INNOCENCE

I was running errands today, and I had a CD mix playing in the car. The following song, which I happen to love, came on. I think my biggest draw to the song is the lyrics. Rare is the time when I hear them and am not left thinking about them as they apply to me, others, and life in general.

"Holy Water" by Big & Rich

Somewhere there's a stolen halo
I used to watch her wear it well
Everything would shine wherever she would go
But looking at her now you'd never tell

Someone ran away with her innocence
A memory she can't get out of her head
I can only imagine what she's feeling
When she's praying
Kneeling at the edge of her bed

And she says take me away
And take me farther
Surround me now
And hold, hold, hold me like holy water
Holy water

She wants someone to call her angel
Someone to put the light back in her eyes
She's looking through the faces
And unfamiliar places
She needs someone to hear her when she cries

And she says take me away
And take me farther
Surround me now
And hold, hold, hold me like holy water
Holy water

She just needs a little help
To wash away the pain she's felt
She wants to feel the healing hands
Of someone who understands

And she says take me away
And take me farther
Surround me now
And hold, hold, hold me
And she says take me away
And take me farther
Surround me now
And hold, hold, hold me like holy water
Holy water

Granted, we all have our own takes on music and what particular songs mean. That is one of the many beauties of it. We know how it affects us. Much like a painting, each person sees (in this instance, hears) for himself.

So, I thought about the overall gist of this song. Innocence. Lost innocence. I am a little too old to always be able to look at life through the eyes of a child. I am not oblivious to the suffering and incomprehensible tragedies that take place day in and day out all around the world. I do not want to stick my head in the sand and ignore the woes of the world. What I can do, however, is find the good and decency and kindness that most assuredly does exist. I can then spend moments of time in innocence. Those precious seconds that once again give me the purity of a child who only sees the wonders surrounding him.

Ah, innocence. I do believe we have it, lose it, regain it, lose it, and so on time after time. We cannot help but experience pain at the hands of someone else, an event, or an illness. Such is life. And frequently, our innocence is stripped from us because of it. Oftentimes in the blink of an eye, it is taken. We feel we will never be the same again. We feel jaded. Cold. At least on the exterior. Inside, we are dying bit by bit until that time when we are once again reunited with our stolen innocence. And most of us finally make it through relatively unscathed and hopefully a bit wiser. Until the next time it happens. And the cycle continues.

I want to always remain as a child in certain ways. I hope I am resilient enough to make that hope become a reality.

"Innocence dwells with wisdom, but never with ignorance." ~William Blake

YO-YO

Gah! The fall continues to affect me in sometimes unpredictable ways. Not all of which are necessarily good.

On the positive side, during the past few weeks, I have won THREE contests (good things happen in threes...not only bad things). First, Debbie at My Big Fat Greek Life held a writing contest to win a Greek bracelet or ring. I won a bracelet for a poem I wrote. Yay! The bracelet arrived today, and it is beautiful. I love it, Debbie. THANK YOU! Second, Jodi at Looking Beyond The Cracked Window had a contest to see who the first person was to guess the five lies she inserted into an autobiographical post in her blog. I won! And I won a painting of hers. My choice of paintings, too. Yahoo! I chose one that reminds me of her amazing creative mind. I cannot wait until it arrives! THANK YOU, Jodi! And third, I won a $300 Best Buy gift card at my hubby's annual company dinner. WOOT! He gave it to me to use. Yes, the number three has been kind to me many times during my life.

Downside? I was working on a painting I felt had great potential. I eagerly sat at my drafting table working the watercolors just the way I envisioned them when I sketched the scene. Unfortunately and frustratingly, the painting is now hideous. I am at a loss to determine whether or not I can salvage the mess I created. I was so upset that I carried it into my dining room and left it there. I do not want to look at it for days. Needless to say, we will be dining in the kitchen until I can decide if I should throw away that ugliness my hand and brushes made.

