Art Urges

Like tree sap rising in the spring I keep feeling art urges, creative urges pushing at my boundaries. They are possessing me like some kind of demon from beyond. I'm thinking of taking up drumming or doll making. It's just that getting any creative engine started is hard.

I keep getting inspired to create or organize, and both are burbling, but neither has surfaced all the way up.  Julia with her organizing and running, Mary with her drumming, Lynn with her organizing, Carol with her creative everything, Sandy with her dragon boating, even Roger and Stephanie with their mad running is inspiring, but my wavering flame hasn't bloomed into full blown creative fury -- yet.

I wrote a poem for Cara recently, does that count? I'm making Indian Tacos for Son's Dinner -- thank you Cathy for the inspiration. The beats of my heart continue: family, sons, friends, work, book club, all the maintenance work of living, and of course The Prince, The Connorman, but somehow I have reached the point of wanting just a little bit more creativity in my life. I think I have reached the limit of creative sitting.

Roger has given me a metal bookmarker for Christmas for years so today I shopped for a 12x18 cork board to display them on. Lucky me, Hobby Lobby had an 11x17 for 5.99 so I designed a layout that looks really good. That is a creative burble of some kind. I made toast. I won a pair of cowboy boots. I admired Mt Rainier this morning on my way to meet Claire.

When Mr Rainier pops out it lifts my spirits to heaven. I haven't seen it for six months and we are expecting two days of sunshine and clear skies so I might go look at it again tomorrow, just because, just for inspiration.

I recognize creativity, I admire and appreciate creativity, but my own personal creative edge is dull. I watched Werner Herzog's Cave of Forgotten Dreams if cave men can be creative so can I. Right? I read creative books, I joined creative Ian and his creative friends at The University Village sidewalk sale, I have a new frog sitting at my window, I have my two creative ceramic pieces from Bo sitting in my living room. Creativity here, there, and every where, but not a drop to drink.

I sent Christian an email and asked, "Are you and Bo still you and Bo?" Seems so, she will be here Sunday for Son's Dinner. Poor dear, I told Christian to warn her I'm not too fancy, dinner on your kneecaps sort of thing. One step above trailer trash ought to just about capture the reality of the situation. Do you think a native Korean will like Indian tacos, talk about cultural shock. I know she is the creative sort, now I just hope she is a creative sport.

I have a loose screw. Seriously, I think my shoulder surgery has come un-glued, or at least out of alignment. This is a new shoulder surprise of unmitigated pain. I'm pill popping until the doctor appointment and then we shall see just what kind of loose screw I am.


Besides leaking and creaking I keep dropping things. Does anyone else have this condition? Is it age related or Jan related? Just wondering. My mind still lurks around here, there, and every where.

Fart Joke

So, this old dude is starting to have stomach issues.
He is gaseous and having lots of silent farts.

The silent farts are getting so bad that he goes to the doctor. While waiting to see the doctor he has even more silent farts. Finally he gets in to the doctor's examining room and is explaining to the doctor about his condition and says, actually doctor I have had several silent farts since I've been talking to you.

The doctor looks at him and says well first we are going to get your hearing tested.

Love to all the young and old farts on Father's Day.

Sadness and Seagulls

Sadness and seagulls,
marriages and birthdays,
pre-school graduation and book shelves,
cold weather and Thunder,
Life goes on.

The family was saddened by the news of Clint's death. Saddened for Tal and Julia, saddened for his daughter, saddened for Nora and Andrew, saddened for his mother and grandparents, saddened by the idea of such a youthful death. I remember Clint as rambunctious and lively, hating Saturday school, eating hearty if he liked what was being served, playing freely if he liked the game being played, sometimes alone, sometimes not, sometimes coming to family get-togethers, sometimes not. Another loved one gone at age forty-two: a son, a grandson, a father. Gone in the never ending mystery of life.

Cara is getting married.
An old fashioned affair with everyone wearing cowboy boots -- at a cantina no less. I imagine a beer or two will be imbibed. Good cheer and well wishes extended. An excited Avery dancing to the beat. And a tear or two shed in the never ending mystery of life.

