Why Are We Running?...where are we really going?

A documentary called “Race To Nowhere” is being screened at LIU, CW Post this Friday. I viewed the trailer online and found it so on point highlighting and painfully pressing the issue of today’s demands and pressures assaulting our children in our current educational environment.

I remember not too many years ago as a School Counseling student listening in on a presentation by a college representative speaking to anxious parents of juniors just beginning the college search and preparatory process. What struck me was this: Your kid had to be a “Super Student” or else he’s not getting in to that college. The competition is fierce; there are only so many slots for new enrollees.

They not only needed excellent grades, and not only needed to be on the team but they needed to be LEADERS, CAPTAINS, PRESIDENTS….think about this, now…how many students can actually be the captains and presidents among how many students in the school? Not many.  It's a futile effort for most.

You need a rigorous course load. You need to get into honors and take AP courses if you want to get a scholarship…

Mommy and Daddy can’t afford college, so it’s up to you to get that athletic, music, merit scholarship. Up to ME? Oh God…I’m overwhelmed. I can’t handle the pressure.

Melt down.

Parents melt down, argue, and feel depressed that they can’t do more for their kids. They inwardly cringe when their child salivates at a fancy college sweatshirt or lax shorts sporting famous university names such as Duke, Syracuse, etc…We can never afford to send them there.

Kids meltdown feeling guilty and embarrassed that they can’t hack the tough courses and handle all the extracurricular activities. They are exhausted and depressed. What’s their future going to be like? Hopelessness kicks in, a very bad thing.

What to do? Well, I’d love to see the film “Race To Nowhere” and see what it suggests, possibly revamping our whole way of thinking….reverse the “It’s never too early to start thinking about college” mindset. I always shuddered at that concept because it doesn’t let kids be fun, silly and goofy, yet studious kids. It introduced a brand new feeling to them: anxiety, something brought into play way too young. “I don’t know what I want to be! Oh, no! Shouldn’t I know? What's wrong with me?” Kids don’t know who they are yet….do any of us know who we are yet? I’m an ever evolving creature and am a lifelong learner discovering new interests all of the time. How can a 5th grader or younger even think of college and why should they?

Can we stop racing and running around like lunatics and slow down a bit? Can we let our kids enjoy their high school life and take it slow? It goes too darn quickly. Can they play a sport for fun without the pressure of being the Allstar? Can they play an instrument for the sheer joy of it, the magic of creating beautiful sounds without the pressure of a perfect score at NYSSMA or SCMEA? Everything is a competition, a race to be the best of the best.

We all can’t be the best, but we can be who we are, a unique beautiful human being with a lot to give the world, no matter what.

Can't Shop? Create Instead!

I spent my Thanksgiving vacation painting, writing and playing tennis (yes! in the cold wind...it was awesome.)  I attacked with the paintbrush my Delphinus Bloom sketch, which I am sorry to say I didn't photograph as purely a sketch...but it is coming to life slowly.  I do it in steps...always the person, last.  That's the part I want to get perfectly right.  I've been writing a story of regarding my other two paintings, Lady Cecilia and the troubled, scandalized Lord Rosemont.  You know they were meant to be, but how they meet isn't exactly pretty and it isn't isn't sparks and fireworks.  But it will be, oh, you know it will be.

Do you think the creative rush is in replacement of my inability to go Christmas shopping due to severe lack of funds?  Boy, did I feel the pull of pressure from television, ads that were jammed in my newspaper, radio announcers and even relatives on Thanksgiving Day going through my flyers of advertising planning their 4 am attack on Black Friday.  I have no money to spare at this time, with health bills piling up, etc...and I started to feel...guilty.  Jealous.   I was missing out on something.  Ridiculous.  But I did feel it.

I did what I could do.  Paint. Write and had a ball playing tennis with my family.  We all felt so invigorated and refreshed.  Creating something and watching it turn into something that is appealing, alluring, and attractive with colors that make you smile is a reward you can't buy.  Well, you can buy paintings, but to create something yourself is a fantastic feeling...same for writing...putting characters and twisting plots to life transferring from your brain to paper is an amazing feat.  It didn't exist before, the people, the characters, the places, their stories, and then type away. Voila! There it is!  A story.

It was definitely stress relieving...creating in any way, even body movement is a release.  Emotion...means to feel... up and out.....emotions must run through us and out into the universe, otherwise we get blocked and feel awful.

I think I better get painting after I'm done writing here.  I have some "stuff" that needs to get out!!!

Peace.

Not Making The Cut...Man, it Stings!

I'm going to kick that ball.  This time I am going to send that ball to the moon.  Lucy promised she would not take her hand away.  I trust her.  Here I go.....running... running, faster, swing leg back and thrust forward and "AUGH!" land square on my back facing the sky staring at the drifting clouds. 

Sorry, Charlie Brown.  Lucy laughs.

It's that horrible Charlie Brown feeling that never fails to leave a scar: rejection, failure.  My son tried out for the basketball team after playing football, doing marching band and then, exhausted, attended Open Gym night to improve his basketball skills readying for tryouts.  This was going to be his year.  This year he would make the team.  "Your my Big Man!" the varsity coach would tell him.  He felt awesome!  Felt like he was getting in the groove, feeling the rhythm of the game; He was going to be Center.

