A Question for Me...

Recently, I received a letter from a new friend who, like me, is of the "bent hippie persuasion". I was kind of surprised by her letter because it was an issue I hadn't thought about for a long long time. I guess over the years I've become inured to so many things... the narrow attitudes of the masses being one of them. So, I took her question to heart, thinking about it for several days before answering. Here's our "conversation":

Her: I've got a question for you, my friend. When exactly did it happen that "hippie" became a dirty word, synonymous with "unwashed loser" with today's youth? I mean I remember back in the day the "older generation" thinking that of us, but when the hell and HOW did it happen that the younger people became the ones looking down their noses at us? And how the heck did the younger kids make this transformation into conservatives? If you had told me back in the 70's that this would happen, I'd have told you there was no way, not ever.
It's weird, isn't it? I used to think the hippie "brand" was more about our beliefs and ideals, and I thought the message would last a while. Now it just seems to mean you're a "patchouli stinking, tree hugging liberal" LOL, which I guess in my case isn't that far off, since I do still love patchouli and have been recycling since long before it became a curbside City service. But when did it become such a derogatory term? I thought that mindset would end with our parents' generation, didn't you?
*sigh* Oh well.

To which I responded:

I don't really know how to answer your question...
I remember when I was young, that was how people reacted to all of us. We were hippies... freaks... cut from the herd. I never cared, because among those hippies and freaks and unwanted, I found peace and acceptance... welcome. I found a mindset that resembled my own. I was proud then to be counted among them as I am proud now of who and what I am.
Some years ago, I discovered a need to distance myself from society at large. Too many cruel people seem to be attracted to those who are more "sensitive". Not long after, I discovered my "inner bitch"! LOL I developed a harsh facade to the world at large and kept the true "me" for the circle of "strange and unusual" friends that I have collected around me. At times, there are many many people within that circle. At other times, there are so few that the place echoes. But it's okay... The love and support remains.
Lately, I've realized that I am the type of person that needs to be among other people, so I've gradually "broadened my scope". Remember those hippie days of people watching? I've refined it to an art form and, combined with my totally bent sense of humor, I find that I can go out... and LAUGH! Yes, I laugh at all of those who would denigrate me for who and what I am. How can I do this? Because (for the most part) I am at peace with that part of me... I've embraced it until it fills me. Within that place inside is love and acceptance, my faith with our Creator.
Do you remember the prose that was so popular back then, "Desiderata"? Read it over and over until it's a part of you. More important words have never been spoken.
BTW, Sweet Patchouli oil is the only fragrance that I still wear... I was one of the originators of our high school ecology club... And I threaten severe torture to anyone within my sight who doesn't "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle" or REPAIR! *grin* Yes, I will forever be that patchouli-wearing, tree-hugging, multi-pierced, lightly tattooed, freaky lady! But... You want to hear something amazing? My adult kids are proud of the me I am! Amazing. Isn't it?

I guess that my point is... I don't really care what most people think of me. The opinion that matters is that of those I choose to carry in my life: those I love, those I admire, those from whom I wish to learn. Of the others? There will always be malcontents who seek to belittle the unique that walk this world. I feel rather sorry for them because their world-view is so narrow. Can you imagine all that they miss? And when they become arrogant? I laugh... and laugh and laugh and laugh.

PEACE!

Superwoman

I recently had a friend call me, distraught, because she thought she was an unfit mother. Her 9 year old daughter was constantly nagging her that she was bored and wanted to play/be entertained. My friend felt that she was somehow lacking because she didn't WANT to play with her child all of the time and hadn't the patience to play game after game with her. This brought to mind an article I read some years ago about how today's women are immediately set up to be failures by our society's definition of a "complete woman".

The modern woman must have a career (not a job, a CAREER), marry or cohab with some similarly career-oriented partner, own and maintain the perfect home, have 2.5 children (how do you have half a child?) who are perfectly mannered and with whom family time is all the time they're together, and be a member of the homeowners association, the PTA, and a half dozen charitable organizations. Good God!!! I couldn't do it... Don't know anyone who can.

Year after year, I watch women actually try to attain this impossible goal... Why? When do these superwomen have time to be a PERSON? I'm sorry, but I believe that definition of a modern woman is a load of crap.

First of all (I can hear the protests now), most women cannot have a career and raise a child without one hell of a support network. In the formative years, a child simply needs too much bonding time. He/she needs that sense of security that mom or dad are going to be there for them at a specific time each day as well as for the school play or the baseball game or when they're ill, etc. Careers negate the ability to have this time (be honest, you know it does).

In anthropology, we learn that it takes a village to raise a child. It's a solid truth. And the head of that village needs to be a parent. Typically, this task falls to the mom (although dads are taking part more and more). To be healthy and secure, any child needs that structure and dependability.

And who decided that we need to "entertain" our children??? *add in your swear word of choice* How can we expect our young ones to develop initiative and imagination if we're constantly providing them with whatever stimulus is in demand at the moment? Even worse is the idea to set them in front of a computer or tv! What happened to puzzles, coloring books, playsets, and... OMG... BOOKS???

