"Love"

Oh geez, now I've got The Beatles "All You Need Is Love" stuck in my mind due to this week's IF prompt.  You can sing with me here.  This is all happy, though I'll admit my thoughts on love have been deeper this week as I took quite a bit of time deconstructing my past relationships to find where I own responsibility in the resulting messes -- though in a way, maybe there's some happiness to be found in that too?

I know, some of you found your one true love in kindergarten, and you're still happily married with loving, perfect children.  Quite a few of the rest of us haven't been as fortunate, and many of us think that the break-ups were all the fault of our exes -- even though it's never all one person's fault.  It doesn't matter if your ex was a serial killer megalomaniac.  You have to own some of it, even if your part is falling for that person in the first place.

This concept makes some people sputter in indignation.  He's a drunk!  She ruined us with credit card debt!  Whatever.  Those are their problems.  Hopefully, they're out of your life now.  What part did you play in it?

I asked a date this question, and he couldn't answer.  (Dating tip: don't spend a first date cataloging your ex's faults to a new prospect.)  This guy didn't get a second date.  Why go out with someone who is still hung up on his ex and doomed to repeat his mistakes?

Owning responsibility isn't the same punishing yourself.  For instance, one of the things I discovered in my own self-inquiry is that my most painful relationships exhibited early signs to get out, but I didn't move on when it could've been so much easier.  What's the point of blaming myself for that?  It's over and done.  Yet, I can use this realization to help in the future.  If the warning signs are there, listen.

Some of my traits that I'd like to think of as positive, like patience and optimism, burned me in relationships.  Should I be less patient and optimistic?  No.  Just find someone who doesn't abuse those traits with empty promises.  Be aware when the promises are empty.  Set boundaries, goals, and measure progress.  Of course it's all very easy when it's hormone/pheromone-free hypotheticals, but life's a journey.  If it were easy, we'd all be living happily ever after.

I told a friend that I'm happy by myself and don't know if I feel like getting involved again since men are all a pain in the ass anyway.  He agreed, adding women are all a pain in the ass too.  Clinked glasses and laughter.  Time out for local boy Eric Carmen here while smirking at their hairdos.

Wildlife Update: The damned groundhog sat on my deck, bold as brass while I sent it mental death rays, which were somewhat diminished by my observation it's actually pretty cute.  But no!  Death to groundhogs!  I told my dog to get it.  She looked at me like, "Are you crazy?  That thing is as big as I am!"  I said, "You can take it!" and dog obediently raced to the deck and chased it away.  I gave her lots of praise.  Later that day, I saw a skunk.  Happy puppy raced into the back yard "Woo hoo hoo!!!"  "NOOooooooo!!! Not the black and white kitty!!!!"  Thankfully, she wasn't sprayed, but clearly the wildlife is winning the war.

"Shelter"

I cleaned a closet this week, making 3 piles: trash, recycle, homeless.  I thought of the homeless in Cleveland's winter and found a couple pairs of mittens to add to the pile.  They're really nice mittens, and I hesitated.  How many mittens do I need?  Don't these people need them more?  Into the pile.  I recently bagged up old towels and blankets for them too.  They weren't great, but homeless people need these things.

I'm not Mother Theresa.  It's super easy to get my stuff to the homeless because all I have to do is take it to work.  The ease of it just makes me feel guilty and lazy.  I doubt I'd think about homeless people if Deacon Joe didn't make his rounds to them.  He recently told me that the battered women's shelter in Cleveland turns away 60 women a day.  "A DAY!"  I can't get this out of my mind.

I've tried a number of times to write something motivational about this subject.  Let's do something!  Let's make politicians accountable!  The problem with what I keep writing is that I keep sinking into dark thoughts of women and children I've known that didn't make it through the violence intact, and in some cases alive.  It's hard to be optimistic under the burden of these memories.

I saw a boy on tv who has a remarkable memory.  He can tell you all about every day of his life.  He admitted that there's a down side to that kind of memory.  He remembers all the good he's experienced, but also all the bad.  My memory isn't as detailed to the day like his, but I can relate to the ups and downs of remembering.  Sometimes it takes a lot of force of will to push myself to think of something else.

Then I'm torn.  Should I talk about sitting on a porch in the Pennsylvania mountains, sheltered from a torrential rain storm while I stayed warm and dry, laughing with friends?  I can pull up other happy memories that would let us all go about our day with pleasant thoughts.  Or, should I be single-minded like Deacon Joe?  He never passes an opportunity to make others think about homeless people.

I can't help 60 battered women a day, but together we can make a difference.  What would it take for you to help them?

Google "battered women's shelter" or "domestic violence center" and you'll find places that need your help.  Give them stuff, money, or time.  Here are some links for places near Cleveland...

