tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77325466659132749722024-03-05T06:54:31.479-07:00A Life with a Viewglimpses--sideways, backwards, from the inside, outSanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.comBlogger126125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-21697298905098857542011-05-25T06:20:00.002-06:002011-05-25T14:17:12.462-06:00Travel Tips for a New College Graduate II<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1. Opportunity will arrive at the most surprising times. When it does, run with it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLrbQTsZZ3pAeJ8u3I7fTTPWTs0Da9_YEyORW_Wr8thf3Vcpr2BeKfz7lRBLwH0-nV7AcsxWJnn2Rm93vEgUT6nvPYGd_pLqbl_NPrvB1EICcXC3yIYYzG60M7c5-xhbSPYUCCEBLJn3c/s1600/award.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLrbQTsZZ3pAeJ8u3I7fTTPWTs0Da9_YEyORW_Wr8thf3Vcpr2BeKfz7lRBLwH0-nV7AcsxWJnn2Rm93vEgUT6nvPYGd_pLqbl_NPrvB1EICcXC3yIYYzG60M7c5-xhbSPYUCCEBLJn3c/s320/award.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> 2. When opportunity eludes you, put yourself out on the edge. Take a chance.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkMHB5uKQ2d-tp5XC_mu0aSkpzuGvsop6q-GBmkt5LG1wLikwa9kQ_FTMVUrNnuN9d_9TuZ8zyvEiEbLPwE7aaWSqKslRSvB5q4MjSFOY4tx3xtoqwyZDHCBIx0wQSR6ZnGBOt91F8XZM/s1600/edge2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkMHB5uKQ2d-tp5XC_mu0aSkpzuGvsop6q-GBmkt5LG1wLikwa9kQ_FTMVUrNnuN9d_9TuZ8zyvEiEbLPwE7aaWSqKslRSvB5q4MjSFOY4tx3xtoqwyZDHCBIx0wQSR6ZnGBOt91F8XZM/s320/edge2.jpg" width="156" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3. It's at the edge where dreams come into reality, assisted by a secret formula of your own devising. It involves just the right ratio of imagination to persistence, and shoveling lots of dirt.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijEUNtXZaqhgW-MU0FmaVe-18LiOW6awO7bbGSyE9ncLgpMvLVWCv_aTuYUM9AIVGDJNV4MJo_W8gYta5gFyjZ5_JRu-mX9JbVH9xq3P3lt6jkQa7GdRLqN6-gOf-Kmmr5mIXaZ3UrdJ0/s1600/castle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijEUNtXZaqhgW-MU0FmaVe-18LiOW6awO7bbGSyE9ncLgpMvLVWCv_aTuYUM9AIVGDJNV4MJo_W8gYta5gFyjZ5_JRu-mX9JbVH9xq3P3lt6jkQa7GdRLqN6-gOf-Kmmr5mIXaZ3UrdJ0/s320/castle.jpg" width="267" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">4. Never become too comfortable with your own success. Watch your back.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi4QtingDeO2fWrye6qGUhiLpx2WAC3_1SAd31PMVdtEdSVzNoK2Mn9Zv_kcOc1XJZA19BDpAobubqqd6ALld9tpm5Ss36gQFe5GXhc5bxrs9jJqKR5dFGNFpofR58AjzI6k3Slaxeia0/s1600/back.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi4QtingDeO2fWrye6qGUhiLpx2WAC3_1SAd31PMVdtEdSVzNoK2Mn9Zv_kcOc1XJZA19BDpAobubqqd6ALld9tpm5Ss36gQFe5GXhc5bxrs9jJqKR5dFGNFpofR58AjzI6k3Slaxeia0/s320/back.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">5. Don't be afraid to ask for help, but remember too many cooks spoil the soup...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAfAmkcP0jBjOYBlWZqfwVUHp3c_h4ymqYNwu5OC4RXb7ehaMIJlEWjTEVwUGl52fAtecuwj2_GTqvTkxRq3HSbRK-L1LshQXmKvjaaBLfg_fVBiaKnkOmo8F1OigTfcFaPqUMGVn_0Tc/s1600/cooks.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAfAmkcP0jBjOYBlWZqfwVUHp3c_h4ymqYNwu5OC4RXb7ehaMIJlEWjTEVwUGl52fAtecuwj2_GTqvTkxRq3HSbRK-L1LshQXmKvjaaBLfg_fVBiaKnkOmo8F1OigTfcFaPqUMGVn_0Tc/s320/cooks.jpg" width="308" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">...and that's why God created sushi.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiatPyMjKX0ZwfHuyO-jX3eA7NQtd85AN7DVTdaaIM2I3JFxLRsXZFW9PnYWTGIZjByDedppV1rGeT_Lx2WJSzr6QXN_BjAPJYwj1qkN-1etO4XOwedVjJxwy6YW0M_7CuVtdzkLr8_Pw/s1600/sushi.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiatPyMjKX0ZwfHuyO-jX3eA7NQtd85AN7DVTdaaIM2I3JFxLRsXZFW9PnYWTGIZjByDedppV1rGeT_Lx2WJSzr6QXN_BjAPJYwj1qkN-1etO4XOwedVjJxwy6YW0M_7CuVtdzkLr8_Pw/s320/sushi.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Even so, the humblest meal, shared in good company, makes for a feast.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLbsLLhc8RJnUuE-zSbWnSVUpluCdqyyv1pMj_rBrXrU0c9w9er0Cv2ckXP5dnFc1yNHfuuxq84R5yvS_rECDPewlnysWzjGiS-q11e1Xm2szgyUqw2Ap3jsRCCTzvmg8uwJXPSZW9SLI/s1600/lunch.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLbsLLhc8RJnUuE-zSbWnSVUpluCdqyyv1pMj_rBrXrU0c9w9er0Cv2ckXP5dnFc1yNHfuuxq84R5yvS_rECDPewlnysWzjGiS-q11e1Xm2szgyUqw2Ap3jsRCCTzvmg8uwJXPSZW9SLI/s320/lunch.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="262" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">6. Imbibe with moderation.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFO8_Q_UMY9cIPC6SNAaukqE0Eb2Bzq4Krw1DptXT2Zt_0d5kgEg3Ov9fiHYzca6-RgRQxw5cFMGtsusErvDfjtU1pxzbCeEPr5o1p9B4lCoLSASJ_4gGEdNS6nXrRqy4v71_IaRY2qS8/s1600/imbibe.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFO8_Q_UMY9cIPC6SNAaukqE0Eb2Bzq4Krw1DptXT2Zt_0d5kgEg3Ov9fiHYzca6-RgRQxw5cFMGtsusErvDfjtU1pxzbCeEPr5o1p9B4lCoLSASJ_4gGEdNS6nXrRqy4v71_IaRY2qS8/s320/imbibe.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii1UbMhsUrqmb58Pd84EWj-3s3zn2NwIgKayC0L1toM6tDhbBmdtamSAyDxhRfVSTJBoVtOiY4OD4x9di_pqt1fbWD3i-76PbDHWbnyAy8eh2yAqsVX6ClQWeZ36HsMLIRCUIic7YHgg0/s1600/aftermath.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">7. Carry on the family traditions...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisaW_pO5JPD3Qe6xUmHuTj_dq95WG2_rhNw0Eg55ylhOi4LRNSeiW90aHcn-MaCFT442RGUCDClmpLh4yg64at-SChk0EJU_ZAXd_zOj0nVpVpz7YdtCJDNfVzc1qV-btgzPfGSoYC3QM/s1600/generations.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisaW_pO5JPD3Qe6xUmHuTj_dq95WG2_rhNw0Eg55ylhOi4LRNSeiW90aHcn-MaCFT442RGUCDClmpLh4yg64at-SChk0EJU_ZAXd_zOj0nVpVpz7YdtCJDNfVzc1qV-btgzPfGSoYC3QM/s320/generations.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">...but always remain true to your own unique vision.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6BTIUeQduYUzMifEOG5SsUtPGW7EdqcU0IdGWcepHgjKM_SkwBaMUVQH-FqDu4u6___f7e7VAHvpYoOMGV8bZdfrELHFXU_NcN4UGrUVZAXhVvRMwjLPPiO_OQsWwUOppmRYyn4Rind8/s1600/oakeyes.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6BTIUeQduYUzMifEOG5SsUtPGW7EdqcU0IdGWcepHgjKM_SkwBaMUVQH-FqDu4u6___f7e7VAHvpYoOMGV8bZdfrELHFXU_NcN4UGrUVZAXhVvRMwjLPPiO_OQsWwUOppmRYyn4Rind8/s320/oakeyes.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">8. Time doesn't wait around. It just keeps walking. The journey calls for appropriate footwear.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZ67KGaBagUCkD6zf0qlJhN7qAaqcWJa9pQIEEZBiCcP5h018dgFPHtbfjljYjJsTsLK3ZhNo8oRzN-gpieSD7Gb7sRP3NK0EhDnRpG2jp3kU7BNHUeb1smcrl_3kXNzjVFZ0hWh_dXw/s1600/time.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZ67KGaBagUCkD6zf0qlJhN7qAaqcWJa9pQIEEZBiCcP5h018dgFPHtbfjljYjJsTsLK3ZhNo8oRzN-gpieSD7Gb7sRP3NK0EhDnRpG2jp3kU7BNHUeb1smcrl_3kXNzjVFZ0hWh_dXw/s320/time.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">9. The pot of gold isn't at the end of the rainbow.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqBUt-sivm4BrsXUctZnB2rJYlIz9yJwmdRlP63AjTdgMGYCy-lyIKgcA9vqztvfEEYmxeiKtJYlmmUOdb74OeqRJjT_Xmg4OOAnJLzGuAkGE1VM4xysvv-7yHeYdAyxnzp0JB7Nmwe5w/s1600/rainbow.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqBUt-sivm4BrsXUctZnB2rJYlIz9yJwmdRlP63AjTdgMGYCy-lyIKgcA9vqztvfEEYmxeiKtJYlmmUOdb74OeqRJjT_Xmg4OOAnJLzGuAkGE1VM4xysvv-7yHeYdAyxnzp0JB7Nmwe5w/s320/rainbow.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It's all inside your head. Make the most of it.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkLNC3Ip8U4W_y3i40AzgR7WYhyphenhyphen721T3_ua5GGSYx84LirMYQcV_o_Xk6o1pQKm1BA4rd04C4aC3YQW8n2e68eNKcc81a7ssg-pP_fO1DoZ2gjxHH2G1L9_9d4CL7bGAk5PUx7-cCIwO0/s1600/headbow.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkLNC3Ip8U4W_y3i40AzgR7WYhyphenhyphen721T3_ua5GGSYx84LirMYQcV_o_Xk6o1pQKm1BA4rd04C4aC3YQW8n2e68eNKcc81a7ssg-pP_fO1DoZ2gjxHH2G1L9_9d4CL7bGAk5PUx7-cCIwO0/s320/headbow.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="283" /></a></div><div><br />
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</div><div>10. Maintain your skepticism.</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgneWAWIXioROoLbL-kj9Smyi8Km_e59AGYc8k9Icw_J_lFS8mETakmrYVRYOCc0d-hQom4A1d-mKfBYwCH9O1t84Yl0pG96IR3AP0L_YKaDvxLKsbxyyMB7vFw2VtEGcDILhu8YXYmhVg/s1600/quizzical.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgneWAWIXioROoLbL-kj9Smyi8Km_e59AGYc8k9Icw_J_lFS8mETakmrYVRYOCc0d-hQom4A1d-mKfBYwCH9O1t84Yl0pG96IR3AP0L_YKaDvxLKsbxyyMB7vFw2VtEGcDILhu8YXYmhVg/s320/quizzical.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Don't believe everything you read.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF7SBsLxRq7WvLaUN6KWGsV-X0G9g-mcrbMd7BkI1jL59NvxKKVgtmuhCIAnYg7ECzUVlNydUVJqv-MHzMFovyNmZOiV_4furrWImXdpfaba_aQZr1GTkmK6hNYyPtzgcF3ebPd_Q4jlg/s1600/laugh.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF7SBsLxRq7WvLaUN6KWGsV-X0G9g-mcrbMd7BkI1jL59NvxKKVgtmuhCIAnYg7ECzUVlNydUVJqv-MHzMFovyNmZOiV_4furrWImXdpfaba_aQZr1GTkmK6hNYyPtzgcF3ebPd_Q4jlg/s320/laugh.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="262" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">It's <i>your</i> life story. Write the very best one you can.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-weight: bold;">Oakley Chad Merideth</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000;">Bachelor of Arts in English,The University of New Mexico, May 2011</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"> </span><span style="color: #cc0000;">Summa Cum Laude</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">Bachelor of Arts in psychology, The University of New Mexico, May 2011</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">Cum Laude</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"> </span><span style="color: #cc0000;">National Society of Collegiate Scholars</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"> </span><span style="color: #cc0000;">Dean's List</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Sigma Tau Delta International English Honors Society</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Music Assistant, KUNM</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Academy of American Poets Undergraduate Poetry Prize</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">English Teacher, Daegu, South Korea</span></span></div>Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com59tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-86081568516013258432011-03-11T11:13:00.001-07:002011-03-11T11:13:39.135-07:00The Whole Enchilada<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Bennie and I indulged ourselves in the Ichiban Super Premium Private Hot Bath (actually, <i>Baths</i>--his and hers, in the form of sea-colored, oversize ceramic teacups) at Ten Thousand Waves, a lovely Japanese-style spa just outside Santa Fe. We did this Tuesday evening...</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_M4DXE20dXO0PX_CyxCwRgERnNXzJi5OsjEpS8KtB-9h0AUZFuC17DtO8KDW-nz7M6LxFKB07l7jmYwu_909xmzL_SA5nISwItGFM32eLbtY1nL7LApSVpcga1CkYI1zy2MgkzB0PZ3g/s1600/cfiles58272.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_M4DXE20dXO0PX_CyxCwRgERnNXzJi5OsjEpS8KtB-9h0AUZFuC17DtO8KDW-nz7M6LxFKB07l7jmYwu_909xmzL_SA5nISwItGFM32eLbtY1nL7LApSVpcga1CkYI1zy2MgkzB0PZ3g/s320/cfiles58272.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"> I stretched out in my big ceramic teacup, gazing at the crescent moon, breathing in the mountain air. I felt myself swaying back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, hypnotized by the air, the soothing water, the moon. Life is good, Life is good, Life is good. The alchemy of the cedar-scented sauna transformed the tiniest care into drops of perspiration. We poured water over our heads in the sit-down showers, then returned to the teacups. A nice rhythm was established--from sauna to shower to sweetly swaying bath. And back again. Life is good, life is good, life is good. The occasion was a much-delayed (since January 2nd) anniversary celebration, a gift of our generous children.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Afterwards we drove to a little restaurant in town, famished. The manager, whom we'd never met, walked over to our table and told us he wanted us to have the blue corn chicken enchiladas, on the house. Now this kind of thing just doesn't happen--being offered free food, out of the blue, by a stranger, on a Tuesday night, in downtown Santa Fe. But it did. And the enchiladas were oh-so-satisfying. Bennie said, "I guess this is our lucky night." Yes, that night I fell asleep as my head touched the pillow. I dreamed of being swayed by 10,000 waves, in a sea-colored, oversize ceramic teacup, in the middle of the high desert, under a crescent moon.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Next morning we got the phone call. Daughter Flannery had been accepted into medical school at the University of New Mexico. It's been quite a journey for her, getting to this significant milestone in her career, a balancing act of the highest order...</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjseNvihhG3juiqz3pl6fIjZikZrnNwDZbAQC1ygWi7TcK17-8yxQBDekZpV62bF3YK_d8Q9Bov-60PS3Judr_I8YXZ2s_EgDgBjKG6J8MRyI3-mXKhRbFmbtqvgKthftVMrsWRB0qkvl8/s1600/bridge.com.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjseNvihhG3juiqz3pl6fIjZikZrnNwDZbAQC1ygWi7TcK17-8yxQBDekZpV62bF3YK_d8Q9Bov-60PS3Judr_I8YXZ2s_EgDgBjKG6J8MRyI3-mXKhRbFmbtqvgKthftVMrsWRB0qkvl8/s400/bridge.com.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><div style="color: #38761d; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Flannery in El Salvador, Summer 2010</span><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">At times the wait has been tedious...</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNAclZUbsW6-T_FYEskbujWhvJSsWzEBjDPEPpLt0q4-TdWyRC6yqd6WRc8XVoyUo1hR_s-yW2HcoMY5VihALsglmYs9HcTwglzmZcHASCluxagZh_biEMijoZD-Mu7fZXc8x71W7kOtg/s1600/waiting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNAclZUbsW6-T_FYEskbujWhvJSsWzEBjDPEPpLt0q4-TdWyRC6yqd6WRc8XVoyUo1hR_s-yW2HcoMY5VihALsglmYs9HcTwglzmZcHASCluxagZh_biEMijoZD-Mu7fZXc8x71W7kOtg/s400/waiting.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Flannery with her brother Oakley</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Presidential Scholars Banquet, 2008</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">There have been setbacks and challenges and long distances to travel...</div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN6Q15e5IwXGuU-KAP3MuSdGpzsDx6ZRojxRt6EOXUfdNN0vN6MjKbTi45wjyPpWbxHGnP8tYuSsqCy6QZIOOuEUVdwBA1XMUOpYz0CG1aHBGDTgrRJyeQy-TR_30x7RhTilaYxPrWkmk/s1600/flanrun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN6Q15e5IwXGuU-KAP3MuSdGpzsDx6ZRojxRt6EOXUfdNN0vN6MjKbTi45wjyPpWbxHGnP8tYuSsqCy6QZIOOuEUVdwBA1XMUOpYz0CG1aHBGDTgrRJyeQy-TR_30x7RhTilaYxPrWkmk/s400/flanrun.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;">After her first half-marathon, 2007</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">But Flannery began her training many years ago, in kindergarten. Early on, she was recognized for her strong citizenship...</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2dZU9CvkkuLpkD4aZozbfhQqWW0osi-JTRRkvWJyC_idYSMq53Zob68JobfvYLDs1kVpa62CHFIDe_mH6N5UNCjlu8TqL1vgmbjKQGChApDXchRGwJzpk_Ssq06cLroKdOia3ITxpmBg/s1600/students.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2dZU9CvkkuLpkD4aZozbfhQqWW0osi-JTRRkvWJyC_idYSMq53Zob68JobfvYLDs1kVpa62CHFIDe_mH6N5UNCjlu8TqL1vgmbjKQGChApDXchRGwJzpk_Ssq06cLroKdOia3ITxpmBg/s400/students.jpg" width="265" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Every Friday she came home from school, her arms laden with boxes of Power Popcorn, a reward for her "Positive Power."</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmPrF6aTcC_3z2BYffTWdVZ7XWcP6CGKs_9ydczaBa6g1LCKCKW41FXd7NR34YX2QkF3xDAqbz5vRyXygy6w9eioq4y12SLxmsMKUDoSQevbpqgv9x5ekF1xKPTJJhIlURxquzFho0k3o/s1600/popcorn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmPrF6aTcC_3z2BYffTWdVZ7XWcP6CGKs_9ydczaBa6g1LCKCKW41FXd7NR34YX2QkF3xDAqbz5vRyXygy6w9eioq4y12SLxmsMKUDoSQevbpqgv9x5ekF1xKPTJJhIlURxquzFho0k3o/s400/popcorn.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">With her dad, Golden Gate Park, San Francisco</span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">And she has continued working to make a difference to this day...</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: black;"> </span> </span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpkTENYTctY9GT9iec6hlR_GCVwqp5Q1xaarR1O7eQhomq_tXSpNS73R6eJpIGKsS9U4B2HOLlmk4k_0cs7ejMMlCSSeLalWUiWyo5SCzi-m4fi3QSUoA4BfDxye9G0vd3cqXQK_bMM40/s1600/flanaward.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpkTENYTctY9GT9iec6hlR_GCVwqp5Q1xaarR1O7eQhomq_tXSpNS73R6eJpIGKsS9U4B2HOLlmk4k_0cs7ejMMlCSSeLalWUiWyo5SCzi-m4fi3QSUoA4BfDxye9G0vd3cqXQK_bMM40/s400/flanaward.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">With Alumni Citizenship Award, UNM, 2008</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;">She has proven herself, time and again, to be a young woman of tenacity, brilliance, and genuine goodness--deep down, and outwardly, in her actions in the world.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;">She is richly deserving of having reached this latest plateau. Take a deep breath, my lovely, and enjoy the view...</span></div></div><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCb62RmQVPBJ899tDk87crhcBTPRUt8SV4pxwFMMltM9HdsEZoP7GhNLoLU57zE9eduF8580uPMqrxmOfJDD38DyRIPA3m0Sr09H8jo2AuFeNmPyJdo3rKXJtzo0bMw5L_TjkSzsWxrzM/s1600/flanrange.com.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCb62RmQVPBJ899tDk87crhcBTPRUt8SV4pxwFMMltM9HdsEZoP7GhNLoLU57zE9eduF8580uPMqrxmOfJDD38DyRIPA3m0Sr09H8jo2AuFeNmPyJdo3rKXJtzo0bMw5L_TjkSzsWxrzM/s400/flanrange.com.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-size: small;">El Salvador, Summer 2010</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;">When her dad and I were offered free enchiladas on Tuesday night, it was an omen. THE WHOLE ENCHILADA, with the very best trimmings, was set to arrive for Our Person... </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: red; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-1AxGvb5Odpab57dbytox3OTSshw8DFMvu9A_l0WaathB0thVNewqaB5AB4K1fX2V1ag9Z3fKkKn6rWHTxbbu5foKawDCVwO-OVyOUST05L71_za6CI_r0lU6EtdeqoyN41GeUD2KBUY/s1600/Chocolate-Tortilla-Ice-Cream-Enchilada.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-1AxGvb5Odpab57dbytox3OTSshw8DFMvu9A_l0WaathB0thVNewqaB5AB4K1fX2V1ag9Z3fKkKn6rWHTxbbu5foKawDCVwO-OVyOUST05L71_za6CI_r0lU6EtdeqoyN41GeUD2KBUY/s400/Chocolate-Tortilla-Ice-Cream-Enchilada.jpg" width="400" /></a></span> </div><div style="color: red; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Chocolate Tortilla Ice Cream Enchilada with Strawberries on the Side</span><br />
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<div style="color: black; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Dig in, Babe! It's on the house. (After all, you built the house.)</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="color: black; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="color: black; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">All my love,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Mom</span></span></div></div><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div>Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com56tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-81123195053147768792011-02-23T09:40:00.004-07:002011-02-23T12:15:57.518-07:00Roll Over, Edvard Munch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz5eyL2KPb5jWx7-WXoXcJpMZZYsWTEw1AtCcwjzJdbH6cR2Jf9p2p8FzoNU5YtG4dKs-KJr1nq3rcc0SsxwhfU4ZhffaWWO2NtH3yN520L6rswmllImk5TRCt9BBh8vqyrEcQilNuAKA/s1600/475px-The_Scream.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz5eyL2KPb5jWx7-WXoXcJpMZZYsWTEw1AtCcwjzJdbH6cR2Jf9p2p8FzoNU5YtG4dKs-KJr1nq3rcc0SsxwhfU4ZhffaWWO2NtH3yN520L6rswmllImk5TRCt9BBh8vqyrEcQilNuAKA/s320/475px-The_Scream.jpg" width="253" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Edvard Munch, <i>The Scream</i>, 1893</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Whoever doesn't recognize this painting, raise your hand. (I see one hand, but it's attached to the arm of the class clown, so I disregard that hand.) </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Whoever has never related to the feeling in this painting, raise your hand. (I see no hands.)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">A middle school art teacher in Santa Fe brought in a reproduction of Edvard Munch's powerful, iconic painting and assigned the students to render their own versions in watercolor. They weren't necessarily to try to reproduce the composition but to reproduce the emotion, and to include a figure. Here are a few of their paintings...<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzO6-HhKbBi3r5SJO-p_s3qh9BOu4pNhrw0AW2_q9gUj2w5rOfgbrCZvzeAuYU4HjtwFY65cQlUJanIwZ9Bav40KTG0OoYYXfR3GT4xStE3caGfLRXfH8x9XqQXVXtRu0PDADwNPbXhrs/s1600/redtop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzO6-HhKbBi3r5SJO-p_s3qh9BOu4pNhrw0AW2_q9gUj2w5rOfgbrCZvzeAuYU4HjtwFY65cQlUJanIwZ9Bav40KTG0OoYYXfR3GT4xStE3caGfLRXfH8x9XqQXVXtRu0PDADwNPbXhrs/s400/redtop.jpg" width="310" /></a></div> The colors in this one are more beautiful in person. Those rounded tan forms are actually gold metallic. This young artist has a wonderful sense of color and made the surrounding landscape loom so large behind the figure, perfectly capturing that sense of panic that has made Munch's painting universally accessible. The facial features being rendered in stark white contribute to the effect.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_xcmN4qdcSZzt9uBFD_XokQ5GCLez-E1hKWs3Z44vtuhaIJ-uP-61lZ-wtaT3gKS7aJ-tS-aA9r3k7vj2tmDPCt3qDUV9Tct2I4mqAWMXi3_UXxRgfMRmbd6wADpwBo9xtQkPmi3zTFo/s1600/bluecloud.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_xcmN4qdcSZzt9uBFD_XokQ5GCLez-E1hKWs3Z44vtuhaIJ-uP-61lZ-wtaT3gKS7aJ-tS-aA9r3k7vj2tmDPCt3qDUV9Tct2I4mqAWMXi3_UXxRgfMRmbd6wADpwBo9xtQkPmi3zTFo/s400/bluecloud.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> This one reduced the composition to the diagonal lines of the bridge and inserted the figure within those lines, even making the figure's head tilt, as though being pulled by the setting. An intuitive sense of how diagonal lines can make the viewer feel unsteady seems to be at play. Does that puff of blue mean the artist ran out of time, or simply knew when to quit?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-IDpLf3Xtf_RB8nnHcmTPBixXoRqGds3HBEr4Ke5ZzWCumGd7524JVEKzZIsYDimS9tluN7z4RaULjuD-Hqs-Ey2KCWv4IKkNvHPzbHB5Q_e3pXChXC7oJ8d4YAbFQaxI9ETiOZE16X8/s1600/goldtop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-IDpLf3Xtf_RB8nnHcmTPBixXoRqGds3HBEr4Ke5ZzWCumGd7524JVEKzZIsYDimS9tluN7z4RaULjuD-Hqs-Ey2KCWv4IKkNvHPzbHB5Q_e3pXChXC7oJ8d4YAbFQaxI9ETiOZE16X8/s400/goldtop.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> Another less-is-more esthetic. The blue "river," pared down to a slice of color, seems to weigh on the figure's mind. Just what Munch had in mind. And what a remarkable capture of the screaming mouth--just like Munch's.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdVff0N5HMPrzip-uHEqQ3MLstavDteH7KI3rOXsekTZcrEx1VC9ATG2gVBjD3PvSh9vEEEm4RHnBRaqzI-ZY5cCpEMSb-87anzYGWvDTaVFEwzSW7DXZTHUwmhPUSpkqZhdAAI3MyycM/s1600/green.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdVff0N5HMPrzip-uHEqQ3MLstavDteH7KI3rOXsekTZcrEx1VC9ATG2gVBjD3PvSh9vEEEm4RHnBRaqzI-ZY5cCpEMSb-87anzYGWvDTaVFEwzSW7DXZTHUwmhPUSpkqZhdAAI3MyycM/s400/green.jpg" width="268" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> Here the landscape seems to be transformed into a cartoonish monster, or perhaps a house on fire. I enjoy the menacing ambiguity. What do <i>you</i> see?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyHbjlJ4AFmlOuWvCHQlDir4d_XFLAVJ-WdAOrODD9PW5JLbu00BDfaDggShf5NhFyhBiSCVsH6xgLsb86FnloDlq12RSJ5bLk0rtRt-r0B_Doaw74aZtoEe7wCOdPwcn_pFJ_dhAYQLE/s1600/stars.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyHbjlJ4AFmlOuWvCHQlDir4d_XFLAVJ-WdAOrODD9PW5JLbu00BDfaDggShf5NhFyhBiSCVsH6xgLsb86FnloDlq12RSJ5bLk0rtRt-r0B_Doaw74aZtoEe7wCOdPwcn_pFJ_dhAYQLE/s400/stars.jpg" width="323" /></a></div>Another truly beautiful palette, with the addition of decorative starlike designs, and an extravagant use of purple. And still, the figure is anguished in the middle of it all. Reminds me of how it feels to be sad on a lovely spring day.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCLHKbhqhwZQParOWbY5sbV00FWO9MxcPw0y96imEZGs0u-i4O2gg9uIiDt6zMW5N-ggQurLXjHWN4g0MPmKYnZtsg59wFwBxt7DuYzPix7qvSDWVXHQzmOL4749Hhx9YIflrTxEDX6DQ/s1600/truck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCLHKbhqhwZQParOWbY5sbV00FWO9MxcPw0y96imEZGs0u-i4O2gg9uIiDt6zMW5N-ggQurLXjHWN4g0MPmKYnZtsg59wFwBxt7DuYzPix7qvSDWVXHQzmOL4749Hhx9YIflrTxEDX6DQ/s400/truck.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> The teacher shared with me that this student asked if he could draw a vehicle. The teacher said, "Yes, as long as you include a figure." What an inventive, contemporary take on <i>The Scream</i>. Isn't the shading on the side of the truck exciting? My mind reels with interpretations. Someone has just jumped off the bridge and the screamer is screaming for help, for example.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLZlNGQxZTPHQnRJad3rDoM3L_GXeLN1SRCfweME7vGv83CCOeTQBnwGmXExWrpHQS6XosEjuTy_rWFIv6rt2wo7VyFAyamaKaE4Cd9JqsdC29ml4Jwx4_qYD8q_zhC2JD-l8wZaCWve0/s1600/ranger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLZlNGQxZTPHQnRJad3rDoM3L_GXeLN1SRCfweME7vGv83CCOeTQBnwGmXExWrpHQS6XosEjuTy_rWFIv6rt2wo7VyFAyamaKaE4Cd9JqsdC29ml4Jwx4_qYD8q_zhC2JD-l8wZaCWve0/s400/ranger.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> I wonder if this artist has a family member who's a park ranger, or has witnessed a park ranger calling for help in an emergency, or simply has invented another very personal, original interpretation of <i>The Scream</i>.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwMrr3xWDk6goZGzDtGavBA3SfiwVy_0j0RcU7uBxxhhnlA8WwAIXB4IETc3ZHsZLimw7E4dJQiAaSykKIq5B28HH3zx5kt3NnPyWohXF1t8_QHfMVKIA5TIKHlmqJHN5XXdtY53c8GTk/s1600/bluewater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwMrr3xWDk6goZGzDtGavBA3SfiwVy_0j0RcU7uBxxhhnlA8WwAIXB4IETc3ZHsZLimw7E4dJQiAaSykKIq5B28HH3zx5kt3NnPyWohXF1t8_QHfMVKIA5TIKHlmqJHN5XXdtY53c8GTk/s400/bluewater.jpg" width="261" /></a></div> This artist paid a lot of attention to Munch's composition, with the addition of that big sun sinking behind the hills, just like we see here in northern New Mexico. Such a perfect detail to conjure that sinking feeling we've all experienced at the end of a less than good day.<br />
