Fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy life...

Spring has become more schizophrenic than I could possibly believe. Definitely an "el nino" year. Rain, then sunny but COLD, then thundershowers and hail, then sunny and WARM. Today, the marine layer is back, which makes it look more like summer here in lalaland. My moods have been riding this rollercoaster, too. I got really doI lman again. That turned out being a quick toss of the closet. Hell, I even vacuumed in there! Sweaters and jackets went back to the spare closet. A couple of things came out to be mended. I organized. I found my Adventure Pass, the one that still had 6 lapswims on it at the local aquatic center and was missing from my tote bag when I looked for it. I put away the boots and clogs and dragged out the hiking boots for my upcoming en plein air class on top of a local mountain. It is all good. I am mending. It is just who I am, this person who can easily fall into the ooey gooey pit of self pity. Oh, and I saw two movies. The new SATC was fun to watch, the clothes and the men were gorgeous though the gals are looking a little careworn around the edges (kind of like ME), and City Island was a hoot, the best film I have seen so far this year, bar none. Sorry to see Andy Garcia is no longer the matinee idol he once was (see When a Man Loves a Woman, wow), kind of a fireplug guy, but he has matured into a great actor. And I hit the library for some books. Just love the library, you know. Also bought the first of my new wardrobe, which I have decided will be loose and flowy. I'm aiming for comfort in my netheryears. JJill is right up my alley. Pray for sales.

Little did I know...

I am a highly sensitive person. Really. There is a website dedicated to HSPs. I took the quiz. How sweet it is to be validated, and to know that there are millions out there just like me, you know, the ones that cry at the movies. Hell, I cry over commercials on TV. There is such comfort in knowing that I AM NOT ALONE! All my life, people have looked down their very insensitive noses at me and told me I was OVER-REACTING, or, as one ex-husband who shall remain nameless called me, CRAZY. And I would kind of slither back into my hole, ashamed that once more, I was feeling things too deeply. The truly interesting part of this is that, at this juncture in my life, I am less sensitive than I have ever been. I realize that what people do and say around me is NOT ABOUT ME! It is just what they do and say, and they would do it even if I were not in the equation. And their behavior is on them, not me. Gee, if I could somehow influence how people behaved, don't you think I would have them singing and dancing instead of red in the face and pissed off? Duh. So I am happy to own my sentitivity. The ability to feel deeply may give me awful pain once in a while, but it also gives me delight and joy beyond reason. Small price to pay.

I and my body...

Most of my life up until now, my body has been my enemy. It was too tall. It was uncoordinated. Anything that felt good was a SIN. It got fat. After seven decades of life, my body and I have made peace with one another. I took a RealAge quiz to determine the age of my joints, and they are only 33 years old! Same with my bones. The hormones have dialed down to simmer. They no longer dictate my actions. Big relief there. The gym has firmed up everything that could be firmed up. I can live with the rest. And food, that former mood-altering substance, has now become a means of nurturing my body, instead. I still opt for things I like (never eating another rice cake as long as I live - I'd rather eat the box), but fortunately, I like broccoli and carrots and avacados, and eat a lot of them. I had paper-thin pancakes, fresh raspberries, banana and sliced almonds for breakfast. With Cool Whip on top. Okay, I opt for some processed food. I can only be so good, you know, before I disgust myself. I only know that I am not ashamed of my shape at the gym, where I always rub myself down with lavender scented oil after my final shower. I am not one who can stand nude in front of the mirror while doing it, like the Asian women with their tidy little forms. But I also don't have to hide under a big towel. It is all very freeing.

Amazed and confused, as usual.

Another semester is history. This was my last figure drawing, a ten minute pose. We had spent the previous two hours fifty minutes meticulously working on head/hands/feet studies, so I was tired and irritable and just wanted to get home for some homemade chili, so I just made big gashes of charcoal on the paper, not really thinking. And wouldn't you know it, that is exactly what is necessary to get a dynamic image like this one. Yesterday I met with the teacher for final portfolio review. Now, these last four and a half months, he stopped by my horse to pick at something that was wrong. The most complimentary he became was the couple of times he told me to stop, it was just fine as it was. But yesterday, he said I had done extraordinary work, eloquent work, artful work. You know, I knew that. I felt the shift that happens midterm, when it got easier and fell into place, when my decisions all seemed right on. But I couldn't exalt until HE thought so, too. I don't think this is different from most artists. You're nobody till somebody loves your work, too. Pity.

