Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Christmas time is here...
So this is a little drawing that I waited to post until after Christmas.
I'm at work right now and I'm in the throws of the Christmas Blues. I want to be home right now, I want to be with my family. I want to be sitting around eating leftovers and watching Christmas movies. I want to still be wrapped up in the holiday spirit.
But I'm not... I'm sad and lonely at work. I'm tired and blue.
But I thought maybe if I posted this I'd feel better. It's an image I did for my Mom's present although I ended up using it for my sister's present as well. I actually did the snowman as a complete painting on it's own before I decided to add the kids. And the kids represent my brother, sister and me. I only wish I'd ben a stylish kid like that.
Anyway... Merry Christmas everyone. I hope you had a good one.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Presents under the tree...
Every year I set out to write something meaningful about Christmas, my favorite time of year. And with the exception of an observation about glorious failure last year… everything I write turns to sugar, sweet but ultimately unsatisfying.
Beth and I had a Christmas Party last weekend. It was small but fun. The guests seamed to enjoy themselves, and because it was small, each person was presented with a small but thought out gift. There were snowflake swizzle sticks for mom, and a special loose tea mug for Eva, Sarah got a jar of Sarah Beth jam, and Dana got a twirling ribbon (which we must have discussed 14 years ago). People were surprised by the little gifts and pleased.
Beth had her presents for the family and friends nestled sweetly under the tree. And there were several comments about the quantity of gifts. Were all of them real? Who could they possibly be for?
Beth and I marveled at this… there were a lot presents under the tree, and none were in fact fake. The presents, were for our cousins, and Aunt and Uncle, Mom, Will, me, our brother Brian… they were for Beth’s friends.
We, my sister and I give each other a fairly large amount of presents each year and we each give our mother multiple presents and our brother. We don’t usually exchange just one gift. So this must have baffled the guests at the party.
The thing about that is… when my dad died, my aunts, with only the best intentions really, had tried their best to look after and protect my mom that year. Sometimes that meant trying to protect her from us. They presumed they new what she needed. They did so only from kindness… but sometimes she needed us. Sometimes she needed the truth, and sometimes she needed to understand that we needed her too. When my dad died for at least six months, we lost both parents. My mother was not there anymore… which is understandable, she lost the love of her life. And it literally took an afternoon of screaming at her, to finally make her understand that she needed to come back. This was the type of thing her sisters would protect her from.
Resentment grew between my aunts, and my sister and I. Christmas was coming… Everyone was worried abut Christmas that year, it was the first Christmas without my father. Christmas was going to be hard. We asked for a list from my mother, a list of gifts she’d like for Christmas, determined to get her whatever she wanted that year. The list was made, a black velvet jacket, a pair of boots, a black skirt…
I don’t remember everything on the list, but my sister and I got everything on the list. We knew we had to take dad’s place this year. He was the one who bought her the most gifts. Now it was up to us. I had been putting my mother’s stocking together for years. Since I was 16 and my father passed that honor on to me. We were poor and in school and struggling but we were going to prove that we could take care of this. Even though my father had died, we were still a family, a complete family unit. We didn’t need the aunts to take care of my mother, we could do this.
We went into Christmas with something to prove, something to prove to my aunts, to my mom, and to ourselves. We were proving (as we had repeated so many times since my father’s death) that things were going to be okay.
It was a very merry Christmas that morning… my mother was overwhelmed by her gifts, by our efforts. There were many tears, of joy, and sorrow, and overwhelming sense of gratitude shared between all of us. Grateful that we had each other.
When we went to our aunt’s house, my mom’s sister had also fulfilled my mother’s wish list. They were again filled with the best intentions. It was a sweet gesture by the sisters who adore her. And with a very un-Christmas like glee my sister and I watched as each gift was opened. You see the gifts we had already given her were enough. Each present was opened sweetly and my mother would thank them and mention that we too had given her boots, or a velvet jacket, or a skirt… and whatnot. We were vindicated. We needed this.
We get along well with my aunts these days. Although, I’ve noticed of all of the cousins, we are the only ones who address them without their titles.
As for all of those Christmas presents under the tree that seem excessive… we take the role my father had, providing my mother with the majority of her Christmas presents for the last 11 years… I think we got used to playing Santa for her and for each other.
I used to believe in Santa, and stopped over time… only to believe again. Because of course we are all Santa Claus… if only we believe.
Merry Christmas Everybody!
Beth and I had a Christmas Party last weekend. It was small but fun. The guests seamed to enjoy themselves, and because it was small, each person was presented with a small but thought out gift. There were snowflake swizzle sticks for mom, and a special loose tea mug for Eva, Sarah got a jar of Sarah Beth jam, and Dana got a twirling ribbon (which we must have discussed 14 years ago). People were surprised by the little gifts and pleased.
Beth had her presents for the family and friends nestled sweetly under the tree. And there were several comments about the quantity of gifts. Were all of them real? Who could they possibly be for?
Beth and I marveled at this… there were a lot presents under the tree, and none were in fact fake. The presents, were for our cousins, and Aunt and Uncle, Mom, Will, me, our brother Brian… they were for Beth’s friends.
We, my sister and I give each other a fairly large amount of presents each year and we each give our mother multiple presents and our brother. We don’t usually exchange just one gift. So this must have baffled the guests at the party.
The thing about that is… when my dad died, my aunts, with only the best intentions really, had tried their best to look after and protect my mom that year. Sometimes that meant trying to protect her from us. They presumed they new what she needed. They did so only from kindness… but sometimes she needed us. Sometimes she needed the truth, and sometimes she needed to understand that we needed her too. When my dad died for at least six months, we lost both parents. My mother was not there anymore… which is understandable, she lost the love of her life. And it literally took an afternoon of screaming at her, to finally make her understand that she needed to come back. This was the type of thing her sisters would protect her from.
