen enough last semester, and will be mostly due to the fact that we have models coming in, and that's what they are there for, to draw. Kevin filled our 3 hour slot with a long exposition on the course, and some slides, too. Then I met up with Travis and Victoria at lunch, after which I headed over to get my new student ID, but the line was so long (and so slooooow), I wound up leaving for my next class, sociology across the street. It looks like a whole bunch of fun. She also let us out early, which was good, because I did not have all the books I needed, occasioning another trip to the bookstore, where they know how to do it. Despite the long, long lines, I was in and out with alacrity. I hit the art supply store on the way home for some supplies, and now have organized my Artbin and packed the portfolio for storage in the locker I got right away before class, and was surprised to be assigned the very same locker I had last year! Now, what are the odds of that! Different combination, though. Well, I memorized my student ID#, nine digits, I can certainly remember five more, right? God, I hope so. One more first day, tomorrow, then I had better be onboard, because as I remember, it takes off pretty fast from there. Happy, happy, joy, joy. I just love being a college student!

Adieu, summertime...

Ah, that was the summer that was. School starts on Monday, so goodbye rushing off to the movies on a whim, especially when it is hella-hot and I just need some cool dark place to be. It has been a summer to remember, movie-wise, topped off with that uncharacteristic and pretty hedonistic trip to the big City for Harry Potter in Imax 3D. I saw my last one last night, just because it is my final weekend of freedom for a while, Death at a Funeral. I am not particularly fond of screwball comedies, unless they star Cary Grant. But I fell in love with Matthew Macfadyen as Mr. Darcy in the new Pride and Prejudice, and wanted to see what he could do as a stodgy, somewhat fluffy author wannabe in a comedy. Surprise, the theater was packed and I was relegated to a seat in the third row, so my neck got a nice stretch, too. It took a while, but in the end, we were all roaring. And my guy did not disappoint. He has a sweet nuance to his demeanor that did not beat us about the head and face, but left this viewer with gratitude for his restraint. Most reviewers like this picture, I found out afterward (I try not to read reviews first, feeling my own opinion is all that matters, anyway). It was a fitting swansong for my summer. Now if I can just get that ##$%&$* lawn mowed.

All will be revealed...

Now I know why I stay away from the mall. I came home yesterday, $140 lighter. Well, the Gap was having this sale, and I got three really swell tops (school clothes, you know) for $50. That's not a bad deal, Gapwise. Then this sweet young thing stopped me and bamboozled me into buying her product. Actually, I was not much of a hard sell after she demonstrated it to me. You see, I have always wanted to look well-groomed. And I always fell short, no matter how carefully I arranged my hair, painted my toenails, pressed my clothes, or made up my face, because my fingernails are always a mess. They are usually all different lengths because they split and tear very easily. The cuticles look like little pieces of rope that have been frayed one too many times. I try, really I do. I file them, I use all kinds of chichi lotions (gifts from my daughter, mostly) several times a day. But I also wash my hands 15 times a day (tired old bladder, also a gift from my daughter), which dries everything up even worse, not to mention turpentine when I clean up after painting. And to add insult to injury, a couple of my nails are now ridged like wide-waled corduroy. Well, back to that sweet young thing at the mall, who took my hand and looked at my nails, ouch. She said, choose one and give it to her. So I gave her a puckered, ridged one. Might as well make this a challenge. She said "Prepare to be amazed." And she took this little cube and buffed it to a brilliant shine! Without polish! So I bought the whole shebang from her, kind of expensive, but well worth it. There is a year's worth of manicures in that box, and it is really easy, does not involve sticky polish that gets all over the cuticle, and other surfaces, too. And the cuticle oil has improved those little suckers, too. And it is strange, but my nails feel harder and denser than they did before, too. She said the buffing massages the nail bed and encourages stronger nails. Well, whoop-de-doo! I cannot stop looking at my nails! This is really exciting for me. Now, if I could just afford that facelift.

The many faces of Boo...

