Adventures

So after waking at noon (I know, right? but I had one of those sleepless nights and didn't get to bed 'til 4am) and taking 2 hours to wake up (made lunch & ate, did dishes, swept living room, and scanned and saved some images for my French study group lesson-those are waking up tasks), I debated whether or not I wanted to do yoga or go for a bike ride. I decided on the bike ride because I need more vigorous activity in my life. Besides, I didn't feel like spending the afternoon in my studio doing my French. Sitting in McDonald's after a 40 minute ride was more appealing. I needed to get out.

So I packed up my French book and the netbook, and because it looked like rain, put the totebag in a plastic garbage bag for protection. Then I filled my travel cup with ice water, put the bag in my handlebar basket, and took off.

I don't have a bike built for speed, it's made for comfort. Or would be if I could get one of those wide comfy seats that fits both the bike and my leg length. I have to make do with the seat it came with and a gel cover. It works, but I want one of those wider seats instead, but they sit too far forward, and so my legs are awkward when I pedal. I got handlebars that allow me to ride upright instead of hunched over.

It was quite humid, but with enough cloud cover not to be uncomfortable. My energy level is under a handicap this month, though. It's been one of those double cycle months. Bleh. So about 2/3s of the way I began to feel quite drained. It took me longer than usual to get to McDonald's, almost an hour, and I was shaky as I got off the bike and locked it up. It took me an hour and a half to recover and feel up to riding back home, plenty of time for me to translate a huge chunk of French.

Just as I took off down the road it started raining big fat drops of water. It was awesome! It felt refreshing, and I couldn't keep the huge smile from my face as I rode. The frogs were just as overjoyed, and itty bitty ones frolicked across my path. Thankfully, none of them jumped into harm's way because I don't think I would have had the coordination to avoid them. Once again, I began to poop out, this time about half way, and though 20 min. of riding in the rain was an adventure, 40 min. was enough of a good thing. When I reached the street that led to the entrance of my subdivision I was walking. Thank goodness that walking isn't nearly so draining as carrying one's weight on a bicycle up a hill (a gentle one, but still). When I got home, though I wasn't cold, the warm shower I took felt good. I'm still feeling my legs right now.

The only bad thing about my adventure was when the lightning started. I'm very uncomfortable being out when it's lightning. I had to keep talking to myself, saying things like, "Okay, since you're thinking the worst, you know it won't happen. You're going to make it home without incident. And look, even if you get struck, it'll be so fast you won't know a thing." Silly stuff like that. I really, really hate lightning, even while thinking it quite splendid in its awfulness.

So, I've managed to bring my eating under my control, as well as my hormones (at least to the extent that I no longer experience those dreadful black days), and even on my downer days I don't often succumb to counter-productive behavior the way I used to. I think I am now ready to become more serious with the physical stuff. I'm not promising myself anything, but this seems to be the way I work. I start, I fail, I start again, until I'm not failing. Now that I'm at a comfortable place with food and supplements, it's a good time to add in more physical activity. I have a good yoga routine that I enjoy and would like to make more regular, and I love bike riding. And 3 more pounds will see me in that dress that I've been waiting to fit into, and dance floor here I come! I think that'll do for the next phase. Who knows? Maybe a year from now you might even find me at the gym. Bwahahahahaha!

She begins to burn

Oh, yeah.

We left off here:

And now we're here:

One more day of painting and she'll be finished.

I got the job!

You know that already, of course. I shouted it all over FB and G+. I really am happy about it. Yes, I've worried about how it will affect my painting, if I'm going to end up exhausted and miserable doing the 9 to 5 thing again, or if it will impact my new habits in a negative way. But you know what? It won't. I won't. It won't. I'm not the same person I was a year and a half ago. My approach to my life has undergone a metamorphosis that can't be undone. I've discovered things that really work for me, and I know what the cost is if I were to lose them, and I simply cannot do that. I will quite literally die a slow death if I do, and I can't face that. I've come too far, gained too much good, to let anything get in the way of that, even a job. Especially a job.

This job is the result of my search for a way to make my life fit who I am along with the responsibilities that I have. Though it looked for awhile as though I'd made yet another poor decision, I didn't. I love creating multimedia for the computer. I love education. And I had an absolute blast putting together my presentation. I KNOW this is the right sort of job for me. I do need some structure, and I also need some peace of mind. I need to know that I have a regular paycheck and that I can visit a doctor. I need to know that my daughter's needs will be met. So my next task, now that I know the things that are essential to my sanity, is to find ways to incorporate them into what will become a busier life. And I'm up for that. I'm ready for that. It's like a new adventure, and I long for a bit of adventure right now.

And this is also going to make my dream of Paris come true. I will be able to save up the money and the time and go at last! And once I've achieved that dream, I will create a new one. :-) And meanwhile, I will continue to make time to paint, to meditate, and to learn French.