Long time, no blog...

Sometimes, my terribly busy and fascinating life just rolls over me, and I can't seem to do simple ordinary things like blog without what seems to be extraordinary effort. Don't know why that happens, it just does. I can get all frenzied about mowing the lawn or doing the laundry, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Anyway, in the hiatus, I have actually done some fun stuff. I did my mother-visit on the day before Mother's Day, so that I could be free to see my sweet kiddos on the actual holiday, a true treat. Now, my mother is hella-old, and she has everything a human being could ever ask for or want. In the past, I would ponder and puzz, and wind up spending beaucoup bucks for something she would glance at once, toss aside, and wind up giving back to me at a later date. I have learned my lesson here. I went to Trader Joe's and bought her an unusual orchid plant and a card, all for under $10, then packed up the dogs and headed over. She loves the Pickle, because Pickle jumps up and kisses her and sits on her lap. I don't tell her Pickle loves everyone, so she can think Pickle just loves her. That seems to be best for everyone, including Pickle. Then, on the actual day, I drove to mahvelous Marin to meet Big and Little Kiddo for the Marin Open Studios tour. We saw the galleries downtown, and found a dozen or so studios right there. After an exotic lunch at ElSol, we prowled around and inspected art of all kinds. My daughter gave me a gift certificate to the local art supply store! That's just the best, because I am low on watercolor paper and small canvases for my summer landscape class. Yay!

My Wednesday night women's circle has found its moniker. It came from a reading in a meditation book speaking of the divine light we all have to share with the world. But, if we are a perfect pot, there is no way to let it shine. It is only when we are cracked that we can share ourselves fully. So we are now the Sisterhood of the Cracked Pots. That certainly resonates for me.

Friday night, I got to go to our local performing arts center to see the Smothers Brothers. Tommy Smothers lives here and has his own winery out in the Valley of the Moon. Dickie flew in from Florida. This was their next to last performance, ever. And even though we had SRO tickets (my friend gets voucers for ushering there), I enjoyed every moment of the performance. Tommy did his yoyo routine. There was a film of their earlier performances on television. It all made me remember when I was young, way back when dirt was new. The audience was decidedly gray. My people!

School ends tomorrow for me. I have almost finished the final project for figure drawing: two non-Western figures, one from Japanese zen painting tradition, the other a portrait of Shiva wrapped in snakes. Shiva should count as two, actually, because he has four arms. Just happy to have finished another semester. Finishing stuff has never been my strong suit. Oh, and my diploma arrived in the mail. Took a long time, but the hard part is over. Someday, maybe I will be able to get that BA, too. Hey, could happen! It's all good, here, folks.

Blues and I...

Well, I bribed myself to get out of bed with banana pancakes topped with Cool Whip, toasted sliced almonds and cinnamon. Now casting about for a really good reason to get dressed. Our bipolar spring is back to normal, after a frigid rainstorm yesterday. It is really strange when the trees blown over have blossoms on them. That means I could work in the yard. Yeah, that'll happen. I could wash the car, except every time I have done this, well, the last three times, it rained the next day. Hey, I swear, it's true. And of course, the pseudo lawn has grown shaggy again, so mowing should be on the list. And the gym, must get to the gym. Today is the day I need to shape up my final portfolio for figure drawing class, too. So I guess I will throw on my cargo pants and a tee shirt, just for the hell of it. Otherwise I could sink into the mire of my own ooey gooey ennui.

The light of other days...

My friend and I went to see the college's production of Grease. Unfortunately, she was 10 years younger than I. That meant she didn't know how to swing, so we didn't get to dance in the aisles to the pre-show medley of '50's hits performed by one of the actors. Gee, I miss the '50's. Songs were so much more musical, bouncy, fun to dance to and sing along with. Jerry Lee Lewis, Chuck Barry, Frankie Avalon, the Everly Brothers. I did notice that the worst problem one could have was to get pregnant. No AIDS epidemic. No drugs. Cigarettes and booze and fast cars could kill you, I guess. Not to mention your parents, if you really stepped over the line. And we were pretty codependent. Songs had the theme of eternal love. Yeah, that'll happen. Happiness lived in another person. And in the end of the play, Sandy adopts the fast girl personna, certainly a step down from her sweet preppie self, to get the greasy boyfriend. Nope, not the best message. Wonderful music, though.

