Slowly, but surely...

I'm updating my blogroll. If your name's not there, don't feel sad. I'm workin' on it. There are many blogs I visit often and I will add them at random if they're not already there. The world of blogs has become one of richness. Words, words, words...sometimes I am stunned by what I find.

I can't help myself...

I need another book like I need a hole in the head, but I'm going to order this one. I didn't even know that Gabriel Garcia Marquez had written another book until Erin told me so ...and it is true. The first book I ever read by him was Of Love and Other Demons; the first short story was "A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings." I'm going to name my first born son after him--Gabriel. Gabriel Carmine Marianiello, to be exact. And, who knows, he might even grow up to be a writer. Or maybe a magician. I don't care. All I know is that
I am in love with Marquez.

Sunday Scribblings: when we were wee...

In childhood, there are many places to hide. And the best are those where no one will find you. My mom remembers my sister, my brother, and me as all being remarkably quiet kids. She searches her memory and nowhere does she find the noisiness of childhood existence. And so it was easy hiding out and getting lost in these interminable stretches of soundlessness. I never minded this. My childhood heroes were Orphan Annie, The Boxcar Children, and Billy from the book, Where the Red Fern Grows. I was the middle child and never afraid of the freedom that it afforded me. I very easily lived in a world of my own creation--one that functioned ever the better with as little parental supervision as possible.

As a kid my childhood hiding places included an infamous closet and sitting in front of the shelf behind my child-size rocking chair. It was there that I lost myself in books even before I was able to read. There were also the stick and pine bough forts constructed out in the woods where I lived on the sweet sap of honeysuckle blossoms and crackers.

When my grandpa built my sister and me a playhouse, I wasted no time and "moved" in at the age of six, promptly inscribing my very first word into the plywood walls, "HOME." I had everything I needed and my parents saw very little of me from that moment on. By the time I was a teenager I had managed, quite easily, to slip in and out without being noticed. After all, near silence had become a habit in my family--but I was not unhappy with this. I had much better things to do than explain myself or beg for permission to take leave, as many of my friends had to do. My parents trusted us kids and I, for one, took full advantage of it.

I have found that the older one becomes, the fewer hiding places there seem to be. However, at the age of 18, I was luckily still innocent of this and (much to my parent's dismay) thoroughly enticed by an unlimited landscape inviting me into its game of hide and seek. There were times that no one knew where I was for weeks. I remember it, so far, as being the best and most earnestly lived time of my life. I was finding hiding places as good as any of the Boxcar Children's hideouts--yes, even including a few boxcars of my own.

I left through the back door of my imagination while sitting in the darkened closet of my childhood. It was an easy way to leave behind the drudgery of an otherwise plain and uneventful existence. I embarked with little planning on a quest that brought me to many extraordinary hideouts--following the lengths of highways and railroads to their ends where I found caves and forests, mountains, jungles, oceans and deserts tucked into an endless expanse. I followed into the now of the corner of this room where I sit writing and remembering--where I have come to enjoy the way that hiding out is really a means of diving in.

Sucker for packaging...

Tonight we went grocery shopping. Just as we were about to check out, V. remembered that he wanted BBQ sauce. Of course, this meant that we had to go all the way back to the other end of the grocery store which led us past the natural foods section (a very dangerous part of the store for me, financially speaking).

We put the BBQ sauce in the cart, walked past pickles and juice and preserves...when, to the left, my attention was drawn to this beautiful chocolate bar.

Um--I don't even like chocolate that much. But how--how I ask-- could I pass up something of such beauty? I felt my hand reach out, grab it, and then start pulling me toward the cart. I could not resist the urge to buy it--even when I saw V.'s look of: what are you doing??? how much does that thing cost??

I immediately started bumbling something like: "I can't help it...look how pretty it issss. It's premium organic. Isn't it cool? I mean, wow, look at those colors. And, look, it says THE ART OF CHOCOLATE. I want to paint it."

yeah, ok...so I'm a sucker for packaging. But, come on...can you blame me???

Thoughts on Toni Morrison

Lately I've been ingesting large doses of language. Not reading, but drinking--words, thoughts, ideas, poetry, prose.... Last night I sat alone in the coffee shop with my legs curled under me in a chair that looked toward the lake. The coffee tasted good, but other than that, there was nothing but words--wrapped around me like a comfortable old blanket. The place was nearly empty and from somewhere deep inside me I felt the rearranging of molecules and the sensation of a tidal wave swelling, rolling, breaking...swelling nearly into tears because I feel the magic of words coming back like when blood returns to an appendage that's fallen asleep--a sensation of pins and needles on the inside of my skin--it tingles.

Yesterday afternoon I started work on a proposal and outline that I need to turn in for my next essay. While looking for information on my topic, I surprised myself with a connection I hadn't originally been looking for. You know that sensation that goes "click" when something starts to make sense? Yes, that was the feeling. I am surprised over and over again when scholarly writing is able to throw me into an emotional extreme. But my topic includes Toni Morrison--and her words, to me, are like honey. Since this essay is for a Literary Criticism and Theory class, my goal is to find connections between Langston Hughes "The Negro Artist and the Racial Mountain" and Toni Morrisons Nobel Prize lecture, "A Bird in the Hand"

While in the coffee shop I read an essay by Cheryl Lester from The Aesthetics of Toni Morrison: Speaking the Unspeakable. And this is one of the things that had me nearly in tears--her writing was so incredibly heartfelt. She was writing about Morrison, but she was also writing about herself. Her words were real--and that is something you just can't fake.

I think it's safe to say that grad school has been just as hard on me as an adult as Catholic school was for me as a kid. Grad school messed me up--hard. What happened? I haven't exactly figured it out yet, but now that I'm almost done, I feel life returning to my mind, my heart, my fingertips. Words are enough to turn me inside out. And I am, once again, glad that I have found them, that I've made words my path in life. It is a strange and wonderful feeling, this coming back to life.

There is a quote by Toni Morrison that especially caught my attention last night. In it, she is referring to the old woman in her speech. She says:

Word-work is sublime, she thinks, because it is generative; it makes meaning that secures our difference--the way in which we are like no other life.
We die. That may be the meaning of life. But we do language. That may be the measure of our lives.

She later writes of the old lady's young visitors:

. . . Is there no context for our lives? No song, no literature, no poem full of vitamins, no history connected to experience that you can pass along to help us start strong?. . . Make up a story. Narrative is radical, creating us at the very moment it is being creatied. We will not blame you if your reach exceeds your grasp; if love so ignites your worlds that they go down in flames and nothing is left but their scald. . . For our sake and yours forget your name in the street, tell us what the world has been to you in the dark places and in the light. Don't tell us what to believe, what to fear. Show us belief's wide skirt and the stitch that unravels fear's caul.

Read it slow. Savor it. There is a bird in our hands called language--and what we do with it is up to us. I am beginning to remember how powerful that little bird is--and, at times, it is staggering.

one morning in the middle of april...

I slept in late today, until almost 9. And when I looked out the back door from the kitchen, wolfie was looking in with pitifully patient eyes. I promptly took her for an hour long walk...down the alley, past the church, through the park, along the trail, and then to the lake. We walked along the water for quite a ways before turning home, taking a slightly altered version of the same path. It felt good to be in my own skin.

On the way back we passed the old folks' home--an apartment building for partial care residence. Now that it's warmed up, they've been sitting outside a lot lately. There are two benches facing each other outside the entrance and, often, they sit in a row with arms and legs touching--they could spread out, but seem to prefer the tangible feeling of companionship. They wave when I walk by with Anu, or when V. and I are on our bikes. So thirsty for life--they wave and smile and wave. And this is when I become aware of my own strong legs beneath me, carrying me easily wherever I want to go. I look up towards the windows of their apartments--they are open and, for some reason, make me think of hummingbirds. There are thermometers stuck with little suction cups to the glass and, here and there, a brightly colored silk flower sticking out from a vase on the sill. There are ruffled curtains pulled back as far as they can go--and, somehow, the sunshine seems to come out of the windows, in just the same way that it goes in.