Perhaps I was lucky in my children. My oldest could go to his room for hours and play and play and play... Star Wars, Thundercats, Transformers, workbooks, and books to read... Together, we'd do puzzles and a few games or watch 1 or 2 tv shows together. He was such an easy wonderful child to have! My daughter was my son's pride and joy. She was "his baby". Her first belly laughs were caused by her big brother. He led her on adventures all throughout the house and yard. They were best friends in those first few years. My youngest was a repeat of his brother with the added bonus that he had two older siblings who doted on him.

I didn't even realize until my children were grown that I really haven't a penchant for the whole "having kids" thing! Nope. Really. As a group, I don't care for kids. Sacrilege, I know. Now, individually, I love the littles that are in my life. For a short bit of time... After that, I'm clueless. Don't know what to do with them and hanging them from the rafters is frowned upon. However, I must emphatically state at this time that my one grandson has me firmly wrapped around his little finger... which is a huge surprise to me! LOL He owns my heart and I miss him unbearably.

But what about this whole thing that a woman isn't complete unless she HAS at least one child? Hello??? Talk about a stupid idea. I know several women who are perfectly content with their lives not wrapped around their child's latest triumph or downfall. They are happy and complete in and of themselves without all of the labels society insists they wear.

This is the important thing regardless of which or how many hats you chosen take on... to be content with the person you are. Society's expectations are ridiculous. If you really think about it, they usually are. Be yourself. Define yourself. Seek your own goals, those that stem from your heart. And if you happen to decide that running a company and baking cupcakes at midnight are your cup of tea, go for it! I'll be here to catch you when you keel over from exhaustion.

PEACE!

Hilarious Stuff Someone Else Wrote...

Okay... Recently, a friend from college found me on Facebook (Yea, I'm one of THOSE people... the ones who can't get enough online time! LOL). "Hi, Elodie!" Anyway, she turned me on to an incredible bit from a blogger who is no longer with us (so very sad since these are truly wonderful and completely bent) as well as one of hers. I wanted to take this chance to share with you some incredible humor, so I'm going to simply copy and paste what Elodie sent to me:

"Okay. I'm going to have to leave you with a laugh. A few years ago I ran across the funniest, smartest human being I have or ever will meet -- a writer who went by the moniker "Skonk" on a writers' discussion board. Never met the guy but I lived for his posts. Without fail, he could make me laugh right out loud in an empty room.

Anyway, that comment you made about the goldfish? Way back around the year 2000, I had run across this list of factoids, one of which was the one about goldfish only having three-second memories.

Not 10 minutes after I'd posted the list, Skonk replied with the following: (please excuse formatting errors)

~~ begin quote ~~Due to this list, I got a myself a brand-new perspective on the lives of my pets. I used to have a big fat goldfish named Slappy McPoop who died recently. Raised him from a pup, and even though he had a severe bipolar disorder, he was a GOOD fish. One of the best I ever had.

Stuffing that bloated bastard down the garbage disposal was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Generally speaking, I give my dead fish the standard Big Flush sendoff, but Slappy was just too big to fit down the hole in the shitter.

Couldn't even make the bastard go down by poking him with the toilet brush. And since it seemed disrespectful to just toss him in the garbage like a bag of uneaten leftovers (after all, he was a PET of mine), I decided to commit his mortal remains to the gnashing blades of my trusty In-Sink-Er-Ator. It was as close as I could come to a burial at sea. And wherever Slappy McPoop is right now, I'm sure he appreciates the gesture.

Problem is, I didn't know he'd croaked for a day or so, and by the time I scooped him outa the tank the other guys had already been eating on him a little.

So I figure they prolly got most of the tasty parts, and anything I tossed in the pot would be the nasty stuff even stupid fish wouldn't touch. Same reason I didn't mount him on a plaque and hang it in the den. He was looking pretty bad by the time I got to him.

But I still felt sorry for the OTHER fish. Like, they had to stay in the tank with their dead friend A LONG TIME before I scooped him out, and it must have been pretty traumatic for them. But if goldfish can only remember stuff for three seconds, it means they're probably over it by now.

The surviving fish probably HAVE gotten over the trauma by now, but how about the five or six hours they had to spend swimming around with one of their brethren who'd gone belly up? I mean, think of the whole thing from the viewpoint of a goldfish in an enclosed tank with a three-second memory:


Hey, this is cool. The tank is full, the water is clean, and what's this? Looks like some gravel down here. Wonder what's in it? Hey, check it out. That looks like food. Maybe I'll give it a taste and see
if it's good. Hmmm, not bad, kinda tastes like.... hey what's that over there?

HOLY SHIT IT'S A DEAD GUY! HEY, SOMEBODY GET OVER HERE AND GET THIS GUY OUT OF HERE, WILLYA? JESUS CHRIST, THIS IS AN AQUARIUM, NOT A....

...clue as to what that thing in the corner is.