Upside? I bought five pairs of jeans yesterday. Yes, five. Blacks, indigos, and grays. They are skinny leg jeans, and I wanted to replace my old ones anyway. Men's dress shirts do look very nice and are comfy to wear with that style of jeans for casual running around or just wearing in the house. Throw in the new boots I also purchased, and I am one happy camper. Curious to see how the hubby reacts. He shakes his head when he takes a gander at my boot collection, as well as all of the jeans I own. ::shrug::

Downside? Dot is late. She makes me very weepy when she does not appear on time. Either that or I go into fits of laughter that are uncontrollable. I also tend to retreat into myself more often. Dot, where are you? (Dot is my period. Get it? Dot. Period.)

Upside? I have discovered the most fabulous band from Finland. Stratovarius. Oh my! I am obsessed listening to them. The singer's voice is intense, and his range is unbelievable. Perfect lyrics accompany the songs. I am in sheer heaven listening to them.

Downside? I have developed a new addiction. Glass beads. I spent a good couple of hours choosing the ones I wanted. I am already thinking about all the ways I can use them. As if I have time for yet another artsy project. It will cause me to put even more pressure on myself to accomplish something worth keeping or giving to others.

Upside? I am going to get some blue topaz earrings. I am. Not the ones I saw at Macy's when I was recently there, but ones at my usual jeweler's. I have decided if my mood is going to bounce up and down like a yo-yo, I might as well have pretty earrings on my earlobes so at least I sparkle while I bounce. ::grin::

Is it winter yet?

"Life is a train of moods like a string of beads; and as we pass through them they prove to be many colored lenses, which paint the world their own hue, and each shows only what lies in its own focus." ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

WITH MY MOMMY, SPC~September, Week 4

She is my mother, my friend, my voice of reason, my shoulder and ear when I am in need, and my source of inspiration to help me find the inner calm that she possesses.

There are many times I think I could not possibly be her child. She is the most gentle, kind, and soft-spoken woman I think I have ever known. Her voice is soothing, quite lovely. Should she ever be tempted to raise it in anger, it is still but a slight notch above her normal tone. She has the most impeccable manners. Proper etiquette was a mainstay of her upbringing, and I would suspect she wonders how it was lost on me. ::smile::

She refers to me as her "ornery" daughter. Example. During her last hospital stay, I arrived to take her home. I was helping her get dressed after the nurse had removed the round, adhesive patches with the metal tips in the center that heart monitors connect to. While the nurse was preparing to remove Mom's IV, I noticed there was one of those patches still stuck on her chest. I asked the nurse if I could remove it, and she said I could...that she had not realized she had missed one. I said, "It's okay, I'll just take it off. That way I won't be tempted to start calling her Triple Nipple." Mom immediately told the laughing nurse that I was ornery. Uh huh. I am. And Mom knows she loves it. I like to make Mom laugh. She has the most precious giggle. If I time my stealth move just perfectly, I can reach under her chin and tickle her. Ohhhh, how I love the nonstop high-pitched giggle that causes. And when I am walking behind her, I love to pinch her bottom. She used to leap when I did it and tell me to stop it. Now, she is used to it and keeps on walking.

She is 5' 2", and I am 5' 8", and I love to wear heels. So, when we are together, she almost fits under my arm. I hug her lots and call her my little pocket parent.

She is a very, very strong woman. She has dealt with some horrendously tragic events during her life, but she has that ability to accept things as they are. The pain of those things never completely goes away, but she has made peace with them.

My mother. I think I will keep her. In my pocket. ::grin::


(The SELF-PORTRAIT CHALLENGE theme for September is ‘with someone‘ month - that means you must include someone else in your self portrait. Someone meaningful to your life or to the moment or to a specific event that you wish to document. Guidelines: 1. each week in the month use a different person in your self portait. 2. either talk about that person or illustrate in the photograph why you have included them and how they are meaningful.)