Pardon me while I anthropomorphize my dog, but I have lived with this creature for nigh on to nine years, and I know all his moods and expressions. Boo is a little fluffy black dog with white markings, a mix of something and Tibetan spaniel, though he was billed as a Pekingnese mix by his breeders. That means he has a little squatty snout, not quite all the way flat, with a deep crevice over his tiny nose that requires the assistance of a Q-Tip to clean. Interesting fact about short-nosed dogs - their palate is just as long as a long-nosed dog, and sometimes gets caught in their throats, causing an alarming amount of snorting to ensue. I have been assured that this is not life-threatening, but I am quick to slap Boo on the back to help him dislodge it promptly. He also seems to have a very long (and very pink) tongue. He can lick his eyebrows. Which brings me to his morning face, eyes kind of at half-mast, tongue flicking in and out, in and out. When fully awake, he stands on my belly with his tongue lolling out, his Get-up-dammit expression. Every day, after I make the bed (with Boo on it, of course, it's kind of tricky), I open the blinds and Boo pricks his ears and his eyes get huge, and you just know he has never seen the front yard before, surprise! If I pick up one of his squeaky toys (he only likes the plush ones, which he eagerly disembowels) and throw it, he becomes Boo Roger Ramjet, lays back his ears, gets this crazed look in his eyes, and races around madly, stopping suddenly to reverse direction. When he gets the toy, he is likely to shake the hell out of it, a regular 18 lb killing machine. Boo gets regular doggy massages, where he lays his head back, half closes his eyes, and would purr if he had the equipment. But my favorite Boo look is the one I get when I poke at him in the evening, usually when he is sprawled out on the bed on his back, with all his business hanging out for the world to see, snoozing away. He will flip over and gaze at me over his shoulder with the What-the-hell-can't-you-see-I-am-sleeping look. And I do mean gaze. He will just stare at me until I apologize and promise to leave him be. So don't tell me dogs don't have personalities. Boo is the best dog in the world. When I come home, he rears up on his hind feet, making happy little cries, and does his Give-me-ten welcome, whether I was gone ten minutes or ten hours. Life with Boo is sweet. Messy, sometimes smelly, but sweet.

Me and my pain...

I have emerged from the last little rocky boat of psychic pain, a little unsteady and with a whole bunch of new insight. It wasn't any different than if I had whacked my thumb with a hammer. Man, that hurts! I always feel that it is unbearable in the beginning, but, of course, it isn't. And it only hurts at that level for a few seconds. Then it settles into this kind of continual moaning pain, throbbing with my heartbeat. I apply ice, and maybe some arnica, if I can find it, and persevere until it settles down. Notice that I do not yell at it, or say that I shouldn't be hurting like this, or feel that it is unfair. In the weeks that follow, I forget about the pain, until I bump up against something that triggers it again. That is always a surprise, when that happens. And it always does. Happen, I mean. That is the stage I am in at this moment. A stray thought will start the pain up again. It is only a shadow of the original, though. The only thing different from the hammer blow and this process is that I am not sure of the instrument of my torture. I have needed to do some sleuthing in the messy mire of my subconcious mind to find the source. It is old, essential pain this time, something hard-wired into my screwy psyche. Whatever, I am still glad to be me, glad that I have friends who will listen to me piss and moan, glad that I have a mind that can do the detective work, and a heart that can still break, and be patched up, yet again.

Blame it on Harry...

So, long time, no write. What can I say? Harry arrived a week ago, and I spent most of my time either reading it, or thinking about reading it. Actually, I read very slowly, knowing that finishing would be a time of withdrawal. This book did an amazing job of tying together all the threads that were dangling out there, and funnily enough, actually provided a wondrous sense of closure. I had to laugh at Time Magazine, who stated that the thing that was killed in the Harry Potter novels was God. The Almighty was substituted by that piddly human emotion, love. Like what is God if not love? Really, people, get a grip! There are obvious Christian symbols in this series if one wants to see them. Like Voldemort's sidekick is a snake. Let's see, who else used that symbol? And Harry always questions his motives before acting, not unlike that other guy. And the end of the last novel, well, you read it and see the striking Easter Sunday correlation. It was all about innocence and evil, guys! Sort of like the Bible.

Oh, give me a break...

