Fosse, Fosse, Fosse...

  My guy might take me to see "Fosse", a tribute celebrating various dance routines of Fosse's.  The broadway production is coming to Ole Miss, Saturday 6 November.  We were thinking about dinner and a show, actually dressing semi-formal.  Or at least dressier than I usually appear...so I ought to figure out what fits, what I have even to choose from, I mean apparel does not usually make my priority list so I don't even know if I have anything appropriate, really.  What does one wear anyway?  Oh, twitter me, twitter me, twitter me...I am SURE that something will come to mind.  I might even get a few nice pix to post out of the evening.  We are probably going to do "Fosse" as a birthday present to me.  My guy asked what I wanted to do, he suggested OKLAHOMA! at the Orpheum in Memphis, which opens on my birthday.  But we are so not sure of what his schedule looks like, that this is safer.  More relaxing and enjoyable, I think too.  He hates OKLAHOMA!  and I would hate making him sit through it, even if he tells me he would for me.  Which is awfully sweet, but I guilt easily over some stuff.  Even if I am the one guilt-tripping myself...

Ya know, the more I think about it, the more I want to see "Fosse".  Really.  I don't have lots of preferences, so it takes awhile to develop them.  I think I will peak at clothes and see what I can do....stunningly sumptuously sensual...that'd be a good look to go for, doncha think?

Halloween Memory

To-day is Halloween.  To me, halloween and the changing of the clocks, means that fall has progressed past the turning back to summer point.  It means that the Holidays are upon us.  Birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years; they all await in the foreseeable future.

My mother made some awesome costumes for herself, my father, and me the year I was a senior in High-School.  My folks were in their early 40s at the time.  Mom carefully sewed these with the deligence she's brought to outfitting wedding parties, including brides and their maidens of honor.  She even created large puffy heads that were close-fitting helmets, allowing our faces to peep out from them.

Mine was a cat, all one piece, hood with pink satin lined ears and a dropped dart on the forehead to give me that cute heartshaped face.  I even wore it to school.  The only kid let alone SENIOR to be dressed in costume.  But my outfit paled in comparison to my mother's and father's...

Mom was Mickey Mouse, complete with a tuxedo style top that ended in long tails.  A close friend of ours applied our makeup, even coming over way early to do mine for the bus ride to school.  I had a silver face with black lips that were amazingly sensual...I never felt so, well, catty.

My father was, of course Mickey's mate, Minnie.  His outfit consisted of a red and white polka dotted dress with white piping and lace trim.  I provided an old stretched out bra that lent the correct curvature.  He carried a small hard black purse, like you'd expect Minnie to have.  His long flowing beard completed the look.

We went trick or treating to a few of the local bars.  Folks greeted us and our swollen heads with much laughter, goodwill, and usually would buy us drinks.  Of course, I stuck with cranberry juice, I was only 17 ya know.

For years, we had those costumes around.  My folks never wore them again.  But I did.  In fact, I took Mickey's head with me on several trips, as I discovered that it provided for an excellent pillow that did not fall out from under my bouncing jostling head propped against the window.  I might have looked odd, but it was comfortable.  After 5 or 6 years, we boxed them up and got rid of them.

Another fond memory dusted off and shared.  grin.  Did I mention that I have pretty kewl folks?  Gosh I love 'em.

NaNoWriMo

Hello!!  As you can see from my "all about me" sidebar, I am feeling a little squirrellee.  I got my thinking cap on.  I am ready to go!!


For those of you who may be scritching you head, corn-fuzed, let me explain.  I am a NaNoWriMo participant, first year attempted, first year registered.  NaNoWriMo is the nifty little, well shorter, name for "National Novel Writing Month".  It's actually a bit of a misnomer, but we don't get finicky about these things.  Internationally, folks participate, which is super-kewl!!


After the first year, the creators decided November was a more suitable month than July.  The goal is that we all (individually, that is) write 50,000 words.  That's about 175 pages.  Which is not quite novel length, more like a novella.  Again, we don't get picky about these things.  We start at the crack of November first and type or write like fiends for the next few weeks, ending on the 30th.


So that is the (inter)National Novel(la) Writing (or typing) Month (of November) in a nutshell (see?  squirrellee sidebar).  So what's the big deal, you say, about doing this in a month?  

Welllllll, it has to do with goals, timelimits, and producing quantity.

See, too many, myself included, often fall into the "one day" trap.  Ya know, as in, "one day, I will write the next great American Novel" (or British, or Russian, or Australian, or whichever nationality you are).  Some of us are, oh um, how can I politely say this....well, more than a bit anal about the whole gotta-phrase-this-thought-exactly-right and THAT can mean that I, um I mean folks, can get bogged down in the whole perfection thing that ain't ever gonna happen and THAT can lead to mass paralysis of the mind, which is SO not a good thing.  No, no it's not.

So the idea is that if we just write, write, write and don't think and overanalyze; then the sheer quantity creates a flow...or the flow creates a quantity...or both simultaneously combust.  The point is, there is bound to be something worth mining out of 50,000 words.  I mean, it can't all be bad.  It won't all be great, sure.  But, at least there is SOMETHING (fifty thousand somethings) to work with, to mold into something that might be publishable...or whatever you choose to do with your words.


So, that's why I've been clearing my schedule, tying up loose ends, trying to get all the things accomplished throughout the month of October so that I might have the time available to do this writing stuff in the month of November.  Thanks to all the faithful readers of my journal, the visitors that leave comments.  A huge appreciative grin and huggle to the few folks that take extra time, to go that extra mile, and make that extra effort...thanks for being so encouraging, supportive, and eager to see what I produce.  I am kinda curious, too.

We are able to create notes, chapter outlines, character development, conduct research, etc.  Just NO writing of the work til November first.  That is some 12 hours away, we can start as of midnight local time.


Sure, cheating is possible.  But you know you cheated and you just cheat yourself.  Besides, it costs no money to participate and there is no cash reward at the end.  You earn a great sense of accomplishment.  You might even get a great piece of writing from it.

So, I'm gonna give it a shot.  See how much I grow...

daddy's lil girl

My father and I are rather close most of the time.  Sometimes we need our space, from people in general, not just each other.  It occured to me that I have mentioned mom a few times in entries, but haven't really said much about my father.

When I was a child, dad was a truck-driver.  He had a rather erratic schedule, because he drove long-hauls and not day-trips.  When he was home, often he was tired and would rest and we had to be really, reall quiet.  Children are not usually quiet, but we played lots outside anyway, so he did get some rest.

As kids, one of our chores was to help dad weed the truck patch (a really really big garden, which seemed bigger cuz I was so little).  I was not too good with discerning what was a weed and what was a young plant, so I was constantly lagging behind my brother and father as they worked their rows.  Dad would come and patiently show me again, I would nod (I got it when he was right there), he would return to his section, and I would gaze at the vegetation as muddled as I had been before.  You could probably see little bubbles containing question marks blooming and popping above my head.

Our treat for a job well done was a dip and split.  Now, the dip was rule-laden too, like weeding the garden, but much more enjoyable.  Usually.

There was a stone bridge that arched over a creek, with a swim hole just above it.  There was a swinging rope, a couple of nice sized boulders, and a log or two that seemed to be there always.  Sometimes, there would be lots of happy folks there with a few kids, and we would all have fun.  Every once in a while, there would be a few folks bathing in the stream (hey!  this was the early to mid-70s).  It seemed that it was peaceful and cool.

The rules were in regard to the swing rope.  If you used it, you had to drop off, not just swing on it.  No playing around with the rope.  Swing out, drop off, or don't mess with the rope in the first place.

I did not know how to swim.  I'm sure that I would have learned if I swung out and dropped off the rope into the deeper water.  But I steered clear of the rope.  For the most part.  There was one time I remember swinging out, fully intending to drop, but my stomach and heart stayed behind and I couldn't remember to let go, even with everyone shouting to do so.  I slammed into the root laden bank.  More stunned than hurt, I cried, trying to stifle the sobs, cuz I was such a baby, I thought.  Dad came and fished me out and I clung to him like I had the rope.  He checked me over, which is a difficult thing to do with a small child hanging on to you and sobbing.

