Friday, December 31, 2010

Let's Be Safe Out There

Starting Saturday, if you don't move over or slow down when you see police or emergency workers pulled over on the side of the road, you could pay a hefty fine.

Under the law, the fine will double if you are speeding or fail to move over when passing through the emergency zone.

WSP says there were still 80 collisions in which passing vehicles hit trooper vehicles parked along the highway between 2006 and 2009.

The purpose of the law is to prevent incidents like in this video




Stunning footage, no? I was taught to slow down and either crawl past or, if an emergency vehicle was in motion, to pull over and wait for it to be well past before pulling back out. I have seen a number of people ignore both laws, but I never fully understood just how stupid and dangerous ignoring what seems obvious to everyone's safety until I watched these videos. So let's slow down a little and give our safety officers a little more regard, okay? Oh, and have a Safe and Happy New Year!

Monday, December 27, 2010

Home Again From the Sea


Hobuck Beach with Cape Flattery in the background -
the Northwestern most point in the Continental U.S.

After a lovely weekend at the beach, walking under intermittent rainy skies and by wind-tossed seas, we are home again. The cats pressed baleful glares and outraged meows against the window as we came up the walk, and the house was cold, cold, COLD after two days of no heat. We lit the tree, turned on heat, made some hot cider to sit and sip as we ministered to the felines, and all was soon forgiven.

Our happy little tree from the Olympic
National Forest in all her holiday finery.

V and I gave one another gifts we knew each would love. One of my gifts to him was Jane Austen's Persuasion, unabridged on cd - he's a big fan of Austen, and was delighted with the gift. And two of his gifts to me were a giant rolling toolbox (which I will be using as a household mobile studio), and a Makita cordless screwdriver (I've been ogling the Dremel Stylus for use in my bookbinding endeavors). How wonderful to be so happily secure in ourselves that we were each pleased as can be with what would often be perceived by our culture as girl or boy gifts! I just love it!
"Hey V! How d'ya like getting a box of socks for Christmas!?!"

Friday, December 24, 2010

Christmas is for the Children

Precious New Zealand Children act out the Christmas Story



More from the St Paul's kids down under



Some American kids explain Christmas



With a song in her heart



Kids talk about Christmas

"

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Flash Mob Messiah

My sweet fella, V is a tender hearted guy...though he'd not have you know that about him. Pfftt! I showed this video of a Flash Mob surprising a food court crowd with a lovely performance of the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel's Messiah to V this evening, knowing Messiah is his favourite piece of music - bar none. I didn't expect his emotional response, but I fully agreed. There's something about seeing "normal" (quotes because I loath the concept of normal) people sing such an incredibly celebratory piece of music so beautiful, whilst surrounded by other "normal" (ie; non-performing) people enjoying the moment of magic - possibly for the first time - that enriches the soul and fills listeners with wonder. If I've made some sense, watch and listen, and see if you don't agree with us...

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

The Ghost In This Machine

Me, circa 1975, Seattle, Washington
Photo Marc Sterling

Ball of Seduction

Feminine grace, electric groove, where time passes by in slow motion.

Sometimes drifting, other times removed. The fantasy of flesh, the rhythm of love, the taste, the touch and the twists of fate.

The rise of the new day with the one you love. Timeless wonder. Time to make love -- electric love, the sighs, the moans, the lust, the love, rolled up in a ball of seduction.

Rock me gentle, rock me smooth.


On a whim, I occasionally look for old friends with whom I've long lost touch. Today I used Facebook to search for a few, and happily made contact with a gentle man who once took a lot of photographs of me and weathered the madness I endured in my 20s.

I was so lost then. Even more than I am now. har.

I've often thought of Marc Sterling over the years, wondering where and what and who, but before the advent of the Net, finding him would have necessitated a trek back to the Pacific Northwest. And I was busy living large in Texas, so Marc and many others slipped to the back of my mind. Of course, with the gazillions (that's a technical term) of people connected via the Net, I frequently take a few moments and search for one name or another (Michael Harder of Pacific Grove and Central Point, where ARE you!?!). This morning, I reconnected with Marc Sterling.

