Just blog dusting.

 

Simply dusting off my blogs, both here and at Jumbo Petite.  I am thinking about consolidating the two blogs into one space. Not sure I have the technological skills to merge them the way I would like with two sections, but one url.  Might have to ask my husband to help, one of the benefits of having a engineer husband. We are officially empty nesters, our daughter away at school.  We are both missing her and enjoying couple time.  It's an odd feeling, and I am struggling a bit more than my husband.  Especially with the stand back and let her make her own mistakes and solve her own problems.  I am trying to learn to be simply a safety net and not a spotter. She said to me yesterday, I know you are trying-but you need to try harder.  I don't want us to fall back into old patterns, so today with every step I take, I am going to say to myself, try harder, have faith and remember she's a great kid, trust her.  We will see how I do.   The photo one I took from the car-I was parked along the roadside, trying to catch the birds in flight--as soon as I pulled over to watch, the birds quit practicing their take-offs. I suspect there is a lesson in that for me.



Anticipation of Stillness

I spent my morning reading blogs.  I like Blogs.  I like Blogs a lot.  I might even love reading a good blog.  I find that Facebook has been the demise of the frequent blogger.  Myself included in that demise.  The photo above, a tree in odd light, I found fascinating--I took about 20 photos of the tree trying to capture the emotion the tree evoked.  I am not sure if this shot is "the shot", I wanted. Still processing over 400 photos the remaining 19 included.  I am groovy.  I am actually simply.  In the Bebe scale of personal states--Simply is near the top.  Perhaps a theme for another blog--Bebe's Scale of Personal Being---I am missing the words, more so I am feeling the urge to write, as if the words are beginning to seep from pores, dropping where ever they seem to fit--in fact I am tripping on the damn words.  There is also an urgency to write.  As if the words have come full circle. I find if I am still even for a few moments the words begin to stray into the thoughts of the moment--as if they have simply been waiting for me to be still. Which I suppose explains everything. Which is perhaps what drew me to photograph this tree, an anticipation of stillness--I am simply, I hope the same for you.

Bird Wars

In less than a month Rachael will graduate from High School (fingers crossed on Calculus), the first of the festivities was a Mad Hatters Tea her and her best friend Haley hosted for their friends.  It was the first time it felt real to me, my daughter graduating, moving on to the next stage and leaving Michael and I behind.  It  hit me and all of sudden I wanted to bawl my eyes out.  The last couple of years have been a real trial for Rach and I, as we are often oil and water. I am a bulldozer( a well meaning one) and Rachael a concrete pier that can not be moved no matter what gear you have the damn thing in.  Rachael is like a well rooted tree that if you cut it down its roots will give rise to a new tree 5 feet away.  Rachael looks like me but is  more like her Dad in personality; we do share 2 traits-what I call the P traits. Perverseness and perseverance, and in that lies the problem.  I find myself wanting to simultaneously hold her here and push her out of the nest, if only we were a bit more like birds; where instinct and not sentiment tells us when to let go.  I am excited for her choices and each day brings us closer to graduation and her to the next stage of her journey.  Hopefully I can learn to put the bulldozer in idle gear.

Santa Monica Beach

Playing around with the photos from this weekend. Most of the photos on my camera were taken by Kaylee and Rachael-a lot of photos taken from the back seat of Beverly Hills. These I took at the waters edge where Santa Monica Blvd, dead ends into the ocean. I love the ocean, I would like to retire near water-either ocean, or lake or river, there is something in the movement of water that calms and restores, and stirs seeds of angst. A sense of being aware of the beauty and force of nature.  I find that I am simultaneously comforted and disquieted-perhaps it this heightened sense of awareness, of being in the minute that makes me crave the water. 

Dusting Off and Feeling Groovy

I am dusting off my blogs over the next couple of days, seems I have missed the therapeutic nature of blogging.  Perhaps it is more a dialogue of self than communication with others.  If that is the case then I am most definitely guilty.  The picture taken at Santa Monica Beach this weekend.  I took my daughter and her friend to the Korean Music Festival at the Hollywood Bowl. We had a great weekend-being tourists and simply enjoying each other without fighting.  Of course less than 72 hours home and Rach and I are back to old habits.  She graduates in 30 days, if you are counting, and I am so excited.  I love summer; Rachie and I always summer well together, as the only thing we generally fight about anymore is school.  I believe she is ready for college ( I can't believe I said that).  We are going to college orientation in June and after that-it's finally time to relax.  I did my best in NaPoWri and managed 12 days of poeming, perhaps I have enough poems for the chapbook I am working on.  I wanted 15 love poems, perhaps I have them.  Today Michael and I celebrate 26 years of marriage.  I am glad that we are still together, still love each other, and still having fun. I took this picture because of the smiley--I simply had to fuel that Polly Anna part of my personality.  I can't help it, it is who I am; half cynic and half eternal optimistic.  It drives me crazy.  I am mostly groovy on all fronts. Hope the same for you.