Yay!

Is that what's wrong with me?

I was reading one of the daily inspirational emails that I get and something in it struck me, and I asked myself that question. Then suddenly I realized what I'd asked. Is that what's wrong with me? I've dealt with this before, thinking that something is wrong with me instead of accepting there's nothing wrong, this is who I am, and what I really need to do is love all of myself. That isn't to say there aren't things about myself that could use some tweaking, but that's a matter of using what I like about myself, what I know I can do, to shine over the things that can be counter-productive. The point is, I have to practice treating myself gently, more lover-like, not beat myself up over every little thing, not consider that I'm malformed in some way.

Thoughts of the day

Driving to work I was dancing along with the radio at stop lights, in a super good mood, but for a split second my thoughts danced off to not so good mood stuff, and I could feel a well of tears just waiting for the opportunity to spill over. The moment passed as I brought myself back to the song and the sky. This is how it's been with me for quite awhile, though I'm in more white than black moods these days. But I can't ever seem to rid myself of that hum just beneath the surface that all is not quite well. Much of it has been hormone related as I navigate through this phase of my life. I have been able to bring myself into a better state of equilibrium, but there is still so much more to do to bring about the harmony between body, mind, and spirit that I've enjoyed at times but not as often as I'd like.
----
I sometimes read the posts of my high school group on FB and I wonder if what I'm reading is why I never bothered to stay in contact with any but a couple of people from back then. They all seem to be enjoying one another, but I'm on some different wavelength or something. Most of their conversation bores me to tears. Especially when they get all patriotic and God-fearing. It's funny how military people can be Christians and warriors at the same time, isn't it? It seems like an oxymoronic possibility. (My high school peeps are mostly military brats, many of them joining the military themselves or marrying military spouses.) They love talking about old times. I can barely remember those times, I can barely remember the people, and I certainly have no reason to want to live in the past. Did that mean I just didn't have fun? But I did. You know what stands out in my mind, though? The times I spent on my own, walking through the forested hill paths, feeling the mist on my face, or going down to the village and braving the shops with my shy German. I love people, but they exhaust me after awhile. I would really be quite content living on my own in a beach house by the shore, poking my head out every so often to connect with people I love and then going back into my solitude. And yet, would I survive the solitude without the internet? I've lived with it for over a decade now. I'm never truly alone any time of day or night. I can always find someone to talk to if I'm in the mood and I'm on. What am I really like with true, hermit-like solitude? I honestly don't know.
----
The interview went well on my part. In fact, I was the most comfortable I've been at any of the interviews I've been on in the past year. I'm getting too practiced at this, but I'm glad I don't get the jitters like I used to. Something in me has changed. My fear of authority figures has waned quite a bit, I'm more likely to speak my mind and not worry overmuch about what people think of me. More likely, I said, that doesn't mean I practice this completely "open and who cares what you think" sort of attitude all the time, just that it's becoming easier for me, little by little. I don't bottle things up so much any more.
----
When drivers are assholes, I lean on the horn now and relieve that frustration in a more satisfying way than simply yelling idiot!, which no one hears anyway. And once I've let it out I remind myself they're just people like me who make mistakes, and I can let it go. Whenever I rant over someone else's behavior, my mind will throw up all the times when I've done things just like them. There's this fairness script that's always playing in my head, kind of keeping score, I guess, but not in an actual they did that/I did this tally, but more like a weight scale, and if I think the uglies are piling up too high on their side, I'll think of things I've done that help to balance it out if possible. I want to be sure that I'm not being harsh in my thoughts because of some underlying thing that may not even have anything to do with their behavior, but instead has to do with me being extra sensitive at the time that they did what they did. Sometimes it just isn't possible to be fair, though, because the things done were just really hard to take and need more than just thinking about when my behavior was comparable, even if it was. Sometimes nothing but the passage of time will take care of that.
----
I'm up late again. Tomorrow I can sleep in a little. I may have to take my daughter to school, but then again, she may not go. She's not been well the last couple of days, so I said I'd drive her instead of her having to take the bus, which can be exhausting for her when she's not having a good day, especially when she has to be focused in class for over 3 hours. This seems to be more of a real physical illness than anything mind related, though. When I get back home, I'll paint for a little while, and then I have to catch up on grading. I let that slide while I was creating my presentation. I won't hear anything for a week or two they said. I'm fine with that. I wouldn't be able to start until after August 10 anyway, when my class ends, so...on to other things meanwhile.
----
The reason I'm up late isn't because I'm wired, though. It's because I missed Falling Skies on Sunday because I was working, and I saw that it would be on at 1 am, so I stayed up to catch it, then started working on this post and doing a little catching up on FB, which is what prompted my thoughts on my high school group. They're having a reunion in 2012, and there are a few people who've said they're going that I would like to see again, but not many. And so many others that I don't know, and based upon their posts don't really care to, so I'm not sure. It's going to be in Myrtle Beach, SC. I'd hoped they were going to vote for Orlando (or was it Daytona? can't remember now). It's highly unlikely I'm going to want to spend the money to go see people I barely know as opposed to sticking it in the bank for getting to Paris, you know? But I have been trying to make myself get out more, connect with people, do more things. It does make life more interesting when you do that. Even if I can handle being by myself for reeeeeeeeeeally long stretches of time doesn't mean it's necessarily good for me because then I can become too engrossed in my thoughts, and a downward spiral can begin that way.
----
It would be nice if I could finish my phoenix this week. I'm ready to finish it and move on to something else. I need more paint, though. I can't use regular oils in the summer time. Too smelly in my closed in studio. Too hot to paint with the door and window open.
----
I have this problem that's actually a good problem to have, but requires funds to correct, which isn't so good. My clothes are getting too baggy on me. Even my shoes are getting too big. I put a skirt and top on today that used to be just a tad snug on me, thinking it would fit just right now, only to discover that I missed the just right stage and now can't wear it because it's too loose. I am going to go through my closet soon and give away everything that's too big, which will be about half of what I own-and some of the pieces I really love, too! I need to incorporate a few more colors besides blue, green, and purple, too. I'm ready to spice it up just a little with some reds, pinks, and yellows, but not too red. Deep, ruby reds look better on me. And no pastels. They don't look very good on me at all unless they're blue or purple. I've had to throw away 2 very comfortable pairs of black shoes because they had a suede-like surface that began to flake off. I'm so bummed because I no longer have any black shoes that don't give me blisters. I only have 2 pair now, one closed toes and one heeled sandals and both much too uncomfortable to wear teaching. So I need to start making more money soon or I'm going to start looking like a bag lady. Once I drop down to the next size, and I will, I won't have any clothes in my closet at all to wear! But you know what? The thought that I've gotten smaller than anything I've worn in 30 years will more than make up for not having anything to wear. ;-)