The new issue of Time features a comprehensive article on addiction and brain activity, like someone will make a breakthrough and invent a pill to cure alcoholism, drug addiction, compulsive gambling, etc., etc., etc. Every once in a while, one of our fellowship will wistfully wish for such a pill, and the rest of us at the meeting will kind of titter behind our hands. What Bill Wilson so wisely understood (and he was a towering intellect, just read his book) was that alcholics have much more than a drinking problem. In fact, the drinking is just a symptom of a much more far-reaching, pervasive disease, one I think of as self-loathing. So he and the first 100 recovering drunks came up with the 12 steps, clear directions that gave actions that could lead to a transformation by cleaning up our act. Only by doing the necessary housecleaning and changing our victim mentality could we accomplish long-term abstinence. If, indeed, there were such a pill, as soon as the addict felt better, she would inevitably stop taking it, the same way the mentally ill do, because she would begin to believe she was cured. Doesn't make sense to sane people, but alcoholics are not particularly sane. Yes, that includes little old moi. At least I know where I am nuts. Now, that's progress!

And then there was IMax...

You know, when I was a kid, most movies were still black and white. Color movies were very rare indeed. Television had not been invented yet, and we listened to soap operas and mystery shows on the radio (I remember doing that on the way home one night with the kids in the car, early in the 1980's, a revival spooky ghost story, and the kids were terrified - says something about leaving stuff to the imagination, huh). So I am still pretty amazed by how far we have come in our technology in my 63 years here on the planet. Today, I saw the Harry Potter movie on a screen 80 by 100 feet, with multitudes of speakers, in a theater that seated 600 thrilled people, with the last 20 minutes in 3D. I was just mesmerized. Okay, maybe it was not high art. But man, it was exciting. Even my oh so sophisticated kid got all stirred up when she saw they were handing out those glasses. And gosh, poor Harry, losing Sirius and still stuck going home to those horrid Dursleys. Saturday, the new book arrives. Oh, man, that's heaven, a movie and a book all in the same earthly week!

Long time no write...

Well, that just goes to show ya'. The more time I have to get things done, the less that happens. Let's see. I survived my little pity party, now am feeling pretty healed. Boo got his annual bath, always an event in this house. It was hella-hot, so I plunked my little guy in half a tub full of warm water, and didn't let the dearth of dog shampoo deter me. He got scrubbed with Dove shampoo, and now smells just like me. I was worried that he was getting fat till after this event. Apparently, his girth was all hair, and it apparently was all being held together with dirt, because as soon as I dried him off, most of it fell out. All over the house. He is now sleek and soft and ever so trim. During my little spate of unhappiness, I went to the movies. A lot. After Shrek, I saw Ratatouille (funny, sweet, totally wonderful) and the new Die Hard movie (funny, smart, totally gratifying gratuitous violence) and most recently, Golden Door. Now, there's a film that shows what film can do. It illuminated a part of history that is both ignominious and fascinating, the immigration system at Ellis Island. We got to follow this simple Italian family from their rocky (really ROCKY) roots to their successful entry into the States, followed by this Englishwoman groupie. It took a half hour into the movie to decide that I liked it, mostly because it was so artsy and very subtle, really different from our American fare. And we sat in the last row, where I was behind this guy with a big round head that blotted out a lot of the subtitles. Then it got so amazing that I totally forgot that guy. Gee, I love it when that happens! And tomorrow, oh boy! Kiddo and I are headed for the Metreon to see Harry Potter at the IMax 3D theatre! Fandango.com!

And now for something completely different...

That will sound familiar to all you Monte Python fans out there. Life is, after all, mostly ludicrous, right? Right. Lately, as you may have read, I am experiencing speedbumps on my highway of life, and feeling kind of low. So I had a choice. I could dig out the chips and soda, impress a mold of my butt on the couch and watch old episodes of Dog , the Bounty Hunter, or Bridezillas. Or, I could take my butt out to meetings and church and around the neighborhood, dog in tow. That is called getting into action. I already do lots of service for others. Time to reel it in and take care of number one. And the strangest things happen when I set foot on this path. Electrical appliances often die on me. This time it is my blow dryer, the one I bought to replace the one that died during my last spiritual crisis. Poor thing is just sputtering. And yesterday, the panic button went off in my car, you know, honk, honk, honk. Admittedly, the keys were in my pocket, but I was in the back of the house, and the car was in the driveway out front. And as if that wasn't enough annoyance, my kitchen sink is all backed up. I hate it when that happens. So I am sitting here, listening to the tapes a friend made of the music of our youth (he's even older than I am, so some songs are a little obscure even to me), awaiting the plumber. Yes, I did the Liquid Drano thing. Twice. Stubborn clog just laughed at me. And I must be getting better, because I laugh every so often, too. Mostly at myself. After all, if I learn to laugh at myself, I will never be without a source of amusement.