Wednesday: 5:00pm pick up.  My son was drenched in sweat could hardly walk.  They ran for 2 grueling hours.  Being 6' feet tall and 191 pounds,  that's a lot of force to hit the gym floor for two hours, but he did it.

Thursday: 5:00pm pick up.  Drenched again, but he was feeling great.  Did foul shots, awesome layups, feeling strong and positive.  He wanted it so bad, he could taste it.

Friday: 5:00pm, 5:05pm, 5:10pm.  The first couple kids come out with dazed faces, one trying to hide in his shirt to cover his tear filled face.  Crap.  They posted the list.  Where's my son?  He would have come running out if he had made it.  My heart started to pound.  There he is! He glances toward the crying boy and then, quickly climbs in the car. "I didn't make it."  He says, with an awkward nervous smirk, then straight face and then he puts his head in his hands and lets the tears spill.   Oh, my God...my heart actually ached.  Crap. 

I can't tell you how it slices your heart to watch such utter disappointment being felt by your child.  In the scheme of things, this is but a minor bump in the road.  To my son, this was BIG. This was something he wanted so badly to be a part of, to feel like this is where he belonged.  He wanted that sense of belonging and feeling great so badly; he thought basketball was the way to do it.  He didn't understand.  He was utterly shocked, dazed in disbelief, and then angry.

It sucked. Plain and simple. 

There were so many things I said to him.  One thing doesn't define you.  Hold your head up high because you know you put everything you had in it.  More importantly, he was not alone in not making the cut.  There were at least 3 others of great talent that didn't make it either.  That helped a little.  A little.

He has more fortitude then me as an adult.  I know how it feels to interview and not get the job.  The self analysis is brutal.  I didn't want to ever go through THAT again!  But he picked himself back up signed up for CYO basketball, and said, "Next year, I'm making the team."  Wow.  I would want nothing with the sport again.  That's a quitter attitude I know..but it was so damn painful.  As a parent, I don't want to go through that heartbreak again.  But I am behind him no matter what.

Maybe it'll be like the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree when things actually go Charlie's way for ONCE.  His little tree became a beauty and all of his friends gathered around him.  Then they all shouted to his delighted and happy ears, "MERRY CHRISTMAS, CHARLIE BROWN!"  They broke out in song afterward.  It was the one time, things went Charlie Brown's way.  He kicked that football to the moon!

Next year...

The ballroom is a twitter...Lord Rosemont Dared to Show His Face!

    "Darling!" Lady Montague whacked her daughter with her fan. "Do not look at him, however, devilishly handsome he may be."
    "Oh, Mama," Cecilia groaned, wondering exactly what had happened to Lord Rosemont these past two years, and why has he decided to make his return, here, and now at the Harrington Ball.  "It's hard not too look...hmmm.  His eyes, Mama, his eyes, and..." Whack!  Her mother smacked her again with that blasted fan.  Rubbing her arm, Cecilia was sure there was a mark.
     "Sweetheart, Darling.  He's the rake of the worst order, and there is the scandal surrounding him that he poisoned his wife, poor dear. God bless her soul."  Lady Montague took a quick look at Lord Rosemont striding through the room with lazy purpose like a lion who knows very well that he is the predator and everyone else is the prey, and leaned back in toward her daughter.  "Why, he hasn't even taken a razor to his face!  A disgrace, I say.  A disgrace to his family's good name." 
     Thwack! "Mama!  That hurts."  Cecilia snapped her head away from Lord Rosemont's lucious black wavy locks and back to her mother.
    "Now, you listen to me, my daughter. Stay away from him. Stay far, far away from Lord Rosemont."
    Lady Cecilia opened her fan and covered her face, but stole another look at Lord Rosemont, tilting her head.  Lord Almighty, why must they make murderous rakes so beautiful?  "Mama, I'm going to the, eh, retiring room.  I'm sure I saw Aunt Sophie go in there."  Waving Cecilia's fan rapidly, "Perhaps I'll go join her and cool off a bit."
   "Okay, darling. Oh, look!  I see Lady Winters. I'm dying to speak with her. Ta, dear!"  Off Mama went bobbing through the crush seeking out her old gossipy friend, while Cecilia padded slowly toward the retiring room, and then stole a quick look back seeing her mother reach her destination and was already deep in conversation with Lady Winters.  Cecilia then proceeded to turn in the opposite direction....away from the retiring room.

Even A Lady Bares Her Teeth....Lizzie and, Yes, I Can Bare Teeth too

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0jTITjkN664
Lizzie's Refusal of Mr. Darcy's Proposal is not as civilized as her refusal to Mr. Collins...Let's just say she kind of let's it all out...


Look at Elizabeth Bennet how she snarls and spews venomous words as her temper roils up to the boiling point at Mr. Darcy’s clueless rampage of insults. She bares her teeth and literally is heaving afterward like a wild dog after a fight.