A bit of a rant

So I get this email from the White House. (posted after my sig) It sounds so good. It appeals to me because I've always been someone who liked trying to find common ground and to work out compromises. I want things to be fair. But the problem is, it's not working! Compromise has translated into giving away more and more from the little that ordinary folks have while we watch corporations grow and company leaders pocket obscene amounts of money.

I looked at how taxes have changed over the past century for the least and most wealthy, and the fact is, a 5% or whatever increase in the lower ranks means the difference between whether you're eating beans or meat for dinner (okay, beans are better for you anyway, but you know what I mean), while raising it 15% for the wealthy doesn't touch them at all! There was a time in this country when, if you made over a certain amount of money (can't remember what it was, I'll post a link to some charts I saw after writing this) you paid 90% of it in taxes!!!! Now, I DO NOT think that's fair, but when you consider that the money earned is either being made through the efforts of the little people employed in a company, or, as Zen wrote about, made through no effort at all but gambling, I don't see anything wrong with requiring uber rich people to live off half what they make-it's not as if they'd be destitute for Pete's sake! How much does a person need to live? Some of us have proven not all that much and still live a decent life!

Besides all that, though, we're being lied to about how money in the federal government works. The people on Capitol Hill are either ignorant, or willfully using others' ignorance to get what they want and to hell with the rest of us...and I include the president in that!

Chart links:
Corporate Tax Rates Then and Now

History of Federal and Individual Income Bottom and Top Bracket Rates

And once again I post a link to a book that, though I still don't understand some of it (economics will never be a subject I can fully grasp without a LOT of study-which will never happen), has helped me tremendously in understanding just how easily we can be manipulated about the way we make and use money. It's in PDF form, so you can download it to whatever device you use and read it. It's free, and actually readable!

The 7 Deadly Innocent Frauds of Economic Policy

Good morning,

Back in March, I was in the room as President Obama spoke to a group of young Americans of different political persuasions in Massachusetts. He spoke candidly and openly about the importance of compromise in our democracy — even from people who care passionately about their position.

Take a look:



One quote stuck with me: “the nature of our democracy and the nature of our politics is to marry principle to a political process that means you don't get 100% of what you want.”

This is a President who believes searching for common ground is the right way to approach solving our problems. And in fact, in the divided government our country has chosen, it’s the only way we can.

Unfortunately, that view isn’t shared by everyone in Washington, DC. And you can see that right now as the President is trying to bring people together to tackle our debt and get our fiscal house in order.

This is a difficult process, and it means Republicans and Democrats need to step outside their political comfort zone and find some common ground. The President is willing to make tough cuts with real impacts, not easy decisions.

But most Congressional Republicans have dug in and demanded that the sacrifice fall only on the middle class, seniors and struggling Americans.