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I am thoroughly impressed by the work of these students and equally impressed by the assignment of this resourceful teacher. Middle school is a tough time. The hormones are kicking into high gear and the peer groups can be menacing. These paintings tell the story.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com53tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-24673540681110530702010-11-26T16:11:00.000-07:002010-11-26T16:11:59.811-07:00Join Wild Bill Tick Tock in Chicago!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj95GlL0pEkhSembmuPDpmQCNuQlEUimNaNJ8vqMwPVDg9-IrYbY3RgRf4EFIb2eCH0wb5JFmbH-LFU5HAffkxLO1D-cAeSao80nNu9_xP0S__ADt4AAna0MruvHP_C79nLM-HPRFPrZzA/s1600/wild+bill2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><img border="0" height="347" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj95GlL0pEkhSembmuPDpmQCNuQlEUimNaNJ8vqMwPVDg9-IrYbY3RgRf4EFIb2eCH0wb5JFmbH-LFU5HAffkxLO1D-cAeSao80nNu9_xP0S__ADt4AAna0MruvHP_C79nLM-HPRFPrZzA/s400/wild+bill2.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">For four days, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">December 2-5</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">, </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">the infamous </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><b>Wild Bill Tick</b></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><b> Tock</b></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">aka </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><b>Bennie Merideth</b></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">aka </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">Mr. A Life</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: lime;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">with a View</span> </b></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: lime;"><b></b></span></span>will be exhibiting his extraordinary timepieces<br />
at the <b>One of a Kind Show</b> at the <b>Merchandise Mart</b>, Chicago.<br />
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Click <a href="https://www.microspec.com/tix123/etic.cfm?code=OOAKCHG10&disc=artist&ref=Convergence+Gallery">here</a> to download your complimentary tickets! If you're not in the Chicago area, feel free to send the link to anyone you know there.<br />
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Here's a preview:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKqeZ1c8oL784eVEf4K_7x3kvTOiineCFmd2s4sGjV5JneudCNRKEOG76jIcbckYKtJGToaDjzffYokfpvSeHiTj2_I1VhZY04UdlmiSwWAvWIEkJrHwQAXW6GE7MAh8ei8KzGwDyqRFI/s1600/tocks2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKqeZ1c8oL784eVEf4K_7x3kvTOiineCFmd2s4sGjV5JneudCNRKEOG76jIcbckYKtJGToaDjzffYokfpvSeHiTj2_I1VhZY04UdlmiSwWAvWIEkJrHwQAXW6GE7MAh8ei8KzGwDyqRFI/s400/tocks2.jpg" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKqeZ1c8oL784eVEf4K_7x3kvTOiineCFmd2s4sGjV5JneudCNRKEOG76jIcbckYKtJGToaDjzffYokfpvSeHiTj2_I1VhZY04UdlmiSwWAvWIEkJrHwQAXW6GE7MAh8ei8KzGwDyqRFI/s1600/tocks2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;">(B</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;">e sure to enlarge the image above.)</span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The tops lift up to reveal a hiding place for the contents of your choosing...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Love letters?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Dental appointments?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Chocolate?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG45DQUSGeDq2-KUjGazCsjLwy6yDt9RVHdQ1VG95uFw7cbwlNxwd5eS8U7kkoGNALQ63fl6_FfjOGV2Iw41uVajzCcJAmnHl1CR2SNUFet8GrcW61IDaeIMfmR-U4LQn93JnO6SMEbkg/s1600/wbt859.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG45DQUSGeDq2-KUjGazCsjLwy6yDt9RVHdQ1VG95uFw7cbwlNxwd5eS8U7kkoGNALQ63fl6_FfjOGV2Iw41uVajzCcJAmnHl1CR2SNUFet8GrcW61IDaeIMfmR-U4LQn93JnO6SMEbkg/s640/wbt859.jpg" width="100" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Einstein</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, 77" H x 8 1/2 " W</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqq3sOLD2PBpCCpGiV3Qr-B0KwBMYLqeEFtER0onJnnQGHvYtMcLCgRVF1jVLyXcBB7H3Ov2BuLFBIceaOgIBZzSWuGJiSdDWIlv_F1RPJwGmBxYUVC70clxMlGV9XFapT_RZMcwA-BI4/s1600/wbt857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqq3sOLD2PBpCCpGiV3Qr-B0KwBMYLqeEFtER0onJnnQGHvYtMcLCgRVF1jVLyXcBB7H3Ov2BuLFBIceaOgIBZzSWuGJiSdDWIlv_F1RPJwGmBxYUVC70clxMlGV9XFapT_RZMcwA-BI4/s640/wbt857.jpg" width="348" /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><i>Another Roadside Attraction</i>, 15 1/2" H x 6 1/2 " W</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">VISIT US AT <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">BOOTH 8048.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">More clocks can be seen <a href="http://convergencegallery.com/wbtt/wbtt.html">here</a>. If you can't be in Chicago, you can purchase clocks by email from the website.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Do <b>your</b> part in the important global movement to stamp out the proliferation of dull timepieces now!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div></span></span>Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com49tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-23199823893170208832010-11-21T15:27:00.001-07:002010-11-21T15:27:31.176-07:00A Typical Thanksgiving Day at Our House<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb56mGrca2v7LbMwhfRdYqP1PB0kVxYofkSJyAEgVM7JEYdQlTaycc1P5-5anVmLEOHpDUNCQV_YcWCxSWERpB-ZKR5gEWHkATVjqXFhGcaUmqSaVnFLlF5GJi8SMVQ1fZgv9y-89uO7Y/s1600/thanksgiving.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb56mGrca2v7LbMwhfRdYqP1PB0kVxYofkSJyAEgVM7JEYdQlTaycc1P5-5anVmLEOHpDUNCQV_YcWCxSWERpB-ZKR5gEWHkATVjqXFhGcaUmqSaVnFLlF5GJi8SMVQ1fZgv9y-89uO7Y/s400/thanksgiving.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Flannery and I busily prepare the feast. An assortment of mouthwatering pies prepared from scratch will be set on the windowsill to cool in the crisp autumn air. Carrots, rutabagas, acorn squash, turnips, parsnips, brussel sprouts, cabbage, all manner of leafy greens, fresh from the neighbor’s garden, will be transformed by Thanksgiving Alchemy, into our delectable fat-free Vegan Stew. Bennie will shoot an enormous turkey on the back forty. Oakley will demonstrate, before our very eyes, his prowess in dressing a turkey, as he has for seventeen Thanksgivings past. <br />
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Each year the turkey’s attire is more festive than last. Oakley’s dressed turkey took top honors at the 1998 Macy’s Parade. Willard Scott was dazzled.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Gko4lmYDRymq2nlNNlsOEbojL-_3guzT5hZNOTsYlOczcqctC1GoTt4IYo__PyOjwY9kTIADiGadtuJS7HtEHiPAxrEjcyI98Why-WpgTsweCJM3boaBSdZuTi_dkd7iFI3iOVuFsks/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Gko4lmYDRymq2nlNNlsOEbojL-_3guzT5hZNOTsYlOczcqctC1GoTt4IYo__PyOjwY9kTIADiGadtuJS7HtEHiPAxrEjcyI98Why-WpgTsweCJM3boaBSdZuTi_dkd7iFI3iOVuFsks/s400/3.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri, Verdana, Helvetica, Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"></span></span><br />
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</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15px;">If our humble table doesn’t have room for each and every one of us--this year we'll be hosting a multitude--we will set up quaint picnic tables by the rushing river behind the house. If need be, we will eat in shifts, asking the heavens for a sign as to who should be first to dine, before drawing straws. Those coming up with the short straw may sit on the ground, on the sidelines, salivating. Babies shall rest comfortably in hollowed out logs.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgajcG_6VV6AVnK0y2XF_RzoBXH-06zBVHh2W-WelE261b3XS0K4Hs130hPzcdlCXNTfk2AZ2Bmzw0DSyIaoNx1XzZUsFn-NCLyUwIsh5aQFibJHFkNRNzyD-zkuKfo-_zTENW5Th_aHn8/s1600/thanksgiving-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgajcG_6VV6AVnK0y2XF_RzoBXH-06zBVHh2W-WelE261b3XS0K4Hs130hPzcdlCXNTfk2AZ2Bmzw0DSyIaoNx1XzZUsFn-NCLyUwIsh5aQFibJHFkNRNzyD-zkuKfo-_zTENW5Th_aHn8/s400/thanksgiving-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Calibri, Verdana, Helvetica, Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Yes, Native Americans will be in attendance. They’re a very big part of the tradition.</span></span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL5lQU1g6DvJEB4y7lB4oVVKSuCYle61rk3X0z1VBp7lWHp5DrSe-Pyd0MsQKUdEFEJQ-Ki3rUSJpEnUGU_yG-aT3BFRPKUw3rpYSx0EINM24R9aMy1Ae72U30VhZWObYyS6hBwBZyKZY/s1600/indians.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL5lQU1g6DvJEB4y7lB4oVVKSuCYle61rk3X0z1VBp7lWHp5DrSe-Pyd0MsQKUdEFEJQ-Ki3rUSJpEnUGU_yG-aT3BFRPKUw3rpYSx0EINM24R9aMy1Ae72U30VhZWObYyS6hBwBZyKZY/s400/indians.jpg" width="272" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Calibri, Verdana, Helvetica, Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Whatever your own traditions this year...</span></span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOV_6ORzjsOMc1dEMz8uhuUz13pzC6ke456qQCzTRyBOo-LGf3o1W0kjENwKrHYtnjbKwhwZdhFTimZEu_thqT2xQzzJ0fKznDcKXknpIaDueGDf9TiNHwP_kyiRVO9mPPWnSbcG0d2Jo/s1600/RetroThanksgivingDinner3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOV_6ORzjsOMc1dEMz8uhuUz13pzC6ke456qQCzTRyBOo-LGf3o1W0kjENwKrHYtnjbKwhwZdhFTimZEu_thqT2xQzzJ0fKznDcKXknpIaDueGDf9TiNHwP_kyiRVO9mPPWnSbcG0d2Jo/s400/RetroThanksgivingDinner3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Calibri, Verdana, Helvetica, Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri, Verdana, Helvetica, Arial;"><br />
</span></span></span></span>Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-7223595664331085572010-11-03T13:30:00.002-06:002010-12-01T09:57:09.654-07:00Out of Jail<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtz8TkYap77cMS9X-xmAvYQmxkCiqxnyT4fCNij4lkN9R4ZbVD4IOAWQ1JNYxAo_nC2FdHCfiA-dlonx43Ynl9lrWEfqtxshkRuwSFyQuFnCFcJDAuKJp3DHjEMXXtUs_qJkmMRXGecGc/s1600/ladder.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517515009795793186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtz8TkYap77cMS9X-xmAvYQmxkCiqxnyT4fCNij4lkN9R4ZbVD4IOAWQ1JNYxAo_nC2FdHCfiA-dlonx43Ynl9lrWEfqtxshkRuwSFyQuFnCFcJDAuKJp3DHjEMXXtUs_qJkmMRXGecGc/s400/ladder.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></a><br />
Have I really not been here since June 14? That's what happens when you're arrested for vandalism to public property and have to wait for the Man on the Ladder to post bail. This is the sad sequence of events:<br />
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I was visited at the gallery by two bloggers:<br />
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C. M. Jackson, of<br />
<a href="http://states-of-mine.blogspot.com/">States of Mine</a><br />
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Kate, of<br />
<a href="http://visualstpaul.blogspot.com/">Visual St. Paul</a><br />
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It was a fun time, until those two, inspired by my previous <a href="http://alifewithaview.blogspot.com/2010/06/kindred-spirits-in-belgrade.html">pos</a><a href="http://alifewithaview.blogspot.com/2010/06/kindred-spirits-in-belgrade.html">t</a>, decided to paint the town red. Literally. As she was being handcuffed, Kate broke down, sobbing. She shared with me she hadn't quite <span style="font-style: italic;">gotten</span> that post. She hadn't seen I was joking, poor thing. Apparently neither did C.M. My heart went out. I took the rap. I did the jail-time.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2_oPEp98-4NYF3LZAppneEXgs7JF4G9g63fek_IMYVlYESL-x93NP2ghuq-LqfcDjsJBLAu_wOdw7KltylM2HL1Z4QpxU7PuocOHwlg6DYs1eCBw_xOOWkmWGwduqwLCA0w5u0f28xzM/s1600/monopoly-go-to-jail-card.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519417779319136578" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2_oPEp98-4NYF3LZAppneEXgs7JF4G9g63fek_IMYVlYESL-x93NP2ghuq-LqfcDjsJBLAu_wOdw7KltylM2HL1Z4QpxU7PuocOHwlg6DYs1eCBw_xOOWkmWGwduqwLCA0w5u0f28xzM/s400/monopoly-go-to-jail-card.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 230px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
Here I am, almost five months later, a free woman, hardened a bit. I smoke Marlboros. I've lost my patience with the little niceties in life. I guzzle milk straight from the jug. I wipe my white mustache on my sleeve. I'm tough as nails.<br />
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So here's a recap of what's been happening since June 14 (aside from the rotting in jail):<br />
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The Man on the Ladder, who appears to be applying graffiti, actually patched and painted the entire exterior of our house. We now live in a house painted the color known as "La Luz," one of the seventeen shades of brown allowed by our neighborhood covenants. Every house in the neighborhood is an adobe or a pretend adobe, and the houses nestle into the high desert landscape quite nicely. Our new trim color is sage and I realize I don't have a picture of the new, improved exterior. One of these days.<br />
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Climbing down from the ladder, the man was joined by his cousin Paul, visiting from Chicago, in the very ambitious project of installing a cherry floor in our bedroom. Here they are, basking in the satisfaction of a job well done...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisB5tDgKzAfZ5VO1QBm5IyF7tQirIyzzv9yAz_peNXU5vzxzoP8mhqHbrT3mQRRtDMDWtCk2MWlxfMkzL03S1wbDc73_TPfC4pFrs8c5BHeUPJbJs4wXBA69dpZC9Zc-9GAGB6JyHBOfc/s1600/floor2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517339548660096578" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisB5tDgKzAfZ5VO1QBm5IyF7tQirIyzzv9yAz_peNXU5vzxzoP8mhqHbrT3mQRRtDMDWtCk2MWlxfMkzL03S1wbDc73_TPfC4pFrs8c5BHeUPJbJs4wXBA69dpZC9Zc-9GAGB6JyHBOfc/s400/floor2.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 267px;" /></a>Notice they're standing near a wall they can collapse against. It was a big project.<br />
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I took this painting, well past the expiration date, from the gallery to hang in the new bedroom...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLw1PkwNC4cGhxR8K0bp4YcgNiigU0EdwJ2-b58cakLuO1Pn3sGn9hQGVkHnlrKQdOUyZuEAxI2tZwxhGt6hrZ4uOv6tAO4V3dlQZ1O2EIV_DG_o4XA_zoHz2EHLCHMlIrlPmLeOX8HNA/s1600/paint.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517515700463579346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLw1PkwNC4cGhxR8K0bp4YcgNiigU0EdwJ2-b58cakLuO1Pn3sGn9hQGVkHnlrKQdOUyZuEAxI2tZwxhGt6hrZ4uOv6tAO4V3dlQZ1O2EIV_DG_o4XA_zoHz2EHLCHMlIrlPmLeOX8HNA/s400/paint.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 318px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Gazing at it first thing in the morning lifts my spirits if I do say so.<br />
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We enjoyed our share of magnificent high-desert sunsets...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtjZANTdy6BUwT3qJ5x5rFFSjlzYp7pucbStSkcMkbr0PeS47Uwh0o30z1bxUePvnslFn6BhI1AlFXqfgYnt9YuJ_LCX4WS9Zqcga6JObud9ecjZqzdoD3t8QWgpkHLYKkSJwLU51v15k/s1600/sunset.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519781546827225730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtjZANTdy6BUwT3qJ5x5rFFSjlzYp7pucbStSkcMkbr0PeS47Uwh0o30z1bxUePvnslFn6BhI1AlFXqfgYnt9YuJ_LCX4WS9Zqcga6JObud9ecjZqzdoD3t8QWgpkHLYKkSJwLU51v15k/s400/sunset.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 267px;" /></a>Paul snapped this one from our bedroom balcony. To see more of his photographs, go <a href="http://paulmerideth.com/">here</a>.<br />
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I published a story in the summer issue of <span style="font-style: italic;">Dream Network Journal</span>, an eclectic quarterly focusing on somewhat scholarly pieces about, yup, dreaming, as well as personal accounts of interesting dreams. Mine was the latter. A one-page reproduction of my painting "Wanderer" appears in that issue too. They're open to anyone's dream musing, particularly that of prisoners, so my work was accepted almost immediately.<br />
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Turned 57 last month. Shudder. Received some interesting gifts, among them a life-size replica of a severed human foot. I was told it came from the state medical examiner's office. No, I am NOT kidding. Don't have a picture of it. Yet. Snapping one's on my to-do list, and posting it too.<br />
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Here's my beautiful cake, created by Flan...<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_PbX1iD9ZJ33BDVscWpgzuQhsN5UD1Rmw4TVo9ydSnAXpbDEZXZaYe1cuePiElUpUTpbO9jGKwdHb4lvxEww9rLx2_P2pCCMKxq5aS7fZdmiNrfebLuEYciTNGafv6oKcJDVEBU_xelU/s1600/flancake.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519081811888470178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_PbX1iD9ZJ33BDVscWpgzuQhsN5UD1Rmw4TVo9ydSnAXpbDEZXZaYe1cuePiElUpUTpbO9jGKwdHb4lvxEww9rLx2_P2pCCMKxq5aS7fZdmiNrfebLuEYciTNGafv6oKcJDVEBU_xelU/s400/flancake.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 301px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Chocolate buttermilk cake.<br />
Chocolate ganache frosting.<br />
Raspberry filling.<br />
Crowned by sculptures of praline brittle riddled with cacao nibs.<br />
Extraordinary!</div><br />
Found good homes for a few paintings, among them this one, which was a bit of a departure for me, depicting semi-recognizable objects from the natural world...<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglrAt-SPrZppwo42a-2o1yBAzAgqrEOFmqrt_uX5Xx5olafcKz3uPZn8MZQjlOXF30bNJVL__znGH0MGOUxU74ahRua0Q-rBTf4Qhzlw0hYyBahliRXQCIRw3XWzbqpMOGNBBFiFnTjzM/s1600/beasts.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519097327222888322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglrAt-SPrZppwo42a-2o1yBAzAgqrEOFmqrt_uX5Xx5olafcKz3uPZn8MZQjlOXF30bNJVL__znGH0MGOUxU74ahRua0Q-rBTf4Qhzlw0hYyBahliRXQCIRw3XWzbqpMOGNBBFiFnTjzM/s400/beasts.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 261px;" /></a><span style="color: red; font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: x-small; font-style: italic;">Disappearing Beasts</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: 'lucida grande';"> </span></span><span style="color: red; font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: x-small;"><br />
acrylic on canvas, 36" x 24"</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: 'lucida grande';"><br />
</span></span><span style="color: red; font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: x-small;">private collection, Tallahassee</span> </div><br />