Hey, check it out! A little deep-sea diver with bubbles coming out of him. Pretty cute. I wonder if he's food? Guess I could taste him, if I can get around this... THIS DEAD GUY! HOLY SHIT, THERE'S A DEAD GUY IN HERE! HEY, YOU WITH THE NET! WHEN YOU GET A MINUTE, YOU WANNA SEE IF YOU CAN HAUL THIS ROTTING CORPSE OUT OF MY LIVING SPACE?

I MEAN, WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF ONE OF YOUR BUDDIES DIED IN YOUR LA-Z-BOY, JUST LEAVE THE FUCKER SITTING THERE? HAVE A HEART, YOU IGNORANT BASTARD! WE GOTTA....

...look around at the bottom of the tank here, see if we can find something to eat. Hey, that looks like food over there. Or maybe it's poop. But I guess I can taste it and find out. If I can get around this stupid bubbling deep-sea diver. I wonder what people are thinking when they buy ridiculous toys like that? Maybe they think we get bored swimming around all day with nothing to look at but gravel and...

*A DEAD GUY! HOLY SHIT, THERE'S A FUCKING DEAD GUY IN HERE! AND I ALMOST TOUCHED HIM! CHRIST, IT MAKES ME WANT TO TAKE A SHOWER OR WASH MY HANDS OR SOMETHING, BUT I JUST REALIZED I'M A FISH IN A TANK FULL OF WATER AND SOMEDAY THAT COULD BE ME FLOATING AROUND LIKE A BAG OF GARBAGE!

OH WHY DO I ALWAYS HAVE TO SEE SOMETHING LIKE THAT JUST WHEN I'M STARTING TO FEEL GOOD ABOUT MYSELF? IS LIFE REALLY THAT FLEETING AND MEANINGLESS, OR ARE WE ALL INTEGRAL PARTS OF THE RICH TAPESTRY OF LIFE THAT CYCLES ENDLESSLY THROUGH TIME, WITH EACH GENERATION MAKING IT'S OWN CONTRIBUTION TO...

...poop? That sure LOOKS like a piece a poop down there, but it might be food. I suppose I could taste it and find out...

But I really DID stop and wonder how many times the other fish were freshly traumatized, if they kept forgetting the original trauma every three seconds? Fifty times? A hundred? Spooky.

On the other hand, I remind myself that the surviving guys had also started eating on Slappy by the time I hauled him out of there, and if the three-second rule DOES apply, it means that by now they've forgotten about fact that they're cannibals. So I guess it balances out. ~~ end quote

Skonk died of lung cancer about three years ago. I cried for days. Heck to see how upset I was? You'd think I really knew him or something. I didn't. But I miss him and his hilarity more than I can say."

And Elodie's next post was:

"I wrote this after Skonk died. Skonk also used the pen name John Pelligrino: Fin

Slappy McPoop peered through the tank at the door.

"It'll open any minute now. You'll see," he said. He watched the doorknob, willing it to turn with his mind, believing that any minute now it would, indeed, turn.

"You've been saying that for a long time, now, sucker," said Dood. He should've been here ages ago. I'm telling you, He's not coming. He's forgotten us."

"Quit calling me that," said Slappy. I'm a goldfish, not a suckerfish."

"For a goldfish, you're the blackest, fattest bastard I've ever seen," said Dood. Dood always seemed to attack whenever he was hungry.

"Besides," said Slappy, "He'll be here. Pelligrino always comes. You've just got to have faith."

"So where is He? Doesn't He know we're waiting? Doesn't He know we're hungry?"

"Now, see? That's your problem right there," said Slappy. "Oh, ye of little faith. Of course He knows! Pelligrino knows. He knows everything! Sees everything! Provides everything. Pelligrino is Father of Waters. He is everywhere. And if He's not here yet, it's because He sees your doubt."

The filter hummed its humming noise and little bubbles rose from the treasure chest in the bottom of the tank.

"Dood, He's testing you. And the fact that He isn't here yet is because you don't believe."

Slappy swam in little circles along the surface of the water with a smug expression on his big bulging eyes. "Just look at yourself, Dood. Look around you. You've got this big cushy tank with a Visi-Therm deluxe heater, Whisper Clean Power Filter, Perfecto full aquarium hood with fluorescent light, fuscia-colored gravel with SeaChem substrates, all this lovely plastic seaweed and your own personal grotto to hide out in when you're feeling blue. We've even got that little treasure chest with the scuba diver you like so much."

He continued. "You think all this makes you something special? You with your longer-than-three-second memory. You with your keen fish's intellect, your bubbly personality. It's not what you've got that makes you special, Dood," said Slappy. "Faith in Pelligrino. It's faith that separates us from the school. It's faith that sets us apart from the sea monkeys. It's..."

"But I'm hungry," whined Dood. "I want something to eat. And my left fin is driving me crazy. It itches like a sonofabitch. Hey. Take a look. Do you see anything?"

Slappy eyed Dood's fin. "Ick!"

"Hey, man. No reason to poke fun. This is serious."

"No, you bubblehead. That's what you've got. Ick. It's a condition."

"A condition?" Dood's heart skipped a beat. "You mean like a disease?"

"Yeah. Remember when Kerplunk went belly up in the tank that time? Pelligrino got the net and Kerplunk went in seine?"