So after that, I went back to the safe dipping and wading.  Leaving the swinging and swimming til I was older.  Dipping was fun, less dangerous and I still cooled down.

The split was even more special.  We would pile into the VW bug, bright orange, of course.  The local Dairy Queen was quite a drive, it seemed then.  We would order a banana split that seemed so huge and we got to keep the wooden boat it came in.  A few years later, the boats became plastic and the splits were lots smaller.  But, that one split was more than enough for 2 adults in their 20s and 2 small children (I was about 4 and my brother was 6).

When I was little, I'd go a pickin' pickory nuts.  Most folks knew these as Hickory nuts...but you can't very well hick hickory nuts, now can ya?  Dad took my brother and I fishing, hunting, and berrying all through the years.  Dad and we kids would pick apples, pears, peaches, strawberries, etc. and mom would make jellies and jams.  We would go fishing, dad would clean the catch, and mom would cook the mess up.

Dad taught me about maintaining my car.  Together we have worked on more engines, transmissions, and exhaust systems than I would care to count.  We even rebuilt a vehicle once.  Bonding, man, bonding.

Dad is a very thorough person.  He considers and analyzes everything, looking from all perspectives.  His advice is sound, based on lots of pondering.  He is good with explanations and with creating new ways to do things.

He is supportive in my endeavors, to try new things.  But he also understands when I need the comfort of having the samo samo routine, no newness.  He loves me, even when I don't seem to listen to him, or make big mistakes.  That's cool, cuz he's my dad, man and it's great to love the guy, ya know?

silly me

Last night, memom popped on-line after 11p.  I scolded, "What are you doing up, young lady?  If you don't to bed and asleep, the Great Pumpkin won't come to visit..."  To which she replied, "can't fool me, that's not til tomorrow night." 

Gosh, I love my mom.

epitaphs and eulogies and other grave matters, oh! my!!

John Scalzi's Weekend Writing Assignment #31 this week was suggested by  isckwootton.  It is to write your own, preferably rhyming, epitaph.  The extra credit is to write a cute epitaph for your favorite loved one, relative, or family pet.  So, let's see what we shall, shall we see?

"In this plot lies not, Debra nor her Shaddow.

For one is cremated, ashes strewn;

the other liberated, free to roam.

The girl is gone, while the dog is not.

Neither left here to rot."

 

 

Happiest of Birthdays to you, memom

 Today is my mother's birthday.  She is a Saturday's Child and true to the prediction, she has worked hard for her living.  She raised up us kids right.  Working long hard hours at the sewing factory, then bringing work home with her.  I remember helping her finish the shirts, trimming loose threads, turning them, folding them or hanging them, and we would talk in between bursts of the loud machine's operations and the sharp clicking of her snippers.

I learned most of my knowledge of geography from our companionable sessions.  There was a world map tacked on the wall, above her hemmer (or was it the single-needle, i know it wasn't the over-lock -- that was next to that but under a triangular cut-out between the kitchen and dining/sewing room).  That map was color-coded and showed capitals and seas, oceans, continents, latitutes, longitudes, and sometimes in paratheses, the former name was noted.  That's how I learned that Istanbul is the same as Constantanoble (ok, so that mightn't be the correct spelling...).  Actually, I learned that tidbit, because my mom would sing the ditty.

Sometimes I think she despairs that I am not hearing her.  I listened, thinking, tumbling the thought til its polish blinds me like some nugget of wisdom gleaned from a rough pile of similar jewels.  In fact, mom's words came to mind today, when some friends and I were discussing individuation, defining yourself as a separate person, not soley a possession of someone else.  I thought of how mom said that first she was her parent's daughter, then she was her husband's wife, and became known as her children's mother...not existing as a separate woman in her own right, until she joined the work force again in her 30's.

I thought about mom suggesting that the cliffnotes are indeed lighter than tombs of encyclopedias if I feel I absolutely must carry about my baggage of the past.  I thought of mom telling me that you just can't please some people all the time, or even all people some of the time, let alone all people all the time...and some folks you just can't please ever, so why knock yourself out?  I remember mom telling me that beauty was only skin deep, but ugly was to the bone.

Mom would listen to my endless ramblings, marveling at my ability to pick a conversation up in mid-sentence after a half-hour interruption.  She could tell what kind of day I had, by my footfall on the front porch.  She would urge me to write and write, because she felt I had a talent for that.  She was proud of my grades but never berated me for not doing so well in certain subjects.

She told me that I could do what ever I set my mind to.  Except stay away from candles, matches, flames, knives, saws, drills, and other things that might ignite my hair or cut me.  She wanted to buy a tank for me to drive, not because of my slow reflexes, but because of the other idiots out there.  She wished me well when I moved upteen times, setting off yet another new adventure.  She supported me emotionally while I adjusted to those newnesses.  She never despaired of my chosen company (well, unless she had very good reason to do so).  She never said, "I told you so" when I finally would realize what a loser I had been involved with for so long.

Mom was a blonde child, pale skinned, white hair, beautiful smile.  She was quite the looker in highschool, wearing miniskirts well.  She wore "hosey-pants" when I was small.  I would lean against her thigh and rub her nylon covered knee gently, intoning in awe...hosey pants.
She soothed my tears as I wept over the hardest crush I ever had.  Telling me that some day, he would want me just as badly (if not moreso) and I might not be available.  She was right, she usually is.

Mom is my model in many ways.  She is an incredible woman.  She is a learned lady.  She is my mom.

Happy Birthday, memom.  I love you so very much.

i put a spell on you...

I've been making god's eyes.  These are modified slightly, using mini-sticks and embroidery floss.  They are intended to be Christmas ornaments, but can be displayed in other ways as well.

The legend of god's eyes is interesting.  Like most legends, it can be adapted to fit other situations and cultures.  So, it dovetails nicely with various beliefs of higher powers.

The original legend originates with the Huichol Indians of Jalisco in Mexico.  They believe in the power of their higher being to see and understand things they cannot.  So, they ask for the protective care of their god to watch over their children, especially in the first five years of live (the most dangerous years).

The father makes a god's eye when the child is firstborn.  It is rather large and consists of two intersecting sticks, very much like a cross, and rope or yarns.  This is woven so that it forms the center.  Then there are four ends for the remaining years.  After the fifth year, the god's eye is felt to have served its purpose.

Other tribes consider god's eyes to be symbols of luck.  Other groups like to view god's eyes are reminders to keep their own eyes on the prize.  Even some christians use god's eyes for personal prompts to remind them that god is omnipotent and he is always with you, seeing into your heart and knowing what you do, think, believe.

Christian Sunday School classes have modified this to use as a craft with a lesson for their children.   The idea is to make smaller god's eyes of popsicle sticks.  The lesson is that god's eyes are upon you always.
The bible has many verses related to eyes and vision as accountability, understanding, and knowledge.  Proverbs says that the lord's eyes are everywhere...Psalms says that (god's) eyes saw my unformed body...and the lord's eyes are righteous...god's eye is on the sparrow so he is surely watching you...many pleas to open my eyes and let me see are found too.

