forward momentum

Small, achingly bittersweet and delicious moments of supreme clarity give me pause as a smile brushes my lips in hopeful laughter of what may come next.

A freeing feeling, it is, to let my soul believe, just for a moment or two longer, that there really is something powerful and awesome about life. That there really is something magnificent about just breathing in and out.

Oh, so much did I ache for this recent opportunity, and it was beautiful and fulfilling and awesome just to visit and be in their creative space for awhile. I learned from just that afternoon that anything truly is possible, there are no rules, no matter who tells you so.

And so, a breaking rules I will go. I will continue to create art that makes people smile while giving others pause. I will design my world of wood and canvas and nature and make it my home. I will pour out the words that affect my sense of balance until everything fits just right again. I will leap into the air and take flight as my dreams will let me.

It's these still, small, delightful moments that let me believe I can do anything. Let me believe.

This is why I write, this is why I blog, this is who I am

Because not everyone hears every story. Because not everyone cares about the stories we do tell. Because sometimes we need to be heard in the void. Because everyone remembers something different.

I remember my grandfather as a hard man. I don't know enough about his life before I can remember being young, because he never talked about it. He didn't share his own stories, even the hard ones.

All we knew was we had to be quiet. We couldn't play "Hungry-Hungry-Hippos" because it was too much noise. I'm pretty sure his main reason for building us a playset in the backyard was so that we could make noise - outside. The reason I remember being told was because he practically grew up an only child, he was used to quiet.

That excuse makes no sense to me now. I don't suppose it did then either.

My grandmother thrived, and still does to a point, on commotion & chaos. Having half a dozen kids sleeping over, playing dress up, making plays, playing games and generally squirreling underfoot was her element. For her, coordinating and planning and talking to lots of people is a great day. She seems to bloom like her roses that hold steadfast in hard caliche and whipping wind only to glow strong and fresh in the many vases placed everywhere you turn.

My grandfather though, could get lost for hours in books. I know he did all these pretty great things like starting swim teams when my dad & uncles were boys. I know he ran a respected business, helped develop this city in many ways, worked on so many projects. I know he helped make laws and brought computers to their business and helped build Prairie Pete Park when it had cool things to climb on. I know he was in the Army Air Corp and ended up at Midland Army Air Field. I know he was raised in Chicago. I know he made a good Colonel in the CAF because he's just ornery enough to fit the criteria.

But I mostly remember him always having a book. Sitting in his chair reading, barking at us to quit tearing through the house. Sitting, quietly, trying to stay lost in his world.

There are things I learned about him eventually. Bits of snippets of his memories as a kid or family growing up or what else he'd done. Either I got old enough to finally hear them or he finally decided to tell them.

He was a hard man. But he got things done. More than one person referred to him as an ogre, whether the referral was affectionate or not depended on who you talked to. He somehow made things happen, and I imagine he growled quite a lot at quite a number of people to make these things happen.

My grandparents were married 65 years. As much as we could see them push each others buttons, he loved my grandmother. It was rare, but to catch him looking at her with affection when he thought no one was watching, that is when he bloomed like his rose bushes. He was all thorns and thick rough stalks and dry edged leaves to suddenly surprise you with a soft pink rosebud hidden and blooming.

I don't know how they met. I don't know if he went to school for a degree. I don't know if he had dreams he wanted to pursue.

I do know he read. A lot. I know he was an alcoholic. I know he liked growing the roses and tomatoes in the garden. I know he did things his way. I know he liked his choices in music.

I know I'm a lot like him in some ways, traits passed on that make each of us who we are.

I know I have stories that people will never hear. I know I have stories of things in my life that may never get passed along. Partly because I prefer to look forward and learn what I can from the past, but keep going.

But I write them. I write some for myself, tucked into long and rambling notebooks now covered in dust on the shelf. I write to be read, posting into the internet things that happen as a way of remembering and sharing, sometimes to be commented on by strangers or fiends. I write down my memories of my stories, so that someday later when I flip back through them I can remember what that scent was or where that storm was or who I was with when that happened.

We share these bits of our lives in a public space. We make the effort to put ourselves out there, to share what we see happening with the world.