Green Light Go

Finally after nearly 18 months on hyper speed, life is almost normal.  I am beginning to come up for air.   Seems that work and home have synchronized in a temporarily lull.  I found myself reading this week in my spare time--I read 3 books this week. Partly because I spent over 20 hours in a car over 5 days, and simply because the sound ticker on my perpetual list maker must be turned way down.The books a trilogy I borrowed from my daughter called the Immortal Instruments, a teenage story of demon hunters, werewolves, vampires, fey, and warlocks-and some forbidden attractions.  I enjoyed it despite myself-I thought of it the teenage equivalent of another one of my favorite guilty pleasures-Karen Marie Monings Fever Series.  It felt good to immerse myself in an alternate world, and I found myself wondering, how had I gotten to busy to read.  In fact I have been to busy to do alot of things--I miss my friends, my quiet time, my writing time and photography time. I owe the Dallas Poets Community a Winter 2012 newsletter, my friend Pat pictures of her daughter, my friend Bart a print of  his wife, my friends LaDonna and Trish, birthday presents, my friend Theresa a breakfast...a visit to Greenville to see Kelly Jo and Patty and a trip to Louisiana to see my Uncle.  Well perhaps the list ticker isn't turned off-it's just redirecting itself from the extreme focus I have had on work and getting Rachael prepared for college.   Good news is that the regulation is in review for at least the next 90 days (maybe more), my mid March deadlines are on target, and my daughter has settled on 2 schools (either one she indicated she would be happy with).  Both schools states away--but have her degree and for the first time in her life, dyslexia support.  We are waiting to see if she qualified for any scholarships before she makes the final decision.  One school is more expensive and she will have to take a loan for the difference, but ultimately we are leaving the choice to her. She has grown to be a mostly intelligent caring young woman ( I am so proud of you Rach) and it is time for her to stand on her own.  We are mostly groovy.

Occupy Gingerbread & other Stories

All of my blogs are very dusty, both here and over at Jumbo Petite I have been largely absent.  It is what it is. I am coming up from air from a very hectic and stressful December that included deadlines, sick daughter, failing grades, surgery for daughter, Christmas, and lastly recovery and the heralding in of 2012.  I for one am glad for the new year ( despite that 12/12/12 thing). Above my favorite Christmas photo, taken at a mother/daughter Christmas party for the fantastic girls of  1900.  We were building gingerbread houses--
As I said I am coming up for air, dusting off my blogs and whooping up some energy for 2012, this weekend I am going to Austin with Ann and Travis to take a poetry class in Austin with Scott Wiggerman, my first ever official poetry road trip.  I am excited and nervous.

Effects of light

taken somewhere between Tulsa International Airport and Love Field around 35,000 feet.   I love taking cloud photos, I find that I am drawn to the similiarities of topography.  The child in me wants to discard what I know about clouds and simply longs to explore: to walk free.  To feed the child, take shots from my seat.  I took these with a smoky filter-from an old film camera, which when downloaded gave birth to the unusual plays of light and shadow. What I love most is that I was able to capture the movement of the lighter clouds--that memorize me, much like waves, evoking a sense of tide.

Senior-itis

I am practicing my portrait skills on Rachael and her friend Haley.  I find that I took 150 photos and of those I think perhaps 30 are decent enough, we are planning a few more shoots, and a few more outfits.  I am hoping I can get enough photos the girls really like.  I told Rachael if she would like I would pay for a professional if she wasn't happy with these.  Haley and Rachie simply wanted a chance to have a few shots together, they have been friends 13 years. They love each other like sisters.  These are first attempts, still working through them, these are unedited, simply as I shot them.  Haley and Rachie took a few of the shots, they both have good camera eyes, and the day of the shoot, I was having a bit of vertigo and was a bit cautious on where I would climb.  

We are having a rough senior year, seems my daughter took AP Calculas as an elective ( Art or photography would of been a much safer choice) and may barely if she is lucky pass by the skin of her teeth.  She is unconcerned, as she is struggling with senior-itis, mononucleosis and it's my life-itis.  This makes talking to her about future college and life choices--almost impossible.  It's also hard to stay mad at someone who is sick. In same cased resorting to pigeoned pig-Latin  and simlish translator results in near-miss communication.   We are all feeling overwhelmed, but oddly actually taking senior pictures, makes it seem an almost reality.