Okay, not a swan, but a beauty, anyway.

Pelicans are the 747 of birds. Have you ever watched one taking flight? They have to taxi a long, long, long, long way before liftoff. At the house on the edge of the world, they nested at the end of the little island in the river, hundreds of them. Big suckers, pelicans. In flight, they are positively majestic. They fly in lines, and at the end of the day, it is a veritable parade when they come home for the night. The brown ones can stand four feet tall. That's pretty darned big. Thrilling birds, pelicans. Still working on this one, but having such a good time doing it. I'm excited. Hope you are, too.

And here is the egret, in it;s final form, I think...

I also diddled away at this painting, doing a Monet thing, little crescent shaped strokes, and this may be the final product, because I am really tired of dippy-dabbing at it. At least for today.

A whole lot of trouble here...

I really thought this painting would be easy. I had this small canvas, already primed in a kind of nondescript green, and a picture of a bird . Then I started, and it just got nutso. The bird was too bland, the background too light, the whole thing just kind of said BLAH. But I had a palette laid, and I am pretty cheap about that, I need to use up that paint before it dries up into little ugly nurdles. So I kept poking away at the canvas, a little every day, and here it is at the moment, looking not at all like the original picture. The bird appears bigger, the atmosphere is more, well, atmospheric, the colors are now much more vibrant than they actually were in the reference. But I like the bird's expression, it feels more rich and it ever so much more fun than it was. It may be done. That would be nice.

The proof is in the brainwaves!

When I was new in sobriety, I felt like a big fat phoney. For about the first two or three years. I was acting like I was a)spiritual, b) kind, c) compassionate, and d) wise. And then it kind of happened, one day I was all of those things. Because I practiced, one day at a time. I also lost my ability to sleep through the night, so I have been meditating a lot in the wee hours. Or, at least, I think I was meditating. I did what I learned in classes, and what I read in books. But, because I don't have a PRACTICE where I sit for a requisite number of minutes at the same time every day, I thought maybe I wasn't doing it at all. Or at least, not doing it right. Then, today, I went in for an EEG. Surreal experience. She gooped up my head in 26 places and applied electrodes. I must have looked like the bride of Frankenstein. Thank HP I didn't have to look at myself till afterward. Anyway, Carla, this sweet woman, tilted me back in this big reclining chair with my feet up and told me to relax, with my eyes closed. I must have been nervous, because my eyes were way to busy even though not open. So I thought I would just meditate a little. And Carla yelled "Hey, no sleeping during the procedure!" I explained I was meditating, and she said my brain waves all just flattened out like a calm day at the lake. Wow! I really AM doing something right! I know I feel more centered than I ever have before. I have always attributed that to my somewhat unorthodox and extremely varied, non-scheduled and non-scripted attempts at calming my mind. Now I have evidence in black and white. How cool is that!

Confessions of a closet drama queen...

Have you ever noticed how the rough seas of life are often followed by the doldrums? That is where I have been, marooned by my own inertia, following a series of big blows that left me foundering and lost. For a while. And I felt like I had been run over by a steamroller for a while. Funny how depression can immobilize one, and the only way up and out of it is ACTION. I didn't go to the gym for almost two weeks. And then I got up and went, almost like someone had pushed a button, and it was miraculous how great I felt. Well, duh. Endorphins kicked in, yay. The regime is firmly in place again, gym 2-3 times a week, gardening when weather permits, lots of meetings to stay spiritually fit, time with friends who let me gripe, if that's what I need to do. Tonight is an abalone feed, and for those poor souls out there who have never had abalone, well, God didn't make anything this yummy under Her sun, not even lobster. I've already been to the gym, so I can chow down, too. Strange experience there today. I always keep an eye on the pool through the window as I do my little circuit around the major muscle group machines, and as soon as I got into my suit and all showered up, it filled to beyond capacity. I went into the hot tub, instead, thinking, oh well. Then a lane cleared, sort of. So I jumped in. It was a Biblical experience, painful and rewarding at the same time. I floated up and down the lane, pausing only ever so briefly to let this little round woman toodle by on her floaty tube that she rode like a hobby horse. I think my mother invented those. We had an old Navy flotation devise like a sausage, and she would ride it like that when cleaning the tile of our pool. Anyway, this was one of the most mystical swims I have ever experienced. The water felt so healing. I came away cleansed and strengthened. Not back to full capacity yet, but on my way. Oh, hell, I am always on my way.