My god's eye crafts are smaller than usual, with no tassel hanging from the bottom.  I made a special one for my guy today.  It is variegated embroidery floss with the center being a cheerful orangish yellow and the outside being more of a rusted brownish yellow.  As I made it, I was singing, "Amber" (by 311).
311's  "Amber" Brainstorm
Take me away from the norm
I've got to tell you something..
This phenomenon
I had to put it in a song,
and it goes like:

Whoa
Amber is the color of your energy
Whoa
Shades of gold displayed naturally

You ought to know what brings me here
You glide through my head blind to fear,
and I know why-

Whoa
Amber is the color of your energy
Whoa
Shades of gold displayed naturally

Whoa
Amber is the color of your energy
Whoa
Shades of gold displayed naturally

You live too far away
Your voice rings like a bell anyway
Don't give up your independence
unless it feels so right
Nothing good comes easily;
Sometimes you've got to fight

Whoa
Amber is the color of your energy
Whoa
Shades of gold displayed naturally

Launched a thousand ships in my heart, so easy
Still, it's fine from afar, and you know that

Whoa
Brainstorm
Take me away from the norm
Whoa
I've got to tell you something

celebrity status

Earlier tonight, my guy and I were looking at a poster done by the same man who did the artwork for one of the covers for the band, Molly Hatchet.  I don't know why I failed to think of this the other night when I was trying to recall the celebrity encounter bit for John Scalzi's weekend assignment gone by...but back in '96, I met Steve Holland of Molly Hatchet at Groucho's, a bikers' bar in Valdosta, GA.

Also, when I first moved to Valdosta, GA, I went to see Gov't Mule out on the (pecan) farm in Hahira (Home of the Honey Bee), GA.  GREAT weekend.

And in the spring of '96, I got to meet the um, "kids" of Collective Soul....THAT was a total blonDUH moment...cuz I did not recognize them and I was wandering around the gym at Valdosta State University, trying to find the right exit/entrance...I heard voices from a lounge and popped my head in.  A bunch of kids were sitting in there, yappling away.  I did not realize it was the band, til later when I saw a buncha roadies take the stage after the opening act...and imagine my surprise when they began to play...  oohps

weddin' tunes

While my guy and I were eating tonight, there was some good music being piped in at just the right volume.  I asked him, "if it were solely up to you, what would you want to be the first song at your wedding?"  He said, "actually, I was thinking about this the other day (no seriously I was)...and it is a toss up...Little Wing or....wait, no, ya know what would be cool?  if we could get a good band to play Stevie Ray Vaughan's "Pride and Joy"..."
*************************************************************
 Jimi Hendrix's "Little Wing"
Well she’s walking through the clouds
With a circus mind that’s running round
Butterflies and zebras
And moonbeams and fairy tales
That’s all she ever thinks about
Riding with the wind.

When I’m sad, she comes to me
With a thousand smiles, she gives to me free
It’s alright she says it’s alright
Take anything you want from me, anything
Anything.

Fly on little wing,
Yeah yeah, yeah, little wing   
**************************************************************

     Stevie Ray Vaughan's "Pride & Joy"

Well, you've heard about love givin' sight to the blind
My baby's lovin' causes the sun to shine
She's my sweet little thing
She's my pride and joy
She's my sweet little baby, I'm her little lover boy
Yeah, I love my baby, heart and soul
Love like ours won't never grow old
She's my sweet little thing
She's my pride and joy
She's my sweet little baby, I'm her little lover boy
Yeah, I love my lady, she's long and lean
You mess with her, you'll see a man get mean
She's my sweet little thing
She's my pride and joy
She's my sweet little baby, I'm her little lover boy
Well, I love my baby like the finest wine
Stick with her until the end of time
And she's my sweet little thing
She's my pride and joy
She's my sweet little baby, I'm her little lover boy
Yeah, I love my baby, heart and soul
Love like ours won't never grow old
She's my sweet little thing
She's my pride and joy
She's my sweet little baby, I'm her little lover boy

********************************************************
So, there ya have it.

that's all folks

Weekend Assignment #24: Tell us what the first song was at your wedding reception and why you chose that song. If you're not already married, tell us the song you would like to have played first at your wedding reception. Also, for the purposes of this assignment, those of you who have had commitment ceremonies can join in the fun (it's that whole "we're going to spend the rest of our lives together, and now we're going to dance" thing).

{**edit:  Thur 13 Jan 11     Update:  At the time this was written, "my guy" referred to a different person than whom I married years later~~in October 2009, my wedding processional was Etta James's At Last, our first dance was Israel Kamakawiwo'ole's Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World medley, and the first reception open~dance song was Pink's Get This Party Started.  Perfect!!}

Tonight I heard "just the two of us, we can make it if we try, just the two of us" and I thought, ya know, THAT'S probably not the most promising way to start a marriage.  Then I heard Styx's "tonight's the night, we make history, honey you and I..."  umm, k.  Then I started singing, "you won't get him, hoping and a wishing, praying and...".  no no no....

Ugly Kid Joe would NOT be played, esp the "I hate everything about you" song.  I had blissfully forgotten all about that one, til I heard it on "Flashback to the 80s" during Tuesday's lunch hour.  I was trying to remember what my reaction at the time was like, but it did not leave an indelible mark on me.

I think Paul McCartney's "Maybe I'm Amazed" is pretty powerful and my guy sang it to me a couple of months into us being together.  But I think the ultimate first choice song would have to take into account both our tastes and sentiments.  And so I cannot answer this one with much clarity.
Baby I’m amazed at the way you love me all the time
Maybe I’m afraid of the way I love you
Baby I’m amazed at the the way you pulled me out of time
Hung me on a line
Maybe I’m amazed at the way I really need you

Baby I’m a man and maybe I’m a lonely man
Who’s in the middle of something
That he dosen’t really understand
Babe I’m a man and maybe you’re the only woman
Who could ever help me
Baby won’t you help to me understand

(lead solo)

Baby I’m a man and maybe I’m a lonely man
Who’s in the middle of something
That he dosen’t really understand
Babe I’m a man and maybe you’re the only woman
Who could ever help me
Baby won’t you help me understand

Baby I’m amazed at the way you’re with me all the time
Maybe I’m afraid of the way I leave you
Baby I’m amazed at the way you help me sing my song
You right me when I’m wrong
Maybe I’m amazed at the way I really need you
(chorus no words)
(lead solo)
(chorus no words) (fades away)

...nearing the end.

Weekend Assignment #23: 100 years from now, your great-great-great-grandchild has been assigned to write a school report on your life and times. Help him or her by putting five things in a time capsule.

I have two journals that I kept during my junior year of high~school for a history class.  That would be covering the academic year of 1987-88, my teenage perspectives on my self, my life, the world around me, and the mega-news events of that time frame.  So I would include those two journals as one volume (or is that cheating?  I get into the same dilema at the grocery store with the express lanes, do I count the 2 for 1 as 1 or 2 items?).

I have a few diskettes that are all but obsolete now (omg!!  do computers even have 5 1/4 inch drives anymore?), but I am sure they will have some decoding document retrieval system in place then...those diskettes contain some writings from my undergrad years of the early 90's.  Academic assignments, including philosophy, business ethics (there's an oxymoron), and english lit papers and personal notes give a reflection of relevant issues of times (Valdez Oil Spill, remember?  anyone?).
I have a file folder, slim, of miscellaneous but important key correspondence spanning my lifetime.  My birth announcement is there.  A grade school report card is in there.  A few letters from longtime friends are there.  But the file is not even 1/4 inch thick.

I would wrap these items mentioned above in one of my crocheted blankets.  That way they can see my creativity, as I work from two skeins of yarn in a modified popcorn stitch that yields a very warm comfortable throw that is unique in my own way.  Also, I would burn a CD of various music and my voice doing commentary.

If I could throw something in there, with the intention of baffling them, I would put in a rolling pin...I don't think there is difficulty in grasping what all it CAN be used for, but rather its supposed primary usage is already fading.  I don't even own one anymore.

memories...

Weekend Assignment 22: Got a photo you really love? Show it and tell us why. It'd be nice if the photo was one you haven't shown on your site before, but doing a repeat of an especially meaningful picture is groovy too.

This is me carving my turkey, 2002.  It was my first Thanksgiving in MS.  I and my fellow grad students did not have time to travel to far-flung places for such a short break.  So, I roasted a turkey, made all the traditional sides, plus a few PA-influenced dishes; invited several of the international grad students in my program to come out to the farm and experience Thanksgiving with me.  I had a small table with two chairs and we ate at the counter, the table, the dresser, standing, sitting on the floor, etc.  I packed all the left-overs (lots and lots and lots) and disbursed them amongst fellow students for days until I had none left.  Shaddow had turkey drippings and pieces for weeks, cuz I froze some for her so that she could enjoy straight through til the new year.  And if I recall correctly, she did too!!