SIGNS OF THE SEASON

During the past few weeks, I have looked at cottages for sale in the woods and hills about an hour's drive from our house. I imagine myself spending weekends surrounded by quiet and beauty. The hubby has not ruled out the possibility of purchasing a weekend place, but he did say he would do it more as an investment. ::sigh:: That means he would rent it to others. And that would dictate when I could stay there. I do not want restrictions placed on my comings and goings.

I have also talked to him about moving to a new home. Perhaps buying a piece of property and building a sprawling ranch house. We no longer feel we have to stay in this community for their excellent school system. Yet, I saw a stone house in my neighborhood that is for sale, and I adore it. "Can we buy it?" I asked. That was countered with a response of, "But I thought you said you wanted to build a house?" My eyes roll, and I told him that was last week that I wanted to do that. "Well, what about the old historical homes you say you want?" Geez, he just cannot keep up with my weekly whims. Unfortunately, neither can I. And there is always that brick Georgian townhouse minutes from here that I lust after. It would strictly be a "for me" place, though. I do not count it as a family home. It would be my oasis. Just how many homes DO you want he usually asks. How do I know? It depends on the day. I really do not want to move. My home is perfect for us. And the idea of packing up all we own is enough to throw me into hysteria.

I went to Macy's yesterday to buy a new chain for a pendant I have. It was the only reason I went there. Before I knew what was happening, my arm had a suede jacket draped over it, along with a matching top, and I had made my way to the jewelry counter. Yes, must get a gold chain. This is why I am here. Uh huh. So explain why my face was poised over the blue topaz earrings that were gazing up at me through the glass and winking at me, seducing me with their Swiss blue color and rampant sparkles. And do tell me who uttered the following words aloud to the salesgirl, "I want those earrings right there"? Mmmm. Oh yeah, the gold chain. I set the clothing to the side while I perused their offerings. I found the perfect length and link style I wanted for my pendant. I asked if I could also purchase the clothing there at the jewelry counter. No, must buy them in that particular section of the store. Not a problem. And as she began to box the earrings and chain for me, I had a brief moment of clarity. What in the hell was I doing? I only wanted a chain, and here I had turned into a shopping slut. Ewww. I quickly told the gal not to bother with the earrings; that I would not be buying them. Just the chain, please. She was pleasant about my sudden change of mind. I meandered back to the clothing department and hung the jacket and top back on the rack. I needed neither one.

I left the store only to spot a nifty convertible sports car. I want that car. Never mind that I have no idea what kind it is or that I already have a convertible with ridiculously low mileage on it. I shook my head to clear it. I love my car. Why do I want a different one?

Finally, I returned home. The hubby called and asked me how my day was going and if I had any plans. We chatted for a bit while I told him that I was going to try to finish going through the mountain of paperwork that needs filed. As of this moment, the papers are still piled on the coffee table, because I spent a ridiculous amount of time matting and framing four paintings instead of doing what I said I would be doing.

Yes, fall is making its appearance. Not only in the drop in temperature and the earlier sunset, but also in the way it messes with me. It is a beautiful time of the year, yet it gives me a restlessness, a need for change, and an inability to focus my attention on those things that require it.

Eh, I will grow accustomed to it. Just not sure which house I will be living in when that happens. ::grin::

"To put meaning in one's life may end in madness, but life without meaning is the torture of restlessness and vague desire-it is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid." ~Edgar Lee Masters

WITH HIM BEFORE LOSING HIM~September SPC, Week 3

This self-portrait of me with "someone" is incredibly difficult for me. It is the last photograph that was taken of me with him before his death. He passed away 12 days later. My father. The very first man who ever loved me. Unconditionally and profoundly.

The celebration was Christmas Day, 2001. He was in a nursing home, and I had made arrangements for a special type of bed/chair to bring him to their lovely dining room that had been so festively decorated. On Christmas Eve, I laid out the clothing for the aides to dress him in the following day. Navy blue pants. White turtleneck. White sweater with navy blue woven around the v-neck.

