Feel Good Friday: More Juicy Lemons, Superior Scribbling, & My First Award from a Non-Human Blogger!

Lori of the tranquil Skoog Farm Journal has seen fit to bestow this Sweet Tart of an award on me--the lemonade stand. A few months ago Suki honored me with the same and I passed it on to several bloggers who are adept at transforming those mouth-puckering lemons that life throws their way into delectable, thirst-quenching lemonade. And today I would like to add another name to that list: the lovely Kaizabella of Finding Mad Dog. The "mad dog" in question is her birth father, who, you guessed it, would prefer to remain lost. I will also invite any other reader who would like this one to grab it by commenting. Pipe up and it's yours. Yes, I mean you!


Then lovely Mary Ann of Blue Sky Dreaming wandered over with this adorable thing. The Superior Scribbler Award. I'm to pass this on to "five others whom I have found to be thoughtful, creative and most importantly, entertaining." Only FIVE? Then again, so many superior scribblers already have this award. So I'm going to pick five relative newcomers to my blog, five bloggers whom I'm becoming acquainted with. And if you already have the award, my apologies. Here are the five, who now have their work cut out for them. They are to link back to me, and pass the award on to five others, linking to them of course, who will link back to them, and link to five others, and on an on an on and on...before we know it, every single writer in Blogland will have the Superior Scribbler Award. What the hell? We are one superior, scribbling bunch. The five:

Clarissa Alverson, who writes The Curious Hazards of Being Human. Uplifting, heartfelt reflections on what else? The curious hazards of being human. It just gets curiouser and curiouser.

Janette of Contented Colour. The title of Janette's blog says it all. A color-infused spot in Blogland, a place to wrap oneself in a comfy blankey of color and feel...well...content.

Adaelamoon of Ruminations. Gentle ruminations. Blessings counted.

Sally of Being mum, being me. A single mom writes about her frustrations with a quiet hilarity. Yes, there is such a thing. Didn't you ever stifle a laugh in church? That's quiet hilarity. Mum's the word.

Paisley of Ever After: Dead Weight. She's on a healing journey. And sometimes has to summon that healing phenomenon--the good, healthy rant. Damn, I respect that.

And since--who's counting?--a sixth blogger should receive this. Leslie's Textures Shapes Color. A feast of all three. Touch the surfaces. Bask in the color.



And now (drumroll), my very first award from a non-human blogger. And a royal non-human at that. A beautiful princess dragon who lives at Dilly's Castle. In her most gracious (and pwincessy wagon way), Dilly had this to say about me: "San be luvly kind laydy, do pwitty payntins, lots luvly cullers." Wow, Dilly, you make me feel like a pwincess too! The award is described thus: "This blog invests and believes in PROXIMITY --nearness in space, time and relationships! In other words, blogs that receive this award are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement." And I'm to pass the award to two bloggers. I offer you two exceedingly charming bloggers:

Karen of Threadstory. An artist who assembles the bits and pieces of life into dazzling quilts.

Carol of RoseCreekCottage. A wise woman who counts her blessings and transforms them into things of quirky beauty. Ragamuffin dolls, for example.

And since...who's counting?...a third exceedingly charming blogger is Kate of Kate's Corner. Delivers the mail by day. Shares her art journals by night.

And, please, even though this award is to be passed to two (only 2?) bloggers, everyone who visits this blog is a friend. Please, please, if you want this award, just say so. Own up to your "exceeding charm" and grab it! On your mark. Get set. Go!

Letter to My 13-Year-Old Self

My Forgotten City, acrylic on canvas, 24" x 48"
private collection, Tulsa

Let's talk about algebra, 13-year-old San. I know. I know what you're thinking--will you be using algebra when you're a grown-up? The answer is yes. I am...sit down now...I am 55 years old. I am 55 years old and I am using algebra.

You too are using algebra. And I'm not talking about your homework. I'm talking about a lifelong equation that doesn't quite get solved. You and I holding down opposite sides of that puzzling equation, our life. We are solving for the variable x, and x is us. For starters, and here I'll quote from something called Wikipedia (something we have in 2009, like a World Book, only it doesn't take up good shelf space--you can actually look up stuff on a little screen that sits on your desk--kind of like interacting with a TV that has a trillion channels):

A variable is an attribute of a physical or an abstract system which may change its value while it is under observation. Examples include the height of a child, the temperature across a state, or the input to a function. This concept is relevant to and applied to almost all areas of mathematics, science and engineering.