Confessions of a Lazy Poet

I went to see Sting with my sister Kim.  Kim is a huge Sting fan, and she bought us the most amazing seats, we were virtually on the first row.  I as a rule am to cheap to buy tickets this close to the main stage, so I made it my mission to take pictures of the show for her, as a way to say thank-you for the great seat.  I took my daughters canon point and shoot, with the 10x optical zoom, and found that about 1/3 of the photos came out pretty decent.  Was hard to get the camera stable with the entire row moving in time to the music and the musicians in constant motion.   I find that I can watch Sting perform endlessly, as he engages the audience in both music and storytelling. I have a penchant for a good story.  I love when he speaks about his creative process, how he crafts the music and waits for the story.  Music before lyrics.

As a poet I find that fascinating, as with me the story, the poem is first, then the sound of the words follow. My poetry flows from a part of me that is foreign. I rely on a free write process- a rush of words-a wave of thought, a poetic belch ( if you must) and later after the words are written, I find that portion that becomes the poem. If you are familiar with my work ( I love to call it work-as it makes me sound like a real poet), the sound of the spoken poem is important to me, I have a good poetic ear-for lack of a better term.  Luckily it is inherent in my words and does not require me to over think. Over thinking is poem death for my work,  as it tends to paralyze me.  I end up with 100's of poems that simply stay draft.    I give up on the poems that do not flow easily into finished work.  Perhaps I am simply a lazy poet.    Perhaps it is because I am resistant to change, and this manifests itself  in my work.  Perhaps it is that I am never 100% satisfied with a poem.  Perhaps it is because I hardly ever submit, and I am an easy audience.   I tell myself that it is in the creation of the poem that I love, and that is why I have hundreds of draft poems and haven't felt compelled to revise or  submit ( or face rejection).    Perhaps I am simply a lazy poet.  Perhaps it is a good time to revise.

10 poems in 20 days

Looking through the windshield at sunset while passenger in car, Quinlan, Texas 2011.

I love that the naming of a photo or artwork can be simply what you were doing, or what you were seeing, as the image speaks for itself-claims its own name and the artist is freed from the cumbersome task of naming. Think of Monet's Water-Lilies or Van Goughs-Sunflowers, Starry Night and my personal favorite Bedroom in Arles.  As a writer I find it much harder to come up with titles for my poems.   I consider myself a poor poem titler--as I tend to favor single word or pirating part of the first line as titles.  This may be one of the reasons I don't like submit ( this and of course the fear of rejection).  I am never satisfied with the name of a poem, they end up with nicknames, like kittens you've held on to long, trying to find the perfect owner.  Names like Big Boy, Pretty Girl or Fancy Britches, that unfortunately follow the little tykes their entire life. I started a Poem Challenge with my friends, John, Lisa and Elizabeth.  I wrote two poems, one I titled with simple nouns and of course the other I pirated from the first line.  I have nicknamed them drought and poem for Kelly.   I am groovy, hope the same for you.  The spots on the photo, artifacts from my husbands windshield. 

Head in the clouds

above New Mexico, I think.  There is less than 48 hours until I go on vacation. I mean if you're counting.  Also if you're counting there are about a billion things that I have to get done before I leave the office tomorrow at 5:00.  I am feeling confident that most will get done, and those that don't will just have to wait. This vacation is a sort of recalibration time for me, as of 10:36 last night the project that I have been working on for nearly a year is officially moving to the next stage, about 3 months behind schedule.  It feels good. This project has taken the majority of mine and a fantastic team of dedicated individuals time for 11 long months.  We are not done, the project will likely take another 12-16 months, but much of that time will be in cycles and hopefully mainly fine-tuning.  I feel like doing a happy dance.  Okay I did do a happy dance.  I miss writing, photography and spending time with my friends.  I am hoping that during this vacation I can recharge, recalibrate and simply soak up the quiet.

More Lost and Found

Mostly groovy. Mostly happy.  Feeling thankful and blessed. More of the Niagara film shots.  This weekend I an nesting, lollygagging and finishing up commitments before my vacation starts in early October.   We are taking our daughter and her friend to Mississippi to visit USM and go camping with my family.  I am looking forward to seeing everyone, I am not looking forward to the 10 hour drive to get there.  It will be the first time we have tried to pack everything in the Versa.  I think it will be quite the packing challenge, oddly I believe Michael will be able to make it happen.  He and Rach both are spatial--can mentally fold boxes, always know which way is north, and can visualize mult-dimensional.  If anyone can pack a 4 day road trip with cabin camping into myVersa's 17.8 cubic feet hatchback, it's my Michael.   I am looking forward to the trip, my family and perhaps seeing where our Rach might go to college.  