When I knew Marc, he worked a gig at Kaye/Smith Studios, the premier recording venue in Seattle of that era, and was building a photographic business on the side. Marc continued photographing the world around him, and has created many beautiful images over the years.

And, I'm pleased to report, Marc has returned to his music, too. When we connected via Facebook, one of his first questions was to ask if his use of an image of me from the dark and distant days of my youth as accompaniment to some music he'd written was copacetic with me. Not merely copacetic, but very groovy indeed. The piece of music is tasty, and the photo suits it well. Seeing that beautiful young woman makes me more than a little sad, for I can see from this aged vantage just how MUCH she had, and I know how little she understood her own value.

Makes me wonder what my future self will have to say about me.

Anyway. Here's the Ball of Seduction track from the cd he made with James Walker Jones, Welcome To Shark Park. The guitar and arrangement sound a bit like Jeff Beck's Blow By Blow album - one of my favourites. Trust me, it's worth a listen, and your purchase, too.

Monday, December 6, 2010

Am I a Phoenix?


A phoenix is a good symbol to represent me, it seems. I keep crashing and burning, and then I inevitably reemerge from the ashes, despair burned away and wearing a fresh layer of hope all shiny and new.

I had a massive - and I mean MASSIVE - meltdown on Thursday night whilst at the grocery, standing in front of a box of Scooby-Doo Mac 'n Cheese. Yes, that's a real product...here's a picture of the ridiculousness...

As I stood in front of dozens of Scooby-Doos grinning at me, my eye fell to the price. $1.37 One dollar and thirty seven cents. One hundred and thirty seven pennies. That's it. Not even the price of a cup of decent coffee. And I couldn't afford to buy even a single box. Not one.

Struck/slapped/crushed by the sudden, absolute realization of precisely how utterly broke I am, I fell off my tenuous perch and fell without net or parachute of any kind, deep, deep into the void. I walked out of the store and into the parking lot, got in V's car, and crashed. I didn't sob, I made not a single noise, I just sat there with the tears rolling down my face, quietly, definitely dying. At one point, my mouth opened and a strangled wail of pure despair issued forth. After that, I couldn't move or speak...I was barely breathing. Somehow, I got home, where I sat silently in my chair...no sound penetrating from within or without. I felt DEAD.

When I was 18, my parents and I went through a Christmas without money. I remember it well, and how depressing the shops with their dazzling array of treasure were. As poor as I was, I had the good sense to step back and really look at what was important about Christmas. As I was absolutely not a Christian (at the time I was practicing Witchcraft - with a decidedly dark bent), I knew it wasn't about their religious portion of the holiday. And I knew that the crass commericalism in ready evidence wasn't what moved me, either. And as I moved through the days of that bleak Christmastime, I finally figured out what was important to me: the lights, the music, the greenery, and the food. Sure, presents are WONderful...I aDORE them, even have a piece of my personality named for its feeling for gifts "The Present Whore," but after that Christmas, I knew they weren't essential for a happy yule, but food and music and pretty lights were.

And here I was, forty years later, unable to buy food. Total, complete, absolute despair set in.

Now it's important that I take a wee break here and defend dear sweet V. He funds our lives at the moment, and he does it very well. But without my financial contribution, we run a mere $20 excess per month. So when we exceed that amount, the only place that can give is the food budget. So, dear reader, I'm trying to make you understand that the onus is not on V to improve this situation, tis decidedly and forthrightly smack atop my shoulders.


But how did it come to this? I mean, having FAR more than enough money is still a vivid memory of my life not that long ago. But then, so is my terrible fall into the abyss, and therein lies the full tale. It's hard to grow when you're hemmoraghing, you know? I spent fifteen plus years bleeding out, in critical care, every day renewing my intent to live. I may even have died some of those days. But now I'm mostly alive again, and ready to LIVE, but. BUT.