You and I are a variable. You are slowly becoming me. (Truth be told, the process isn't that slow.) And every action I take, even writing you this letter, is somehow informed by you. I wouldn't be here had you not chosen to become me. Thank you, 13-year-old San, for granting me this bottomless moment called now.

More from Wikipedia:
In mathematics and computer science, a variable is usually represented by one or more words or symbols, such as "time" or "'x'." These abstractions are often assigned definite values later in the equation or program, but unknowns are often integral to an interface even without such a value.

Damn. That was a mouthful, but is it ever the truth! Unknowns are often integral to this interface, the common boundary of this body that you and I share somehow. I believe there's just a smattering of cells in this 55-year-old body that you have in your 13-year-old body. I mean these cells, all 100 trillion of them (if you can imagine that--I know I can't), constantly break down and are replaced. I know you are learning such things in biology and are a bit freaked out by the knowledge. It still freaks me out a bit too. I look in the mirror and yes, I've changed in outward appearance, and yes, that makes me feel a little weird but not nearly as much as it would make you feel had you a picture of your 55-year-old self to view. I am not enclosing a photograph.

You must be curious about the future. I'll tell you a little about what I know:

1. Remember that summer afternoon when you were 9 and Sharon Huckabee climbed on Mama's clothesline post and stood there for the better of three hours, intent on flying? You refused to come in when Mama called you in to supper. You were concentrating on Sharon Huckabee's heels. You just knew you were seeing them levitate ever-so-slightly off the clothesline post. You so wanted her to fly, but Mama made you come in and you just knew you missed out on seeing Sharon take off and fly over Tom Megan's blackberry bushes. You didn't miss out on a thing. Sharon never flew. Sharon will grow up and become a State Trooper. After twenty years of public service she will open a travel agency. She has always wanted to fly off to exotic places, so she decides she might as well help other people do it. Something called the internet kills her business just as it is taking off and she is arrested for check kiting. Now she's serving time in the State Pen.
2. Sharon didn't fly, but you will. You won't be climbing on a clothesline post, but you will be soaring. You will travel to places you never imagined. Let me rephrase that. You will travel to places and they will never be quite as you imagined. What places? Strange, sometimes wonderful places. Marriage, for one. Motherhood. The death of friends. (I said sometimes wonderful.) Yes, friends will die. A couple won't even survive high school, and somehow you will. I don't say this to scare you. You are already serious as the preacher, always worrying about death. I say this to acknowledge it will happen, but it's something you do bear. Death is in the equation, kind of like a helium balloon. It lightens each side when things get too heavy for the Universe to bear.
3. There are some people you won't mind seeing lifted off into the great beyond on their helium balloon. Remember Mrs. Gilchrist? Remember when she told you your portrait of Molly Mastin was "horrible"? Well, she lives a long time. Into her 90s. But when she lifts off, you won't feel in the least bit sad. A fifth grade teacher doesn't have any business raining on a little kid's art parade. Especially a kid who will grow up and sell her paintings to a bunch of sophisticated people from places like Seattle and Chicago and Los Angeles. Yes, I mean you!
4. Speaking of bad adults, watch out for that junior high librarian. Next week you will be re-checking a book. She will casually ask you, "Did you see the movie?" "Yes," you will reply. "Oh, I get it. You're going to do your book report from the movie." What a clueless bitch. And I do mean clueless. In three of so years, her husband will be lifted off on his helium balloon. And we will learn she is pretty much helpless outside of a junior high library. I mean she doesn't even know how to write a check! I tell you this because this is a pattern I've begun to notice: Often the meanest, pettiest people are the most helpless. Remember that and try to ignore their meanness. Most of all, try to let go of what little meanness you're holding on to. Believe me. It will lighten our equation considerably.
   
5. Never ever let a mean-spirited, petty person, especially yourself, stand in your way of flying. It's really pretty simple. You just start walking with a confident stride. You can start anywhere. Right now. Start walking down the hallway. Pretend you have little springs under your heels. Pretend I have little springs under my heels and that I am at the other end of the hall walking towards you. Yes, I see you now and I am walking towards you. The closer I get, you begin to feel your heels rising ever-so-slightly, both of them at the same time, off the floor...Now they are a quarter-of-an-inch in the air. You are starting to fly, San...get ready to soar...
   