More

More of the lost and found film.  I find I am missing the creative.  I started a scrapbook for my daughter, perhaps it will require a bit of the creative me.  Her life to now in 84,  12" x 12"  pages. Though honestly the entire scrapbook project terrifies me.  It took 2 hours at the store for me to settle on the appropriate color scheme, palette, for her book.  My husband deserves an A+ for going with me.  I am sure I looked at all 300 choices.   I know he wanted to simply say, just pick something. Finally I settled on a vintage sort of palette, of grays, pinks, and scrolling things, that will compliment the pink leather of the scrapbook I bought.  

I am also missing the words.  They are beginning to sneak out here and there, in blog posts, notes to friends. I have no time for writing.  I can't even pull a submission together for a friend.  It seems I am simply exhausted at the end of my work day.  My brain is tired and when I get home all that is left is mush.  Brain mush, that still needs to take care of daily life mechanics.   I have never been this exhausted in my entire life.  Soon I am on vacation for 10 days, I am hoping that it helps charge the batteries and washes away the tired.

Found Film

I believed that I ddiscovered photography with my first decent digital camera. Prior to 2006 I owned only one decent camera, a Cannon Sure Shot 35 mm that my sister Kim gave me for my birthday.  Before that I was merely a disposable kind of camera girl.  I also had a Kodak 110 and a Poloroid 600.   Recently I developed 22 rolls of film that had collected themselves in the hollows of my home, a Christmas roll tucked within a decoupage box of angels, abandoned canisters that rolled beyond surface glances of  opened drawers, point and shoot cameras that huddled en masse in plastic tubs, errant rolls in the kitchen counter catch all...more than 15 years of the undeveloped.  Most of the point and shoots were Rachael's, most of the rolls were mine.  I am still uploading the photos.  I found this picture on a roll I took in 2006, on a girls trip to Niagara. I took these with my Cannon. I also took many pictures on that trip with my sister's digital camera and I suspect that because of the number of photos I took with the digital, these rolls were deemed unimportant--and I abandoned them. 

I remember this shot.  We are behind the falls, covered in black plastic,stockaded behind a sheet of water.  I sense  forms entombed by the mist. I shudder, my fingers trace a fissure of stone. I am reassured by solid.   Thoughts: airbrushed into existence:  I am hungry: I am mass: It is early: I am wet.

Sometimes

 I just want to throw my head back and howl. Today is one of those days.  Last night my daughter and I had what might be one of many arguments about college.   I also went to the parents meeting at her high school about the college application process.  Which I found added another level of deadlines and expectations to the process.  We are a bit behind the curve on this entire selecting a college thing. I whigged out a bit on my daughter.  At times we are oil and water.  No we are more like fire and match.  I tend to want to have a plan, and not just one one plan, several alternate plans and she is more like --just roll with it--- We both leave these conversations with rolling eyes, heavy sighs and a bit of drama ( these traits of hers--she inherited from me).   She has several schools on her wish list, that frankly we can not afford.  College costs have risen at twice the rate of inflation and a 4 year degree at a state school in Texas/w room and board is close to 20,000 per year.  A out of state tuition college choice is nearly double the in-state price and private universities are any where from 20,000 to 50,000 a year.  It's insane.  Simply insane.  Her top 2 choices are out of state colleges with no out of state waiver policy---and simply the 42,000 a year is not within the budget.  As far as financial aid based on need, we will not qualify, we make to much to qualify for need based assistance and not enough to pay outright.  We are in the proverbial between a rock and a hard place.  Some schools offer small merit scholarships that perhaps she could qualify for, but likely not enough to meet the gap.  So we are still struggling to find a good fit for her, that has her degree, that we can afford, and that she is excited about.  I hope we find one quickly.  I would really love to spend this last year together enjoying being a family.