While the people on the bench try desperately to slow down time, to soak up every last bit of happiness, I see them seeing me...remembering themselves...when they could move as fast, as easily. And, for all their "oldness," they are absolutely alive. The wings of their minds and hearts beating in hyperspeed, like little hummingbirds, their feathers shining in the sunshine. I think they would make good friends--because, for them, there is no such thing as tomorrow.

exhausted and obsessed: these are signs of spring

I've spent a considerable amount of the day in a complete daze. It's been in the 70's all day, including this morning at 5 am when I took wolfie for a walk. The warm weather feels wonderful. I've been enjoying the comfortableness of a tank top, capris, and flipflops. But, unfortunately, I am not a warm weather person. My energy level is completely zapped.

I barely made it through class, and then office hours, and then running a few errands before slipping into an afternoon stupor that ended in a nap. It was a glorious nap (there was even music playing in my head--beautiful music, nonetheless). While picking up a few essentials at Target, I splurged and bought myself a silk eye pillow filled with lavender. It cost a whopping $4, but caused me to sleep like a baby. It was worth every penny. I put it in the freezer first, so it was cold. Then I opened all the bedroom windows (after first going outside and ripping the plastic off). The soft breeze combined with the relaxing smell of lavender was very close to the feeling of heaven.

Since the nap, I've spent the rest of the day obsessing over lost items. I've been looking for the adaptor for my bike tires so that I can air them up (damn hybrid bikes!) and my hacky sack. I found the hack after several hours of looking. It was in a shoebox filled with banjo strings, christmas bells, guitar picks, and extra computer cords. The tire adapter is still at large. And this is the problem with moving. I am still disorganized even though I moved way back in October. At this point, the only reason to organize anything is to make the next move a little easier. I've already decided on having a few more rummage sales. I've got junk coming out of my ears. And there are those half dozen boxes or so than I never dealt with the first time around that have now come back to haunt me. They are "junk" boxes and hold all the things I'm usually looking for when I can't find something--although not always (like today).

Finding the hack, however, resulted in game #2 with the neighbors. Too bad they're running off to Europe this summer. We could use the practice. :)-

Sunday Scribblings: a little blubber about real life.

Real life is rarely getting more than 5 hours of sleep a night even though, every night, I tell myself I'm going to go to bed early . It's spending 3 weeks and 15 hours on 3 1/2 pages worth of writing, but learning a lot in the process. Real life gets in the way of writing about real life--but eventually, it happens. Real life is always running late and falling behind.

It takes a long time to figure out what "Real Life" is because it never sits still long enough for me to get it straight. Real life is fickle and changes its mind too often. Then again, there's always something about it that stays the same. Real life requires lots of water and sun and fresh air--although, unfortunately, it can exist for a long time without it. Real life can exist without a lot of things, but when that happens it starts to look like the weeds that used to grow in the dark corners of my old pole barn, ghostly white and spindly. Real life is the fact that, as of 6 months ago, I no longer have that barn or the land or the house that I built with my own hands. And when I think of this, real life surprises me with plump, rolling tears because I'm reminded of how much I loved that place. When real life is paying attention, it's a close cousin to tears and laughter. I remember real life making me bawl my eyes out when I left that village high, high up in the Himalayas. Back then, I told myself that it was good if I cried when I left a place because it meant that I experienced something worth experiencing. There are only two places that I cried that hard over. I still yearn for both--and that's what real life offers, though only when you're completely open to it. Real life is built of breakable hearts. When that happens, if you're smart, you let life back in anyway because, usually, it works out. Of course, real life doesn't let you in on this until the hurt has lost its sting--and sometimes that can be a long, long time.

Real life is every single stupid, funny, depressing, happy, ridiculous, serious, and wildly embarrassing thing I've ever written on this blog. It will probably come back to haunt me. Real life is full of memories and dreams that most of the time feel more real than what is real. Real life is that goddamned alarm clock that goes off every morning. Real life slaps me in the face and then kicks my ass to make sure it got its point across. Real life is dogshit in the back yard. It's that first cup of coffee in the morning and a husband waiting for me (presently) to come to bed.

Real life is redundant. It has no real beginning and no real end. Real life is a dog chasing its tail. It's boring, it's maddening, it is pleasure. Most of the time real life is ridiculously uncomfortable, but for some reason, I'm drawn to it all the same--like I'm drawn to love, or sunrises or the Sunday paper--always hoping that it's hiding--somewhere--whatever it is that I'm looking for. All the while, it's right there--staring me right in the face.

still here, just barely

I've been hanging out in my studio, writing, lately. It's been working well--maybe because I don't have internet down there or because I don't have a phone or my cat crying for me to pay attention to her or any other distractions. There are random moments when I realize that I am absolutely focused. Of course, this realization always brings me back out of my "zone," but I'm getting fairly good at forcing myself back into it--it's a sort of mental corralling.

Still, I 'm moving painfully slow with things, but I'm thankful for the extra space in the studio. The mental decluttering has done wonders.

...and that is where I'm headed now.

Caught between seasons

I'd like to say that I got up early this morning--but I didn't. I got up at 8:30, after laying in bed for an hour thinking about how rested I felt (which I did--at least until I actually got up). The sun is coming in wildly through the kitchen window, but here, where I write, there is no sun--just the shade of an old pine tree.

I've been tired lately--no, exhausted. Maybe because of the time change, maybe because of the change of weather. My head, for too many days, has been connected to my neck and then my shoulders, with nothing going on inside--just an irritating hum-noneness.

But today I'm going to walk the 5 blocks to my studio and hunker down in my newly decluttered space and write. I feel the need for sunlight and 12 foot ceilings and white walls with random splashes of paint.

This morning, while walking wolfie in the same direction, I was caught off guard by the turning of seasons. It was cold, with a biting wind. But it was sunny, too. Water sparkled along the edge of the lake--a good 10 feet of summer light glinting until interrupted by the line of ice that still covers the rest of the lake. Red Wing blackbirds followed us on our route shouting: summer's coming! summer's coming! In Northern Minnesota, it is a slow transition--those blackbirds are so full of faith.

We detoured down the old stone steps that lead down to the water, but were both surprised by the dirty mountain of snow half way down. We weren't looking at our path ahead--just the sun and water beyond. So we slid, the rest of the way, down, down, down the icy hill. Me, looking like "The Crazy Lady," in my flip-flops, baseball cap, capri pants, and winter jacket. I hung on to the bare branches of shrubs with one hand and the leash, connected to an excited dog, in the other. I'm lucky I didn't break an ankle or my over-worked head (although the latter, at this point, might have felt good).