Roger turned forty-five. I made one of Roger's old favorites, a Strawberry Meringue Torte. Something I haven't made in years -- YEARS. It is looking good even if it is two days late or twenty years late, I'm not sure which. How did I get old enough to have a forty-five year old son? A son that survived early horrors in the never ending mystery of life.

And life goes on.

Connor has his first pre-school graduation on Saturday and I have half a day off to bask in his sunshine.

My book shelves remain stubbornly uncompleted. Half of them still need cleaned, dusted, and organized.
 
The weather is forty-five and rainy. Stephanie was complaining about turning on her heater the other day. The heater in June just seemed wrong to her somehow.

Playdate with Connor today.
Soup to cook.
Stops at the library, post office and bank.
Bills to pay.
Laundry day.

I heard something about the Thunder in Oklahoma winning some kind of big game. I could feel the joy and happiness of all those faithful fans. Okies at their best enjoying the moment. No, relishing the moment.

Seagulls woke me up this morning. I've never been awoken by any kind of birds before but this seagull chorus was powerful. Maybe they have a power, a power that other birds can't exude. It was such a joyous sound that I immediately delved into why I have never woke up to birds singing, squawking, or cawing before.

The never ending mystery of life continues.

Things to See and Things to Do

The good the bad and the ugly as I run around my little life here in almost sunny Mukilteo.

I met Christian's new girl, Bo, and I must say I am giddy with delight. She's an artist, teacher, talented, traveled, educated, not to mention cute. She is a fashion designer of some very odd clothing and dance costumes, and Mother's Day she gave me two very impressive pieces of her pottery. What's not to be giddy over. Christian said her tiny Fremont apartment has more stuff than mine, like I said, what's not to be giddy over.

Christian's shop is half closed, they are removing some old fuel tanks and his work bays aren't accessible, so he has been semi-retired for a while. Lynn and I were going to breakfast last Friday and decided to drive to Ballard to have one of those magnificent apple pancakes at the Family Pancake House. We go walking in and Lynn said "Look at that." So I looked and started reading this dude's tee-shirt, slightly ornery, (once a reader always a reader) then I realized I was reading Christian's chest. That was a Friday morning surprise he was unprepared for, but he graciously, well not quite graciously, more reluctantly, put aside his book and let us two old fat ladies join him. It wound up delightful, well to me anyway.

Ian's first fitting for his new crown failed so he has to go back next week for another try. Disappointed? Yes. He is getting tired of soft food though, just being cautious, so we lived dangerously and went out to a new gyro place he knew about and risked it. He did fine, the gyro was superb, his temporary crown stayed in place and I got fatter.

I hadn't seen much of Ian because he was house/dog sitting for Roger and Steph while they made the drive to Southern California for Mr Carrillo's funeral. Twenty-two hours each way. Roger's cousin, Jason, rode down with them. They said Connor did fantastic, but what kid wouldn't be fantastic with movies, music, videos, and three adults to charm him. Man has times changed in the child hauling business.

Roger was teary when he told about the hotrods that led the funeral cortege. Five or six of the progeny brought out their classic cars with messages like "Cruising with Grampa" shoe polished on the sides. Roger and Stephanie said the time in California and the funeral was more a celebration of Mr Carrillo's life, as it should be, and he was buried as close to Lonnie as possible. Made me teary also.

Oh, and Grampa had fired the gardener the week before because he wasn't doing a good enough job.

I saw the Connorman last night for another wild ride. We were upstairs, we were downstairs, we were outside, we rocked out to Connor music on his guitar and piano, we raced cars, crashed cars, cleaned cars, and put the cars away very neatly back in the little carrying case (see he is related to Lonnie). We were busy. Connor didn't trust me to put the cars back properly so he did that. Yep, he is related to Lonnie. The only thing Lonnie would let me do is turn over an engine occasionally.

I hate games but my boss at work said I wouldn't mind one team building game she was planning. Yeah right! A tag is put on your back of a person, place or thing and you get twenty questions to guess who. I got mine narrowed down to male, not a politician, Steve Jobs, or John Wayne and then got lost in inane questions. They finally took pity on me and said who is your favorite person, I said well right now that would have to be my grandson Connor -- Yep Connor was the name plastered on my back. That boss flanked me and tricked me.