Summer was good. Fall is too. It's good to be back in blogland.Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com65tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-91655392732626022882010-06-14T06:21:00.036-06:002010-06-17T11:27:14.553-06:00Kindred Spirit(s) in Belgrade<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6EtCgAEHJirulWRlKS09ixZk2pnHDQgnn0VPuIXvD5QIdfsnyfTlmb9zhMydtvha6VkTwOk84K5SCSFDQW6OqChmRQbD4YTFa9lzryzSE70Tx5VQ_CBAXf6rcjdv3xCSDnGJuF5A4eBM/s1600/Blog+May+22nd+2010.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 331px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6EtCgAEHJirulWRlKS09ixZk2pnHDQgnn0VPuIXvD5QIdfsnyfTlmb9zhMydtvha6VkTwOk84K5SCSFDQW6OqChmRQbD4YTFa9lzryzSE70Tx5VQ_CBAXf6rcjdv3xCSDnGJuF5A4eBM/s400/Blog+May+22nd+2010.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482603845232421362" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Graffiti Reflected in a Window in Belgrade</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br />photographer: </span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Bibi<br />graffiti artist: unknown?</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pZiHppD7gCTzZjnJHH8MUB9QqaP-RUKolxchncBYw3T9jzZ83Bgb39I9jmtRaqg9h91eIlE5wETbWRQWMcNKHBcuogtF1Nj6h1IrNVy58MWoaiKE3J6pUUkG8hVu5_RYZ1Svm9Z3V_c/s1600/moment.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pZiHppD7gCTzZjnJHH8MUB9QqaP-RUKolxchncBYw3T9jzZ83Bgb39I9jmtRaqg9h91eIlE5wETbWRQWMcNKHBcuogtF1Nj6h1IrNVy58MWoaiKE3J6pUUkG8hVu5_RYZ1Svm9Z3V_c/s400/moment.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482604309178860242" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >my painting <span style="font-style: italic;">Claim the Moment</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >acrylic on canvas, 30" x 40"</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br />private collection, Fort Worth</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://onthem104.blogspot.com/">Daryl</a> of <span style="font-style: italic;">Out and about in New York City</span> noticed the stylistic similarity between the work of the Belgrade graffiti artist(s) and my own work. She brought it to the attention of <a href="http://yankee-in-belgrade.blogspot.com/">Bibi</a>, who had taken the photograph and posted it on her blog <span style="font-style: italic;">A Yankee in Belgrade</span>. Bibi wandered over here and said, yes, Daryl's right. You have an artful cousin scaling the walls in Belgrade. I went to check out things for myself.<br /><br />For the record, this is no coincidence. When a wannabe graffiti virtuoso, a tourist from Santa Fe, with more than a little fear of heights, who is clumsy and skittish when it comes to scaffolding, when that tourist visits Belgrade and is introduced to the national drink...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh51xL8pX7iRVb0cTRTRNNVfsvMxGbsCgNvt1eF1L-QE_Jh1XyKSeiXsn8AweNsNRwJC2pDhFknHOwe9XtroSDveM2YOaXCSUdDGUaHn1yGVcuqYLakkfHcQSBwdAchJnKfJEW8VcLyw9I/s1600/Zeljkova+rakija+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh51xL8pX7iRVb0cTRTRNNVfsvMxGbsCgNvt1eF1L-QE_Jh1XyKSeiXsn8AweNsNRwJC2pDhFknHOwe9XtroSDveM2YOaXCSUdDGUaHn1yGVcuqYLakkfHcQSBwdAchJnKfJEW8VcLyw9I/s400/Zeljkova+rakija+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483035502965417090" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">...well, how you say it? Magic happens. Inhibitions and phobias are quickly shed and artistic courage heightens exponentially.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6uN38XARlOlWQ1YMF8y6aPo1MKY1y4iSk3lWtxICJnHvUtH-91rbFdLFtLtUxy9S47BWjwtz26V0i7cKQMq7zYaJmWs7qrssIcMyNrJTN3Ravwj885KZ0wttPkRDlC8o0IarZH1Kw2Vk/s1600/graffiti.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 331px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6uN38XARlOlWQ1YMF8y6aPo1MKY1y4iSk3lWtxICJnHvUtH-91rbFdLFtLtUxy9S47BWjwtz26V0i7cKQMq7zYaJmWs7qrssIcMyNrJTN3Ravwj885KZ0wttPkRDlC8o0IarZH1Kw2Vk/s400/graffiti.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483049996115553570" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Ziveli!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></div></div></div>Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com82tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-66589789416560322032010-05-23T12:11:00.002-06:002010-05-23T12:12:23.101-06:00Gathering the Fragments, Beautifully<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4raysOV5yIS2CvGiZECmXlNwTcXR84YpzbI2Gegad-K4XXRzWR0AU8aCo0A_MqMfXi6GGTaq5604EV-jXix4XKRgPXQYCWc3DhZPDQR8thTmghb2Rfbw-HScSBWPvrJiV3LCZ9K4DbDM/s1600/ruins.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 197px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4raysOV5yIS2CvGiZECmXlNwTcXR84YpzbI2Gegad-K4XXRzWR0AU8aCo0A_MqMfXi6GGTaq5604EV-jXix4XKRgPXQYCWc3DhZPDQR8thTmghb2Rfbw-HScSBWPvrJiV3LCZ9K4DbDM/s400/ruins.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474527495733639282" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);font-family:verdana;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">Blue Ruins</span>, acrylic on canvas, 48" x 24"</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"><span style="font-family:verdana;">private collection, Arvada, Colorado</span><br /><br /><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;">...Let’s buy some toy soldiers<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">and melt them with glass.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Let’s burn up the armies</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">that have never loved us. Let’s</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">give the sun all our money<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">and pay it never to return.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Let’s sing to the moon<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">All day and the stars all night</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">so that they never go dark. Let’s<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">laugh at the clouds until they rain</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">gray with anger and thunder<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">from gray embarrassment. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Let’s paint the hospitals with milk<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">and the funeral homes with tears</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">and the sky some color<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">other than blood. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Let’s place candles<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">in the bullet holes of the Earth</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">and snuff the flames out</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">only when we have finished </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">writing our poetry....</span><br /><br />--from "Lorca in Fragments" by Oakley C. Merideth<br /><br />A lyrical to-do list, Oakley, one in which the priorities make so much sense. First things first. Poetry before the political, always. Then again, the two do not have to contradict each other, when performed with grace. And this is such a graceful homage to Lorca. I always take pleasure in the way your poems move from one image into the next, a blossom of meaning opening, subtly, almost imperceptibly, the way a flower opens to the sun.<br /><br />As I'm sure many of you know, last month was National Poetry Month in the United States. And, at the end of that month my son learned that his poem "Vulgar Latin" received Honorable Mention in the undergraduate Academy of American Poets Prize competition at The University of New Mexico. Two undergraduates were recognized--Oakley, and Katlyn McKinney, who took first prize honors (and a cash prize) for her poem "Water Passing." Both poets will receive an official acknowledgment from the <a href="http://poets.org/">Academy of American Poets</a> this summer.<br /><br />This news of Oakley's latest literary honor satisfies me. Even the fact that such a competition exists, one which encourages young people to develop their gifts, satisfies me. Our lives are often bereft of poetry. We hunger for it. And it is my pleasure to offer up this tasty morsel, Oakley's honored poem:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Vulgar Latin</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Some days your mouth</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">is a birth canal,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">stories spilling out </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">of a child you hardly remember, how</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">she came out of you</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">like a full moon </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">emerging from a broken window,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">her face imbuing the drafty room</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">with a pale light.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">She was a January Capricorn</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">born just an hour or two before</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">the first papers were whispering </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">their headlines onto the dark porches</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">where they had just fallen.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">That was the morning</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">you began to speak a dead language,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">your eyes sliding backwards</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">to peer curiously into your skull</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">and your tongue free</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">To form a word you had never encountered:</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">“Daughter.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">“Daughter.”</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Two syllables that fell</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">onto the hospital floor</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">and spread outward across the linoleum</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">like ashes touching a checkerboard</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">of white and black water.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Some days you clutch</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">the nearest pieces of furniture</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">and whisper to yourself</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">while the rest of the house</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">is stifled by your voice.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">“Daughter…”</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">some days you say the word vaguely</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">as if you were recalling the name of a ghost,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">and then you stop speaking,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">the utterance yielding to silence</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">like a piano drifting out of tune.</span>Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com77tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-17299400342686963552010-04-21T15:25:00.001-06:002010-04-21T15:25:33.444-06:00Pulled by the Red Thread<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsztaXniLBFixVOOzM31oO16EI38x5Op77XSCqMCW9yZDWDZPpyCl5KHI75fKA0VdS1DxUGpb3cCnmXtZL_YYSGgvPsRKePtloDKJMQIWKluUguYW6l4n-_ZBw0dTFyw74SBCBjviJzDo/s1600/deja_vu.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsztaXniLBFixVOOzM31oO16EI38x5Op77XSCqMCW9yZDWDZPpyCl5KHI75fKA0VdS1DxUGpb3cCnmXtZL_YYSGgvPsRKePtloDKJMQIWKluUguYW6l4n-_ZBw0dTFyw74SBCBjviJzDo/s400/deja_vu.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461604662290282258" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >Deja vu</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >, acrylic on canvas, 30" x 40"</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >private collection, Dallas</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><p><i>"An invisible red thread connects those destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstances. The thread may stretch or tangle, but never break." -</i><span style="text-align: right;"> <i>Ancient Chinese Proverb</i></span></p></span></span><br />I believe this proverb is accurate, at least partially so. I'm not sure the thread is red. After all, it <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> invisible. And I'm not sure that the thread never breaks. If, for example, in a pinch you grabbed your invisible red thread and used it to floss your teeth, who knows what might happen? Would you meet the periodontist of your dreams? Or would you break your invisible thread, leaving your destiny dangling between your second and third molars? Despite my digression, I'm a believer in this thread. Aren't there people in our lives, people who entered under unlikely circumstances, people whom we can't imagine having never met? People whose lives have become so enmeshed in our own, it's as though their lives help us create our own lives.<br /><br />Anyone who has known me for any time at all has heard the story of how I won a round-trip plane trip to San Francisco in 1982. That was twenty-eight years ago and I was twenty-eight years old. Imagine that. I was miserable where I was--Tuscaloosa, Alabama--and I read in the paper that Republic Airlines would be giving away round-trip plane tickets--I can't remember the number (50?) to the city chosen by each winner. All you had to do was show up at the airport on the appointed day--Sunday, March 7--fill in a little piece of paper, and drop it in a slot. Winners would be drawn from a box by a Republic employee. As I read the notice, I experienced a little tingle. <span style="font-style: italic;">You're going to win a ticket</span>, a little voice whispered. Then another voice said, <span style="font-style: italic;">Dream on</span>.<br /><br />The anticipated Sunday arrived. I drove my Ford Pinto (that was the vehicle whose gas tank was prone to exploding in rear-end collisions) to Tuscaloosa Regional Airport. My spirits were high. The dogwood was blossoming. The kudzu was prolific. I rolled down all the windows and turned onto Airport Road. My heart sank. The road was lined with cars. I realized the unsettling truth: I would be vying with half the county's population for a handful of plane tickets. The odds were daunting. I kept driving past car after parked car lining the road. There were several Pintos, one with a crumpled rear end but no signs (thank goodness) of having burst into flames. I just kept driving past all of these cars, in a trance. A sensible person would have parked behind the last car on the highway and run straight to the airport so as not to be late. But I was in a trance. The little voice told me to drive. It told me <span style="font-style: italic;">I was going to win a ticket!</span><br /><br />I turned left at the airport and pulled into the tiny lot, wondering how early the fate-kissed occupants of <span style="font-style: italic;">those</span> parking spaces had arrived. Had they camped out overnight? As I approached the entrance, a car parked in the space nearest the entrance began, unbelievably, pulling out. <span style="font-style: italic;">You're going to win a ticket!</span> the little voice said. <span style="font-style: italic;">Dream on,</span> the other voice said.<br /><br />I pulled into the magically vacated space, walked into the airport, shaking a little, and elbowed my way through the delirious throng to get my name in the box.<br /><br />I was a little surprised to find my good friend Glenda standing a few feet away, and even more surprised to find her mother Louise standing beside her. Their faces were flushed with hope. I decided to stand with them. After all, it would be fun to be among friends when my name was pulled from the box. <span style="font-style: italic;">You're going to win a ticket!</span><br /><br />A guy from the airlines stood at a podium and made a little speech (while everyone's gaze was fixed on the box), then he began drawing names. He pulled 45 names. My name wasn't one of them. <span style="font-style: italic;">Unbelievable.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Dream on</span>, the hateful little voice said.<br /><br />Name 46 was "LOUISE JONES." <span style="font-style: italic;">Louise Jones?</span><br /><br />Glenda and I looked at each other with this shameful little look that said, <span style="font-style: italic;">How DARE she?</span><br /><br />Louise made her way to the podium to claim her voucher. She was elated. <span style="font-style: italic;">How DARE she?</span> Four more names were pulled. Glenda's and mine weren't among them. <span style="font-style: italic;">UnBElievable.</span><br /><br />The general mood was grim. The crowd began pleading with the Republic guy in unison--"DRAW SOME MORE NAMES. <span style="font-weight: bold;">PLEASE</span>. WE WANT MORE NAMES. PLEEEEASE. PLEEEEEEASE. <span style="font-weight: bold;">PLEEEEEEEEEEASE</span>."<br /><br />He relented and waved his palms at us, kind of preacherly, as though he had in his power to bestow blessings on the multitude. (He did.)<br /><br />"OK, folks! We didn't expect this kind of turnout. FIVE more."<br /><br />Everyone applauded. I inhaled deeply.<br /><br />The Republic official began drawing names.<br /><br />"LEROY SCOGGINS." <span style="font-style: italic;">Redneck clown.</span><br /><br />"TANYA CULPEPPER." <span style="font-style: italic;">White trash bitch.</span><br /><br />"BETTY SUE CULPEPPER." <span style="font-style: italic;"> For God's sake, who rigged this anyway?</span><br /><br />"REVEREND CECIL GRIMES." <span style="font-style: italic;">You have GOT to be kidding.</span><br /><br />"GLENDA JONES." <span style="font-style: italic;">Glenda Jones???</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">How DARE she?</span><br /><br />Glenda beamed and elbowed her way to the podium, an athletic little spring in her step. <span style="font-style: italic;">HOW? DARE? SHE?</span><br /><br />The crowd moaned. There were tears in people's eyes. There were tears in my eyes.<br /><br />"OK! OK!" shouted the Republic official. "ONE MORE. But NO MORE after that. Do we all understand??"<br /><br />The crowd cheered.<br /><br />The Republic official's hand moved very slowly over the box. He let it hover in a holding pattern. He felt like he was at the Academy Awards. I inhaled deeply. I closed my eyes. I felt like I was at the Academy Awards.<br /><br />"SAN BELL."<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">You've won a ticket!</span> the little voice shouted.<br /><br />A month later Glenda and Louise and I boarded a plane to San Francisco. Technically we boarded a plane in Tuscaloosa, which headed a few miles west, touched down at The Golden Triangle Regional Airport in Mississippi, then turned around to fly east to Atlanta, where another plane took us to Denver, where we boarded another one for Las Vegas, where we had an overnight layover, complete with free accommodations and a complimentary meal in a casino, and a few quarters for the slots, before we caught a flight to San Francisco. The tickets were free, not efficient.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRfELuiZDH-_9fKBxe_FhV1J6t1rdxF6aEjTJHsNCE9Vyl50CmhLxtZtn2CKuiVd3JBUujFaBccASF1gByuTIuScytCGX6qXtDOZyDDOwWv-yWUQpehHB5p6M29q4pgTrEbQ0OGus1NUI/s1600/republic.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 311px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRfELuiZDH-_9fKBxe_FhV1J6t1rdxF6aEjTJHsNCE9Vyl50CmhLxtZtn2CKuiVd3JBUujFaBccASF1gByuTIuScytCGX6qXtDOZyDDOwWv-yWUQpehHB5p6M29q4pgTrEbQ0OGus1NUI/s400/republic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462664794781579266" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Me, Glenda, and Louise. April 1982.</span></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Just outside the edge of the photo is the invisible red thread. I felt it tugging at my ankle as I climbed the stairs to the plane. In San Francisco the tug was more insistent. Although my friends and I had only a week to explore that city, I knew I would return. Less than three months later I packed my bags and returned for good. I brought no furniture. (I'd sold that to finance my move.) Just some clothing and a few linens, what I could squash into two large suitcases. My mother drove me to the airport. She was wistful and probably a little frightened, but she knew about the red thread somehow, and I knew she knew. The thread pulled me with urgency and I knew that somehow all would work out. It did.<br /><br />My destiny wasn't in my hands alone. There were other people too, who held the other end of the thread, sitting on the top of a hill in San Francisco, as I boarded the plane. Soon I would be climbing into the air, looking down as the red clay fields of Alabama disappeared beneath the clouds, and an invisible red thread pulled me higher, 31,000 feet into the air, across miles of crops and forests and desert, across the Mississippi River and the Rocky Mountains...to San Francisco...where those who held my destiny's thread had been waiting for me...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgATEeipEBArWi8y6oC87lLjroy_kuKuCnONAIXTGvf0ITlAxGXmIuOFyWw_xyGJaf7jxa2JRVoHBjMi2qAJxvmVUerSkqgwj89_uPtjLbg5SRjJdtd9hK1ooZ8Ol9nb2bVpVwrkVZ73KI/s1600/2pairs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 271px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgATEeipEBArWi8y6oC87lLjroy_kuKuCnONAIXTGvf0ITlAxGXmIuOFyWw_xyGJaf7jxa2JRVoHBjMi2qAJxvmVUerSkqgwj89_uPtjLbg5SRjJdtd9hK1ooZ8Ol9nb2bVpVwrkVZ73KI/s400/2pairs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462670681844395522" border="0" /></a>How they knew to pull the thread at that exact moment, especially given they were yet to be born, is a mystery, an exquisite mystery...but I believe it had something to do with this one, who held a thread too...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2sSQjZfoEyP4qfgE2hfVZeSZG4KChYi9NDbj9PriD15b2ZCWGtm3cGQwkETQKzABw7RgeCPNwy8-HJ-_XvRiRdkG7NDZ1StUNqb2dcZ7BOSp6mG2xo-G97LoYYqrCP_G5yUgqjde7FE8/s1600/O.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2sSQjZfoEyP4qfgE2hfVZeSZG4KChYi9NDbj9PriD15b2ZCWGtm3cGQwkETQKzABw7RgeCPNwy8-HJ-_XvRiRdkG7NDZ1StUNqb2dcZ7BOSp6mG2xo-G97LoYYqrCP_G5yUgqjde7FE8/s400/O.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462671851922635234" border="0" /></a><br /></div></div>Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com113tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-21400889470233150622010-03-18T17:00:00.002-06:002010-03-18T17:00:51.993-06:00Honest Scrap<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCpYh2n921GwqTRphmi_KBbTqcawCfloJEUOnK68eBXa3jGWhoL0rMpzNa5HYlGC4WjDOgM7ZHlTeT94-wGcl9tigApYMvkqLq7fE6ODNPNxyITSEY3esXZcJ9eW3V0YSSfgbcY-UKqhQ/s1600-h/honestscrap1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCpYh2n921GwqTRphmi_KBbTqcawCfloJEUOnK68eBXa3jGWhoL0rMpzNa5HYlGC4WjDOgM7ZHlTeT94-wGcl9tigApYMvkqLq7fE6ODNPNxyITSEY3esXZcJ9eW3V0YSSfgbcY-UKqhQ/s400/honestscrap1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449659061780134834" border="0" /></a><a href="http://jingleyanqiu.wordpress.com/">Jingl</a><a href="http://jingleyanqiu.wordpress.com/">e</a> has proffered me the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Honest Scrap</span> award. I'm now supposed to offer up 7 scraps of riveting information about myself. Hmmmmmmmmmm. Let me see. Long-time readers of this blog know my shoe size, the distance from my wrist to the tip of my index finger, the fact that I once worked in the home improvements section of a discount department store, and my favorite color--all of them. