No Apologies

I spent yesterday in a funk. A blue kinda funk. I was a blue crab. Mostly I was out of sync, and tired of people. I as a rule am a people person, I truly like people. In personality tests I am an E. E for extrovert, which means that generally dealing with other people does not tire me out, does not wear on my nerves, or make me crazy, it means that I am charged, rejuvenated by interactions with other people. Perhaps it is the nine months it has taken to get to the first draft of a regulation(funny that is a gestation cycle); or that I spend most of my time talking ( everyone I know minus one) or lecturing (my daughter). I am tired of talking. My daughter is tired of lecturing. I am tired of hyper-drive, of trying to squeeze everything into capsules, time-frames, widgets and sound bytes. I realized yesterday when my daughter was whining ( my least favorite form of communication) that despite the fact every word she whined was like fingers on the blackboard, that frankly she was right. I don't talk to her anymore, I read from the Gospel According to Mom (I suspect soon she will be parodying me on you tube)and that I have been forgetting the most important component of communication. Listening. Thinking before you speak. Empathy. This doesn't mean that I think she doesn't need a curfew after she turns 18 in September or that I will condone the feather tat she wants. Nice try Rach. It means that I know it sucks to be an adult in High School and just maybe Momma isn't always right.

Summer 2011 More Random Shots

I am just beginning to process photos from the last 6 months.  I need a better system of archiving photo and processing photos.  I also think I need to make a few physical photo albums, ones with pictures in them.  I have made a few electronic scrap books for my family, but I think I need to make a couple for myself.  Of late I have simply been working.  Good work, work I believe in, work that needs to be done.  Work I am honored to be doing.  Yet, I miss the creative.  The quiet and the noise of the amateur poet (noise) and photograpgher (quiet).  Enjoy the photos.  Be groovy.

Random Shots Summer 2011

Ocean Gathering

 I love being home. I love traveling.  Now, I am home.  It is good.  Photo taken off of pier 56 in Seattle on Saturday night.  I had a great trip with my peoples, my best friend Trish and Rach and Sam.  We travel well together, this year we the four of us have dipped our toes in both the Atlantic and the Pacific.   A good year for oceans for me, so far this year, I have been to beaches in  Florida, Oregon, Washington, Texas, Alaska, and Cancun.  Someday I will live near the ocean, the ocean will be home, it will be good.

Relearning how to relax

I am home from Cancun and I had a wonderful time with the girls and leaders of Troop 1900.  The girls were a joy as traveling companions and my daughter and I re-connected for the first time in a long while in a positive way.   I snorkeled for the first time and I realized that it is something I would like to do more often, as well as perhaps learn to Scuba-dive.  I love the beauty of the ocean, the diversity of life, the seamless co-existence of species--a sense of a grand design at work, and perhaps an acknowledgement of the transient nature of life.   I also realized that I no longer relax easily, that it took me nearly 3 days to completely decompress from the rigor of my daily life.  I found that even though I was having a wonderful time, that I could not put aside an underlying sense of angst that I left something important undone.  Truth is I realized as I swam with the swim turtles, hiked with the girls, and visited Mayan ruins, is that I am not important. I am merely a cog in the chain.  In the grand scheme of things it is not the individual but humanity that preserves.  I have always been comfortable in my own insignificance, perhaps I had simply forgot.  I am relearning.

Week 30--Conference Calls

Talking and thinking simultaneously for extended periods of time is hard work. It's exhausting, and perhaps something in our human evolutionary process we have not quite mastered. On an average day I spend at least 1-3 hour a day on a conference call, or a brainstorming type of meeting; the last several months (30 weeks) this number has increased to more than 3 hours a day, with two to three full days of my week committed to more than 5-6 hours of conference calls a day. I according to those type of courses that help define your "leadership style" have a collaborative style. Meaning I get my best work done by exchange of ideas, that I am somewhat "charged" up by interaction and like venues such as brainstorming, talking through issues, roadblocks and what if scenarios. Meaning I should be thriving in this type of environment. Yet I am brain dead at the end of the day and a little testy. Okay some days a lot testy.  My brain is mush.  I want to take it out of my head and simply toss it from hand to hand and drool. Yes drool, I want to be like my friends dog and have my ears scratched and lay in the grass and simply let autonomic responses take over.  I am learning that between these brainstorming sessions, I need time to let things settle around me, to allow my thought processes mature, and to formulate an action plan.  That more than 2-3 hours in a day of that sort of higher level of interaction puts me outside of my own comfort zone.   I am developing strategies to accommodate the information stream, to stretch this muscle.  I am always amazed by people who can function at this level for extended periods of time, who are always "on top of their game" we have several managers who retain the inputs from tens/hundrends of people, hour after hour, day after day, week after week, year after year with not so much as a blip in thier baseline.  Perhaps when this 100 week project is completed, I might gain a bit of this skill.  Next week I am going to Cancun for a senior trip with the girls of troop 1900, and I have decided that I am going to lay on the beach, drink copious amounts of diet Mountain Dew, and drool. The only decision matrix will be which swimsuit to wear and whether I should go snorkeling or lay on the beach and  read a book.

