- The rain
- I am able to see bits of the sunrise from my bed
- My healthy children
- My true love
- Feeling less blue
- Time to regain my balance
- A man who does the dishes
- A daughter who fills my heart with pride
- A tall, tall son who still wants to hug and snuggle with his mother
- My down comforter
- My sweet French cottage
- My new car
- The ability to pay all of my bills and still have a wee bit of money left
- All of my books
- My mother and the fact that I still have time with her to right all of my wrongs toward her
- My sisters
- My brothers
- My students and all the lessons they have afforded me
- Their parents and all of the lessons they have given me
- My trials, for they make me strong
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
While in Carpinteria a few weeks ago, I found myself in my favorite antique shop. Just like thrift stores, I always get a little tickle, a foreshadowing that I may find something brilliant. On this occasion, I found a sweet vintage tablecloth. This is the same store in which I found an Asian print vintage tablecloth, which I think is kind of rare. I just had to have it, and I use it often.
Posted by Alberta Art Classes at 7:23 PM
Monday, November 24, 2008
It is autumn in the City of Angels. The leaves on the Liquid Amber trees are turning color and falling to the ground. This morning at least, the heater has gone on to take the chill from the night. It will be off in a few moments. As soon as the sun peeks over the horizon, the chill will evaporate. You may need a sweater when you leave the house, but it will be in a pile on the back seat of your car by 9am. Chances are, it will be 85 degrees by 11am. Yes, it is autumn in Los Angeles.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Tomorrow I am in need of all angels. Every last one. I have heard that for the most part, angels sit around twiddling their thumbs, waiting for us humans to ask for help. So, here I am angels, asking for your assistance.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
I think the air has cleared a bit here in Southern California. My heart aches for those who have lost everything. I find it hard to imagine what it might be like to leave your home and find later, that all is gone. I suppose this is why one struggles to live in the moment. To live for this moment, this day. We hear this advice so often and yet we all know how difficult it can be. I have fleeting moments of this experience, and I must agree, it liberates the heart, allows it to soar.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Perhaps, I put too much hope into the sea and the effect it has always had upon me. Perhaps, I did not stay long enough at the shore. I felt as though I had to will my burdens into the silky waters. At one point, I was begging the sea to take my troubles. I left, hoping for the best. I have heard that the 40 year mark in one's life indicates, geographically, at least, you are as far away from the spiritual world as one can possibly be. A sad thought. Yet, this is how I have been feeling the last year or so. I consulted a person who has deeper connections to the spiritual realm than myself. She assured me, that even though I feel far away, all of my angels and helpers and guides, are there. It is just harder to hear what they are saying. This has been my experience. I ask, but the voices are whispered more softly, or maybe my head is so full of living and learning that I cannot hear over the din.
Posted by Alberta Art Classes at 4:16 PM
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
I am off to the sea this afternoon. I planned it after a difficult meeting, knowing it would be easier to shed any residual heaviness at the sea's shore. It seems as though I am able to release my burdens at the foam, the meeting place between sand and sea. I am a visual learner. I always have been. Perhaps, dropping my burdens at the shore and watching them pull away from me in wee increments, until they are one with the greatness of the Pacific, convinces me that I need no longer bear them upon my shoulders.
Monday, November 10, 2008
When my children were young, we lived along the Williamette River in the Pacific Northwest. Our days were spent baking bread, making homemade play dough and collecting milk from clanking glass bottles the Mennonite milkman left at a our door. I would bundle my wee ones in coats, hats and mittens, rubber boots and head out for the morning. We would walk along the river and visit the ducks and Canadian geese. The children would climb and explore, get wet and muddy and breathe in the cold autumn air. Their noses would turn pink and run from the cold, but we did this ritual daily. Living in the world. Touching the slimy shore of the river, pushing through the dead blackberry brambles in search of a fairy ring or toadstool.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
I have been spending many nights listening to the night sounds of my sleeping family. Sleep escapes me most nights. Tonight, I am blessed by the soothing sound of rain. This is a treat in Southern California and always welcome. I peer out the window and watch the rain wash away the grime of the day and am comforted in the thought that L.A. after the rain is simply, radiant. The mountains loom to the north, scrubbed clean as the cool sea breezes beckon from the west. No, there is nothing like Los Angeles after the rain.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
I went to the cinema this afternoon, seeking lightness and glee. A little something superfluous and filled with resolve and happy endings. Something in Central Park in the spring, perhaps. An ending in which the characters find love and closure from the daunting feelings of loneliness and confusion from the first half of the film.
Oh, Charlie, what was I thinking? Instead, I spent over two hours filled with art imitating life, imitating life, imitating art, and on and on...
Do not get me wrong, the film is fantastic. It is moving and thought provoking and takes a toll on the mind trying to put everything in chronological order. Except, I do not think there is a chronological order. Similar to life, the time speeds up, slows down and then seems to go in reverse. There is revelation followed by confusion, followed by more confusion and less and less revelation. I couldn't cry. I thought I would. I tried to cry, but the tears never came. I was Caden, losing the use of my tear ducts. I think I could not cry because it felt so close to where I am, to cry would be to run from the theater, wailing. So I guess I should be grateful for the faulty tear ducts. I was able to stay seated until the last fade out. My head still hurts a little from following every nuance, every hyper-realistic sound effect, every repeated reference, ensuring continuity of every word spoken. To listen this carefully to one's own soundtrack is daunting. No wonder my head hurts.
Synecdoche, New York