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Oh yeah, you also know I grew up in the circus and was born breech. I'm an open book. What else can I reveal?<br /><br /><ol><li>When I was a kid I had a trick knee. If I knelt, it would lock. This meant that for the pivotal kneeling scene in my role as an angel in the Christmas play, I had a stunt angel.</li><li>I have won three prizes in my lifetime: a blue bedspread when I was in the fourth grade, a round-trip plane ticket to San Francisco when I was 28, and just recently, $1.00 at the grocery store in the Lucky Dollars event. Scratch that last prize. Everyone who purchased $10,000.00 in groceries during a six-week period was guaranteed a minimum prize of $1.00. What can I say? I may not be the luckiest knife in the drawer, but I recognize a deal.</li><li>Every time I purchase 28 pounds of bird feed at Sam's Club, I feel all warm and fuzzy. Not because of the hungry birds lining up at the feeders in my backyard, but because the CEO of Sam's owns one of my paintings. </li><li> I have a dark, deep, irrational, devastatingly embarrassing fear--<span style="font-weight: bold;">please</span> don't tell anyone--that one of my paintings is hanging in the Salvation Army Thrift Store in Bentonville, Arkansas.</li><li>The price tag on the painting is less than that on the 28-pound box of birdfeed displayed artistically beside it.</li><li>The birdfeed is snapped up by a savvy bargain hunter. "Hey, this beats Sam's Club! But get a load of the tab on that painting--$29.99! Who are they kidding? My parakeet could do that. Hell, my parakeet could do <span style="font-style: italic;">better</span> than that!!</li><li>I have a proclivity to twisted, paranoid fantasies.</li></ol><br />Now I'm to pass this award on to seven bloggers who are to reveal 7 scraps of truths about themselves. Do the math. That makes for 49 juicy tidbits. Let's go for broke. Anybody reading this who wants this award on their blog and is prepared to dish up the truths, just comment here, expressing your intentions. We're all ears.Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com51tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-27363391813165343102010-02-17T11:56:00.001-07:002010-02-17T11:56:08.125-07:00The Sun Is Out<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7SLP2A-8PvrNScVzKsqYC_j2UcUGdeQoem_cyJEvRaF9Qf0KfnsS3GWnHQ6EV1-6W19MSqIYdCi8VA8t1bQEet4Xd_M6KB6Vkl2ZUeOeAd534-acbjoNdXVJDOkR3Rxdp5CiLkEvXD9c/s1600-h/corners.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 263px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7SLP2A-8PvrNScVzKsqYC_j2UcUGdeQoem_cyJEvRaF9Qf0KfnsS3GWnHQ6EV1-6W19MSqIYdCi8VA8t1bQEet4Xd_M6KB6Vkl2ZUeOeAd534-acbjoNdXVJDOkR3Rxdp5CiLkEvXD9c/s400/corners.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439276767466035634" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Brilliant Corners</span>, 36" x 24", acrylic on canvas</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />private collection, Albuquerque</span></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The New Mexico sun is gracing us today and my spirits are lifted. We've been having a snowier than average winter thanks to El Nino--great news for the anticipated spring runoff of the mountain snowpack into the rivers and reservoirs. This magical springtime flow replenishes our desert water supply. And, yes, the fallen snow in downtown Santa Fe is stunning...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuNtxwL0o7_AviSTIe9t4pWd6Qj30OG28TrFYxr9MEcdDjEvcofPPR6Mn-Lp7EnTQJF9qudRkqOm957jljX-kvo904JedMer9YDinV6MM9p2lCmU3GbXNKfY3CW2Y_RSNwaJnW7lPNbMs/s1600-h/phpago7okphoto%5B2%5D.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuNtxwL0o7_AviSTIe9t4pWd6Qj30OG28TrFYxr9MEcdDjEvcofPPR6Mn-Lp7EnTQJF9qudRkqOm957jljX-kvo904JedMer9YDinV6MM9p2lCmU3GbXNKfY3CW2Y_RSNwaJnW7lPNbMs/s400/phpago7okphoto%5B2%5D.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439277938296438690" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >St. Francis of Assisi Cathedral</span> <span style="font-family: verdana; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" ><br />photo courtesy Henry Lopez, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Santa Fe New Mexican</span></span><br /></div><br />One of the reasons I live in Santa Fe, however, is our 325 days of sunshine per year. I need those brilliant shafts to shine into the darker corners of my house and soul. When those corners are warm, I have a place to go. I can lean against the wall, close my eyes, feel the sunshine on my eyelids, and know that underneath all this...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7L74-vkepVJc-V2CXgobK8jw4BLyvQBQJdouaNf5AP9SvKRJVeVDEYVOAXbJ7DoOTmm8kGagqGux0pHJVoUa80lTZPv_BY4cxcLE6i3IXIfBJtIZvn67oBBZu1epUuL8Y55iKZKB7QPg/s1600-h/stairs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 394px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7L74-vkepVJc-V2CXgobK8jw4BLyvQBQJdouaNf5AP9SvKRJVeVDEYVOAXbJ7DoOTmm8kGagqGux0pHJVoUa80lTZPv_BY4cxcLE6i3IXIfBJtIZvn67oBBZu1epUuL8Y55iKZKB7QPg/s400/stairs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439283585752956162" border="0" /></a><br />...an unseen light is forming this...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE5riKe2j8Btmih7XhKmyryYN9RqqiKKJnTv7G6vq3svravVODMjgKN27yLdQxggCh99MoDQC08KZUTUip7bQ6dBZF4tpRpwDeMsGYhd3y7m-v19otO12JYyzOJciL3d7VdUVDIfpdTLg/s1600-h/blooms.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE5riKe2j8Btmih7XhKmyryYN9RqqiKKJnTv7G6vq3svravVODMjgKN27yLdQxggCh99MoDQC08KZUTUip7bQ6dBZF4tpRpwDeMsGYhd3y7m-v19otO12JYyzOJciL3d7VdUVDIfpdTLg/s400/blooms.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439285060165901570" border="0" /></a><br />There are brilliant corners in the dead of winter. When I close my eyes, I see them.<br /></div></div>Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com90tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-75740009127868808642010-02-07T07:40:00.005-07:002010-02-07T15:29:21.935-07:00Awaken me from this nightmare....please.<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtMyAR3vNEFXX_kRdva2BA0leGEvu4a4TPfS_sdOR1HCnF2ze8jgS-71amLQMBRmbuipAWmgV1JBnpNlJ6YVahSWHd8flSnSl3fMQbd2NLJxyOKoixwwNAJRmNdBe6QY0igeigHH_p5M4/s1600-h/dreamer.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 199px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtMyAR3vNEFXX_kRdva2BA0leGEvu4a4TPfS_sdOR1HCnF2ze8jgS-71amLQMBRmbuipAWmgV1JBnpNlJ6YVahSWHd8flSnSl3fMQbd2NLJxyOKoixwwNAJRmNdBe6QY0igeigHH_p5M4/s400/dreamer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434859307704741634" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">Dreamer,</span> acrylic on canvas, 24" x 48"</span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;" >private collection, Albuquerque</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I must have exceeded my allowable technology celebration quotient (TCQ). Just as I was getting used to this dazzling new i-Mac with the 27-inch screen, the gallery i-Mac (with only 17 inches) began wearing its heart on its sleeve. Jealousy no doubt. Bennie called to tell me an odd arrangement of bars had begun stalking the cursor and icons. Turns out our video card is on its death bed and heroic efforts to revive would not be cost-effective. SO now we're making final arrangements--in lieu of flowers please send flash drives-- and shopping for another computer.<br /><br />There's more. I went for coffee and came back to find my itty bitty i-Book, my oh-so-lovable hand-me-down from Flannery, was making asthmatic wheezing sounds, the cool-down fan whirring frantically. Turning it on its belly, popping out the battery and re-inserting it, calmed it temporarily--a kind of reverse shock treatment. The operative word in the last sentence is <span style="font-style: italic;">temporarily</span>. The teeny-tiny laptop has now gone beyond the veil and reincarnated as a Dell. Shudder.<br /></div></div><br />There's nothing like a technological setback, the frenzied backing-up of data, the ensuing selection of new software--decisions, decisions--to sap my urge to create. Or breathe.<br /><br />Good news is: Despite downtown Santa Fe being its typically wintertime lackluster self, I have sold a couple of paintings--"Dreamer," pictured above, and this one, which you've seen...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYZdgj4PvNHY4I11HJd44n_noYU06pw3w5IsW6KhRvn4uprFIKf1JcquysapvT9KYfjUrG-e5ZsgCCogDjcOy-5jyw6OXI7QrtY5kFem6OPv1AeMn0VPA4qgppe44qjz-oID8wiUw4GuM/s1600-h/omen,jpg.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYZdgj4PvNHY4I11HJd44n_noYU06pw3w5IsW6KhRvn4uprFIKf1JcquysapvT9KYfjUrG-e5ZsgCCogDjcOy-5jyw6OXI7QrtY5kFem6OPv1AeMn0VPA4qgppe44qjz-oID8wiUw4GuM/s400/omen,jpg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434858752255557842" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:lucida grande;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">A Good Omen</span>, 24" x 36"</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:lucida grande;" >private collection, Arlington, Virginia</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Here's hoping that's a good omen. Couldn't we <span style="font-style: italic;">all</span> use one of those?<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com65tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-91165878723674731492010-01-11T10:53:00.002-07:002010-01-11T11:27:25.010-07:00Thank You for Your Concern...As You Can See, We're Fine.Dropped out of blogging again and I appreciate your inquiries regarding the state of things here. As you can see, we remain sound in body and mind...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWd1tNUZbYSilOdnqm88meVK8fdHLqZSX-GNMyXYjxgwAOtPzTMqVe38rIC4teRkskCtFbx2rJ-jMY3BMXhldTDKb4rm24mnFPNnRSD2oa4BumyAlx3NaoZG4wK3AkxBbtq06cC-z63vA/s1600-h/Photo+on+2010-01-04+at+15.18.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWd1tNUZbYSilOdnqm88meVK8fdHLqZSX-GNMyXYjxgwAOtPzTMqVe38rIC4teRkskCtFbx2rJ-jMY3BMXhldTDKb4rm24mnFPNnRSD2oa4BumyAlx3NaoZG4wK3AkxBbtq06cC-z63vA/s400/Photo+on+2010-01-04+at+15.18.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425493824238426418" border="0" /></a>Friday will be Oakley's 21st birthday. He has matured into an upstanding young man. With the hair to prove it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGv7swN0cSfrwDuwYQV8ArjpBxHHsXj3AsTC0qM9N2FAPEK2Reb2PbhLxzNn6rWI6wnha4kKZPu7GoWw7nY2BCRXfn9lDzgX5qoDzJsNDgnz6zWXLouBbDwU89w3RvqwRladyk_H-oCYg/s1600-h/Photo+on+2010-01-10+at+20.31.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGv7swN0cSfrwDuwYQV8ArjpBxHHsXj3AsTC0qM9N2FAPEK2Reb2PbhLxzNn6rWI6wnha4kKZPu7GoWw7nY2BCRXfn9lDzgX5qoDzJsNDgnz6zWXLouBbDwU89w3RvqwRladyk_H-oCYg/s400/Photo+on+2010-01-10+at+20.31.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425495423649811202" border="0" /></a>David is getting ready to apply for graduate school in neuroscience. His primary interest is in the burgeoning field of inverse relationship between shirt collar/frontal lobe dimensions.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAEp3-POiN2jnRc7WQVEpPdR1IkE87G9DEHc0nx5Q5GwRFlWvaF3V5XPaMGXfjV2RpbLqzAtxAVCATk7tbnL3XOhFevr6129_JadIqVKtXQKVxQ2Powcp9FmDBmo21uat505Rvq0djQuc/s1600-h/Photo+on+2010-01-10+at+20.32.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAEp3-POiN2jnRc7WQVEpPdR1IkE87G9DEHc0nx5Q5GwRFlWvaF3V5XPaMGXfjV2RpbLqzAtxAVCATk7tbnL3XOhFevr6129_JadIqVKtXQKVxQ2Powcp9FmDBmo21uat505Rvq0djQuc/s400/Photo+on+2010-01-10+at+20.32.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425496370632418226" border="0" /></a>Flannery continues to build her med school application while performing experiments of a highly classified nature at the Mind Research Network. She is looking for volunteers. Can I see a show of hands?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtktN5y_gwoGqP0xVHPr28c5ih_lk6i4SdYP96Sc6Wqmpf0YaUa-IuWjgm0DmfjvbBbhVWE5D05niceKZ3V2IIdEuh6B_aV03mHnko-gVA-Qec3mBl_laCnfAwSlfis1rqtrvuHpycc-8/s1600-h/Photo+on+2010-01-10+at+20.25+%232.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtktN5y_gwoGqP0xVHPr28c5ih_lk6i4SdYP96Sc6Wqmpf0YaUa-IuWjgm0DmfjvbBbhVWE5D05niceKZ3V2IIdEuh6B_aV03mHnko-gVA-Qec3mBl_laCnfAwSlfis1rqtrvuHpycc-8/s400/Photo+on+2010-01-10+at+20.25+%232.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425494740091419170" border="0" /></a>Aside from David's thyroid condition, we'd give life two thumbs up. WAY up.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxb8fggBmQZGGN3pCP6Hfbi6_YhyphenhyphenVZ7IviTf7jJvkH9PsRKc6vFnvBqQ1E6zmnrjTBKwkddjFy0TaG5-od2wQT4fTUwyc7CFwDpeUFVfojxbCdd9hAq2jYLFqgKxtidIE7SQYljNb9lss/s1600-h/Photo+on+2010-01-10+at+20.28+%232.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxb8fggBmQZGGN3pCP6Hfbi6_YhyphenhyphenVZ7IviTf7jJvkH9PsRKc6vFnvBqQ1E6zmnrjTBKwkddjFy0TaG5-od2wQT4fTUwyc7CFwDpeUFVfojxbCdd9hAq2jYLFqgKxtidIE7SQYljNb9lss/s400/Photo+on+2010-01-10+at+20.28+%232.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425495148377934754" border="0" /></a>If I only had a thumb. And I'm glad that someone finds this condition so amusing.<br /><br />(The funhouse photos are the result of playing with the Photo Booth application on my new iMac, courtesy Santa Bennie.)Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com94tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-70191825233988037482009-12-11T11:00:00.002-07:002009-12-11T11:02:28.481-07:00The Disappearing Woman<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" ></span></span><br /></div>When my sister Rhonda was 5, she got her head stuck between two wrought iron rails on our front porch. I don't remember what prompted her to put her head between those rails. Maybe she was playing "Jail." All the kids on Emmet Street loved to stand on our front porch, grab a couple of the rails, and chant, "Look, I'm in jay-yul! Look, I'm in jay-yul!" This was well before the days of video games and ipods. Our thrills were much cheaper. If a kid had two wrought iron rails to wrap their hands around, they were in business. They were in jail. Just like Otis on <span style="font-style: italic;">The Andy Griffith Show</span>.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl3goRurjO2Tr3dD2eCkKngxqWLjGcEpw8uxZ0UnfaH05GpYLP33BfNLVTZeoh6DfuzFuTeHj06q5hG8TFVwSTWJn3wPjS8TYZhnSQcSypenybEw22udXMKr1xw8pa5OTEFiqLpDL1dQY/s1600-h/andygriffith11.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl3goRurjO2Tr3dD2eCkKngxqWLjGcEpw8uxZ0UnfaH05GpYLP33BfNLVTZeoh6DfuzFuTeHj06q5hG8TFVwSTWJn3wPjS8TYZhnSQcSypenybEw22udXMKr1xw8pa5OTEFiqLpDL1dQY/s320/andygriffith11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414021764274235266" border="0" /></a></div><br />Maybe Rhonda was playing with the idea of her head breaking out of jail. Her logic must have been:<br /><br /><ul><li>I think.</li><li>Therefore I am in jail.</li><li>I think with my head.</li><li>If I can get my head on the other side of these rails, I won't think.</li><li>I'll be out of jail once I get my head on the other side.<br /></li></ul>She did have a philosophical bent early on. It runs in the family. It's a wonder I didn't pull such a stunt. Then again, that's what little sisters are for. Did I talk her into this? I hope not, but I don't clearly recall. Although I don't remember who came to her rescue, it had to be our mother. She must have spent a good fifteen minutes lightly holding Rhonda's head, coaxing my sister to turn her head a quarter-inch this way, take an eighth step backwards with her right foot--good! we've got your right ear back--now a quarter-inch that way, step back--here comes the left ear! Having given birth to breech babies twice, my mother was adept at such maneuvers. The neighborhood kids stood in our front yard, silent, in open-mouthed awe of such magic.<br /><br />Has Rhonda ever put her head through a pair of rails again? Has anyone who witnessed that scene--the breathless kids, their parents watching from the windows--dared a repeat performance? Hell no. And yet we all keep trying to get our head out of jail. My sister writes. I paint.<br /><br />When a painting isn't going well, I feel like I've poked my head right through the canvas. On the other side of the canvas is a wall, a place to bang my head. When things are going well, though, I feel like a magician has sawed me in half. I gaze from my severed head at my hands. They belong to someone else. They know just what to do. They coax my head to the other side of the canvas. It turns just enough...this way, then that...the top of my head disappears. There goes my forehead. My eyebrows, nose, lips, chin. I am looking at the painting from the other side. I have eyes in the back of my head. Red paint splashes over them. I disappear.<br /><br />I'm feeling no pain.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkIv_jXNIOILq4LlaPp_mP0wtn_VijggeD4wtJqSfgD2g6NXeBimKmSuaeWYIYiCV9MEwOv5X7ogGaLkVuALFW4oMnzKju4aCr3vpZc74N9i5Qb6zgQU_d1SeORbydIRXp9TL_vJJ8fnk/s1600-h/magician.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 197px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkIv_jXNIOILq4LlaPp_mP0wtn_VijggeD4wtJqSfgD2g6NXeBimKmSuaeWYIYiCV9MEwOv5X7ogGaLkVuALFW4oMnzKju4aCr3vpZc74N9i5Qb6zgQU_d1SeORbydIRXp9TL_vJJ8fnk/s400/magician.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413680385409153922" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;">Travels with the Magician</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">48" x 24"</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >acrylic on canvas</span> </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >private collection, Mercer Island, Washington</span></span><br /></div><br />How do <span style="font-style: italic;">you</span> get your head out of jail?Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com115tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-33621345994460123922009-11-21T14:18:00.001-07:002009-11-21T14:18:55.939-07:00In One Dream and Out the Other<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhseAUVN976gu7Thisot1X68qmrkpoWp7brT6xWb7cskGUI4NL7fk3VsUaxu-Ll_ryrFrlsCRD6M6mWNQgECJWT9Eo-mRPnnWZ6SGtT4_gOL70ktMADCn0Bx1yYW_okA_O_djArq4fGqeM/s1600/onedream.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 321px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhseAUVN976gu7Thisot1X68qmrkpoWp7brT6xWb7cskGUI4NL7fk3VsUaxu-Ll_ryrFrlsCRD6M6mWNQgECJWT9Eo-mRPnnWZ6SGtT4_gOL70ktMADCn0Bx1yYW_okA_O_djArq4fGqeM/s400/onedream.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406662896180753602" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153); font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >In One Dream and Out the Other</span> <span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br />mixed media on canvas, 24" x 30"</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);font-size:85%;" ><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >private collection, Wayne, New Jersey</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">A lot has happened in the past year:<br /></div></div><ul style="font-style: italic;"><li>I levitated about three feet in the air, circling the perimeter of a room in William Hurt's house.</li></ul><ul style="font-style: italic;"><li>I met up in the Yucatan countryside with the Oscar Meyer bologna boy (from those 80s commercials). He and I walked a while. We came upon Marlo Thomas and her sister. Then things got really interesting...</li></ul><ul style="font-style: italic;"><li>Hillary Clinton purchased a small artwork from my gallery, in honor of her birthday--she told me she wanted a special little treat.</li></ul><ul style="font-style: italic;"><li>Unexpected guests showed up at my house. I was chagrined when one of my eyebrows fell off.</li></ul><ul style="font-style: italic;"><li>James Spader did an extended and earnest sales presentation to me on paintings by African artists he represented.</li></ul><ul style="font-style: italic;"><li>I was at a family gathering. George W. Bush was present. I held a baby in my knee. Bush looked at the baby. "Looks like me," he said. HORRORS. When will I waken from this nightmare?</li></ul>For almost a year I've had the extraordinary pleasure of participating in a small dream-sharing group. The oddest thing about our members is we've never met each other in person--we're a private online blog. And yet, I feel as if I've known these people for a few lifetimes. And I don't even believe in multiple lifetimes! Must be because our dreams bubble up from that timeless, unfathomable ocean we call the collective unconscious. Don't misunderstand me. We don't always dream in Jungian archetypes, or about movie stars or ex-presidents. Some of our most interesting observations have been gleaned from ho-hum subject matter. I often dream about pedestrian occurrences at the gallery. A troublesome client shows up wanting to consign a pillow and a sleeping mat "for free." The group decides this is a warning to me--don't let this high-maintenance person invade my territory, keep my boundaries intact, or she will be setting up a little rest area in the gallery!<br /><br />The dream group is an ongoing adventure. A quiet adventure. An adventure of the best kind. It was founded by <a href="http://dreamingsymbols.blogspot.com/">Laura Lefelar-Barch</a>, a therapist in New Jersey. She has a Master's in divinity from Duke. She has an Educational Specialist degree from Seton Hall. And she is working on her PhD in clinical psychology. Laura has many balls in the air and she keeps them up, beautifully. She's married and the mother of four young children, including twins. She has a busy private practice and an even busier dream life! Recently she appeared on MTV's "True Life Monday" in an episode with real footage from one of her remarkable therapy sessions. (In case you could use a little help getting through the holidays without your inner self getting trampled in a Black Friday stampede, I believe Laura does distance therapy with Skype.)<br /><br />I'm paying tribute to Laura today, because I want to thank her publicly for the energy and focus she has given to our dream collective. Laura is stepping down from our group--the thrust of her work is now less dream-centered--and encouraging us to forge ahead on our own. We've decided to do just that, thanks to Laura's empowering insights.<br /><br />And it is my sublime pleasure to know that my painting "In One Dream and Out the Other" now resides with Laura and her husband Michael, who saw fit to acquire it as an anniversary gift to one another. That's what I call a dream come true.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com104tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-78842103972661286222009-10-14T12:40:00.002-06:002009-10-19T09:51:31.812-06:00Life Is Food<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSxd21qXoeq1cNya3Tl9w8-MRMDALgH_ST3QukmtWzlym-uRv87AaqEHyV_G9fykCyp_XoypExJhMC6iYVFqq5QMxkh6Oj3fnNJBfWH5bcIev4uhOH7qq9YRzDVXJyo88wAuK_eQbNmL4/s1600-h/vessel.