"Yeah. I do remember that."

"It was ick. Remember how his fins got all spotted?"

"Oh, God," said Dood. He began to hyperventilate, his gills opening and closing much too fast.

"You've got spots, just like Kerplunk," he said. "Pelligrino took him and put him in the throne to sit under Him. Someday we all go in seine. Sooner or later, you go. I go. And if you've been a good fish, Pelligrino takes you to the throne to sit underneath Him, too. If not? It's the In-Sinkerator. So if you know what's good for you, you'll stop with all this negativity. You are one sick guppy."

"Don't call me a guppy, you sucker."

"You don't see me with spots on MY fins. Think about THAT for awhile...Guppy."

"Sucker."

"Blowfish."

A fat, salty tear started down Slappy McPoop's face.

Dood sighed. "This isn't right, man. I'm sorry. Just because Pelligrino hasn't come yet is no reason to go on a feeding frenzy with your best friend. I mean, all we've got is each other. We should love each other. You know? Just because."

Slappy sniffed and smiled sadly.

"Each other and Pelligrino," Slappy added, smiling beatifically.

Dood peered through the glass darkly. It seemed as though the algae had been building up for awhile. He couldn't make out the door quite as well as before. He beat mightily on the glass. "Oh, why? Why?"

"Ours is not to ask the reason," said Slappy. It is not for us to understand His ways. Everything happens for a reason. If I were you, I'd get busy and pray."

Then turning his eyes doorward, Slappy bubbled forth: "Oh, mighty Pelligrino, harbinger of all good things, scraper of algae, bringer of brine, forgive us, miserable servants of the deep. Bathe us in forgiveness and wash us of our sins that we may better serve You in Your Infinite Wisdom and Mercy. Amen."

Dood just watched. Then turning, he swam into the grotto where he could be alone and try to forget the hunger gnawing at his belly and the itching in his armpit.

Meanwhile Slappy swam back and forth, back and forth in the tank looking at the door. Watching. Waiting. Swimming.

"Pelligrino? Where are you, man? Skonk?"

~~ Fin Fin"

Hope you enjoy that as much as I did! LMAO

PEACE!

English... The language we never think about!

It is said that English is the most difficult language to learn. As Americans who speak English, we rarely think about that. For a couple of years, I was a sign language interpreter in ASL and I HAD to think about it.

ASL is a language based on the concept or intent of what we are trying to express. For example: "I like you" is signed as "you me like". "You are like no other" becomes "you other person same not". Two different signs are used for, what in English is, the same word. So let's look at some other words that can be confusing...

Are and our: You are nice. are= to be verb. ASL doesn't use the "be" verbs, so it's simply "you nice"

This is our home. our=possessive. "House this (or that) ours"

They're, there, and their: they're is the conjunction of "they are", again the "to be" verb. "They're funny = "they funny". There=location. "My house is over there" = "house my there".

Their = possessive. "This is their dog" = "dog (point at it) theirs"

You're and your: again, you're is the conjunction of "you are", so I won't be repetitive! LOL and "your" is possessive.

Light and light??? Whoa! Light colors (not dark), daylight, turn on the light, this is light and not heavy, lighten up???

Now, think about all of the words we have that sound the same, but are spelled differently and have completely different meanings. OMG! Talk about something that confuses people! LOL Read and red? Lie and lye??? Seen and scene??? I could go on and on, but my head is already reeling from the impact.

English is an incredible language. I love it. There seems to be a perfect word for just about anything a person can imagine if we just look hard enough. I'm not talking about those 20 syllable words, either. Just a simple word like "cherish"... Isn't that a beautiful word? It's beyond like, beyond love. It contains respect and a sense of forever. Cherish. Wow...

I could go on and on, but I won't bore you with my ramblings. Just take a moment and THINK about what you're saying. Think about what you MEAN. Could it be said better, more concisely? It's a thing to consider while our world is becoming ever smaller thanks to the internet.

Let's all broaden our concepts of language together!

PEACE! *grin*

Happy Valentine's Day!

There's just something to be said about a holiday that celebrates love! I am seriously infatuated with Valentine's Day.

I'm not talking about the commercial aspects, although I'd never turn down flowers or really good chocolate! LOL But I'd turn down diamonds... You can keep them, thanks. In fact, I don't even need a gift, just a thoughtfully chosen card and the smiles and the love and... and... and...

I don't know what it is, but every year on this date, I walk around with a grin on my face. Nothing special happened this year, most years nothing does. And other people don't behave any differently towards me, either. However, I feel a contentment that for this 24 hours everything is all right. Weird, huh?

This morning, I had to go to the post office. When it was my turn at the window (why do they call it a window when there's no glass?) and the woman greeted me, I smiled and said "Happy Valentine's Day". She stopped and stuttered for a couple of beats, then she beamed "Happy Valentine's Day to you, too". That was nice... With three simple words, both of us had a few seconds of happiness that set the tone for the day. Didn't cost a dime. I say that rates pretty high on the cool meter!

