WELCOME, MARCH!

               

Where I live, March has a tendency to "come in like a lion and out like a lamb." There are always years when just the opposite is true. And with our weather expected to be partially sunny and in the 50s this first day of March, I would hazard a guess that this is going to be one of those exceptions to the rule.

Whatever the case will be, I am usually glad to say good-bye to February. There are good things that happen during the month, but there are a couple of longtime unpleasant memories I tend to recall which took place during February. February and I are not impassioned lovers.

I will miss the winter months. My fondness for the snow has to be moved from a reality to a longing. It does strike my fancy when we get flurries in April. Everyone else grumbles about it, but I am elated. Another taste of my beloved winter.

The daffodils and tulips and crocuses are already beginning to peek out from the earth. I have also noticed more and more green creeping into the landscape. Ah, the change of seasons. Each brings with it its own special signature to delight me in some manner.

I think we all change to some degree along with the seasons. There is a mood shift, be it for better or worse. The eyes absorb the surroundings, and the brain is quick to snatch up the visions and process them. Then, as only the complex human brain can do, it decides how we are going to behave and feel. We are left to adapt to its wishes.

Here is hoping my mind bestows joy and a sense of rejuvenation upon me. The same hope goes to all of you. ::smile::

"The sun is brilliant in the sky but its warmth does not reach my face.
The breeze stirs the trees but leaves my hair unmoved.
The cooling rain will feed the grass but will not slake mythirst.
It is all inches away but further from me than my dreams." ~M. Romeo LaFlamme, The First of March

THE TINKLE EPISODE (Repost~12-17-04)

In numerous journals I read regularly, the authors have been experiencing some especially difficult times. Their hearts are heavy, and their worries are numerous. Good people, painful situations.

There is little I can do to help them except offer my ear, words of encouragement, and prayers. I thought maybe it was time to bring out one of my goofier past entries with the hope I can bring a smile to their lips, at least for a moment,  if they should read this repost.

                                   

                                               

Friday, December 17, 2004
4:56:00 AM EST
Feeling Loopy
Hearing Lost In The Crowd~Shinedown

 

 

 

 

The "Tinkle" Episode

This sucks. I fell asleep at 11:15 p.m. and woke at about 2:30 a.m. unable to go back to sleep. ::sigh:: So, I thought I might as well write my journal entry. God only knows how screwed up it will be with me being semi-alert.

Ah, I did say I would write about my preschool tinkle episode. Heh. I have quite a few memories from my childhood. Let me preface this story with a description of me as a little kid. I was as cute as a button. ::wondering why my cuteness did not stick around as I aged:: I was also a pretty wild child. My three sisters and I behaved perfectly at any function or event we were required to attend as a family. Mom and Dad always said they could take us anywhere, and we always behaved and were often complimented on our unusually good behavior. Now, get me away from the family and on my own...and let's just say I did some goofy things that were not "proper."

Okay, I was stuck having to go to a preschool when I was four. Mom and Dad were concerned because there were no neighborhood kids my exact age. Each of my sisters had others to play with who were age-appropriate playmates. None for me. The solution to the problem was to attend preschool. My teacher's name was Mrs. Hague. I called her Mrs. Egg or Mrs. Egghead (not TO her but to my parents). I didn't much like her. She was pretty old and stern.

One day after we had outdoor recess, we went back into the classroom. I had to tinkle big time. I asked Mrs. Egghead if I could please go to the bathroom. She told me NO...that another child was using the bathroom, and I had to wait. I told her I had to go really bad, and she told me the rules were only one child at a time. (Now mind you, this preschool was in a church where there were separate bathrooms for boys and girls. And it was a boy who was already using the one. I could not see any reason why I could not go, since he was in the boy's bathroom.) I was feeling pretty frantic not being sure I could hold it back much longer. Yes, I remember reaching down and actually holding myself.

