I read on Coats Thread website that there are 10 million colors that the human eye can distinguish although we don't have the language to describe them, to name them. And how many people know what "cerise" is anyway? They made 150,000 colors last year at their 40 dye houses around the world.
That is a lot of color.
Coats also credits Gordon Sundbank with the related item the zipper. The zipper had been thought of earlier but Gordon, bless his Swedish engineering soul, perfected it.
What would our Universe be without color? What would our life be without color? Disneyland without color? Baby Josie without color? The Pacific Northwest's beloved green and white ferries? Did anyone else love Crayolas as a child? How many have doodled with colored pencils? I drive to work on grey highways, the sun shines on poor and rich, flowers and weeds, cows and whales, dessert and forests, and all of it pleases my eye -- somehow.
Color is best distinguished against a neutral grey background viewed at a 45 degree angle. I don't know why, something about the refracted light. Ask an engineer; Marc, Mark?
Color and zippers; two important elements in life. And not just for keeping your privates private, but metaphorically speaking. The colors of our life are endless, amazing, amusing, powerful, seemingly inexhaustible. Birth death love passion are all elements that color our life...
...And bound together with some kind of human zipper.
How does a stranger become a friend. I notice one reading a book, another asking questions, another in the smoking area almost as much as me. Mary, Lynn and Claire. A phrase, a peek, a conversation over tea or coffee in the break room blooms with color and surprise into a longer conversation, a laugh, meeting outside the boundaries of work. Slowly our lives become entwined with drives, bookclubs, siblings. Claire has almost as many siblings as I. Mary turned me onto great books, especially The Curve of Time, one of my favorite books ever. How can I not feel the beginnings of love for such a gifted reader. Lynn loved drives and walks and eating and mini adventures. They all made my life better, more interesting, more fun, more thoughtful, more colorful.
I watched Carol crochet a beautiful pink baby sweater sitting next to me at Washington Mutual, well you all know how I feel about little girl pink crocheted baby sweaters -- with a white ruffle going down the front, and she was reading also. She colored my life with amazement at her talent. I didn't know then that I was glimpsing the very tip of the proverbial ice berg of her talent.
We don't have to develop a friendship with our siblings, we are born to that, but friends come different. Jean worked with a girl who had a mother. Jerry worked with a man who had a wife. Ian met a goofy kid who knew Nila.
What is the color of a safe harbor? A place we just know we belong. The right fit, the right balance. The right color. Thank God for those 10 million colors and my place in them. I always tell people, "I'm not the sharpest crayola in the box, just one of the more colorful."
Speaking of friends: At work the other day I was writing an email to the customer service team and used the phrase "Patience is painfully hard work." Being a writer I like to attribute credit so I Googled the phrase and Google pointed it's finger at me. That was weird, that was more than weird it was spooky. It seems I had used the phrase on a blog and Google gave me credit. Now you know how much Google can lie.
Then later at bookclub my colorful friend, Eleanor, said she Googled a person for an innocent reason and found out enough to be embarrassed by it. Now my curiosity was aroused so I Googled me, yep, it is scary what the world can know about you. I don't, and don't know how, to set up privacy blocks, so the whole world can know about me.
Most of it was from The Spirit of Maxine, but also that I have lived on Mary St., might be related to Robert Jones, all of my alias', and I have a bunch, any variation of my names is listed as an alias. Even the misspellings of Neomia and Carrillo. Apparently the colors of my life are transparent.
I am apparently transparent at work also, to some. I am just not a color in their universe.
My house purge continues. Ian carried out seven more bags.
I thought I could write a blog and not mention Connor, but I have discovered that it is not possible. He told me the other evening to clean my bedroom because it was a mess and full of germs. Sweet boy.
I had a little birdhouse for him to paint and he enjoyed painting it for about fifteen minuets then he told me he was going to take a break, and for the next three hours he crashed cars. I don't think he will be an artist.
I am zipped up to that wee colorful kid.
Bo and Christian gave me a 3% chance of going to reunion this year. I said with a 3% chance I'd better reserve a cabin, however the cabins are all booked. Anyone have a spare? Or spare camping gear? Christian was trying to explain to Bo about his middle America family reunions and Bo asked rather sheepishly if there would be any other Asian's there. Christian said no, but his family would welcome her with open arms, love, and affection, as they would him after an absence of many years.
I loved it that Christian had no doubt in his heart. That is the color of family.
The world, the universe, is filled with color, go zip yourself up to some. Brazil, The Maldives, Madagascar, colorful places all, or so I have been shown. And Alaska. Alaska will color my life soon, soon.
Friday, April 25, 2014
Friday, April 18, 2014
One in Ten
Julia, I was rereading about the Tracy Aviary Owl Forest in Utah and was thinking, if you want to drive 1400 miles I'll drive 900 and meet you there next Spring. Do you feel up for a drive across America? A favorite pastime of Taylor's. Oh the places we have been and the things we have seen.
Connor was a busy delight Wednesday on our playdate.
I had set up an activity where he could make little Easter baskets for everyone. He very carefully doled out the green grass, he very carefully gave each basket a portion of candy, he very carefully learned to curl ribbon to tie on each Easter basket. Then I gave him pinking shears to cut the name tags. He was enchanted with the pinked edge, telling me how pretty the edge was -- for about 60 seconds -- when his laser vision focused on the center screw holding the two halves together. He studied the screw, he manipulated the scissors back and forth, he adjusted them to different angles to examine them closer. The Easter baskets, the grass, the candy, the pretty pinked edge, the tags were all forgotten, he was lost to the mechanics of the scissors. With awe in his voice he said, "Granny, look at this gear."