I felt like that this morning when my buttons were pushed just the right way on top of the numerous stresses of today’s world have mounted so high, that I, a well controlled, empathetic, schooled in the art of counseling, yes, I lost my temper. I am trying to forgive myself for I am the adult, like Lizzie, was trained to be a lady, to comport myself in the most acceptable manner, and yet, the adult, the supposedly mature one, the intelligent, thoughtful, loving and considerate adult yelled and threw a plate into the sink shattering a casserole pan that had been lying there innocently; it had never done anything to me. I even hesitated before throwing that lunch plate in the sink; I actually thought a mere second before doing so that I really should not do this action, but man, I wanted to throw it hard with everything I got, and did. I regretted it afterward. You can’t take it back. You can’t play rewind.  But I guess I needed to release bottled up emotions that have been stuffed down and repressed and denied for too long.  Was that how Lizzie felt?

I spoke with my family afterward and we all calmly talked about what happened, what's happening in our lives, what we all are facing, going through, and how we all feel about it all.  The air is clear, but I still have to forgive myself for losing "control."  It's not okay, really.  But it happened and I am human and need to forgive myself.  I have a punching bag downstairs I could have wailed on, but anyway....

 I thought of the scene in the rain where Elizabeth Bennet lets it all out on Mr. Darcy like an angry mother wolf. Perhaps, Elizabeth had many stresses in her life too that had been piled up inside her. Actually, there is no perhaps, she does have many worries on her mind.  They have Mr. Collins threatening their homestead, the pressure of being a female and needing to marry well, and she prays to God that she can marry for love…which her friend Charlotte pointed out is a luxury which Charlotte, at 27, couldn't do.  Lizzie refused Mr. Collin's marriage proposal and may feel a bit guilty for she could have surely saved her family from poverty if she sealed that union, but she didn't, couldn't.  Elizabeth is like the second mother of the household and is fiercely protective of her sisters, Jane’s heart breaking breaks her own.  She loves all of her younger sisters and says good night to all of them as if she was the eldest, which she is not. She sees that they are all tucked in safe and secure in their beds.  Perhaps that moment in the rain, when Mr. Darcy makes Elizabeth all too painfully aware of her lower birth, her families’ ridiculousness at times, and her sister's supposed apathy toward Mr. Bingley, Lizzie combusted.

I can’t excuse my outburst, but I think on occasion, it is a relieving thing to do as long as no one gets hurt. The world today has made it so difficult with finances dwindling amidst a more and more expensive technological world, jobs that are fewer and fewer, and the loss of the carefree feeling of security…obligation and duty forces our stagnation. Writing, painting, and exercising are far better outlets for combating the stresses of the world, but letting it out in a verbal tempest is sometimes unavoidable and necessary.

Hey, Mr. Darcy heard Elizabeth’s every word, and used the form of letter writing to rebuke her accusations and maybe, in someway, her snarling refusal of his proposal moved them forward in their relationship.

The same could be true in my household. After “losing it” on the kitchen sink, my family talked about many things. We opened a door to further discussion and understanding of each other. We all have our own pressures; talking about it and respecting what each other is going through is what came out of my snarling tempest.

I'm done panting and heaving...time to get outside and get some fresh air...painting later.  Sir William Rosemont has color!!!

November...

How do we fight the greyness of the world in November?  The skies are filled with plum and smoky skies, the trees are cold, rough and wet, and the world turns out its light too quickly.  Like the forest animals that know it is time to slumber in this sleepy time of year, our bodies grow heavy and want to nestle under the blankets and stay there until the warm sun glows again.  How do we fight the greys, or should I say the blues?

Why fight it?

Find the light.  Make the light.  When the sun does shine, step outside and soak it in.  When those slate colored clouds clear and the day is crisp, the sun is golden and thick.  Make a fire in the fireplace and enjoy the spark and flame.  Bake homemade bread.  Breathe in the warm toasty yeasty aroma filling the house as it wraps around your soul.  Paint a picture filled with colors that tease and awaken your deadened senses.  Put brush to paper and let the dance begin.

Sleep and dream of warmer days to come and rapture in summer memories of leaping carelessly into the river on a summer vacation in the Adirondacks, pure summer bliss.

Most of all, we need to embrace the change of seasons; take a rest that the November skies invite.  Curl up and slow down.  Read, write and reflect.  Slate, plum, mauve, taupe, sage.... colors that soothe,calm and caress.

November...

Well, Darling, You...Are...The Only Exception....Paramore

Surgery Done - Now I Have Painter's Block

I need art therapy, but I can't seem to paint.  I'm afraid to touch Sir William Rosemont with color.

It's been a while since I've last posted because I was going through a rather scary time in my life...I had a lump in my breast biopsied and resulted in my visiting with a breast surgeon.  The first breast surgeon was so awful; I don't even want to recount how inattentive, uncaring, harsh, rude, pessimistic and whatever negative term to describe a horrible doctor she was.  I, then, decided to get a second opinion.  I knew my outcome would be the same: surgery, but I wanted to be assured that one, I was in good hands and two that I liked my doctor.  With those two things, I could go into surgery with confidence.

I got through the torture of the consultation, but the doctor was so knowledgeable, so kind and re-assuring and it was in a place that dealt exclusively with this kind of thing giving me the confidence I needed to know I was in good hands.  The surgery was no minor thing...It ended up feeling all too real with the shower caps and face masks under bright lights with tubes up my nose. 