The new one, redux...

It is always exciting when I get an idea, and begin to realize it in paint. Paint is such a forgiving medium, oils, that is. Watercolors remember every little booboo and you can never, never do anything about it. But here, I can just keep putting layer on layer on layer, and it can get better. It can get worse, too, so the primary decision, the one that makes or breaks a painting, is when to quit. I am not quite there, yet, but my Monetesque painting is looking pretty wonderful, if I do say so myself. I am not unhappy. This is such a wondrous creation, the egret. We had scads of them at the coast, but fortune smiles and we have them here, in town, too. I have seen them standing by the side of the freeway, in Novato. And I love when they wing over me, great white ghosts, so streamlined. I want to do my egret proud.

Bill has left the planet...

An old friend died a couple of weeks ago. I say "old" in the context that I knew him many years, since he was only three years my senior, and I do not consider myself old, not yet. I am still a baby senior citizen, after all. It was too soon for Bill. Just goes to show we never know. It was an interesting experience, the memorial service. Bill was a lifelong Espicopalian. Now, this is really the Anglican church, and being at this service was like being in Four Weddings and a Funeral. There were hymns, the numbers up on a billboard so we could look them up in the hymnals. And though they supposedly don't do the smells and bells, I detected the telltale hint of something incensey in the air. There were stained glass windows and an arched ceiling, and lots and lots of candles. The homily was presided over by Bill's lifelong friend, Carl, who I had met at the reunion I attended with Bill last year, his 50th. They played together as boys. It was stirring. And in some ways, it was old home stuff, too, since that old gang of mine was present in droves. We ate cookies and slurped coffee and reminisced. Bill embodied that old saying that if you can't be a good example, you'll have to be a horrible warning. Actually, he represented both sides of that equation with equal aplomb. What a guy. I will miss him, his crusty wit, his inner sweetness, the music we shared, the generation we grew up in. I will never hear the theme from a Summer's Place without his face rising before me, and wherever he is now, I hope he gets to meet up with Elvis, and John Denver.

Some bright morning, when this life is over...

Things change. Sometimes, there is no going back. My friend Bill died last weekend. I am devastated. He was just always there, kind of smirking, flying in the face of convention, griping, grumping, arguing for his limitations. Beneath that crust there was a sweetness that was beyond compare. He let me see it a few times, so I kept looking for it, always. Somewhere, there should be a banner that reads "BILL HAS LEFT THE PLANET". That is the impact he had on our little recovery community. Okay, sometimes that impact was negative. He was that kind of guy. And there is a lot of goodness in his wake as well. Most of all, I am pissed off at him. He never knew he was precious. He didn't take care of himself. I wish he could see all the sadness at his passing, and know that he was loved by many. And let's all take a lesson from this. There are folks here who would be crushed if we were to leave today, folks who count on us to show up. That is my focus today, to show up, even if I feel like eating worms.

Road trip!

My friend had a trip planned to see her folks in San Diego, could I give her a lift to the airport? Sure, good for blowing any crud out the tail pipe after short sojourns around town. Of course, I thought she meant SFO. I can find that just fine. But, no, she meant OAKLAND. Now, it is my opinion that the freeway system in the East Bay was designed by either idiots, or people who are so smart they didn't feel we lesser folks should be in on the joke. No problem getting there. Smart friend had a GPS system on her phone, and it treated me like the mental moron that I am when it comes to directions, with lots and lots of repetition. One thing I noted was that there were no signs indicating the airport exit, just a little plane symbol on the 98th Street exit sign. Must be an inside kind of information thing. And then my friend bid me adieu, and she and her phone went off. Now came the true test. How well did I mark my route there, so I could retrace it back north? Invariably, I get lost and stuck in some lane that deposits me in downtown Oakland. This is actually not a bad thing, because I know heading east will bring me to Martin Luther King Parkway, and north on that big street will end up on Ashby Ave., in Berkeley, and west on that goes to the freeway I need to get to the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge, and the more familiar climes of mahvelous Marin County. Fortune smiled on me, and I made it to my right road without getting forced onto the Bay Bridge, which goes to San Francisco. That is not bad, either, because I know my way around that City pretty well, too. Well, there is the $6 bridge toll to consider there. I find it interesting that you have to pay a toll to get out of the East Bay no matter what direction you are going. Says something, I think.