The President tried to make it easy for them by suggesting closing some of the most egregious loopholes for the very wealthiest Americans and special interests — so that hedge fund managers don’t pay lower taxes than firefighters and teachers, corporate jet owners don’t pay lower taxes than commercial airlines, and oil companies don’t get tax cuts at a time they are making record profits.

Congressional Republicans have not yet given an inch even though the American people, regardless of which political party they belong to, overwhelmingly approve of this common sense, balanced approach.

Our nation is climbing out of the worst recession since the Great Depression, and one of the most important things we can do to help the economy is to get our fiscal house in order and reduce our Nation’s deficit. We can’t let this moment pass us by.

Compromise isn’t a dirty word — in fact, it’s the only way our democracy can get big things done.

Sincerely,

David Plouffe
Senior Advisor to the President

P.S. In his Weekly Address, the President calls on both parties to work together to find a balanced approach to solving our nation’s deficit problem. Watch the video.

On my back porch

rose scents tease my nostrils

the backyard glows gray and green, bright colors muted

a breeze gently brushes my skin, the scorching heat forgotten, the air cool and damp

the tapping, then beating of rain drowns out the rustle of palm trees

gusts of wind throw mist across my arms and face, the wind chimes sing

thunder cracks, maddy's ears flatten, her pupils widen, she sits wary and cautious, still, alert

a waterfall pours off the roof, splashing into a growing pool

trees and bushes wave and dance, thunder rolls and cracks again, the water slows to drizzle, then picks up louder, louder, louder

the green is now muted by mist and falling water

maddy crouches, relaxed, but still alert

I'm the rain, the colors, the dance, the cat

the porch door slams, the cat jumps high, I'm me again

Yo, Paula!

Are your invites working again?

http://lifehacker.com/5819218/google%252B-invites-are-open-again

Knowing your weaknesses

I do an exercise with my students where I send them all over the campus to get signatures from workers in the various offices. The purpose is to make them physically find those places so that they get to know the campus and where things are located. I always thought the purpose was a no-brainer. So I get this email:

Hello Professor Grace,

I am e-mailing you to notify you that when your students come in to get a signature on the scavenger hunt pamphlet that you send them around with, they do not ask questions about what the office does or what services we provide. They just come in and say “Hey can we get a signature?” Then they walk out. Some of the offices in Student Services I know have been asking them “well why do you need a signature?” to try to get them to tell us what they are doing and to ask questions but the students have been coming in so frequent that our staff having to ask them becomes irritating especially when offices are busy. I just wanted to email you and notify you of what is going on. If the students do not ask what the office does or what services they provide and/or what the difference is between one office or the next I do not find a benefit to the exercise.

BS

Ha! I just now noticed her initials. LOL.

So here's the thing. Many other teachers of this course send their students out on similar "scavenger hunts." I used to sign the students' papers when they came to my tutoring service, so I know that some of them have their students ask questions, but some don't.

So when I started teaching, I, too, sent my students around, but in my class we also make special visits, or have special visitors from the different places. They don't have to ask questions. They find out throughout the course.

To say I had a problem with this email is to put it mildly. I was livid that some part-time tech in student services was taking me to task over an exercise I was doing with my students. Had she simply asked me nicely about the exercise and whether or not I wanted the students to ask them questions, there would have been no problem, but she didn't. She didn't show me any respect as a teacher who knew what she was doing, instead questioning my judgement with that last "I do not see the benefit to the exercise."

But that's not what I'm here to talk about. What bothers me is that it bothers me. Something is not right with me when an ignorant email like this can send me into such a rage. When I stand back from this I can understand some of what is bothering her and recognize that in her irritation she didn't think her email through very well, or doesn't know how to communicate diplomatically. She may be young. I don't know who she is. So what if she got irritated with something I made my students do? That's her problem, not mine, yet I made it my problem. I didn't send her a nasty email back, at least. I stated the benefit just as I stated it in the opening and nothing more. And I'm calm now and letting it go. But I want to get to the point when things like this are nothing more than a curiosity to me.

Fun with DIY

I mentioned on FB that we sprung a leak. It occurred in the pipes right behind the hot water heater, so the same area of our bedroom got waterlogged, though we caught it before it was too bad, and we never did put the stuff back yet from the last leak because we've been meaning to pull up the carpet soon, so nothing but the carpet got wet.

After cutting away the wall we found this:

My husband then spent a few grueling days drilling and pounding through the concrete:

And finally created a temporary fix:

In time, he'll cut out the offending pipe, replace it with new along with some sort of special whatsits that will connect the new to the old, fill in the hole with easy mix concrete, and then we'll pull up the carpet, fix and paint the walls, and put down a new floor. I expect I'll be living with the last view for a few months before all that happens.