There is always a right tool for the job, I just don't always know what that tool is. Pinking shears? Masking tape? Paperclips? I guess paperclips will become obsolete someday along with cursive writing and paper pages. New thinking, new technology, new solutions, new tools. All going forward to a future I can't even imagine.
Did ja see the post on Facebook about the glow-in-the-dark highway markings, did ja? Blue Highways I call them because of a book I read years ago by that name. (A good book by the way.) I don't suppose I will live to see that a reality, but it sure is a neat idea. A terrific idea. A futuristic idea. Blue highways, what next? Hover craft? I fervently hope so.
I was on Facebook the other morning commenting back and forth with four or five others at the same time. That was fun. From Jason in England to Verla in Oklahoma to Lynn in Seattle and one or two others. That was real time fun and something I couldn't have imagined when Bob brought home one of the first car phones. Remember those boxes of intrigue?
There is so freaking much I don't know. It is humbling to stop and think about my ignorance. I don't know house construction, road construction, refining oil, how to stop smoking, chicken health, electrical gizmos, bumper cars, serious cooking, magic, Chinese history, natural dyes, gem stones, or what a Rabbi does.
People tend to treat me a little politely as they back away or a little kindly as if they feel sorry for me by making allowances for my age, craziness or stupidity. It is odd that if they don't get my reference I'm the one who is stupid. Mention "Blue Highways" to someone and see what kind of reaction you get. Or Barbara McClintock, there's a puzzler.
People have a hard time fessing up to their own ignorance. I call that brain lockdown. Nothing in and nothing out. After all they know the answer, have the solution, have made all the right decisions, choices. They are so busy living life correctly that they can't open themselves to new endless possibilities and solutions.
The only thing Connor liked as much as the "gear" in the scissors was washing dishes. After making the Easter baskets we made Bird Nest cookies, that was okay, but what he really liked was pouring soap into the chocolaty pans and washing them over and over and over. I think he used about a cup of soap.
As the evening wound down he finally turned his attention to his regular play shelves. I had squirreled a few different items on them for him to discover and he said, "Thank you granny for the new stuff, especially the key chain and pen." And right before his daddy hauled him out the door he found the Altoid tin with six mini cars inside, cars that probably belonged to Roger at some point. Woe is Connor when he discovers cars and can't play, so he gave me firm instructions to put them inside the plastic Easter eggs and hide them for when he comes back. So hid they will be.
Connor noticed my new purse, slammed the back door so many times I told him if he slammed it again I was going to dress him up in girl's clothes. Even with all the Easter candy to choose from the treat Connor wanted was the red Tootsie Roll Pop that I had snagged at the pizza parlor to put on his play shelves. Will Tootsie Roll Pops ever go out of favor? Like I said, I can't even imagine the future.
I've wanted to clear out and organize my condo ever since, well, ever since I moved in. Clearing out and organizing has been hard, no, impossible for me to do. Then one day I thought to myself, said to myself, if clearing out and organizing is hard don't do it, just throw something away. And myself listened for once. I told myself to throw something away every day and I did. I threw something away, and then something else and pretty soon I was like a shark on a feeding frenzy.
All those damn articles, books, suggestions, helpful hints I read -- for years -- were a piece of crap. I moved one stone and started an avalanche. Now I can make room for flowers, make my condo easy to dust, make room for creativity. This works. New solution to a burdensome problem.
Lynn and I had a pedicure the other day after our ferry ride, after our breakfast at The Oak Table in Kingston, and the sweet lady asked, "Relaxing, no?" I yeah yeahed her -- but I lied. I don't find pedicures relaxing, they make me antsy, nervous, claustrophobic, not relaxing. That is why I only have one every two or three months. Not relaxing, but better than me trying to contort myself down to my feet for a DIYer.
After a deep scientific study I concluded that one person in ten is an asshole; in line, on the phone, at intersections. I studied and thought about this deeply for 15 to 20 minutes. One person in ten is an asshole and sometimes that asshole is me.
Bless someone today by asking them for a favor.
And happy, happy Easter, may your Easter have a pretty edge also.
Connor was a busy delight Wednesday on our playdate.
I had set up an activity where he could make little Easter baskets for everyone. He very carefully doled out the green grass, he very carefully gave each basket a portion of candy, he very carefully learned to curl ribbon to tie on each Easter basket. Then I gave him pinking shears to cut the name tags. He was enchanted with the pinked edge, telling me how pretty the edge was -- for about 60 seconds -- when his laser vision focused on the center screw holding the two halves together. He studied the screw, he manipulated the scissors back and forth, he adjusted them to different angles to examine them closer. The Easter baskets, the grass, the candy, the pretty pinked edge, the tags were all forgotten, he was lost to the mechanics of the scissors. With awe in his voice he said, "Granny, look at this gear."
There is always a right tool for the job, I just don't always know what that tool is. Pinking shears? Masking tape? Paperclips? I guess paperclips will become obsolete someday along with cursive writing and paper pages. New thinking, new technology, new solutions, new tools. All going forward to a future I can't even imagine.
Did ja see the post on Facebook about the glow-in-the-dark highway markings, did ja? Blue Highways I call them because of a book I read years ago by that name. (A good book by the way.) I don't suppose I will live to see that a reality, but it sure is a neat idea. A terrific idea. A futuristic idea. Blue highways, what next? Hover craft? I fervently hope so.
I was on Facebook the other morning commenting back and forth with four or five others at the same time. That was fun. From Jason in England to Verla in Oklahoma to Lynn in Seattle and one or two others. That was real time fun and something I couldn't have imagined when Bob brought home one of the first car phones. Remember those boxes of intrigue?
