I Hope I am Better at Banjo

better at banjo Hey there boys and girls. I am still alive. I’m actually out at my cove trying to get a jump on Spring (even though it’s 28 degrees outside) and wanting to get at least the inside finished. I’m only two years behind. No biggie. The gardens, and gazebo will get built in time.

I hope everyone had a great holiday and that 2016 is turning out well for you all. I’m still sorting through mother’s things and settling her estate. You only get one Mom, for better or for worse and when they die everything seems to come back at you. At least it’s that way for me. All the good, all the bad. All of the in between. So grief takes on a new level. Most days I’m okay but I still fall apart some times and that is to be expected.

So what do you think of the photo? I found that beast of a collage hidden back in one of my closets at the cove. I’d forgotten about it. I took an art class back in 2012 and never got invited back which cracks me up! It’s hideous. So I turned it into a meme. That’s also the year I started playing banjo and yes, I’m a much better banjo player than I am an artist. Thank heavens or I’d still be out there trying to find something I was good at besides comedy.

Besides – do you see the dagger looking things near the bottom of the canvas? I’m pretty sure that is reminiscent of my state of mind back then what with menopause and hating men that year. That was also the year I came out against the Tea Party – lost friends I’d had for over 20 years and that hurt.

I think I might have taken pissy to a whole new level that summer.

 

Oh well. I just might hang it in the guest room after all. If nothing else as a warning label.

Have a great week you guys.

Mayfest 2013 is a hit.

I went to Mayfest last night with my husband and son. What a blast. We got to listen to the Red Dirt Rangers, eat strange food, check out art booths and just basically have a great time.

MayFest really seems to have grown this year. There were more vendors, more entertainers and more people than I remember in years passed. The planners did a great job.

My favorite finds this year include:

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We HAD to try the Moink Balls — I was after all with my men. It’s meatballs surrounded by bacon on a stick and smothered with BBQ Sauce. They came five to a stick. I had one and let the guys eat the rest. Not bad.
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THIS is my favorite booth. The artist is Teresa Merriman. I purchased the journal third from the right. It’s leather bound, full of watercolor paper and is lovely.
Here is a photo of Teresa (The Artist) and the Journal I picked out. Super sweet peeps. Go find their booth!
Here is a photo of Teresa (The Artist) and the Journal I picked out. Super sweet peeps. I forgot to ask his name. – Go find their booth!

Mending My Life

Well written poetry heals souls.

Why bother using an Ivy League vocabulary when the truth is as simple as that?

Well

written

poetry

heals

souls.

When discussing great literature, I catch myself wanting to write as if I’ve graduated from Baylor instead of business college. That makes book reviews difficult for me sometimes. I want to match the intellect of the authors in question and write as if I were a scholar myself. My main problem with that however is the scholastic approach to writing does not match my day-to-day voice. I’m not an MFA graduate. I’m just me. Mac and Cheese as Molly calls me. Comfort food in many ways.

I went looking for my literary voice last year and found my heart. Granted my heart was at the time in a about a million pieces all over the floor. I was lost in the rubble when a ragtag band of modern-day poets and women’s rights activists invited me to internet tea last fall. We banded together as only women can and sifted through the debris of unmet needs, false hopes, unrealistic expectations of others and toxic co-dependency.  Their love and acceptance breathes life into my battle weary soul.

I have no idea how long I’d been holding my breath; it must have been a while. I just know that it had been long time since I’d had fresh air. I found a respite and breathing place with these women. I took big gulps of air at first and gushed quite a bit over their acceptance and caring. I’ve settled in quite nicely now and my heart rate and oxygen levels have returned to normal.

Recovering from a broken heart takes more time than I am sometimes willing to allow.  One of the unexpected bonuses, while I am picking up the pieces I discover that not all of them fit any more. This is good news. This means there is room for more —

More friends

More hope

More adventures

More love.

I have officially turned the corner and the scenery is to die for.

I wrote my first poem of sorts in many years on September 12 of 2011.  My poetic soul knows what I didn’t. You might say it was my battle cry.

The Fractured Mirror

To be handed one’s emotional ass on a silver platter and yet have so little regard for self, that the best revelation one can muster that anything is wrong  are stomach issues, persistent blushing, and chest pain is a travesty. While it is true that artists are capable of being emotionally empathetic to a fault and that our souls can easily be a magnet to acts of spiritual terrorism, we still have choices.

Does one choose to succumb to this warped sense of reality, thereby being a victim of the fractured mirror of others as well as their own learned misogynistic views? Or can the false mirror be broken and a new paradigm created?

Some world views are nothing more than a fractured reflection of one’s own self-hatred and false dichotomies.

Unrealistic expectations and lies of others do not define me. I DEFINE ME.

Thus began my journey back to wholeness and life. Molly gave us the following poem during my very first week of writing classes – I’d never read The Journey by Mary Oliver before. As soon as I read it, I knew I was home.

one day you finally knew what you had to do, and began. though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice, though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles, “mend my life!” – each voice cried, but you didn’t stop you knew what you had to do. though the wind pried with its stiff finger at the very foundations, though their melancholy was terrible, it was already late enough and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches & stones. but little by little as you left their voices behind the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds. and there was a new voice which you suddenly recognized as your own and that kept you company as you strode deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do, determined to save the only life you could save. – mary oliver

I’m continuing my journey next week by attending Poetry Book Camp led by Molly Fisk which means I won’t be here. While I’m gone might I suggest reading a good poetry book or better yet – write your own poems. Like I said – Well written poetry heals souls. Your soul is worth it.

I’ll be back before the month is out.

Take care.

Right Brain vs Left Brain, this explains it.

I’m always fascinated by my oldest son who is able to traverse the hemispheres of his brain with little hindrance. He is both a brilliant mathematician and a poet. He is as comfortable in the safety of a world of order and structure as he is the free flow kaleidoscopic nuances of art and words. I’m envious.

It is possible to do what my son does, after all he does it. My husband does it. Me, not so much, but I can. I used to engineer circuit routes for long distance companies and build switch rooms and PBX systems. The whole reason I enjoyed it and was so good at it is because I got to create something from nothing. While technical in trade, requiring systematic order and logic,  it is also an artistic and creative endeavor.

A friend posted this on Facebook today. I believe it does a bang up job explaining the nuances between left and right brain. While I’m definitely more in the right hemisphere I’m learning that like my son, I too can traverse back and forth rather well.

The text reads as follows:

Left Brain: “I am the left brain. I am a scientist. A mathematician. I love the familiar. I categorize. I am accurate. Linear. Analytical. Strategic. I am practical. Always in control. A master of words and language. Realistic. I calculate equations and play with numbers. I am order. I am logic. I know exactly who I am.”

And for the right brain:

“I am the right brain. I am creativity. A free spirit. I am passion. Yearning. Sensuality. I am the sound of roaring laughter. I am taste. The feeling of sand beneath bare feet. I am movement. Vivid colors. I am the urge to paint on an empty canvas. I am boundless imagination. Art. Poetry. I sense. I feel. I am everything I wanted to be.”

Given these definitions I am definitely more comfortable in my right brain. What about you?