Come Christmas Day, Daddy was brought into that beautiful dining room. A fire was burning in the fireplace, snow was falling and could be seen through the windows of the French doors. All four of us daughters, our husbands and children, and Mom were gathered there. We knew it would be his final Christmas; hospice had said his death was mere days away. Our hope was for him to be a part of the holiday he so very much loved. He had been Father Christmas to all of us for countless years.

We brought in a sea of gifts. We wore smiles when we really felt like wearing tears. He was greeted with hugs and kisses and more hugs and kisses. The lone words he spoke the entire time were, "Is it, honey?" when my sister pointed to the windows and said it was snowing. We had to open the gifts for him. We had to do all the talking. We wanted it to feel like Christmases of the past. To bring a bit of the holiday magic to him. And then, when the last of the packages had been unwrapped, fatigue overtook him, and the aides returned him to his room to rest his failing body.

The film in my camera (I had no digital camera back then) was developed soon afterward, but I refused to look at the pictures until earlier this year when one of my sisters begged me to scan them and email them to her. Grief riddled my body as I looked at each one. A much-loved man so close to death. It was impossibly painful to see impending death hovering over his features. There was one photo of my mother kissing him on the lips, and I dissolved into wracking sobs upon seeing it.

Daddy was, is, and always will be my hero. No man will ever be able to affect me with the same magnitude that he did. His brilliance was not only in his intelligence, integrity, and kindness, but also in his ability to make all those around him better people. He was simply the best of the best. And I continue to love and miss him with each passing day, season, and event.

And so, I submit this final portrait of Daddy and me. It has been altered with a filter to not only protect his privacy...but also to preserve his dignity. He deserves that.


(The SELF-PORTRAIT CHALLENGE theme for September is ‘with someone‘ month - that means you must include someone else in your self portrait. Someone meaningful to your life or to the moment or to a specific event that you wish to document.

Guidelines: 1. each week in the month use a different person in your self portait. 2. either talk about that person or illustrate in the photograph why you have included them and how they are meaningful.)

THE FLAME

Ordinary to the casual eye
blending with the others
going about their mundane lives

A second glance not worthy
of one so plain and simple
already forgotten by the passersby

These are but constant moments
in her vast sea of time
overlooked and deemed inadequate

Her lips curve in a knowing smile
what seems to be and what is
two opposites of the extreme

Holding within her a complexity
of burgeoning passions
only she recognizes and embraces

The flame rages in its dwelling
threatening to burn through
to bring forth the reality of her substance

She quells the blaze to avoid notice
mediocrity her preferred appearance
one among many

Alone
she lets the fire engulf her
and she soars

*~Nikki~*

PLEASE, NO MORE LEMONS

This past week has thrown more than a few lemons my way, and I am fiercely trying to make lemonade from them. I think I am winning the battle though, for now.

It began when my daughter's friend was killed in a motorcycle accident. Helmet on. Oil patch on the road the culprit in the loss of control of his motorcycle. Head trauma death. ::sad sigh:: 22 years young. My daughter, who is younger than that, was so traumatized by the news. She clutched me and just sobbed and sobbed on my shoulder. She garnered enough strength to attend the calling hours, the funeral, and the burial service. She is tearing up at odd times. She said she misses his smile. And I miss hers when she is sad like that.

My 14-year-old diabetic dog began behaving strangely. A trip to the vet did not result in any good news. Her diabetes is almost out of control, and the vet cannot determine the exact reason for it. Tests need done. One was already performed, but it came back negative for Cushing's disease. Like the vet said, it would have been almost "nice" had that test been positive, because it can be treated. Now, we have to begin the hunt for cancer or a tumor.

I took my mother to the cardiologist for what was supposed to be a routine visit. Instead, it discovered that her heart has again gone out of rhythm, and she needs to go back into the hospital for her fourth cardioversion (shocking of the heart). She was very stunned and looked defeated as she stepped out of his office.

And, of course, there are also the small lemons that come at you all the time, but you are able to easily dodge them. This time, I guess I was a bit slow, because they hit me and accumulated.

