Look Through Any Window . . . well, except mine

Tom asked to see people's window views. Since mine is a boring neighborhood, I thought I'd show the scene I painted for my kitchen window. It has some serious wear from being rolled up and down every day. And by the way, it was my little joke to cram Rome all together like that.

Interesting Fortune

I usually don't do these things, but I saw a free three-card tarot reading online and this is what it gave me.

Past- Withholding knowledge or sources. A manipulator or fraud. Superficial show of knowledge. One playing the role of haughty queen (me??). Ignorance. Egoism. Waste of talent. Hollow existence.

Present- Fluctuating economic fortune. Balancing act. Tricky launch of new project. Qualms. Risky venture. Timing and dexterity. Shadowy scene and cunning characters. Juggling resources. Thinking on your feet. Agility needed to sail high seas. Uncanny instinct. Crafty business partner. A vague, even peculiar situation that keeps one guessing on their toes. The dance of opposites. Ambiguity.

Future- Hope. Inspiration. Guiding star. Moment of grace and peace. Freedom. Early signs of life taking on new pattern. Freedom after trials. Chance for escape. First sign of dawn. Release. Self-reliance. Clever, inspired ideas. Listening for direction. A quickening. salvation. Empowerment. Destiny. A time of farseeing. Taking steps to save one's self—not giving into resignation. Enlightened idea. Planning. Thaw of the ice. Return of life force. Rejuvenation. Drawing strength from nature.

Wednesday Trip Through Time

Today is going to be a lazy, just-post-a-video day. Here are some clips that will walk you through history, and hopefully, help you to forget all those modern troubles. Put away your cell phone and other gadgets, and try, try to forget that you are sitting at a computer.

Here is an amazing clip filmed by Thomas Edison in New York, 1901. You have to watch it all the way through because something really funny happens!

Here's an old Chevy commercial from the 1940's. Careful! That's Grandma's Present.


This one is really long, so watch it at will. I liked it because it reminded me of all those films we had to watch in grade school. At least every time the reel would flip out and the teacher had to loop it back into the projector. I miss that old whirring sound of the film flipping past the flickering light. Good times.


I gotta give you some 70's. The O'Jays with Love Train. OMG, the dancing in here is priceless—couldn't stop laughing! I actually really love this song. 70's soul music is the best. Groovy!


Years later we have . . . Greenwich VIllage 1981. This is another clip with a funny ending. You'll see.




Have a great Wednesday! Peace.

Perspective

Rothko suggested by Talli

This is going to be a tough topic for me. Let's start with yesterday, I showed you the beautiful painting by Jenkins. It was abstract, which means each individual will perceive it in their own separate way. Whether or not Jenkins had a certain theme in mind doesn't matter. Part of an artist's life is accepting the fact that once a work is sent out into the world, it is no longer theirs to control.

You cannot control the perceptions of other people.

Now comes the personal part. People perceive me as outgoing and put together. But inside I am still suffering the effects of a childhood where I had to hide everything. I used to hide my friends so my dad would not get mad at me for being outside talking. I used to suppress having to go to the bathroom because I was so afraid he'd come up from reading his bible in the basement and pull out that old leather belt that he used to spank us every day. It probably wasn't until third grade that I finally started to understand that the weird feeling inside my stomach was my body telling me I had to go to the bathroom. And all these years later, it is my emotions I am trying not to hide or suppress. But there is this little girl who is afraid of being called ugly or of being punished just for being alive. I'm actually shaking right now writing about it. I just remembered the time my friend gave me a birthday present and I told her I could not accept it. It was a flute. I still have trouble accepting gifts from people.

I tell you this because you see how on the outside someone can be perceived in one way, but behind the surface there is so much going on. This is why I try to be honest in everything I do, because when I send anything out there, I know it is your turn to perceive what I am, and I want you to be given the most honest product. It is the moment before release that I panic, but once it is out there I feel a sense of happiness that finally, it is free. But I could still be more honest. Here's to trying (raising a glass of Merlot).