Resentment grew between my aunts, and my sister and I. Christmas was coming… Everyone was worried abut Christmas that year, it was the first Christmas without my father. Christmas was going to be hard. We asked for a list from my mother, a list of gifts she’d like for Christmas, determined to get her whatever she wanted that year. The list was made, a black velvet jacket, a pair of boots, a black skirt…
I don’t remember everything on the list, but my sister and I got everything on the list. We knew we had to take dad’s place this year. He was the one who bought her the most gifts. Now it was up to us. I had been putting my mother’s stocking together for years. Since I was 16 and my father passed that honor on to me. We were poor and in school and struggling but we were going to prove that we could take care of this. Even though my father had died, we were still a family, a complete family unit. We didn’t need the aunts to take care of my mother, we could do this.
We went into Christmas with something to prove, something to prove to my aunts, to my mom, and to ourselves. We were proving (as we had repeated so many times since my father’s death) that things were going to be okay.
It was a very merry Christmas that morning… my mother was overwhelmed by her gifts, by our efforts. There were many tears, of joy, and sorrow, and overwhelming sense of gratitude shared between all of us. Grateful that we had each other.
When we went to our aunt’s house, my mom’s sister had also fulfilled my mother’s wish list. They were again filled with the best intentions. It was a sweet gesture by the sisters who adore her. And with a very un-Christmas like glee my sister and I watched as each gift was opened. You see the gifts we had already given her were enough. Each present was opened sweetly and my mother would thank them and mention that we too had given her boots, or a velvet jacket, or a skirt… and whatnot. We were vindicated. We needed this.
We get along well with my aunts these days. Although, I’ve noticed of all of the cousins, we are the only ones who address them without their titles.
As for all of those Christmas presents under the tree that seem excessive… we take the role my father had, providing my mother with the majority of her Christmas presents for the last 11 years… I think we got used to playing Santa for her and for each other.
I used to believe in Santa, and stopped over time… only to believe again. Because of course we are all Santa Claus… if only we believe.
Merry Christmas Everybody!
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
We don’t have places like this in Boston.
This is what I remember form my dream the other night. I was standing on a bridge with a few people fishing on either side pulling up colorful fish after fish. The sky was grey and purple… the trees were that bright green of early summer. And the buildings around us, we were in a city where white and grey… old and stained. But the colors of the fish, and turquoise water and the trees were so saturated. I thought we don’t have anything like this in Boston. And that’s all that I remember!...
But I was painting this at the time I had the dream and I think it influenced my landscape.
The words were peacock, tent, stormy, drinking, and glamour.
Things I like about this piece:
That middle tree, the expression on the peacock with its head down, the color of the sky.
Things I don’t like about this piece:
Her mouth, the rainbow quality to the color, I should have made the tent darker or lighter.
Now I have start my Christmas card. Which is scaring my right now. I have some ideas but nothing solid yet. In a fit of despair I looked for inspiration in the one place I knew would enchant me. My big book of Jim Henson. Somewhere in the middle there are pictures of the Jim Henson Christmas cards through the years. Many simple, others elegant, others warm. 20 years from now I want to have a collection of card half so impressive. Which means I have to get started on this. Sigh… why is it so hard to get started?
Oh blank page I’m coming for you.
But I was painting this at the time I had the dream and I think it influenced my landscape.
The words were peacock, tent, stormy, drinking, and glamour.
Things I like about this piece:
That middle tree, the expression on the peacock with its head down, the color of the sky.
Things I don’t like about this piece:
Her mouth, the rainbow quality to the color, I should have made the tent darker or lighter.
Now I have start my Christmas card. Which is scaring my right now. I have some ideas but nothing solid yet. In a fit of despair I looked for inspiration in the one place I knew would enchant me. My big book of Jim Henson. Somewhere in the middle there are pictures of the Jim Henson Christmas cards through the years. Many simple, others elegant, others warm. 20 years from now I want to have a collection of card half so impressive. Which means I have to get started on this. Sigh… why is it so hard to get started?
Oh blank page I’m coming for you.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Taken away....
The other day I was in a used book store. One of those stores that specializes in old books, you know the type of store, they all have that smell… the smell of the past. It’s dust, and damp, age and secrets… the smell of tombs and treasure. These are dreams hidden away in labyrinth of shelves.
And on the counter, a book, an afterthought, waiting to be put away… was book that caught my eye. “Cape Cod Folk – A Novel” It was a book about a trial, set down the cape, written in the late 1800’s. It held no desire for me… this was not a book I’d read.
But for a moment it took me away. And I thought of my dad. I would have bought this for him for Christmas. I could see it all… the stocking with the book nestled snugly inside the title peeking out, with a pair of warm black gloves beside it.
Suddenly it was Christmas, at the old house, the house I grew up in. There was never such a house as this for Christmas. The house was built for Christmas. The fireplace with the window above the mantle. So you can watch the snow and the fire at the same time. There was an alcove to the side of the fireplace, where we’d put the tree. We used to cut our own trees and they were widely regarded as sparse, “Charlie Brown” Trees. They were big wide natural trees deep with hollows for hiding away ornaments, toys and candy.
And suddenly I was happy to be thinking about my dad, and Christmas. I felt so warm and happy, and lucky. Lucky to have such memories, lucky to have seen something that reminded me of my father… just lucky.
And on the counter, a book, an afterthought, waiting to be put away… was book that caught my eye. “Cape Cod Folk – A Novel” It was a book about a trial, set down the cape, written in the late 1800’s. It held no desire for me… this was not a book I’d read.
But for a moment it took me away. And I thought of my dad. I would have bought this for him for Christmas. I could see it all… the stocking with the book nestled snugly inside the title peeking out, with a pair of warm black gloves beside it.
Suddenly it was Christmas, at the old house, the house I grew up in. There was never such a house as this for Christmas. The house was built for Christmas. The fireplace with the window above the mantle. So you can watch the snow and the fire at the same time. There was an alcove to the side of the fireplace, where we’d put the tree. We used to cut our own trees and they were widely regarded as sparse, “Charlie Brown” Trees. They were big wide natural trees deep with hollows for hiding away ornaments, toys and candy.