I had to do some laborious squeezing to make lemonade from all of these lemons. I think I am making some headway...

I had my daughter give our four college football tickets for a game Saturday to the cousin (and best friend) of the young man who was killed. He is a huge fan of the team, and I am hopeful it brings some happiness to him for at least a short period of time.

I found out a band I love, Trans-Siberian Orchestra, is going to be playing here in town. Rock opera at its finest from that group. I immediately ordered tickets. Great seats in the area of the arena that I wanted. Four of them. It will be a family affair with hubby, me, and our kids. That was a plus.

Saturday evening will be an enjoyable nite out. Hubby's company has an annual outing at a racetrack...harness racing. Outstanding food, good people, and betting! I choose all the winners, and the hubster places the bets. I do not read anything about the odds, I am unfamiliar with all harness racing, so I just go by the horses' names. We never come away winning or losing a lot. The important thing is that a good time is had.

I have no painting in the works. I intend to find something that interests me and begin a sketch over the weekend.

The weather has been utterly perfect. Slightly cool breeze, lower temperatures, and no need for air-conditioning. Open windows to allow the fresh air to sweep through our home and rejuvenate it.

See? I am trying so very hard to fill up the pitcher with lemonade.

“Huge lemons, cut in slices, would sink like setting suns into the dusky sea, softly illuminating it with their radiating membranes, and its clear, smooth surface aquiver from the rising bitter essence.” ~Rainer Maria Rilke

ME WITH A G

It was over the weekend that I began this watercolor painting. The photograph from which I worked is of an online friend of mine. Her body is perfection, and I hope I captured at least some of that beauty in this painting. She has an equally beautiful face, and eyes that are full of life, intelligence, joy, and a sprinkling of mischief. She also has a man in her real-time world who is the embodiment of masculinity and all that is good in a human being.

Her name is Meg. Me with a g. I came to know her through her poetry. One poem in particular literally swept my breath from me, and I knew I had to find out more about her.

We have become friends. I learn from her, and I would like to think she learns from me. Her interests are wide and varied, and she fascinates me. I love to send her music. Sometimes I hit the mark, and she enjoys the songs. Most of them are sent for reasons that only she would know. They "fit" a person or situation.

And so, with time, I have grown to know much about her. She is a very sensual woman, and that sensuality surrounds her like an aura, which is evident in her writings and looks. I finally asked if I could paint this picture of her. The shadows playing across her splendid body intrigued me, as did the artistic pose. I am heterosexual, but I certainly can and do recognize and appreciate beauty. I wanted to give a go at attempting to capture it with my watercolors. With her permission, I painted it, then I asked for permission to post it. She granted it. ::smile::

Thank you, Me with a g. It is my hope you are pleased with this rendering of you.

"The portrait is one of the most curious art forms. It demands special qualities in the artist, and an almost total kinship with the model." ~Henri Matisse

WITH THE OWNERS OF MY HEART~SPC, September, Week 2

They not only hold my hands, but they hold my heart for all of time. My son. My daughter.

Two unique beings created from love and unconditionally loved by me. They are bits of me and bits of my husband and bits of their ancestors. And they bring their own individual traits into this world.

I see in them the past, the present, and the future. It is with tremendous pride I call them my children. Beauties, both, in every way.

(Self-Portrait Challenge Theme: September is ‘with someone‘ month - that means you must include someone else in your self portrait. Someone meaningful to your life or to the moment or to a specific event that you wish to document.

Guidelines: 1. each week in the month use a different person in your self portait. 2. either talk about that person or illustrate in the photograph why you have included them and how they are meaningful.)

9/11 TRIBUTE TO MASARU OSE

On September 11, 2001, at 9:03 a.m., a man named Masaru Ose was killed. Are you familiar with his name? My guess is no, not at all. Yet, he is a genuine hero by virtually any definition. A hero the likes about whom movies are made or books written.