Once a writer sends a book out into the world, it will be perceived in a million ways, no matter how straightforward it was written. You have to let it go. Embrace that it will be seen in different ways; embrace letting go.

No matter what your intentions were during writing, or how much you tried to get your point across, or how much you want people to love it, realize that all of that is out of your control. Just write or paint or live the best you can and then release. When you send something out into the world in a positive way, it will come back to you a million times with a million more ripples of the pure intent you put into it. You will receive. This is my mantra today.

I write these things for myself mostly, and I hope I can live by my words. You know, it's funny, I have tried so hard to keep my personal life out of the blog, but the more I tried, the more it seeped in here. These last few months of my life have been, for lack of a better word, hell. I figured all of my friends here would have abandoned me by now, but you guys have always responded in amazing ways. So ironic. And so wonderful.

Thank you for the gift of loving perception. Peace.

Flowy Rivers of Color

I love the flowy prime colors of Paul Jenkins's art. He always leaves a little white (or tones of white) space and I think there's just something about that which hits a pleasure center in my brain. Why is that?

One thing I didn't know until last night was that he was born in Kansas City. Yay! There is hope for a midwest escape after all. Someone made it out!

One of my favorite films is An Unmarried Woman, with the wonderful Jill Clayburgh. Set in my favorite year to obsess over, 1979, it features a woman emerging from a decaying marriage in the crazy setting of New York. It shows her struggles to find herself after years of the usual womanly sacrifice to family. She dates, goes out with friends . . . and meets amazing Alan Bates. Yum. She has an awesome apartment in the movie, by the way. Complete fantasy if you ask me—no one is going to be able to afford that apartment working at a little art gallery, puleeeze.

What I loved about the movie is not the fact that she is unmarried, that's sad, it is the whole element of self discovery and vulnerability. I enjoyed how much she put herself out there and the results she harvested through the effort. Plus I love the art. There's one scene in particular where Alan Bates is working on an unframed length of canvas. It's wet, he's tossing colors across, and they run down in streams all over his messed up studio floor. Paul Jenkins's apartment by the way. His art, his studio, set to fiction. So cool. Julia and I have watched this clip a million times.

I think there's another Amy Saia living in New York experiencing all this which I can only fantasize about. I wish she'd write me some damn letters or send me her diary.

"There's something so damn Victorian about you!"

Just Like a Woman

When I gave birth to Julia, I thought I knew what it would be like, this whole mother thing. But I didn't. I was like a baby myself, struggling to understand how to hold her tiny little body and how to place her oh so delicate mouth so that it would latch onto my breast. The whole process was frustrating, with nurses coming in and out of my room to check this and that. Part of me wanted to scream, "Help! Take her away, I . . . was wrong. Someone else should be doing this!"

When my doctor came in that first night, I asked her what to do. She said in a very simple and calm voice, "Sing." Oh. I could do that.

It was midnight, the halls were dim and quiet and the only words that would form themselves across my lips were, "Nobody feels any pain," an old Dylan song, "tonight, as I stand inside the rain . . ." and I kept going until all the milk was gone and her soft feathery eyelids closed down upon flushed pink cheeks. That's when my whole life changed. It wasn't the victory of labor that brought me past one part of my life into another, it was the knowledge that I could really be a mother, my secret most intimate desire.

I don't think I really understood what it was to be a human or a woman until that night. And I am still so damaged from my former life—it's next to impossible for me to allow another person to get close to me. But I guess none of that matters now. Not really.

Saturday Faves

Just want to share something cool I found the other day. I love art that is thorough, and if you go through this whole online piece, you will see what I mean by the very last picture. That's thorough! This is also an example of turning your joy into something lucrative. Hope you enjoy it.

And the Pursuit of Happiness by Maira Kalman In Love With A. Lincoln

Hey, Lincoln and I love the same music—The Magic Flute. Although . . . he probably would have shunned this adaption. Oh Smurf!