There is so freaking much I don't know. It is humbling to stop and think about my ignorance. I don't know house construction, road construction, refining oil, how to stop smoking, chicken health, electrical gizmos, bumper cars, serious cooking, magic, Chinese history, natural dyes, gem stones, or what a Rabbi does.
People tend to treat me a little politely as they back away or a little kindly as if they feel sorry for me by making allowances for my age, craziness or stupidity. It is odd that if they don't get my reference I'm the one who is stupid. Mention "Blue Highways" to someone and see what kind of reaction you get. Or Barbara McClintock, there's a puzzler.
People have a hard time fessing up to their own ignorance. I call that brain lockdown. Nothing in and nothing out. After all they know the answer, have the solution, have made all the right decisions, choices. They are so busy living life correctly that they can't open themselves to new endless possibilities and solutions.
The only thing Connor liked as much as the "gear" in the scissors was washing dishes. After making the Easter baskets we made Bird Nest cookies, that was okay, but what he really liked was pouring soap into the chocolaty pans and washing them over and over and over. I think he used about a cup of soap.
As the evening wound down he finally turned his attention to his regular play shelves. I had squirreled a few different items on them for him to discover and he said, "Thank you granny for the new stuff, especially the key chain and pen." And right before his daddy hauled him out the door he found the Altoid tin with six mini cars inside, cars that probably belonged to Roger at some point. Woe is Connor when he discovers cars and can't play, so he gave me firm instructions to put them inside the plastic Easter eggs and hide them for when he comes back. So hid they will be.
Connor noticed my new purse, slammed the back door so many times I told him if he slammed it again I was going to dress him up in girl's clothes. Even with all the Easter candy to choose from the treat Connor wanted was the red Tootsie Roll Pop that I had snagged at the pizza parlor to put on his play shelves. Will Tootsie Roll Pops ever go out of favor? Like I said, I can't even imagine the future.
I've wanted to clear out and organize my condo ever since, well, ever since I moved in. Clearing out and organizing has been hard, no, impossible for me to do. Then one day I thought to myself, said to myself, if clearing out and organizing is hard don't do it, just throw something away. And myself listened for once. I told myself to throw something away every day and I did. I threw something away, and then something else and pretty soon I was like a shark on a feeding frenzy.
All those damn articles, books, suggestions, helpful hints I read -- for years -- were a piece of crap. I moved one stone and started an avalanche. Now I can make room for flowers, make my condo easy to dust, make room for creativity. This works. New solution to a burdensome problem.
Lynn and I had a pedicure the other day after our ferry ride, after our breakfast at The Oak Table in Kingston, and the sweet lady asked, "Relaxing, no?" I yeah yeahed her -- but I lied. I don't find pedicures relaxing, they make me antsy, nervous, claustrophobic, not relaxing. That is why I only have one every two or three months. Not relaxing, but better than me trying to contort myself down to my feet for a DIYer.
After a deep scientific study I concluded that one person in ten is an asshole; in line, on the phone, at intersections. I studied and thought about this deeply for 15 to 20 minutes. One person in ten is an asshole and sometimes that asshole is me.
Bless someone today by asking them for a favor.
And happy, happy Easter, may your Easter have a pretty edge also.
Friday, April 11, 2014
Turtle Happiness
I read in a book recently "living life with intention." I liked that phrase. A worthy phrase. Creating a world, a life, whether with books, art, walks, building, or something else. Fishing? Driving? Sewing? Sitting and watching the sunset? Spiritual?
Living life with intention is family for most; feeding, clothing, protecting. For Bo it might be weaving. For Roger running? For Jason dreaming of a motorcycle, or at least that is what I glean from his Facebook posts? A home, a job? I'm surrounded by a great ocean of intention from family, friends, colleagues. Assisting another with their intention is one of the greatest acts of humanity we can perform.
Living life with intention requires attention, purpose, sometimes prayer. The intention might be to make it through the day -- or night. To reach a height. To be still. To connect, or disconnect as the case may be. It isn't always the big and bold, sometimes it is the quiet and meek. Sometimes it is just being true to oneself. Congruent.
That is where I am now. Wrapped up in the intention of being congruent. I am who I am. I feel like a princess separated, I feel a great distance from others. I'm separated by common interests. I don't hear a single conversation at work that I want to participate in. I have no opinion on Oprah, Ellen, breast feeding, boyfriends, exercise clubs, hill climbs. I don't share any common goals. I don't want to advance at work. I'm not angry at the latest dictate of change. I don't care what my annual review says. I have no five-year goals or plans. I'm not looking for a new home, husband, or heaven. My intentions lie else where. My energies are otherwise engaged.
First as I aged I became invisible, then like the great plate tectonics of the Earth, I drifted. Age is a great wall of separation. And ancient. Ancient like turtles.
Turtles: The shell developed from their ribs creating a protective shield. Yep that's me. Turtles are the most ancient of many species alive today. Yep that's me. Turtles have been around for some 220 million years, not quite me. Turtles move slow, like to eat, are poor mothers. They are considered to be social creatures and sometimes switch between monogamy and promiscuity in their sexual behavior. Case studies also exist of turtles that have enjoyed playing. Oh, and they are smarter than rats at learning a maze. Turtles are known to exist in water, in forests, deserts, high mountains or low swamps.
The mythology of turtles is wisdom, patience, travels it's own path in it's own time -- with it's own intention. Unless I come out of my shell, which is becoming harder and harder for me to do, to help another achieve an intention, my intention is to travel my path with my family on an Alaskan cruise, cruising at my own turtle speed.
Life happens, isn't it a wondrous thing?
Life happened to Jeff with fire -- twice.
Life happened to Roger with water -- twice.