At the bottom, we were momentarily protected from the wind--ahh...safe from life and thoughts. I felt energy return to my bones in the cool, but sun-warmed morning air.

~~~~~~~

I need to finish school. God, I need to finish. I'm in limbo--like the seasons. Too much dirty snow. I need to finish. But this is enough gibbering. It's time to get to work.

I hope spring will wait for me just a little longer.

Breakfast.

...and a sleepy audience, too.

One of those dreamed landscapes...

Today I bought a box of sidewalk chalk. I'd like to write wild poems at night--the length of entire blocks--just a little gift to people who walk.

And drawings? Maybe a masterpiece.

I feel a bit of color coming on.

April 4th, 2006...

...was sunny and warm, just like it was 4 years ago today, when we went out for lunch--a silly little kiss--and we've been together ever since.

Who knew?

Well--we did.

Happy Birthday Vinny. Here's to 4 little years.

...and all the birthdays to come.

Guess whose birthday it is!!!

Yep--Vinny's!

{well, not until tomorrow--(Tuesday)--and if you don't see him out and about, you can find him here}

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEETHEART!!!
~I love you!~

with luv,
yr wife
xoxoxo

A Room of One's Own

Yesterday I started cleaning and rearranging my studio space. I finally worked up enough nerve to ask my studio-mate of 2 1/2 years to move out. It was nothing personal--just that she has not paid in almost a year and a half and hasn't even stepped foot in there to do artwork in more than a year. Needless to say, I'm glad she was cool about my request. And now--now I have SPACE! It is downright lovely.

Even though I should have been preparing for a presentation, I couldn't help but dig in right away. The place needed some love.

I swept, I dusted, I rearranged. I stacked canvases and books and stretcher bars. I drank coffee. I moved stuff. Then I moved it again. I listened to really good Middle Eastern music. I ate a little bar of chocolate and painted the frame of a large corkboard orange. I turned the drafting table into a desk and put the corkboard behind it (where it awaits inspiring images of India and beyond) . And, after all of this, I still have an empty corner for a chair when I just want to read or think. Oh, sweet SPACE!

There's still a few finishing touches that need my attention--like the clutter and dust under my workbench and the search of some really cool fabric for curtains. But I'll have to save that for the weekend. Details, schmeetails... What matters is that now-- now I have a writing space--my very own, private space to think and create and let words find their way to paper--without interruption.

Yesterday I stood there in the middle of my mess and realized that, for the first time, art and writing are receiving equal amounts of attention in my life. I took another sip of coffee and reveled in the feeling of this new-found balance. I've waited a long time.

Sunday Scribblings: a rambling fantasy

What would you attempt if you knew you would not fail?

If I knew that I wouldn't fail, I'd pack my bags and head for the nearest exit. I'd get on what ever plane was leaving the country first and let fate decide my destinations from there. That is how I often traveled while in India--although only by bus or train (not plane). I'd go down to the station and buy a ticket for which ever one was leaving first. Sometimes I chose destinations simply for the odd sounds of their names. (Ok--but we're not reliving the past here.)

The fantasy: My backpack is empty except for a change of underwear, a bottle of aspirin, malaria pills, a journal, pen, camera, a few tubes of paint and some paint brushes. My baggage weighs all of 5 lbs. and anything else I need, I plan on picking up along the way. I'm on a mission to capture images of the world. I'm in search of stories. Having utmost faith in both myself and the universe, I've just spent my life's savings (which isn't much).

I end up in some odd and beautiful places--in populated cities, dense jungles, poor neighborhoods, vast deserts, 3rd world, 1st world, highlands, lowlands, quiet villages, hectic streets, in cold places, and warm places...I travel slow, taking my time in each place. I paint. I write. I watch.

Some say that, if I keep it up, I am destined for failure. They say that traveling is a waste of money and a waste of time. I'm getting older--I should be working on an MFA, a PhD, or how about getting a real job. I should be spending more energy on being a good wife. I should be saving my money. I should be thinking about a 409K or homeownership or babies--not travel, for god's sake!

Oh, but the beauty of this little escapade is that buying that first plane ticket ends up being the catalyst for my success--financially, emotionally, physically, spiritually. The experience ends up getting me into school, into jobs; it gets me published; it gets me art shows... my travels make the rest of what I want to happen--HAPPEN. And if failure (ending up jobless and poor) were not an option-- I think that, maybe, I'd already be gone.


*image by Laini
@ Sunday Scribblings

Unnecessary Time Change Thought:

I was feeling guilty for sleeping in. It was 9:00 when I looked at the clock. But my computer is smarter than me--it says that it's 10:20. Damnit. I better walk the dog.

Peeking Robins...

Today, for an entire 5 or 6 minutes, a robin sat on the roof of the neighbors house and stared at me through the window. It was a plump little thing and nosy too. But, I admit, I stared back.

rain.

maybe it's rained once before so far this year, but in my book, this is the first time. last night, as i sat at my desk, i had to take my headphones off because i thought i was hearing static. for a moment the blackness out my window turned into a radio tuned off-kilter. but it was the rain.
the rain.

the rain.

i love the rain. it rained all night and is still raining today. softly, softly. it pitter-patters on the bedroom roof. when i woke up i was dreaming that it was raining in the room--it was oddly pleasant.

the rain feels good. it is soothing. today i'm going to visit a long, lost friend--and that will be good too. rain hits the sidewalk and is kicked up by tires rolling by on the street. rain creates an entire symphony of sounds that winter does not know.

today feels threaded with a million intricacies. but i like the way the rain falls.

untitled sadness.

Today started out perfectly--I walked out the door this morning thinking that I just might enjoy the calmness of it all. Unfortunately, it took a turn for the worse shortly after arriving at school--and plummeted even further into the depths of horribleness by late morning. Then there was the perk of listening to a reading by a very wonderful and humorous teaching candidate (that part was good--really good even). But then an afternoon spent on the phone and sending e-mails to individuals concerning the horribleness.

And now I just feel sad--and a little bit like crying. Because there are certain aspects of my life that I put my heart and soul into, it is a very real bummer when something doesn't work out. I know, I'm not explaining myself--and maybe I shouldn't write anything at all. I'm leaving out the details because the details don't matter.

Today included a very heavy decision that will affect someone else more than it will ever affect me. And, believe me, I don't like the feeling of playing God.

ok--now I'm crying. And even though someone else would say that the horribleness is not worth it--I find it impossible not to care.

I think I could use a (very long) walk. The clouds look comforting.

grEy day

There are different qualities of grey/gray. There is grEy and there is grAy. Today is a grEy day--and it feels good that way. I wanted to take a picture of it this morning, just the sky, nothing else, but I was too lazy. That is part of the difference between grEy and grAy. If it had been a grAy day, I would have had the energy to grab my camera on the way out the door (it was sitting right there), go outside, and point it up at the sky. And then I would have proof of this perfectly monotone sky.

I like grEy days because they're quiet. And everyone else is quiet too. I am more calm on grEy days, less rushed, more introverted. GrEy isn't tired, it's not quite sleepy, rather, it's simply comfortable, like sweatpants, but better held together. GrEy is, however, more thin-skinned than grAy. GrEy leaves me feeling more sensitive to the subtle differences in things. GrEy is soft on the edges and deeper in color. It's not as exciteable, loud, and whitewashed as grAy days and definately not sharp-edged and washed out like it is on yellow days. You can do things with grAy, but grEy is what it is. Maybe that's why I like it. It is what it is.

Trying to write a paper on the MLA Style Manual

My cat wants to sit on the desk and look out the window. Should it make me nervous that, as I reached my hand down to pet her, I gently said:

"There's no really room any for you."

This disturbs me. My brain is collapsing.

dying for fresh air.

I opened the window behind my desk for the first time this year.

I took Anu for a walk this morning and could have kept going indefinitely. It helped me to think. But, alas, I do not have time for leisurely walks today. Therefore, the window will remain open until I turn into an icicle. Who knows, maybe it will get the creative juices flowing--or, for that matter, maybe it will get any juice flowing.

Either way--I like the way the sounds of the street seep in and get under my skin. It makes my thick, black coffee taste even better...the sounds are rough and grungy and contrast well with the iridescence of this porcelain cup.

getting side-tracked

At the moment I'm drinking wine with a German name from California and eating French cheese from the local grocery store. It's a good combination--although I can only hope that it will go so well with writing. I blame Amber for the idea--although, it IS a good one.