*deep sigh*


There's no conclusion to all this. I don't KNOW from where or what the answers are, but I'm wide-freakin' OPEN to all the possibilities. So come on, life, bring it on! I'm ready to participate again, if you'll have me back.


Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Who Knows Where the Time Goes

John Lennon would've been 70 this year, Tom Jones is 70, and Tina Turner just turned 71. Yep, time flies whether you're having fun or not.

God I love this woman...



Monday, November 29, 2010

Cold and Grey Means Play!


My girl is the red one on the left, a Chesapeake Light Craft. V built his Pygmy Coho HS last winter. Aren't they a cute couple?

Last week we were snowed in. This week it's all gone, replaced by grey skies and a cold, blustery, positively dreary vista outside. There are whitecaps all over the bay, or as V would say in his Aussie accent "There are sheep in the pasture!" Yep, and I'm glad Vixen is on the hard (out of the water and in the boatyard) for the season, so we're not tempted to "herd the sheep." I long for clear skies and windless water so I can launch my kayak and paddle around the many inlets of the local coastline, but that's not on the agenda anytime soon.

Today I plan to start anew on learning how to use my new rigid heddle loom. I warped it last week, but SOMEthing didn't quite work, so I did a bit more research (someone remind me, how DID we survive without the Internet and YouTube?), removed the error-ridden warp and now I'm ready to start again. Funny to be having so much trouble with this loom, as I chose it due to its ease of use factor. I've used a number of looms, nail-board, tapestry, and 8-shaft table looms, but never a rigid heddle version.

When I was 13, I was awarded a summer-long weaving workshop with Mary Brashear, and there I learned to love weaving. I used the aforementioned 8-shaft loom there, and knew I wanted to try some other ideas on one in the future. That future has taken a long while to arrive.

Last year I was invited to join an artist's exchange of amulet bags. The media used was wide open, and after knitting and crocheting a few bags, I decided to create a nail loom just to see what I could make. And I suddenly regained my former joy in weaving. I loved creating the little bags, and made one after another. Here are a few examples (use your view image function for a larger version):

Wool and Japanese Exotic Handspun Silk Fibre

Handspun Wool with Hand Carved Bone Beads from South Africa

Wool with Skull and Bat Beads

Handspun Japanese Exotic Fibre, Handspun Wool, and Glass Beads

Acrylic Fibre, Abalone, Kevlar Line (unraveled and rebraided)

I couldn't get enough of my newfound love of weaving, and I kept hitting every yarn store I encountered, looking for scraps of yarn or any fibre that moved my soul. On a trip to Vancouver Island, I stopped in Knotty By Nature on Government Street in Victoria, and there I fell instantly in love. With the Ashford Knitter's Loom, a rigid heddle loom that allows the transport of a project in process, meaning I could take my weaving project with me camping, on the boat, or just while I was on the road! After I got home, I began doing some research and discovered I could obtain one in the States for far less than in Canada, and I began saving my pennies. And then a lovely thing happened...dear Vincent gave me one on my birthday, two months later!

Now I know you're reading this on the next to the last day of November, which is more than two months AFTER my birthday, but a bunch of things transpired in the interim to conspire against me using my precious new toy. So only now do I find I have time to focus on learning to use this loom. And a cold grey miserable day is the perfect time to do so! Once I've gotten adept with this loom, I know I shall start longing for a larger loom that will allow me to create more intricate patterns, but I've enough on my plate for now.

And the second a little warmer weather arrives, I have some work to do on my kayak to make sure she's ready for a long season of water camping!

The grey hatch covers on my boat are in the process of being replaced by lovely wood ones.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Pity Party Wallow


Okay, so I fell again a few minutes ago. A small fall, resulting in what will no doubt be some ugly bruising on my arm and knee. The good news is each fall has been smaller than the one before. The bad news is I continue to fall. More good news, I still bounce and bruise rather than break. More bad news, I hurt a LOT more than I used to.