The New Year's Baby and the Dalai Lama

Canyon Spirits, acrylic on canvas, 30" x 40"
private collection, Shorewood, Wisconsin

I'm walking up a flight of stairs to the front door of a house. It looks a bit like a brownstone in Manhattan. It's my understanding that I am there to retrieve a baby. When I walk in the door, I see that a man is in the room. My first thought is, 'Why is a guy here?' Then I see that the man is the Dalai Lama and I think, 'Well, at least it's the Dalai Lama.' The Dalai Lama is busily engaged in making a bed. He lifts the edge of a sheet, snaps it into the air and lets it drift downwards, back to the bed; its own momentum makes it lie smooth, wrinkle-free. The edge of the Lama's red robe flies as he strides from one side of the bed to the other, tucking in edges, his full attention given to the perfection of his task.

I walk though an open door at the back of that room, turn left and see another staircase. I walk down one step and there's the newborn baby, looking comfortable, not crying, despite her precarious position on the second highest step of what appears to be a set of dark stairs leading to a basement. She's snug in a blanket wrapped tight around her tiny body. I think to myself how dangerous it was for someone to have left the baby there. I pick up the baby.

Then, maddeningly, I wake up.

The last week of 2008 blessed me with a series of dreams. This one was the most memorable and I have pondered it much. During that week I was setting my goals for the new year. In my head only. Busy-ness kept me from writing the goals down or praying about them or reflecting on them with any depth, or even thinking through a plan to bring them into reality. My goals, my hopes for 2009 were like a newborn baby--they were alive, their blood was flowing, they were still breathing, but like the baby in my dream, they were in a precarious position, almost forgotten, incapable of climbing up those dark stairs and walking to the kitchen for a glass of milk.

Intentions are the beginning of any accomplishment, but if they're abandoned on a dark stairway, some unsuspecting person, even the Dalai Lama himself, unknowingly, may trample on them. Hopes must be rescued and brought into the light. No matter how warmly we wrap them in the depths of our heart, protection isn't enough for them to survive. They need to be fed.

Here's where the hard part comes in. We have to do the work. Observe the Dalai Lama making a bed. Things have to be lifted up and set in motion with a little effort. Momentum will carry them for a time. Then they must be completed. Attention to detail is involved. And yes, grace. Grace is as nearby as the next room, but you may have to climb some stairs to get there. And don't be afraid to ask for help.

Christmas Wishes

May your holidays be blessed...

with interesting visitors...

...lots of sweetness...

...and faithful old friends.

Wishing you a little fun...
(Bennie's cousins long ago, Michigan.)

Wishing you a little adventure...


...but PLEASE no mishaps...
...no, that's not Tiny Tim's crutch...

...it's mine.
(My parents' house, Christmas 2000,
the Christmas of the broken toe. )


Wishing you your own kind of miracles...

time to chill...

...to kick back.

Wishing you lots of snow...

...well maybe not this much.


May there be a snowman on your tree...

...and one clearing a path for you.

May your eyes be open...

...WIDE open to wonder.

Wishing you bear hugs....

...little gifts that fit you...

...some surprises of course.


May you experience childlike joy...

...no matter your age...

and I really mean that.


Wishing you peace in your world...

and in your heart.

LOVE FROM SANTA FE,
San

Feel-Good Friday (on Thursday): A Sleighful of Awards!

(Photo "courtesy of" aka "stolen from" How Stuff Works.)

So shoot me. I'm a slacker. Several have bestowed lavish awards at my feet. And I've just kicked back and basked in their radiance, never acknowledging them, let alone passing them on to worthy recipients. I am going to try to remember which awards came from whom and if I falter, please assume the generous spirit of this season and forgive my forgetful heart--it's in the right place--I just can't remember where I put it.

Sandi of Holding Patterns passed this lovely thing to me on August 29. I had to go to her blog and do a search for awards to find it. There she was, apologizing for being behind in acknowledging her own awards. Thanks, Sandi. That made me feel even better than the award:

Since this is such a shimmering photograph, I will now pass it along to some shimmering photographers:

Anna of A. Bananna (Great shots of the desert and her own photogenic brood.)
Randy of Santa Fe Daily Photo (You might say I'm rather close to his subject.)
Anna of My Only Photo (In her own words, "photography spiced with stories, essays, opionions, and snippets of knowledge.)
David of authorblog (Needs no introduction. If by chance, you've been hiding under your mousepad, then climb out and click over to his place. Not just dazzling photos but tips on making them.)
Hilary of The Smitten Image (Yes, I'm smitten.)
Celine of Indica-in-Q8 (Interpretations in word and image of the mysterious landscape of Kuwait.)
Lori of Skoog Farm Journal (If this one doesn't make you want to move to the country and take up farming and the slow pace, well then, at least slow down long enough to linger in this peaceful space.)
Daryl of Out and About in New York City (If this one doesn't make you want to move to a huge, exciting city and hop on a bus, then at least hop over here and take Daryl's tour.)