This is my tribute to an unsung hero. Please take a few moments to read about his all-too-brief life, and his selflessness in making the ultimate sacrifice for others.

Ose was a Japanese man who lived in Fort Lee, New Jersey. He worked for a company called Mizuho Capital Markets Corporation. Its location was on the 80th floor of the South Tower of the World Trade Center in New York City. He was one of the managers of the approximately 150 employees.

Countless searches for a record of his official obituary and a picture of him produced no results. I wish I had a face to put on this man, but maybe in some ways it is better that he remain faceless, so he could be you or me. Or could he?

On that September 11th morning five years ago, Ose was at work when American Airlines Flight 11 crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center. The President of Mizuho and three employees, Ose being one of them, worked together to successfully evacuate every employee from their offices on the 80th floor. And then. Then. United Airlines Flight 175 hit the South Tower. Ose perished, as did the other three.

150 lives were saved because of those four men. 150 people whose families did not have to grieve for them. 150 people who were given the chance to live because someone had the presence of mind to see to their safety before it was too late. 150 people who undoubtedly realize the heroic actions of Ose and three co-workers. And 150 people who were the recipients of the highest form of selflessness.

Ose was a mere 36 years old at the time of his death. So very young. Yet so very, very full of decency, kindness, and compassion. So much so that he gave his life to save others. And just how many people do you know who would be willing to give their lives for fellow employees?

Ah, the world lost a good and honorable man at 9:03 a.m., September 11, 2001.

Yes, Masaru Ose, you are, indeed, a hero. And I am proud to honor your life here in this journal and in my heart.

"What is a hero without love for mankind?" ~Doris Lessing

This is part of a project D. Challener Roe began, and includes over 3,000 bloggers paying tribute to those 2,996 men and women who were lost on that horrifically tragic day in 2001. Click HERE to view the other tributes.

REKINDLED

Last year I was going through an unpleasant time dealing with some online nonsense. It was ongoing, and it was stifling. I made the difficult decision to move on. To get away from all of it. I closed my beloved journal, changed my screen name, and left behind all that was familiar. And it is here that I have blossomed. I have always said that from bad comes good. I have discovered more of the good in myself, and I have definitely found it in others whom I have been blessed to get to know. My decision turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to me. It has even added to the happiness I find in my "real" world. I am grateful for all of that.

Just prior to departing from "that other" place, I had long talks with a good soul with whom I had always been close. He knew I was contemplating a change. He knew of my frustration. Better yet, he understood. He was supportive. He and I had a unique relationship. There is a disparity in our ages, yet I do believe he is an old soul in a younger man's body. Like he said, perhaps we knew each other in a previous life, because we have always had a connection. From the moment we met online, there was that spark of feeling like I had met my kindred spirit. He is also the most curious person I have ever known. His mind wants to absorb and explore all that is the world. And his artistic ability is staggering. He never failed to impress me with his artwork and creativity. He, himself, was in the process of making his own online changes. He made a new screen name he intended to use. A fresh start to go with some real life newness. He told me that name. He asked that we stay in touch. I promised we would. And then, he sent me the following poem. Written just for me on the spur of the moment. He never considered himself a poet and did not even write poetry. Yet, he produced this:

I Wish You Didn't Have To Leave

"I wish you didn't have to leave,"
So said the jay bird to the summer wind
"Your gentle warmth beneath my wing is all I need
This departure I wish you would rescind."

Then the jay bird keened his ear
For the sailing summer breeze speaks light
And only those who truly seek her voice can hear
Her voice of beauty, sharp as night

"Young jay bird, fret yourself a little less,"
Said her voice, drifting cool across the meadow
"For though I go, there is something I must impress
And that is this, dear little fellow:

Life moves as a cycle, turning in seasons
Time has an ebb and flow like the sea
It tells not why, and gives no reasons
It simply turns, like the leaves of your tree."