Here is a beautiful illustration, from where I do not know. Just another rare internet find. I think I was a mermaid in another life . . .

Tornado Day

That's right, it is the time of year when Mother Nature has some fun with us humans. The months of snow and cold and wind weren't enough, and with summer on the way she needs a little action to get her through the humdrum mosquito days of heat and humidity.

A person can feel it in their bones when a storm like this is approaching.

It rained all day yesterday and thunderstorms have brought in the morning. When they cease the heat will build, with the sun shining in some futile attempt to trick the earth's inhabitants that all meteorological action has ended. Wrong. The heat being shot down by the sun is actually building under the stratosphere and will later mix with cold air causing a very unstable environment. The cold and hot will twist and suck and grab at anything it can find—mostly open farmland.

The sound of a tornado siren is embedded in every prairie person's brain, so that even with a TV blasting, or water running in the sink, you hear it. And the chill goes all the way up your legs to your neck. You grab children, documents, pets and head for the basement—if you have one. If you don't, you run to the neighbor's house, or drive down the road to the local shelter.

And you wait.

When it clears, it is as if it was never here. The sun shines again, the grass is a brilliant shade of green and all you are left with is a strange feeling inside that each person holds in their eyes, but can't speak with their tongue.

And the wind at your window, while you lay in sheets sticking with humidity, will whistle a haunting sound, so that you cannot forget.

Gratitudeabopalula

I've run out of words as of late, but that's okay, it happens. Actually, you should know what this blog has meant to me, being a person of little spoken word. I am terribly shy. Yes. I'm one of those people that doesn't chit chat at all, so if you want fun then you have to hand me a drink. I'm terribly romantic and quiet and always thinking about life and how life works. I'm boring.

Okay, I must not be that boring. My friend Renee did one of those stupid quiz's on Facebook and her answer to, "Who would you like to be stuck on a desert island with?" was Amy Saia. Actually, that's pretty good. Or it means I'm a freak show. Hey, rent me.

But what I am trying to say is, having a blog forces me to produce words. Every day. If I had zero followers (what a term, huh? Like a cult) then I probably would have slagged off already. But you guys make me want to write. Thank you.

It isn't easy, but it is possible. And any little word, for each and every one of us, is an accomplishment. The words on your blogs, the gift of comments you place on mine, they are all amazing. I personally think I have the coolest cult members here on blogspot.

Rock on blogspot beotches!

Repost Alert- You Sold Me

I posted this a looooong time ago, but since it is my favorite one ever, I've decided to show it again.

In the strange land of reality and make believe I find myself a permanent resident. I like things to be real, yet twisted with an essence of lunacy—the happy kind. Smiling people holding up a bottle of toothpaste; smiling so wide you think a robber is behind them with a six shooter whispering, "Bigger! BIGGER!" And I like catch phrases. Words that aren't cute, but punchy with power forced into each syllable so that when you repeat them, you feel like pop rocks are exploding in your tonsils.

Lately I find myself recalling all those stupid, cheesy songs and images from my youth which told me—on a constant basis—to get my teeth whiter, hair shinier, hands softer, and breath fresher. I could recite them all, almost, if time hadn't crumbled away their perfection like the saltwater on the Titanic's railings. So . . . I turn to youtube. Of course. And there they all are, a bell-ringer from my youth, standing on the street corner echoing my very memories.

"I drink Dr. Pepper and I'm proud, cause I'm part of an original crowd . . . OH . . . He's a pepper, she's a pepper, we're a pepper, they're a pepper, wouldn't you like to be a pepper too?" I wanted to be one so bad. That guy dancing around in his white leisure suit with everyone following made me want to leave home and join immediately. Maybe it's an unsatisfied conscience, but I still love Dr. Pepper. And there never will be a better way to drink it than when it comes out of a frosty, cold, green-tinted glass bottle from Mr. Kuhn's grocery store.