Before the glass of wine, I reached over to the bookshelf on my left and picked up a journal from 4 years ago. I'm not sure why--it just happened. It is large, sketchbook size, with a hard cover and handmade paper. On the inside it is filled with interesting observations and thoughts and creative ramblings. There are drawings and images pasted in with glue that threatens to give out from the test of time. It is the year I fell in love with V. and got engaged. For the first time in many, many days, I found myself able to focus. So I read the entire thing. And when I finished with that one I moved to another shelf where another 15 years of journals are kept and read through a few more.

Still, no writing has been accomplished. I find myself at a loss....not knowing what to do. Maybe by the second glass I'll be ready to just write. You know, like I used to back in 2002.

little

This morning, after I read my last post, I was embarrassed for publishing it. I was cranky because...well, ok, I'm not even sure why. There are any number of reasons for my silly irritations--the ones that I just now started to write about and then deleted. In all reality, it doesn't matter. Anyway, maybe it's just the planets and moon again...since, it seems, I'm not the only one feeling like this these days.

Lately, I feel very childish...like throwing a temper-tantrum. I would like to find a very poetic or cutting edge way to write about it...but, let's face it--there's just no good way to whine.

And I think there's only one cure for this mood I've been in. It's called: Writing.

too many options...

lately, yoshitomo nara's art "speaks to me."

v. and i just got web hosting along with our own domains. cool. now we can be in control of our own websites without relying on bsu. however, it is quickly turning into too many options. such as: what should the title of my new website be? what should it look like? do i want to switch my blog from blogger to wordpress? if so, what do i want the template to look like? do i want another e-mail account? if so, what should it be?

ok, maybe i'm over-reacting. there isn't much here to decide. maybe i'm just frustrated with the fact that i feel like my life isn't allowed to be about anything other than school. this alone makes me want to SMOKE. unfortunately, i quit 3 months ago.

really, the only option that is causing me confusion is whether or not to switch to wordpress or stay with blogger. blogger's been a pain in my ass lately. then again, i've finally gotten comfortable with using it. yes, i'm a technological idiot. and if my husband points it out to me one more time, i'm gonna lose my mind.

i've been getting antsy lately--wanting a new "look" for my blog. however, one of the dumber things i've recently done is create a second blog. i've spread myself too thin. one option is to start a 3rd blog--a hybrid of both Blue Dog and this one--and kiss the old ones goodbye. my only concern...will i lose readers? being redirected is a pain. then again, do i even have many readers?? well, i know i have some, but how long will you follow me around as i traipse about aimlessly?

perhaps, what it really boils down to is that it has more to do with wanting to physically move...and less to do with blogs. am i having underlying issues, or what? i mean, do you care enough to change the link in your sidebar? it gets lonely in cyberspace without friends. if there's no community, then what's the point?

anyway, i'll let you know when the website is up and running. until then, what's YOUR opinion on the blogging issue?

by the way, i just watched an excellent film...Bukowski: Born Into This. it reminded me of a life i once lived (minus the booze, the abuse, the women)...the life that was lived for words. oh, the purity of it all. how i miss it.............how i want it back.

tasha, i'm coming over to ask for a cigarette. don't give me one.

off-schedule

I took that nap...and it swallowed me. The next thing I knew, V. came in the bedroom saying: "It's 7:00. When do you want to eat supper?" Good god, what happened?! I deliriously got up, got dressed, put on my jacket, my shoes, and headed out the door for Chinese buffet with my hungry husband. I was still half asleep as I piled stir-fry and wontons on my plate. At the end of the meal, my fortune cookie said something horrible like, "Hope for the best, but expect the worst." Luckily, Vinny's said something about saving the day--and I'm banking on that.

I have been exhausted often lately. It seems I'm still "recovering" from the Ugly Monster Illness. But, unfortunately, I think today it was accentuated by a student who has started making a habit out of causing considerable drama in my days. He is, what I would call, an expert crazymaker. My students mean a lot to me and I like to think that I have good rapport with them. Actually, as a teacher, I think it's one of the strengths I value the most. But I have one particular student who is doing a fabulous job of draining my energy--completely.

I'm still waiting for Mark to come out with that book on teaching. And when he does...I hope there's a chapter on dealing with situations like these.

In the meantime I think I need to learn how to say enough is enough. And although these words have had no effect on the student, I guess, at this point, I need to learn how to say it to myself. I'm done thinking about this. Enough is enough.

It's time to write.

this is how i feel. i think it's time for a nap.

Yoshitomo Nara

early spring, early morning

Outside I hear a soft sounding bird whoo, whooing. A morning dove? The sun rises so early. I'm barely ready for the day. The cat purrs on my lap as I write. I just want to go back to sleep, but instead, I push myself forward farther into the day.

housekeeping...

today--finally--i did some housekeeping on my dear ol' blog. maybe blogger will quit messing with me now that i've finally cleaned up around here. yep--i alphabetized the blogroll. next is my music and books (haha--just kidding!). and i also added a few blogs of note including: jeppe, loralee, K, jes, megg, pollard, and tiffany. the more the merrier!

this morning...

...the moon rises perfectly. or is it setting?

For the first time in a long while I woke early, still in the dark of night, to write. Just the moon and I--meeting like old friends.

2 hours and 17 minutes left of spring break...

...technically speaking, that is. And as predicted I did not accomplish as much as I had hoped to--but I came close. There are just too many variables when trying to plan life, even the day to day kind.

So, how am I going to enjoy these last couple hours?? Yep, you guessed it. Studying.

Literary Cats...

I don't know what it is about literary criticism and cats, but they seem to be drawn to it like moths to a lightbulb. And, by the looks of it, Viscosa isn't the only one.



Nor is she the only one that starts to feel sleepy the second she gets near the big ol' Norton Anthology. See her eyes? Yes, it happens to me too.

non-Oscar Wilde presentation thoughts...

Lately, it seems, I have very little time for blogging. This is unfortunate because I actually feel like writing. This is typical of me--I finally get going good on one thing and then find myself excited about something else. I think it's the high of actually producing, a creative rush that makes me feel like I'm on fire in a million different directions. Thoughts and ideas rarely space themselves out evenly, instead they come all at once. But this is starting to sound rather bi-polar isn't it? I prefer to blame in on life as a grad student. I don't ever remember my life being so black or white, so on or off, before. Needless to say, at the moment I'm feeling "ON"... and I can live with that.

But the reason for this post was to link to my other blog where I wrote about my trip to Chicago. It is brief and badly written, but alas, I am beginning to realize that I may never have time to write about it better--not in the near future anyway. The part about the Girodet Exhibition though--reminder to self: write about that.

For now: back to work.

dumb

Blogger won't let me read my comments and the neighbors keep running over our trash can.

These things make me very unhappy.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa (angel singing noise)

I did it! I finally, actually ACCOMPLISHED something! I am DONE with my first comprehensive exam. And I even ENJOYED doing it! Oh heavenly writing!!!

finding focus...

My mind is turning into an unruly beast. Or worse, it's acting like a 2 year old that won't listen. Today marks day 2 of writing my rhet. theory comp. Yesterday the first half came somewhat easily, but today my brain is starting to buck. I'm having difficulty with wanting to say everything all at once and therefore not being able to say anything at all.

Oh, but I know it will come. The books I checked out from the library are reminding me how absolutely fascinating some of this stuff is. It's good to come back to it now that I've gotten the bitter taste out of my mouth. I can also see that I have a lifetime of learning in front of me.

Today, however, I have just 2-3 more (coherent) pages to produce. Then onto planning an Oscar Wilde presentation...and then Comp. #2. But I need to relax and enjoy the process of this. I should know by now that it's only when I get nervous or overwhelmed that I begin to suffer from the ugliness of Defiant-unruly-mind Syndrome.

I'm home!

...and it feels so good. My everyday world feels like it's in bloom once again--and literally, it is. There is an explosion of amaryllis red in the living room. We love our plants...and once in awhile they even love us in return.

As for the animals...aww, their tails haven't stopped wagging since I walked in the door last night. I missed them so much...and Vinny too. We even went out for breakfast together to celebrate my return. Do I feel loved? Yes. Did it feel good to get away? Yes. But even better to return.

Now, however, it is time to get to work. The sun is shining across my desk (and the purring cat stretched out on my desk), spilling across my keyboard and onto my white-white hands and arms. I think I might even enjoy this. And THAT, my friends, is a GOOD feeling.

(ps. more on Chicago to come)

Heaven: Day One of Spring Break (for me anyway)