Correction

I reread my "Following my bliss" post of yesterday and had to change some things. It's funny, I'd been thinking of how I was defining myself as being this or that and how that post was like a snapshot of my frame of mind, of my thoughts, just at that time, but that I don't always view myself in quite that way, and then Pema's lesson today came in. Yesterday the wild child was screaming, so I made it sound as though she's the true me, but the true me is a mixture of many children. Most of the changes were minor, a kind of gentling of the screaming while keeping the points intact. But I had to change up the last paragraph quite a bit because I left out some important bits. So this is today's version:

Last summer my mom said she always thought of me as a free spirit. It surprised me that she thought this. I always felt she was disappointed with me when I didn't conform to an expected way of behaving, but her free spirit comment didn't come out of disappointment, it came out of love and a knowledge of who I am. My brother saw me as a hippy, a flower child. Long ago my best friend called me bohemian. These are all true aspects of me, that wild child within, but I've often silenced her in favor of the "normal" part of me that I thought people would be more comfortable with, a daughter to be proud of, a wife one could love, a mom that wouldn't be too embarrassing, a co-worker one could take seriously. Last year she wouldn't be silenced any longer. She screamed. And she's still screaming, though at lower decibel levels as she figures out how to be present without taking over. Because that wouldn't be any better than Ms. Safety having control. And at last, I'm finding my way in my painting. I may still not be great at it, but I am an artist, and though I'm taking my time about it, I am following my bliss.

Unhappy

With my blog, that is. I like the design. I like the name. I'm not fond of the colors other than that they're bright, but I would have preferred the reds to move to blues and purples rather than oranges. I like my profile pic, but again I prefer my blue and purple one. I like that it's separate from my public stuff. But I don't like blogger and I don't like that I've separated my old blog posts from it in case there was anything there that had my name on it.

I'm thinking the whole thing was a mistake, an ill-conceived idea in an attempt to bring some control into an out of control life. But control is an illusion anyway. Today's lesson from Pema Chödrön:

How are we going to spend this brief lifetime? Are we going to strengthen our well-perfected ability to struggle against uncertainty, or are we going to train in letting go? Are we going to hold on stubbornly to “I’m like this and you’re like that”? Or are we going to move beyond that narrow mind? Could we start to train as a warrior, aspiring to reconnect with the natural flexibility of our being and to help others do the same? If we start to move in this direction, limitless possibilities will begin to open up.

The bold italics are my doing. That would be a yes to both questions.

Sigh.

Drat Borders

I am seriously bummed over Borders going bankrupt. I loved their cafe and had two more purchases to go to get my free coffee. I loved the atmosphere. Also, I bought a couple of ebooks that I used with their desktop app. I didn't finish them before I had to switch over to the Kobe reader, but when I attempted to open the desktop app, in order to set it up, you have to have an ereader for it to sync to. I don't have an ereader. I have the desktop app. I have a Kobe account with my books in it. And I can't read them with the desktop app. This really bites.

Yes, I have a help request in. But I'm impatient. I wanted to read one of my books now.

Purpose in life?

The other day I read an article about how to know what your purpose in life is. Now, this is different than thinking about what the purpose to life is. There isn't one. It just is. But there is no denying that many of us feel as though we were meant for something. Which isn't to say there's any meaning to life, either. But we've got something inside us dying to get out. Don't know why, but it's there.

The guy said you had to plan on sitting down for an hour if you're the resistant type, but at least 20 minutes for receptive types. Then you start free writing whatever pops into your head to complete the sentence "My purpose in life is to..." You keep doing it, and you can even repeat things you've written, until one of them makes you cry.

A man wrote this.

He said if it clutches at you, but you don't cry, make a mark next to it because it'll come into play to move you into your purpose, but it's the thing that makes you cry that lets you know you've found what you were meant to do. So I thought I'd give it a try. I wrote all the usual things, ...be an artist, ...paint, ...travel the world. Nothing. Huh? Well, let's try some typical things, ...be a writer, ...be a teacher, ...be a great mom, ...be a great wife. Nothing. That didn't surprise me. Hmmmmm. The guy said at least 20 minutes. I was at about 4 at this stage and already feeling impatient, frustrated, and silly. But you know what? I must be really receptive because it was at 5 minutes that the tears started, and I was surprised with what triggered it. Do you know what my purpose in life is?

To laugh.

Following your bliss

I have read tons of stuff on that topic. Unfortunately, most of the advice is also tied to a belief that the universe/God is going to support you in this. That's wonderful for people who have an overflowing savings account to live on as they experiment and develop and whatnot. Or people who are okay with living day to day not knowing where their next meal is coming from. Or people with incredible stamina and patience to work a 40 hour (and more) a week job, take care of a family, and still find time to do blissful things.