And suddenly I was happy to be thinking about my dad, and Christmas. I felt so warm and happy, and lucky. Lucky to have such memories, lucky to have seen something that reminded me of my father… just lucky.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
This feels interesting...
Do you want to know why yoga is such a humbling experience?
Because it’s widely acknowledged that two of the toughest poses are Savasana and Tadasana. For those of you not familiar with yoga speak that’s laying on your back and standing up strait. Getting the full benefits of these poses is tough. Mmm hmm. This is humbling stuff.
Right… I had yoga yesterday. It was the usual. I worked really hard, had a few moments when I started to beg to come out of position and laughed when someone said they couldn’t feel something in their hamstrings.
I can always feel something in my hamstrings. My hamstrings are so tight, I chronically worry about them during class. Not so much “Will I be able to stretch them enough…” I won’t but more like “Is that sharp shooting pain actually something tearing? Is that normal? Should I be on the verge of tears? Collapse?” And it’s always the hamstrings, or my hips, or sometimes my back. But the most excruciating pain is in the hamstrings. And we use them for almost every pose.
We did have one pose that we held for a little over five minutes. Sphinx pose. It doesn’t involve your hamstrings. It’s a small back bend. But after about 2 minutes I started to burn a little… after 3 I hurt… after 4 I began talking myself into coming out of the pose. And somewhere around five I began begging and bargaining in my mind to for the love of god let us out of the pose. When we finally came down I almost cried with joy. My arms and shoulders were aching. Our teacher tells us to think about the sensations we feel and notice if any are interesting. That’s her word for painful.
As in “Ah this root canal feels interesting.”
Mmm hmm. Sadist.
Because it’s widely acknowledged that two of the toughest poses are Savasana and Tadasana. For those of you not familiar with yoga speak that’s laying on your back and standing up strait. Getting the full benefits of these poses is tough. Mmm hmm. This is humbling stuff.
Right… I had yoga yesterday. It was the usual. I worked really hard, had a few moments when I started to beg to come out of position and laughed when someone said they couldn’t feel something in their hamstrings.
I can always feel something in my hamstrings. My hamstrings are so tight, I chronically worry about them during class. Not so much “Will I be able to stretch them enough…” I won’t but more like “Is that sharp shooting pain actually something tearing? Is that normal? Should I be on the verge of tears? Collapse?” And it’s always the hamstrings, or my hips, or sometimes my back. But the most excruciating pain is in the hamstrings. And we use them for almost every pose.
We did have one pose that we held for a little over five minutes. Sphinx pose. It doesn’t involve your hamstrings. It’s a small back bend. But after about 2 minutes I started to burn a little… after 3 I hurt… after 4 I began talking myself into coming out of the pose. And somewhere around five I began begging and bargaining in my mind to for the love of god let us out of the pose. When we finally came down I almost cried with joy. My arms and shoulders were aching. Our teacher tells us to think about the sensations we feel and notice if any are interesting. That’s her word for painful.
As in “Ah this root canal feels interesting.”
Mmm hmm. Sadist.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Fear and yoga in Jamaica Plain...
So yoga… one of the healthiest things that has ever happened to me. Yoga has given me strength, balance, confidence, calm, acceptance… forgiveness and most importantly humility.
Before practicing yoga, I was terrified of yoga. I’m not a fit person, I’m not a flexible person. I’m not a person comfortable in tight pants and tank tops. I was terrified that I wouldn’t be able to keep up. I would advance, I wouldn’t balance. Each pose would be to difficult. Each position would roll my flab into new exotic shapes. This was my fear.
I have a co-worker… Soap Opera Shane. (SOS) who lives in JP and practices yoga. Just like me. It was my cronic fear that I would see SOS in my yoga class. That one day he would show up. He’d been doing yoga for years. This would be the worst case scenario.
The first day went to yoga and was asked to go into downward dog… something kinking terribly in my shoulder. It was freakish. It was my body’s way of freaking out. And my mind followed. I sat down and tried not to cry. When the teacher came over to ask what was wrong all of the self doubt bubbled out of me and I left the class… It was just that scary. The next week I decided to face my fears, decided my shoulder spasm was just freakish, and I would try again. This time in the most beginner class of all. I loved it.
I’ve come a long way since those first classes. I’m actually starting appreciate my body’s abilities instead of focusing on it’s flaws. Although I still focus on the flaws too much. I’ve come to love difficult poses that I have yet to master. I’ve come to enjoy breathing.
Last week I came into yoga and was talking about our office Diwali Party. All of a sudden I hear “Kate”. I turned with a complete lake of focus. I never thought about the voice or who it might be… I turned and smiled and saw Soap Opera Shane. We’ll blow me over with a feather. Just when I thought I’d lost my fear of yoga. I smiled and commented that he missed our Diwali and went to set up my mat with that shocked smile frozen on my face.
Panic intensified as I realized the only open space was somewhat across the room from him. We’d have to see each other twisting, contorting, practicing yoga… I steeled myself and said… it’s okay. You’re doing fine. You are doing the best you can do, and your improving. This is going to be fun. Think of the stories you’ll have to tell in work. You’ll do fine. And then he moved his mat to be on the same side as me two people down. Suddenly I was disappointed. I wouldn’t have moved. I would have gotten over it. It’s yoga, its about focus. But this way I watched him without him noticing me. I watched the teacher correct him. Watched his handstand, his downward dog, his lunges, Warrior one, Upward Dog… And he was very good. He’d been doing it for years.
After class he asked me how I liked it. I stared blankly at him wondering what he could possibly mean by that. How did I like practicing yoga with a coworker? How did I like yoga?
The class? He clarified.
Oh right, the class, it’s been great I said, really great, I’ve been coming here Tuesdays and Thursdays for 4 months.