The Highest Peak in North America

I am finally beginning to play around with my Alaska photos--this shot of McKinley( far right) taken from Talkeetna River ( Tanaina Indian name meaning "river of plenty), one of the best views I have seen of the big mountain. I am connected to this land, perhaps it is true what they say about places getting into your blood.  I lived in Alaska from 1969-1974 and I have lived in Texas from 1974-to 2011, and yet when I return here I feel like I am coming to my place of origin, much like the salmon returning to where they were spawn.  Texas is home, and I love Texas and the life my husband and I have built, yet it this place where I return year after year for a visit that grounds me. There was snow on the ground the first week of May, and the river was swelling with water, I stood and watched my family walk this beach, my father, my sister, my husband and my niece search for flat stones to skip across the river.    I was memorized watching them.  I remembered being 6;  my fathers hand guiding my arm showing me how to cup the stone, to swing out, when to release the stone, and me holding my breath, counting the skips.  When my daughter my seven I watched my father guide my daughters hand; instructing her on the Art of Rock Skipping.  I wanted to hit pause--to stay in this minute a wee bit longer--to gather these memories together, to hear the laughter of my niece, my fathers good natured bellow, my sister relaxed and smiling, to record the quiet murmur of conversation of my sister and step mother, to hold dear the image of my husband as a child, intent on skipping stones. 

Rube Goldberg for Regulation Writing or doodle from long meeting

All kidding aside, I love to doodle. Perhaps I am in training as a tattoo artist for a future life. Something about fluidity and lines. A long weekend ahead and I am looking forward to a purchasing a new printer. I am excited. I am going to buy a photo printer.

I have been looking at bottom of the line photo printers; one for photo hackers like myself. I generally use a commercial service for photographers when I print "real photos"; they give me beautiful photos for a great price. It's just every now and then, I want to print something at home, or I want to print something in a large format, something larger than 8.5" X 11". I have found that wide format printers are rather obscure. I have a budget of $200 to $400 dollars for a printer that works; that is not a 12-month throw away printer. I want a printer work-horse. I have been to Best Buy, Fry's Office Max, Office Depot, Wal-Mart, Target, and the out to the World Wide Web. I found a plethora of great multi-function printers. They print, fax, scan, phone, copy, and brew your morning coffee. Virtually null, that does one thing really well. What I need is a heavy duty photo printer; one that print photos and on paper (either roll or sheets up to 13" X 19"). I am leaning towards the Epson Stylus Photo 1400, not that I had many choices for this type of printer, perhaps in my price range 2-4 printers. You can get a multi-function printer/ wizard/ coffee-maker for $ 79.00 at any super mart-yet it is damn near impossible to get a wide format photo printer for less than 400 dollars. There is an inherit expectation in our society that more is better. I am not so sure. What has happened to the art of specialty? The art of doing one thing exceptionally well? I have owned 3 printers in the last 5 years, all "photo quality" all multi-function(one even capable of 8.5 " X 14" prints). All crap. All worked great out of the box, all needing band-aids within a year of purchase. I am tired of throw-away printers; I find it offensive that the life expectancy of these devices is so short-lived. I can remember when you could purchase something that did one thing exceptionally well for a lower price than a multi-function device. It's not just printers, its phone, its computer, its cable. It’s an epidemic. I have always defined myself more of a jack-of-all trades; master of none sort of person. I want to know what has happened to the masters. If you find one ask them to build this jack-of-all trades a printer.

Jumbo Petite

Today I am blogging over at Jumbo Petite.  Photo one of about 1000, we took in Alaska.  This photo was from the Whale Watching Boat-Return from Resurrection Bay. 

Ecetera

So I feel like gardening.  I feel like Blogging.  I feel like talking.  I feel like writing letters to friends.  I might even feel like taking on a new project of sorts.  The photo from my trip to Alaska, the long overdue vacation.  The vacation with out wi-fi, internet and smart-phones.  The vacation without an expectation of action.  Seems like for the first time in years I went on vacation with the express desire to disconnect, to simply be.  I left my electronic leashes (except my cell w/o data-in case Rach needed us) at home.  For once in my life I let go of my need to be in the know.  I simply enjoyed the quiet from all other noises but my own thoughts.  I reveled in the quiet companionship of a well honed love, one that is present with or without the sound of words.  I felt the quiet presence of the mountains as they kneeled to meet the sea, the rush of water transforming states of matter. Marveled as spring waterfalls leaped from mountain folds, stopped and breathed, stopped and breathed, stopped and breathed.   The mountains ground me, assure me of my insignificance, enforce my belief in a higher power and the sea stirs that which is without form, without sentience, wild.

Home Sweet Home

It is good to be home.  Michael and I had a wonderful time in Alaska, a combination of 25th anniversary celebration and my father's 75th b-day celebration.  It was the first time Michael had come with me to Alaska, and I found myself seeing the beauty and wonder of Alaska once again through fresh eyes.  We explored a bit on our own, and I found that I loved the freedom of exploration, of stopping along the way to simply soak in the natural beauty.  I took photos, Michael took photos, we have lots of photos, many which will take days/months for me to process.  I have found that I am worse kind of photographer--I am a back-seat photographer---anytime Michael was taking photos (generally when I was driving), I kept telling him how to do it (which at one point nearly had me driving into the guard rail).  Following the guard rail incident I simply let him photograph what caught his eye, and I have found he has a pretty good eye.  We had a fantastic time, life is good.