This fall was a mere nothing. I was on my knees - yes, knees, apparently you can fall from a kneeling position, too - having just scooped the cat box, which requires me to be on my knees, since it's tucked into the ONLY available corner of the house behind the bathroom door. Fine. Odious job done, bag of used litter in hand, I reached up and leaned my OTHER elbow on the sink edge for leverage in getting up. But it slipped off and bang! I fell over, hitting my upper arm and knee on the way. More good news - the cat litter stayed in the bag and the bag didn't break, either. I pulled myself together, got up, hurting a LOT, and then the sheer, desperate, hopelessness of the whole thing hit me - aGAIN. I don't know how to fix this, how to get back to my old self, who was strong and powerful and could overcome any obstacle. I suddenly feel old and frail and scared. I ask myself, "Only old people fall...am I truly old enough for this to be a normal thing, all this falling? this lack of control? this feeling of power lost?" And if it is, if I truly AM in a real decline, not just some temporary one, what. is. the. point.? What frakking value do I serve by continuing to consume the resources of this planet? How, to use my father's best-remembered maxim, am I making the world a better place because I'm here?


I'm just indulging in a solid wallow in self-pity, partially because of the above, and partially because V suggested I wasn't thinking about where I was putting my feet or what I was doing when I was getting up. After feeling incredible frustration over his words, I screamed "This is NOT my FAULT!" and then told him to leave me the hell alone. I mean, come ON... If I have to expect 20 years ahead of me of needing to actually focus on and THINK about where my foot/hand/etc. is going in the next second and the next and the next, then I have HAD it this round. Check, please.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Slowly Slogging Back Into the Light


I've been absent from view for awhile now, mostly due to some monumental incidents and changes in my life. Sloooowly, I am making my way back.

I suppose an explanation is in order, in spite of my preference for simply moving on and not lingering over the miserable moments of my life.

It all started in July, when I fell from V's sailboat. Well, actually, I took a flying swan dive off the boat and onto the quite large metal cleat on the raised-edge dock we were rapidly sliding into. My intent was to jump nimbly onto the dock, rope in hand to secure Vixen. Which, of course, I could easily have done in my twenties or even my thirties. Apparently, my fifties aren't my most nubile decade. Well, duh. You see, when I look in the mirror these days, I find I'm always surprised by the face I see, as I still feel like the beautiful young woman of a couple decades ago. No matter (she said with a dismissive wave of her hand).

Transcending Form (2009)
Jesse Hotchkiss

As Vixen slid into place, I jumped toward the dock, tripping over the toe rail in the process, changing my trajectory in the process to one of impending doom. I managed to land - HARD - on my left chest, then slide backward, grabbing the dock rail as I did. A young man who works with V happened to be right there on the dock, and he grabbed me as I slid backward, so between us, I didn't drop completely into the water. As I dangled there and he tried unsuccessfully to hoist me up, seven tons of unmoveable fiberglass continued to move toward the dock. Yeah, not a good scenario for my relatively fragile body. The good news in all this is that V is a master of docking (and all other sailing bits), and he managed to fend Vixen off and keep me from being crushed. Meanwhile, the dockside lad and I worked together to get my body hauled up onto the dock. Fast forward an hour and you'd find me in the hospital in terrible pain, getting scans and other tests. It turned out "all" I did was to bruise ribs, lungs, and spleen, and after a number of hours they sent me home with massive painkillers.