Finally, I got the green light from the teacher to go on down the hall to the potty. God, I took off like a bat out of hell and ran down that hall.................all the while tinkling in my panties. ::hanging my head:: Yep, I accidentally opened the flood gates and was unable to hold back any longer. By the time I reached the bathroom, there was no reason to even sit on the potty, since I had already expelled all I had in me. Now what to do? I stood in that bathroom by myself (there were three stalls...all of which were empty) with positively drenched panties trying to think of how in the world I could return to class. There weren't any of those hand dryers that are so common now...that would have been a huge help.

Then I had my brilliant idea. I would just take off my panties and throw them away. After all, I was wearing a skirt, and it wasn't wet. Yay for me! I dragged those disgustingly wet panties off and tossed them in the trash can. I happily returned to class certain no one would be the wiser. Oops. I got back just in time for our daily nap portion of the day. We were instructed to get our little rugs and spread them out on the floor. I was close to the panic point. How could I possibly rest on the floor knowing that my bare butt would be seen?

I froze...I simply stood in one spot and watched all my little classmates bustling around gathering up their rugs and settling down to take a snooze. Mrs. Egghead told me to get my rug. I said NO. She told me again. I said NO. She told me I HAD TO. I said NO. She said if I didn't, I would get punished. I didn't say anything to her when she said that...but I also didn't budge from my spot. She was getting increasingly frustrated with me. All the other little nappers were in place and sprawled on the floor. She finally said she had no choice but to punish me.

My punishment? I had to sit on a chair while the kids napped, and I was not allowed to look at picture books or color. All I could do was sit. ::blink:: That was a punishment? That was a gift from God! I could sit there and my lil bare butt would go unnoticed by everyone. Yahoo! And that is exactly what I happily did for the entire nap time. I sat on a chair watching the other kids.

After the naps, we sat at tables and colored, then the day was over. Mom came and picked me up. I had made it! No one knew I had had an "accident." I was feeling pretty darn smug. Until..........

Mom got a phone call from Mrs. Egg. Apparently the janitor found my panties in the trash can (the perv probably kept 'em) and assumed they were someone's from the preschool. He reported his find to my teacher who put two and two together and realized that was probably the reason for my defiant behavior. Yikes...busted! I didn't get in any trouble from Mom or Dad. Mom thought I should have told Mrs. Egg, though, so she could have been called to bring me a new pair of panties. She told me I could not just go around throwing away my clothing. ::shrug::

That's probably one of my earliest memories. I am chuckling right now. Today it would be kind of a turn on to go without panties and see if anyone noticed. ::laughingggg::

Today's quote (note who said it!):

"Children today are tyrants. They contradict their parents, gobble their food, and tyrannize their teachers." ~Socrates

HIS EYES

        

It is these eyes I miss. These eyes never missed a thing. They had a way of looking into people and seeing their soul. They could read almost anyone, and in doing so, they enabled the owner of them to effectively deal with people from all walks of life. These are the eyes I tenderly closed after his final breath was released.

I painted this watercolor portrait of him (although it was his complete face and his upper body) about 1-1/2 years ago. His eyes were the deciding factor in determining whether or not this painting would be kept or tossed. It was imperative to me that I captured them as I remembered them. The smile that lived in his eyes just had to be there.

It turned out to be a keeper.

The painting hangs on the wall just to the left of me here in this study. I look at him often. Sometimes it is just for a moment or two. Other times I stop and stare for long periods of time.

It is impossible to express how much of an impact this man had on me. He is and always will be my hero. Silly, isn't it? But, he knew me so very well. He could pick up on the most subtle of things regarding  me. Things everyone else could not see. I often felt he would have been a fabulous psychologist.

Not only could he see people so well, he could see beauty and appreciate it. Late in his life, he took up watercolor painting. ::smile:: He would get after me to take lessons, because he felt I had the potential to succeed. I always told him, "No way. I am not good enough. I have never even taken an art class of any kind." He would shake his head and reiterate his belief in me.