It was a great way to spend the day.  The other students appreciated a break from their studies.  I was glad to do show them some american hospitality, even if I am not a true southerner.

i just can't stop....

Weekend Assignment #21: Everyone had a subject in school they like better than all the rest. What was yours? And what's the most memorable thing you learned?

I think I wrote about attending a one-room school house for 3rd and 4th grades.  READING was my favorite subject.  I did really well in my math classes too.  But READING is still my great source of joy.

So the most memorable thing I learned was to read.  I don't remember when I learned to read, but it was before I started school.  It is the most memorable skill because even when I was nearly non-functional last year, I could read.  Even if it meant reading the same sentence 67 times before I could comprehend it, I could still read.  I am so grateful for the ability to read, that I can honestly say that reading has been a saving grace many times over.

god sometimes you just don't come thru...

Weekend Assignment #20: Tell us about your favorite entry of your own from the last 366 days (it's a leap year). Tell us why it still resonates for you.

Ok, it's like this...I know I've only been journaling for a little over 6 weeks, but the first entry you'll find in my journal, "Do you think I'm mental",  was a real break-through for me.  I had posted a few entries clustered in a couple of hours shortly before that, but then I read some of Judith Heartsong's Journal and I realized that I was not being real, authentic, true to me...that I was dancing ever so delicately around and darting about...so, I wrote the MENTAL entry, and over time, deleted the first few inane entries.

And since this is my journal, I am going to give a few honorable mentions:  the essay that won my Torch, my political commentary on Homeland Security, and mental mastication.

Judy, judy, judy....

Weekend Assignment #19: Tell us about an entry in someone else's AOL Journal or blog that really left an impression on you in the last year. Why does it stand out for you?

THE ONE AND ONLY...

JUDITH HEARTSONG

so much of her journal is so heartrending, gorgeously moving artwork, touching experiences, thought provoking glimpses into her NOW and past, and the bittersweet moments of empathy...

TAT'S me....

Weekend Assignment #18: You have to get a tattoo. Explain what image you would choose and why -- and where you would put it.
SEE:
11 Oct 04     "Epistemic Details"  Entry
Maybe soon, I can post some pix of some portions of my tats....maybe.

Shaddow!! Again...

Weekend Assignment #17: Through some unexplained miracle, your pet or pets gain the mental capacity for speech for exactly the length of a single sentence. What do you think that sentence would be and why?

 

"I KNOW you are leaving me here for a long, long, long time, alone, in the dark, in the rain, again, sigh"

I don't know why Shaddow seems to think this, but I never do leave her alone for a long time (nor in the rain, in spain, with pain...oh! wait, that's a different theme).  I say that she SEEMS to think this because she acts like I am abandoning her whenever I do leave the house, even if it is to check the mail (in which case, I am in plain sight of her at all times).  But I am sure she would do the Hemingway Angst line if she could...

Dear Delightful Darlin Daughter Debra

Weekend Assignment #16: Create a brand-new Superhero secret identity for yourself, based on your personality and proclivities -- and make sure to list at least one "super power" that relates to a special talent you have.

I am the one and only unique to my family (other families may have theirs, known by different names, even the other sex) BUT I am DEAR DELIGHTFULLY DARLIN (doppy) DAUGHTER DEBRA.  I can be charmingly dear, delightfully witty, dearly darlin, always a daughter...but most of all i am DOPPY (not dopey, unless running a very high fever, in which case I am deliriously wiggy).  I fall off chairs after sitting in them quite comfortably (safe and secure) for no discernable reason.  Why?  Because I am Doppy.  I can fall up the steps (that takes extreme talent, DO NOT try this at home, or at your friend's home) and up moving down escalators (don't ask, but I will tell you I was Doppy and Dopey that time).  My Doppee-ness allows me to perform amazing feats that leave the rest of my family sighing with relief.  Simple tasks such as pouring a glass of milk and cutting lettuce can become breathtaking silent operations as the family wills me to safe completion.  BUT NO!!!  I deftly defy laws of gravity as my doppy powers overwhelm me and I fall, completely missing the floor...mwahahaha!!

no no not harmony

Weekend Assignment #15: Tell us about the the most disgusting food/drink you've ever had in your mouth.

Without a doubt, sorry my fellow southerners, HOMINY has got to be the most disgusting food to have been placed into my mouth.  I was teaching at a small community college in Alabama, when I lunched at a small diner that was serving buffet style, meat and 3.  I saw a large pan of what appeared to be the largest kernals of golden corn I had ever seen.  So I asked the server if indeed it was corn.  It was, she did not lie to me.  But I thought it was corn as I knew it.  Not corn kernel without their outer husk-like coverings.  Unsuspectingly, I took a huge forkful of this delectable looking stuff and well, forked it in.  OMG!  How can something so bland be so awfully unappealingly revolting?!?  Very few foods make my "do not ever try again" list, but HOMINY tops it.

THAT'S moxie!!

Weekend Assignment  #14: Write a haiku about your most cherished snack food or carbonated beverage.

First five syllables;
Seven syllables come next,
And then five once more.

Bloom State Fair in Fall;

I try new food and drink,

Moxie wards the cold.

founding fathers, man, gotta dig that

Weekend Assignment #13: Tell the class which of the Founding Fathers you'd want to hang out and have a beer with and why.

http://www.foundingfathers.info/

If I drank beer, I would have a Samuel Adams with the man (ahem, that would be, of course, Samuel Adams).  Otherwise, I think I would like to sit in on a brunch, a leisurely lunch, with Thomas Paine, the COMMON SENSE dude.  Gotta love a guy who feels that "If there must be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child may have peace."

um, i'm missing something...?

I was digging through John's Journal of wonderful weekend writing jewels and I cannot find #12.  I looked...I toggled between June and July.  I scoured.  I searched.  I dug around some more.

I see 11 and I did that.  I see 13 and I will do that.  I find no 12.  Should I make my own instead?  Or is it there and I just missed it amongst the other entries?

A dozen eggs, a dozen months, a dozen roses, a dozen donuts...

12 days (and gifts my love gave to me) of Christmas...those leapin' lords get to me everytime...sniff...the pipers piping...it's like "riverdance" but with all sorts of animals thrown into the mixture.

I think there are about 12 weeks left in the year...YIKES!!!

...makes me feel fine, blowin' thru the jasmine in my mind

Weekend Assignment #11: Tell us what you think is the perfect Summer Song.

Bobby McFerrin's "Don't Worry, Be Happy" was the first song that came to mind.  Not because I think "summer" when I hear it....but because I think 'no worries" (oh! wait, was that okuta matata??) and the video always lightens my mood a bit.  Anything with McFerrin and Robin Williams has got to be good...

$$money, money, money$$

Weekend Assignment #10: Congratulations! You've been given one million dollars. What would you do with it? But wait! There's more -- seems you've been given two million dollars. Would you do anything different with the second million than you would with the first?

First, I would find some financial advisor to help me make wise investment decisions so I can use the interest to fund most of my ventures and hopefully keep the bulk as perpetual generation of further funds.

Then, I would pay off all my bills.  Even though there are some debts money could not repay, I would make sure that my folks are comfortable.  Then I could turn to other pursuits.

What I have wanted to do, if and when I can, is donate to any and all schools or public libraries in all the places I have ever lived.  As this is quite a lengthy list, with 7 primary/secondary schools and 5 colleges/universities (I've attended and/or taught), I would expect this to take some time to administer.  I would start with the BLOOMSBURG, PA public library and expand from there.  Bloomsburg is where I was born, where I graduated undergrad, and the public library is where I spent much of my teenaged summers.  Hal Pratt is a favored librarian, and I would name the foundation at that location after him.