For about a week, I couldn't move without screaming in pain, but eventually I started getting a bit better. After three weeks, I finally felt good enough to attempt to paddle around a bit in a kayak. Still in some pain, the twisting motion particularly exacerbated the injury, so I headed back in and waited for V while he paddled about for awhile longer. As I sat on the log, the tide started coming in and lifted my kayak too much for my comfort, so I decided to go pull it in a bit. Standing on a log, I pulled the kayak up further onto the beach, but when I stopped pulling my screwy balance and the sand between my feet and the log caused me to fall backward between the logs. My body hit sand, not log,s and I thought I had gotten incredibly lucky. Nope. The very next second the back of my head hit the adjacent log so hard a fellow standing next to his car some thirty feet away thought someone had set off a firecracker, but realised rapidly that I had fallen and rushed over to help. I was in trouble, and I just lay there and cried. V finally returned from his kayaking sojourn, and once again I found myself in the hospital.

Now you'd think that was enough to make me far, far more careful, right? And you'd be right. But you'd be wrong if you thought those two near catastrophes were the end of the story. For, you see, I have continued to fall. The last fall was a couple of weeks ago, when I slipped descending the stairs in the companionway of Vixen, badly bruising my back and arm.

Three Ways, Two Fall (2009)
Jesse Hotchkiss
I have mostly recovered from the first two falls, which took a toll that forced me to withdraw from the computer entirely, my volunteer work, my beloved art, and on and on.

But there's a second part to my absence. In August, I changed residences, and my studio was packed into boxes and put into storage without my knowledge of the what or where of everything. So now, as energy allows, I dig out a little more. I know where my Copic markers and my watercolours are, some of my paper has been unearthed, and of course my wonderful yarns never left my side. Hey, I had to do SOMEthing while on the mend or I would've gone mad.

My favourite news in all this is that my mind is intact, something that was of some concern for a very brief while. My body's given me fair warning that it's changing, and I need to both work it a little harder in order to gain strength and better balance, and be more intentional in my movements. Through all this I keep in mind that I am my father's daughter, so the strength is within me to tap, I just have to be more focused in my efforts.


So now it's Fall, and I hope my last fall is behind me. Not my last Fall, you understand, but the last time I fall. Convoluted. But you get my drift. :-)

Friday, July 9, 2010

Geek-Gasm Alert!



Ah'm in the throes of a full-blown geekgasm (my word, btw) here. Just saw the following new stills from Tron Legacy (aka Tron 2) and I am JAZZED! Bring. It. On. NOW.

And YES, that IS Jeff Bridges *sigh* in a Flynn redux. Can life GET better?

Here, share the chills with me as you watch the trailer:



Com'ON December 17...







Com'ON December 17th...

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Timelapse As A Window On Our Lives

As most people, I suspect, I have long been fascinated with time lapse photography. As a student, I remember watching films of seeds emerge from soil and evolve into plants; water droplets splash into beautiful geometric patterns, clouds run across the sky as day and night blended into one magical vista. But the advent of putting technology into the individual's hands has allowed the growth of new ways of expressing time through photography. The film I offer today, for example, shows not just a year's follicle growth on the man's face, but the changes the life experiences made on his visage as well. I find herein an expression of beauty that I have only found in fictional accounts previously. For me, there's a richness of texture and feeling to this film that transcends mere documentation and moves into the realm of poetry.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Gaga for GaGa..and for the parodies, too

Now you have to know I find Lady GaGa undeniably interesting, and I look forward to each new glimpse of the eye candy she wraps (whoops, typed warps instead of wraps...almost left it as it fits!) herself, so I find her Bad Romance (featured here a few posts ago) and her Telephone vids delightful.

And the "real" Telephone video:


Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Thai Wednesday

Buddha Bless

It should be said up front that I am a comPLETE sucker for eye candy, especially that which incorporates massively strange slants. That said, I hereby offer a tasty diversion from Thailand for Hump Day, guaranteed to get you through the rest of the week with a smile.

First up is Buddha Bless, a "reggae-dancehall" group..perhaps the only one in existence.


Next is Maitai Chaitawan, a hitmaker in Thailand at the moment. Hey, you gotta love the costume, right? Reminds me in some odd way of the English Schoolboy's gear that Angus Young of AC/DC wears while maniacally wailing on his guitar.