Those of you who have been reading me for years know that I've often struggled with reconciling my artist self with my practical self, trying to create a life in which I can make a living but still feed my creative need. I believe I've made greater strides in the last year doing just that, than I have in awhile, but I do have to say that I started down this road of being serious about being an artist over a decade ago. I've gone through a series of starts, halts, setbacks, and restarts, but I have never given up on giving art an important role in my life. I am a great believer in following one's bliss, even when it looks like the universe is not, as so many authors of self-help books tell us is the case, supporting one and bringing one what one needs when one needs it.

One of my greatest obstacles in this adventure hasn't been lack of money, though, or even lack of universal handholding. It's been me. I sabotage myself. Or I step forward in ignorance of what I'm ready for, impatient to get to the goal of being An Artist, whatever that may mean, whether I have what I need for it or not. You see, I have this problem in that most things in my early years came to me fairly easily, and I was a good student who didn't have to work as hard as a lot of other students. When I did things, they came out good almost from the start. I didn't have to do a lot of reworking, revising, or redoing. Especially when it came to things I made with my hands. What that meant ultimately is that I didn't develop a lot of patience. I didn't have to. So when I came up against things later in life that did require patience and repeated effort, I gave up on it. Practice? Me? Make mistakes? Not bloody likely. If I couldn't do it well within a reasonably short amount of time, I wouldn't do it. I didn't want to look bad. I'd been too used to looking good.

Translated to painting that meant I didn't have a sense of adventure or experimentation about it. In the earlier years that was fine as I was learning how to mix and apply paint. I was fine with what I painted because at least it looked pretty close to what I was copying. My skill at getting it "right" was there as always. In time, though, I wasn't satisfied with my ability to copy, but I discovered when I tried to play, I was so concerned about things looking "right" I couldn't play. My stuff was horrid. And I don't do horrid. So I'd play it safe and go back to copying other pictures, but because I wasn't satisfied with doing that, I began to tell myself negative things about my painting. "I'll never be a real artist." "My work is just mediocre." And by saying these things, I caused that spark in me that loves color and boldness and spontaneity to shrivel to almost nothing. I became cautious and withdrawn, not just artistically, but also in expressing myself in other ways. When you begin to tell yourself that the thing you love doing the most isn't really worth much, you also begin to see yourself as not worth much.

Then began the perimenopausal years. Horrible and wonderful years. Horrible because your conflicting emotions turn you inside out and upside down. Wonderful because you're being turned inside out and upside down. You're having to face things head on, do or die. What you thought you knew about life, about yourself, isn't true. Or you realize that you've been lying to yourself in order to stay "safe". I still have some serious junk in my head to work through. I'm not who I always tried to be as a wife and mother raising a family, doing the "right" thing. There's this wild child just dying to make herself known, tired of being cooped up for so long doing all the things expected of her without allowing for any expression of the unexpected. Living this way for so long it has become habit, but that doesn't mean it's natural to me. It isn't natural to me. Do I want to please? Yes. Do I want to hurt anyone? No. Am I sensitive to whether or not you judge me? Yes. Too sensitive. That is natural to me, and that encouraged my conforming habits, but the wild child under the sensitivity and empathy doesn't like conforming AT ALL, and has done what she could over the years in subtle, small ways to rebel, until recently when she hasn't been subtle at all.

Last summer my mom said she always thought of me as a free spirit. It surprised me that she thought this. I always felt she was disappointed with me when I didn't conform to an expected way of behaving, but her free spirit comment didn't come out of disappointment, it came out of love and a knowledge of who I am. My brother saw me as a hippy, a flower child. Long ago my best friend called me bohemian. These are all true aspects of me, that wild child within, but I've often silenced her in favor of the "normal" part of me that I thought people would be more comfortable with, a daughter to be proud of, a wife one could love, a mom that wouldn't be too embarrassing, a co-worker one could take seriously. Last year she wouldn't be silenced any longer. She screamed. And she's still screaming, though at lower decibel levels as she figures out how to be present without taking over. Because that wouldn't be any better than Ms. Safety having control. And at last, I'm finding my way in my painting. I may still not be great at it, but I am an artist, and though I'm taking my time about it, I am following my bliss.

She begins to glow

I didn't get as far as I would have liked, but my head wasn't quite in it today, so instead of doing anything creative I just made a few logical adjustments and started to add a bit more color. I had to remind myself that the feathers are going to begin to look like flames soon, so I needed to stop being so fussy. I have to say, I was a bit scared to tackle this, and though it's never going to win any prizes for skill or originality, it's talking to me. I'm more pleased than I thought I would be over this.

So, we left off here:

and today we're here:

Yeah, baby!