Jay bird twittered in protest
And quite nearly missed the most important part
"Hush now, child," said the wind brushing softly on the nest
"There is one more thing I wish you to take to heart:

My nature is spirit, and so is yours
Not physical, matter is so inconsequential
I am still and always beneath you as you soar,
Because we met, which was not coincidental

Let not our friendship be marred
And no more woe, you were meant to fly!"
With a mighty gust she nudged him hard
And the smilin' jay bird rose into the sky.

Is that not impossibly beautiful? How I cried when I read it (and find myself still welling up). He knew of my love for the wind. He expressed through that poem the anguish I was feeling, but also the hope that comes with change. And he assured me through those lovely words that we would always remain friends.

I closed my old screen name. And then the awful happened. I could not remember his new screen name. I had apparently not transferred it when I made my change. Countless times I thought about him. Wondering how he was doing. If his life was going well. If his own fresh start was mimicking that of his real world. It literally pained me to be unable to reach him. To check on him. To catch up on his world. To know that he was happy.

Kindred spirits seemingly find each other. It was but days ago that he contacted me. How he was able to do so was even indicative of just how our friendship transcends supposed boundaries. I was elated! It was pure joy to be able to talk to him again. He continues to fascinate me. Enlighten me. And God knows, he is my friend in all ways. When I told him that I had recently read this poem again and wished to place it here in my journal, he said, "It is your poem to do with whatever you wish." Oh, and how I wanted it in here. For others to see and feel the words of this special man.

Sweet Seb? I adore you. For always. And thank you for encouraging me to fly.

IN THE SHOWER~Self-Portrait Challenge, #1 September

He prefers showers; I prefer baths. He is somewhat inhibited; I am a bit of an exhibitionist. He is quiet; I am often loud. He is Italian, Irish, and Slovak; I am a WASP. He is brilliant with numbers; I still count on my fingers at times. He plays guitar; I play with paints. He watches television; I watch the stars. He grew up in a small town; I grew up in a big city. He has brothers; I have sisters. He appears calm; I appear ready to dial 9-1-1. He laughs with a smile; I laugh out loud. He keeps most of his thoughts to himself; I blog mine. He sees the black and white; I see the gray.

And he is the man with whom I chose to spend the rest of my life. My husband. He loves me; I love him.

(Self-Portrait Challenge Theme: September is ‘with someone‘ month - that means you must include someone else in your self portrait. Someone meaningful to your life or to the moment or to a specific event that you wish to document.

Guidelines:1. each week in the month use a different person in your self portait.2. either talk about that person or illustrate in the photograph why you have included them and how they are meaningful.)

MESS O' MINE

I have gotten myself into a fine mess now. A literal mess. Here in my study. Why is it that in trying to restore some semblance of tidiness to a room, it must first look as though a tornado has had its way with the room? Maybe my A.D.D. tendencies in conjunction with my packrat trait have conspired to drive me into a panic.

What began as a simple, "I will rearrange the furniture in this room" has evolved into discovering paintings I have done and shrieking when I see how godawful they are. It was much nicer when they were crammed into portfolios or stashed behind desks (yes, I have two desks in here, as well as a drafting table and chair and an overstuffed chair, and cabinets. ::sigh::).

So, with the room torn apart, I stopped to fix one of the paintings that has always bothered me. I knew the distant hills were wrong, wrong, wrong. Watercolors are about the least forgiving medium in which to work, and that added to my frustration. I do think I corrected those hills, though. Now, I look at it and think I should have done the water along the shoreline differently. It should not be in such a straight line. Should it? Yet, the waves are going horizontally, not rushing onto the shore. Still, I am pretty sure there should be some variation in the line. Ugh. I am not sure I can fix that. I will try. (Top painting is the "corrected" one, bottom painting is the former one.)

And should I really even be diving into painting when I still have "things" strewn all over the room? Wouldn't it be better to finish putting everything into place first and THEN retrieving old paintings to alter more to my liking?