There. You feeling happier now? I hope so. I really do.

Monday, March 29, 2010

THE Muscle Car

Heard that Donald N. Frey, the engineer who spearheaded the design and development of the iconic muscle car of the 60s, the Mustang, died March 5 in Evanston, Ill. In thinking about the car that represented so much of what was fun about my youth, I couldn't help but think about Steve McQueen and Bullitt. As much as that car made me pant, Mr. McQueen trumped that reaction with his clear blue-eyed no-bullshit visage, but it was close. Very close. Not long ago, I watched Bullitt with Vincent, who'd not seen it before (hey, he grew up in Oz, hitting his teen years in the 70s), and both McQueen and the car were still smokin' hot. If for no other reason than its role in Bullitt, I offer my sincere gratitude to Mr. Frey, for his project made my world a little better place.



Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Lady Gaga and Her Eye Candy

Okay, listen, I have tried hard not to like Lady Gaga. Really, really hard. But I just can't help myself, I love the eye candy she presents. So instead of filling you in on all the amazing, wonderful, impossibly perfect moments currently transpiring in my formerly dreary life, I give you...drum roll, please...LADY GAGA!



Thursday, January 28, 2010

Sunday Uplift - Listen

Because I'll be camping this week, I thought I'd throw the Uplift out there a little early. Take time to stop and listen, folks...

"A soundscape is any collection of sounds, almost like a painting is a collection of visual attractions," says composer R. Murray Schafer. "When you listen carefully to the soundscape it becomes quite miraculous." David New's portrait of the renowned composer becomes a lesson unto itself, gracing viewers (and listeners) with a singular moment of interactive subjectivity. This film was produced for the 2009 Governor General's Performing Arts Award. By David New,
2009, 6 min 21 sec

Sunday, January 24, 2010

The Rooted Heart

The Rooted Heart, Fort Worden, WA 2010

For twenty-five years, I have worn one form of the winged heart or another, most of them in broach form, all representing my own restless heart. I always forcibly clipped my wings in order to stay in a single place with a single man, but that never worked for long. I stayed, but only until my flight feathers had grown back and I could move on with my restless winged heart.

A great deal lately has seemingly conspired to offer me that last Great Love I have so long begged the Cosmos to give me, and as hard as I twist and turn, I find myself increasingly enmeshed in an undeniable increase of emotion towards this gentle fellow who has so unexpectedly come into my life. Coldly put, eh? That's just my Gate Guardians doing their best to protect my fragile corpus.

For the first time in my life, I am being prudent, careful, taking time to know this man, to check the fit of our puzzle pieces, to discover everything I can before allowing my gates to open and grant him full access. So we walk, we talk, we sit, we talk some more, and we walk some more. Knowing mine is a heart so-ready to take flight at the slightest hint of danger, you can but imagine my surprise when, during the first of our lovely walks, I encountered a graffitied winged heart on a wall of an old building. And I took a photograph.

Weeks later I happened across the photograph again, and it suddenly struck me that this was not just a winged heart. It was a winged heart that had grown roots!

Could it be that I was growing roots as I walked over the needle-softened ground and down the rock-strewn beaches with this comfortable person, or were the roots there, just waiting for him to nurture them? With every step I grow stronger and healthier, more sure-footed and alive. Every time his arms go around me, I settle a little more into them. His smell is becoming a part of me, and I miss it when he's not near. Parts of me I thought long dead are coming to life like plants in Frances Hodgson Burnett's Secret Garden. The possibility of love - solid, honest love - is real again, and much to both his and my own absolute pleasure, we are caught in an amazing whirlwind of pleasure.

Will this last? Will the roots grow deep and healthy? Will my wings only be used for flights of fancy from now on? The only answer I have for that are the words of Willy Wonka, "The suspense is killing me..I hope it lasts!"