I am a Hobbit and other Fairy Tales

Truth of the matter is that I am not truly 100%   human.  I for all practical purposes am a genetic fall back from middle earth.  I suspect Hobbitism is a recessive genetic trait.  My parents both humans of considerable height ( my dad is 6'2" and my mom is 5'7"), my sisters are all between 5'4" and 5'7".   I myself am just a shy bit over 5 feet.  Which according to Tolkien is a bit tallish for a hobbit.  I am willing to concede that my genetic soup might have in addition to my hobbit genes a bit of human DNA.   I am not the only hobbit in my family.  As my daughter said recently when in the company of myself and her cousins Jennifer and Heather--I really do come from a family of Hobbits. My husband took this picture in Alaska, then promptly texted it to our daughter-with the caption "Mom really is a Hobbit".   Below from the Tolkien prologue to The Lord of the Rings and copied from dummiesdotcom--the major characteristics of hobbits.   I possess 10 of the 13 traits below.  I suspect there are worse things being a Hobbit. 

from Dummies.com: 

Before considering what hobbits really meant to Tolkien, you need to picture them as Tolkien designed them. In the Prologue to The Lord of the Rings, Tolkien asserts that hobbits are distantly related to humans and acquaints readers with all their vital statistics. According to this Prologue, hobbit characteristics include the following:

•A height of between two and four feet


•Feet with tough, leathery soles covered in hair (they seldom wear shoes)-
( I have to shave my toes and my feet are nearly square and I frankly I think shoes are overated)


•Long skillful fingers


•A tendency towards chubbiness
( I prefer the term jumbo-petite)


•Little or no facial hair
( thankfully absolutely no facial hair)


•An ability to disappear swiftly and silently
( I can move quietly and swiftly if I am in the search of food, fun or music)


•Excellent hearing and sharp eyesight
( excellent hearing, eyesight not so sharp--I succumb to the humanness of near sightedness)


•No understanding of machinery more complicated than the watermill, forge bellows, and the hand loom

( I believe that technology should work out of the box--and if it doesn't work outside of the box-it should go back in the box. I don't care how it works only that it works-also why I married an engineer)

•A delight in wearing bright colors, particularly yellow and green
( green is my favorite color, as is brown, I have a penchant for brightly colored flower capri's)


•A love of food and drink (especially ale), eating a mere six times a day on average
( oh yes and yes.  Eating is about fellowship, family, friends and fun, and as a diabetic I have to eat every few hours to keep my sugars stabilized).


•A love of laughter, jests, games, and celebrations
This to me this is what life is about.  If we can not laugh and enjoy our gift of life, what is the point).


•A love of peace and quiet and "good tilled" earth
( I am a gardener at heart, connected to the earth, the cycle of the seasons, and simply am most content with my hands in the dirt).


•A particular love for the smoking of tobacco in small clay pipes

Checklist:Save the Daisies

Checklist

1st cup of coffee.  Done

Save the daisies: done thanks to God's gift of rain.  The drought and excessive heat have compromised my garden and after 40 days of 100 plus weather in full sun, my garden is a scab.  Water has been restricted so I have been watering only to save the trees, shrubs, perennials, the grass and the house.  I have been most worried about the daisies as I planted them in remembrance of two people I loved.  My nephew Justin and my father-in-law JW.  They are more than 5 years old and each spring their footprint grows.  I am hoping they survive long enough to complete their cycle of dormancy to return next spring.  The rain today a gift.

Posted recent publication credits on the side bar.  Done.

2nd cup of Coffee.  Done.

Ordered book of good poetry. Done.  Sarah J. Sloats. Excuse me while I wring this long swim out of my hair. 

3rd cup of coffee. Done.

Stood outside in  my t-shirt and underwear: Felt rain.  Done.

4th cup of coffee.  Done.

Teaching a fish not to swim

I have been writing, not much, a bit, here and there, in the quiet minutes, more like doodles in the margins of my daily life. I sent a friend a poem recently, and she said to me "And I thought you weren't going to do that anymore" and I wrote back "Well ya, it's like teaching a fish not to swim." This weekend I am going to update my sidebar links for published poems, I don't think it's been updated in over a year. I am going to dust off 8-10 poems to revise and I just might write a poem.

Color my World: Brown

We are setting new records here in Texas soon we will beat a record. We will be the summer with the most consecutive days of 100+ weather. Today is day 40, the record 42. At this point I want to go for the Gold, want to bust the 31 year record. According to the weather man, we are likely going to end up close to 50 consecutive days. Below a morning freewrite.  Perhaps later to be a poem.  We shall see.

Freewrite 08/10/11

We are all crazy here. We like the earth beneath are cracking,  forming surface crevices that reveal  things, things best left buried. Most of us could ignite with a mere spark, a piece of flint on stone, or the directionally ray of a magnifying glass. We are fried. We are toast. We look for fall with the eternal hope of spring. The natives know. The truth is: there will be no fall, no gradually paling into brown, no turning of the seasons, no settling into colder days. We will be thrust from summers blaze into the stark days of winter. No quarter given, no allowances for any species. Simply hell: then the shock of cold. a numbing acceptance of brown.