It's one of those holidays that isn't mandatory... another notch in coolness... and it doesn't matter who you celebrate it with should you choose to observe the date. You can be festive with your lover or your kids, your teacher or the family dog... Hell, you can celebrate it with your computer! You can be extravagant or frugal or give no gift at all.

When my kids were young, it was all about that paper bag I sent to school with them for lunch. Everything in it was pink or red or heart-shaped. Along with the special edibles, there were always little fun things... pencils and stencils, stickers and pictures, and maybe a toy or two. Fun stuff. Fun days.

I went to the store this morning and saw a manic panic in those around me. Crazy. Bouquets were going out the door by the truckload and the stuffed animals were overwhelming their human captors. People were definitely grumpy. They buy into the commercialism and forget the holiday itself.

Give yourself a break guys... Find a nice card and a bag of dark chocolate M&Ms and just tell those people who are important to your life that you love them. Such an easy way to spend a day.

And don't forget that smile!

Happy Valentine's Day, y'all!

They Really Should Require a Special License for That!

Yea... Y'all know what I'm talking about. How many times have you ventured out of your house or seen something in the news and ask yourself "Why in the HELL doesn't someone do something about...". It's really scary what people are getting away with outside of our personal environments.

I mean, evolution is supposed to be about survival of the fittest, right? Shouldn't that translate into the most mentally, physically, and emotionally capable? What's wrong with this picture??? Dayum...

Okay, you're driving along in your car... It isn't even rush (haha) hour. Raise your hand if you've seen that idiot who can't stay in his own lane. How about that car moving at light speed, weaving in and out of traffic? Or the "blue hair and knuckle" driver that's creeping along? What about those morons who don't seem to understand the words "yield" or "merge"? I say that there ought to be a special license that designates if a person can go anywhere NEAR the interstate, highway, or even a main thoroughfare. What do you think?

How about shopping? You go into your local Wal-Mart (yea, that's still our only choice) and you see all of these registers in a neat little row. They even have these cool self check-out stations. Why are most of them always closed? I mean, what is the point of having all of those cashier points if they aren't going to be employed? And, hello? Do some people not understand what "20 items or less" means? Can't they count that high? Maybe there needs to be a training seminar that individuals have to pass before they're allowed to buy their weekly groceries.

Dining out... Most Fridays, I treat myself to lunch out somewhere. Usually at Chili's, since I know a lot of people who work there. It's nice to go into a place and have a relaxing hour or so with people stopping by to chat for a moment or two. BUT!!! I can't tell you how many times I've walked into a restaurant and eventually had to endure the huge group of people that have obviously had too much to drink (thus becoming loud and obnoxious) or the family whose children should be bound and gagged (again, loud and obnoxious). I've seen too much of the "thrifty tipper"... Don't people get that servers make LESS than minimum wage? And then there's the total sleeze that walks out without paying for his meal. Yup, I've actually seen that happen... more than once! So, I propose a "Diner's Priviledge Card". In order to obtain one, an individual must go through a rigorous training marathon that teaches him or her exactly what behavior is acceptable/expected in public eateries. It'd make MY Fridays so much nicer! I'm sure the same can be said for you.

Politicians and company CEOs should have to obtain a special license before they are even considered for the position. This license would be a binding contract. It would state that there be full disclosure of fiscal records and any holdings, personal or business-wise. I don't care if you get a blow job every Tuesday in the executive office. The liaisons I want to know about are those that will influence decisions you make affecting policies. I want to know that your finances are sound. And, every time you make a claim in the presence of two or more other people, you WILL be responsible for making certain that claim is followed through. If you say wages will be raised without loss of jobs, by damn that IS what will happen. Get my point?

Moving up a bit on the richter scale... the family pet. I don't care if its a $5000 pure-bred horse or a carnival goldfish named Bob. People should absolutely be required to have some sort of license or permit that proves they are capable of caring for an animal. This license should be very specific as to what type of animal as well. You want that fancy puppy in the pet store window? What do you know about it? Do you have any idea how big it will get? What kind of environment it was raised to endure? What about its temperament? Is it good with children or other animals? Or is it better off in a one puppy household? This license would require that the holder knows all about types of feed and feeding schedules and illnesses linked with that species. It would state that there is already a vet on hand (like having to prove one has car insurance before completing a purchase on a new car). If at any time, the vet can document that the animal hasn't been properly cared for, the animal would be taken from the home. Never ever should just anyone be allowed to "own" an animal.

Now, here's the biggie. Children. You killed Bob in less than a week and you want to have kids??? OMG Stop right there! There are far too many people in this world who shouldn't have the right to raise a gerbil much less a child. In fact, perhaps it should first be proven that a person CAN raise a pet before going on to sire progeny. If you're too busy to clean Stuart's cage, when do you think you'll have time to change a diaper? If you can't afford a decent feed, how can you pay for formula or baby food? And if you don't have 20 minutes to throw the ball for Rover, where will you find time to help Junior with his homework? Kids are a job! They are a 24/7 bundle of need, not just a pretty picture in your wallet or that award hanging on your wall.