Sunday Uplift - Come Again In Spring

For this cold Sunday in January, a lovely piece of animation - Belinda Olford's "Come Again In Spring" (again from the Canadian National treasure, NFOC).

This gentle tale about mortality works in subliminal ways. When an old man is visited by Death at his home in the meadows, he has to delve deep to secure more time for himself. Does he have the strength to find the answers he needs? Can we negotiate our time on earth? How do we reconcile our mortal fate? A lyrical look at a reality as old as humanity, yet as young as today. Based on a story by Richard Kennedy.


Thursday, January 21, 2010

A Delicate Balance


When embarking on a journey, whatever that journey may be, it is wise to take a set of useful tools/supplies. Without some modicum of preparation, journeys can become ordeals rather than pleasure trips. But deciding what is best taken to make the journey a good one can be most difficult.

For instance, I have begun a journey with a new friend, and just a short distance from the start I already find myself wishing for a muzzle or at least some form of light sedative that would allow me to shut the hell UP.

I've said it before, I'll say it again...when I'm nervous, I chatter. Oh, it's a terrible thing, my mindless prattling, and I am apparently powerless to stop the witless twit that's conducting the cacophony of squawks and blasts issuing forth from my too-stupid-to-shut-UP mouth. I'd say brain, but that part of me doesn't really seem to be engaged during these rambling rants. I'm SO good at talking when I should be silent that sometimes I just sink into a pit of despair. Annie Lennox sang for me as my marriage was ending with "Why?"



But really, all of this just brings me face to face with that most difficult of processes, self-forgiveness. I'm fairly adept at forgiving others (with the exception of my mother, of course, and even with her I've achieved some real strides in terms of forgiveness) their transgressions, perceived or genuine, but forgiving myself is nigh onto impossible.

A man once told me "You think too much" and I took offense, for thinking is at the core of me, but now I believe there might've been a solid grain of truth in that statement. One of my greatest talents is a huge capacity for worry, and what IS worry but thinking too much? I catch myself reciting a mantra in my head, over and over, "Let it go...let it go...let it go." The chant helps. A little. But still I worry, still the self-recriminations go on and on. Did I say too much? Too little? The wrong thing at the wrong time? The right thing at the wrong time? Did I blow it yet again with my verbose delivery?

At times of such self-doubt, I reach for an essential tool in my repertoire; the ability to trust. I trust myself. I trust the patterns of the Cosmos. I trust the Universe to care for me. So if my verbosity or mindless prattle closes a door, I trust that the door wasn't meant to be open in the first place.

There's a Joni Mitchell song that frequently sings within me, speaking my feelings and thoughts better than I am capable of doing. It's called "All I Want," and the first part of it goes like this:

I am on a lonely road and I am traveling
Traveling, traveling, traveling
Looking for something, what can it be
Oh I hate you some, I hate you some
I love you some
Oh I love you when I forget about me
I want to be strong I want to laugh along
I want to belong to the living
Alive, alive, I want to get up and jive
I want to wreck my stockings in some juke box dive
Do you want - do you want - do you want
To dance with me baby
Do you want to take a chance
On maybe finding some sweet romance with me baby
Well, come on...

So here's my question. If intent is at the core of everything we do, does my loving intent override my sharp tongue and blather? Maybe a better question to ask myself during moments of nervous chattering is "what IS your intent?" Wonder what kind of difference I might make in my delivery if I could break through my inner wall of sound with that question? Hmmm...I'll have to give it a try soon.

Thanks for listening. Sometimes it helps a lot just to talk it through with a stranger.

Monday, January 18, 2010

How Wings Are Attached To The Backs of Angels

Once again, the National Film Board of Canada funds another exquisite animated piece. This one is "How Wings Are Attached To The Backs of Angels" made in 1996 by Craig Welch. In it, we meet a man obsessed with control; his intricate gadgets manipulate yet insulate, as his science dissects and reduces. The storyline is surreal to the point of being difficult to understand, but the artwork is stunning and well worth the 11 minute length of this piece.