Domestic Violence and Child Advocacy Center

Forbes House

The City Mission

Battered Women's Shelter of Summit and Medina Counties

Project Hope for the Homeless

"Heart"

Sean didn't understand the rules for tag very well.  We were about 3 and he was "It" when he chased and tackled me, hugging me tight and kissing me on the mouth.  I was in love.  His game was WAY better than playing with my sisters.  For some reason my parents didn't approve, and I wasn't allowed to play with Sean anymore.  I was heartbroken.

A sociologist beau told me about "super feelers", people who feel things more acutely than others.  Shoot, just what I wanted, to be my beau's test study -- which didn't soften the blow at all when he later rejected me for what he admitted were "superficial" reasons.

I am who I am, and I don't feel apologetic about it even though there are plenty of people who like to say us sensitives ought to toughen up.  I don't regret having a tender heart except when I'm crying a river over losing someone I love.  At least I can love, and you know Dumbledore said love is the highest form of magic.

I've been trying to decipher what parts of myself and my beliefs are self-created, and which parts have been put into me from others.  Happy memories of a playful, loving boy makes my heart feel more open and healthy.  Loving that boy was true to my heart.

When I was in college, I fought with myself to create art that I thought would earn good grades.  I wasn't doing the art that came naturally and easy to me.  I was following someone else's vision instead of doing what makes me different than everyone else, and I was often stressed and unhappy.

Perhaps one of my best lessons came from a bad teacher.  He favored modernistic simplicity.  My highly rendered work got Bs and Cs while what I considered lazy art got As.  I fought the good fight for a while, but eventually caved and made lazy art too.  I got an A.  Fine.  I learned better things from better teachers and quit stressing about the stupid drawing class.  In fact, since I no longer cared about that class I had more time for homework in classes I respected more.

Making lazy art let me do what came easiest to me.  In a way, this lousy teacher was inspiring me to be truer to my own nature.  I started taking more shortcuts in other classes.  My grades remained good and I ended up with enough free time to get my first job in advertising.  I had everything I wanted: time, money, self-expression.

I am sensitive.  For some people, too sensitive.  Okay.  I'd rather be empathic, and I can't change my nature anyway.  I'll use my sensitivity as I see fit and express it in my art -- and while I'm making that art, I'll discover other aspects of myself that are true to me instead of what I've been told to be.

When we're true to ourselves, our hearts are happy.  We leave positive footprints in our world and in the hearts of others.  This is why we're here.  It's why people are different from each other.  In the words of Dr. Seuss...

“Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.”

"Noise"

In a too small house with too many kids, my childhood was very noisy.  Fights over the bathroom, sisters' boundaries, parents shouting about chores, or whatever, I wanted them all to shut up.  Sometimes I wonder if my current hearing problems are because I shut them out too effectively.

It wasn't until I had my own place that I confronted silence.  I loved it -- for a few hours.  Then I couldn't stand it.  I turned on the tv first thing every morning and let it run all day.  It didn't matter if I actually sat down to watch it, I needed background noise. 

I was thinking about this while driving around in a world full of crazy drivers.  People on the radio talked about computer hacking, cheating, and lying to spouses about Nordstrom purchases.  It didn't occur to me to turn it off or switch the station until they threatened to inform me about buying and selling houses.  Quiet!!

When there's constant noise, we don't have to think our own thoughts, which is just as well because people are hard-wired towards discontent.  Or maybe I'm just wired that way.  If we're happy all the time then there's no reason to push ourselves to do anything different than what we're currently doing.  No progress, no growth, no creativity.

We build noise into our lives so we don't have to think about that because achieving stuff involves effort, and gee it's so much easier to lay on the couch and eat Tostitos.

I used to be good at quieting down and thinking about stuff.  Now it seems like all I do is obsessively think about my irritations.  I don't think that's going to get me anywhere good -- or maybe that's exactly what it takes to kick me off the couch and make my life better than it currently is?

The world isn't just out there to do things to us that creates situations we have to react to; we create our corner of the world.  If we spend all our time thinking about how we don't have enough money, then there will never be enough of it.  If we don't feel loved, then we aren't going to attract love.

Pick a topic, the same dynamic will still be true.  I'm thinking especially about someone I've dubbed "A2" who annoys me.  I expect him to annoy me, therefore he continues to do it.  I've played a part in this, and if I quiet myself enough to think about it all more consciously, just perhaps I can change the dynamic?  (Though I resent the fact that I have to be the grownup in this and other situations!)

Our thoughts create a constant chatter of noise in our minds and it's like the tv which is always on, but we aren't paying attention when our minds are impregnated with the desire to buy whitening toothpaste.  Our thoughts can run in endless loops of stuff that we fear instead of creating what we want.