Ok, so technically Spring Break means nothing to me considering that I will spend it up to my chin in work, but something about knowing, at the back of my mind, that we're on break adds a certain calm in my approach to the day.

On Sunday I'm headed to Chicago for 4 days to go to a buying show for the flower shop. It will be a long 12 hour ride each way but, idealistically, I'm going to get a lot of reading and planning done in the car. Then for the next several days I get to spend several thousand dollars of someone else's money. Granted, I don't get to keep the stuff I buy--but the thrill is still there. I also, hopefully, will visit The Art Institute of Chicago--which is the REAL reason I'm going. Will I even have time to go there? We'll see. I have to remind myself that I'm going there to WORK. Still, I will sneak as much play in as possible including (worst case scenario) a hot tub and good food...maybe something Cuban or Greek or Indian or French or African... oh my!

Maybe I'll even be able to sneak a peak at The School of the Art Institute of Chicago--If I'm really lucky, that is.

Anyway, besides gallivanting around the Midwest, the REAL agenda for this week is GETTING THINGS DONE!!! Including:

• Write Rhetorical Theory Comp.
• Write Genre Comp.
• Plan Oscar Wilde Presentation
• Plan class for Donovan evaluation
• Read Lit. Crit.
  

If time:

• Get started on MLA or Langston Hughs paper for Lit Crit. ok--i'm stretching the line here...I only got books from the library--but, in my opinion, that does count for something.
  

I'll also be working at the gallery a couple days. I can see already that I've set myself up for defeat. But who knows--it IS possible if I stay FOCUSED. Some of it, I'm actually looking forward to. I do, however, look forward to drawing lines through it. :)

Here's to Spring Break!

refresh: when life returns to the classroom

Today, in class, a student wrote about his observations of the newly formed rivers in the street and the way the water's current carved tiny caves beneath the surface of the snow. Another student wrote about the exhaustion that he can't seem to shake and the self-contained solitude he's built out of his 3 room apartment. Someone else wrote about the thoughts at the back of his mind that he can't quite get to, the ones that are now going to bother him the rest of the day. Then there were the observations on ice and walking, those neglected bare patches that somehow evaded the sprinkling of sand. I wrote about the thick snow, the way huge chunks fell from powerlines and weighted branches, compressing and encapsulating my world into a dense forest within the space of 3 trees. We fell into fits of laughter after someone read their observations on the girl in class wearing sunglasses. Afterwards she explained that she had been the victim of snow falling from a pine tree. More laughter.

We talked about writing today. Not citing sources. Not paraphrasing. Not researching. Not introducing direct quotes. None of it. We took a breather, a step back from the endless technicalities and instead talked about learning to pay attention and to communicate what's going on.

It was some of the best writing of the semester. Oh, and it felt good to remember what is most important: that we are Writers--every single one of us--something that, I feel, "theory" and regurgitated pedagogical justifications too often neglect.

starts...

Maybe it's the oddity of having slept in an extra hour, until 6. Or maybe it's the phase of the moon and alignment of the planets. Or the fact that I bought coffee this morning instead of making it...

but I feel wildly optimistic about making giant leaps of accomplishment over the next week and a half--with a running start, like puddle jumping--over huge, deep, murky Minnesota puddles. I feel myself flying mid-air...through the gray sky of motivation.

Perfection:

A very THICK layer of new snow, sunny, and 34 degrees.

Dear Blog,

The last time I wrote here was Saturday--and now--it is already Tuesday. I have neglected you and, for this, I am sorry. Lately I find myself filled with thoughts--one after another after another after another. I cannot keep up with them. However, since I can't seem to wrap my head around any one specific thought at the moment, I will instead write a list.

Last night I only got a few hours of sleep--so here's the deal...I'm going to take a nap.
And when I wake up I'm going to:

• Get started with R.T. essay
• Write artist statement
  
• E-mail images of paintings to R2AC
• Grade exercises
• Plan class
• Read NYT Review on Indian authors
  
• Make book list and e-mail N.--including thank you
• After trying unsuccessfully to learn how to cross things out on my own, call Tasha and ask her.

And adding to the list (for maximum sense of accomplishment):

• E-mail Donovan
• Do laundry
• Check MNPals for Indian authors
• Order book by Nair and Divakavuni
  

My motivation for making this list is that, for some reason, it seems to soothe any impending anxiety. My motivation for completing this list is to learn how to draw a line through it on blogger.

(ps. please never mind me. this post shouldn't be made public...it's just that, it seems, I've forgotten how to use pen and paper.)

saturday morning surprises...

our landlord wants to sell the house we're living in...but he promises that we won't have to move before our lease is up. the people interested in buying came to look today--they didn't give me the time of day--after all, i'm just a renter. ugh. maybe their nice. but on the surface they just seem like little entrepreneurs. i was actually starting to really like our current landlord. what will happen? we'll see.

in a way, it seems like another gentle nudge from the universe saying: move on. it is time...or at least, it will be soon.

the truth is...

...that I'd really like to write something here, but I'm still stuck in a DayQuil liqui-cap balloon. Actually, I'm in the transitional period between that and NyQuil bliss. During this in-between period, my head starts feeling like it might explode from sinus pressure. Oh, but I feel great! (at least compared to a few days ago.) Feeling like hell never felt so good.

but writing? ........................................huh?

because i'm sick of looking at my ugly mug (& you probably are too)...here's a photo of georgia o'keefe instead

On realism in art, Georgia O'keefe says: "Nothing is less real than realism. Details are confusing. It is only by selection, by elimination, by emphasis, that we get at the real meaning of things. "


Georgia O'keefe is one of those larger-than-life artists that I hadn't really cared about until a few months ago when I started working on a series of abstract landscapes. I checked out a book on her from the library because I was looking for new ways to combine colors. The book weighed a good 20+ pounds and was only the first half of a 2 volume set. I guess I wasn't attracted to her before because she was TOO popular, to the point of trendy. But then I got interested in her lesser known work and sketches. Turns out, she's one helluva woman. I mean, look at her--


By the way, this is the road to her house:



If she were still alive, I think I'd go visit.

images from: http://www.typepad.com/t/trackback/1345370

In anticipation of Self Portrait Tuesday: my pathetic sick self

The challenge this month for SPT is "All Of Me." Well, here I am. Day 6 of a virus that seems to be swallowing me whole.

Obviously, I have no dignity left.

day 4

(clickon photo for larger image)

Tonight I did a collage on the coffee table because I am tired of laying on the couch, bored with watching tv, and can't think well enough to do anything that I should be doing.
I have no explanation for this collage other than it is made up of images and colors that I am attracted to.

the same street that earlier today two cross-country skiers made their way down the middle of the road in the middle of the day in the middle of town

Tonight I went for my first walk since Wednesday. I know I shouldn't have, but I missed my dog and the snow and fresh air and movement. It was just a short hike around the block, and despite the objections of my throat and lungs, it felt good--a deep blanket of feathery snow beneath my feet and a deeper darkness of stars above my head. In town I see so little of stars, but tonight their presence reminded me of my old place. While Anu rooted around in the snow I stopped and stared at the scanty pin-pricks of light with head tilted back--reminding me of a line by Joyce Carol Oates, "a scattering of lights like startled thoughts." It felt good to stand still in the cold air on a quiet night-time street. No cars, just silent snow on top of snow. In the darkness I found myself, for the first time, satisfied with the sky above me--even though it wasn't the country sky I left behind, a sky so heavy with stars that it used to, literally, steal my breath away on a regular basis. But still, even here, there is sky--where the bare branches of an oak tree, spread across the inky cosmos like miniature lightning bolts, are the only barrier between me and complete surrender.

the flu

i am so sick i feel like a puddle of dirty melted snow.

my ass has been kicked.

This is the winter I love.

It's in the 20's with big fat snowflakes falling from the sky. I'm not as interested in the sub-zero digets-- but this--this is the kind of winter I can live with.

run-on

Of course it so happens that the morning I think of carrying my camera with me just in case I see something cool but forget the camera at home is the day that I walk to school along a snow covered lake lit by the most amazing sunrise I have seen in a very long time and since I didn't have the camera with me I can only try to tell you about its softness, hazy along the edges and hot pink in the center that gave way to waves of blue-grey then fading into a color I can only describe as luminous.

brief moments of thought...

There are moments in the day when I think to myself: Yes--I can do this! Last night was slightly productive. I went to bed looking forward to today and woke up still feeling optimistic. But it is now after 8 (pm) and let's face it...I'm lacking all sense of reality. Because there are these other moments, like now, when I think to myself: I'm f#%*ed! It's impossible! On a daily basis I find myself stripped naked of time. Meanwhile, the knot in my stomach is growing. It is almost March.