Because I want these stories of mine to be known, even if the only people who read it are friends I haven't met yet. So that somewhere out here in this world is my version of what I did and saw. So that someday when people wonder about the eccentric woman who paints and gets lost in her own world, they'll know there's more to me than just that. I have more stories than just what I've done.

to thine own self be true: effort

Where I first off admit I'm not great as staying in touch with people, not only in blogging and commenting, but in the real world where I have friends I've actually hugged before. (a real physical hug, not a facebook app hug) I have a hard enough time mailing a card once in awhile, much less reaching out to visit.

It does require effort. Sometimes more than I can muster, depending on what emotional state I'm visiting. But there are days I call everyone and send letters and can't read and comment enough, it's like air - I breathe in your lives and words and stop by to say hi.

It takes as much effort to update my own blog depending on what I've got going on. I suck at downloading pics to upload to the site, and Rob & I are trying to work on designs for Ride & Rub, trying to figure out how to move forward with that crazy little world. Amongst all these little worlds.

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In which I profess love, adoration, and stalker status of the writers that I read in absolutely no order other than I think to write them down because I read them in whatever random order my moods are befitting at the time I open my favorites list:

Havi & Selma - The Fluent Self: An awesome pair who calm people down just by explaining how to calm down.

Scott - Caveat Emptor: Scott tells stories and has conversations that I only dream of having, but then he writes them down, so he has way more markers in the "Writing things down so they will be remembered for generations" category.

Brandon - /thepenismightier\: I do believe this man has far more alias' than I have, and let me tell you, I have quite a few. He often has problems with pants, but then, don't we all? He has a way with words that get down on their knees and beg me to lick them up, just once, pretty please, because these words will never do me wrong again. I've had the honor of having him guest post for me before - and he nailed it.

James - Double Danger: He's over in Midland & he shares writing and insight with his wife Shala. It's nice to have another voice of reason & common sense to connect to in the area, and even though we're no more than 20 miles apart, we haven't met yet!

Gina - Art Tripper: My sister-in-law, so I know her art stuff. She graduates this weekend (yea!) and is intent on developing the art scene here in Midland-Odessa, launching a sales venue & gallery & gathering group to grow the talents we have out here.

Neil - Citizen of the Month: One of the first to comment on my other writing, a huge encourager, a man not afraid to stand in the middle of the street and yell at the people passing by and then post about it because it makes great blogfodder, and yet he's still so vulnerable you just want to make him hot cocoa & give him extra marshmallows.

Jenn - Doktorchik: One of my friends from high school who has blogged about her weight loss surgery & some very yummy recipes, as well as the happenings in her life. She's a friend I need to see again the next time I'm going to San Antonio.

James - d is for delightful: His latest incarnation (this man has more lives than a cat, thank goodness) is open, honest, & thought-provoking to say the least. James, you sir are one of my Gabriel friends, though we've not met in person, our stories have crossed paths.

David - Sparky Firepants: An artist who is making a living as an artist! He has offered an ear if I were to need it, and encouragement to keep making the art happen. He lives by some alpacas, and while I have not made the acquaintance of an alpaca, he claims they have great creative inspiration qualities. I'll take his word for it.

Nathan - Doodleist & Nathan Bowers: A genius at code and wordpress and other web/computer things that I don't understand, but that's ok because he does and that's why he's there. He started doodleist to showcase art, his own drawing & painting and that of those he likes - it's intriguing to see the development process from a different angle. Just from grabbing a pen & some paper. Any paper.

Pam - Escape from Cubicle Nation: Because I'm working on my own plan to get out from behind the desk for someone else and in front of a table saw & canvas like I belong, and she offers great advice as well as daily thoughts and encouragement from her life as she writes her book!

Bobbi - The Gar-Lop-Son Spot: My friend Bobbi who moved to New Mexico to be with her honey & while I miss her, I see that they get to go hiking a lot! (And they got snow today!) She's got a good little family life going & it's inspiring to see. (Now wondering when Amber will get a blog! heehee)

Melissa - They Call Me Crazy: She's not really crazy, but appease her by telling her she is, ok? While we may not agree on a bunch of things, she deals with things I don't, so I shut up & let her talk. It's better that way. Also, her hubby is serving his tour in the sandbox & I give her props for not crying every single day, because I totally would if Rob got deployed.