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSxd21qXoeq1cNya3Tl9w8-MRMDALgH_ST3QukmtWzlym-uRv87AaqEHyV_G9fykCyp_XoypExJhMC6iYVFqq5QMxkh6Oj3fnNJBfWH5bcIev4uhOH7qq9YRzDVXJyo88wAuK_eQbNmL4/s400/vessel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392495366774912754" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Vessel,</span> acrylic on canvas, 30" x 40"</span></span></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span><br /></span></div>Ever have a day when things connected? When the events unfolded gently, not with a lot of fanfare, but they nonetheless felt inevitable? Not life-changing events mind you, just quiet events that affirm being alive. Sunday was that kind of day for me. It was a glorious autumn morning. I was driving down Old Pecos Trail, under the big, achingly blue New Mexico sky. Yellow chamisa lined the sides of the road, interrupted here and there by purple wildflowers, whose names I don't know. The shaggy contours of the junipers, loaded with berries, looked about to burst with their own joy. I was listening to NPR.<br /><br />The theme of the program was death, or more accurately, that border <span style="font-style: italic;">between</span> life and death, the territory that is the closest we who are living can get to death without actually dying. One man told a story of jumping off a bridge. He had methodically decided that his death would be best for all. He had analyzed how his death would affect each person in his life and was convinced that they would be better off were he to take that last step into thin air, plunging into the water, and the death just beneath that water, below the bridge. So that's what he did. He took the plunge.<br /><br />Only thing was the very moment he saw his hands leave the rail, he realized his was a huge mistake, he knew he loved life with all of his heart, he wanted desperately to reverse his action, to be standing on the bridge again, walking back into life and the people there, all the unfinished business, the sloppiness of it all. He hoped, probably more deeply than he had ever hoped, for a miracle. He wanted to survive.<br /><br />That was his lucky day. A member of the Coast Guard had witnessed the jump and they were there in minutes, pulling him into their boat.<br /><br />Other stories followed. The story of a neuroscientist who put a comatose patient into an MRI tube and instructed her to imagine she was playing tennis. The areas of the cortex that would light up when a person was playing an aggressive tennis game, or even imagining such a game, lit up brilliantly! Someone was <span style="font-style: italic;">in there</span>, someone in love with life, as limited as that life appeared to those of us <span style="font-style: italic;">out here</span>. There was an imagination at work. Then there was the story of the woman who was not comatose at all. She walked around. She spoke. She could play a game of tennis if she wanted to. A <span style="font-style: italic;">real</span> game of tennis. Only she really believed she was dead. She could sit on chairs and touch tennis balls, but they seemed not real. They seemed illusory. It was decided she too was <span style="font-style: italic;">in there</span>, but she had no sense of self <span style="font-style: italic;">out there</span>. Unlike the comatose woman, she had no emotions to link with her thoughts. She had no purpose. I believe she was devoid of imagination and dreaming. She was among the Undead.<br /><br />Later that evening in Albuquerque my family saw two vampire plays by Mac Wellman. In <span style="font-style: italic;">Dracula</span>, a contemporary interpretation of Bram Stoker's tale, the director chose to "split" some of the characters--they were played by two actors. When a character would speak or perform an action, another actor, a kind of <span style="font-style: italic;">doppelganger</span>, would repeat the words, and the action, but slightly differently, more softly, with less emphasis. I realized that we the audience were witnessing the <span style="font-style: italic;">in here</span> and the <span style="font-style: italic;">out there</span> selves. We were seeing our own divisions, our own apartness from life, our own Undeadness.<br /><br />During the intermission we were asked to take our personal belongings and leave the theater, to have a cup of tea in the courtyard. When we returned to the performance space, we were to see the second play, <span style="font-style: italic;">Swoop,</span> sandwiched between the two acts of <span style="font-style: italic;">Dracula. </span> All of our chairs had been turned in the opposite direction for <span style="font-style: italic;">Swoop</span>. Whereas in the first act of <span style="font-style: italic;">Dracula,</span> the back row of chairs was highest up, and the front row, where I'd been sitting, was on a level with the actors, now the front row was highest up, facing a stage curtain several feet above. I eagerly went to the top level and sat down in the center chair. The curtain opened and I found myself staring directly up into the eyes of a vampire, who was looking back down at me. Perhaps that was a stage direction to the actor--look right down into the eyes of whoever is sitting in the front-and-center chair. That would be me! I loved it!<br /><br />There were four actors in <span style="font-style: italic;">Swoop</span>. All were characters from <span style="font-style: italic;">Dracula</span>, including one character's split selves, who had moved through time and space to hover in the air seven miles above present-day Manhattan. They delivered powerful, far-reaching monologues on the absurdity and beauty of existence, what one referred to as "the blur." Their words swooped down at us, fast and furious. As Bennie remarked later, it was really challenging to follow the ideas and the images, which blurred together like gazpacho ingredients thrown into a blender. We were nonetheless compelled to drink in all that we could. We were hungry for the blood of it all.<br /><br />As one vampire said, "It is a need to prey (and yes, I delighted in first hearing <span style="font-style: italic;">"prey</span>" as <span style="font-style: italic;">"pray"</span>), that so incessantly needles...needles some to madness, awful woes and bellowing, and some other, happy few, notably me, to my sustaining updraft, my hilarity. I look down through veil upon veil of wispy vapor and behold a city of food."<br /><br />Yes, it's all about the food. Life is a feast, although not always what we'd hoped for. Sometimes it helps to have our chairs turned in an opposite direction, so that we look briefly, for one dark moment, into the eyes of he who would take our precious life, our blood, our food, from us. To know that the chair we sit on is real, that we have the choice to climb down from the drama, wrap a scarf around our vulnerable necks, and simply drive to a diner. For a bite. It's good to know the ones we hold dear are waiting in the wings for us, with a cup of tea, a bit of conversation over shared food, maybe even a lifeboat.Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com108tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-64394193135607656582009-09-18T10:05:00.002-06:002009-09-18T10:06:50.343-06:00When Faith Moves Mountains and Other Geographical Experiments<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsDm7Ukr26a9OcA_Dsn5sLq_95QLNd1pZs6wQY1lBZZ-A3Czresk5fj5YYDSeh2nfOKXJQWVinLqxPdS5090JgGPW0Yaa6S7-DLYwGJgJzMM9vrukK9gofTF097Jh6udfVnchwUCMTLrQ/s1600-h/slice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsDm7Ukr26a9OcA_Dsn5sLq_95QLNd1pZs6wQY1lBZZ-A3Czresk5fj5YYDSeh2nfOKXJQWVinLqxPdS5090JgGPW0Yaa6S7-DLYwGJgJzMM9vrukK9gofTF097Jh6udfVnchwUCMTLrQ/s400/slice.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:red;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-family: verdana;font-size:85%;" ><i>Slice of Time</i>, acrylic on canvas, 24" x 18"</span><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:85%;color:red;" >private collection, Littleton, Colorado</span><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div> "Experimental Geography explores the distinctions between geographical study and artistic experience of the earth, as well as the juncture where the two realms collide and possibly make a new field altogether." The spaces where realms collide--that's where hope resides.<br /><br />"Experimental Geography" is a traveling exhibition, currently at the Albuquerque Museum of Art and History. Nineteen artists or teams of artists from seven countries have presented their personal "geographical study and artistic experience of the earth" through various mediums.<br /><br />There is a film documenting "A Project for Geographical Displacement," a project by Francis Alys, wherein 500 volunteers formed a line to move a sand dune near Lima. Described as a "human comb," these 500 human beings "pushed a certain quantity of sand a certain distance, thereby moving a sixteen-hundred-foot-long sand dune about four inches from its original position."<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Q3wejlMfnDI3YcLc29pL8GJd7SqqOmmAdZAYZIioeskyzRwBEbh5i8rS3ubD1EA1AO9QBNxMd6tGy5ClMDCdFQYodFNelCKVxxYV174w2qaW0n0WCRZJn9otNgq1kux4kRnjVCooqow/s1600-h/when_faith_moves_mountains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Q3wejlMfnDI3YcLc29pL8GJd7SqqOmmAdZAYZIioeskyzRwBEbh5i8rS3ubD1EA1AO9QBNxMd6tGy5ClMDCdFQYodFNelCKVxxYV174w2qaW0n0WCRZJn9otNgq1kux4kRnjVCooqow/s320/when_faith_moves_mountains.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Such a tangible metaphor for hope. What hope, combined with sweat and teamwork, can accomplish, on a monumental scale. That's what I call faith.<br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Equally moving was the "NOTES FOR A PEOPLE'S ATLAS." These were small printed digital outlines of the city of Albuquerque, on which residents had been invited to "plot their personal knowledge of places, histories, and ideas on the map of their community." The most poignant one for me included only two large penciled-in dots, loosely marking two locations, a couple of miles apart. Each was accompanied by a message. One said, "where I was raped, age 15." And, in the second location, "where I got my life back together, 14 years later." For that young woman, getting her life back together must have been as monumental as moving a sixteen-hundred-foot-sand-dune four inches. Even so, after 14 years, it budged. That's what I call faith.<br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com99tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-22955446170045213582009-09-11T11:32:00.003-06:002009-09-11T11:45:07.565-06:00Old Man Gloom Dispatched by Fire and Ceremony<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOrRzSjyFvQNHWeaJbIQ7zfVffHfaLNotH-h03ydRvZ-vJaQIGp0iqgOi0iEArSUKBdVe7q6Bjzv42dpmEmDBcv0XHqb2gDJ3GWtNTPVDoFlDR4qsf3Q71tbzNg3MRzEE4wTXDU0KZcps/s1600-h/zozobra.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOrRzSjyFvQNHWeaJbIQ7zfVffHfaLNotH-h03ydRvZ-vJaQIGp0iqgOi0iEArSUKBdVe7q6Bjzv42dpmEmDBcv0XHqb2gDJ3GWtNTPVDoFlDR4qsf3Q71tbzNg3MRzEE4wTXDU0KZcps/s320/zozobra.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><br />
Sparkus Illuminus (the Honorable and Exalted), the berobed, besceptered man on the stage is holding court:<br />
<br />
"Santa Fe, it's time to consider the fate of Old Man Gloom:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>Zozobra, for being a hideous 50-foot bogeyman who scares the innocent children of Santa Fe;</li>
<li>Zozobra, for being a menace and making our dogs howl at the moon;</li>
<li>Zozobra, for haunting our dreams and upsetting our peaceful way of life;</li>
</ul>I ask the citizens of Santa Fe:<br />
<ul><li>Shall we now send Zozobra to a fiery death?</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Shall we burn him?"</li>
</ul>The mob of 20,000 gathered at Fort Marcy Park, comprised of upstanding Santa Fe citizens, visitors from New York, Oklahoma City, and Albuquerque, young parents holding their toddlers on their shoulders, white-haired seniors, teens (LOTS of teens), Dems, Greens, and Republicans--roar in unison, <b>"BURN 'IM!!!"</b><br />
<br />
It's unanimous. Sparkus Illuminus proclaims Zozobra's fate:<br />
<ul><li>"I declare that on this evening, September 10, 2009, that Zozobra, otherwise known as Old Man Gloom, shall be dispatched by appropriate fire and ceremony.</li>
<li>With the execution of Zozobra, we release all anxiety, suffering, heartache, and gloom of our fair city.</li>
<li>Bring on the Glooms and Firedancers!</li>
</ul>Zozobra's fate is sealed. The Glooms (ghostly, sheet-wearing schoolchildren) and Firedancers in red costumes, bearing torches, solemnly proceed to the platform. At 9:00 on an evening in early September, Zozobra, a towering paper marionette, is consumed in flames to the delight of our people. For an evening, we watch our troubles go up in smoke. <br />
<br />
In past years I have written notes about a particular personal trouble I wanted to release. I have deposited that note in the Gloom Box (the contents of which are burned with Zozobra), along with other people's divorce papers, bankruptcy papers, mortgage notes, medical diagnoses--you name it--and felt the thrill of seeing all things troubling from the past year reduced to a puff of smoke, a spectacle of fireworks.<br />
<br />
There's a time to let things go, to get over it already, to move on. Other troubles await us, but for now: <b style="color: red;">Viva la Fiesta!</b><br />
<br />
<object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" height="330" id="cs_player" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://eplayer.clipsyndicate.com/cs_api/get_swf/3/&wpid=0&hue=224&page_count=15&windows=1&va_id=1093007&show_title=0&auto_start=0&auto_next=1"></param><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://eplayer.clipsyndicate.com/cs_api/get_swf/3/&wpid=0&hue=224&page_count=15&windows=1&va_id=1093007&show_title=0&auto_start=0&auto_next=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="330"></embed></object><br />
<br />
<br />
(The video is from a TV station in Albuquerque. You can't fast-forward through the opening commercial. But once you get to the Zozobra coverage, you can fast-forward through segments. If this ritual interests you, you might want to do that, to see the sentencing of Zozobra, some of the firedancing, some of the burning, some of the pyrotechnics. I'll warn you though. It's nothing like being here in person.)Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com60tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-3875042122370613432009-09-06T12:34:00.004-06:002010-04-08T15:03:27.560-06:00Running with the Wrong Crowd<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglNhnfaOTj8YOYjohwVeCeBa9NJSQnvMVctNaNMk8oSxYpzCgaQbUxn0W4bjCJ8f53oQLfXX_lv4wqzYTZlXj_gdytvcZeDYTwm1ozKoaDBfiTb6HK6fLqtQD2TyGdzX0Jy-Mccb4d8ZI/s1600-h/san.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglNhnfaOTj8YOYjohwVeCeBa9NJSQnvMVctNaNMk8oSxYpzCgaQbUxn0W4bjCJ8f53oQLfXX_lv4wqzYTZlXj_gdytvcZeDYTwm1ozKoaDBfiTb6HK6fLqtQD2TyGdzX0Jy-Mccb4d8ZI/s320/san.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family:inherit;">There's a line a blogger crosses. From Bad Blogger to Dirty Rotten Blogger. A Bad Blogger posts sketchily, willy nilly, in fits and starts. When she returns to blogland after an extended absence, people say wry things like, "Oh <i>my</i>, you live and breathe." But the Bad Blogger at least has the decency to put in an appearance fo</span>r solemn occasions such as blogaversaries. The Dirty Rotten Blogger does not.<br /><br />I've crossed the line. Friday was my second blogaversary, not to mention my 56th birthday. And I refrained from commemorating. I morphed from oaf to scoundrel. I'm a Dirty Rotten Blogger. Maybe that's because I'm in the Terrible Twos. At least in blog years. Maybe it's because I've taken to running with the wrong crowd.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh7WA9SVOapjJK_VGDeivPbxwCprM8YG4FaDclC-ZdL6_1RqlPGLv6PxkohR7PYy3aE7YZPLZrMked0PoTDQ6lBG5pqNXhJ8DaRRpYF3X9k7BEgtiijEt1tbD6hHMhL8jk9KjfsYm6S_k/s1600-h/kiddos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh7WA9SVOapjJK_VGDeivPbxwCprM8YG4FaDclC-ZdL6_1RqlPGLv6PxkohR7PYy3aE7YZPLZrMked0PoTDQ6lBG5pqNXhJ8DaRRpYF3X9k7BEgtiijEt1tbD6hHMhL8jk9KjfsYm6S_k/s320/kiddos.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">These kids are a bad influence.</span></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">Foreground: daughter Flannery.</span></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">Back row: David (Flan's boyfriend) and son Oakley.</span><br /><span style="font-size:x-small;">Their deviousness is outdone</span><br /><span style="font-size:x-small;">only by this one...<br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:x-small;"> <br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div><div style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div><div style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC9d_xds7R7ONUMZdK2EXyGEFuzcxj1oo10_9sk2Ss8Wqzu_Q1auK4PkqmXpR_PlpKYbt7Li7er5KxouXs7KNO844l40YWDSdo17OgYs6y0Rj57-mKuQhM6MaOvHVBn2i7K-JrG9fWvXc/s1600-h/host.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC9d_xds7R7ONUMZdK2EXyGEFuzcxj1oo10_9sk2Ss8Wqzu_Q1auK4PkqmXpR_PlpKYbt7Li7er5KxouXs7KNO844l40YWDSdo17OgYs6y0Rj57-mKuQhM6MaOvHVBn2i7K-JrG9fWvXc/s320/host.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(153, 0, 0); text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">This one is bad to the bone.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(153, 0, 0); text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">He cooked TWO birthday feasts for me,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(153, 0, 0); text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">the first one two days <i>before</i> my birthday.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(153, 0, 0); text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">I came home from the gallery,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(153, 0, 0); text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">walked up the back steps to find</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(153, 0, 0); text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">the bad one holding hands with Cinde, Bob, Christy,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(153, 0, 0); text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">and Russ. Their heads were bowed, their eyes were </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(153, 0, 0); text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">closed, and they were chanting OOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(153, 0, 0); text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">"What's going on here?" I asked in indignation.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(153, 0, 0); text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">"SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-size:x-small;"></span><br /><div style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">Then there's that thug Otto...</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAI3qptXBan48bQ299nJQrnLpm7ky5-C7GoESan-2fOUnHQSWyuK0NBKkvePnjPcnvTpxd-rYmXjWnZXD-uWF4PKi46iEM1M0X0kXdzkcMuYZK0Gb2-TRIjVgX4rcyzIP3QuzAAe-WA94/s1600-h/otto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAI3qptXBan48bQ299nJQrnLpm7ky5-C7GoESan-2fOUnHQSWyuK0NBKkvePnjPcnvTpxd-rYmXjWnZXD-uWF4PKi46iEM1M0X0kXdzkcMuYZK0Gb2-TRIjVgX4rcyzIP3QuzAAe-WA94/s320/otto.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:red;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">Otto, my Stephano-Pirovano-designed </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:red;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">dental floss dispenser,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:x-small;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:red;" ><span style="font-size:x-small;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:red;" >a gift from the dastardly Christy.</span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;font-family:Times,";color:black;"><span style=";font-size:small;color:white;" > </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb4LsvIpduPP-QLP95ARgiuUtwcqwiGp-3kA7gxDuXvLnqZA6YqisqM_YPjbdJFR0P4hYaNa3r_ZJTzdw33hG7B4xvvXWRMuHwTd0SfHl2PunHSK_eCx4B5ZfEy9oENpoVARzJaMHCqKM/s1600-h/cards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb4LsvIpduPP-QLP95ARgiuUtwcqwiGp-3kA7gxDuXvLnqZA6YqisqM_YPjbdJFR0P4hYaNa3r_ZJTzdw33hG7B4xvvXWRMuHwTd0SfHl2PunHSK_eCx4B5ZfEy9oENpoVARzJaMHCqKM/s320/cards.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">My birthday cards and letters, from various low-lifes:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">My mother (who surreptitiously slipped me cash,<br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">then brazenly sang </span><span style="font-size:x-small;"> </span><span style="font-size:x-small;">Happy Birthday on my voice mail).</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">The infamous Sometimes Saintly Nick </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">(alias Alex the Blogging Cat).</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">JS (knee-deep in "discernment"--</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">an Episcopal euphemism for parole--she emailed me her first,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">highly subversive sermon).</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;"> Paschal (who penned a wicked acrostic based on my name).</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">Belinda and Armand (from L.A.--lower Alabama--</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">can't get any lower than that).</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">Cinde and Bob, who harbored on their premises<br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">Christy and Russ, accessories to the birthday perpetration.<br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">The Out-Laws (disguised as the in-laws).<br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">The Bad Influence Kids.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">Bad-to-the-Bone.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">Notice all of the cards are rallying around<br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">the large bottle of Reposada,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;font-family:Times,";color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;"><span style="font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;">a gift from Flannery and David.</span></span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">(I told you they are a bad influence.) </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">The chocolate from Bad-to-the-Bone is hidden,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:purple;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">as are the various items of intimate apparel. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: purple; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;color:red;" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO0TwgS_eV2eFnjiBK35u1FR1hrUwvMZdUiIE55UPQbsi9hpt5i6JBpZYtw3DybZqHyEhU-mlhWBTxn4Sc8LM0UCQpezX55E-6AGk3PGxlC7D8wOzQDQcRdd3JlexHu798I1cSGGCB4lw/s1600-h/roses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO0TwgS_eV2eFnjiBK35u1FR1hrUwvMZdUiIE55UPQbsi9hpt5i6JBpZYtw3DybZqHyEhU-mlhWBTxn4Sc8LM0UCQpezX55E-6AGk3PGxlC7D8wOzQDQcRdd3JlexHu798I1cSGGCB4lw/s400/roses.