Here is one of the paintings he created. (Poorly photographed by me, unfortunately. Ignore the glare on the left side.) He never much liked it when he gave it to me. It was not until I matted it in pink that he seemed to take a shine to it. He told me it made all the difference in the world when I changed the matting. It is my favorite painting of his, and it hangs in my living room.

                                   

Today, I am thinking about him a good deal. There are two public functions honoring him that are taking place in May, and I have read articles about them and had to do a bit of writing for both of them. I feel sure that is why he is taking such a prominent spot in my thoughts.

And I keep seeing that twinkle in his eyes.

"My father gave me the greatest gift anyone could give another person, he believed in me." ~Jim Valvano

LITTLE GETAWAYS

     

I travel through dark forests, venture through fields of flowers, get pelted with snow, showered with rain, and warmed by the sunshine along a sandy beach. I wince, smile, shiver, ponder, weep, and laugh along the way.

I take these trips willingly and on a regular basis. I know my heartstrings will be tugged at times. I am aware I will feel things intensely during my journeys. But no matter which emotions will be stirred within me, I am glad for them.

These little vacations afford me the opportunity to meet some spectacular people~men and women. I even get to have glimpses into their lives. I have had peeks into their hearts and souls. That they would be willing to share parts of themselves with me makes me feel good. And it does not even bother me that many, many of these people are intellectually far superior to me. How often does anyone NOT MIND feeling a lack of adequate intelligence?! Well, I sure do not mind a single bit. If anything, I appreciate the newfound knowledge I have acquired through them.

They teach me much in the short time I spend with them before I move along. Some of the lessons learned can be found in books, but the information would not be presented nearly as well or in a manner which invites my eager anticipation. Other lessons are those which can only be found through life experiences. Those stories are told, and I am captivated. I lean forward and try to absorb all there is put out there for me. Opinions are expressed, and I try to remain unbiased while I take in the reasons why they hold those thoughts. I still might not share their views, but I am not offended by the way they speak them. They are careful not to attack those who disagree. These people have class. (The best definition of the word class I have ever heard was said either by Ann Landers or Dear Abby, and the gist of it was this: "A person with class is someone who makes the most people the least uncomfortable.") Oh yes, I do like the people I visit on my trips.

And just where do I go on these many vacations? To the journals/blogs of Blogspot and AOL. I cannot say I have ever come away from reading these people's journals and not been left with food for thought. At times, I also leave with a tummy ache from the laughter they cause me! There are some tremendous people in this world of blogging. I got very, very lucky and located many of them.

No matter the weather they are experiencing at the particular time they write, I will gladly join them there. After all, they bring so much to me.

"Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart." ~William Wordsworth

and

"Be yourself. Above all, let who you are, what you are, what you believe shine through every sentence you write, every piece you finish." ~John Jakes

ODDITIES

                                

Some of you asked for it, and you got it. Bet you are sorry! LOL! I finished it. Uh huh. Done. Completed. As I told Maryanne, I think I worked on it as long as Michelangelo worked on the Sistine Chapel ceiling. He got better results than I did.

I was in a funk afterward. Truth is, I like my painting better in person than how it appears on the computer. That is a first. I just wish it had photographed and transferred here looking decent. ::sigh:: Perhaps because it is such a small painting, it looks odd.

And why is it that we find ourselves pointing out our flaws or critiquing our projects or work? I know I do it an awful lot. I think I want to beat people to the punch. Maybe I think it will be less painful if I am the first one criticizing my work or myself. I cannot blindside myself the way others can blindside me.

The temperature here dropped to seven degrees last nite. Quite a blast of cold wound its way into the warmish temperatures we have been having. I, of course, LOVED it. I immediately got a raging fire started in the fireplace. I even slept on the couch in front of it. I think that is so comforting.

Then today started out on the weirdest note. I thought it was Monday. No one was home when I awoke, and I telephoned my mother to chat. She and I had been talking for a good while when she mentioned church. I told her I was so happy she felt up to attending a service, but at the same time I was puzzled that she inserted that into our conversation when she did. Long story short, it was Sunday morning, and I was flippin' clueless about that. I could have sworn it was Monday.