The God by Konstantin Bronzit

The God by Konstantin Bronzit Everyone’s got something that gets the best of them. Brilliant comic timing.

Friday, January 15, 2010

What is WRONG with these people?

Yesterday, the increasingly aged nutter, The 700 Club's Pat Robertson went off again on an insane rant, this one about Haiti. He said, and sadly, I quote: “Something happened a long time ago in Haiti, and people might not want to talk about. [Haitians] were under the heel of the French...and they got together and swore a pact to the Devil. They said, ‘we will serve you if you’ll get us free from the French.’ True story. And the Devil said, ‘OK it’s a deal.’ Ever since, they have been cursed by one thing after another.”

But just when you thought Demented Pat couldn't be topped for the Batshit Award, Rush Limbaugh stepped in during his radio programmer with (and notice I quote) the following proFOUNDly insensitive and freakin' STUPID statement in response to a caller's question about where he could donate money to help with the tragic Haitan situation: ""We've already donated to Haiti,'' Limbaugh told the caller on his radio show. "It's called the U.S. income tax." But that's just the VERY tip of the hateful bile he spewed.


I encourage you to read the full transcript of the show, including such charming segments such as "Oh, this is what he (Obama) lives for. He lives for serving those in misery. Now, don’t misunderstand here, folks. I don’t have the whole press conference, but I wonder did he apologize for America before acknowledging we are the only people on earth that can possibly help ‘em out down there in any significant way? By the way, I’ve checked it out, Cuba has offered nothing. Venezuela has offered nothing. They have nothing to offer. (interruption) Venezuela is going to send 30 people? Well, they’re people who want to get out of there anyway because they’re having rolling blackouts in Venezuela, in Caracas, which is an oil-driven — it’s the most amazing thing. The vision of our future is right before our eyes in Venezuela. Socialist country, devalued the currency on purpose a couple days ago, putting people in jail if they raise prices as a result of this. We are devaluing our own currency, not as rapidly as Hugo Chavez did but we’re doing it with all of our deficit spending and borrowing. " You can find it posted here.

So, Heartless Rat Bastard Award of the week goes to Rush Limbaugh. An easy choice. The ONLY saving grace in all this is the relief I get by watching Jon Stewart and his brilliant associates give us this news with that mythical spoonful of sugar. See for yourself...

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

It's a Beautiful Life


Remember that post about manifesting love that I made back in June? I talked about the deep chill over my house and how "I started taking stock and making myself ready for my love, who I feel certain is surely nearer me with every breath taken. Love, I am waiting..." Remember that? Well here's a miracle...I met a very nice, witty, smart, attractive man whilst standing in the post office queue, and tonight, a week later, we have talked, been to dinner, snogged (who knew THAT would ever happen again!?! It did and was amazingly delightful!), and tonight I'm taking dinner down to his place...a mere two blocks away - on the same street.

Is this lovely gentle man slated for more than where we currently stand? Who knows? We're both just enjoying this surprising turn of life for now, with no plans for more than each week as it comes. We plan to make a couple of treks to Seattle, so it's more like a week at a time than a day at a time.

Isn't it wonderful that life forever has the capacity to surprise and delight? Truly, my newfound motto of "Today is not tomorrow" is perfect. It's a beautiful life...


George and Rosemary

This lovely animated piece from my beloved National Film Board of Canada made me smile today...perhaps it will make you smile, too. This animated romantic comedy about two golden-agers proves that passion is not exclusively for the young. With humour and empathy, it tells of George's affection for his female neighbour and the outcome of his decision to quit daydreaming and take action. George and Rosemary both certainly deserve love, don't you agree? Don't we all?


Friday, January 1, 2010

2010 - Imagine


video

Tis my wish for the new year and fresh decade that the inhabitants of this world find a path to live The Middle Way, bringing tolerance and peace and compassion to one another; living in a state of love, of bliss.

Peace.