Naked people and I...

I really love my figure drawing class, especially this morning, when we had a new model, this really buffed out, young, handsome black guy, Walter. No this is not Walter. I also had my midterm review with Kevin, sweet guy, and this was one of the drawings he praised, even though the shoulder area is too small, and probably the shins are too short. Both are areas I need to pay attention to. There is just so much to think about there, the areas where the bone should be evident, non-parenthetic limbs (the muscles are off-set, in case you haven't ever noticed), the size of hands and feet (much bigger than I think they are, actually). And there has been some improvement, and far less major disasters than the last time I took this class. Actually, I think I just want everyone to see me carrying my ever so artful black portfolio I bought myself a few semesters ago. After all, I am an art major, and it is good to look serious when being reviewed. And I am, really, I am. I just want to be ever so much better than I am. Practice, you say? Yes.

Please, no applause...

I got my car serviced today. No gold star this time. I had diddled around way too long and it was past its miles allowed. Probably this was because I knew it was going to be expensive this time. And it was. Flushed fuel injection system. New wiper blades. New (gulp) battery. No wonder it was kind of clearing its throat every time I turned the key! Anyway, this all took a long, long, long time. And, foolish me, I neglected to throw in a paperback or even a newspaper, and there were none on the little stand in the very cold waiting room, where every time someone came or went, the north wind kept the door open, chilling us poor slobs to the bone. Very nice flatscreen TV. Tuned the the GOLF channel. Imagine that, a whole channel about pudgy guys in Izod shirts and pleated trousers hoofing around on impossibly green grass, hitting a little white ball with a stick. Okay, those sticks are pretty chichi. The Golf Outlet store sold them for (gulp) a mere $299! I didn't even want to ask how much the Fred Astaire shoes were, saddle oxford clones with imitation alligator leather insets. Tres interesting. It got kind of repetitive, the action, so that when one ball landed in a sand trap, I gasped. Ditto the poor schmuck who hit it into the lake. After a while, if the ball missed the fairway, things got terribly tense. You would think that golf could go the way of tennis, you know, everyone could have a DayGlo colored ball of their own, make it all more colorful and easier to tell the guys apart. I like that idea. At the end of my hour's wait, I paid my $224, and brought my baby home, all purring and happy. Life, it is an education in itself.

True confessions of the slothful gardener...

The backyard is a mess, again. Now, every year I swear this will not happen again. And every year it takes longer and longer for me to get my motor started. In prior years, I hired someone to work with me, and that got it off the ground just fine. This year, funds are pretty paltry after taxes, so it will all be on my sweet shoulders. Do you know how difficult it is to wrestle a bucking lawnmower through that great wasteland? And the nifty Sterlite chest I got to store my garden tools leaked and got filled with rainwater. My gloves are toast. Ach! These are the days when I yearn for a MAN, to prune and mow and edge and dig. Then he can go home.

The weather did a 180 and we are now basking in 70 degree sweetness. I optimistically moved all the sweaters, wool scarves and hats, and heavy jackets to the back closet and got out the tanks and shorts and capris. Shoes are next. Certainly I can pack away the Ugg knockoffs. Probably I will still need socks for a while. Mornings can be chilly, and it is bound to rain a bit more. But the world is in blossom, or at least budding. Would like to be out in it, but woe is I, that is contraindicated by the prescription I just got filled, for yet another UTI, and if you don't know what that is, lucky you. This antibiotic makes one photosensitive, leading to instant sunburn. So I will continue my swimming indoors at the gym, looking up at the ceiling tiles instead of the wild blue yonder that was over my head Tuesday, when I sojourned once again to the aquatics center in my neighborhood. Sigh. Only three days of medication. It seems my immune system got all balled up with the stress of my eye surgeries. Hope to get back to my bulletproof self, any time now.