So, these are a few of my pet peeves. It's a rather utopian concept that I dream of wherein these examples of humanity should have restrictions... and it's just the few that have popped into my mind during these early morning hours. I'm sure that y'all have your own that you could add to the list... Special Licenses... Yea, that would be really really nice! LOL

Painting Resurrected

People always ask when did I start painting. I don't understand what bearing that has on anything, but the fact is that I didn't begin learning how to paint until I was about 36 or 37 years old... and I really didn't learn a hell of a lot then since my painting (and drawing and design and pottery) teacher was in actuality a sculptor. ::sigh::



I began life as a 3D artist. The world of pottery and sculpture were my purview and I never looked beyond that... Something about beating the crap out of an object and creating a piece of relative beauty, well, that really floats my boat. Ya know? LOL However, when I went back to once more pursue my degree in the fall of '92, I had already developed some problems in my right shoulder and in my back, beating things was no longer an option... It was now relegated to my fantasies as I suppose it should be. So, I had to find another outlet and that was painting.


And, let me tell you, that first year? I produced nothing but crap! I thought I had to be "intellectual" and "deep-thinking" and all of those other attributes that critics assign to art work. Nonsense! One day, when I was "in a mood", I had a quite pleasant bonfire of my earlier work. Somehow I missed just one, so I still have my very first painting... And it's pretty bad! LOL



I was lucky, though. The following summer I discovered a dream world... WORKSHOPS! Wow... What a rush! It isn't that all of the ones that I went to were the stuff of artistic fantasies, but I was (for the first time) LEARNING things and that was awesome.

Also, at the end of that first school year, I was solicited to attend a local university that was trying to repopulate its art department and given a full scholarship. Good things were beginning to happen.







Nope, not so much... Well... It wasn't ALL negative. I had an awesome design teacher as well as full access to the sculpture and pottery classes. My painting teacher and I? We kind of butted heads on a daily basis. I wasn't one of his groupies and he didn't take kindly to that fact. Also, my son's health became an issue and I had to leave school.



Back to workshops! That following summer, I attended a 3 day portrait seminar and discovered a self-taught artist. I then "studied" under him for the next year. He wasn't very good in the design department, but OMG his technical skills were incredible! I learned more that year than at any other time before or since.


The years have passed and there have been times I've not painted and other in which I've done nothing BUT paint. I'm one of those people who have to be in my "happy place" in order to create. I can't feed on the depression and angst of the world like others in the field. I want to bring peace and beauty. We need more of that, don't you think?















So, here are a few of my pieces in a somewhat chronological order.

Hope you enjoy them!

A Story of Epilepsy

The following story is true. This is one of those "the names have been changed", etc.

"On March 20, 1983, my son was seven years old. He was home from school, sick with a bit of flu... nothing serious, just a low-grade fever and some intestinal problems. At any rate, he was lying on the window seat in his room while a friend of mine and I were in there, straightening up and keeping him company. All of a sudden, he was glassy-eyed, turning blue, and shaking violently. What the hell was happening? Had my son choked? Was he dying? I screamed at my friend to run get my husband from next door. Within moments, he was there and uttered those first damning words, "he's having a seizure".

A seizure. With those two words, our lives had changed irrevocably.

You have to understand, I had never in my life witnessed a seizure. Knew nothing about them. I can look back now and say "this is what happened" or "that was wrong", but I was ignorant and helpless at the time.

The next four days and nights were events from some twisted nightmare.

My son (we'll call him "Michael"), my 7 year old little boy was immediately admitted to the hospital. The room into which he was placed had a tape-wrapped tongue depressor attached to the wall beside the bed. I have no clue why that horrified me so much that the memory stands out to this day, but it did.

My husband and I got about five hours of sleep each throughout that time. We had to constantly watch Michael so that we could alert the nurses whenever a seizure occurred. And they happened. Oh, God, did they happen!

They'll tell you that during a seizure, the patient is not cognizant of what's occurring. Not in this case. Michael was fully aware during each and every one. His seizures were usually violent, what they called at the time "grand mal". And he would scream "Mommmmmmy!"... I'd climb behind him in the bed and try to support him, keep him from harming himself on the rails of the bed.

A typical seizure will last just a few minutes. Not Michael's. His would begin "gently", then progress to the violent "grand mal" that most people associated with epilepsy. One particular seizure was going into 45 minutes before serious action was considered... An injection of Valium.

The nurses couldn't get a hep-lock in due to the spasms, so they ended up shooting the Valium straight into his vein. I'm told that it's like liquid fire. All I know is that his screams pierced my heart. Later I would ask myself "why didn't they simply insert one upon admittance". Hindsight is 20/20.

And so those four days passed... Either my husband or myself drowsing on the uncomfortable little sofa while the other was beside Michael's bed. Neither of us slept much, too frightened to consider it.

During that time, he had an average of probably 3 seizures a day and was put through the typical gamut of tests. It was finally decided that he did, indeed, have epilepsy. It was the neurologist's opinion that Michael had had an encephalitis-type virus and that the seizures would shortly disappear. He prescribed Dilantin for him and we all went home.