What gives? I'm sorry for their difficulties, but I admit I am fascinated by the pattern. Is some karma at work, some spiritual path only God understands? Is it too coincidental to ignore? Isn't it a curious thing? Just a random thought.
Roger and Stephanie's house is a mess. They will be living at the Fortener's until theirs is repaired, recarpeted, rebuilt, repainted, and completely redone. That is what happens when the washing machine filter is not inserted correctly and you are sick and your wife is away and you throw in a load of clothes and go to bed.
Other random thoughts: Words. Who can live without words? Words are life, theater, entertainment. Words can be used to scare or inspire. To threaten or endear. Words are indestructible, they last centuries. Words are freedom. I watched the two movies The Book Thief and 12 Years a Slave and pondered the power of words then came across the quote by Mark Twain, "There is no difference between the man who can't read and the man who won't." Words are power.
Fun words: Possession and Mississippi, two words with four ess in them. In a playful mood I'd tried to think of other words with four ess's in them, but decided I would rather have breakfast. Also fun. Rice omelet with cheese and salsa, sourdough toast, and fresh pineapple.
My intention is to exit life with deliberately few possessions. I have some work to do, so send me a prayer to assist.
My intention is to exit life without disgracing myself too much. Well, no more than I already have. I have some work to do, so send me a prayer to assist.
Nora and Julia I have to tell you that Gladys brings me much happiness. Thank you again for happiness that I only have to sit in my turtle shell and enjoy.
Turtle happiness is my intention. Good luck on yours today and if you need a prayer I will be happy to assist.
Living life with intention is family for most; feeding, clothing, protecting. For Bo it might be weaving. For Roger running? For Jason dreaming of a motorcycle, or at least that is what I glean from his Facebook posts? A home, a job? I'm surrounded by a great ocean of intention from family, friends, colleagues. Assisting another with their intention is one of the greatest acts of humanity we can perform.
Living life with intention requires attention, purpose, sometimes prayer. The intention might be to make it through the day -- or night. To reach a height. To be still. To connect, or disconnect as the case may be. It isn't always the big and bold, sometimes it is the quiet and meek. Sometimes it is just being true to oneself. Congruent.
That is where I am now. Wrapped up in the intention of being congruent. I am who I am. I feel like a princess separated, I feel a great distance from others. I'm separated by common interests. I don't hear a single conversation at work that I want to participate in. I have no opinion on Oprah, Ellen, breast feeding, boyfriends, exercise clubs, hill climbs. I don't share any common goals. I don't want to advance at work. I'm not angry at the latest dictate of change. I don't care what my annual review says. I have no five-year goals or plans. I'm not looking for a new home, husband, or heaven. My intentions lie else where. My energies are otherwise engaged.
First as I aged I became invisible, then like the great plate tectonics of the Earth, I drifted. Age is a great wall of separation. And ancient. Ancient like turtles.
Turtles: The shell developed from their ribs creating a protective shield. Yep that's me. Turtles are the most ancient of many species alive today. Yep that's me. Turtles have been around for some 220 million years, not quite me. Turtles move slow, like to eat, are poor mothers. They are considered to be social creatures and sometimes switch between monogamy and promiscuity in their sexual behavior. Case studies also exist of turtles that have enjoyed playing. Oh, and they are smarter than rats at learning a maze. Turtles are known to exist in water, in forests, deserts, high mountains or low swamps.
The mythology of turtles is wisdom, patience, travels it's own path in it's own time -- with it's own intention. Unless I come out of my shell, which is becoming harder and harder for me to do, to help another achieve an intention, my intention is to travel my path with my family on an Alaskan cruise, cruising at my own turtle speed.
Life happened to Jeff with fire -- twice.
Life happened to Roger with water -- twice.
What gives? I'm sorry for their difficulties, but I admit I am fascinated by the pattern. Is some karma at work, some spiritual path only God understands? Is it too coincidental to ignore? Isn't it a curious thing? Just a random thought.
Roger and Stephanie's house is a mess. They will be living at the Fortener's until theirs is repaired, recarpeted, rebuilt, repainted, and completely redone. That is what happens when the washing machine filter is not inserted correctly and you are sick and your wife is away and you throw in a load of clothes and go to bed.
Other random thoughts: Words. Who can live without words? Words are life, theater, entertainment. Words can be used to scare or inspire. To threaten or endear. Words are indestructible, they last centuries. Words are freedom. I watched the two movies The Book Thief and 12 Years a Slave and pondered the power of words then came across the quote by Mark Twain, "There is no difference between the man who can't read and the man who won't." Words are power.
Fun words: Possession and Mississippi, two words with four ess in them. In a playful mood I'd tried to think of other words with four ess's in them, but decided I would rather have breakfast. Also fun. Rice omelet with cheese and salsa, sourdough toast, and fresh pineapple.
My intention is to exit life with deliberately few possessions. I have some work to do, so send me a prayer to assist.
My intention is to exit life without disgracing myself too much. Well, no more than I already have. I have some work to do, so send me a prayer to assist.
Nora and Julia I have to tell you that Gladys brings me much happiness. Thank you again for happiness that I only have to sit in my turtle shell and enjoy.
Turtle happiness is my intention. Good luck on yours today and if you need a prayer I will be happy to assist.
Friday, April 4, 2014
A Bit about Bo
A bit about Bo:
Bo is an artist. She thinks like an artist, she acts like an artist, she is an artist. She just participated in The Artist Trust 2014 Benefit Art Auction. The piece she donated sold at the Must Have price before the bidding was completed. Christian said the tickets were $300.00 a plate unless you donated a piece and then you got the discounted price of $100.00 a plate. And the table they were seated at was the Bo Choi table. Christian said he cleaned up good with his new Christmas duds and shoes from Ian and I. He didn't embarrass Bo at all. Imagine Christian in grey suede wingtip shoes and a Frasier type sweater over a cool blue shirt. Imagine Christian cleaning up for a highfalutin art benefit. Yeah, me too. Christian also said Bo was working the room, networking, meeting colleagues and fellow artist. She was in her element.