I saw a rainbow yesterday and it had a profound effect on me. Probably because I was hyped up on sugar, but be that as it may, last week was a very dismal week overall due to rain, rain, rain and the time of the month. I do not do well when the sun doesn't shine, and it's worse when it's combined with the other. Thankfully, three things occurred to take me out of myself, I started back teaching on Wednesday, I had a screening interview for a job, and I met up with an old school friend whose job brought him down here for a day. We spoke to each other a bit in my high school FB group, and when he learned his company was sending him down here, he let me know.

It was really rather an alternate universe feeling to have the 12 (or he might have been 13) year old boy who gave me my first real kiss (I was 14-I've always been drawn to younger men, lol. My husband is half a year younger than me) meet me for coffee at the airport after no contact for 37 years. Or rather, I had chai iced tea and he had nothing.

Our high school was very small. It included 6th-12th grades on an American Air Force base in Germany, which is how I ended up with someone younger than me. He was in 8th grade, I was in 10th, and my interest was first piqued when I looked out through the windows of my typing class one day as a boys' PE class went running by and I noticed him with his long blonde hair. I have always had a thing for long hair. After that, I always looked forward to typing class, hoping I'd get another glimpse of him. Didn't know who he was for awhile, but of course I asked around and discovered he was a brother in one of the most well-known families in the school. His mom was like a mom to lots of people beyond the six of her own that she had. He had two brothers and two sisters ahead of him in school, one of the sisters was in my grade, though I don't recall ever having a class with her, which is kind of strange given that there were so few of us. But I knew of her, certainly. I admired her. She had long blonde hair and a straight, confident walk. But we never ran in the same crowd. So B and I eventually met and came together at a dance, which is when the kiss took place. We were a couple for two weeks after that, and then he dumped me. The grapevine told me it was because he'd hoped for a bit more from a girl two years his senior and was disappointed with the shy, unknowing person he actually got. But you know how distorted things can get through the grapevine, and I never trusted the catty girl who passed the info on. But of course, it's also quite possibly the truth. I didn't ask him when we met again last week.

I remember the two of us standing outside my bus every afternoon with barely anything to say to each other. I wasn't a bit surprised when he called it quits, and I never held it against him. We didn't talk much after that (well that would be something, wouldn't it, if we could suddenly talk to each other AFTER we broke up?), but I do recall bumping into him at the snack bar at the end of the next school year just before his family moved away and having a lovely, though short, conversation with him. As he left the snack bar, I sat at my table wondering why on earth we couldn't have been able to talk like that before, thinking what a shame it was that we'd never see each other again when it looked like maybe something interesting was still possible. But of course it was because I was older, more comfortable in my environment, and was losing some of my shyness. Not all, but some. And I imagine it was the same sort of thing with him. Besides, guys that age really aren't into talking to girls, are they? ;-)

Oh, my, I didn't intend to get on and talk about all that, actually. I got on to shout out that I got a call today for an interview for that job I screened for! And how the rainbow yesterday had just seemed to scream good omen. It was big and beautiful and full and every color just stood out so clearly. I don't believe in omens, and yet I'll respond to things that stand out to me like that as though they are omens. I don't know why, but I've given up fighting it, it's how I am. If I saw a beautiful rainbow that spoke to me at a time when I really needed pepping up and feel like it's a sign that things are going to be looking up for me, well, if it encourages positive thinking in me, I'm going to go with it. I need all the pepper uppers I can get.

So, the interview. It's in 2 weeks and they want me to create a 5 minute e-learning presentation on how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I need a hook, people, some interesting something to draw the learner in and make doing a lesson in pb&j-making fun. I have a couple of ideas floating about for the interactivity of it, but it needs a story, a theme.

Anyway, I woke up today on the tail end of a sugar hangover. I made Texas brownies for the BBQ we went to last night, which are just too addictive, and I left half the batch at home (they make big batches). You cannot limit yourself with them. Impossible. I have been very, very good with my sugar intake because I really hate this feeling and there are health risks for me, but every now and again I can't resist. My last splurge was the donut birthday cake at the beginning of June, so a once a month splurge ain't so bad, unless you're the one I'm talking to while coming down from the high and feeling like the whole world hates me. The interview news has helped to perk me up, and I'm going to go paint now. My next post will be the latest painting update.

Quote for the day

“It isn’t what happens to us that causes us to suffer; it’s what we say to ourselves about what happens.” ~Pema Chodron

Circles

Before deactivating FB I'd posted a comment about Google's new social network (which can only be accessed by invite, so if you get one and can pass one along to others, I'd like to try it) and how I liked the way it seemed they were going to make creating groups of friends easier than the way it is in FB now, so that you can control who gets what info. It's a clunky process in FB, and I have to always go searching for just exactly where one can create lists because I keep forgetting how. When you want to post something that only a certain list can see, you have to go through a couple of popup screens.