I've had a host of doctor appointments lately. Every time I go see a doctor it means seven more appointments are needed. I guess that's what I get for being old fat tired blind hard of hearing with high blood pressure, high cholesterol, bad heart and diabetes. Now we can add female troubles to the list. Damn.

On the drive to see the specialist over in Everett I noticed all the good the bad and the ugly. Beautiful homes -- decrepit homes, beautiful skies -- utility wires, beautiful Possession Sound -- scummy water, soaring mountains and islands in the distance -- road construction, and beautiful, beautiful, beautiful trees, bushes, hedges, and gardens. The world has burst into full bloom. I think the flowers would stun God.

How did the world get so beautiful?  The good.

My life was a little out of whack, but it has been whacked back into shape. The good.

Today I will continue my odyssey of book shelf cleaning, sorting, dusting, organizing, and make Ian a little mac and cheese. The good.

I guess there is no ugly after all, it's all good.

Reflections

Mr Carrillo died.

He fell asleep in his big old soft recliner and never woke up. At ninety-four years of age it seemed like a pretty good way to go; surrounded by the sun, his garden and his loving wife of seventy plus years.

Roger said on their last visit, the first weekend of May, that Grampa was complaining he couldn't climb a step ladder any more to trim his trees that the last time he climbed up the fire department had to come get him down. Roger said that he was very frail and spent a lot of his time dozing -- in the sun. During the visit Roger took a wonderful collection of photographs of all of them; together and separate, with Connor and without, sitting and standing, smiling and hugging. When a person dies at ninety-four it's hard to be sad but hard not to feel sad also.

He died loved. It seems like a pretty good way to go.

The death of a beloved person brings many emotions tumbling to the surface and I've reflected back on my own emotional dance with death over the years. One death and then another made me grateful for not having any residual guilt, so much so that I started trying to live my life as guilt free as I could. This was a good decision for me. Living with out guilt was a gift from God at first, an accident, but then slowly and very consciously I chose a path trying to live as guilt free as possible. This is a gift I try to give to myself every day.

I am stunned sometimes at the amount of discontent, anger, rage, hatred loose in the world. Where does it come from? Why does "anti" versus "for" create such a vortex. Why do my dreams have to die so yours can flourish? Is a gay marriage going to unhinge the balance of the cosmos? In the big picture does it matter? Is my bacon sandwich really a sin?

And all the weaker cousins of discontent/anger/rage/hatred, like mocking, cynicism or caustic humor at the expense of another. A plaid shirt is redneck? My accent is humorous? My weight is unforgivable? My car is substandard? The other day if I heard it once I heard it dozens of times "that's ugly" everything from a child to boots. Shopping at Walmart or Target is low class? When I breastfed my first baby I was damned, now you are damned if you don't breastfeed. Leather shoes, whale meat, wind turbines -- somebodies day is ruined over these facts.

So to everybody whose day I have ruined due to lousy taste, accent, beliefs, car, kids, goals or dreams -- please forgive me. I'm trying to live my life guilt free.

Oh, yeah and I'm trying to live my life with as much love as I can.
Surrounded by love seems like a pretty good way to go.

p.s.

I meant to add this also from Pleasant Hill Raymond:

From Zen Art for Meditation by Stewart W.

Holmes and Chimyo Horioka:

How can we fret and stew sub specie
aeternitatis - under the calm gaze of ancient
Tao?

The salt of the sea is in our blood;
The calcium of the rocks is in our bones;
The genes of ten thousand generations of
stalwart progenitors are in our cells.
The sun shines and we smile.
The winds rage and we bend before them.
The blossoms open and we rejoice.
Earth is our long home.

Yertle the Turtle and Rain

Yertle the Turtle was banned in a community in Canada as being too political. Too political? It seems as though the school district was having a labor dispute and some part of Dr Suess' book was visible through a labor representative's car window on school property.
That's pretty well the extreme of banned.
The school district decided Yertle's pleas for justice for all was a slippery slope they didn't want broadcast.

Life is always interesting.

But that big old super moon just about made up for any short comings I have been experiencing with the world lately.