Besides being an artist, Bo has to devote a lot of time to being a business person for her art. She has several gallery's that shows her work, she works at three different art colleges: The International School of Design, North Seattle Community College and now she is subbing at The University of Washington for a professor who is on sabbatical; Weaving. Weaving is her favorite, her true element.
A bit about a book:
Book of Ages: The life and opinions of Jane Franklin by Jill Lepore. This is a wonderful, wonderful book. Things that I think now, Jane wrote hundreds of years ago. You all know how I say I love my little bitty life, well Jane wrote that in 1780 something, at the end of a very hard life. "As to myself I live very much to my liking. I never had a taste for high life, for large companies and entertainment. I am of Popes mind that health, peace and competence comes as near to happiness as is attainable in this life and I am in a good measure in possession of all three at present...quiet at last."
Or assigning meaning to ones life: "I know the most insignificant creature on Earth may be made some use in the scale of beings, may touch some spring, or verge to some wheel unperceived by us."
On growing wiser: "When you live long sometimes your opinion changes because of new, or better information or understanding."
On worry: "There are in life real evils enough and it is folly to afflict ourselves with imaginary ones."
A bit about hurrying:
As I was easing myself slowly out the door the other morning on my way to work and then when I was hurrying down I-5 at better than the speed limit, I thought, I got that backwards. I should be hurrying at home and driving slower down I-5. Maybe I have learned that lesson.
A bit about leaves:
The last little bit of fall leaves have been cluttering my doorway. It's interesting these leaves have taken so long to fall. Clinging to life, waiting for just the right wind and rain, or waiting for the new growth on the trees to send them on their way. Not sure of the lesson there.
A bit about trips to Tulsa:
I talked to Jean this morning and heard about a big group meeting up in Tulsa for a little family fun, fellowship, work and food. AND NO ONE PUT A POST ON FACEBOOK. I'm feeling very left out.
A bit about genetics:
I am continuously entertained by seeing threads of genetics course through Connor from Roger, me, Lonnie, Dad, but I love love love seeing the Fortener's genetic strain. I don't always recognize it because I don't know the history as deeply, but when I see it, it is amazing. Connor's music affinity, Connor telling the waiter to bring granny's french fries in a bowl with a bottom in it. That is all Fortener not Taylor/Carrillo. Connor is an amazing soup of genetics.
A last little bit about ageing:
Now that I am saggy baggy, not from being fat but from being old, I notice my fingertips are wrinkling up. Everything hurts somewhat; knees, neck, fingers, hips, joints, back. I slouch when I drive, yep, I'm getting hunkered over like a little old lady. A waitress told me the other day, "I'll bet you were a lot of fun when you were young."
Yep, last little bit on ageing.
Bo is an artist. She thinks like an artist, she acts like an artist, she is an artist. She just participated in The Artist Trust 2014 Benefit Art Auction. The piece she donated sold at the Must Have price before the bidding was completed. Christian said the tickets were $300.00 a plate unless you donated a piece and then you got the discounted price of $100.00 a plate. And the table they were seated at was the Bo Choi table. Christian said he cleaned up good with his new Christmas duds and shoes from Ian and I. He didn't embarrass Bo at all. Imagine Christian in grey suede wingtip shoes and a Frasier type sweater over a cool blue shirt. Imagine Christian cleaning up for a highfalutin art benefit. Yeah, me too. Christian also said Bo was working the room, networking, meeting colleagues and fellow artist. She was in her element.
Besides being an artist, Bo has to devote a lot of time to being a business person for her art. She has several gallery's that shows her work, she works at three different art colleges: The International School of Design, North Seattle Community College and now she is subbing at The University of Washington for a professor who is on sabbatical; Weaving. Weaving is her favorite, her true element.
A bit about a book:
Book of Ages: The life and opinions of Jane Franklin by Jill Lepore. This is a wonderful, wonderful book. Things that I think now, Jane wrote hundreds of years ago. You all know how I say I love my little bitty life, well Jane wrote that in 1780 something, at the end of a very hard life. "As to myself I live very much to my liking. I never had a taste for high life, for large companies and entertainment. I am of Popes mind that health, peace and competence comes as near to happiness as is attainable in this life and I am in a good measure in possession of all three at present...quiet at last."
Or assigning meaning to ones life: "I know the most insignificant creature on Earth may be made some use in the scale of beings, may touch some spring, or verge to some wheel unperceived by us."
On growing wiser: "When you live long sometimes your opinion changes because of new, or better information or understanding."
On worry: "There are in life real evils enough and it is folly to afflict ourselves with imaginary ones."
A bit about hurrying:
As I was easing myself slowly out the door the other morning on my way to work and then when I was hurrying down I-5 at better than the speed limit, I thought, I got that backwards. I should be hurrying at home and driving slower down I-5. Maybe I have learned that lesson.
A bit about leaves:
The last little bit of fall leaves have been cluttering my doorway. It's interesting these leaves have taken so long to fall. Clinging to life, waiting for just the right wind and rain, or waiting for the new growth on the trees to send them on their way. Not sure of the lesson there.
A bit about trips to Tulsa:
I talked to Jean this morning and heard about a big group meeting up in Tulsa for a little family fun, fellowship, work and food. AND NO ONE PUT A POST ON FACEBOOK. I'm feeling very left out.