Well, it's done and I have a rather long scar; bigger than I thought it would be. I really didn't think I'd care about having a scar but funny, I do.  It isn't pretty and there is an indent like I can see where they removed a part of me.  But in the end...I'm not high risk; it was benign and I'm still a yearly mamo/sono patient. 

But here is the thing....I can't bring myself to paint my male regency rogue.  I'm afraid to touch it.  Once color is applied, there is no going back.  It looks cool as a sketch- at least, I think it does...but I can't seem to break out the paints and get going on it... Why?  I love the look in his eyes and if I mess that up, I'll be sooo upset.  His lips are perfect and adding color may make them look awful...and I need a background. Haven't found a background that I can plug in there behind him.  I really like this picture and it's all about the face and the expression....Lady Cecilia was dress, couch, and  small face....This picture is all about the face and that is the hardest thing to paint....maybe tomorrow?

Coming Soon...Delphinus Bloom and The Letter

Working on another sketch....Delphinius Bloom and The Letter....

It's a rather sweet sketch as of now, just in beginning phases of Phinny in her nightrail all gauzy and soft, her long brown braid tipped with honey glow draped over her shoulder propped up against pillows thinking about a letter in her hand.  Her night table drawer is open.  Leaves lots of questions...and her expression will leave you guessing as to her thoughts on the matter, but then only thing that is not in question is that the letter is important to Phinny.

Will take a picture soon!

Maybe I'll write a story to correspond with the picture.

p.s. This is all good art therapy for me as I have to have a lump removed from my left breast soon and I imagine it's not going to be pleasant.  As of yet, it is not cancer but could turn into it some day...something known as "Atypia"...my husband wishes it was "No-typia!"  Me, too!  So, between finances, work and health worries...the art is flowing, and so is my blog....It helps.  It really does.  And I am bursting with the need to draw and paint, so I am!  Peace!

p.s. Sir William Rosemont would be a good match for Lady Cecilia Whitworth. Don't you think?  Dashing couple they'd make!

Sir William Rosemont...the sketch

My first attempt at a male of the Regency Period...I was using the picture at left and combined another picture of a cravat and took it from there...kind of looks like James Infranco, the actor....ahh, but now, the tricky part....ADDING COLOR!  It's do or die time!  I have to work up the courage to add color, but if I get it right, this could be an intensely alluring picture.  What did he see?  Who did he see?  Did he overhear something?  Did he just misspoke and is regretting it?  He's walking one way but his head is still looking back.....hmmm....

The golden glow was the poor lighting in my dining room, but adds an antique quality to it.

Color coming soon!

Ahh...Pride and Prejudice

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ARWfCBr0ZDM&feature=related
I never tire of the movie, Pride and Prejudice with Keira Knightley and Matthew McFadden....it's priceless in every possible way. The scenery, the music, the location, the telling looks between characters, namely Lizzie and Mr. Darcy, and the whole cast of characters from the entire Bennett family, Mr. Collins, The Bingleys, and Charlotte, dearest beloved friend is a scrumptious feast to dive into. Once the movie starts playing, I’m there – 1800’s England, giggling, laughing, pining and crying. It's sensory appeal is phenomenal and the story is one that can be watched over and over and over again. I need a new DVD; mine is getting worn out.

Enjoy!

June 1st...sketching, writing, reading...The Wild Marquis/ Bibliophilia???

I love historical romances because they are so rich in texture and touches the senses so much that I feel I am walking into a musty library or attic and can feel the thick wrinkled leather of the old book bindings.  The Wild Marquis by Miranda Neville touches on another nobleman's past time, rare book collecting.  So fascinating and for book lovers like myself, I can't stop being intriqued by the varied nature of the works mentioned, some fictional, some real.  For being such a conservative british kingdom with the utmost strictness for decorom and deportment, they had an awful lot of ribauld and risque written works, and erotic illustrated works.  Perhaps because they were all laced up so tight and restricted with their thousand rules and more rules, they needed to let loose in secret with a forbidden fruit on paper.  I'm loving this book in all manners of the word, plot, characters, historical facts, it touches all of my senses; I'm completely immersed.  So, I'm going to go know and um, read my own forbidden fruit! Peace!

I Have Writer's Block...

I have been avoiding my computer.  I start cleaning, dusting, folding laundry, wandering outside....I have my notebook and jot a few ideas, but none of them seem to go anywhere...

I started typing this morning feeling that how am I ever going to get published if I don't type something?  I have a bunch..a lot of written stories, but I don't feel like going back and editing them.  I have a work in progress for a Regency story that I think will be too complicated and tricky with the historical accuracy, dates, events, etc...I haven't been able to go back to it and just start typing. I like to have my plot figured out in advance and I can't seem to get my mind focused enough to do it.  At Dunes and Dreams at Pindar I was so surprised that one author, Beatrice Small told me she nevers does that.  She just writes and let's the creative process flow... Wow.  I could try that and let the twists and turns happen as they may, but I can't seem to do it.

My head gets foggy.  I get tired...I know what it is...it's fear of failure.  It's fear of, what if I really can't do this? I really am not organized enough, and simply am not that good a writer.  So, here I am at my blog instead where it is safe and anything goes. Yeah. That's helpful.  That'll get me published and who the hell am I talking to anyway?  Is anyone listening?  Probably not.  This is more of a cathartic thing then anything.  I'm talking to myself.  Am I going crazy?  Writers block makes me crazy.

