Big Brother has arrived, and he is a Buick.

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

A day in the life...

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

Vincent's Kingfisher...

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

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

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

Good news and bad news...

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

Isn't that interesting!

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

Fast away the old year passes...

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

I am happy to report...

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

And the winner is...

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

That's all she wrote, folks...

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

Rode hard and put away wet here...

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

The blessings of the season...

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

Monday, again...

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

Mom does the mall...

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

Hello, Universe?

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

Well, that's over!

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

Solving for x...

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

Go, Insanity!

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

Mystical mathematics

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

It's all downhill from here...

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