A bit about genetics:
I am continuously entertained by seeing threads of genetics course through Connor from Roger, me, Lonnie, Dad, but I love love love seeing the Fortener's genetic strain. I don't always recognize it because I don't know the history as deeply, but when I see it, it is amazing. Connor's music affinity, Connor telling the waiter to bring granny's french fries in a bowl with a bottom in it. That is all Fortener not Taylor/Carrillo. Connor is an amazing soup of genetics.
A last little bit about ageing:
Now that I am saggy baggy, not from being fat but from being old, I notice my fingertips are wrinkling up. Everything hurts somewhat; knees, neck, fingers, hips, joints, back. I slouch when I drive, yep, I'm getting hunkered over like a little old lady. A waitress told me the other day, "I'll bet you were a lot of fun when you were young."
Yep, last little bit on ageing.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Flowers
I figured it out -- I am out of sync! I don't fit youth, trendiness, night clubs, staying up late, rows with boyfriends. It makes sense now. I'm not a stair climber, a fast walker, I look down when I walk to see what my feet are engaging -- or not. I hold on to rails going up or down stairs and wear comfortable shoes. What is the biblical quote? "I have given up the things of youth." Thank goodness. It is the modern world I don't fit. I'm out of sync because I grunt and groan more, can't see or hear good, dribble in my drawers. I husband my energy more, move slower, think more.
I'm out of sync with all those inspirational tidbits on Facebook. I no longer believe in the need to move, travel, adventure, or experience to be whole. I don't need a hobby, purpose, quest, or fulfillment. I don't need to put my feet in sand, read more or less, climb up rocks, stand in a storm, cast myself on the ocean, complete a task, build a boat. I don't need to complete my life's journey with some kind of big bang epiphany. Oh wait, I just had one.
The world is busy tearing down and building up -- stuff; stadiums, roads, beliefs -- stuff. I am somehow past that at this point in my life. The staff of life isn't stuff. I'm past shopping. Thank goodness. I'm not out of sync, I'm just past a whole lot of stuff, a whole lot of life. Thank goodness.
Driving to have breakfast with Claire this morning I noticed lots of people still engaged with the world, still in sync. The hard working people: painters, plumbers, mechanics, cooks, clerks, drivers, dog walkers. The young hard working people to whom the world belongs. There are mother's birthing babies, the babies struggling to live. Past that too. Judy Collins sang a song Let's Drink to the Hard Working People. I always loved that song, but it means something different to me now.
Stephanie's grandmother is ill and Stephanie and family have traveled to Colorado to be with her. My thoughts and love go with her for such an emotional journey. This is the part of life I'm still connected to. I'm sure she would appreciate your loving thoughts also.
Anyway Connor is not available for a playdate today. It's odd, no playdate, no appointments, no doctors, no car maintenance, no lunches or dinners planned with friends, no library drop off or pick up, bless the Nook, no agenda of any kind for three days. That was a long time coming.
Two worthy quotes:
"Do the right thing with spirit." Benjamin Franklin from the book about Jane Franklin.
-- and--
"You don't have to attend every argument you are invited to." Lynn posted that on FB but didn't attribute an author.
Final Wednesday thoughts as I'm sitting here enjoying Spring. Of all the harbingers of Spring; RV's on the road, garage sale signs, budding trees, open windows, gentle spring rains, robins building nests. My favorite, by far, is the frogs waking up. I love it when I hear the first chorus' arising from the wetlands.
--and--
Flowers
After the helicopter crash at the Seattle Space Needle, after the horrific mudslide at Oso, after comforting friends with terminally ill loved ones, I mentioned to Ian that that is why we should never take life for granted. We should remind our loved ones often how much we love them. How we should never lose a loved one with regrets in our heart that we didn't do the right thing. That our last words were the right words because you never ever know if they will be the last words.
--and--
I woke this morning to a beautiful bouquet of Spring flowers sitting on my counter. My heart overflowed. I asked Ian if he bought them because of our conversation?
He said no, he bought them for his photo shoot.
So when you see the posters and see the flowers, I got them second hand.
I'm past that also.
I'm out of sync with all those inspirational tidbits on Facebook. I no longer believe in the need to move, travel, adventure, or experience to be whole. I don't need a hobby, purpose, quest, or fulfillment. I don't need to put my feet in sand, read more or less, climb up rocks, stand in a storm, cast myself on the ocean, complete a task, build a boat. I don't need to complete my life's journey with some kind of big bang epiphany. Oh wait, I just had one.
The world is busy tearing down and building up -- stuff; stadiums, roads, beliefs -- stuff. I am somehow past that at this point in my life. The staff of life isn't stuff. I'm past shopping. Thank goodness. I'm not out of sync, I'm just past a whole lot of stuff, a whole lot of life. Thank goodness.
Driving to have breakfast with Claire this morning I noticed lots of people still engaged with the world, still in sync. The hard working people: painters, plumbers, mechanics, cooks, clerks, drivers, dog walkers. The young hard working people to whom the world belongs. There are mother's birthing babies, the babies struggling to live. Past that too. Judy Collins sang a song Let's Drink to the Hard Working People. I always loved that song, but it means something different to me now.
Stephanie's grandmother is ill and Stephanie and family have traveled to Colorado to be with her. My thoughts and love go with her for such an emotional journey. This is the part of life I'm still connected to. I'm sure she would appreciate your loving thoughts also.
Anyway Connor is not available for a playdate today. It's odd, no playdate, no appointments, no doctors, no car maintenance, no lunches or dinners planned with friends, no library drop off or pick up, bless the Nook, no agenda of any kind for three days. That was a long time coming.
Two worthy quotes:
"Do the right thing with spirit." Benjamin Franklin from the book about Jane Franklin.