I'm resolving to put more effort into turning off the noise and meditating.

Happy Valentine's Day!

"Fresh"

My 200^th post!  Woo hoo!!  I never could’ve imagined it when I started blogging in 2010.  I was “Adrift” at the time, and the Illustration Friday word for the week fit me perfectly.  Looking back on 200 posts I realize that this blog has been both a personal and cultural diary of the times.

Starting with “Adrift”, I was laid off like a lot of people.  I was upset with the gulf oil spill.  My dog died, my friend died, my basement flooded.  I figure that was enough to depress anyone, so I wrote about happier times in my life when I went camping with my family or ate breakfast with Grandma.

I was still laid off and depressed in 2011. Another friend died. A big tree fell down in my yard. Looking over my posts for the year, I think I was trying to remember the people and events that formed me and my place in the universe. I remembered jobs I had and things I learned along the way. I put my art in a gallery and recounted disappointments in people and relationships. I had a lot of migraines.

I was more actively living in the world in 2012. I was working regularly again, and because I work for a religious organization, my environment made me think about spirituality in different ways. Because I work in an office, I started thinking about relationships between people too.

This year, the boss died and my world changed dramatically when I got promoted. You may all thank me for not discussing the finer points of dealing with personnel or databases, but those topics have been foremost in my mind this year. It’s been crazy, and my posts have often been more rushed than I’d like, but I’m happy that I’ve still managed to post every week. I also notice that I did more hearts than usual this year.

Blogging has been a pleasure, and thanks to all of you who have been with me on the journey. I love seeing your comments and appreciate it when you give me new things to think about. I love visiting your sites and seeing what’s going on in your mind and life too. Thanks especially to Mary Lou who got me started with blogging in the first place.

Here’s to hoping for another 200 posts for all of us!

…Oh yeah, “Fresh”… hm… Well, there was a guy who got fresh with me in college and I decked him, but I suppose that’s hardly the story to tell? At the time I got a lot of flack from my friends for “overkill”, but I’m very belatedly feeling kind of pleased with myself for knocking Dave out. He deserved it. Thankfully I haven’t felt a need to deck anyone else in a long time.

I’ve got fresh food growing in my garden and ate my first tomatoes of the year. Yay! I ate a blueberry off of a bush yesterday and felt summertime and happiness spread through my system. We’ve gotten a lot of rain in Ohio lately, and the world is fresh and green. Are these enough “fresh” thoughts?

"Protest"

I was a little kid in the 60s when hippies were protesting the Viet Nam war and everything else their bourgeoisie parents represented.  I told my dad that I couldn’t see how he could argue against “make love not war”, but I was too young to know that making love was an actual act little kids aren’t supposed to know about, and the hippies were doing it all over the place.

I sat on the floor and played with my blocks and felt rather torn about whether the hippies were dirty and lazy or doing something really inspirational.  Having no real understanding what a draft card was and never worn a bra, I didn’t see any point to burning them, and I didn’t get what was the point of burning flags either other than all this burning stuff made my dad really, really mad.

“It’s just a thing, Dad.  They aren’t hurting anybody.”  “It’s what it represents!” Dad shouted, but that didn’t explain anything to me either.

A young man with long hair and cutoff jeans played guitar at church one week.  I was in love.  He was handsome and played beautifully.  Dad sputtered “How dare he come to church like that!”, and I thought the young man’s long hair was pretty and clean, unlike all those hippies on tv.  “But you like guitars Dad!”  After all, Dad leaned forward to watch the tube anytime Charo played blazing fast flamenco music.  I hate double standards – well unless the double standard is working in my favor and lets me look at handsome young men.

I admired Charo’s musical skills.  I didn’t like that she dressed like a porn star and shook her ample chest to get recognized for her abilities.  I wanted the equality that I started to recognize in the barrels of burning bras.

Sometimes I wonder how much all these major events of my childhood formed me.  Sometimes I wonder if the sanitized wars we’ve been having in later years robs young people of passions that make their lives more meaningful?

“Passion rebuilds the world for the youth.  It makes all things alive and significant.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

“It is a fact often observed, that men have written good verse under the inspiration of passion, who cannot write well under other circumstances.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

“There is no passion to be found in playing small – in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living.” Nelson Mandela

“Passion is energy.  Feel the power that comes from focusing on what excites you.” Oprah Winfrey

“If you don’t have a passion, you’ll give up.” Steve Jobs

First they came for the communists, and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a communist.

Then they came for the socialists, and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a socialist.

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a trade unionist.

Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak for me.