Trees

I love this stand of trees, is that the right word "stand", I am never sure if I am using the right word.  It feels right so I am going with it.  I love these trees because of thier diversity, all native species of Louisana.   I identify with the short wide tree, if you know me you know why.  These trees graced the entrance of an old tank farm.  The tank farm now gone, the trees thriving.  I like that.

It's National Poetry Month

and I am writing. Not a lot, a little consistently. This makes me happy. So far seven poems, all on the same theme. I am making a book--likely a chapbook--one I am unsure I will ever seek publication, perhaps one I will publish for myself-for a few friends, much like my calenders. It is National Poetry Month and I am writing about something I feel strongly about and that makes me happy.

Spring is the Air

A Musical Interlude

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YgSVTdAtNYE

Four Days Off and Other Reasons to Celebrate

I am home safe in my own cup of universe, myself and those closect to me.  Yesterday the earth shook and cracked under the pressure of a billion lifes, and the ocean responded with fury. Today a nuclear plant catches on fire and I am still safe.  I called my father yesterday, awoke him from slumber to see if the aftershocks of water were crawling up the Alaskan coast.  I found him safe and unaware of the what had transpired while he slept.  Today I am going to spend the day with my daughter and my husband, working together to help her meet an important deadline.  Oddly I am looking forward to it, simply reveling in a sense of togetherness, a common goal.  She is nearly grown, we spend our time planning for the time when she leaves--to begin her solo-chapters---she believes she is ready, I believe she is getting close.   I am going to savor this day, this day of togetherness, this day of family. 

San Pedro River Review

I have a new poem in the spring issue of San Pedro River Review.  One that I almost did not submit.  Seems my poetic apathy is reaching epidemic status.  I submitted the poem because my dear friend Ann Howells hit me over the head with a 2 X 4, following a DPC workshop.  On a wild hair I took her advice and submitted it within 24 hours of the metaphoric slap over the head.  And I am glad.  I love when I get to see poetry in print,  somehow it makes me feel like a real poet.  I feel very lucky to be included with so many wonderful poets.  The poem like most of my work of late is a bit dark.  I read Friday night at open mic--and I realized all three of the poems I read where about death and dying.  I have made myself a promise to bring some of my lighter work next month.  To avoid being such a poetic downer.  I am writing a bit (so far three this month 2-poems--one on dying and one about cadavers)--I am noticing a disturbing trend.  I joined a 30 in the hopes of writing a poem every 3rd day, with perhaps making 10 by the end of the month.  I am cautiously optimistic that I might make 10.  My husband and I are redoing my office--creating a place for my poetry and photography.  We are hung up on finding the perfect desk.  One that fits our odd space, my need for balance, his need for order, and perhaps one with a bit of feng shui--a place to channel a bit of positive energy.   I want the room to still serve as an guest room if needed, though I am beginning to think I should get rid of the bed and perhaps think sofa-bed or Murphy bed---and rethink the entire design, except--I have covered the bed in a hand crochet lace-spread that my grandmother (mothers-mother)  made Momma when she married my father more than 50 years ago, and beneath that I have placed the hand sewn quilt that my grandmother (fathers-mother) made me when I married (25 years ago).  I smile every time I glance at the bed--and I remember. Warm memories.  So perhaps it is not just  finding the right desk is the problem.  Michael said he would build me a desk--custom to my whim.  He should be worried, but he's not. 

Guess Who's coming to Dinner

My sister Sherri will be here today. Sherri and I are the closest in age of all of my sisters, she is 16 months my senior (yes that means she is the oldest). Sherri is one of my blue-lights, one of those people were no words are needed. A safe house. This is her and I at Niagara Falls, crawling over rocks to get to the river. The water was frigid. As always the double-dog-dare was Sherri's idea, and I love her for it. Our sister Michelle video-taped us crawling over the rocks---and that video is hysterical. Perhaps I should ask her to bring it so I can upload it my PC and perform some digital magic. Today is sister day, Sherri, Michelle and I will be together. Which spells TROUBLE. My only wish is that my sister Judi could be here too. DOUBLE TROUBLE. I think I will ask my daughter how to skyppe her and Mom in for dinner. In a herd my family is loud, fun and almost always laughing. We do things like come up with creative variations of the word shit (Sherri wins hands down--she's the resident genius) and will drink anything with crushed fruit and alcohol. Michelle can do some amazing things with blueberries and whatever liquor is on-hand; she is fierce and has absolutely no tolerance for Bull-shit. Judi is our true heart--with the most beautiful twisted sense of humor-- and I well I am the quiet one (True), with an near pathological desire to fix whatever is broken and the most annoying Polly Anna tendencies. I suspect tonight our husbands will seek high ground and evaporate. As they should. As they should.