I don't know much about this, but I sure would find out.  My friend who is Blind would never use the same version of books in highschool as the rest of us sighted kids.  So while we read FLOWERS FOR ALGERNON, she read the much more challenging SCARLET LETTER.  I think I would work with the Library of Congress and see what other existing organizations convert text to braille.

SHADDOW!!

Weekend Assignment #9: Post a picture of one (or more) of your pets and entertain us all with tales of animal fun.

SHADDOW!!  my baby girl, 3 yrs old, sweet, charming, understanding, lovable...sigh...my black lab.

When I was a graduate student and Shaddow was just a few months shy of completing her first year, I would dance around my kitchen in celebration of a good day, a good grade, the completion of whatever...at that time, there was no furniture in the kitchen, so I has lots of open space.  Made a wonderful dance floor.  Shaddow would get all hyper and her big puppy paws would just reach my hips.  So I would bump her (ala "the bump" of the 70s) with one hip, and then she would run a circle around me, setting her paws on my other hip.  I would bump her, and she would dance around me again.  We would do this for awhile, til I got breathless or calmed down from my eurphoria.  I love the way she shares emotions with me, without even needing to know why I am feeling down, or up, or nervous, or whatever.  THAT'S loyalty.

wknd 8 BOOKS!! sigh, grin

Weekend Assignment #8: Name the book that you feel would best describe you to a total stranger.  Extra Credit: List a book that someone swore would be a book you would love -- and you didn't.

PHANTOM TOLLBOOTH (by Norton Juster) is a book intended for children, but ageless in wit and wisdom.  I don't think of myself as ageless in wit and wisdom, rather I think that the character Milo and his sidekicks and adventures resemble my take on life in general.  So I feel that this book would most likely describe me to a total stranger.

I just cannot read CANTERBURY TALES by Chaucer.  I have tried and tried.  Can't do it.  This truly shocks and awwws (as in, you poor poor thang you) most of my literary friends, including my favorite Librarian (who was just promoted to Children's Librarian--wahoo!  you go girl!!).  LES MIS was a close second.  I get somewhere between pages 50 and 75 and cannot get any further.  Most of my friends who really really recommend this title reassure me that if only I would give it another 50 or so pages, the character development is done and the plot begins (not to thicken, it just begins around page 120 or so).  Sorry dude/ttes, can't do it.  Just can't.

#7--Vacation

Weekend Assignment #7: Share the vacation you most want to take -- but haven't taken yet. (Extra Credit: Show off some recent vacation photos.)

 

I don't have a single vacation that I am pining for.  I loved to travel, road-trip earlier.  Seeing most of our own country-side.  I think international travel has its merits, but I think there is so much right here at home to see that I know I can be land-locked for the rest of my years and still be fascinated with the many splendors in the lower 48.

 

I don't travel so well now.  It is hard on me and not nearly as enjoyable as it once was.  So, I read and see what I can on the net.  Listen to others when they share their adventures.  And use my imagination...for now, that's quite allllright.  Some day, I can travel again, but for now, my mind is the only part of me that roams.

#6

Weekend Assignment #6: Tell us about your best friend in second grade (or the grade closest to that in which you remember having a "best friend"). Where is he or she now? Do you still keep in touch? (Extra credit: show any pictures of yourself from second grade.)

Phyllis was my best friend in 2nd grade.  My family moved several times in the following years, but we kept in touch with letters.  I went to her sweet 16th birthday party and attended her wedding some 15 yrs after 2nd grade.  We do not still keep in touch now though.  She gained a teen step-daughter when she married and life became much, much busier for her.  I was graduating undergraduate school and moving from PA to OR to PA to GA and so on.  I think she still lives in the same resort area in NorthEastern PA's Pocono Mountains.  I cannot remember what her married name is now...

wkend 5

Weekend Assignment #5: Recount your most memorable encounter with celebrity. If you haven't met anyone famous and don't know anyone who has, here's an alternate assignment: Reveal your first celebrity crush (and of course, for extra credit, do both).

 

My first celebrity crush was Johnny Depp, circa 1985 or so.  I was about 14.  I did not get all twitterpated, swooning dangerously.  But, I did think he was just so, well, so...sigh...indescribably scrumptillious.

 

Celebrity...a widely-known person...Quinton Powers wrote the music for Reba McEntire's "whoever's in new england", "sweet sixteen", and other country top 40 hits.  I met him and his partner just two months before he died.  I had no idea who he was, but it was very crowded in the restaurant/lounge/bar area with the Valentine's couples and there was room at our table, so I invited them to sit with us.  We had very interesting conversations throughout dinner and afterwards.  I visited their apartment, walking right past the framed gold, platinum albums.  I only noticed them as I was leaving.  Quinton was a very unhappy man, he drank himself to death.  I am glad that I had a chance to know him, sorry that we could not do more.  His partner stayed with us briefly, following his death.  She has since moved on to Florida.  The last I spoke with her, she was not doing too well either.  They were both good people with much more than it seemed they could bear.  Not one of us is impervious, no, not a single one of us.

Wknd #4

Weekend Assignment #4: Share the most memorable birthday present you've ever gotten -- or given (extra credit for both).

The most memorable birthday present I've received is a tough decision, because I have been blessed with so many great ones over the years.  But I would have to say that the most fitting one came when I was 13 yrs old.  I just entered the between years, leaving childhood, but not an adult.  At that time I played intramural basketball, in 7th grade.  After we finished Saturday's game, I headed for the showers.  I was unprepared to discover that I started my very first period ever.

After I got home, my mom and I went to the hair salon, where I got my first ever professional perm.  I had thick long blonde hair, that I could sit on.  They had to cut it to my lower back to perm it.  Then because it took soooo long to put up, they got a little careless and rushed in the application of solution.  So after my hair came out of the curlers, was rinsed and dried, they discovered that they frizzled it badly and needed to cut it again.  So, it was cut even with my shoulders.  This was a radical change for me that I was unprepared for, but I dealt with it gracefully, thinking well, it's hair, it'll grow back.  But not before I had to have it cut into a lil dutch boy bob, the following week because of the perm damage.

The most memorable birthday present I ever gave was a crochetted blanket of rose and soft-white for my mother.  It was one of the few things I made that actually turned out quite nicely and is warm, pretty, and well-made.  Mom uses it in the winter, when she is reading in the rocker.  Otherwise, it is folded and draped over the restored chair.

wknd #3

weekend Assignment #3: Recount the worst piece of advice you've ever been given, or the worst piece of advice you've ever provided. (For extra credit, do both).

Well, this one is easy.  The worst advice I've ever been given was from the lawyer with whom I consulted last week.  Basically, he suggested that I do nothing.  He felt that I should not file an appeal, which means that my silence is consent that I agree to the assessment that the State of Alabama has leveled against me...um, I can read and what's more is I have a brain that functions at times....this means that I understand that by choosing to do nothing, I am doing something that I do NOT want to do.  Namely, I do NOT owe Alabama anything.  So, I am filing an appeal.  If I do not, then the assessment amount is entered as final and I then owe them that amount, due in full payment within 45 days or...I get to wear orange canvas and I must say that not only is that particular shade ghastly on me, but I have an aversion to being in small cinderblock cells with barred windows and ahum "openings" (doorways is a misnomer).

The worst advice I've ever given...has been to myself.  Our legal system is unbiased and rational, trust the system and it will all work out.  WHAT was I thinking?!?  I was raised better than that!  I KNOW better than that...so what excuse was I using at the time?  To that question, I know not the answer.  I tend to be rather naive at times, slow on the uptake, idealistic, and sometimes I do believe everything I read.

sigh, you'd think I'd know bynow...

lookee here!!

Continuing off last entry's digging in John's Journal's archived jewels...

 

Weekend Assignment #2: Describe your second-favorite of the following: movie, book, album, school teacher, ice cream flavor, sports team, comfort food, celebrity crush, cartoon character and way to relax. If you feel like it, add in any other second favorite you like.