He looked surprised. Really?
Sure.
You must have been surprised to see me! He joked.
I smiled. Right. I was surprised to see him and I was glad that it happened. I wouldn’t have to wonder anymore. And I had a great story to tell my co-workes.
Before practicing yoga, I was terrified of yoga. I’m not a fit person, I’m not a flexible person. I’m not a person comfortable in tight pants and tank tops. I was terrified that I wouldn’t be able to keep up. I would advance, I wouldn’t balance. Each pose would be to difficult. Each position would roll my flab into new exotic shapes. This was my fear.
I have a co-worker… Soap Opera Shane. (SOS) who lives in JP and practices yoga. Just like me. It was my cronic fear that I would see SOS in my yoga class. That one day he would show up. He’d been doing yoga for years. This would be the worst case scenario.
The first day went to yoga and was asked to go into downward dog… something kinking terribly in my shoulder. It was freakish. It was my body’s way of freaking out. And my mind followed. I sat down and tried not to cry. When the teacher came over to ask what was wrong all of the self doubt bubbled out of me and I left the class… It was just that scary. The next week I decided to face my fears, decided my shoulder spasm was just freakish, and I would try again. This time in the most beginner class of all. I loved it.
I’ve come a long way since those first classes. I’m actually starting appreciate my body’s abilities instead of focusing on it’s flaws. Although I still focus on the flaws too much. I’ve come to love difficult poses that I have yet to master. I’ve come to enjoy breathing.
Last week I came into yoga and was talking about our office Diwali Party. All of a sudden I hear “Kate”. I turned with a complete lake of focus. I never thought about the voice or who it might be… I turned and smiled and saw Soap Opera Shane. We’ll blow me over with a feather. Just when I thought I’d lost my fear of yoga. I smiled and commented that he missed our Diwali and went to set up my mat with that shocked smile frozen on my face.
Panic intensified as I realized the only open space was somewhat across the room from him. We’d have to see each other twisting, contorting, practicing yoga… I steeled myself and said… it’s okay. You’re doing fine. You are doing the best you can do, and your improving. This is going to be fun. Think of the stories you’ll have to tell in work. You’ll do fine. And then he moved his mat to be on the same side as me two people down. Suddenly I was disappointed. I wouldn’t have moved. I would have gotten over it. It’s yoga, its about focus. But this way I watched him without him noticing me. I watched the teacher correct him. Watched his handstand, his downward dog, his lunges, Warrior one, Upward Dog… And he was very good. He’d been doing it for years.
After class he asked me how I liked it. I stared blankly at him wondering what he could possibly mean by that. How did I like practicing yoga with a coworker? How did I like yoga?
The class? He clarified.
Oh right, the class, it’s been great I said, really great, I’ve been coming here Tuesdays and Thursdays for 4 months.
He looked surprised. Really?
Sure.
You must have been surprised to see me! He joked.
I smiled. Right. I was surprised to see him and I was glad that it happened. I wouldn’t have to wonder anymore. And I had a great story to tell my co-workes.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Now here I go again, I see the crystal visions
Last night I dreamt that all Long Warf had been converted into a submarine dock. And the military was sending subs in and out of the Harbor… The ferries were gone and the subs were moving so fast, too fast. I was afraid they’d crash into the docks. Sometimes they would slow down or go under and you got the feeling that they were diving under the city.
Then there was a talking cat. The cat was really a teenage boy that went missing 14 years before. He was under some sort of spell, and he needed to get back to his old apartment to find something to break the spell. So we decided to help him. There was a moment when we needed to find the key to his apartment and I knew to look in this metal mail slot for a magnetic panel that revealed a key. We walked up two tall flights for stairs, sneaking quietly into his apartment.
It was this amazing loft apartment build into a church. How I didn’t realize it was church before was beyond me. It was beautiful. His parents had died when he was 15 some sort of accident. And that’s when I did the math, this cat disappeared about 15 years ago when he was about 16 he’d be about my age. Hmmm… this could be interesting.
And then I woke up.
I did this drawing a few weeks ago. The words were genie, tropical, restaurant, dreaming, and believe it or not lamp. This is what I came up with. I wanted there to be a difference in color between dream in reality… of course the dream is in a little more in the real colors, and the reality is very dreamlike in color.
Then there was a talking cat. The cat was really a teenage boy that went missing 14 years before. He was under some sort of spell, and he needed to get back to his old apartment to find something to break the spell. So we decided to help him. There was a moment when we needed to find the key to his apartment and I knew to look in this metal mail slot for a magnetic panel that revealed a key. We walked up two tall flights for stairs, sneaking quietly into his apartment.
It was this amazing loft apartment build into a church. How I didn’t realize it was church before was beyond me. It was beautiful. His parents had died when he was 15 some sort of accident. And that’s when I did the math, this cat disappeared about 15 years ago when he was about 16 he’d be about my age. Hmmm… this could be interesting.
And then I woke up.
I did this drawing a few weeks ago. The words were genie, tropical, restaurant, dreaming, and believe it or not lamp. This is what I came up with. I wanted there to be a difference in color between dream in reality… of course the dream is in a little more in the real colors, and the reality is very dreamlike in color.
Friday, November 09, 2007
I miss my readers...
What do I expect after not blogging for years. I pick it up again and I don't have any readers. I never had many readers. But I always had a few. It gave me someone to write to. Right now this feels so lonely.
But maybe thats good.
Maybe I should always have kept this blog just for me.
Or maybe I should write as if I had thousands of readers hanging on very word I post. Well, they'd be sadly dissapointed.
Maybe I shouldn't think of it at all.
I should post about my ideas for Zelda Zap galactic space girl. Or the book Fran and I never wrote, about the Rabbit whose heart flies away...
I'm going to try to finish a picture every week. And I'll try to post that. Sometimes I won't post it. It might be a Halloween card for next year or something of that nature. But I'll try to make that a goal.
But maybe thats good.