Well....it's a nice day, a light breeze blowing, and it looks extremely inviting out there.  Yup.  I am procrastinating some more.  I have been fighting probably the worst sinus infection/allergies of my life and it is draining me.  I feel extremely sleepy.   You know what? If the creative juices aren't flowing they aren't flowing.

Besides, Lady Cecelia is thinking, when the heck are you going to finish me???  Soon.  Lady C.  soon....

As U2 says, "I need a miracle drug."  Maybe a run will clear the cobwebs from my head and pump up some endorphines...Try again later.

Touched by a University of VA Angel Today

After the violent and tragic murder of Yeardley Love, a senior University of Virginia lacrosse player by George Huguely, a senior University of Virginia lacrosse player, I didn’t know how I’d feel or what to expect when I watched both teams play.


I remembered a scandal with Duke University men’s lacrosse players and how it gave lacrosse a bad name, a privileged arrogance and disregard for others. This event was completely different. The feelings of pain, grief, befuddlement and a numbing shock that was written all over the faces of the Men’s lacrosse players when they hit the field was obvious, but I wasn’t expecting the loving supportive family-like feeling that the young men were showing to Yeardley Love, her family, and their fellow “sisters” of lacrosse, the women’s lax team. They had on their shirts 1 Y L, unified in their love, their support, and their commitment to rise to be the best of humanity and show reverence to their lost sister. They played their hearts out. The speed, the power, the ferocity of their play unleashed their pent up anger, sadness, confusion and grief. I loved how the coach said to the boys that I don’t care really how you play, but I want us to win so we can stay together another week. They need each other. They need the safe cocoon of their team setting to keep it together, to talk to one another, to console one another, and even to simply shake their heads to one another in disbelief that one of their own is sitting in a jail cell and that one of their beloved sisters was gone. They may still be in the denial stage of grief mixed with anger. The next stage is depression and it is far better to have a huge support system around them then to be heading home – alone.

Today, the U Va girls’ lax team hit the field against Towson. They struck hard right out of the gate with three goals in a row. Again, the physical energy was the release they needed after they buried a friend, a roommate, a graduating classmate and a close teammate. I watched them carefully. At times they smiled after a goal, but it quickly disappeared; that’s right. Yeardley is not here. When they were moving and running like gazelles, their mind was 100% on the game, but if they paused, or there was a stop in play, a numb glaze crossed their faces; the horrific events still lingered. As much as they tried to tuck away their pain, it never really is buried down too deep. Grief never really goes away. Even after three and half years after losing my mother, it catches me off guard, grief, and tears will slide down my face. It resurfaces when, I guess it needs to.

What was really cool and sweet for the girls, were in the bleachers were a section where the boys lacrosse players watched and cheered on their girls. It was awesome. You see, the bad guys aren’t “Lacrosse” or “The Boys’ Lacrosse Team.” There is one bad guy here, an individual named George. The teams are in it together and are working their grief through together. Even more amazing was Yeardley’s mom, brother and sister were in the bleachers watching, too. Amazing. I’m surprised the mom could even walk mired in her grief, but she was there. Perhaps she felt that is where her daughter would be if she were alive, and/or in spirit. I think she was right. An angel was among them.  The girls won and held signs with a large bold “1” on them. Even more impressive was the gesture of The Towson team giving to every member of the U Va team a pin of an angel holding a lacrosse stick. Wow. Enough said. - SSdh

"Oh My Gosh"....Breaking Down With Usher

OMG…Call me crazy, but this Usher song makes me move.


Let me love you down..

clap clap clap clap

there is so many ways to love ya.

Oh my God, I’m so in love.. I finally found you….you make me want to say…oh.oh.oh.oh.

My shoulders are shifting up and down…

and my booty is moving pow pow pow….

check check check it …checking you out….I’m getting down like in Animal House--lower and lower...I'm grooving....

It makes me feel sexy…I just want to dance and sway.

You make me want to say…oh.oh.oh.oh. Oh My Gosh…..

oh.oh.oh.oh. My foot is tapping; my body is moving….

my oh my…..fly so fly….my oh my…

.Ohhhhh, baby you got it all. Sexy from the head to toe. Baby I want it all.

Oh my Gosh..I’m so in love…I finally found you finally. Honey let me love you down. There are so many ways to love ya.

Okay. Here’s the story…I am majorly stressed out because while my husband was watching my son play lacrosse someone smashed his driver’s side window and plucked out his wallet from our car. Yes, my husband is from another time and feels like all is good in the world and that no one would ever do such a thing. Today was a reality check. Not only were there credit cards and more…but that wallet had sentimental value, too. It was his father’s wallet and still had some of the contents in it, such as his father’s wedding picture and his driver’s license. His father died 3 ½ years ago from wretched leukemia. So, that is why I am cranking music and letting it out…with music. Like the 80's tune, "We Can Dance If We Want To..."  Keep your things, safe people. Stay safe. Peace….Now, time for Mozart or Celtic tunes to soothe my stressed out soul. - SSdh

So…Was Getting Hit By The Church Basket Good Luck After All? Was It A Sign?