You know how when you're really tired, you experience those annoying jerks? They're called hypnic jerks and are a type of myoclonus. It seems that the more tired you are, the worse they are... neatly keeping you from the rest you so desire. That's what it was like for us when we all finally reached our beds. A few days of rest and we were okay in that respect. Now, our lives had simply adopted a new surreal aspect. Simple? Not really.

With the use of AEDs (anti-epilepsy drugs), there comes a new term called a "level". It determines how much of the drug is in the body's system at any given time. "Trough levels" are usually the go-by. It's a blood level drawn and measured during the period of time just before a dose and defines the lowest level of the drug present.

The liquid Dilantin that Michael was prescribed was difficult to keep properly maintained. We gave him his doses religously at 6am and 6pm. Hell, we even set an alarm to make certain they were never a second late, much less missed.

After many adjustments, we finally DID maintain a proper level and, after some time had passed (I doubt if it was a year), our GP told us to simply stop giving him the Dilantin... which caused Michael to seize. We put him back on it. Sometime later, again the GP told us to stop the Dilantin and, again, a seizure.

It occurred to my husband, a pharmacist, that something was wrong with this protocol and researched it (we had never before thought to question a physician's orders). Should a person without a seizure disorder take an AED for a certain period of time, then suddenly stop, they'll have an episode. It's just the nature of the beast. So, when Michael was nine years old, we slowly eased him off of the medication and everything was fine. The seizures seemed to have stopped and life returned to what it should be.

During Michael's sophomore year in high school, he was sick a lot... complaining about his stomach and "feeling funny". He missed so much school that he was place on home bound... That's when the parent has to come to the school each day for the student's assignments and he has to go to school only for his tests. He had an upper and lower GI done, but all they could find was a potential duodenal ulcer.

Then, one day when we had gone to the grocery store, he was helping me load the bags into the car and he suddenly froze. I called his name and he answered in some sort of nonsense language. I said his name again with the same result. Finally after a few seconds that seemed to last forever, he was back to earth and tired.

In October of 1991, I took him to a different neurologist than the one we had used years ago and she told me that what I described to her was a complex partial seizure. She prescribed Dilantin again and, again, we had difficulties maintaining a level. It was changed to Tegretol. The dosage had to be raised several times, but control was finally attained...

Until October of the following year when Michael had a tonic clonic (grand mal) seizure at school. That was the year that we all began our visit to hell. The months following that seizure were a time of constantly changing dosages with only temporary results. His doctor changed him to Depakote. Before it was realized that he wasn't going to achieve any control with it, he was taking the medication SIX times a day.

Looking back, I think that Michael's seizures probably never stopped when he was a child. In fact, I think that the first seizure we witnessed may not have, in fact, been his first. That maybe they were something that we didn't recognize as one. There was no literature out there for people outside of the medical community, so we didn't know that epileptic seizures were anything other than the grand mal people acquaint with the disorder.

Michael had been complaining for a year of "feeling funny" at times, but we all blamed it on his allergies (he's allergic to almost everything that lives, breathes, or grows). I now know that he was having seizures at these times... In other words, on a daily basis.

In March of 1993, I finally called the Epilepsy Foundation. I was hysterical. Michael seized almost every day, had gained A LOT of weight from the Depakote, and was severely depressed. We were exhausted and held little hope... We were at the end of our figurative ropes. The Foundation listened and gave us the name of two neurologists who specialized in epilepsy, "epileptologists", at two different hospitals, both within 150 miles of us. We chose one and were immediately granted an appointment. The doctor there has been a part of our lives ever since. In fact, I'd feel honored to call him "friend".

Doc changed the rates of the Depakote and had the seizures controlled right off the bat, but Michael continued to gain weight and developed tremors from the med, so it had to be changed. We went back to the Tegretol, but it eventually failed again. It was on to Neurontin, which made Michael sick. Felbatol was fantastic because it didn't slow Michael like the others, but the possibility of aplastic anemia wasn't an option... One last stab at Tegretol and it was back to Dilantin. Lamictal was added not too long afterward.

When we first met with Doc, he had spoken of the "new" surgeries being performed for epilepsy and that was a conversation that Michael kept with him always. He continually asked to be considered for it, but his father and I weren't ready for such a drastic step. April 8, 1995 changed that for us all.

We had all been asleep for some time when I awoke to a strange sound. My immediate thought was that one of the kids had left the tv on. I started to drift back to sleep, but something urged me to get up and check it out. It was 12:30 am.

I followed the sound into the living room and was jolted into action. Michael was lying on his back on the sofa having a seizure. He was spasming so hard that his body was jack-knifing off of the sofa at least a foot. He was cyanotic and, when I put my hands on him, he was icy cold. I tried and tried to pull him over on his side, ripping the loops off of his blue jeans, all the while screaming for my husband. Finally, we succeeded in rolling him to his side and fluids poured from his nose and mouth. He was still seizing 30 minutes later before I thought to call 911.

Several minutes passed and he became post-ictal (that's the stage following a seizure that can be quite similar to a mean drunk... at the very least, it's a time of disorientation and confusion) or perhaps the episode has morphed into a complex partial... I don't know. He was stumbling around with our support and touching things, his actions sometimes violent.