Maggie - Okay. Fine. Dammit.: A woman who can wrap words around her finger so gently they fall into place like one of her bouncy curls. She's pushing the walls of her mime-box back to make her space bigger and more her own and she shares a lot of great insights along the way.

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Yep, I like twitter too - it makes the stalking and networking easier. It has made it easier to meet people I like online and someday I hope to meet them in person.

Oddly enough, Rob & I met online, yet he doesn't spend nearly as much time on the web as I do - it's hard enough to get him to check his email! But I'm glad he was on that one weekend, he's worth it.

Someday I hope to meet lots more. When I actually make the effort to do so, that is...

Let Them Come To You

Sometimes I find myself wondering if I come across as trying too hard.

Not the anxiety/paranoia situation where I am standing in front of a group explaining something and in the back of my mind is the little voice going “What the hell are you doing? What makes you an expert here? Why are you talking? No one is listening to you anyway. You have sweat stains under your armpits, keep your arms down! Oh, don’t bring up that again!”

No, that little voice I’m used to and can ignore with the help of wonderful meditation techniques, homeopathic anti-anxiety tabs, or a glass of wine. Or just barreling through so fast the voice can’t get a word in edgewise and nobody understands what I’m saying!

This is the vibe of unreason that says “This person thinks you’re trying to kiss their ass.” Or “This person feels like you aren’t worth their time.” Or “What, she got invited to this? What is she doing here? She doesn’t know enough to be here!”

This is me standing in a room with strangers and acquaintances alike, conversing with whomever happens to be near as we all swirl around on our ‘networking paths’. Where I’m extremely comfortable with the subject or the place and can spend the next hour talking with a handful of people about really cool stuff we’re all working on, or I can spend an awkward two minutes and thirty-six seconds talking with a handful of people about projects, the weather, or what so-and-so is up to.

Because the latter is a conversation with someone who seems to think I’m still the 15 year old girl they saw in a play or my education is lacking or I’m not really qualified to be talking about things even if it’s just opinions.

It’s a weird vibe and I dislike it. I feel like I’m being me, trying to make a conversation, but feel as if they think I’m trying too hard.

But I feel I have to ‘play nice’ because so many of these people that make me feel this way are influential in many of the business and networking circles in this area*, and as I develop my own brand and portfolio, I need to at least be cordial.

This is not about the former. Those are conversations I’d love to have every day. These are people who know I’m genuine when I ask about their family or plans, they know I’m not there to kiss ass or hope for a few minutes of face time just so I can hand someone my card. I don’t play that way. The modeling world, amongst the management and other lives I’ve lived thus far, taught me that I’d much rather be the real me.

So Rob tells me to just say “Fuck ‘em”, although he did point out I should not walk around saying it repetitively out loud. He may have a point.

I’m perfectly capable of holding my own in most conversations. I’m fairly well-read, I know the difference between marketing and sales, I have a varied but talented background, and I’m not as young or innocent as I look. I’m content enough in myself to stand to the side and watch others dance the ego-tangos and chat and mock laugh while absorbing the choices in music and food and art on the walls without feeling the need to go stand next to someone so I don’t feel left out.

So what if I choose not to interact in a few instances?

Instead of getting the vibe that they think I don’t know anything and I’m trying too hard, what if I choose to not bother with them. Does this make them feel slighted? Annoyed? Like I’m a bitch? When in reality I’m off in my own world, which is a place I’d rather be anyway, not trying at all?

It’s difficult to navigate this avenue of perceptions and networking while retaining a sense of reality and self. I mean, I’d much rather tell that small voice in the back of my mind to fuck off rather than another person who is treating me like I’m not worth their time.


*Thankfully, not everyone. Just a lot of them. There are some genuine folks who do what they do well, who care, who talk to everyone as equals and are leaders in this area, and I admire them greatly. If you know Bob Rice, you know who I mean.

dark pink

The darker pink now lays down. I pour it on thick, making waves in the creamy, rich, pink paint.

I do this with all the colors, trying to give the piece a bit of texture.

Moving Forward (ish)

Step one: Find something to write about. Supply pictures.

This will be a foray into showcasing both writing and painting, and maybe on occasion some wood carving. One step at a time, showing the process, writing short stories, whatever.

Since I've been writing under pseudonyms for the last three years, I figured it's also time to air out a few more of my writings in effort to strengthen my skills.