Healing happens...

I am on the mend from my little dip into the pool of icky sticky ooey gooey slimy self-centered fear. It will come up from time to time, and cause all kinds of havoc. Getting out of it is definitely a purification process, and this always impels me into action, making the changes needed to, well, change. I am going to different meetings, actually went to church this Sunday, and am reading The Secret, which I already knew and just needed to be reminded of. This morning, I made myself pancakes with (sugar-free) strawberry jam, sliced almonds, a banana and Cool Whip, one addiction I am never recovering from. Really a treat. Now I am dressed in my little shorts and tank top, suitable for a trip down to Barnes and Noble in search of a book by John Tarrant, who spoke at my little church sojourn, a Zen teacher, very interesting man from Tazmania, and who thought there were still people coming from Tazmania? Anyway, his book is about the value of suffering. I need that at the moment.

The awful truth...

Here's what happened. Two and half years ago, I left a long-term relationship. Except he never went away. We separated, forty miles apart, but he continued to call, I saw him at least once a week at our mutual meeting, and we did some activities together, not dates, just activities. And last Thursday, he told me he is seeing someone. So I fell apart. Well, I never did when I moved here, and this is my usual way of dealing with the end of relationships, melting into a rather unattractive puddle until I get sick of myself, and get it together again. I was way overdue. During my last crying jag, I realized that this is a truly safe time to fall apart, when he is not available and I am not tempted to soothe myself with him. That would be a very, very, very bad idea. I have be reading old journals of our time together, and I was not a happy camper most of the time. This man has a whole menu of behaviors that are at best difficult to live with. There is the non-stop monologue of his most miniscule activities. There is the whining about his finanacial situation. There is his financial situation, which is dicey, all the time. And there were some really stinky personal habits, too. Okay, he was sexy. And he is an amazing artist, and he taught me to paint, and we had some really wondrous moments, too. Letting go is painful, and oh, so necessary. It also happens to be ten years to the day since we met, and fell in love. I like to fall in love in the summer, I find. Oh, well.

Reality bites.

As much as I hate to admit it, I have put on a few pounds. Don't you hate it when that happens? I can still get into most of my wardrobe, and that's good. However, in certain things, I do somewhat resemble an Italian sausage. And I have this uncomfortable feeling when propped up in bed reading, like there is this shelf that didn't used to be there, right below my boobs. So, we have once again bitten the bullet and committed to an eating plan. Not a diet, that's too deprivation sounding. Eating plan is better, because it is about eating, after all. Lots of salad, not a hard thing to do when the weather is like today, all toasty warm. And some exercise, fueled by a little over-the-counter diet remedy, formulated for post-menopausal gals like me. I never need the full dose of that stuff. My little system is so very sensitive, one of those capsules keeps me dashing about all day long. I estimate that in 6 weeks I will be all slim and comfy again in my pants. It really is about being comfortable. And continuing to fit into my wardrobe. I refuse to buy fat pants anymore.

And there's more...

Of course. Movies, I mean. I saw this documentary on the making of Star Wars the other night. Man, it was a mess. More time went into the manifestation of the idea than into the movie. George Lucas actually consulted with Joseph Campbell, which may be one major reason that it became such a huge hit. There are archtypical heros and nemeses in this saga that resonate in all of us. Like Spielberg's ET, where we all knew the greatest fear, abandonment. Anyway, it had a minimal budget, there was no special effects department capable of handling their needs, the cast was somewhat amateurish, except those wonderful British actors, Alec Guiness and Peter Cushing, whose presence gave the film great weight in the end. The locations were hellish, the robots kept malfunctioning. In the end, there were marathon filming sessions on many sets at once, and ditto the editting process. Lucas went out on a limb and hired John Williams to give it a symphonic score, and they had to coerce theaters to book it by offering it as a package with The Other Side of Midnight, a mediocre potboiler to say the most. And it just took off. This "kid's movie" created an international phenomenon, so much so that the toy manufacturers were caught off guard and had to offer at Christmas empty boxes with pictures of action figures to be shipped in March. This was a movie I fell in love with, saw several times in the theater, bought on tape as soon as it came out. Actually, don't tell anyone, but we had a pirated tape of it before its release. And I have the soundtrack, too. It is noodling away in the background as I type, kind of synchronous, don't you think?