 

Movie--French Kiss with Meg Ryan and Kevin Kline

Book--Beantrees by B. Kingsolver

Album--this changes frequently, but right now April Barrows (swing/jazz)

School Teacher--Mrs. Gibb

Ice Cream Flavor--vanilla

Sports Team--well since i don't even have a favorite....

Comfort Food--mashed potatoes

Celebrity Crush--tommy lee jones

Cartoon Character--jerry's nephew, the little french, sword-weilding, page-mouse that says, "touche, pussy cat" often as he scurries about poking tom with his pointy, albiet small, blade

way to relax.  internet

second favorite drink:  coffee

digging in John's journal

I decided to go digging in John's Journal, unearthing some of the weekend assignments from eons (well ok months) ago.  Ya know, back in the day when the weekend assignments were new creations and he had (OMG) 161 responses to one single question...man, I have comment-envy, sigh...

so, jes fer kicks...

Your Weekend Assignment #1: Share 25 totally random facts about yourself. Include at least one you've never shared before with anyone.

Right, then, off the top of my head.  1.  I own no pink clothes.  I don't know why this is, I just don't.  2.  My bedroom was entirely pink as a child.  which I loved, then it was grey walls, white furniture, black trim.  must have been my minimalist movement.  3.  my floors are a pale green.  green is my favorite color and i did not want to paint the floors dark, so i went pale.  4.  i love to eat.  almost anything.  5.  as klutzy as i am, i have never broken any bones.  well except maybe some toes.  6.  i have an excellent pointe, but never took ballet, and that is a good thing, quite possibly, because i have weak ankles, but then maybe ballet would strengthen ankles...?  7.  i love to read, i cannot remember not being able to read.  8.  my crafts all look slightly handled and misshapen, as though an unskilled 8 year old attempted them.  9.  i have an older brother, who lives in PA, where I am from.  10.  i get stuck on my own grammer, spelling, and such.  11.  i am learning NOT to be a perfectionist.  12.  i don't feel like i am a mature responsible adult (when will THAT happen?)  13.  it is now 6:21 and i am getting hungry, see #4.  14.  this is harder than i thought.  15.  way way harder.  16.  i study the bible and read lots about it.  17.  i became a christian in january of this year.  18.  i don't have a favorite bible book, but i am partial to 1 Cor 13 (Love, the most excellent way)  19.  my guy is doing really well in his PhD program, i am so proud of him, and yet i can not claim any of the credit for him doing so well.  but i am still proud.  20.  my father's harley is almost road-worthy (technically it is, already, but i'm talking road-trip of hundreds of miles worthy).  so hopefully i can go riding soon.  21.  i have never ridden motorcycle with my dad.  22.  currently i am sitting in my guy's living room, while he is napping.  23.  my hair is growing so fast, it is even taking me by surprise.  24.  i think i may need to focus on my tax situation instead of typing in my journal.  25.  i am really relieved i reached the goal, because it was not quite as interesting as i had hoped, and that is due to my frame of mind, i am afraid.  sigh

John's 30th weekend assignment

This week we have another reader suggested topic, offered by NZforMe:
"With the upcoming New Fall TV Line-Up, I get to thinking about the last Golden Age of Television (whenever the heck THAT was).

"Assignment:  What gone, but not forgotten, TV series do you miss the most?

Extra Credit:  If you had to be on a game show or reality show, which one would it be?"
See, now, this is a topic everyone can get behind.
***************************************************************
I just HAD to go proving you wrong, didn't I?   I rarely, like less than a handful of times per year, watch TV.  Even more rarely did I watch it growing up.
A few years ago, my father bought me a TV and VCR.  I have two channels, fuzzy and fuzzier.  Know what?  Not a problem, because I usually do not notice that viewing television shows are even an option.  I read alot.  I am on the internet alot.  I do other things, like write, alot.
I recently browsed through a old magazine in a coffee shop.  I did not recognize any of the shows advertised in there.  But then I don't usually recognize the movies playing in the theaters either.  If you don't see trailors for them, which usually are on TV, then you don't usually know much about them.  Unless for some reason, they become the talk of the town, so to say.  Everyone has an opinion on Fahrenheit 911 and Passion of the Christ, it seems, so of course I knew something about those films.
But getting back to the assignment...as a child, I played.  Alot.  Read.  Alot.  Wrote.  Alot.  Went for long, long walks often.  Went fishing.  Went berrying.  Played games with convulated, twisted storylines that my brother and I made up as we went along.
So I don't miss TV, let alone TV shows.  Honestly, I have no clue about reality shows other than some folks who seem to disdain soap-opera's talk about these shows with as much emotion as though they are somehow involved in these folks' lives.  Game shows?  Um, well, I am familiar with Jeopardy.  It's been around for a long time and I remember there was a computerized version of it back in the mid-80's that my friends and I would play at their slumber parties.  But, I would probably not do well with itbecause, as you can see, I am not up on lots of pop culture and some of that does get into the answers ("remember, phrase your response as a question").
So, I managed to get an entire entry out of not answering the question.

Shoes Clues

(Nancy Sinatra's "these Boots are made for walking")



John Scalzi's Weekend Writing Assignment is all about footwear, the favored ware for the feet.  I am one of the few females I know who has only a few pair of shoes and all for different purposes.  I own a pair of sneakers, work boots, sensible suaded everyday wear shoes, fuzzy plush slippers for scooting around my house (with a matching robe, i am quite the sight) and then there are the two favorite pairs of foot coverings.
(Tori Amos--"New Age")

Last spring, I visited a shoe store that was having one of those 50% of sales that still leaves the blood drained from my face and my mumblings of disbelief of how expensive the clearance shoes are still.  My eyes were glazing over, as often happens when I am overwhelmed with choices and decisions, when I saw MARY JANES in my size displayed on the clearance shelf.  OMG!!  OMG!  I never owned a pair of Mary Janes before and really wanted these so to add to my childish delight, they were like $12!!!  ACK, giddiness.  I began to understand why some women are ecstatic after shoe shopping.
(Emmylou Harris -- "Red Dirt Girl")

Last fall, at Wal-Mart of all places, I found a pair of black doe-soft boots which end just beneath my knees.  I love em.  They suit me.  I wear em well.  They add that extra bit of attitude to my stride.

And they have great tread.

Epistemic Details

(listening to:  Sade's "kiss of life")

Epistemic is not a disease so please don't call CDC just yet.  According to Merriam-Webster, epistemic is relating to the cognitive.  The philosophy of epistemology is how we come to know the things we think we know, or how knowledge is attained, constructed, etc.

(listening to:  Eva Cassidy's "Nightbird")

Last night, I was chatting with an acquaintance on yahoo.  Yahoo IM, for some reason, is the only way I can get the borrowed CAM to work.  So, this acquaintance has not seen me in oh, a year or so...so he was quite surprised when he did view the web-cam.  The hair-doless threw him.  He couldn't wait to tell his wife.

(listening to:  Cowboy Junkies--Sweet Jane)  Stick with me, cuz I am going somewhere with this.

I was also chatting with a very close friend of mine.  He knows about lots of stuff going on with me, including me being so exurberant (I wish Journal had spell-check) about receiving wonderful Judith Heartsong's terribly wonderful Torch wildly wonderful water-color.  Well, he has not seen it yet.  So I held it up to the web-cam for a few minutes so my hand would stop shaking, the camera would adjust, and he would get a nice clear view.

(listening to:  Ani DiFranco's "Untouchable Face")

So the Acquaintance asks me if that is my new tattoo.  I explained that it was not, and also what it is.  Well, he maintained that it would be a great tattoo for me.

(listening to:  The Innocence Mission's "No Storm Come")

So I tell my Friend about the ascertations of the Acquaintance.  He admitted that he couldn't quite see the piece inked on me.  Besides, where would I put it?  DO NOT answer that, it was rhetorical.