I have been having the most bizarre dreams lately. I have not had a happy dream of any sort for a good two years. I think it is very disconcerting. I dream every single nite, and I remember them. I hate that there is never a pleasant one. Example. The other nite I dreamed a man who loved me was kissing me tenderly, telling me how much he loved me, and apologizing for having to kill me. At which time, he gently sliced open the side of my neck with a huge blade. I slowly crumpled to the ground in the throes of death. That's a real upbeat dream, now isn't it?!!!

I do not USUALLY do Sunday entries, but then I do not usually think Sundays are Mondays, either. Now you see why. I am disjointed on Sundays.

And with that said, I am going to try to find something to do that will make me feel good about myself. ::big smile::

"One should never criticize his own work except in a fresh and hopeful mood. The self-criticism of a tired mind is suicide." ~Charles Horton Cooley

THE LEGEND (Repost)

I cannot seem to sit here at any one stretch long enough to write an entry. My mind is going a million miles per minute, and I am running back and forth from my drafting table to the computer. Clearly, I cannot focus on writing while painting. And that spells REPOST! Almost exactly one year ago today, I wrote the following entry. Perhaps now I would add to it and express my thoughts in a better way, but this is what I thought at that time.                                    

                                 

Tuesday, February 15, 2005
3:31:00 AM EST
Feeling Hopeful
Hearing The Prayer~Andrea Bocelli & Celine Dion

 

 

 

The Legend

For literally years, the following Australian legend has captivated me. It has come to mind time and time again without me ever really trying to fully understand it or determine its meaning. As is the case with most things, one's interpretation is subjective. All I came away with when I thought about it was just a hauntingly bittersweet feeling. I think I want to spend the "now" delving into its meaning...at least what it means to me.

I first came to know of this legend from Colleen McCullough's book The Thorn Birds. I loved the book. It was made into a television miniseries, which I found lacking in comparison to the book; however, with few exceptions that is usually the case. And so, here is the legend:

There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. And, dying, it rises above its own agony to out-carol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative song, existence the price. But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles. For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain...Or so says the legend.

Is it just me, or do others find this to be a "smile with tears flowing down your cheeks" legend? It is so amazingly beautiful, yet so very sad. And what does it mean?

In her book, McCullough uses the legend to relate to the love shared between a woman and a priest. She seems to impart that unlike the thorn bird, when we press the thorn to our breast, we know...we understand...and still we do it. It seems quite fitting with the story she writes. A grand love which cannot be completely fulfilled between those two. They both know the consequences of it, but they succumb to whatever they can share even knowing it will kill them inside because it can never be more. Yet during the time they are together, each experiences a joy and beauty they never knew before nor would ever have again.

Do we do that? Do we find ourselves drawn to someone we know we can never fully have? Is it worth it if it hurts us or the other? My guess is sometimes we do. Like the thorn bird, we do not always know at the outset that the someone we are searching for will cost us our "existence"...not until it is too late for us to turn back. All we know is we sing far more beautifully, feel far more deeply, and embrace an inner joy that transcends anything we have ever known. When it is ultimately discovered that which has made us glow is going to cost us our happiness, we still sometimes cling to it and proceed forward even knowing the price. For some, it is worth it. They at least have moments in time to cherish and do so. For others, it is destructive. They may grow bitter knowing it was a once-in-a-lifetime beauty, and that they will never sing so gloriously again.

And what about applying the legend to those who pursue something with a passion? A quest to paint the perfect painting or write the perfect book or sculpt the perfect sculpture. Oftentimes, there is an intense drive for people to create something magnificent. Something that will cause others to gasp from sheer amazement at such a work. What of those creators? They will give all of their time, thoughts, talent, and energy to creating a masterpiece~at the exclusion of establishing any kind of relationship with others. Their existence is solely dedicated to their passion. And if they do create something they deem perfect in their eyes, what is left for them? Surely they will hunger to better even that which they find masterful...or will they? Ah, again, some will content themselves with the knowledge they gave their all to create that which has never before been done. Others will wither and die having devoted their everything to their work of art knowing it is the best they can ever hope to create.