-- and--
"You don't have to attend every argument you are invited to." Lynn posted that on FB but didn't attribute an author.
Final Wednesday thoughts as I'm sitting here enjoying Spring. Of all the harbingers of Spring; RV's on the road, garage sale signs, budding trees, open windows, gentle spring rains, robins building nests. My favorite, by far, is the frogs waking up. I love it when I hear the first chorus' arising from the wetlands.
--and--
Flowers
After the helicopter crash at the Seattle Space Needle, after the horrific mudslide at Oso, after comforting friends with terminally ill loved ones, I mentioned to Ian that that is why we should never take life for granted. We should remind our loved ones often how much we love them. How we should never lose a loved one with regrets in our heart that we didn't do the right thing. That our last words were the right words because you never ever know if they will be the last words.
--and--
I woke this morning to a beautiful bouquet of Spring flowers sitting on my counter. My heart overflowed. I asked Ian if he bought them because of our conversation?
He said no, he bought them for his photo shoot.
So when you see the posters and see the flowers, I got them second hand.
I'm past that also.
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Feeling Out of Sync -- continued
I read this blurb on the internet the other day, "Did Miranda Kerr get a boob job?" Now that is a question born to put you out of sync with the world. Who is Miranda Kerr? and When did boob jobs become noteworthy? Maybe I could understand it if it was the Duchess of Cambridge or Meryl Streep, but who is Miranda Kerr?
Traffic puts me off, as does the price of gas, the price of movies, the price of Legos. About the only thing I'm not out of sync with anymore is friends and family. Not the friends and family discount coupon at the Gap either, but the real deal, sons, brothers, book club ladies, sisters.
I'm not stuck in the past, I don't want to go there, but I'm sure not current/modern either. I'm just modern enough to be in sync with cell phones and pedicures, otherwise I'm out in lulu lolly land. Out of sync emotionally, spiritually, medically, to some politically, work, entertainment, financially. Whoo boy!
I think partly it is age, getting to that invisible age. If it walks like an old lady and talks like an old lady it probably is an old lady. Partly it's personality, once a loner always a loner. Partly it's temperament; the things I see people get all hot and bothered over bewilders me.
A current pet peeve of many of the fellow human beings I am surrounded by is anger over people talking on their cell phones in public places; on the bus, in the elevator, in line, at the grocery store. How did this human interaction noise become so bothersome? If two people are standing next to you in line at the grocery store chatting you wouldn't give it a thought, but the idea/event/experience of one person on a cell phone and the other person not visible has become rude. How did that become hateful behavior whether on the bus, in the elevator, in line or at the grocery store?
I feel tethered to the world. I feel tethered to something bigger than me. I'm certainly tethered to my family. Tethered by a string like a balloon or a bobble head, the rest of me pretty much bounces and flops about out of sync. I don't feel bad particularly or depressed, just out of touch with the world. What I do know is it is right. I don't know how yet, but the internal struggle produces the exact right outcome.
The struggle without success. As humans we tag on the happy ending and call it a fairy tale, a myth. The dragon gets destroyed, Cinderella marries the Prince, the boy get the girl, the girl saves the farm, but the struggle is the truth. The day after day continuing to choose to live; to chop wood and carry water.
Does the ant get to become the queen? Does a bear experience elation at the top of the mountain or does it lumber forward to the next berry bush, the next honey tree? Do salmon swim up stream to Nirvana? Does a new blue Ford get us though the struggle. One step after another, one spoonful after another, one widget after another, one nights sleep after another, one heart beat after another, one cup of coffee after another puts us in sync -- I need to remember that.
I'm so in sync with coffee. If coffee will save, I am saved. If it kills, I am doomed.
I took Connor to Red Robin for dinner. Red Robin now serves their bottomless french fries in little round tins instead of a basket. Unbeknownst to me the little tin didn't have a bottom, so when I lifted the tin to move it french fries spilled everywhere. Later I asked the waiter for a refill and as he was walking away Connor calls after him, "And bring them in a bowl with a bottom for my Granny." The waiter brought them in a bowl with a bottom much to Connor's satisfaction. That is the very first time Connor ever looked out for his Granny.
I read a good book, finally, The Buddha in the Attic.
I saw a good movie, finally, About Time.
In sync or out have a satisfying day.
Traffic puts me off, as does the price of gas, the price of movies, the price of Legos. About the only thing I'm not out of sync with anymore is friends and family. Not the friends and family discount coupon at the Gap either, but the real deal, sons, brothers, book club ladies, sisters.
I'm not stuck in the past, I don't want to go there, but I'm sure not current/modern either. I'm just modern enough to be in sync with cell phones and pedicures, otherwise I'm out in lulu lolly land. Out of sync emotionally, spiritually, medically, to some politically, work, entertainment, financially. Whoo boy!
I think partly it is age, getting to that invisible age. If it walks like an old lady and talks like an old lady it probably is an old lady. Partly it's personality, once a loner always a loner. Partly it's temperament; the things I see people get all hot and bothered over bewilders me.
A current pet peeve of many of the fellow human beings I am surrounded by is anger over people talking on their cell phones in public places; on the bus, in the elevator, in line, at the grocery store. How did this human interaction noise become so bothersome? If two people are standing next to you in line at the grocery store chatting you wouldn't give it a thought, but the idea/event/experience of one person on a cell phone and the other person not visible has become rude. How did that become hateful behavior whether on the bus, in the elevator, in line or at the grocery store?
I feel tethered to the world. I feel tethered to something bigger than me. I'm certainly tethered to my family. Tethered by a string like a balloon or a bobble head, the rest of me pretty much bounces and flops about out of sync. I don't feel bad particularly or depressed, just out of touch with the world. What I do know is it is right. I don't know how yet, but the internal struggle produces the exact right outcome.