(listening to:  Joni Mitchell's "Carey")

I am inked extensively, been tatted for over 10 years now.  It is a work in progress, but at the moment it is not a top priority.  It ranks a bit low on my list of things to do.

(listening to:  10,000 Maniacs--Hope I Don't Fall in Love with You)

Good work is very expensive.  Fortunately, I do have good work, but haven't had to invest the money the art is worth.  I'm very selective about whom works on my body.  Usually, I take the time to get to know the artist.  We develop a report which most times leads to us reaching an agreeable situation in which I receive the tat in exchange for some service.

(listening to:  The Bangles--Manic Monday)

Now, before you go conjuring rampantly wild romps or anything else exceedingly exotic, erotic, or otherwise erroneous, let me clarify what I mean by "service".  The very first tat I received, I brought the artist other patrons.  He was intrigued with the piece I had designed and as he made quite the profit by doing ready-made flash for the others, he was willing to give me a reduced price.  Works for me.  The quality is fine, even after all these years.  The color is brilliant and true.  No fading, no "bleeding" (blurred lines, instead of distinct definition).  I'm still happy with it.

(listening to:  Dido's "My Lover's Gone")

The first one is my signature, my initials configured as I sign them on documents.  The "DKB" is fashioned of wooded vines, green vines and leaves intertwine the more boldly stable wood.  Some grapes hang ripened and a closed elongated flower the shade of blue morning glories add finishing touches.

((listening to:  Garbage's "Only happy when it rains")

I was 22, considered to be the straight-laced one of the family.  I grew up around folks with tats, so I always knew that eventually I would become inked.  I was in no rush, taking my time about permenant things is smart.  My family was not quite expecting this, I had given no hints.  What I did instead was I created a card, much like a birth-announcement.  With the design on the front, in colored detail, I wrote:  "It's a...." and then on the inside, I wrote "...TATTOO!!".  I finished the announcement with details, like, who where what when why.  I even invited my folks to share in the celebration.  My grandfather was present when I gave Mom and Dad the card.  He was quiet for awhile, then said that he supposed it was all right, so long as this was not a sign of rapid degeneration on my part (such as dropping out of college, taking up with a rough crowd, and getting pregnant--all vaguely equivalent sorts of activities that he frowned upon, I could see his point).

(listening to:  Tina Turner's "Better Be Good to Me")

The next piece was quite elaborate and took three sittings to complete.  It is a girdle of sorts, a vine that drapes across my hips, curves over my waist, and dangles down the front of both thighs.  The left side ties in with the first tattoo.  Embedded within the vines and ivy are the spheres of chakra, using a personal variation of six instead of seven or even nine.  Green (representing the heart, love) is the largest, featured in the small of my back.

(listening to:  Lori Carson's "I saw the Light")

It took years for me to find someone to do this.  Not because folks couldn't technically do it, but because I seek collaboration between myself and the artist.  I describe what it is I am wanting, they draw out a portion to see if we are in synch.  Sometimes we don't even get that far, because it is my opinion that you tend to produce more quality work, more creative, more richly detailed, if you have a vested interest...if you enjoy what it is you are doing.  So if you are into doing Goth, rip-outs, ready-made flash, tribal, gore, portraits, etc., then chances are even if you are the best of the best, I won't be sitting for you (sorry Godfather of Contemporary Tattooing World--Lyle Tuttle).

(listening to:  Sarah McLachlan's "Drawn to the Rhythm")

I've seen great work by artists of all sorts, it's just not my style and that's ok.  Diversity is great.  Just because I admire something, does NOT mean that I want it for myself.  So there are some greats whose work I would highly recommend.  Even if I don't have their work on my person.

(listening to:  Edie Brickell's "Lost In the Moment")

Ok, back to the second piece...the artist was an apprentice, so some touch-up is required and one of these days I will get back to GA and see if he is available to do it.  My policy is that it is preferrable to have the original artist do any touch-ups.  There are many reasons touch-ups may be required.  Usually, it is because of improper follow-up care.  Some people do not heed instructions well, and because they pick at the healing tat, or expose it to sun or prolonged water (worse, bleach and other pool chemicals), or let it dry out or or or or...then the tattoo does not retain optimal quality.  DUDES, take care of your skin!  The tattoo is a clean wound, but a wound none-the-less and needs to HEAL properly.  Do your part.  Take care of it like you should.  If not, you've got no room to complain.  Got it?  Good.  (as you can tell, I feel strongly about this)

(listening to:  Butterfly's "Life is Short")

I have gained and lost weight over the years since I have had that second piece done.  Being where it is located, and the nature of stretch marks, weight distribution, etc., that particular piece while astounding the layman, is in need of some touch-up in order to WOW! the folks in the know, critics, other artists, convention judges, etc.  Besides, it's my body, I like clean lines and although it still looks great, I want it to be truly reflective of that artist's abilities and talent.  It's not his fault I aged, and gained/lost weight.  That's life.

(listening to:  Indigo Girls--Get out the map)

The next several pieces were done by the same man.  He did a broom-stick configuration on my tummy (which is about the size of a saucer--the tat, not my belly).  He did an antiqued simple rose, which represents a lotus to me, on my upper left arm.  This is "held" in place by an armband of simple ivy.  (see a theme here??)

(listening to:  Simon Stinger)

Which brings me to another point.  Women truly are the stronger sex, when it comes to tolerating pain.  Men choose areas like their upper arms, which are less sensitive than the areas women typically tend to choose.  Some of the, aum, studly sports figures go for 3/4 arm bands, avoiding the tender flesh on the underside.  Women are more apt to go with on-the-bone places, like ankles, shoulder-blades, hip-bones.  The small of the back is a very sensitive place, more women are likely to go for that than men are.  So, you manly stud-pups, perhaps a bit of consideration here...before you go flashing your biceps all buffed and cocky, keep in mind that lil lady with the dainty anklet of fairea dust could withstand more than you and leave you sniveling "uncle" into your do-rag.

(listening to:  Tori Amos--I'm Not in Love)

The last piece that the third artist did for me was a three part, done in one sitting, tribal heart.  Each half of the heart is angled on the inside of each breast, seeming to slide into the whole, which is inbetween my breasts, on the sternum.  I had to time my breathing with his work so that the movement did not disturb him.

The fourth artist, Leona Herod, is the only woman to work on me as of yet.  She did a complete armband, upper right arm, again in keeping with the theme, of vines and colored spheres of chakra.  I did "front-girl" work for her.  Which means that the person who greets you, answers questions, helps you choose the design, explains the process, answers the phone, makes the appts, etc.  that was me.

(listening to:  Lucinda Williams--Can't Let Go)

My father received his first ink by the same woman, the very next day.  A tribal eagle on his upper left arm.  Somewhere there are photos of the two of us standing back to back, displaying fresh ink.  It's the ultimate in father-daughter bonding!!

(listening to:  Erykah Badu's "Other side of the Game")

It is the last piece that is the show-stopper.  It was finished last April.  It took about 6 months, 2 or 3 sittings per week, each sitting was about 4 hours.  During that time, the artist and I got to read each other quite well.  When I would whimper, ouch, he would immediately stop.  He knew my threshold was reached and further work would be pointless as I might not sit perfectly still for the best quality ink.

(listening to:  Sheryl Crow's "Steve McQueen")

It took me quite some time to find someone who could, would, and WANTED to do this design.  It was, by his own admission, the best work he has ever done.  The more work he did, the more he grew to like this piece and the better his work was.  It was a creative cycle of the best sort.

(listening to:  Garrison Starr's "Madness")

Picture a woman, her body the tree trunk, her legs merging into the base of the tree, broadening into a strong root system.  A druid in a tree, if you will. 

(listening to:  Tracy Chapman's "Born to Fight")

Her head is slightly raised and turned to the side.  Her hair and arms extend, becoming branches of the tree.  This figure's body extends along my spine, tying into the girdle at the root/base.