Much like life itself. We make our choices. Sometimes we weigh the pros and cons carefully, and other times we throw caution to the wind and go for the brass ring at any cost. Whatever we decide, we are left with the consequences of our actions...always with the hope we will remember the time we made God in His heaven smile.

Today's quote:

"What we think, or what we know, or what we believe is, in the end, of little consequence. The only consequence is what we do." ~John Ruskin

THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

        

The little acts. The big ones. The in-between sorts. We are the recipient of the kindness of strangers quite frequently. (And sometimes the unfortunate receivers of acts of idiocy from strangers and friends...but that is another entry. ::smile::)

  As happens during the time I take watercolor lessons, I tend to obsess. I want THE perfect picture to paint. I try and try and try to make my painting as good as I possibly can. The effort is certainly there, but the skill level and natural ability I possess are lacking. That does not stop me from continuing to try to improve. Go me!

Anyway, I have made mention of this current painting of a chapel I am desperately trying to complete. It is different for me in that the size of the painting is very small. It is tedious work.

The church is located in Chicago, and it is part of a wonderful vacation I spent there. I fell in love with the French and English Gothic architecture of this particular church. It is situated on the corner of North Michigan Avenue and Delaware Place, and it is a massive structure. It is on the Delaware Place side where this tiny chapel is located. It seats only 15 people.

So, I pulled up my photographs taken of the exterior of that chapel. None of them showed the very top of the doorway, and I had wanted that in my painting. I surfed the web for hours attempting to find a full picture, but I came up with photos of only the main entrances. As a last resort, I emailed the church and explained my dilemma. I asked if they had a complete picture. I heard nothing from them. I called the church, too, but I did not leave a message on the machine. I decided to just go ahead and paint the scene without the archway.

Lo and behold, yesterday I received a reply to my email. Complete with a photograph of that gorgeous chapel exterior. I was beyond excited. A note was attached apologizing for the delay and hoping it was not "too late" to be of help to me. I had to do some serious scrambling to try to incorporate that picture into my painting. And that is not easy to do with watercolors as opposed to oils or acrylics. Some alterations were impossible to make, so it is not going to be a precise reproduction. That does not matter to me. I have the gist of the little chapel down well enough. I am not done with it yet. We move on to a winter landscape on Tuesday. I have to intensify my efforts to finish before then!

See how a total stranger did something to help me? It was not only nice; it took the person some time. Her time. Time is a valuable commodity. It got me thinking about those who do things to make our days go a little smoother. The cashiers, the grocery store baggers, the gas station attendants, the waitresses, the sanitation workers...people in every profession. Undoubtedly, all of them have gone above and beyond the call of duty to assist someone regularly or occasionally.

Some years back, I was loading my grocery bags into my car. The back of my left hand scraped against the metal of the shopping cart. I barely noticed it, and I continued the task. It was as I was going to take the empty cart back that I realized the diamond was missing from my engagement ring. I panicked. The day was extremely sunny, and the asphalt was sparkling EVERYWHERE. How in the world would I ever find the diamond? I knew I could replace it, but a new one would not hold the sentimental value the original diamond held. Tears were streaming down my face as I got down on my hands and knees looking for that jewel alongside my vehicle and everywhere around the area. I will never forget the stranger who stopped to help me. Even though she was unsuccessful in locating it, she gave me moral support when I was ready to give up. She departed after a time, and I kept hunting. Yes, I found it. And, yes, she deserves the credit for it. I know I would have quit looking had she not happened by just when she did. In the grand scheme of life, that diamond means little. But...

The kindness of a stranger means a lot.

"Life is made up not of great sacrifices or duties, but of little things in which smiles and kindnesses and small obligations, given habitually, are what win and preserve the heart and secure comfort." ~Humphrey Davy