Eh, I have never taken the easy and most frequently traveled path. Looks like I will be painting today. ::smile:: But when I DO get to sorting through these piles of papers and objects, I am going to be ruthless. Sentimentalism is going to be squashed, and I am throwing or giving away a lot. I think. God, I hope.

"His study was a total mess, like the results of an explosion in a public library." ~Douglas Adams

Y IS FOR YULE

Summer is beginning to sputter here and brief hours of the cooler fall temperatures to come have actually occurred during a few late evenings. The daytime highs remain in the high 60s and 70s, and yet I find myself just itching to have a fire blazing in the fireplace.

I do not like to wish time away. It passes far too quickly as it is. I can wait for the cold days and nites to have that raging fire going. But, it does not mean that I will not be repeatedly glancing at our fireplace and feeling the excitement of knowing it will be all too soon when it will be glowing and spreading its warmth throughout the family room.

Such an odd entry, it may seem. Let's blame it on my husband. Why? Because I don't want it to be my fault. ::grin:: Here's the deal. I was pretty sick for a good week with a fever, double ear infection, and pain that was unbearable at times. After the antibiotics, steroids, and painkillers worked their magic, I was antsy. I am not used to being sick, nor am I used to being unable to run around and do all I want to do. I had much pent-up energy that needed expended. So, I did what I do every year at just about this time. I rearranged my family room furniture. The hubby hates it when I do that. Despises it. Tough. I do it anyway. (This really is leading to YULE!)

At first I was chilling while I pushed and pulled the sofa across the room. I knew my fever had kicked up again, but I didn't care. Hubby sat in his recliner watching television. And avoiding eye contact with me. Uh huh. One look over at me struggling with the sofa would have guilted him into feeling obligated to help. I chuckled to myself. I can so read that man like a book.

I figured I would mess with his mind just a bit. I knew the following day was to reach temperatures in the nineties. I mentioned to him that I was chilling, and then I said, "Wouldn't it be neat to get a nice fire going in the fireplace tonite?" His voice took on an edgy tone when he responded with, "Well, I'm not going to stay in this room if you start a fire." I began to laugh the maniacal laughter of the feverish. I asked him if maybe he thought I was just yanking his chain seeing as how it was going to be in the friggin' nineties the next day.

He never did help me move any of the furniture. And by the time I had dragged the overstuffed chair to its new spot, I began stripping. I had gotten so hot. Even without a fire going. ::grin:: Eye contact was made during the disrobing. Just not eye-to-eye contact. Eye-to-body was what he made. I ignored him knowing it was driving him nuts. Such fun to be a tease with him. He is so easy.

Now my family room is beautiful. Everything is immaculate and newly placed. Our blind dog was led through the new arrangement to help her get her bearings, and she is already accustomed to the furniture placement. And I know it will be in the blink of an eye when I will watch the snowflakes dance from the clouds to the ground while I am ensconced on my sofa enjoying the warmth of a fire playing in the fireplace.

Did I mention I know exactly where I will be putting our Christmas tree in that room? I do. I made sure I left the perfect spot when I planned the placement of all the furniture. With the removal of a couple pieces of small furniture beside the fireplace, the tree will stand there in all its glory. I also made certain that I will be able to photograph the kids opening their gifts without anything obstructing the view.

You see, winter is my favorite season. It invigorates me. Rejuvenates everything in and about me. And Christmas is my favorite holiday. It is all incredibly special, even magical, in countless ways. It is not just the memories I have accumulated that add to its magic; it is also the new memories we are making each year. And the warmth of the yule season extends far beyond that which emanates from the hearth. It reaches far deeper into our hearts and minds. And we are the better for it.

"Shall we liken Christmas to the web in a loom? There are many weavers, who work into the pattern the experience of their lives. When one generation goes, another comes to take up the weft where it has been dropped. The pattern changes as the mind changes, yet never begins quite anew. At first, we are not sure that we discern the pattern, but at last we see that, unknown to the weavers themselves, something has taken shape before our eyes, and that they have made something very beautiful, something which compels our understanding." ~Earl W. Count