Hard to say, …YET. I did get an article published in MORE magazine’s website. I did meet some fabulous authors at a Book Signing at Pindar over the weekend. And I perhaps, crossed paths with an angel with a scary last name (kind of ironic, actually) that could lead me to new opportunities.


So, maybe that lump on my noggin’ was worth something after all. Things aren’t moving for me as fast I’d like, and I still feel the need to paint and write to release some pent up emotions. That is actually normal and healthy as opposed to locking it inside and letting it damn up until I explode on somebody in a PMS volcanic eruption. That has happened and it is not pretty. My co-worker never knew the meaning of the word PMS until she met me. When I breeze into the office and announce that my period arrived last night, she actually falls back against her chair and sighs in relief like she had just run the marathon or something. What? “Oh, thank God. I made it through this month.” Geez. Am I that bad? Well, yeah, I can be. I think right now I’m PMS’ing and she poured me some tea…come to think of it. She looks like a nervous rabbit and is kind of tip-toeing around me. I’m cranky, yes. I’m tire, yes. Oh, crap. I am PMS’ing.

I digress. Back to the church basket. I guess, if I want to see major good luck or a sign from above instantly, I suppose, I needed to be clonked on the head unconscious. Patience, my dear. Patience. Something of which, I sorely lack. I want it NOW! (PMS talking.) When the tears arrive, it’ll be over soon. P.s. I don’t really recommend sticking your head up for your own collision when the usher comes by with the church basket. Dog doo never worked either.

Checking out Dunes and Dreams Romance Writers

I'm heading off to Pindar Vineyards for a book signing hosted by Dunes and Dreams Romance Writers. What's cool is that I can speak to published authors, possibly purchase a book, one has me intriqued by the title alone, The Glass Armonica, but that anything I purchase supports Literacy in Suffolk. So, it's an awesome cause supporting the love of reading! I'll check back and let you know how it is. I may join their group so I can meet with authors and discuss the process of writing these novels, while having fun! I'm dragging a fellow writer with me as I am not brave enough to go alone.

Art Therapy Birthed "Lady Cecelia"

I used Art Therapy on myself. I couldn’t shake the fog out of my head, feeling lethargic, listless and a bit rather hopeless. I want to do things at this point of my life and sometimes, I feel it is as though it is too late. I know I read many articles and personal stories of it is never too late, but at times, it gets the best of me of me and I feel it is too late for me. So…”Lady Cecilia” has been haunting me, begging me to add color to her. You can see my sketch on the sidebar. I’ve been scared to. Sketching is one thing, but adding color is do or die time. Once color is applied that is it; there is no going back. And, faces! I hate painting faces! I can sketch them to some degree, rather decently, but adding color is when I screw it up. But, I must say…I’m loving this painting…I held my breath and went for it. Played with color, one dab at a time and fearlessly painted. The vivid red and the cobalt blue are vibrant and happy, yet her expression is extremely pensive and is the teasing storyline I like. Is she waiting for someone? Is she regretting a decision she made? Is she mulling over a decision? It’s up to the viewer. The background is soothing with its colors of mustard, light blue and pink. Put it all together and this pictures speaks to me, pulls me in. What do you think? p.s. It’s not finished, nearly there….need to do pillow, necklace and gloves.

Drug Awareness Forums Are Everywhere…Blame it on The Hot Tub Time Machine!

Seriously. If everyone on Long Island doesn’t know who Dr. Dewey is, I’d be surprised. How many school billboards did you drive by where it said, “Drug Awareness Night…Dr. Dewey speaker?” My husband and son attended one in our school district just the other night listening to Dr. Dewey’s associate who explained exactly what drugs do to the brain. What really moved them was hearing the wretchedly sad story from a father who lost his precious boy to drugs. He recounted the days by his son’s beside in the hospital begging his son to come back, when he had already passed away. There wasn’t a dry eye in the place. There truly can’t be anything worse than losing a child. Stupidly, he admitted he turned a blind eye to his son smoking pot. His uncle smoked pot with him. The message couldn’t be clearer. Drugs of any kind are a “No.” Period. The end. Alcohol is a “No.” It’s against the law until age 21. You have the law on your side. Parents need to be parents and get in their child’s lives whether they want you or not. BUT…do you know who and what you are up against, who is NOT on your side??? The movie moguls out there that make the movies our kids/teens see. Hot Tub Time Machine blew me away with its unbelievable over the top excessive use of every drug under the sun…mushrooms, cocaine, bongs, you name it…it was there. If they could sniff it, inhale it, eat it, drink it, they did. It was sickening. Even a weird Energy Drink with crap in it was in this movie. There was alcohol and more alcohol with binge drinking until one of the characters was projectile vomiting. I squirmed in my seat feeling so uncomfortable at how crude, lewd, and grotesque this movie was. There was so much over indulgence of alcohol and drugs in this movie, I wanted to projectile vomit. I really should have walked out. My husband wanted to, but I guess we both hoped it would get better. It didn’t. How can we fight this battle with these guys displaying on the wide screen all of the things we are trying to prevent? How can we compete with that? The media, magazines, television, oh good God- YouTube, the internet, and movies make drug and alcohol use look like it’s the norm, perfectly fine, cool even. No wonder our kids are tempted to try it, once. Once is one time too many for heroine, meth, cocaine…all of it. Once and your hooked, and possibly dead. Damn that Hot Tub Time Machine. That movie could have been so fun, celebrating the silliness of the 80’s (mullets, big hair, Farrah Fawcett and Charlie’s Angels, Flock of Seagulls, double polos, chinos, dock siders, Gloria Vanderbilt jeans, Vidal Sasoon, The NY Rangers doing a Sasoon commercial, ….oh, I could go on and on….) I’m going to go watch Ghost Hunters with my boys now…no drugs. No alcohol. It’s just intriguing stuff, hanging out on the couch. That’s all I got in my battle. It’s has to be enough….SSDh http://www.catalystpharma.com/dewey.htm