~ Martin Niemoller

3 Years!!!

Happy anniversary to me!… Happy anniversary to me!…

It’s hard to believe, but I’ve been blogging for 3 years.  Who’d a’thunk I’d find so much stuff to talk about or so many stray pieces of art to find or make?  And just to show that the world celebrates with me whether they know it or not, happy birthday to Brian, Paula, Bernice, Diane, Jesse, Ellie, and everybody else who has a birthday around now (with my apologies if I’m forgetting somebody), and happy Ash Wednesday to those who honor that, and happy Valentine’s Day to everybody else!

"Popularity"

I got in my archives to find a sample of something I’ve done for Valentine’s Day. The attached product shot is a tower of boxes I did for Wolferman’s/Harry & David. I tried to mess around with hearts this week, but I guess I wasn’t feeling it after looking at Krista Hamrick’s splendid VD post. Either that, or maybe I’m being too literal about hearts since my friend is going to get his shocked to change its rhythm. I didn’t think electric hearts was quite the way to go when people are thinking about romance. (Happy thoughts for Franz are appreciated.)

While I was in my box looking for VD art, I found my niece’s drawings. I love her spontaneity and concepts. “Why so many hearts?” “Because love is all around!” “Why are these hearts attached to rays?” “Because our love touches other people!” “Why is this heart so many colors?” “Because our hearts can feel so many things!” “Why are there 3 hearts?” “This is you, and this is me, and this is the love we make between us!”

C’mon! How can I not love this child?! I have her dad’s kiddie art too, but I don’t think he ever drew me a heart. Ever. Alien, yes, but no hearts.

I felt very popular when I went back to school to substitute teach. The kids would yell “Yay!” when they saw me at the front desk. I tried to make it fun, but my ulterior motive was to teach things that weren’t on the lesson plan: life skills, self-esteem, logic, ecology, history… something that would be useful in their thinking throughout their lives. I didn’t go in with a plan. I just seized opportunities. I preferred older kids. I don’t have anything against little kids. I even love some of them, but a whole classroom full of disease-infested children who can’t go to the lavatory by themselves is just more than I want to deal with – and then some of the hoard of needy children would spontaneously make me love art. I kept those too. I even got love art from high school kids. Yep, I felt very popular.

One time, a kid walked in my class and yelled “Hey Bitch!” to a friend. I said that wasn’t acceptable and wouldn’t be permitted in my class. The kids joked and said it was just a term of friendship. I said I wouldn’t be friends with anyone who called me bitch, and why not say nice things to people they’re supposed to like? The kids laughed at me. I said, “This is a vocational class. You’re going to spend a lot of time together. You need a safe zone where everyone feels included and liked.”

I often had this class because their regular teacher had other obligations, and I got to know the kids quite well. I would’ve forgotten about this blip in time, but at the end of the year, a kid came in to give a student an office note and said “Hey Bitch!” in greeting. “We don’t say things like that here” one of my boys said. “This is our ‘safe zone’.” Be still my heart! I suppose it helped that this was the best looking, coolest, roughest boy in class. I hugged him and his cheeks went pink and I got that precious look of turned down face, hopeful eyes looking up, grateful for approval. I really felt like I had done something good in my life.

Wishing everyone lots of love on Valentine’s Day and every day!

Last week’s post on my raccoon skull reminded me of these pictures I took of my nephew. Meet the pagan warrior! That’s a deer skull he spiked onto a stick. I couldn’t decide which picture I liked best, so you can see both of them. “Why the clam shells?” “They’re money!” A true Aries. I don’t think he ever drew hearts for me either. He’s all grown up now. I should send these pictures to his friends. Okay, that’s it for animal skulls, I promise. Well, unless I find something really cool in the woods.

"Sweater"

"Sweater"? How does that fit into my carefully planned rant against Valentine's Day? I had amusing anecdotes to share about wrestling my roses away from the senile old woman who lived next door, and listing inappropriate gifts I've received from men, the worst of which was a toaster. Or maybe it was a blender? Either way, men should NOT give kitchen appliances on a romantic holiday, especially when they're the ones who want the toast or daiquiri in the first place.

I also had thoughts about showing all the cool stuff I've designed in the past for the holiday. I've done everything there is to do with a heart -- twisting, turning, stretching, black hearts, green hearts, upside down hearts... the possibilities have been endless. I have examples of clever die cuts, uses of metallic inks and varnishes, and cute attachments, but nooooo... the word for the week is "sweater"!

Okay, I'm adaptable and can do anything. Besides, this is my blog, and if I feel like ranting against Valentine's Day, I can -- and hopefully everyone else will indulge me, because I'm tired of a holiday bent on reminding me that I'm single at this age. And even though I'm quite unreligious, I'll leave off my ranting with one of my favorite quotes from the Bible, Song of Solomon 2:5...

"Comfort me with apples for I am sick of love"