It's my grandpa's birthday tomorrow. My grandma's throwing a birthday party for him, but they live two hours away. It's just another thing that gets in the way of everything else I should be doing. My grandpa's been sick lately. He might not be around next year.

Life does not wait. My other grandpa died 8 months ago. Life does not wait.

someone's enjoying the severe weather alert...

This is Anu, my wonderfully hardy (hearty) wolfie girl. And today marks her first indoor nap since moving. She is rather happy about it and is full of groans and sighs and stretches.

I went outside to take her for a walk this morning--the negative 40's are no joke. There are spider webs of frost on everything--a surreal deep freeze. We only made it halfway down the alley before she was lifting her paws from the cold and my heart went soft, my hard resolve to make her an outside dog once and for all slipped out from under me...and so now she's peacefully tucked in our bed with a full belly and plenty of covers, kisses, and snuggles. Yes, she's very happy...and sleeping.

Beauty and Love

this is Viscosa, my little Mexican beauty.

Self Portrait Tuesday: All Of Me on V-day

In ode of "all of me, " here I am after a long day of slingin' roses.
Once a florist, always a florist--it's like ridin' a bike, they say. It's amazing what you'll do for family. And much to my husband's dismay he's now married into it.
Bah-humbug. We doooo love Valentine's Day.
This picture kinda reminds me of a bug that's drawn to the light.
Dumb bugs.

February 13th

Today I have to work at the flower shop and probably tomorrow too. After all, Valentine's Day is upon us and it is time for this x-flower elf to come out from behind her computer and books to make lovely bouquets of roses and lilies and yes, even carnations too. Most people don't like carnations because they're cheap and not very fancy and they have a weird smell. But I like them. They remind me of being a kid--when life was a little less complicated, when I could walk into a cooler full of flowers just for fun. Not that being a kid was easy; I wish it was so. Oh, where is this going??

To say: "I grew up in a flower shop" is kinda like saying: "I went to Catholic school." Both are true--and if you've experienced either, then you know what I mean.

But anyway--duty calls--
and off I go... to the thorny under-belly of love.

soup

Old buildings are cool, but after 4 hours of sitting in the gallery I came home frozen solid. 2 1/2 hours later and I think my nose has finally thawed. I give the hot bowl of soup and cup of tea all the credit. Well, that and the space-heater. But the soup--mmmm. Sicilian lentil with tomatoes and portabello mushrooms and fennel, oh yeah--it hit the spot. But now I'm being swallowed by sleepiness, a dangerous feeling because I vowed productivity today.

won't..........give.......
up........
yet.

That's me, the loner goat:

cuz
I
missed
the
party.

couches

10 am and here I sit, finally, with a cup of coffee. I slept on the couch last night because V. was snoring. He doesn't snore very often and when he does I can usually whisper to him and he'll stop. But not last night. Hmm, so I slept on the couch and didn't get up until after 9 this morning. And the poor dog is probably waiting to be walked even though when I look out the window into the yard I see that she is still tucked warmly in her dog house. Today I'm feeling slightly weird. I never get sick because I don't allow it. But today...my head feels swimmy, my throat feels puffy, my limbs feel heavy, and my joints creaky. So there ya have it--while my brain-mass is levitating into the clouds, my body is sinking into the ground. I'm feeling slightly discombobulated and can only hope that this small, but potent, cup of coffee can pull me back together.

Last night I dreamt that I was at a family reunion. My uncle was dressed up as a plastic dinosaur and Vinny was throwing pebbles at him and my grandma who was laying on the beach on a lawn chair. I was standing in ankle deep lake water with my sister saying: "I wannnnna go hoooooomme!"

My apologies. I think I've started repeating myself.

But I'm going to get to work now.

1. plan class
2. WRITE!

sounds simple enough, doesn't it?

"Tag"

The word "tag" reminds me of being a kid--back when I was a tom-girl with blonde hair all the way down to my butt. One of my favorite games in gym was flag-football. I remember running, hair flying out behind me, trying to dodge any hands that came too close to the plastic flags stuck to my waist with the velcro belt that the gym teacher, Mrs. Stebe, handed out at the beginning of the hour. We played outside in the parking lot. But what flag-football reminds me of is a t-shirt that I was particularly fond of in first or second grade. It was red with a picture of Pebbles on it and read: "Anything boys can do, girls can do better." Even though I've grown up to believe in equality, at the time I was VERY proud of that shirt. It even started a "rumble." Boys against the girls in a game of TACKLE football. It got too rough and the game was brought to an quick end by the teachers. We were fierce! But I'll admit, even today, I am happy to have been the instigator of an elementary school revolution. The word "tag" reminds me of these sorts of things. Maybe that's why I like the word.

So anyway, here it is (thanks tara!):

What were 3 things when you were little you wanted to be when you grew up?

1. A Solid Gold Dancer--and I practiced often! Imagine this: 7 year old girl, brown shag carpet, red leotard with rainbow stripes, and a killer stereo system. How could I not want it?!
   
2. A Piano Teacher--I still remember standing on the curb in the sun waiting for my sister to get home from school. I think I must have wanted to tell her of my career decision, but all I remember is talking to myself about it. Oh, I had such passion to teach! It's no coincidence that it's what I'm doing now (although with words, not pianos). I remember the dirt and the scrubby grass, the tar, the blue sky, and my heart nearly leaping out of my chest in anticipation of growing up. I love that feeling. I still experience it. :)
   
3. A Zoologist--I wanted to go to Africa and study the gorillas like Dian Fossey.

You can live one day over again from your childhood. What day will it be?

The day I tried to build a raft like Huck Finn's. One summer we lived on a lake where I spent a lot of time playing in the woods and pretending to be a run-away. I guess I had a traveler's heart even at a young age. I spent most of the day collecting wood, dragging fallen trees from the woods to the lake. If I could do it over again I'd finish that raft. Who knows where it might have taken me.


You have two minutes (and a mover with you if you need heavy lifting help!) to grab 5 things from your home before it morphs into a polka dotted hobgoblin and hops away. What will you take? (Food/drink/family/friends excluded!)

1. My journals
2. My photo albums
3. My favorite red ceramic mug
4. My little Buddha statue--for good luck. It's about 2 inches tall and it's gone with me on every trip I've taken. Anyway, it would remind me that simplicity is good.
5. The wool cable knit sweater my mom hand-spun and knit for me.

You have to paint one quote on your kitchen wall. What's it going to be?

"Nothing is muddy that RUNS IN TIME..." ~Kerouac

I love this question and if I wasn't living in a rental I'd go ahead and actually paint it.


What is one thing you want to have accomplished by the end of this year?

1. GRADUATE!!!! (oh yeah, you all already know that)
2. I'd also like to travel somewhere interesting--preferably exotic.
   

You are moving to the moon for one year and can only bring one flower with you. What kind will you bring?

This is an interesting question for me because I grew up in a flower shop and spent much of my life working with flowers. As you can imagine, I've acquired quite a few favorites, but if I could have just one? It would be:
a wild iris.

You just received word that aside from one flower, you can also bring five books with you too! Your choices?
(Thank god--I can bring books too!)

1. The Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac
2. One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
   
3. Wild Mind by Natalie Goldberg
4. The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho
5. A great big anthology of women writers. But if I don't have time to order it from Amazon before being sent to the moon, then The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros and Three By Annie Dillard. Oh, come on--my stack isn't that thick! Can't I have 6 books?!
   

Tag!:
Anyone who won't hate me for tagging! I'm curious about lots of you! Oh, come one. It's fun. It's ok to have fun. ;)

winter morning observation

This morning, well below zero, I watch two Grey Squirrels outside from the perch of my second story window. One looks at me through the glass as he shakes snow from his paws. Their muscles seem a little tense, from the cold. They move stiffly, sending puffs of snow to the ground as they travel the length of the thick tree branch. Today they move more closely together and with less talking than usual.

Watching them, I decide that I like squirrels as much as I like birds. But it is cold, and today, I'm glad I'm neither.

Here's one I bet we can all relate to: (read it out loud for maximum pleasure)

writer's block

the typewriter sits silent, it's as if you've
been betrayed, it's as if a murder has
occurred.
yet words still run through you brain:
"the Spanish bird sings!"
what can
that mean?
at least it's a ripple, even if unusable.

when will the keys
beat into the
paper
again?
it's so easy to die long before the
fact of it.

I look at the machine resting under its black
cover; an unpaid gas bill sleeps on top of
it.

there is a small refrigerator in the
room, it makes the only audible sound
here.

I open it and look inside:
it's empty.