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">My birthday roses, grown by my neighbor Cynde</span></div><div style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">and arranged with greenery from her garden,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:x-small;" >in a French tin pot, adorned with a white satin bow.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:x-small;" >She's the scourge of the neighborhood.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2HGqCzneAVLZRldxc4bXNYWvegAJF4Re-qIvbPKPfxeLre7OXK3xRMjrcQr4u5JnXj1H7JXhqrTpoaBD-yF3x4zscZ9LsSsotGNlf1zcRjp6ZxWOICf9-jyfDEyUx9BFJgXn_DPEBsgM/s1600-h/sage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2HGqCzneAVLZRldxc4bXNYWvegAJF4Re-qIvbPKPfxeLre7OXK3xRMjrcQr4u5JnXj1H7JXhqrTpoaBD-yF3x4zscZ9LsSsotGNlf1zcRjp6ZxWOICf9-jyfDEyUx9BFJgXn_DPEBsgM/s320/sage.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">Four pots of Russian sage,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">foisted on me by my in-laws.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:x-small;">They wrote the book on Bad.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:x-small;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCYOSFwsi6OZmnwkQbToH0TpEvS2_MLwqSG5A9suAXqc9qbDL_YhcfsExCrJjnVyWntOmep1W3UYloxlaToqSTQTwjVIPDBb3UUik8r8HOE_B3AM_7twEfvowlc4WJc1HNV3GZHdy4BJw/s1600-h/incense.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCYOSFwsi6OZmnwkQbToH0TpEvS2_MLwqSG5A9suAXqc9qbDL_YhcfsExCrJjnVyWntOmep1W3UYloxlaToqSTQTwjVIPDBb3UUik8r8HOE_B3AM_7twEfvowlc4WJc1HNV3GZHdy4BJw/s320/incense.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:x-small;" >A selection of headily fragranced incense</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:x-small;" >and a heart-carved case to keep it in.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:x-small;">A gift from my insensitive lout of a son.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:x-small;"> </span> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:x-small;" >(That's the hem of my skirt in the foreground.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:x-small;" >Not that you were asking.)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:x-small;" > </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-cRRwWY7RpHNvaEGzJKFyZWLlHR4Ky89ronWnPmlUHtbkeZnvUprXv_vN8NT5jiFbmQhZ-P0C4MEFPoKwEjRuwz_7ewolp9psw-OtRxJx910FtSvq5nklPsYx7nAPROaaSti4LHhmU-w/s1600-h/mask.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-cRRwWY7RpHNvaEGzJKFyZWLlHR4Ky89ronWnPmlUHtbkeZnvUprXv_vN8NT5jiFbmQhZ-P0C4MEFPoKwEjRuwz_7ewolp9psw-OtRxJx910FtSvq5nklPsYx7nAPROaaSti4LHhmU-w/s320/mask.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:x-small;" > My Bradley mixed-media ceramic mask.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:x-small;" >Gifted by, you guessed it, Bad-to-the-Bone.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:x-small;" ><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:x-small;" ><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ROScCTtvWWDR7Jvt_UZlB6dBbf6xXquizGcAYRvxT8uvTtpU3NqR6VcohKuZpaoxZ7RR3I7MfxOr8FrExnY9c6wkgvu9iUQKNbLcTRLpkbhzIkoLAFiLmv4lae_JuL9SrhArcQxS7Ng/s1600-h/allie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ROScCTtvWWDR7Jvt_UZlB6dBbf6xXquizGcAYRvxT8uvTtpU3NqR6VcohKuZpaoxZ7RR3I7MfxOr8FrExnY9c6wkgvu9iUQKNbLcTRLpkbhzIkoLAFiLmv4lae_JuL9SrhArcQxS7Ng/s320/allie.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style=";font-size:x-small;color:magenta;" >My brand new great-niece Allie Rae,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style=";font-size:x-small;color:magenta;" >whose timing could not have been worse.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style=";font-size:x-small;color:magenta;" >She arrived home from the hospital on Friday,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style=";font-size:x-small;color:magenta;" ><i>my</i> birthday,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style=";font-size:x-small;color:magenta;" ><i>my</i> blogaversary,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style=";font-size:x-small;color:magenta;" >the official opening day of Santa Fe Fiestas,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style=";font-size:x-small;color:magenta;" >the official kick-off of Santa Fe's <b>400th</b> Anniversary. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style=";font-size:x-small;color:magenta;" >Some people are dirty and rotten from Day One.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style=";font-size:x-small;color:magenta;" >But I <b>adore</b> the headgear! </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style=";font-size:x-small;color:magenta;" > <span style="font-size:large;"><span style="color:cyan;">VIVA LA FIESTA!</span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style=";font-size:x-small;color:magenta;" ><span style="font-size:large;"><span style="color:cyan;"><span style="font-size:small;">AND WELCOME ALLIE RAE!</span><br /></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style="color:magenta;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: rgb(53, 28, 117); text-align: center;"><span style="color:magenta;"> </span> </div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCK3_ISOHKFj5P0Hb309S6XKM7TeacD7bbYH-KNEZ6mLWEuVf0qOa775j8CuJ-Vg-wgrBHRSR6R0j2P7C3Of0y_Gz20bHnuPFdcVaJfk7tyqD0M9aEY1PAjIxf2g2MAqb6zo3k4Ad-e2o/s1600-h/incense2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a> </div>Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com71tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-46317675182296058052009-09-01T14:18:00.002-06:002009-09-02T11:28:03.733-06:00Indian Market Discovery<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_SdHLT3KfkzpFpAwBT_VXR19tF-ABNf06HKlt9Po2RfFk9BJr42Z2zOePsxWJ481Vtqd7gBCSqedadfcuDkf1VbLJagmX8EB8Vv_EXeDddb6bpsyZkb1yYrV78aCKBYs7cTpPmxwNylg/s1600-h/omen.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376569283600810466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_SdHLT3KfkzpFpAwBT_VXR19tF-ABNf06HKlt9Po2RfFk9BJr42Z2zOePsxWJ481Vtqd7gBCSqedadfcuDkf1VbLJagmX8EB8Vv_EXeDddb6bpsyZkb1yYrV78aCKBYs7cTpPmxwNylg/s400/omen.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-style: italic;">A Good Omen</span>, 24" x 36"</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">mixed media on canvas<br />
(my painting)<br />
</span><br />
</span></span></div>Santa Fe recently celebrated our 88th annual Indian Market, the largest juried Native American arts event anywhere. With over 1000 artists participating, our little downtown district was packed with vendors, buyers, and unsuspecting tourists who just happened to stumble into town during the most exciting event of the year. It's always a busy weekend at the gallery, kicking off with a reception on Friday night. Often I'm so tired from minding the gallery, which remains open into the night on Saturday, I don't take the opportunity to stroll through the Market. This year was different, however. Family members were visiting for my in-laws' 60th wedding anniversary--that celebration occurred Sunday evening--so naturally, they had to be introduced to Indian Market.<br />
<br />
I'm so glad I visited the Market. There in the Emerging Artists section, I happened on the exciting ceramic sculpture of Chippewa artist Patricia Bradley. Truth be told, my daughter first spotted these evocative masks sporting the semblance of animal ears, face paint, headdresses, and various sculpted wrappings--around the forehead, over the mouth, over the eyes. "Hey, Mom, look over there at those AWESOME masks!"<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Et072cOQRNlEmIGt7rrOwzoRfudma2NrTb55DYo8W1-p8Bjvnmyf8A__aBqulYJXRpEI0NM5u4oUUapSTKzVvbeQcejIt3WHIG8vOPBQl6R8FSLPnSfw8Wg1XOLblCxSPPCglur0So4/s1600-h/pb17.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376562539817726834" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Et072cOQRNlEmIGt7rrOwzoRfudma2NrTb55DYo8W1-p8Bjvnmyf8A__aBqulYJXRpEI0NM5u4oUUapSTKzVvbeQcejIt3WHIG8vOPBQl6R8FSLPnSfw8Wg1XOLblCxSPPCglur0So4/s400/pb17.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 278px;" /></a></div><div style="color: #cc0000; font-family: verdana; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Lil Brother<br />
<br />
</span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmwlkptKn8w1USH6yCq8jyEMvlv0rmK1wFb2HiwZUDb_XuXPikjEm7CGSWgsOsZ9PEi6IXuSd4UTjyb0W5-m68-kTizSGvbGpc2M67Aoygee6xShrcgrilu5svqw5m5F99D2ZNASY6LSA/s1600-h/pb1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376562551964023730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmwlkptKn8w1USH6yCq8jyEMvlv0rmK1wFb2HiwZUDb_XuXPikjEm7CGSWgsOsZ9PEi6IXuSd4UTjyb0W5-m68-kTizSGvbGpc2M67Aoygee6xShrcgrilu5svqw5m5F99D2ZNASY6LSA/s400/pb1.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 252px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">Princess</span></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq8egBdXtwhPI_p_1cAflDKl_bvrBInuFKgyNEoTy4CUSRv6QNZ23Zl9ilgHv-N7grbMWchTIuO2OId6ia5ogHIgpBlTtRtxwH5lR8a5SxrIbJFxMdzPbB2OtyqVVH2wH07T1mZADc5-s/s1600-h/pb24.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376561504844162642" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq8egBdXtwhPI_p_1cAflDKl_bvrBInuFKgyNEoTy4CUSRv6QNZ23Zl9ilgHv-N7grbMWchTIuO2OId6ia5ogHIgpBlTtRtxwH5lR8a5SxrIbJFxMdzPbB2OtyqVVH2wH07T1mZADc5-s/s400/pb24.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 263px;" /></a><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dreamer</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHUL_qOZSrsJL8PaR72FqYqTPqtaJVBogYr2lhPfvtuD_TkoLbeNhTU9FHyERLkVWrRZiMNYFpgYyCTjYdnr28Y2u3GlV8ilt29noPymtmmvVd5JcY3_1C-Lu5LZ6h2R6yCUDVADBseE/s1600-h/pb8.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376562547843674626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHUL_qOZSrsJL8PaR72FqYqTPqtaJVBogYr2lhPfvtuD_TkoLbeNhTU9FHyERLkVWrRZiMNYFpgYyCTjYdnr28Y2u3GlV8ilt29noPymtmmvVd5JcY3_1C-Lu5LZ6h2R6yCUDVADBseE/s400/pb8.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 376px;" /></a><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Animal Guidance</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> from a series of 25 mixed-media ceramic masks</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">modeled on the faces of the artist's children</span><br />
</span></div><br />
They were powerful and carried a wild, joyous energy. I fell in love. With the art and with the artist, who struck me as a straightforward person, open to possibility. Flan snapped up what I had decided was <span style="font-style: italic;">my</span> favorite mask. It was the only piece loosely modeled on Patricia's own face; several strokes of red paint were dashed across one eye, warrior style. I have to hand it to my daughter: she has quite an eye and she knows what she wants and when she sees it, she takes it. She's a warrior herself.<br />
<br />
The next day I returned and saw that Patricia had sold a number of her pieces, but her tabletop sculptures--faces emerging from a mass of fired clay, with coils of metal emerging from the backs of the heads and pieces of found metal sprouting from tops of the heads, a fusion of smooth and rough, playful and sad, Earth and Spirit--remained unsold...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5nGe9NvPC_UkdAwPvo54IJRm6wAaYwzNbW5p-t_RN9gA_nSoua-XbtVae5zTQlC-Oqv685uivRhVno7Nl8LMGmx63fFJaoAOfiax1ADYNvz6-eZuAk3nCTsw_xg8xgHWrhsCtJa_QTjY/s1600-h/sculptures.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374467827437942050" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5nGe9NvPC_UkdAwPvo54IJRm6wAaYwzNbW5p-t_RN9gA_nSoua-XbtVae5zTQlC-Oqv685uivRhVno7Nl8LMGmx63fFJaoAOfiax1ADYNvz6-eZuAk3nCTsw_xg8xgHWrhsCtJa_QTjY/s400/sculptures.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC6ApycoPoVZa4KHT3zAZbGlb3TljZ0lBkG_rxXyfvbqvb0BYf20vy28gvEuunNENRnwDW7Ui2TTXaGzXxfl098vkylCaVuLA0N_KkaGZ3eorRo5mmgH7cOP6c9cZxmXjDbqFNH6lI4H4/s1600-h/pb03.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376562559758489170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC6ApycoPoVZa4KHT3zAZbGlb3TljZ0lBkG_rxXyfvbqvb0BYf20vy28gvEuunNENRnwDW7Ui2TTXaGzXxfl098vkylCaVuLA0N_KkaGZ3eorRo5mmgH7cOP6c9cZxmXjDbqFNH6lI4H4/s400/pb03.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 226px;" /></a><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">Sun on My Face</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">mixed-media ceramic</span></span><br />
</span></div><br />
I was mesmerized again. Patricia smiled at me in this open, disarming way and asked, "Hi, what are you doing back here today?"<br />
<br />
I confessed that I owned a gallery and that I would love to show her art. Without any pretense, she said, "I would love to leave all of this work at your gallery."<br />
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And that's just what she did Monday morning.<br />
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<div style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ5n00X0KQ1LfNKIi9d2J9xwqW1kQEw3AJHB-Ms-VDC-02piemtry0vZPVVcue4YXCJYTtcBAOnxKiHjn3CYhakoVCsVHKIg04l6YftI48TmVIBqdmmCM9C7mju7vn5-ruQvE7mudqiVU/s1600-h/gal1a.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374465713115821618" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ5n00X0KQ1LfNKIi9d2J9xwqW1kQEw3AJHB-Ms-VDC-02piemtry0vZPVVcue4YXCJYTtcBAOnxKiHjn3CYhakoVCsVHKIg04l6YftI48TmVIBqdmmCM9C7mju7vn5-ruQvE7mudqiVU/s400/gal1a.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 334px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><span style="color: red; font-family: verdana;"><br />
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</span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKzVxuUWCF2d5PMbxVEYk2l7_ped_Rrt_d3cY-UvuY5i8Zz0oay9zr2V0xvMP9BrUOsDGvuuElTRRdDzqSoY8dPEB-aECtOOSPQI_3S3mVDFTYuJv8Ju_DtsYGYB6D4rQZauBVy1s946c/s1600-h/sculptures2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374618326644312018" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKzVxuUWCF2d5PMbxVEYk2l7_ped_Rrt_d3cY-UvuY5i8Zz0oay9zr2V0xvMP9BrUOsDGvuuElTRRdDzqSoY8dPEB-aECtOOSPQI_3S3mVDFTYuJv8Ju_DtsYGYB6D4rQZauBVy1s946c/s400/sculptures2.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 168px;" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: times new roman; font-size: 100%;">The whole process felt effortless, as if it were meant to be.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
<br />
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></span><br />
</span></div></div></div>Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com54tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-66644227421802736372009-08-06T11:14:00.001-06:002009-08-06T11:14:55.342-06:00Place of EnchantmentI always got a kick out of driving a car with a license plate bearing the slogan "Land of Enchantment." I was disappointed when the state of New Mexico changed the design a few years ago. We still have a distinctive license plate, but it no longer proclaims our state nickname. And "Land of Enchantment" is simply perfect.<br /><br />Where else will you witness a scene like this?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvOol91Ul1Fy-gT7rCtj-hhPDQ-8Hwfs-0EPkMgQEUSL_p-qW028-kcHV9PGMLmzOXeNydsYGYbDyU5841kMRxArOWNdAwkgLMlm07tX5FNYi_OuoDCXSpul2cY0Q1GEHxptp4nGurlSo/s1600-h/santa-fe-opera.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvOol91Ul1Fy-gT7rCtj-hhPDQ-8Hwfs-0EPkMgQEUSL_p-qW028-kcHV9PGMLmzOXeNydsYGYbDyU5841kMRxArOWNdAwkgLMlm07tX5FNYi_OuoDCXSpul2cY0Q1GEHxptp4nGurlSo/s400/santa-fe-opera.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366618686356833010" border="0" /></a>That's what Bennie and I saw Monday evening, as we drove north out of town, past the village of Tesuque, and turned left, headed for that dramatic structure nestled back into the mountains. The short journey through pinon-studded high desert was enchanting, in and of itself, but the real enchantment lay ahead.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj78s_lnwORvDghgfhaa5_BqdjMnaMV9Mq2btMfQF7XLZMmnm1P-o0O2MHwnZsmxeWV5a3ReGEapCyhfuyghm6fVfopr86rlvdZeR1V0JGKeUULtwim4BMwu9cjKTfUgwZFRiq3ifYw8Qo/s1600-h/opera.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 287px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj78s_lnwORvDghgfhaa5_BqdjMnaMV9Mq2btMfQF7XLZMmnm1P-o0O2MHwnZsmxeWV5a3ReGEapCyhfuyghm6fVfopr86rlvdZeR1V0JGKeUULtwim4BMwu9cjKTfUgwZFRiq3ifYw8Qo/s400/opera.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366616543789133778" border="0" /></a>We parked and descended into the soaring space of the Santa Fe Opera House, an open-air venue. Four tall diaphanous curtains swayed on stage. The murder victim sang an aria from behind those curtains, which served as portals into truth and the subconscious. Beyond the stage, the almost full moon revealed itself, time and again, from mountains of cloud cover. The cloud forms mimicked the actual mountains beyond. It was a magical backdrop for "The Letter," the world premiere of the opera based on Somerset Maugham's play.<br /><br />The occasion was Bennie's birthday.<br /><br />When we returned home, we found the Spirit chairs illuminated by the same moon. Someone was singing an aria in the distance, in the direction of the foothills. The sound was faint, barely discernible. At the same time, it seemed to come from that very chair.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf65EEURxzBcoAsZP6iYStbO817Y4ottX-Kg_plSIewvrRM-DRUyNhURGAXQMT99VWk3XDsfPwlxIzfwM5YzHXMeUzts7MVjarCC4IJUvcgiAhsBP_T6dTKifbq1gfgQIitXKtz74lfzQ/s1600-h/moon.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf65EEURxzBcoAsZP6iYStbO817Y4ottX-Kg_plSIewvrRM-DRUyNhURGAXQMT99VWk3XDsfPwlxIzfwM5YzHXMeUzts7MVjarCC4IJUvcgiAhsBP_T6dTKifbq1gfgQIitXKtz74lfzQ/s400/moon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366865731075902530" border="0" /></a><br />Just another night in our back yard, a Land of Enchantment.Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com102tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-80065200410980717642009-07-29T15:00:00.001-06:002009-07-29T15:00:31.803-06:00Dreaming It Forward<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4nWu_v2IR0uagd-AbRj31WJ8-ZL3tIX2utlj2Dcnvt1JxYEMX0FCgdi8YrxDS6r9Wnn5gs-d9oCJl0ft8Fa5xWv_aRh90-31eAA-yjtAVesxwQ83KL1nYDb1e9ExHT1lJWDE8RMpo1KE/s1600-h/magician.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4nWu_v2IR0uagd-AbRj31WJ8-ZL3tIX2utlj2Dcnvt1JxYEMX0FCgdi8YrxDS6r9Wnn5gs-d9oCJl0ft8Fa5xWv_aRh90-31eAA-yjtAVesxwQ83KL1nYDb1e9ExHT1lJWDE8RMpo1KE/s400/magician.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363977443291894946" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">Magician</span>, 36" x 24"</span> <span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >private collection, Washington, D.C.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">This past Thursday I participated in a global healing event. What did I do? I slept on it.<br /><br />I got the idea from Laura's blog <a href="http://dreamingsymbols.blogspot.com/">From the Couch</a>. She got it from <a href="http://350.org/">350.org</a>.<br /><br />The event will recur on the 23rd/24th of each month, culminating on the night of October 23. The idea is to go to bed with the intention of dreaming of "global healing for Mother Earth with dreamers from around the world."<br /><br />Here's what I dreamed on July 23rd:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I am eating a chocolate cake which is sitting on a table. I am nibbling, taking one small bite from the cake, then walking away, returning to the cake, taking another bite, walking away, returning, eating another bite, etc. The giver of the cake says to me, "San, could you leave a little for me? I'd like some too."<br /><br />I then find myself teaching in a classroom. My students are young people. I am taken with how fresh they look, how eager their faces appear. They are hanging on my every word. It's bit unnerving; I feel my presentation is kind of dull--I am referring to a textbook which doesn't inspire me. I am also becoming aware that a noise from outside the classroom is drowning out my voice.<br /><br />I walk down the hallway to the room where the sound is coming from. I open the door and find a bunch of old folks square dancing with their music turned up really loud. A couple come to the door. Her hair is in disarray. Both of them have their mouths open in surprise, surprise that their music could be heard from outside the door. They seem, however, happy to turn it down.<br /><br />As I turn to walk back to my classroom, I have an idea for a writing assignment for my class. I will show them two pottery disks, one of them shiny new and unblemished, the other with a complicated weathered surface. I will have them write about which disk is more beautiful, and why. I feel excited. I know the students will be inspired and I can't wait to read their work.<br /><br /></span>So, now I ask for your interpretations of my dream sequence...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrbkTJGD_Dvkn8H-GKn1Wvm86q-iCW-mxunY0-wpYivYW82z1XxizFHj4c9VFHJrDCcwTI7wRbrLN7WN3atDhTxjiYlCT1shcS6xIWuBuPDS7igXa-5v7YkAD1abPtUNbSoaDmlN9cEJM/s1600-h/sm71det.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 367px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrbkTJGD_Dvkn8H-GKn1Wvm86q-iCW-mxunY0-wpYivYW82z1XxizFHj4c9VFHJrDCcwTI7wRbrLN7WN3atDhTxjiYlCT1shcS6xIWuBuPDS7igXa-5v7YkAD1abPtUNbSoaDmlN9cEJM/s400/sm71det.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363987147110640898" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153); font-family: verdana;font-size:85%;" >detail, <span style="font-style: italic;">Way of the Sea</span>, 60" x 48"</span><br /></div><br /></div></div>Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com72tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-71048467530332669652009-06-28T10:30:00.000-06:002009-06-28T10:31:33.275-06:00Recovering from Vacation<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtGeqkzJUeckvvt9XwgyWKgRlkKbIW5X0ONikVgw9SNOCBEEeFxJKscCtTZzComaG0M-Tc8NV11E5foPu_ZmPm1zi66U9gN-uD2zgE5Vebu8he9kgPIUJM1A_4Tv32T7WDEje7PTxPp9I/s1600-h/lounger.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtGeqkzJUeckvvt9XwgyWKgRlkKbIW5X0ONikVgw9SNOCBEEeFxJKscCtTZzComaG0M-Tc8NV11E5foPu_ZmPm1zi66U9gN-uD2zgE5Vebu8he9kgPIUJM1A_4Tv32T7WDEje7PTxPp9I/s400/lounger.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352376149810907714" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ></span><br /><br /></div>A few things I did on my summer vacation to Chicago and Michigan:<br /><ul><li>On the plane from Albuquerque I sat two seats behind actor Gary Farmer. An odd coincidence, as I was already planning on his being the subject of my <span style="font-style: italic;">Meme of Fame 4/7</span>. (I'd last seen him a couple of summers ago when I helped him hang a large painting on the wall of his now-out-of-business gallery, a block from our own. There you go: <span style="font-style: italic;">Meme of Fame 4/7</span> is now complete.) We exchanged awkward pleasantries in the O'Hare terminal, then went about our separate misadventures.