Another 25-30 passed and I called 911 again... seems they were having difficulties finding us. By the time the ambulance finally DID arrive, Michael was okay. He was just very very tired and had a severe headache. We sent them away.

That was the first of many, thus defining this new phase of Michael's seizures as "status epilepticus", seizures that don't stop. However, that first eerie episode made us know that our son was right, life couldn't go on like this. It was time for the surgery.

In August of that year, Michael was admitted to the hospital for a telemetry EEG. All went well and his seizures were identified as originating in the right temporal lobe. In October, the Wada Test results were definitive. His surgery, only the 4th to be performed in our state, was scheduled for December 11th and all of the doctors were quite positive about what the outcome would be. As I watched them roll my son down the hall, I didn't know if he would survive the surgery or if he would perhaps be somehow different from the young man I had raised and loved. But I knew without a doubt that whatever happened, it was the only choice we COULD make.

That surgery was 12 years ago now. Has he had any seizures since then? A few, but there was always a reason that his threshold had dropped.

ANY person can have a seizure under the right circumstances. One's susceptibility is called a "threshold". If a person is ill or injured or stressed unduly, that threshold can drop. An individual with epilepsy? You can pretty much bet that a seizure will occur when it happens.

The good new is that, so far, these episodes are few and far between... as much as two years have passed without one. The bad news is that they happen at all."

It is SO hard to live your life waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's like a constant knot in the pit of the stomach. And it doesn't affect just the person that has epilepsy... It affects the family and friends, work, school, and any social settings.

We need to educate people about it... take it out of the closet and put it on the table. So, let's do just that, people. It's time.

New Year's Resolutions...

Damn, we make it tough on ourselves, don't we? "I'm going to lose 500 lbs." "I'm going from couch potato to competing in triathlons." "I'm gonna quit a five pack a day habit in 2 days." "Yea, well, I'll get my GED, then my PhD." Gees...

Come on, people! Except for those few notable people (whom I secretly loathe) with EXTREME discipline, most of us are setting ourselves up for failure. And that's not a good way to start the new year. Believe me, I've been among the sinners with an alarming regularity myself, so here's my thoughts on the subject...

Let's plant a seed and leave a little room for improvement. Kind of like when you first start working out at a gym. You don't walk out of there ready to compete in Mr./Ms. Universe, ya know?

My theme (following the Buddhist state of being) this year is "moderation". My first task will be the easiest...

1. EVERY morning without fail, I promise to make the bed as soon as my spouse (yes, he still lives and breathes after the dye incident) arises. I usually wake at sunrise for some ungodly reason.

2. I will work on this blog every day. This doesn't mean POST every day, so you can release that scream of frustration you're holding! Some of my posts have taken days to write, either due to lack of concentration, constant distractions (oooo shiny!), or tough subjects that I want to get just right.

3. I will do at least 1/2 of my PT exercises every day. I realize that doesn't seem like much, but if I did all of them, we're talking about 2 hours of my day and I simply don't have that sort of focus.

4. I will cut down on my inhalation therapy. Yes, I'm a smoker. Don't bother writing me about the insanity of the habit. It's MY habit and I'll keep it, thank you. You really wouldn't want me writing this from prison after I killed everyone who irritated me, now, would you?

5. I'll work on the whole "I'm sad so if I buy this thing I've wanted then I'll feel better" mindset. Yes, I'm also a Pier 1 and book addict.

6. I will either a) lose 5 lbs. or b) drop a clothes size. That'll be a tough one since my body seems to have it's own ideas on how much I should weigh.

7. I will continue my campaigns from last year... Random acts of kindness, getting others on the recycling bus, and trying to convince my family of the benefits of healthier eating.

Baby steps, all. I realize that. But attainable, don't you think? I believe that the whole idea of resolutions should be that we become better people. If we're better, then we can help make our little corner of the universe just the teeniest bit nicer. A good thing all in all!

So, what is on YOUR agenda?

HAPPY NEW YEAR to you... May it be the brightest and best of all!

You Have to Laugh...

Just a few days ago, I was having a much-due little angst party about the vagaries of aging. Once I finished posting it, I looked in the mirror, got a pair of scissors and whacked my hair off short.

I then proceeded to Wally-world and the box of dye my almost-departed spouse has been urging me to get. Honey blonde. Nice, neutral, livable. Came home and applied it...

There must be one HELL of a jokester at the Clairol factory, because that's the only explanation that fits. When a person has a combination of white and grey hair and dyes it blonde, how in the hell does it come out RED??? I'm talking copper penny here, boys and girls! Okay. Deep breaths. I can live with it for a little while, right?

Do you know why my beloved spouse is almost-departed??? He's the one who wanted to me color my hair, right? I was perfectly happy with, at least, that part of my hair... When it was done, I asked his opinion (always a big mistake for any woman). You know what that slug SAID??? "It's weird." Thank you very much, honey. I love you, too.

Then not long after, someone I respect said that there was a possibility that a daily intake of Biotin and distilled fish oil might help...

Ya gotta laugh... or scream... personally, I'm all for screaming today... You??? LOL