I sit back down in the chair and wait; then I
decide to fool the
typewriter.

I write this
now
with a ballpoint
pen
in a red
notebook;
I am sneaking up on a poem;
there will soon be something for that
frigging
typewriter
to do!

there is a French expression, "without
literature
life is hell."

the glory and power of that!

now let the Spanish bird sing!

~Charles Bukowski. From Slouching Toward Nirvana.

Self Portrait Tuesday: {Personal History--19}

I know I've sentenced myself to no blogging this week, but I skipped Self Portrait Tuesday last week. I know it's not excessively creative, but I like it anyway--so there...

This is a photo of me and my best friend from high school the summer we packed up the truck, my dog, Japhy, and hit the road. We traveled the States together up and down, sideways and crossways for an entire summer.

Right now my class is watching The Motorcycle Diaries, a film about Ernesto "Che" Guavera and Alberto Granada's adventures down the length of South America on a beat up old motorcycle in the 1950's. This photo reminds me that we once took the same sort of journey. And so it's no wonder I watch that film with such longing--even after 4 viewings.

Two years ago Jess was the Maid of Honor in my wedding. This is the photo that I carefully tucked into a locket for her. She cried when she opened it. And I did too.

I've never found a better traveling partner.

Self-inflicted deprivation... (updated, more specific, version)

Dear friends,
I'm cutting myself off from reading blogs for a week. Actually, I'm cutting out all unnecessary reading (and definitely the tv!). I'll miss reading all of your blogs...but oy--I find that I waste incredible amounts of time on the internet. (side note: I do not consider reading blogs a waste of time because I read some really incredible and inspiring blogs--but I am easily distracted and would rather read about all of you than do my own work. If there is one thing I want out of life right now it is to GRADUATE. Sometimes I am afraid to admit to myself just how much work that will involve. I hide behind a lot of things. I am hoping that cutting out a few distractions will help me to face myself and the things I need to accomplish. To be honest, I am scared shitless that I don't have it in me, but maybe that's another story.)

While I was in India I did a 10 day Vipassana (silent meditation). We were not allowed to listen to music, to speak, to read, or to write. It was wonderful--but difficult. Asking a writer not to write?! Oh boy. So this is my self-imposed/created Vipassana since I don't have time for the real thing. I need this. No more white-noise--at least for a while.

I'll be back next week!
love,
jessie

Got it?

"...every sign is also a thing, for that which is not a thing is nothing at all; but not every thing is also a sign. And this in this distinction between things and signs, when we speak of things, we shall so speak that, although some of them may be used to signify something else, this fact shall not disturb the arrangement we have made to speak of things as such first and of signs later. We should bear in mind that now we are to consider what things are, not what they signify beyond themselves."

~ Augustine of Hippo

never mind me.

I want to say something wonderful and uplifting and interesting-- but all I can think of to say is that I like Aristotle better than Plato and there are plenty of things that I like better than both. I don't usually pray, but maybe I should start...please god get me through this, please!

My body is vibrating from boredom. I can't stop complaining. Oh, this sucks.

F*d

At this moment I am frustrated. Frustrated that I don't have time to write. Frustrated that I don't have time for friends. Frustrated that I don't have time for family. Frustrated, Frustrated, Frustrated! (yes, I'm having a temper-tantrum!)

Health Nut--Day 1

got drunk.
smoked 3 cigarettes.
stuck to diet (except for substitution of healthy snack for cocktails).

Excuse:
1st day of Lit. Crit. = 200+ bible-thin pages of the Norton Anthology of Literary Criticism (in miniscule print) and a presentation--by next week.

unhealthy thoughts...

Ok--so today is the big day--the day I start shaping up a life that's spiraled into a big, fat, smokey, sloppy mess. I am:

1. quitting smoking (yes, again...for real this time) and...
2. starting a diet (oh, i hate that word--ok, so what i meant to say is that i'm changing my atrocious eating habits.)

yay...good for me. except i'm not feeling as excited about it today as i was yesterday when i was still in the "planning" stages. i have these nicotine patches that i'm about ready to paste all over myself--aaaahhh! i put my first one on this morning and i swear to god it's making my heart beat faster which is only causing me to want a cigarette more!

as for the food bit--well, that i am completely ready for. i've gained 20 pounds in the last year and a half--20! i have a short list of things i can blame it on, but what it comes down to is that i am absolutely uncomfortable.

and why am i writing about all this? i have no idea--maybe to keep me from going next door and begging for a smoke. oh, and if i could have it my way--i'd spend this first week sleeping. i figure that's the best way to avoid self-conflict. too bad it's not an option. :|-

yeah...

Saturday Heaven Exists in an Old Brick Building at 426 Bemidji Avenue.

Well, after a month of being closed, I'm back at my Saturday afternoon gig: working the gallery. It felt good to get here with my hands full with a latte, water, lunch, with my too-full backpack sliding precariously down my arm as I stood on the stone steps trying to unlock this old, brick building. And upon entering I was greeted by a smell that can only exist in places like this-- a former library that was built a hundred years ago and is now inhabited by artists. It is this smell of dust and dark wood and old plaster walls and art that instantly brings me comfort--every time.

Down stairs it is warm in my little corner studio--but upstairs, where I now sit, it is cold, cold, cold. Light floods through large windows, the glass rattling with every truck and bad muffler that goes by. I listen to Cuban music to warm me up from the inside. As new faces come in I am each time amazed by the incredible characters that inhabit this town. This place draws them out from where ever they hide. Maybe it's being surrounded by art that opens the space for such satisfying conversation. I don't know--but whatever it is, this place is a little piece of Saturday heaven. I'm glad to be back.

Synchronicities...

Ok, it's time to 'fess up. About a week ago I started a "secret" blog. Why do I need a secret blog you ask? Well, because I came across this and wanted to space to write about certain things that I wasn't sure I wanted everyone in my day-to-day life to know about. I'm not even sure how I lucked upon this community of writers; although I'm guessing that it might have been through this.

Well, it turns out that I don't write anything on my SECRET BLOG that I wouldn't write here. But the really amazing thing is that in a world of thousands and thousands of blogs--these people are overlapping! Maybe the good thing about starting a secret blog is that I wouldn't have realized this otherwise. Such an incredibly large world and these like-minded artists and thinkers are FINDING EACH OTHER! How amazing is that?!

What an absolutely beautiful web these strands create--a web I've followed through her and her and her and her and her and her and her and her................yeah, you get the point.

uh-ohhh...first it was Vinny, now it's the cat!

Can you see her? Oh, our little black cat, Viscosa, has turned into a couch potato! She started watching Animal Planet with me today while I was eating lunch and hasn't budged since!

Great. Just great.

Well, at least I'm acting my age. How creepy is that?

You Are 31 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

Self Portrait Tuesday: Personal History...Strength

I made this collage about five years ago and it is one of those things that could probably be thrown out--but I don't because it reminds me of who I am, where I'm from, and what I'm capable of.

The picture in the upper right is a photo of me when I was 18 and had just moved to Oregon. I hiked the PCT almost every weekend. And when I wasn't doing that I was hiking trails along the ocean.

The photo below it is of me standing on the roof of the house I built. When we started (with the basement) I was afraid of heights. But by the end the roof rafters became my favorite place.

There's a picture of my strong-stout-Austrian great-great grandmother holding my great-grandma. My great-grandma lived to be nearly a 105 and was able to care for herself until the end. She was also the most content woman I ever met.

There's a picture of Gandhi and Amelia Earhart. There's one of Kali Ma, the ocean, and of me and my old dog Japhy. There's a picture of Buddha drawn by a Nepalese child that I was befriended by and another of when I lived in the desert. There's a photo of an owl because I was born in winter.

In the picture in the middle of the bottom row, the one where I'm wearing a white wooly sweater, I stand with my arm around a girl whose family I stayed with while in the Himalayas. She was feisty...got mad easily and one night threw pots and pans in the kitchen. Such crashing! We became fast friends and would have been happy to temporarily trade lives.

There are pictures of strangers whose lives have inspired me, pictures with friends, one that I'm hanging out the window of a train, one that I'm sitting silently on a mountain top, and in another, paddling a kayak over water smooth as glass.

There are a lot of reasons I don't throw this thing away--even if it has started to fade.

writing in class