Then along came Spark of No More Casual Nonchalance and gifted me with this bit of whimsy. I was contemplating whom I might pass it on to, thinking Fe of Coyote Road would be a great recipient. While I was dragging my feet, Fe up and gave it to me. Thanks, Spark! Thanks, Fe!

I pass the I HEART Your Blog award to:

Todd of Peace through Pottery. (A blog with lots of heart, plus he's thinking about buying a house in my neighborhood--I HEART that idea!)
Diane of Forks off the Moment. (Diane lives her life with passion and gets us all fired up too.)
Moody of Life in the Land of the Rising Sun (As lived to the hilt by a contemporary American Renaissance man relocated to Japan.)
Bruno of Morning Java with Bruno LoGreco (Generous, inspiring tips from a life coach. Don't miss his series on weathering this daunting economic cycle.)
Maggie May of Nuts in May (The oh-so-identifiable-with ups and downs in the life of a wife, mother, and grandmother.)
Lee of Chrysalis Dreams (Expressions of faith in God, friends, and her own lovely self.)
JS of Influx Transposer (Expressions of faith in God and family, with the occasional rant to the Almighty.)
Cath of Cath's Cradle (A gently tilted look at life.)
Jeanne of Life or Something Like It (A head-on look at life--or something like it.)



Recently Suki of Paint, Poems, and Ponderings posted the lemonade stand to her blog and said it was offered to anyone who felt like making lemonade. I grabbed it. And I pass it on to the following bloggers, who have the extraordinary gift for turning those life lemons into magical elixir. (The secret's in the saucy attitude):

Meg of Becoming Whole
Jo of Celebration of Life
Whim of The Babblings of a Whimsical Brainpan
Indi of The World According to Indigo
Casdok of Mother of Shrek
Mima of Mima's Doings
Aims of Big Blue Barn West
Peg of Angel Voices.

And Kim of Creating Space as well as Suki of Paint, Poems, and Ponderings honored me with this award, which I find rather elegant (and flattering):

The PREMIO DARDOS award is "given for recognition of cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values transmitted in the form of creative and original writing." Thank you, Kim! Thank you, Suki! I now pass this award to:

Fe of Coyote Road
Michelle of House of Lime
Katherine of Views from Raven's Nest
Paschal of murat 11
Doris of Poetic License
Carol of Carol for Peace
Jeff of A Word in Edgewise
David of authorblog
Sandi of Holding Patterns
Akelamalu of Everything and Nothing
Spark of No More Casual Nonchalance
The Elementary of Crumbs from the Corner.

And now an award I am tempted to re-name the In the Nick of Time Award, since it's time-dated:
When Ora Lea at One American Dreamer graciously awarded it to me, she warned me I'd better post it soon. And I believe that was a couple of months ago!

Then, the ever-generous Fe of Coyote Road sent this joyous little butterfly winging its way to me:


Since I keep thinking of fabulous bloggers whom I've left out of this awarding binge, especially the many visual artists who visit so often and are an enormous source of support and encouragement, and since I now have a checkbook to balance, I am going to leave the Butterfly Award up for grabs. It's here for the catching. So grab your butterfly nets and make a comment if you want this one. It's yours. (Don't forget to pass it on.)

Everything About Me but the Kitchen Sink (That Too)

A Wall with a Past, acrylic on canvas, 24" x 24"
private collection, Mercer Island, Washington

This tag is courtesy Kim of Creating Space. She's requested I divulge seven "unusual" things about me. Here the problem is not coming up with seven offbeat traits/events. It's deciding which to leave out. Oh well, here's a sampling of my quirks:

1. As I've mentioned (numerous times), I was born breech, entering this world ass-backwards and I've been doing things in a roundabout way ever since. Example:

2.

I once dislocated my toe while helping my son learn his spelling words. Don't ask.

3. My eyes are afflicted with a corneal disorder which affects 1 out of 2000 Americans. My uncorrected eyes see something (beyond a certain distance) like this:

Marcel Duchamp
Nude Descending a Staircase

I only wish I could paint what I see.