</li></ul><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYSpAGKvvnoij0IUPYPZ5CRX-xt-NyzALjoeTRiHpFds2-jVD5ttAsgLROdjxzGP-g1UuyYD9m7JKe6eJFT7AqgRigdqxQ6QLPSBbn2H93sfXV0J2rt_6-Y5dthhFGApAycyhAezCLpbU/s1600-h/dead8.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYSpAGKvvnoij0IUPYPZ5CRX-xt-NyzALjoeTRiHpFds2-jVD5ttAsgLROdjxzGP-g1UuyYD9m7JKe6eJFT7AqgRigdqxQ6QLPSBbn2H93sfXV0J2rt_6-Y5dthhFGApAycyhAezCLpbU/s400/dead8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351771003144350786" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Farmer and Johnny Depp in </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Dead Man</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >.</span></div><ul><li>My spouse got his suitcase locked in a turnstile at the El station. The turnstile would not budge. My spouse therefore became locked in the turnstile. He would not budge. An attendant had to disengage the luggage, and thus my spouse, with brute force. The attendant broke a sweat wrestling the steel bars in their death grip. We haven't a clue exactly how it all happened. Just lucky I guess.<br /></li><li>My spouse excused himself for a restroom engagement during a performance of <span style="font-style: italic;">The</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Enigma Variations</span> at the concert pavilion in Millennium Park. He simply vanished. It was truly enigmatic. Then again, I might want to disappear after that turnstile stunt. Come to think of it, I never saw that man before in my entire life.<br /></li></ul><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQX_Bo-VhcPm6iwWxUwtmIK8zvTVsvtimc9AhkmC-Ri-ARhhJKMw_TP2Ct_VlLpervtaXPpVRpiX2ihjFHo6w29PwqwcFdOGlAJiZU4OMnY4QmK6Xw2SzWo8_3fFliPgTo65KsWQifEt4/s1600-h/Jay_Pritzker_Pavilion.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQX_Bo-VhcPm6iwWxUwtmIK8zvTVsvtimc9AhkmC-Ri-ARhhJKMw_TP2Ct_VlLpervtaXPpVRpiX2ihjFHo6w29PwqwcFdOGlAJiZU4OMnY4QmK6Xw2SzWo8_3fFliPgTo65KsWQifEt4/s400/Jay_Pritzker_Pavilion.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351740700413302434" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana;">Everyone was whispering,<br />'Where did Bennie go?'<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcSGzxQGeQkNJDDT0plokqC7P0DqcbrsfTr3h8gElsc4uxF3_OEO8fRHR5CxgWY6kNK4-m1GMQkyKc0grGZcMVf4ajcRVXUWcj-A5BjdNxL4PRgRx_2rlvCMGbeTcyErd5GsSgDYgAblo/s1600-h/chicago.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcSGzxQGeQkNJDDT0plokqC7P0DqcbrsfTr3h8gElsc4uxF3_OEO8fRHR5CxgWY6kNK4-m1GMQkyKc0grGZcMVf4ajcRVXUWcj-A5BjdNxL4PRgRx_2rlvCMGbeTcyErd5GsSgDYgAblo/s400/chicago.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352376153191120146" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">I went searching for him...<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtGeqkzJUeckvvt9XwgyWKgRlkKbIW5X0ONikVgw9SNOCBEEeFxJKscCtTZzComaG0M-Tc8NV11E5foPu_ZmPm1zi66U9gN-uD2zgE5Vebu8he9kgPIUJM1A_4Tv32T7WDEje7PTxPp9I/s1600-h/lounger.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtGeqkzJUeckvvt9XwgyWKgRlkKbIW5X0ONikVgw9SNOCBEEeFxJKscCtTZzComaG0M-Tc8NV11E5foPu_ZmPm1zi66U9gN-uD2zgE5Vebu8he9kgPIUJM1A_4Tv32T7WDEje7PTxPp9I/s400/lounger.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352376149810907714" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">.</span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">..only to find him napping on the sculpture terrace</span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);"><br />of the new wing of the Art Institute.</span></span><br /></div><ul><li>In Michigan I was caught trespassing on the grounds of a private residence I'd mistaken for a funky collectibles shop. I mean, how many antique birdhouses, disintegrating farm implements, and sculptures of giant hands cradling the planet Earth does one family need? Shove your rusty hay rake. Take your vintage sausage grinders. Please.</li></ul><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPaPzq0XsTj4jzya__im_LO471Xeq2D3Y1hBJlI9QXgwM90eWqFblwp0x0Lmc0Oz4Mjk6BCmGPvA2DxzW6t1BZ7uGaMhR4lLP-eew6xlkVdhfUrWmJwLpHx3ijyVmmaG68lJQDOndCAFg/s1600-h/junkyard_dog.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPaPzq0XsTj4jzya__im_LO471Xeq2D3Y1hBJlI9QXgwM90eWqFblwp0x0Lmc0Oz4Mjk6BCmGPvA2DxzW6t1BZ7uGaMhR4lLP-eew6xlkVdhfUrWmJwLpHx3ijyVmmaG68lJQDOndCAFg/s400/junkyard_dog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352411661483555682" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana;"> And call your dog off.</span></span></div><ul><li>Upon arriving at the steps leading down to Cherry Beach at Lake Michigan, a panic-stricken family was coming up, slapping at their arms and legs. They shouted warnings of a proliferation of giant and hungry flies. They weren't kidding. Here's Bennie coming back up the stairs, pursued by a swarm of famished flies.</li></ul><div style="text-align: center;"> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEharJiOgoiUnyChVY-m4qHHc95fLuGduISIimv5r5JFwC0MRbFXbGchGwhmzb8f-8IkxmuUFMsk270dLaHA_IJgcrev6PhowZI4iL2V7IEPWEzpEgrA4A1WRYQSNqCnA-xk74kNIWYnU-Q/s1600-h/steps.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEharJiOgoiUnyChVY-m4qHHc95fLuGduISIimv5r5JFwC0MRbFXbGchGwhmzb8f-8IkxmuUFMsk270dLaHA_IJgcrev6PhowZI4iL2V7IEPWEzpEgrA4A1WRYQSNqCnA-xk74kNIWYnU-Q/s400/steps.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351768134750573250" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Don't let the smile fool you.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Those insects mean business.</span><br /></div><ul><li>Arriving at Club Lago on West Superior in Chicago, salivating in anticipation of fried calamari and linguini, we discovered a big sign at the entrance, explaining that the restaurant was closed due to damage incurred by an exploding chimney next door.<br /></li></ul><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdO5rSYlidtA_qGvre5O-V685fnVFocZI0iHwYUaoeGvgjw8d6Sg6gTU2B0ebQmK-yxRxj-rPGy1UQhsiU5GhrJR7gGNOIfiyIG6Znbx6o6211JbmDwHHUvuB9Qh06unaz6oGUXYC6AM/s1600-h/rubble.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 346px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdO5rSYlidtA_qGvre5O-V685fnVFocZI0iHwYUaoeGvgjw8d6Sg6gTU2B0ebQmK-yxRxj-rPGy1UQhsiU5GhrJR7gGNOIfiyIG6Znbx6o6211JbmDwHHUvuB9Qh06unaz6oGUXYC6AM/s400/rubble.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352408377124232210" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: verdana;">They say they'll be back. </span></span><br /></div>And so will we...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3DvGtsg0Icf7hvcQ8fF0C0DAGAyTIG0uHUH7P6UDC2Ilh6uItvrCeZAjBp4ZjsFJQNciSo0Kj9ImanbmrXr3VliLAcQdhIcgHIYMYNCA3UdRIIBmKDhlLsVUCet9VuQYRxRD2c-noRN0/s1600-h/lago.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3DvGtsg0Icf7hvcQ8fF0C0DAGAyTIG0uHUH7P6UDC2Ilh6uItvrCeZAjBp4ZjsFJQNciSo0Kj9ImanbmrXr3VliLAcQdhIcgHIYMYNCA3UdRIIBmKDhlLsVUCet9VuQYRxRD2c-noRN0/s400/lago.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351742690680741154" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: verdana;">We just </span></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: verdana; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" >love</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: verdana;"> vacations.</span></span><br /></div>Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com117tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-44051321630055904642009-06-11T05:52:00.005-06:002009-06-12T19:40:27.024-06:00It's a Wonderful Life (100 Ways)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzg2Rk9UUj4J-hND9ZPsnsYP2A2j-x0o1phkhO_n0ZfVJ0CMzOxQGqawx6qt_NkZTUFAwKkBDtmhVZjvPGih8CU7GbKPk6fPh6BkadKawtTsUl3uJ8TBRqVDyeY7UHLf_QKzE0BHnik-8/s1600-h/nose.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 364px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzg2Rk9UUj4J-hND9ZPsnsYP2A2j-x0o1phkhO_n0ZfVJ0CMzOxQGqawx6qt_NkZTUFAwKkBDtmhVZjvPGih8CU7GbKPk6fPh6BkadKawtTsUl3uJ8TBRqVDyeY7UHLf_QKzE0BHnik-8/s400/nose.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346161147030735858" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">No doubt you've seen this meme around Blogland. I started noticing it last winter and promised myself I'd participate. One of these days, I said. Today's the day. Warning: It's loooooooooong. Bennie and I are about to leave for a little vacation to Chicago and Lake Michigan, and I didn't want to leave you bereft of reading material. Feel free to drop in and read a few items, then come back and read more. And more. And more. It's a list of 100 things a person might have done in one's life. The idea is to copy and paste the same list, then put in <span style="font-weight: bold;">bold</span> the things you've done already. And you know me. I have to illustrate my memes.<br /></div><br />1. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Started my own blog</span> (Truth be told, I found this blog in the parking lot of Denny's. Possession is, however, 9/10 of the law.)<br />2. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Slept under the stars </span>(Yup. In the Rockies, in Yosemite, on the beach beside the Pacific, and occasionally on the trampoline in my back yard in New Mexico. Long story.)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-YxNDxnmIkqoEG8SfIrI8qn_aXfpT5o_Ey-Ew5qEVFUWDK1iMPNkqvj3daj0YPT4v8jAIKmCVS605CyUVmYmPM7oQONsI1GnfcyM2-8VfvT_d4F3I09CigJBF-wIDX6fs_7XT2nK8zCE/s1600-h/exp01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 372px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-YxNDxnmIkqoEG8SfIrI8qn_aXfpT5o_Ey-Ew5qEVFUWDK1iMPNkqvj3daj0YPT4v8jAIKmCVS605CyUVmYmPM7oQONsI1GnfcyM2-8VfvT_d4F3I09CigJBF-wIDX6fs_7XT2nK8zCE/s400/exp01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346202161613956690" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">Camping in the Rockies with Trudy.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFPzae7Z20XpgPlmMl3W4ZPuOWMI4DtoT75F7j14YO8Q89GLytwpK-j2DKE8tFgCpHBs_jv0PlXrDZIRIDWECqy5vs0yij_3Hbt-AA0cITw1FrQh28qOot3PO01ZIYwNjh5xvrGlCuWHs/s1600-h/rmnp01h.jpg"><br /></a></div>3. Played in a band (No, but I used to sing in a church choir. They took anyone who could "make a joyful noise.")<br />4. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Visited Hawaii</span> (We went there on our honeymoon. My favorite memory is sitting in the shade of a huge banyan tree, eating breakfast and drinking Kona coffee. At the time I didn't realize that the banyan tree was an omen of the roots we would be putting down, far sooner than we realized. Our firstborn would arrive a little over 9 months later.)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLC-qejUMDwp4M5zEEtK4VYh4mERqPNGGXQEs818OycwyvUBrN8PN5KpUWsg5Rbrr3mOjuRF6XQD_Fe3E93hteccx-Q3Vrxr0VKX5RN7fXYQNBQMzsiFn8oPNYz4MUEdFYJEPN3PqPHJ0/s1600-h/sheraton_moana_surfrider11.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLC-qejUMDwp4M5zEEtK4VYh4mERqPNGGXQEs818OycwyvUBrN8PN5KpUWsg5Rbrr3mOjuRF6XQD_Fe3E93hteccx-Q3Vrxr0VKX5RN7fXYQNBQMzsiFn8oPNYz4MUEdFYJEPN3PqPHJ0/s400/sheraton_moana_surfrider11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346162041517516674" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2iTgk_6m_oSKKdvUpUmS0u_WLzBcmqbW4C2CjGKcKVCkRs9lVMER-h44Rzv89ruPf_AeVXNjF9sPqRPwM60nk-cGeb0Jw_OGCLpPegFZEn8hxyH5fxyp_PU0tR7VDR9D8Su19JMrh-Q/s1600-h/flan0001.jpg"><br /></a></div>5. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Watched a meteor shower</span> (And I once spied on an asteroid taking a bath.)<br />6. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Given more than I can afford to charity</span> (Do you realize what gallery ownership is about? Commercial landlords are my least favorite charity, but they've twisted my arm to contribute to their cause for better than 24 years now.)<br />7. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Been to Disneyland/world</span> (When the kids were little, we traveled down the California coast, stopping along the way to camp on the beach, winding up at Disneyland and Universal Studios.)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhWJ3J04UoY6XhQEhV8ELgNWfB7pYn5U6YvqvLuc_JGIQA8hhmkHHPOWX0U7MFR_TngJALCeHudCQSL3XkgSvfTn1E8P-P8QrZHUSRERTol0eqV0X-NJLdtcze3UtP-oGs4DdV5KrtUpM/s1600-h/mickey.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhWJ3J04UoY6XhQEhV8ELgNWfB7pYn5U6YvqvLuc_JGIQA8hhmkHHPOWX0U7MFR_TngJALCeHudCQSL3XkgSvfTn1E8P-P8QrZHUSRERTol0eqV0X-NJLdtcze3UtP-oGs4DdV5KrtUpM/s400/mickey.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346155214994993794" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV-oFsSsWArYv9dw6c54v3S-UtaFkMgL02nb28G_8_BWk5GD7LLYcwD9v6OWbTLdgpQ4a1nPp_tHfMi5db-60GXgGRTX30d8n1YbmuN8XrDrJkZA7hKuWqkpQIUgC5NDmkHr8Wa6q6wHs/s1600-h/castle.jpg"><br /></a></div>8. Climbed a mountain (The closest I've come is hiking down the Vernal Falls trail and back up in Yosemite. That hardly qualifies, but doing that with one child in a stroller and another by the hand does qualify as an adventure, don't you think?)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaUXOuBxsrmbmKQmc7egz0ODwmsyCqeNzrFu5VWZB2xiW5dGLd0uHrSnhplHGgqUAS46cAaJsu3OY22ggpZyrV-uIF_olYSRHCpcOa8mv0nd6JuWTozM-9rwW6M9MTlPifuY6q7HV91iE/s1600-h/yosemite2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 274px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaUXOuBxsrmbmKQmc7egz0ODwmsyCqeNzrFu5VWZB2xiW5dGLd0uHrSnhplHGgqUAS46cAaJsu3OY22ggpZyrV-uIF_olYSRHCpcOa8mv0nd6JuWTozM-9rwW6M9MTlPifuY6q7HV91iE/s400/yosemite2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346163654010194002" border="0" /></a></div>9. Held a praying mantis (Why would I want to do that? Aren't they the ones who mate and tear their partner's head off?)<br />10. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Sung a solo</span> (Yes, when Oakley was a toddler and had stitches put in his head, I sang solo after solo, my face as near his as possible, unnerving the ER physician. "Well, somehow we got that done," he said, "despite the singing."<br />11. Bungee jumped (Are you f'in' kidding????)<br />12. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Visited Paris</span> (<span style="font-style: italic;">Oui.</span>)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEncw4LCh3f4eKWPF5cKcyeDUDGSMxzAnFRBorQdyGOKQ7Hk_Puf5dfSEmhq3RwWWn7fDHVCg4EFx3Z_78xKIputFaJdqiKoGV8a-qH-NZeh7Zk2tNo6H8rOSiPWaJ_LTOOAcQYNOEpOg/s1600-h/seine.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEncw4LCh3f4eKWPF5cKcyeDUDGSMxzAnFRBorQdyGOKQ7Hk_Puf5dfSEmhq3RwWWn7fDHVCg4EFx3Z_78xKIputFaJdqiKoGV8a-qH-NZeh7Zk2tNo6H8rOSiPWaJ_LTOOAcQYNOEpOg/s400/seine.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346153536689194546" border="0" /></a></div>13. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Watched lightning at sea </span> (From the window of my motel room.)<br />14. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Taught myself an art from scratch</span> (The fine art of answering memes.)<br />15. Adopted a child (Only if you count our dog Trudy, adopted from the shelter in 1999.)<br />16. Had food poisoning (I must have, but I honestly can't recall an incident. And I've eaten in divey border towns as well as at Denny's. Guess my immune system is cast iron.)<br />17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty (I'm more of a sidelines kind of person. I've looked at it from afar, from the Staten Island Ferry.)<br />18. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Grown my own vegetables</span> (A few tomatoes, some green onions and jalapenos, and some actual corn. My husband is the gardener. I'm a sidelines kind of person. But the garden's on my land too. Possession is 9/10 of the law.)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRlNkUavUqj-MaeeviIsp3ZT6Lz5Mr2g0IW2uHAl6sX-amsfR-Zl93CgypQvHk3vZaGZ5DbX_lo-1-GtDIZsbA0eFNlcOBxDiMQZXRxkPtIDLmgUB_HlUrn4Ln0Me0riVCdj659huCOjE/s1600-h/garden2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRlNkUavUqj-MaeeviIsp3ZT6Lz5Mr2g0IW2uHAl6sX-amsfR-Zl93CgypQvHk3vZaGZ5DbX_lo-1-GtDIZsbA0eFNlcOBxDiMQZXRxkPtIDLmgUB_HlUrn4Ln0Me0riVCdj659huCOjE/s400/garden2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346167150672170850" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">Bennie's High Desert Garden</span><br /><br /></div>19. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Seen the Mona Lisa in France </span>(From the eighteenth row back, in a frenzied, picture-taking mob of Japanese tourists. And it may not have even been the actual Mona Lisa. To protect the real deal, they trot out replicas. You never know if what you see is what you get.)<br />20.<span style="font-weight: bold;"> Slept on an overnight train</span><br />21. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Had a pillow fight</span> (I was the featherweight champion of that train.)<br />22. Hitchhiked (Once while walking in my own subdivision, I got lost and flagged down a guy to ask directions. He drove me home. )<br />23. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Taken a sick day when you’re not ill </span>(Unless you want to include mental. Every day is a mentally ill day, for me.)<br />24. Built a snow fort (What's a snow fort? Why not a sand castle?)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV-oFsSsWArYv9dw6c54v3S-UtaFkMgL02nb28G_8_BWk5GD7LLYcwD9v6OWbTLdgpQ4a1nPp_tHfMi5db-60GXgGRTX30d8n1YbmuN8XrDrJkZA7hKuWqkpQIUgC5NDmkHr8Wa6q6wHs/s1600-h/castle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV-oFsSsWArYv9dw6c54v3S-UtaFkMgL02nb28G_8_BWk5GD7LLYcwD9v6OWbTLdgpQ4a1nPp_tHfMi5db-60GXgGRTX30d8n1YbmuN8XrDrJkZA7hKuWqkpQIUgC5NDmkHr8Wa6q6wHs/s400/castle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346154127224371314" border="0" /></a></div>25. Held a lamb <span style="font-weight: bold;">(chop)</span><br />26. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Gone skinny dipping</span> (If a hot tub counts.)<br />27. Run a Marathon (But I've cheered my husband over the finish line.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6VXABuNhlMpn3SV2D4dXiaD5jey4QC1pH8kpzU8BQ9qKJ_-rTBVE3Kq4KkUhsgvjsUHUu-esaOCnlV6RpKTdbWMLlL3BbhSsLRzrvpt8Ho0L77K_OcojgJa8UjWz-ZpLZ4YZBFjOM5rg/s1600-h/finish.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6VXABuNhlMpn3SV2D4dXiaD5jey4QC1pH8kpzU8BQ9qKJ_-rTBVE3Kq4KkUhsgvjsUHUu-esaOCnlV6RpKTdbWMLlL3BbhSsLRzrvpt8Ho0L77K_OcojgJa8UjWz-ZpLZ4YZBFjOM5rg/s400/finish.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346179972114630674" border="0" /></a><br />28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice (I am going to get to Italy. One of these days.)<br />29. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Seen a total eclipse </span>(Of business in 2009.)<br />30. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Watched a sunrise or sunset</span> (Every morning and every evening, from our deck.)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtgs9bu0B5J1NTgdMR6oyCJUddFvqxXIJpPZC-iqi5XfBn7U1MRM3T06i2OYPa6J_CGQNWymcC1zT0ScefIqjiX8HxhhrHFH3rjVpaC0kmR5d4ISrcQweVnr-6la-73l_a0PAVwLwSBwI/s1600-h/sunset.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 254px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtgs9bu0B5J1NTgdMR6oyCJUddFvqxXIJpPZC-iqi5XfBn7U1MRM3T06i2OYPa6J_CGQNWymcC1zT0ScefIqjiX8HxhhrHFH3rjVpaC0kmR5d4ISrcQweVnr-6la-73l_a0PAVwLwSBwI/s400/sunset.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346157517402756946" border="0" /></a></div>31. Hit a home run (Who? Me?)<br />32. Been on a cruise (Only up the Potomac. And around San Francisco Bay. And on the Staten Island Ferry.)<br />33. Seen Niagara Falls in person (I've flown over Wichita Falls.)<br />34. Visited the birthplace of my ancestors (I'll get to the Garden of Eden. Watch me.)<br />35. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Seen an Amish community</span> (I saw that movie with Kirstie Alley.)<br />36. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Taught myself a new language</span> (I know some Spanish. Enough to make my way around a hotel room in Chihuahua.)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzg2Rk9UUj4J-hND9ZPsnsYP2A2j-x0o1phkhO_n0ZfVJ0CMzOxQGqawx6qt_NkZTUFAwKkBDtmhVZjvPGih8CU7GbKPk6fPh6BkadKawtTsUl3uJ8TBRqVDyeY7UHLf_QKzE0BHnik-8/s1600-h/nose.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 364px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzg2Rk9UUj4J-hND9ZPsnsYP2A2j-x0o1phkhO_n0ZfVJ0CMzOxQGqawx6qt_NkZTUFAwKkBDtmhVZjvPGih8CU7GbKPk6fPh6BkadKawtTsUl3uJ8TBRqVDyeY7UHLf_QKzE0BHnik-8/s400/nose.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346161147030735858" border="0" /></a>37. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Had enough money to be truly satisfied </span><span>(OK, I can pretend, can't I?) </span><br />40. Seen Michelangelo’s David (I will. I will.)<br />41. Sung karaoke (Not on my to-do list, but I admire it in others.)<br />42. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt</span> (in song, in a karaoke bar, in Oakley, Kansas.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg11toE3TltwmeuCu8R-K_TfEOQwgMIpaa8Ht6wUL0rSHlwl3NDHmFLGDPIG2vEVOgS6S1c1M7wfsz0JeP7vi98uO69CWsgkyjpT5xmWPijiNNSml9KThtLXCShAL98jjCm4q_p6rmzkOg/s1600-h/welcomes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg11toE3TltwmeuCu8R-K_TfEOQwgMIpaa8Ht6wUL0rSHlwl3NDHmFLGDPIG2vEVOgS6S1c1M7wfsz0JeP7vi98uO69CWsgkyjpT5xmWPijiNNSml9KThtLXCShAL98jjCm4q_p6rmzkOg/s400/welcomes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346213514879091474" border="0" /></a><br />43. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant</span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmSYol0BI096vIoUyMy_ko3VLvdsABUveCYmJEOgSzG3HsznLAiaNJGCdyo3_jyG_jc5kfZpPFkk1bRVaiAOTt8UDKXjoFNRlNXz-5Bbx8JmfRhXO2JJ6KTlVDr2gFWbj95oTDYKB3Tz0/s1600-h/standard.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmSYol0BI096vIoUyMy_ko3VLvdsABUveCYmJEOgSzG3HsznLAiaNJGCdyo3_jyG_jc5kfZpPFkk1bRVaiAOTt8UDKXjoFNRlNXz-5Bbx8JmfRhXO2JJ6KTlVDr2gFWbj95oTDYKB3Tz0/s400/standard.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346177324906629010" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">(Never mind. That's my husband and my son.<br />But if he puts his hand in that water,<br />I'm going to act like I never saw him before in my life.)</span><br /></div>44. Visited Africa<br />45. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Walked on a beach by moonlight</span> (On the Atlantic, the Pacific, the Gulf of Mexico, the Caribbean. Now, to make it to the Mediterranean...)<br />46. Been transported in an ambulance (No, but I did have to climb into one and be checked out by paramedics after a car accident. That was close enough.)<br />47. Had my portrait painted (Sketched. Twice. Never painted. Unless you count my very abstract <span style="font-style: italic;">Self-Portrait</span>.)<br />48. Gone deep sea fishing<br />49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person (I will. I will.)<br />50.<span style="font-weight: bold;"> Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris</span> (As opposed to the Eiffel Tower in Las Cruces?)<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNCtBJs1ipTsnC2Ve8PBl-yaeUkv_42XF1bvusVAf230Nlw4-2Y2RUJan_TfxYzjNlBK06xqvsAG8_StoftoqElunolfL-jOBXc90Rg1MEtbYCdqVW3iiYekY0BvKpa_rKHJnKiqOyUao/s1600-h/eiffel.