I often have my class freewrite and I write along with them. However in past classes I found that I was usually too nervous or distracted to really get into it myself--until this class. I don't know what it is that's different, but it is wonderful. For some reason, for teaching only, I use a yellow legal pad. Maybe I use them because I can get them free out of the faculty cabinet. Maybe because they're bigger than normal notebooks; because they're easy to flip through and to tear pages out of. Or maybe because they lend to an illusion of professionalism. Whatever the case--what that yellow piece of paper is to me at 8:15 in the morning, surrounded by 25 others with pens and pencils to paper, scratching, scribbling, thinking--is a little piece of bliss--a moment during the day that my find myself feeling whole.

a step in the right direction

Since the logical way to move on is to move forward... I've gathered myself and my stuff and headed for the office where I now sit--not only to finish what I started but to start what I need to finish. Because of construction detours on campus I tried 5 locked doors before finally walking the long way to a door I have keys to. The place feels a little bit like a fortress today, but that's a good thing. It's quiet in here. Oh-so-quiet.

Thank you Martin Luther King!

Now it's time to get to work.

I've been away from my blog...

...because I've been doing a lot of thinking in my head and writing in my paper journal. And these past few days I've come to a few important realizations. 1) I've been looking for validation in what I write or do or say much too much too often. 2) I feel more real in cyberworld than I do in the real world 3) I've been holding myself back in almost every aspect of my life: friendship, marriage, sex, writing, art, teaching, personal fulfillment, spirituality, which leads to...4) a boat load of self-censorship, which leads to the fact that... 5) I'm bored out of my fu*ki*ng mind!!!

I feel myself shutting down, a listless depression seeping in the cracks. I also feel myself waking up to the realization that something's gotta change. Perhaps easier said than done, but my sister said something to me this weekend that made the air vibrate around me. She said, "Yeah, I think it's time for you to move on." Those words bounced off me a few times before sinking in, but...

I think she's right.

after-thoughts on the beginning

Yesterday morning, as I walked to my first class of the semester, I could not help but think about this girl and her river. I thought about my own journey towards a new beginning and also the fact that I am embarking on (most likely) my last semester at the place I have dedicated the past six years of my life to. I kissed my sleepy dog on the nose goodbye and shut the gate behind me. But instead of crossing a river in warm weather and rain, I walked down the alley, across a parking lot, down a flight of icy stairs, and the rest of the way along a frozen lake-- a white tundra, barren enough for ample breathing space, a dark morning sky resting peacefully on the horizon and stretching in an arch above and beyond me. In the five minutes it took me to get from my house to my classroom my world shifted from street lights and stars to clouds streaked in half-light; shapes silently emerged, while the mild cold maintained stillness in everything but shifting sky.

For a moment I hesitated, taking in all that surrounded me before turning my back to its beauty. I pulled open the heavy glass door and was greeted by silent halls. I unlocked my own dark classroom, turned on the lights, and was confronted by perfect rows of desks--desks soon to be broken up into a haphazard circle of expectant and awaiting students. Content that everything was as it should be I went up to my office where I was met by two professors who, after many, many years of teaching beamed just as much excitement as me. And I thought to myself, that it is these beginnings that I love the most--these beginnings that I hope will last forever.

technological advancements in vocabulary

I've been "tagged" by greensatya and since I am forever greedy for reasons to procrastinate what I should be doing, I'm happy for the invitation to take a break.

4 jobs you've had in your life:

1. produce seller (sold fruits and veggies to Chris Farley whenever he was on a diet--he was an asshole)
   
2. coffee barista (I loved the coffee as much as the people! That was a great job/s)
   
3. floral designer (for 9 years--too long!)
   
4. teacher (my favorite and current job)
   

4 movies you would watch over and over:

1. Herald and Maude (Herald inspired me to learn banjo. I want to grow up to be like Maude)
   
2. When Harry Met Sally (As a matter of fact, I watched it last night!)
   
3. Born into Brothels (my newest favorite--heartbreaking and inspiring all at once)
   
4. Gorillas in the Mist (Dian Fossey is one of my heroes)
   

4 places you have lived:

1. Eugene, Oregon (my first big move across the country at 18)
   
2. In a hogan in the high desert of Arizona
3. In a 10' x 12' shack with no water or electricity in the middle of nowhere
4. Madison, Wisconsin (a little bit on accident, but returned repeatedly)

4 tv shows you love to watch:

1. Free Style
2. Animal Planet (which show? I don't know--the good ones)
3. Friends (ok, ok, I admit it!)
4. Northern Exposure (dang, why don't they produce that one anymore???)

(note: two months ago I got cable for the first time in 13 years. I admit, I'm still tv ignorant but, in my book, that's a good thing.)

4 places you have been on vacation:

1. India (but I think I was there for too long to call it a vacation)
2. Malaysia (a short, but happy accident)
   
3. England, Ireland, France (in 1999)
   
4. Italy (for our honeymoon in 2003)
   

4 of your favorite foods:

1. Samosas (oh--I'm sooooooo hungry for samosas!!!)
2. Malai Kofta (why didn't I learn how to cook Indian food???)
3. Potato chips (my true weakness in life)
4. Dilly beans (hot dill pickled string beans--a family recipe that I've been addicted to since I was a kid)
   

4 places you would rather be right now:

1. India (do I have to be picky?)
   
2. Costa Rica (lounging in a hammock overlooking the ocean from a tree house, reading a good book)
   
3. France (drinking a glass of wine or sipping an espresso)
   
4. Gallery hopping in New York (art inspiration!)

Tag--You're it!!

1. Tara Dawn
2. Amber
3. Wenda
4. Erin
5. And the rest of you yahoooooos that read this blog.
   

Thanks Satya!

new blog announcement:

Brian H., fellow writer and friend, has now entered the blogosphere!

teaching jitters...

hmm...I'm just fine, bumbling about my day--and then I get a flash of heat that shoots down my legs and into my hands. Last semester and the semester before I felt so little nervousness that the lack of nervousness made me nervous!

But alas, it turns out that I am regular ol' nervous. Oh good--does that make me normal? haha. What's normal??

Self Portrait Tuesday: traveling soul

As I was laying in bed last night I remembered that it was Tuesday and I had not posted anything for SPT. Instead of getting out from under warm covers, I spent some time thinking: what is my history anyway?

This morning I looked through photos only to find that I have almost no pictures from my childhood. But what I do have is boxes and albums full of photos from my travels. In those pictures I see a deep sense of calm; I see someone who is happy and healthy and glad to be alive. Yes, it's true, I have a traveling soul. I would have liked to collage a timeline of all my journeys, but that would take all day.

So instead, I leave you with a small moment of peace that I found while in Italy. I hope you can feel it too.

One more day.

One more day of "break" left and today I spent it as wisely as possible. A morning hike in the woods with the dogs--it was sunny, the snow was deep. It didn't take us long to get tired from tromp, tromping...but it was good. Complete with a Cheez-its snack sitting in the snow with wet dog noses and warm sun on my face. One for me, two for the dogs, one for me, two for the dogs. Everyone was happy and when we finally made it back to the car the dogs fell fast asleep in the back. At home Anu again fell asleep outside with her chin resting on her raw-hide, too tired to even enjoy it. Thank god for another day of sun. The molecules of my brain and body needed it.

Later I headed down to the studio for some art making. When I finally came home, it felt good to be here. Tonight I spent some time writing in my paper journal. My husband gave me two more art journals for Christmas and since I desire a new beginning for the coming semester I filled a few pages of my current journal--which included making a "schedule" for the coming months. This is a habit of mine--making a schedule that I never seem to keep. But this time I kept it simple with more doodling than unattainable to-do lists. I now have a schedule that boils down to one thing: WRITING. Yes, there is the class I'm taking and the class I'm teaching. They will both get their fair share of attention, but all other moments of my life will be dedicated to one thing, and one thing only...my thesis. Oh, and walking the dog.


The past three weeks have been filled with a lot of wasted time. And of course it's only been in the last couple days that I've finally gotten to the point of being able to relax. I wish I would have used the time better. I let things hang over my head the entire three weeks. I didn't get anything done, yet I wasn't able to really "let go" either. I will pay for my non-productivity over the next several months. But, no matter what, I am going to try to stay calm about whatever the coming semester has in store for me. There are three things I'm promising myself to get through it all with my sanity in tact: getting enough sleep, exercise, and water (well--those things make life sound simple anyway!). I have also decided that it will be best for me to become a mobile writer, to follow the quiet wherever it leads me--whether it be my desk at home, my office, the studio, the library, or a coffee shop. I'm going to get up early, before my husband does, and write. This semester will require music, sun, and definitely a few deep breathes once in awhile.

And tomorrow--my last day of stolen freedom...I don't know, but I think I will spend the morning reading, savoring one last book of my own choosing, another long walk in the snow (and hopefully sun), some writing, and maybe even a nap.

For now, it's time for bed.