So Dr Z commented that it must be nice to have so many friends that you need to put them into different groups. I replied with an explanation of sorts about how/why I use the groups, but I didn't really respond to the heart of his comment, that yeah, it is nice to know enough people in different enough ways that you can create groups in the first place. I get it. I understood his meaning. I'm very fortunate. Sometimes I forget that because even though I know a lot of people, I don't spend much time with them. I used to complain that no one ever reached out to me first, that if I wanted to interact, I'd have to make the first move, but in the past year that hasn't been the case. People have been making the first move, and it's made me realize, especially since I was in a place where I did a lot of pulling back, that many people go through cycles of reaching out or staying quiet, especially if they're introverts, and it just so happens that most of my friends are as introverted (or more so) as I am, so they sometimes need a hand reached out to them first. They have all probably felt at one time or another that I didn't care when I didn't do any reaching and they needed it.

I do care. I'm just not always good at coming out of my shell. Anyway, I know that Dr Z made that point because his own life has been quite lonely for a long while. It's not easy to make friends, even for the friendly. I've met lots and lots of people over the years, but getting together with them on a regular basis hasn't worked out so well, either because of health (usually on their part), distance, or work reasons. But I love where I live, and I have options if I make the effort. It hasn't been quite that way for him. He's one of my dearest friends, and I'd love to hear him complain that he's connected to so many people that he needs a better way of grouping them.

Deactivated

I'm off FB again. My recent experiments confirm what I've always known but have difficulty following through in, time on the internet in social fluff busyness prolongs my bad spells. It's when I'm feeling down that I get sucked in more deeply and it becomes one of those cycles of behavior that don't get any better unless you go cold turkey. I do best when I keep my social circle small (the few blogs I follow since they no longer post as frequently as they used to) and stick to one on one communication in email, which is more personal and usually more uplifting.

Restless Spirit

I grew up a military brat and then my husband joined the army in the early years of our marriage. That means growing up I never lived anywhere longer than 3.5 years, and later, I still moved frequently. My life looked like this:

Born Jacksonille, FL
about 1 yr of age, Alabama. I think it was Birmingham, not sure.
moved to Lompoc, CA age 2 or thereabouts.
age 3-6 Misawa, Japan
age 6-7 Homestead, FL (Hurricane Betsy-remember the flooded carport and streets with crabs everywhere
age 7-8 Albuquerque, NM
age 8-10 Denver, CO
age 10-13 Austin, TX
age 14-17 Zweibruecken, Germany
age 17-20 Oscoda, MI

Lived on my own for a little while, moved back home to go to college, then married. It broke the cycle, and I stayed put for 5 years (but lived in 6 different places). Then my husband joined the army and off I went again, Junction City, KS-4 yrs and Fairbanks, AK-4 yrs. Then we moved to Tampa in 92 and have been here ever since. But I get the itch every 3-4 years for something new. I'm a notorious furniture rearranger, though that's been difficult in my current house. Even while here we've lived in 4 different places, all within our first 10 years here. As of August this year we'll have been in this house 10 years. A record. We were in the previous house 6 years, and I thought that was impressive.

I know that how I was raised has had a big influence on my perceptions and encouraged a restless wanderlust. I was reading through a thread on FB from others from my high school (an American high school in Germany for military and civil service brats), and many of us have this in common.

P I get the whole restless spirit thing...seems I have about a 3-5 year max before I need to go do the next thing. Luckily I've been successful, but I keep hoping one day I'll say...this is where I'll retire...not there yet.

L I think it's in-bred from being a "brat", I know I feel the same and know plenty others that do to. Just move the furniture around in your house, that should work for awhile

P LOL! I've done a lot of furniture moving too! And I agree that it's all part of our exposure to the military way of life...I'm glad its part of who I am. Can't even imagine how it would have been to have lived in one place for my entire life.

L lmao! husband #3 comes home one night and says "is this the way you want the living room set up?" "yes".. "ok".. then he goes out to the shed and comes back in with nails and a hammer.. "what are you doing???" I asked. "I'm nailing this shit to the floor!" true story.

S While yous are moving the furniture around..kick it around..slash it with a knife..scratch it up a bit..then you'll feel like you've really moved..lol..

S make sure you get those nicks n dents in there deep..

T I always had this feeling-Well it's been 4yrs-time to move..

P It's so good for me to hear that all of you feel the same way...for some time i thought it was just me. I guess we are all somewhat abnormal...in a very interesting way. Love you all, my Z High buddies!

I didn't tell you

the chicken died the night after we took it in. I guess it was more injured (or more traumatized) than it looked. Poor thing. I'd started looking up the care of chickens, how to build houses for them, what they needed, etc. I was actually wanting to find how to get it off our hands in the most humane way possible. My husband was ready to just set it loose and let nature take its course, but I couldn't bring myself to agree because after all, I'd already interrupted nature when I came across it and decided to bring it into the house in the first place. I'm such a nitwit.