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNCtBJs1ipTsnC2Ve8PBl-yaeUkv_42XF1bvusVAf230Nlw4-2Y2RUJan_TfxYzjNlBK06xqvsAG8_StoftoqElunolfL-jOBXc90Rg1MEtbYCdqVW3iiYekY0BvKpa_rKHJnKiqOyUao/s400/eiffel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346152795383863554" border="0" /></a></div>51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling<br />52. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Kissed in the rain</span><br />53. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Played in the mud</span> (I recommend combining Numbers 52 & 53.)<br />54. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Gone to a drive-in theater</span> (When we moved to Santa Fe, we were delighted to discover the Yucca Drive-In. We saw <span style="font-style: italic;">The Lion King</span> there with the kids. Sadly, the Yucca closed soon thereafter. Now, tell me the truth. Does that sign really look like a <span style="font-style: italic;">yucca</span>?)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPvwHkJ1J4VQ5fw7Ws6IMKEg99WrrQVVgA12n1KxkLRAZDyzZlhKrMbr4bnaHujTfZWsRrNsDOvPjCgDG4R1_XBLcctC5_lJpm890JQiWND_OG_YTWL2FlvOpgv6DKVoIvnfuM4ypeepM/s1600-h/3047502520_9bff659fbf.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPvwHkJ1J4VQ5fw7Ws6IMKEg99WrrQVVgA12n1KxkLRAZDyzZlhKrMbr4bnaHujTfZWsRrNsDOvPjCgDG4R1_XBLcctC5_lJpm890JQiWND_OG_YTWL2FlvOpgv6DKVoIvnfuM4ypeepM/s400/3047502520_9bff659fbf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346186541411157922" border="0" /></a><br />55. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Been in a movie</span> (When the kids were little, we wrote, directed, produced, and acted in our own action/adventure video. Sadly, it was a bomb at the box office. Never even made it to the Yucca.)<br />56. Visited the Great Wall of China<br />57. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Started a business</span> (We've had our gallery since 1985. And as a kid I had one hell of a profitable lemonade stand.)<br />58. Taken a martial arts class (But in San Francisco I rented a house from a guy named Bruce Lee.)<br />59. Visited Russia (No, but if I ever make it to Alaska...)<br />60. Served at a soup kitchen (I've prepared food for a homeless shelter, but I didn't serve it.)<br />61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies (But I've bought, and eaten, them aplenty. Chocolate mint rules!)<br />62. Gone whale watching (Never. One for the bucket list I guess.)<br />63. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Got flowers for no reason</span><br />64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma (I should. I'm O negative, the universal donor. And I've been on the receiving end after a spell of anemia. Talk about a precious gift. Even better than flowers for no reason.)<br />65. Gone sky diving (I won't. I won't.)<br />66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp (I probably will one of these days. It must be a profound experience.)<br />67. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Bounced a check</span> (After we sold our house in California, we deposited the proceeds in a bank in Santa Fe. The teller put a hold on the out-of-state funds. She meant to put a 10-day hold, but she typed an extra zero and held up everything for 100 days. Yes, there was a whole lot of bouncing going on.<br />68. Flown in a helicopter<br />69. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Saved a favorite childhood toy up until my late 20s</span> (Make that late <span style="font-weight: bold;">50s.</span> I still have the little stuffed white dog with black ears I used to have to hug to fall asleep. (Bennie isn't too jealous.) My own daughter held that dog and now it's in storage for a grandchild down the way. And I have a collection of Troll dolls from the 60s. Remember those wild-haired things? And Flannery now decorates her kitchen with my Deluxe Dream Kitchen circa 1962. And I have my original Barbie Doll and my Ken Doll (who's actually developed a bald spot and a resemblance to our friend Eric)...and...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFhYxptjsvD2-Q7y0wUo1fiRBEc9gvsCfZcRlxW2hINax89nwkt3vP9ZohPQFmoXdJjYVEyhkLBnItzKDpIjHJM288zmPy67_ta_F7V4vcI0sVY-I-rts3AUcJQMzoqigmmbJG9I4lCT8/s1600-h/toys.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 316px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFhYxptjsvD2-Q7y0wUo1fiRBEc9gvsCfZcRlxW2hINax89nwkt3vP9ZohPQFmoXdJjYVEyhkLBnItzKDpIjHJM288zmPy67_ta_F7V4vcI0sVY-I-rts3AUcJQMzoqigmmbJG9I4lCT8/s400/toys.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346168721792266162" border="0" /></a></div><br />70. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Visited the Lincoln Memorial </span>(Jefferson too.)<br />71. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Eaten caviar </span>(I personally don't see the big deal. Guess I'm a phlebian.)<br />72. Pieced a quilt (But both my grandmothers passed down to me some lovely hand-made quilts of their own creation, including one made by my great-grandmother. I live in a passive solar suffused with sunlight, and so I have to keep my beautiful, fragile quilts hidden away most of the time.)<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUI-2GOGoTNTMdjuh38iWqz8aVT-MjMNtbMwraUhTb-zZwiVfWxGUmBIc9xzZ0NzpH5N-DGuV88vNw7LAskC_KB-fpWJHNj49btQCfuUVwVwuIOmbYrUxTceYG3GClHpgYg67ojqesOO8/s1600-h/headup.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 272px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUI-2GOGoTNTMdjuh38iWqz8aVT-MjMNtbMwraUhTb-zZwiVfWxGUmBIc9xzZ0NzpH5N-DGuV88vNw7LAskC_KB-fpWJHNj49btQCfuUVwVwuIOmbYrUxTceYG3GClHpgYg67ojqesOO8/s400/headup.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346162771190205426" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">Young Flannery, practicing head lifting,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">on a quilt made by her great-grandmother.</span><br /><br /></div>73. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Stood in Times Square</span> (I even walked around the place.)<br />74. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Toured the Everglades </span>(As a young adult, with my parents.)<br />75. Been fired from a job (That's the disadvantage of being self-employed. I can't fire myself!)<br />76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London (No, but I used to work at a gallery across from the Sir Francis Drake in San Francisco. The doormen wore Beefeater Guard outfits. I watched them go off duty.)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEtjXc9Qvy6Nh5TvhYD5uZg1vZx1jgkzzF3x0aUuaVWN5dpwnqQkcGlykEm-_581aMppDnTBbtx5cKbVVapj6i1ildUQMxgwTJ4S8eb167gU3FFOAsJjUoHvATT8JjrjtyDd32yNfPI7Y/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 140px; height: 140px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEtjXc9Qvy6Nh5TvhYD5uZg1vZx1jgkzzF3x0aUuaVWN5dpwnqQkcGlykEm-_581aMppDnTBbtx5cKbVVapj6i1ildUQMxgwTJ4S8eb167gU3FFOAsJjUoHvATT8JjrjtyDd32yNfPI7Y/s400/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346169680375908114" border="0" /></a><br />77. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Broken a bone</span> (My toe. Three times. The third time was the charm.)<br />78. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Been on a speeding motorcycle </span>(How do you think I broke my toe? Just kidding.)<br />79. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Seen the Grand Canyon in person </span>(Everything, I mean <span style="font-style: italic;">everything</span>, it's cracked up to be.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5vTCG0ksU9IvVpX6aAnpyc8Ut1vAZhblB1IepDzD_GZUMjffs2cZ2XUpRG33fQeZ4mj89gOP6E4gxnUWJtnGvEnD-NI3hJfRG1AX5GrsVbwCGg2UotcR1g3cwwPuRVC3xGypil9epKGM/s1600-h/canyon2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 165px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5vTCG0ksU9IvVpX6aAnpyc8Ut1vAZhblB1IepDzD_GZUMjffs2cZ2XUpRG33fQeZ4mj89gOP6E4gxnUWJtnGvEnD-NI3hJfRG1AX5GrsVbwCGg2UotcR1g3cwwPuRVC3xGypil9epKGM/s400/canyon2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346209158734437938" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">80. Published a book (No, but I've published my writing in literary journals.)<br /></div>81. Visited the Vatican (But I <span style="font-weight: bold;">will</span> get to Italy. One of these days. Keep reminding me.)<br />82. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Bought a brand new car</span> (Not anywhere near what it's cracked up to be. I'd rather save my money for paintings.)<br />83. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Walked in Jerusalem</span> (Little Jerusalem, aka Ave Maria Grotto, a replica of the Holy Land near Huntsville, Alabama.)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx4EeMeFvFma4_0vbf4xgh8XMXDZxnZqROFRBKn8_Spit-M_rSzvbkG9q9zPs2-b2C9zdvfp7ehdoFDcOh4Lh6NbqfjwquxI1H-qhvN3emY_0fjXzDi6pmSxeCZhv8fO6jZyTkrWdnUKc/s1600-h/Grotto9.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 255px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx4EeMeFvFma4_0vbf4xgh8XMXDZxnZqROFRBKn8_Spit-M_rSzvbkG9q9zPs2-b2C9zdvfp7ehdoFDcOh4Lh6NbqfjwquxI1H-qhvN3emY_0fjXzDi6pmSxeCZhv8fO6jZyTkrWdnUKc/s400/Grotto9.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346206100288068002" border="0" /></a><br />84. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Had my picture in the newspaper</span> (Several times. The first time was when I was a third-grader, touring the phone company. I've been a publicity hound ever since.)<br />85. Read the entire Bible (Not all of it, but I did walk in Little Jerusalem.)<br />86. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Visited the White House </span>(Only the areas that used to be available on public tours. I'm still awaiting that West Wing invitation.)<br />87. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Killed and prepared an animal for eating</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC3RRDNCf_Fcl-b-bZZ8lGUeY8jsReVWMqTlwIMgIFf2t6g2OZFlWKGZO-a8ajpo0mab_1zNusjqPoELK5ImU8X3ipeGGxxZzH4S8Hx2CdYPG-wTSceuR6iSGqu9iuiwsxH3sWTjbrVVo/s1600-h/game.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC3RRDNCf_Fcl-b-bZZ8lGUeY8jsReVWMqTlwIMgIFf2t6g2OZFlWKGZO-a8ajpo0mab_1zNusjqPoELK5ImU8X3ipeGGxxZzH4S8Hx2CdYPG-wTSceuR6iSGqu9iuiwsxH3sWTjbrVVo/s400/game.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346192399273638802" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">A sampling of wild game. Hunted, killed, dressed, baked.</span><br /><br /></div>88. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Had chickenpox</span> (And measles and mumps. I grew up before those vaccinations existed. Did I mention I'm <span style="font-style: italic;">old</span>?)<br />89. Saved someone’s life (Only my own. I make it a practice to stay out of the trajectory of falling meteorites.)<br />91. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Met someone famous</span> (Just this past Sunday Jane Lynch, of Christopher Guest movies fame, and <span style="font-style: italic;">2 1/2 Men</span> fame, popped into the gallery.)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMv3Xhs3On5Q1uIPxQvKJVEqs-Dcjk6-3LVqs0gOh-OdILQS0I8Y7uUdZccKs27aAg9EVlkaGGzSQXtWX23QndLLCNUBXQ6OKybsXxLziuFKT5n79KdeNHgCPzh4rgjL5S6p-lJ5eLGSU/s1600-h/two-half-men96-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 263px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMv3Xhs3On5Q1uIPxQvKJVEqs-Dcjk6-3LVqs0gOh-OdILQS0I8Y7uUdZccKs27aAg9EVlkaGGzSQXtWX23QndLLCNUBXQ6OKybsXxLziuFKT5n79KdeNHgCPzh4rgjL5S6p-lJ5eLGSU/s400/two-half-men96-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346186027337622114" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Charlie Sheen's shrink. A juicy role.</span><br /><br /></div>92. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Joined a book club</span> (Several friends and I used to meet monthly at each others' homes for a potluck and book discussion. We were in far-flung locations. Los Alamos to Eldorado to Chupadero. The commute became a grind and we wound up reading our books in solitude.)<br />93. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Lost a loved one</span> (Yes. My father, all of my grandparents, all of my uncles and aunts, a cousin. Some friends. It's a hazard of growing older, losing people.)<br />94. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Had a baby</span> (Two times, and by natural childbirth.)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2iTgk_6m_oSKKdvUpUmS0u_WLzBcmqbW4C2CjGKcKVCkRs9lVMER-h44Rzv89ruPf_AeVXNjF9sPqRPwM60nk-cGeb0Jw_OGCLpPegFZEn8hxyH5fxyp_PU0tR7VDR9D8Su19JMrh-Q/s1600-h/flan0001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 283px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2iTgk_6m_oSKKdvUpUmS0u_WLzBcmqbW4C2CjGKcKVCkRs9lVMER-h44Rzv89ruPf_AeVXNjF9sPqRPwM60nk-cGeb0Jw_OGCLpPegFZEn8hxyH5fxyp_PU0tR7VDR9D8Su19JMrh-Q/s400/flan0001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346154533979695026" border="0" /></a></div></div>95. Seen the Alamo in person (No. But I've seen <span style="font-style: italic;">Los Alamos</span> in person. See #92.)<br />96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake (No! I'm too afraid of turning into a right-wing Republican. There's definitely something in the water up there.)<br />97. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Been involved in a law suit</span> (Small claims court. Twice. Sued a shipping company and a landlord. And I've filed a complaint with the Office of the Attorney General of California. Don't mess with me, people!)<br />98. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Owned a cell phone </span>(Aren't I <span style="font-style: italic;">special</span>?)<br />99. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Been stung by a bee</span> (And I once accidentally stepped on a <span style="font-style: italic;">dead</span> wasp with bare feet. I <span style="font-style: italic;">still</span> got stung. The nerve!)<br />100. Ridden an elephant (It's a crucial part of my morning routine, right after coffee.)<br /><a href="file:///Users/benniesan/Desktop/1.%20Started%20my%20own%20blog%20%5BI%20th.textClipping"></a>Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com92tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7732546665913274972.post-26567015953492557872009-06-08T14:27:00.000-06:002009-06-08T14:27:46.690-06:00Living Large: Meg Wolff's "Becoming Whole"<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1B8NeFcmkJbmTB-zImwNZfJgLZZVS2ZWabh_M1ypQBTyyNy2v7W_PIo6iMQZtx55O-FKa29FNSkhyphenhyphenQv-lvBY2FgfMyeiQBpgVWjDOMkLLoabjuPUF_jt4BwqZRnNo_0fzfxTXHVxTKhs/s1600-h/whole.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 289px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1B8NeFcmkJbmTB-zImwNZfJgLZZVS2ZWabh_M1ypQBTyyNy2v7W_PIo6iMQZtx55O-FKa29FNSkhyphenhyphenQv-lvBY2FgfMyeiQBpgVWjDOMkLLoabjuPUF_jt4BwqZRnNo_0fzfxTXHVxTKhs/s400/whole.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344781226896591538" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana;">This book calls for a grand backdrop, a vista of possibility.</span></span><br /><br /></div>Those of you who've been reading my blog for a while know that I'm a friend of Meg Wolff. I've yet to meet her "in person," but I know her rather well. I enjoy <a href="http://becoming-whole.com/">her blog</a>, and she frequents my own, always leaving generous, supportive comments. She and I exchange emails from time to time, and on my 55th birthday she had a cake delivered to my place of business! I think that qualifies for friendship.<br /><br />For some time, a neglected item on my TO-READ list (which curiously gets longer, never shorter--when I last unfurled it, my list was rolling down Highway 285 towards Clines Corners), has been <span style="font-style: italic;">Becoming Whole</span> by Meg Wolff. I am very pleased to report I have not only read <span style="font-style: italic;">Becoming Whole</span> by Meg Wolff, I am going to recommend it to you. But please do no ask me to loan you my copy. It is one of those inspiring reads that I will want to keep handy, the kind of book I can open randomly, to any page, on a dark day, and find something uplifting. Apparently, I'm not the only one who feels this way. <span style="font-style: italic;">Becoming Whole</span> is highly recommended by two of my heroes in the world of healing, Christiane Northrup, author of <span style="font-style: italic;">Women's Bodies, Women's</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Wisdom,</span> and Bernie Siegel, author of <span style="font-style: italic;">Love, Medicine, and Miracles</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Becoming Whole</span> is Meg's startling, honest account of her journey through an entire decade of dealing with cancer--bone cancer, then further down the way, breast cancer. It is a descent into a personal hell few would emerge from. Along the way, Meg relinquishes her left leg, her right breast, her hair (of course), her self-worth, her confidence in her own body, and ultimately her connection to the Earth itself. She observes the heart-wrenching pain of children frightened of losing their mother, and she fantasizes about buying presents for them to unwrap on the birthdays she will not be a part of. Meg and her husband become strangers sleepwalking through a life that has been reduced to endurance. She privately selects a future wife for her husband, a mother for her children--a beautiful, kind friend who is going through a divorce.<br /><br />Sounds like a difficult read, no? Yes, part of it is. The candid descriptions of various medical procedures--from chemo to radiology to amputation to partial radical mastectomy--the various, grisly wounds inflicted on this beautiful woman's body--these descriptions are in themselves very painful to read, as are Meg's observations of the emotions she experienced:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> For weeks after the surgery, I was conscious of my deformed body. Everyone I encountered seemed to present the image of what a human being should look like. People should have two legs; women two breasts. I watched people move effortlessly as they crossed the street, or walked along sidewalks. I noticed mannequins in dress shops and photographs of women in magazines. Soon I realized that I must not watch television or read magazines, because they stressed the importance of women's figures, and insisted that these images were what women should be. I no longer measured up.</span><br /><br />One cannot read Meg's story without feeling anguish, and even more so, anger. Make that <span style="font-weight: bold;">furor</span>. Furor at the arrogance of many of her doctors, furor at the fragmented vision of contemporary medicine, which focuses on poisoning the body in the name of curing disease, a medicine which can identify sickness but not health, a medicine in which doctors do not listen to patients. (Unbelievably, Meg suspected her cancer years before she received a diagnosis. Both times. She was condescended to, receiving the message she was a hysterical worry wart.) A medicine which breaks the essence of its own Hippocratic oath--<span style="font-style: italic;">Above all, do no harm.</span> A medicine which all too often is detoured into costly, dangerous procedures because of the profit to be obtained. As Meg so succinctly puts it when one doctor insists she endure a bone marrow transplant procedure, which now, years later, is known to have killed women rather than saved them:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I had enough experience with doctors to spot a medical salesman when I saw one, and Dowd and the cancer institute physician were more entrepreneurs than healers. They saw my expensive health insurance card and knew that I could pay for the treatment.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Something told me that that's what mattered most to them.</span><br /><br />And so Meg begins to trust that soft-spoken, wise voice within, to trust the healers who are themselves humble and respectful. Sometimes these are traditional doctors of medicine. Other times they're alternative healers or macrobiotic chefs or massage therapists.<br /><br />And that turning point is the juncture at which Meg begins to embrace life rather than seek to prolong it. She subsequently "just says no" to tamoxifen treatment, despite a doctor's urging that this is her last hope to eke out a little more time in this life. Her intuition tells her tamoxifen will kill her. Or at the very least render her helpless:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> Who would take care of me when I had a stroke? Would Dr. Wingate take responsibility for me after I had become incapacitated and lay dying in some nursing home? Whose life was this anyway?</span><br /><br />Indeed.<br /><br />That was better than <span style="font-weight: bold;">ten</span> years ago. Meg has taken ownership of that life, and of the body inhabited by that life. She has been medication-free for all of those years! All of her medical tests <span style="font-style: italic;">indicate</span> that her body has been restored to perfect health. Meg herself is the proof. She attributes her vitality to having undertaken the macrobiotic way of eating and living, a way of living which is balanced and attuned to nature. A way of "living large." <span style="font-weight: bold;">MACRO biotics.</span> Get it?<br /><br />Maybe not.<br /><br />That's why Meg has written Part Two. Part Two is devoted to a thorough explanation of the hows and whys of macrobiotic eating, pages of meal plans, and delectable, exotic recipes. Think of a a graceful dance between yin and yang. Think of the color balance in a beautiful painting, or in fresh foods arranged on a plate, bursting with life force. Think of an opening to life itself, saying <span style="font-style: italic;">yes!</span> to all that matters and brings pure joy.<br /><br />Does Meg feel bitter about all of those years lost to cancer and dead ends, the tragedy of Part One? I'll let her answer that question:<br /><br /> <span style="font-style: italic;">One day that spring, while cutting vegetables by the open window of my kitchen, I suddenly had a strange and surprising thought. I had cancer to thank, and all the trials and tribulations that accompanied it, for helping me to banish my fears, find my voice and mission, and find--really find--happiness.<br /><br /></span>This book is for anyone who suffers from dis-ease, physical or emotional. Anyone who has ever looked back at a wrong decision and thought, <span style="font-style: italic;">Hey, I </span><span>knew</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> better than </span><span>that</span><span style="font-style: italic;">! Why did I listen to an authority figure rather than my own wisdom?</span> Anyone who feels remorse or anger or bitterness. Anyone who's lost confidence and feels powerless. Anyone whose connections have disappeared--with family, or the body, or the Earth. In short, anyone. <span style="font-style: italic;">Becoming Whole</span> is available at <a href="http://becoming-whole.com/">Meg's blog</a>.Sanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18245301334922883500noreply@blogger.com46