Maybe I should always have kept this blog just for me.
Or maybe I should write as if I had thousands of readers hanging on very word I post. Well, they'd be sadly dissapointed.
Maybe I shouldn't think of it at all.
I should post about my ideas for Zelda Zap galactic space girl. Or the book Fran and I never wrote, about the Rabbit whose heart flies away...
I'm going to try to finish a picture every week. And I'll try to post that. Sometimes I won't post it. It might be a Halloween card for next year or something of that nature. But I'll try to make that a goal.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Happy Diwali
If you are a fan of the TV show The Office, you might remember the “Diwali Song”
This is sung to the tune of Adam Sandler’s Chanukah Song
The Diwali Song
It's time to celebrate Diwali
Everybody looks so jolly
But it's not Christmas, it's Diwali
The goddess of destruction, Kali
Stopped by to celebrate Diwali
Don't invite any zombies
To our celebration of Diwali
Along came Polly
To have some fun on Diwali
If you're Indian and you love to party
Have a happy happy happy happy Diwali
Happy Diwali!
That’s right everyone, it’s Diwali! The Hindu Festival of lights! The New Year!
I have two Indian co-workers who celebrate Diwali. Last year one of them was upset that no one acknowledged their favorite holiday. She was upset that she never got home for her favorite festival and wanted to share it with the office. Thus our office Diwali celebration was initiated. Last year we ordered in, and had snacks and a few decoration. It was very pleasant. Everyone had fun… it was great. And for a moment I felt like we had helped my coworker feel like her culture and customs were appreciated and important, and relevant even here in the US.
So this year I wanted to step it up a bit. We went out for lunch and I decorated the kitchen. With great hangings swaths of fabric. And I built a (I hesitate to say shrine) but I covered the hideous desk and bulletin board. There was food, snacks, sweets, piles of food. Delicious food, food I remembered from the last year. These spicy fried wheat crackers that I love. And mini samosas filled with cashews and raisins. Syrupy sweets drenched in coconut and rose flavors. And everything looked good, and tasted good.
My coworker was shocked. And while perhaps my decorations weren’t quite proper. Maybe they didn’t fit the Indian ideal. In my defense I did the best I could with my limited knowledge of Diwali. I think I accomplished my goal. Which was to try to give her a real sense of celebration… at least in its office form.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Creepy Tree...
I think the words for this picture were: Mountain, Fairy, Tree, Holding and Love/Hate Relationship.
I drew this a while back and on Hadley’s suggestion I decided to go color. It’s the sketch book she gave me about a year and a half ago, and I decided to go with watercolor on it’s drawing paper. So the paper doesn’t exactly hold up to watercolor. But I like the effect. In fact I’m working on a series of images in this sketchbook. I just need to make time to do that.
Is there a story? I don’t know. I guess the tree loves the fairy, she wants to get the hell away from the tree and it all happened in the fall. Because I like red and yellow and orange. I do find the tree incredibly creepy.
I notice I keep to this same weird pastel color scheme. I have to work on breaking out of that. And not relying on yellow to balance things or to make me happy.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
The phoenix...
So the phoenix rose up from the ashes on All Hallows Eve and flew throught the night.
I mean, this was my Halloween costume, the pictures don't do it justice. It looked great. The mailman told me so this morning.
I mean, this was my Halloween costume, the pictures don't do it justice. It looked great. The mailman told me so this morning.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
This is Halloween!
Happy Halloween Everybody!
This is an drawing I did using my words. I liked the way it turned out though and decided to use it as my Halloween E-card this year too. The words were Vampire, Pop Art, Castle, and Pouring.
I'm at work dressed as a phoenix, but not Jean Grey. And I managed to convince two other women to dress up too. One is a Lady Bug and the other is a Geisha. It's actually pretty cool, they both look adorable. Maybe next year we can have a costume party.
Anyway... Happy Halloween Everyone!
This is an drawing I did using my words. I liked the way it turned out though and decided to use it as my Halloween E-card this year too. The words were Vampire, Pop Art, Castle, and Pouring.
I'm at work dressed as a phoenix, but not Jean Grey. And I managed to convince two other women to dress up too. One is a Lady Bug and the other is a Geisha. It's actually pretty cool, they both look adorable. Maybe next year we can have a costume party.
Anyway... Happy Halloween Everyone!
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
It’s not a field… it’s purgatory.
Last night I was told I need to get out of my field, meaning my line of work. I told them it’s not a field… it’s purgatory.
Oh sure I put on a brave face, I opening joke and smile about my troubles. I pretend to have some sort of meaning, and convictions. These are my daily delusions. They get me through my more pathetic moments... the moments that I look at my life and start to think about how badly I am failing this test. I need these justifications and delusions. I need them to keep going. I need them to stave off the depression that would engulf me if I actually looked at life in the buff and saw it for what it is. If I saw all of my shortcomings at once, I’d never get out of bed again.
So please forgive me for not knowing what I want to do with my life. That decision doesn’t come easy for all of us.
And forgive me if I try to figure it out by making clothes, and drawing and painting, and dressing up for Halloween and indulging my creative side. The epiphany? It’s still there. I won’t be happy until I’m doing something with my hands. I need to make a physical product. That’s the rule. That’s all I’ve got, handed down from the heavenly ether to me.
Perhaps you know what that means, and how to implement it. Perhaps you know how to make a golf skort design marketable to the world, and who can manufacture it, and how to promote it. Because I have a great little design for cute skort, but I don’t know what to do with it except to wear it golfing.
Maybe you’ve never been stared down by a blank piece of paper. You might not know what that’s like, to be defeated by a blank piece of paper. To look at it, command yourself to make something of it and break. Such a simple unimportant task and you fail at it. Maybe this has never happened to you, buts it’s happened to me. And it doesn’t feel good. If I tell you about my words, (yes I’ve taken up drawing form my words again) please don’t dismiss it, it’s a big step for me towards getting over my fear of the blank page.