Am I Being Punked? Is THAT What This Is????

Short tempered. Moody. Stressed. Teary. Disappointed. Lost…ugh. I swear a “dementor” was just here and sucked the joy right out of me leaving me feeling like a deflated balloon. I’m laying on my bed staring at the cobwebs of my ceiling asking myself, “What the hell am I doing with my life?” It hit me like someone threw a bucket of cold water on my face. Is this a cruel joke? Am I being punked? No. I sat up ramrod straight. I’ve realized to my utter horror that I am in the midst of…of…(I hate to say it)… A MIDLIFE CRISIS…DUH DUN. A Midlife Crisis. Huh. I never thought it would happen to me, a 40 something female who thought someday I would do something freaking special and touch many people’s lives. Nope. I’m not doing that, at least I don’t think so. What’s worse is that my feeling of dissatisfaction is rippling through my whole family’s life with my hideous short temper and mood swings. Add sweaty to that, and I think I hit on something else all together. Good God, what’s next? No! Please, no, not that! It could be…oh, just say it and get it over with…Menopause on top of a MidLife Crisis, a double whammy! That is harsh. We’re talking unfair, people. M&M’s, the chocolate kind, are delicious and pure bliss, this M&M is pure evil and simply unfair to womankind. It’s cruel. Time to Get A Grip…Get a Hold of Yourself! “Get off your pity pot,” Grandma Josie would say to me. Any brilliant ideas out there? I’m having trouble snapping out of it. Job dissatisfaction in an economic crisis does not beget hopefulness, but there are jobs. Obama says so. I do love to write and am pursuing the magazine market; there is that. As for menopause, I guess it’s time to see my doctor. (The idea of the cold stirrups, though I always wear a fresh pair of socks to shield the doctor of sweaty feet smell, but sorry poor doctor, I can’t wear a sock down there, so God bless him for diving in to my …nevermind.) The point? That annual visit is not pleasurable in the slightest. Yes, your uterus is getting bigger, your vagina is NOT getting tighter- “Would you like a device to exercise with?” Groan. Vagina weights. Am I being punked? How many calories will it burn? “Those spots are new…” Anyway, moving on and away from that. I’m not in it yet, but it’s definitely peri-menopausal – fun hormonal imbalances that keep this rollercoaster ride going. Up and then down. Up and then down. Don’t forget the water rides! That would be tears, in case you didn’t get it. I have a never-ending well. Well, I have terrible PMS and the bonus to menopause is that, I think, moods stabilize. God, please tell me this is true. There has to be some good out of menopause. But back to the Midlife Crisis. My sister’s comment to me was, “You are having your first? I’m on my 4th or 5th!” Nice. Well, Grandma Moses started her artistic career in her 70’s and now has her own museum about her life in Bennington, VT. She was a famous Americana artist that captured the simple moments of Vermont life through all of the seasons, like tapping Maple on the trees, apple picking, and cows and more cows poised on gorgeous green rolling pastures. I digress. The point is: it’s never to late to start something new, and at times you may feel that way, but you have to fight it with every fiber of your being and get out there! Do it! Start something…life is too short to hesitate. Thus, I started this blog for better or worse. At least it’s cathartic and healing in that way. I do feel inspired and a bit lighter. I may paint a cover of one of my Regency Romance Books…yeah, I just may do that! See ya! Peace….S.Sdh

If You Are Hit In The Head by The Gift Basket at Church, is it good luck?

This isn't by any means a "holy roller" blog, but I had a moment in church today, Psalm Sunday...hmmm, does that mean anything? Taking my father's advice, I went to church a little early so I could pray for guidance..."Help me, Jesus. Help me, Jesus. Oh, please help me, Jesus. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, God, Mom, Spirit Guides, anybody...I need some guidance with my life." Well, Father Lolake said, if you need help, don't be afraid to say, "Help Me, Jesus." So, I did. I actually said it outloud so make sure Jesus heard me. I'm pretty sure Jesus could hear telepathically, but I wasn't taking any chances today. Later in the mass... The usher comes down the aisle pew after pew, dipping his pole with a basket on the end into each pew, pushing it down, and then up and over to the next pew, again and again in a smooth fluid rhythm- until he gets to my row/pew. I'm in the last row and toss in my donation, he forgets to push the basket down the pew; the lady next to me had an envelope ready to toss in. The older usher with glasses like triple paned windows clonks me in the head as I turned to signal to him about the lady's envelope. Ow. "Good thing it's only a basket," I say not to make him feel bad. But it was a rather hard basket. How many times has this happened? Never, perhaps? Why did I get clonked today? Is this Jesus helping me? Is it some sort of good luck like stepping in dog doo? Can't say I ever experienced a surge of luck after stepping in dog .... Maybe it is a sign...it's going to be an interesting holy week. I think the week is rather symbolic for me...I could use a rebirth of sorts and now is the time. I have a lump on my head as a reminder. Jesus, it hurts. (Excuse me, Jesus...but I think even Jesus has a little sense of humor.)