The struggle without success. As humans we tag on the happy ending and call it a fairy tale, a myth. The dragon gets destroyed, Cinderella marries the Prince, the boy get the girl, the girl saves the farm, but the struggle is the truth. The day after day continuing to choose to live; to chop wood and carry water.
Does the ant get to become the queen? Does a bear experience elation at the top of the mountain or does it lumber forward to the next berry bush, the next honey tree? Do salmon swim up stream to Nirvana? Does a new blue Ford get us though the struggle. One step after another, one spoonful after another, one widget after another, one nights sleep after another, one heart beat after another, one cup of coffee after another puts us in sync -- I need to remember that.
I'm so in sync with coffee. If coffee will save, I am saved. If it kills, I am doomed.
I took Connor to Red Robin for dinner. Red Robin now serves their bottomless french fries in little round tins instead of a basket. Unbeknownst to me the little tin didn't have a bottom, so when I lifted the tin to move it french fries spilled everywhere. Later I asked the waiter for a refill and as he was walking away Connor calls after him, "And bring them in a bowl with a bottom for my Granny." The waiter brought them in a bowl with a bottom much to Connor's satisfaction. That is the very first time Connor ever looked out for his Granny.
I read a good book, finally, The Buddha in the Attic.
I saw a good movie, finally, About Time.
In sync or out have a satisfying day.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
It was Lovely
Roger took me out to a restaurant last night for a delicious Italian dinner. Stephanie was unable to join us so it was Connor, Roger, starving after a bike ride (small for him, big for some, impossible for me, he only went 10 miles instead of forty), and me. First out of the kitchen was delicious Italian bread and olive oil with some butter on the side.
I opened a pat of butter, so Connor opened a pat of butter. I spread some on my bread, so Connor spread some on his bread. He spread some more and then some more, he licked the butter and then licked some more, he stuck his finger in the butter and licked that also then did that some more. I asked Roger if he had ever done it before and Roger assured me he hadn't. When Connor's little cheese pizza arrived he put the remaining bits of butter on the pizza and drank it as it melted. When he finally picked up the pizza to eat he said, "My pizza is leaking." It wasn't leaking much, because by then the butter was practically all gone.
Remember how dad would eat butter like cheese, that was Connor chowing down on butter last night.
I didn't buy Connor a Christmas present because I planned on little excursions throughout the year. Last night's play date was a scheduled trip to Lego's. When I got there I said, "Let's go to the Lego's Store."
He swept is hands around in a grand exuberant gesture and said with equal exuberance, "Granny, I have plenty of Legos, look."
"I want to go to the park." I have now heard everything.
At the park Connor eyed the monkey bars and said, "I need to learn how to cross the monkey bars. I'm practicing. Practicing means your mom and dad help you until you can do it alone."
In that one visit Connor validated truisms with the innocence of youth: Butter is delicious. We all have plenty. There are many simple joys. Practice makes us successful. It's okay to sometimes need a little help.
And he channeled Dad. Lovely evening.
These truisms helped ground me in reality. I'd been feeling "out of sync with the world," I often am, but it's felt more burdensome lately. I've felt like I was hitting hard edged boundaries instead of the usual softened edges, the blurred lines, the borders of ourself where we connect to other human beings. Lovey evening being taught the world eye view of a five year old.
Lynn's and my trip to the coast was lovely, after her walking parks for a year it was nice to revisit our friendship. Sort of a take a historical look at our friendship. Renew our friendship vows so to speak. And then I made the connection to family.
Family reunions do that. As a family we revisit our connections, take a sort of historical view of family, and renew our family vows - so to speak.
Here is to blurred edges. Family is lovely.
I opened a pat of butter, so Connor opened a pat of butter. I spread some on my bread, so Connor spread some on his bread. He spread some more and then some more, he licked the butter and then licked some more, he stuck his finger in the butter and licked that also then did that some more. I asked Roger if he had ever done it before and Roger assured me he hadn't. When Connor's little cheese pizza arrived he put the remaining bits of butter on the pizza and drank it as it melted. When he finally picked up the pizza to eat he said, "My pizza is leaking." It wasn't leaking much, because by then the butter was practically all gone.
Remember how dad would eat butter like cheese, that was Connor chowing down on butter last night.
I didn't buy Connor a Christmas present because I planned on little excursions throughout the year. Last night's play date was a scheduled trip to Lego's. When I got there I said, "Let's go to the Lego's Store."
He swept is hands around in a grand exuberant gesture and said with equal exuberance, "Granny, I have plenty of Legos, look."
"I want to go to the park." I have now heard everything.
At the park Connor eyed the monkey bars and said, "I need to learn how to cross the monkey bars. I'm practicing. Practicing means your mom and dad help you until you can do it alone."
In that one visit Connor validated truisms with the innocence of youth: Butter is delicious. We all have plenty. There are many simple joys. Practice makes us successful. It's okay to sometimes need a little help.
And he channeled Dad. Lovely evening.
These truisms helped ground me in reality. I'd been feeling "out of sync with the world," I often am, but it's felt more burdensome lately. I've felt like I was hitting hard edged boundaries instead of the usual softened edges, the blurred lines, the borders of ourself where we connect to other human beings. Lovey evening being taught the world eye view of a five year old.
Lynn's and my trip to the coast was lovely, after her walking parks for a year it was nice to revisit our friendship. Sort of a take a historical look at our friendship. Renew our friendship vows so to speak. And then I made the connection to family.
Family reunions do that. As a family we revisit our connections, take a sort of historical view of family, and renew our family vows - so to speak.
Here is to blurred edges. Family is lovely.
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