Yes, I know I’m failing. I’m more disappointed in me than you are. Trust me.
I just think at this point I need to hang on for dear life. I’m just trying to get through this. I know it’s not working, but I’m still trying, I’m still going. Despite failures and set backs, I dust of my sketchbooks after years of neglect and I put pencil to paper and try again. So please understand how scary that blank page can be when you’ve avoided it for months. And please give me a little credit for putting something down on it. When that blank page glares at you and you’re able to put anything down on it… good for you. That’s one monster down a sketchbook more to go.
Oh sure I put on a brave face, I opening joke and smile about my troubles. I pretend to have some sort of meaning, and convictions. These are my daily delusions. They get me through my more pathetic moments... the moments that I look at my life and start to think about how badly I am failing this test. I need these justifications and delusions. I need them to keep going. I need them to stave off the depression that would engulf me if I actually looked at life in the buff and saw it for what it is. If I saw all of my shortcomings at once, I’d never get out of bed again.
So please forgive me for not knowing what I want to do with my life. That decision doesn’t come easy for all of us.
And forgive me if I try to figure it out by making clothes, and drawing and painting, and dressing up for Halloween and indulging my creative side. The epiphany? It’s still there. I won’t be happy until I’m doing something with my hands. I need to make a physical product. That’s the rule. That’s all I’ve got, handed down from the heavenly ether to me.
Perhaps you know what that means, and how to implement it. Perhaps you know how to make a golf skort design marketable to the world, and who can manufacture it, and how to promote it. Because I have a great little design for cute skort, but I don’t know what to do with it except to wear it golfing.
Maybe you’ve never been stared down by a blank piece of paper. You might not know what that’s like, to be defeated by a blank piece of paper. To look at it, command yourself to make something of it and break. Such a simple unimportant task and you fail at it. Maybe this has never happened to you, buts it’s happened to me. And it doesn’t feel good. If I tell you about my words, (yes I’ve taken up drawing form my words again) please don’t dismiss it, it’s a big step for me towards getting over my fear of the blank page.
Yes, I know I’m failing. I’m more disappointed in me than you are. Trust me.
I just think at this point I need to hang on for dear life. I’m just trying to get through this. I know it’s not working, but I’m still trying, I’m still going. Despite failures and set backs, I dust of my sketchbooks after years of neglect and I put pencil to paper and try again. So please understand how scary that blank page can be when you’ve avoided it for months. And please give me a little credit for putting something down on it. When that blank page glares at you and you’re able to put anything down on it… good for you. That’s one monster down a sketchbook more to go.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Hiredish...
I may or may not have been hired today. That is I’m 70% sure that after count them 22 months (give or take a day or two) I may be hired. You see I don’t have a timeframe on my alleged hiring. I didn’t ask. After 374 days of actual temping (574 days if you include weekends and holidays – holidays unpaid) you learn not to ask questions. Its depressing to ask questions.
I was told over lunch, that my boss would speak to his boss, and recommend hiring me full time. So I think that means I’m hired. However, I was told that I need to work harder, and focus more energy into working. Which is why I’m blogging this right now. Hmmm…
So I’m not sure whether I should celebrate just yet. I don’t know when any of this happens. I was pleasantly surprised by this turn of event. But I’m afraid too.
It’s like they say, the closer you come to being rescued the more frightened you are that something will go wrong and they’ll fail. I feel that way.
I was told over lunch, that my boss would speak to his boss, and recommend hiring me full time. So I think that means I’m hired. However, I was told that I need to work harder, and focus more energy into working. Which is why I’m blogging this right now. Hmmm…
So I’m not sure whether I should celebrate just yet. I don’t know when any of this happens. I was pleasantly surprised by this turn of event. But I’m afraid too.
It’s like they say, the closer you come to being rescued the more frightened you are that something will go wrong and they’ll fail. I feel that way.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Somethings stay the same...
I don't know somewhere along the 22 years from then till now, and I mean from 10 to 32 I thought I'd changed. Maybe grew up a bit. Maybe changed. But what have I been doing lately, what have I been obsessing over lately... doing handstands. What have I been talking about lately? Original My Little Ponies.
And when I tried on this wig and snapped a picture with my cell phone. It snapped me right back to my youth. To being ten. Have I even changed at all?
For example me.
And when I tried on this wig and snapped a picture with my cell phone. It snapped me right back to my youth. To being ten. Have I even changed at all?
For example me.
Monday, October 08, 2007
Hope for the future!
Seriously folks, I have hope for the future.
Hope came to me yesterday in the form of a handstand. That’s right kids, a handstand, a genuine handstand against a wall. I kicked up and I stayed. And I stayed. And when I was done I gently came down.
Now I’ve been working on handstands for weeks, for months really if you count class. I wouldn’t because my efforts have been so half hearted there. It just seamed so unobtainable. Honestly I was having a hard time believing I could do it. In fact I still have a hard time believing. And fear is definitely a factor. Still. I’m terrified. But it’s so damn cool! And so unexpected. And so unlike my body to be able to do something like that. It’s kind of crazy sexy cool!
And it gives me hope.
In yoga, at the end of practice they always tell you to thank your body, for its hard work, for committing to this practice. I don’t say it enough. I don’t appreciate it enough. I don’t marvel at it enough. I’m a lousy friend to my body sometimes, I’m the friend who criticizes, and complains about you, who abuses you and expects too much from you.
So I just want to say thank you to my body, for doing something so amazing.
Thank you for letting me see that there is still hope. That a body like mine is still amazing, still wonderful, still unexpectedly capable. Thank you for fighting the good fight, for helping me balance, for kicking up there. And a special shout out to my arms and hands for supporting the entire weight of my body, without letting me crash onto my head, breaking my neck etc. I really appreciate it.
Hope came to me yesterday in the form of a handstand. That’s right kids, a handstand, a genuine handstand against a wall. I kicked up and I stayed. And I stayed. And when I was done I gently came down.