At The Office, Susan Closes "Her Door"...

S: “I’m closing my door now.”
J: At the copier by Susan’s desk, J purses her lips, interesting.
Susan doesn’t have a door to her office. She motions to close one anyway and gives a little wave as if saying, “I’ll see ya later.”
J understands though, and motions to lock her lips. She’ll be very quiet as Susan is busy behind her “closed door.”
S: Susan clicks on Pandora. The selection of the moment must be classical. She knows calming music is needed; her desk is covered with enormous piles of folders to attack today. To avoid that heart racing overwhelming feeling, she practices the Mozart Effect to keep her blood pressure low. In her head, she is concentrating on the lulling music, dee, dee, deee da, dee, dee, deee, da…But before Pandora switches to a Haydn concerto, Susan shouts over to J, “Oh, I love this song. The Script is on. They are so freakin’ awesome. My son found this group for me.“ Oops. She then realizes that she shut her door and was supposed to be quiet. “Oh but wait. My door is closed and J can’t hear me.”
J: Sitting in her office, J bursts out laughing, clearly acknowledging that Susan has lost her mind. But it’s okay; it happens many times a day…to both of them.
S: Leans across her desk, and motions to open “her door” a crack, “I love this song,” she whispers over to J. She then closes “her door” again.
Both pick up their mugs of coffee and adjust their The Office magnets clinging to their computers. Susan picks Stanley for today. She is tired of being “so Pam” as everyone says.
Susan can’t keep her “door” closed for long.
She gets lonely and likes to laugh with J.
Susan really wishes she had a door to her “office.”
But don’t you hate it when a co-worker closes their door? It feels soooo, soooo insulting? Is that the word I want? Degrading? Condescending? Rude? I’m not good enough to hear or see what you are doing in there, huh? Must be something pretty darn important going on behind that closed door, must be something really B.I.G….
Tomorrow I have a lot of work to do…30 files are heading my way. Looks like I’ll be needing to shut my door. –S.S.
Irish Note: Dublin is infamous for their gorgeous colorful doors.
Did I ever tell you about the time when J collapsed to the floor in a boneless puddle laughing hysterically?
Hint: It has a lot of The Ridiculous going on.

The Resignation of a Co-Worker...

Just like that. It is done. I knew it was coming, was waiting for it.
Today was the day my co-worker secured her release. She resigned. My other co-worker, feeling so pumped up for her thought it was going to happen the other day, who declared the other day, “A Day of Infamy” with an ever so psyched fist pump, felt it, too, a bereft mood wash over her. There was no fist pumping going on today, “The Day of Infamy.” When she finished telling us of the nitty gritty details of her escape, we must have looked like two deer in the headlights that suddenly realized that we were about to be run over.
Do you know what we felt?
Loss.
We were feeling the imminent loss of a friend. She gave her notice and would be walking out of our office doors for the last time this Friday. Were we starting to do some sort of mourning today? You know we’ll keep in touch, so there won’t be any loss. Right? Uh huh. Do you know that I feel even with the best of intentions, office friendships, once out of the office sphere, slip away like a sailboat on a tow line drifting at sea farther and farther away until the tow line snaps for good. It’s truly hard to maintain; it takes effort and work. You have to admit “the office culture” is a weird one. It’s not binding no matter how bound together you think you are. You may go to the movies or out to a Mexican Restaurant as a group, it feels tight but it’s not that strong a hold. When you leave “the office,” (that sounds cult like) the odd relationship is over. Why? You lose the commonality that glued you together. You can’t do the communal “office whine.” When they are not there anymore, they are out of the loop, nothing to complain about and honestly, they really don’t care. I don’t blame them. Sadly, you may find out that Work was the only thing you had in common, thus with that key factor gone, it’s done. This all sounds so cold and depressing, but I do feel it’s true. There are exceptions, of course. But when life continues spinning somewhere else, it gets harder and harder to stay connected. Wo. I just had my “Ah ha!” moment. Stay Connected…duh. My blog is where we can easily stay connected among other avenues…but there it is. Click. Comment. Here we are.But back to the knock me on my butt realization.
Yes, a co-worker resigned today whose company I enjoyed where we laughed until we were wheezing with tears in our eyes. For a short while, we were thrown together in an unusual work situation, both of us so different, but for a brief moment our paths crossed and connected. In an up note, I do feel that our paths crossed for a reason and we somehow helped each other probably in ways we aren’t aware of. I’m glad our paths crossed and I am richer for it. –S. Sdh. I feel better now.
Aren’t you going to miss me, Janie?