"Ring around the collar! Ring around the collar!" What pressure, what immaturity! Taunting some poor housewife with Mary Tyler Moore hair about how her husband's freshly laundered shirts are less than perfect. No wonder women went out and got jobs. It was easier to work than wash stuff. Plus, talking shirts are a serious sign of mental decay. Time to get out of the house.

I love old car ads, the muscle-ey the better. And candy ads. But cereal ads will always be a permanent part of my youth, with that poor Trix Rabbit never getting to eat any of the products he had to hock. And those Life kids exclaiming, "He likes it! Hey Mickey!" Kellogg's Corn Flakes always had an organic, sunny quality to their commercials. The day was new, the corn had been harvested . . . time to eat a nice, golden bowl of Corn Flakes. But hurry up after you pour the milk because the flakes get soggy in two seconds!!!!!!! We used to eat Grape Nuts a lot, due to Mom always finding ways to keep us healthy. Those things were like gravel, but they tasted okay after half a bag of sugar. My favorite cereal was Lucky Charms. Perfect combination of wholesome wheat, and sugary symbols that asked you to believe in magic people and faraway lands. "I just ate a blue diamond!" "So what, you're still an idiot." My revenge was to sneak down to the kitchen before everyone else had gotten up, and dig into the bottom of the box for that one little prize. Sometimes it was a cool toy like a little car or doll. Most of the time it was just a paper thing that you had to use your brain to put together. It sure made my brother and sister mad when they got up and searched through that box only to find nothing there. Cereal revenge is always the best way to go.

"Ho ho ho, Green Giant!" Was it just me, or was that giant just a little bit frightening? I mean, if I was walking through some fields and saw him standing there with his arms across his chest, I'd freak.

Then there was Charlie Tuna. "Sorry Charlie!" Yeah, sorry we're about to eat you. How does one reply to that? "Oh, it's okay. I hope I taste good."

Mr Wimple had a tough job, always having to make sure no one squeezed his precious Charmin. Kind of annoying, and anal. "Please don't squeeze the Charmin. Please don't squeeze the Charmin!" Okay, how about you go check your stock boys and let me buy some darn toilet paper. That character was similar to the Daylight Donuts guy. "Time to get up and make the Doooonuts." Poor guy. I always felt kind of sorry for him, but the second a glazed donut fell into my hand it all made sense.

So, this was my youth and formation of every thought process I hold dear. It's very possible that in the distant future I will be following my grandchildren around reciting all the jingles and taglines of my childhood, like a nun repeating Hail Mary's. "Here, Charles, have a Coke, and a smile." "Put these in the Glad trash bag over there, they're Glad tough!"

I won't mention how disappointed I am in most modern commercials, you probably already know. There's something hollow about the way they try to sell a product I have to buy anyway. That was the great thing about old ads, they knew we needed it, but they wanted us to LIKE it. It was to be part of our whole existence so that, walking down the street, we couldn't hold in the enthusiasm any longer. "I love Jello!!!!!!"

Sadly, kids these days will remember one thing from today's ads: side effects.

A Little Flower Goes a Long Way

This is one of my favorite films, and Charlie Chaplin is one of my favorite actors/directors ever. I went through a huge silent movie phase with my friend Linda and I at the library desk looking at all the old picture books from the 1920's, going on and on about how much we loved little Charlie Chaplin.

This clip is from City Lights, and is one of the most touching endings ever filmed. You have to understand, she—Virginia—was blind through most of the movie, and he—the little vagabond—would come around and do nice things for her. She fell in love with him, never knowing he was penniless tramp. He found a way to give her enough money for the surgery which would restore her vision, all the while knowing it would mean she would be able to see him and then romance over.

Sacrifice.

She now has her vision, and does not know the funny little tramp is the man she was in love with. But when she touches his hand, it all reveals itself. I always cry. The depth of her expression; the gift he gave her—a true gift. You'll see.