Now I’ve been working on handstands for weeks, for months really if you count class. I wouldn’t because my efforts have been so half hearted there. It just seamed so unobtainable. Honestly I was having a hard time believing I could do it. In fact I still have a hard time believing. And fear is definitely a factor. Still. I’m terrified. But it’s so damn cool! And so unexpected. And so unlike my body to be able to do something like that. It’s kind of crazy sexy cool!
And it gives me hope.
In yoga, at the end of practice they always tell you to thank your body, for its hard work, for committing to this practice. I don’t say it enough. I don’t appreciate it enough. I don’t marvel at it enough. I’m a lousy friend to my body sometimes, I’m the friend who criticizes, and complains about you, who abuses you and expects too much from you.
So I just want to say thank you to my body, for doing something so amazing.
Thank you for letting me see that there is still hope. That a body like mine is still amazing, still wonderful, still unexpectedly capable. Thank you for fighting the good fight, for helping me balance, for kicking up there. And a special shout out to my arms and hands for supporting the entire weight of my body, without letting me crash onto my head, breaking my neck etc. I really appreciate it.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Dear Dad
Dear Dad,
Another year another day. Not much changed. Same old job, same old song and dance, and I get by on a wing a prayer. Not to say things are all bad or that no good has come this year. I haven’t been very productive lately. I fee worn out. I know I know these things happen, I do the best I can. That should be enough. I’m supposed to start yoga tomorrow. Maybe that will help.
I thought of you the other day, these thoughts seem to grow more distant, more personal, sweeter or sometimes funnier when they happen. My world is a little colder without your unconditional love. I warm myself on these memories.
Someone mentioned their father would pick them up at the airport, and would probably park and come in. And I thought you’d do that. You’d come and pick me up from the airport. You’d park and maybe buy a coffee or something. You’d do it because you were relaxed and laid back and would think why not enjoy a trip to the airport. And you’d do it because you loved me. I miss that. Although mom has become sentimental and now parks to pick people up from the airport.
I miss you, and wonder what you would think of all the political hoopla. Who would win your vote, are you a Hilary fan or Obama? What would you think of global warming, Al Gore and the state of the union? Would you be as liberal as I hope? Perhaps not. But we would talk about all of it.
And Chardy. You’d be so proud of him. Chardy, embodies so much of your spirit, of the Shea spirit, of our spirit. I live vicariously through their family. He loves his kid as you did. He’s a big marshmallow for them. Caryn is so wonderful, so fierce and loving, and smart and competitive.
I’ve discovered a new love. Del Toro. Pan’s Labyrinth and The Devil’s Backbone hit me in the way that only a good catholic director could. I wonder if you’d like them. So beautiful and violent, terrifying, poignant, and rare, would you like them? Would they go too far you? I don’t know. I think you’d enjoy them. Especially Pan’s Labyrinth
Brian is Brian, we communicate through a series of notes about movies and Sox conversations. It’s a subtle form of communication but it will suffice until we find more common ground. It bridges the love that is there.
You’d be so proud of Beth. Back to school she goes, fighting the workforce. It’s hard for us. But we do our best. She is so incredibly compassionate, and so strikingly intelligent. We spend hours complimenting each other on our common sense and the disbelief that the people around us aren’t more alarmed by the goings on of the world. History has become our greatest ally, much to my own chagrin. I can see you smile at that.
Mom has retired and is as busy as ever. I think she misses you more now. This was supposed to be your time together. You’d be down the Cape by now reading on the beach. Maybe the two of you would travel, see the world. Italy perhaps? France? I can see it in my mind. Mom’s a little upset that I’ll be taking the road trip with Beth this summer. But I needed it more than she did. And Beth is and forever will be my best friend. Mom will get her chance too.
So my dear father, I leave things much the same. A spark of hope, a twinkle of luck and a heavy dash of cynicism. I love you. I miss you. And I try to appreciate this big shiny world on your behalf. I’m sure life is wasted on the living and I’ll try to sit back and enjoy the view now and again.
Happy Birthday Dad!
Your loving daughter,
Kate
Another year another day. Not much changed. Same old job, same old song and dance, and I get by on a wing a prayer. Not to say things are all bad or that no good has come this year. I haven’t been very productive lately. I fee worn out. I know I know these things happen, I do the best I can. That should be enough. I’m supposed to start yoga tomorrow. Maybe that will help.
I thought of you the other day, these thoughts seem to grow more distant, more personal, sweeter or sometimes funnier when they happen. My world is a little colder without your unconditional love. I warm myself on these memories.
Someone mentioned their father would pick them up at the airport, and would probably park and come in. And I thought you’d do that. You’d come and pick me up from the airport. You’d park and maybe buy a coffee or something. You’d do it because you were relaxed and laid back and would think why not enjoy a trip to the airport. And you’d do it because you loved me. I miss that. Although mom has become sentimental and now parks to pick people up from the airport.
I miss you, and wonder what you would think of all the political hoopla. Who would win your vote, are you a Hilary fan or Obama? What would you think of global warming, Al Gore and the state of the union? Would you be as liberal as I hope? Perhaps not. But we would talk about all of it.
And Chardy. You’d be so proud of him. Chardy, embodies so much of your spirit, of the Shea spirit, of our spirit. I live vicariously through their family. He loves his kid as you did. He’s a big marshmallow for them. Caryn is so wonderful, so fierce and loving, and smart and competitive.
I’ve discovered a new love. Del Toro. Pan’s Labyrinth and The Devil’s Backbone hit me in the way that only a good catholic director could. I wonder if you’d like them. So beautiful and violent, terrifying, poignant, and rare, would you like them? Would they go too far you? I don’t know. I think you’d enjoy them. Especially Pan’s Labyrinth
Brian is Brian, we communicate through a series of notes about movies and Sox conversations. It’s a subtle form of communication but it will suffice until we find more common ground. It bridges the love that is there.