4. On the Myers Briggs Type Indicator, I am a INFJ, which purportedly occurs in 1% of the population. Kindred spirits include Geoffrey Chaucer, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Eleanor Roosevelt, Carl Jung, Mother Teresa, and Martin Luther King Jr. (As best as I can surmise, these findings were gleaned from the online test-taking results in the hard drives of these folks' discarded i-Books.) Wow, I guess I'm the underachiever in the group. That makes me even more unusual.

Then again, I've not lived a life completely devoid of attainment. Examples:

5. I was the valedictorian of my high school class, graduating with a grade point average of 97.425. I was also one of the Top Ten Magazine Salesmen in our senior class's primary fundraiser. For this I received a goldtone trophy in the form of a comely young woman. (Yes, I still have it. It resides in a place of honor in a cardboard box along with my Proficiency in Two Foreign Languages Award, My Best All Round Girl Award, my aforementioned Valedictorian Award, and an assortment of letters from various dignitaries, among them a state senator and the President of the company my dad worked for, congratulating me on a job well done.) For the record, I honed my art sales skills selling little prints in white plastic frames door-to-door in the fourth grade. I sold the hell out of stuff like this:

6. A small photograph of my own painting Heart's Destiny appears in the current issue of The Santa Fean. The feature is called "Fall Art Openings." And no, the photo wasn't taken at an opening. Get this: the photographer wandered into our gallery one afternoon just after Bennie had sold Heart's Destiny. A mood of festivity prevailed, so the photographer snapped a picture of Bennie, the buyer (the woman on the far left), a friend of the buyer, and yes, the painting. How's that for uncanny timing?

Where was I? In the studio painting of course.

7. AND my kitchen sink was immortalized on the cover of a literary magazine called...what else? The Kitchen Sink.

Oakley took the photograph.

I now tag 7 highly unusual (in the very best of ways) people:

1. The Moody Minstrel (who resides in The Land of the Rising Sun)
2. Ron (who Vents)
3. Lee (who dreams Chrysalis Dreams)
4. Jo (who Celebrates Life)
5. Peg (who hears Angel Voices)
6. Todd (who makes Pottery for Peace)
7. Paschal (aka murat11).

Your turn to confess.

Is Every Day Dia de los Muertos?

Wanderer, 40" x 30"
acrylic on canvas

This morning when I was soaking in the lovely hot tub, I saw the spirit of a teenage girl sitting in the spirit chair. Her name was Michelle, she lived a quarter mile from my house in Westacres, and she was in my grade. I think she was my first "crush." I remember going tobogganing with her and several friends at night in the eighth grade. After the toboggan runs we all met up at the community clubhouse for a dance...we danced to the Monkees and Beatles, drank hot chocolate, and I couldn't stop thinking about Michelle. A few years later, probably when I was a student at Oakland, I heard she had died in a car accident somewhere in the east. It made me sad. I never did find out for sure. Still, I think she was in that chair this morning--looking very young and pleasant. Don't know what to make of it...


These were words I received in an email from my husband yesterday, Halloween. Last year I posted the story of our "spirit chairs," one of which is the focal point of my blog header. From time to time wandering spirits do take a load off here. Hiram and Lily have frequented them. And now Michelle has come calling. Last night Bennie and I lit candles in our living room and sat for a time in their quivering light. We talked about the spirits, the few times we or our family members have had visitations from dear ones.

When my father was diagnosed with cancer, he woke from a nap to find his own deceased parents, and my mothers' parents, and her brother who had died in World War II, standing at the edge of the room, very still, all of them looking at him, smiling. He described them as looking young and healthy and very happy. He was completely unnerved by the experience. And my mother-in-law, on her fiftieth wedding anniversary in 1999, saw her own mother Mildred sitting in a chair, dressed in fall colors and a fall hat (even though it was August and Mildred had died in 1985). Mildred too was smiling and radiant. Bennie asked me last night, "Do you believe that experiences like this are in the mind?"

I don't know. Some would say that any experience is completely in the mind, that as we go about our ordinary activities, we are journeying from one place in the mind to another, passing through a world we've imagined.

Passing Through, 30 " x 40"
acrylic on canvas

The chair I sit on is an arrangement of subatomic energies, ordered just enough to provide the illusion of solidity. I can't "see" those energies, but they're there.

detail from Passing Through

What else is out there, all the time, that I can't, or don't, or won't see?