I had lunch with Carol -- in the rain. As we two old fat ladies were leaving the Mexican restaurant one staff member said to another, in Spanish "Those ladies ate everything on their plate" not realizing Carol understood.

If it looks like an old lady and it talks like an old lady it probably is an old lady.

Finished all my car stuff -- in the rain.
Ian had major dental work -- in the rain.
I went to the grocery store for soft food -- in the rain
Picked up Claire after her most recent monitoring tests -- in the rain.
She is still cancer free.

On my playdate with Connor -- in the rain -- I learned the four most dreaded words in the English language, "Granny play with me." So we played school and race car and driving and drawing and coloring and looking at books and reenacting book plots. Sometimes I had to be the baby and sometime the dump truck. Imagination at work with a willing granny produced an enchanted, exhausting evening. What ever the agenda is -- I'm in!

When he opened his treat tin and spied a new wetnap he said,"Granny, you brought me another one!"

I canceled my date with Lynn because of the rain.
Christian turned 36 -- in the rain.

Drove to work in the rain, drove home in the rain. As I kept buzzing up and down I-5; to Seattle, to Ballard, to Everett, to Lake City, to Mill Creek I thought man I'm tired of the rain, and it's not like me to grow weary of Pacific Northwest rain. However on my way to book club last night -- in the rain -- I realized I'm not tired of the rain, I'm tired of driving in the rain. Old lady driver with old lady eyes with poor visibility in the rain with crazy drivers in the rain produces one very nervous old lady.

I love the rain when it's Spring, when I'm snuggled inside with a book, or a movie, or a taco, or Connor.
It is lush and green here.
And the weather has finally warmed up to mild winter weather.

I finished the Steve Jobs book -- it should have rained on him. They said in the book what a charismatic man he was, how compelling he was, and I will have to say as I was reading the book I kept thinking I don't even like this man, but I kept reading -- fascinated and compelled. What do you get when you cross asshole with visionary -- Steve Jobs.

I have started Born to Run and one third of the way through I'm fascinated and compelled. Very entertaining writing by a slightly subversive clever writer. However...

The two books back to back drew me to the world of superstars. I didn't know but a few of the names in the Steve Jobs book but they were superstars of the tech world. Then I don't know but a few of the names in the running book but they are superstars in the running world. How many worlds are out there with super stars I know nothing about? Cycling, surfing, spiritualist, medical, gourmet and just how important are they in the big world sitting under a super moon? Well, okay, Steve Jobs probably moved the world forward, but how many others? I've done a great job of being the super star in Jan's world. I moved the world forward my way.

Bob Dylan said, as I was reminded in the Steve Jobs book; Get busy living or get busy dying. Is it okay to do both? Here I am living and dying in Seattle -- in the rain.

Ian is home from house sitting, at last my personal assistant is home. Mother's Day dinner is scheduled for Sunday at my favorite Macaroni Grill with room for Claire and maybe, just maybe, Christian will bring a date. He said, now don't get excited but I might bring a girl. DON'T GET EXCITED! What world does he live in? Roger and Stephanie took Connor for his first visit to Disneyland -- in the sun. I received a text from Roger saying Connor had a great first visit to Disneyland, full details to follow. Today is the day, I'll get the full details at my playdate, and today the sun is shinning as we warm to a toasty weekend, high 70's -- no rain.


Speaking of turtles: a health message from Jean:


As I was lying in bed pondering the problems of the world, I rapidly realized


that I don't really give a rat's hiney. It's the tortoise life for me!

1. If walking is good for your health, the postman would be immortal.

2. A whale swims all day, only eats fish, drinks water, and is fat.

3. A rabbit runs and hops and only lives 8 months.

4. A tortoise doesn't run and does nothing, yet it lives for 450 years.

And you tell me to exercise?? I don't think so. I'm retired. Go around me.


My Pleasant Hill buddy Ray McLain sent me this: Harry Truman: "When i retire, I'm going to go out on the porch and sit in my rocking chair. After about a week I'm going to begin to very slowly rock."


Last note of the day culled from the Born to Run book: Let us live so that when we come to die, even the undertaker will be sorry. Mark Twain.

I am the super star of my world.
Love to your world.