You’d be so proud of Beth. Back to school she goes, fighting the workforce. It’s hard for us. But we do our best. She is so incredibly compassionate, and so strikingly intelligent. We spend hours complimenting each other on our common sense and the disbelief that the people around us aren’t more alarmed by the goings on of the world. History has become our greatest ally, much to my own chagrin. I can see you smile at that.
Mom has retired and is as busy as ever. I think she misses you more now. This was supposed to be your time together. You’d be down the Cape by now reading on the beach. Maybe the two of you would travel, see the world. Italy perhaps? France? I can see it in my mind. Mom’s a little upset that I’ll be taking the road trip with Beth this summer. But I needed it more than she did. And Beth is and forever will be my best friend. Mom will get her chance too.
So my dear father, I leave things much the same. A spark of hope, a twinkle of luck and a heavy dash of cynicism. I love you. I miss you. And I try to appreciate this big shiny world on your behalf. I’m sure life is wasted on the living and I’ll try to sit back and enjoy the view now and again.
Happy Birthday Dad!
Your loving daughter,
Kate
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Best Sandwich I'd Never Heard of...
Sometimes I like to be adventurous with food because, I'm bored or curious. Well I had a pressed sandwich today that was bresaola and fontina.
BRESAOLA AND FONTINA
smoked bresaola and fontina with basil and a touch of
truffle oil on country white.
And I ordered it because I'd never heard of bresaola or fontina. I figured one was meat and one was cheese but I really wanted that truffle oil on my sandwich. Most of the other sandwiches had vinager or goat cheese or something I didn't like.
Bresaola it turns out tastes like a mix of prosciutto and roast beef. It's dry and salty but tender and quite tasty. Fontina is a slightly sweet nutty hard cheese that melts well. And truffle oil, which I don't know that I've ever had is just heavenly. I wanted just bread and truffle oil after that... toast with truffle oil spread across it like butter. I wanted it in my hand lotion. I wanted to bathe in it.
I kept smelling my napkin that had some oil on it just savoring the scent. It was like... nothing I had ever smelled. It defied description. It didn't smell musty or mushroomy. It smelled... elusive. They say it's aphrodiasiac. I can understand why.
BRESAOLA AND FONTINA
smoked bresaola and fontina with basil and a touch of
truffle oil on country white.
And I ordered it because I'd never heard of bresaola or fontina. I figured one was meat and one was cheese but I really wanted that truffle oil on my sandwich. Most of the other sandwiches had vinager or goat cheese or something I didn't like.
Bresaola it turns out tastes like a mix of prosciutto and roast beef. It's dry and salty but tender and quite tasty. Fontina is a slightly sweet nutty hard cheese that melts well. And truffle oil, which I don't know that I've ever had is just heavenly. I wanted just bread and truffle oil after that... toast with truffle oil spread across it like butter. I wanted it in my hand lotion. I wanted to bathe in it.
I kept smelling my napkin that had some oil on it just savoring the scent. It was like... nothing I had ever smelled. It defied description. It didn't smell musty or mushroomy. It smelled... elusive. They say it's aphrodiasiac. I can understand why.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Waiting for that moment
Over the years I’ve learned a few things about myself, and although I do learn… there are lessons I feel doomed to repeat each year, especially around Christmas.
I know myself. I know my overly ambitious plans, I know how I work. I come up with ideas about hand crafting mountains of presents, and clever ways to wrap them, and run out of time every year. My plans are always big, pie in sky dreams, beautiful dreams. Generous in nature, ambitious in scale… these dreams warm me though the lengthening nights.
And every year somewhere along the way it happens. Maybe it’s the 20th, the 22nd, or even the 24th …. Somewhere along the way you can find me sitting on the floor at 3am the remnants of my broken dreams strewn about me. That’s when I say “No more.” What ever is done is done. Whatever isn’t won’t be. I can do no more.
What should be a sad moment, a moment of defeat really, a moment of failure sometimes on a spectacular scale… might be one of my favorite moments. It’s the moment I let go.
In that moment I realize somehow everything will be okay. I’ve done enough. This wasn’t my fault. I did my best and really, I did more than I thought I could. My eyes were bigger than my stomach. I can relax. It’s enough.
In the wee hours of the night, so peaceful… so lovely finally I’ll sleep a fitful sleep. The next morning I’ll still try to get more done. But it won’t be as urgent, as frantic. My plans will be more flexible, my schedule less daunting.
So right now, as look at my plate piled a mile high, I think to myself don’t worry, that moment will come. Reality will force itself into my plans but it will be pleasant. .. because it’s the season to be joyful.
I know myself. I know my overly ambitious plans, I know how I work. I come up with ideas about hand crafting mountains of presents, and clever ways to wrap them, and run out of time every year. My plans are always big, pie in sky dreams, beautiful dreams. Generous in nature, ambitious in scale… these dreams warm me though the lengthening nights.
And every year somewhere along the way it happens. Maybe it’s the 20th, the 22nd, or even the 24th …. Somewhere along the way you can find me sitting on the floor at 3am the remnants of my broken dreams strewn about me. That’s when I say “No more.” What ever is done is done. Whatever isn’t won’t be. I can do no more.
What should be a sad moment, a moment of defeat really, a moment of failure sometimes on a spectacular scale… might be one of my favorite moments. It’s the moment I let go.
In that moment I realize somehow everything will be okay. I’ve done enough. This wasn’t my fault. I did my best and really, I did more than I thought I could. My eyes were bigger than my stomach. I can relax. It’s enough.
In the wee hours of the night, so peaceful… so lovely finally I’ll sleep a fitful sleep. The next morning I’ll still try to get more done. But it won’t be as urgent, as frantic. My plans will be more flexible, my schedule less daunting.
So right now, as look at my plate piled a mile high, I think to myself don’t worry, that moment will come. Reality will force itself into my plans but it will be pleasant. .. because it’s the season to be joyful.
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