(listening to:  Liz Phair's "Big Tall Man")

The lowest limbs are bare, representing winter.  Then moving up to my right, spring buds and tender new growth are present.  Lush full green of summer extends over her head to the base of my neck, broadening some to lie across my shoulders.  Fall is on my left, with 7 different types of colorful leaves.  These include, oak, sassafras, elm, and maple.

(listening to:  Nikka Costa's "Like a Feather")

This is called a "body-web" because it wrapped around my sides, up over my shoulders, down my arms (tying in the armbands), and down my breasts.  It is a stunning piece that description and even pictures do not do justice.  It graces me, suiting me well.

(listening to:  Cranberries--Linger)

While I was in the midst of having this latest piece done, I had some outlined, but unfinished portions visible on my shoulders and arms.  My friend's small child, being helpful, brought his markers out to color me.  It was delightful to me that I represented a live coloring book to this child.

(listening to:  Ani DiFranco's "Shrug")

Well, thanks for sticking out this very long entry.  hope you have gained some welcomed epistemic details of me and my person.  have a great day!

mental mastication, we all do it...

Mental mastication, we all do it...don't be embarrassed, it's healthy, it's normal. Some of us are a bit more thorough than others.  Personally, I think I might masticate too much.  Perhaps I should see a professional about that, oh! that's right, I already am.   What was I thinking?   A clear example of not mentally masticating properly.

Speaking of proper mental mastication, (listening to Jewel's "Foolish Games") we all have experienced hoof in mouth disease at some point.  I have gotten better over the years, but some times I find my ped looming large in my vision.  Times like that, I find it generally is best to clamp my lips tightly, thereby preventing anything further from escaping and my foot from entering.

When the moment passes, and I can breath, I usually apologize for the gaffe.  Then I leave it alone.  It fades quicker that way.  I hope.

(listening to Natalie Merchant's "Stockton Gala Days")  My guy and I were mentally masticating together today.  It's ok, we engage in this frequently and it is fairly safe.  Sometimes, we don't masticate enough, THAT leads to big misunderstandings.  Then we usually share our mental mastications more frequently, for longer durations.  This can go on for an amazingly long period of time, til we are both worn out and in need of rest and rejuvenation.  Sometimes, refreshments are required.

(Listening to Barbara Lynn's "You'll Lose a good thing")  So any way, we were past the balance, nearing the breaking point, when we realized we both had lost "it"...when we listened to ourselves chanting, "grad school rocks"  (doing the metal head bash with altered ("I love you" in ASL) hand gestures) and other geeky things like "mean raw scores transformed! become standard scores" (accompanied with snappy super-hero gestures reminiscent of 1980's trucks that become robots).  We realized that our hysteria (mania) was complete, when we both continued to crack one-liners and cackle in merriment and mirth.

At least we did this in the privacy of my home.  Mental mastication in public (or performed by public agents for that matter) is generally frowned on.  That's why stupid questions are so rampant, I think.  Not enough mental masticating.

GOOD DEED DAY & Thanks/Appreciation

Dear John,

Hope this finds you in fine spirits.  With autumn upon us, the temperature is dropping and the common cold, flu, strep, and other illnesses are looking like it just might be a bumper crop this year.  I hope that your little girl, Athena, stays well.  Being around other kids means that she gets to share all kinds of things, even germs!  But as a dad, you know all about that, I am sure.

I wanted to thank you for posting such interesting entries in your journal.  You have provided us with good advice and instructions.  You share glimpses of your family-life through wonderful stories and photos.  Quite often you give us the scoop on interesting stories, blogs/journals, and other sites on the web.  THANKS!

One of the things that I like about you is that your are dependable.  You put thought into your weekend assignments and I look forward to them every Thursday.  Even if I don't write them to the "T", I still enjoy reading what others have written.  Often, ideas for my own entries might spin-off the original assignments.

This weekend's assignment was primarily about holidays.  I would like to see GOOD DEED DAY become a celebration.  Especially when informal groups of people form to do something that would be helpful.  For example, Viv's property and privacy was violated.  So, a few folks are doing various things to replace some of her stolen stuff, as well as helping her to feel better.  Sometimes people just need to know that nice folks still exist.

Somehow, THANK YOU notes became passe.  I think that is horrible!  Especially with the technology we have to ease any sort of hardship of communication!!  Why, thanks can come in all sorts of forms, not just notes.  But it seems appreciation is so lacking these days.

Did you know that on 11 Sept 01, quite a few flights were rerouted in Gander, Newfoundland?  This small town's populations swelled to take on over 6000 guests.  Gander's citizens dealt with the crises well and provided special arrangements for all sorts of situations, including pregnant women and families with special religious practices that required certain food implements.  So, quite a few of the thankful folks that were rerouted donated to a fund to express their appreciation to the citizens of Gander and surrounding areas.  In my book, THAT was great!

Expressions of thanks and appreciation do not have to be nearly so elaborate though.  Thanking someone for a job well done can brighten their day.  That nurse, teacher, fireman, or even the waitress or cashier certainly does not get paid enough to compensate the sorts of things they deal with every day.  So I figure some of those service jobs are filled because people genuinely care...about strangers, about issues, about humanity...so, saying, "thanks" doesn't take but a second of my time and the acknowledgement is like a little gift.

So, John, thanks for taking the time out of your day to read my letter.  Thanks for the job you do, here in J-land.  Hello to your family.  Debra

NANOWRIMO

November is NAtional NOvel WRIting MOnth (NANOWRIMO).

This is the first year for me to sign-up for this.  Participants start to write on Nov 1st.  The goal is to complete 175 pgs (50,000 words) by midnight 30 Nov, in novel format.

http://www.nanowrimo.org/

the idea is that if you sit down and write, you will mine something out of it.  write write write.  don't think, just write.

this is not an unheard of concept.  THE ARTIST'S WAY refers to morning pages as being unstructured, free flowing thoughts.  that once you get those thoughts that might distract you outta the way, then you can get down to the brass tacks, so to say.

Practice makes perfect//Try, try again; and other adages encourage us to hone skills, through developing them, by doing them.

www.namowrimo.org

check it out.  join me.

waving, smiling, being pleasant

During the spring semester '02, the university's newspaper featured a front-page of the "waving guy".  The student said that one day the previous fall, he was waiting outside near one of the busier intersections, in front of the student union.  He noticed all the drivers were scowling intensely, preoccupied.  No one was singing with the radio.  No one was smiling.  No one looked pleasantly friendly.

So the "waving guy" decided that just wasn't right.  Throughout the entire spring semester, he could be seen Monday through Friday from about 10 am til 2 pm.  He'd be bundled up on the coldest days of February and as the semester warmed, he'd be kicked back in his lawn-chair, chillin'.  Sometimes he wore sunglasses and a funky hat.

He waved to every body.  That was his thing.  He talked and smiled to other students, walking past him.  Many times, folks brought their chairs and would sit and wave with him.  Sometimes students would sit on the picnic tables not too far away, and after a bit, they'd start waving too.

Mostly, he waved at the occupants of the vehicles that had to stop at the intersection.  Most folks were somewhat startled.  Most waved back, smiling.  The "waving guy" said that it made him feel good to know that for a bit those folks were distracted in a good way.

The "waving guy" said that he noticed that different folks responded slightly different.  Downhome boys in the pickup trucks gave the "cool barely-lifted-two-finger acknowledgement with the slight-incline-of-the-head nod".

Then there were the regulars, folks he saw just about every day.  Some of these had special greetings that they exchanged.  A couple would toot their horns in short rapid staccato rhythyms.

As the semester came to a close, the "waving guy" was seen less frequently.  It was time to study for finals and write those term-papers.  While waving was not his primary purpose for attending college, that simple act brought a lighter heart for many.  Even if it was just a few seconds of smiling before the mind got busy again with worrying about deadlines, assignments, etc.

He graduated that term.  I wonder if others missed his fairly unwavering presence.  I know I did.