Birthday Bash

Brenda from the Sunday Whirl put nebulous in the search engine at poets.org, and came up with this poem by Margaret Atwood:    Helen of Troy Does Countertop Dancing.  This week's words come from her poem. This is wordle #109.

Bleak House

My birthday torch blazing

on opaque white icing,

Angel food cake and crushed

strawberries. Cut to the chase.

I have a bleak vision that the timing

is wrong. It's a nebulous cloud

hovering over a slab of concrete.

Next year I'll be sixty, your breath

whispers in my ear.

Too soon. Too soon.

Your touch is near.

I've been writing. Lots and lots. And I have started celebrating my birthday already. Yesterday I met with a friend for a couple hours of play. I worked on my mosaic cards. Here's a picture of one.  

What does it look like to you?

It's my vision of paradise. I love the colours.

Inspiration Soup

It was a rainy day like any other in the Pacific Northwest. I was glad for a break in the heat but it was still warm because the rainwater evaporates back up to the clouds creating humidity here on the ground. I wore capris and sandals per usual.

These are a few of the cards I received in my inspiration deck swap. I received the deck on Saturday. Perfect timing one might say for Mother's Day.


          

Here's the Sunday Wordle #108

The buzzards are circling

under the sweltering sun

their binding tie drone on and on.

Standing in the mouth

of the cave, the crook

shook his fist at the sky

Then he went inside 

and began counting his gold.

In the wide open space

on the desert floor below him,

the over-the-hill gang

circled their wagons

and prepared to shoot it out.

"You're a crook, Bernie Madoff."

"You've broken your vow."

"You've stolen our money

and we want it now."

The buzzards knew better

than to fly away home

with such easy pickin's

on saddle and loam.

The banks had gone 'rupted

their savings loaned out,

to highwaymen and crooks

before we found out.             

Somewhere Along the Line

The following is an excerpt from the book I'm writing:

Somewhere along the line, I decided to add the San Francisco Bay Area to my job search mix. I figured I could live with my mother until such time as I could find an apartment of my own. She lives near BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) and there is a bus line near her, as well as in Oakland, Alameda, and San Francisco. So I figured that would open up my job search exponentially.

            No one, who hasn’t lived in California, can know the excitement or the tension involved in living near the City. Traffic is four to six lanes on either side of the freeway. There are five toll bridges crossing San Francisco Bay, all of which one can avoid if you don’t mind driving around. As one drives onto the Bay Bridge, where three freeways merge into one, there is a preponderance of anxiety locating bills or change for the toll, watching blinkers as cars merge and women putting mascara on in the rearview mirror, all while bobbing your head to the music from the local radio station. Once the freeways merge and we take that last left bend, the lanes open up to allow fifteen traffic lines to form and we pay our way to cross the portion of bridge that collapsed during the Loma-Prieta earthquake in 1989. A gargoyle protects everyone as they pass it now. There is a short tunnel on Yerba Buena Island, the roadway makes a jog to the right, and one can see the clock tower at Embarcadero Station. All of San Francisco is laid out before you. Breath catches in your throat. It is...so...beautiful.

            Once you take the Main Street exit it’s a roller coaster ride down to street level and you are now bumper to bumper with taxis and delivery trucks in the shadow of buildings so tall the macadam never sees the light of day. Horns honk. Engines run. The noise down here drowns the words as they fly from your mouth. A smile spans my face and I know I am home. This...This is what I miss. The store fronts at street level are all familiar from strip malls across the Bay. Here, passersby are on their way to work, or brunch, or shopping, or they’re just getting off work and going home. The air one breathes says hurry, hurry, hurry. Sea salt in the air is carried in on a blanket of fog that burns off around eleven o’clock. Gulls sit on lamp posts and traffic signals. They walk the sidewalks as if they’re on their way to a rendezvous. I know my heart is beating normal but I fear it will pound its way out of my chest. I am so glad to be here. Nothing compares. Nothing.

On Writing

I thought I'd spend a few minutes catching you up on all that is going on. I haven't been writing here or in my journal and I haven't been doing any art journaling to speak of. The one place I'm writing is for school. Last quarter I had to write six papers. I think it's the same for this quarter. The textbook is mind boggling difficult to read but the subject is fascinating. I'm learning about how adults learn.

If that isn't enough to turn you on, the temperature is 81 degrees. That's a lot for us northerners. But everyone loves it. Everywhere I went yesterday, people had smiles on their faces. I was at Costco. I saw people of many nationalities shopping and they all had smiles on their faces. That was a ray of sunshine to my heart.

I picked up a hitchhiker on Northwest Avenue. She wanted to go to the Farmer's Market so I took her. Then I arrived at Stampadoodle for my monthly meeting of art friends. Turns out I was an hour late. I got my meeting times mixed up. No problem, someone else was late as well. So the two of us learned the exercise in time-limited collage. This is what I did.

in 10 minutes

in 8 minutes

in 6 minutes

in 4 minutes

in 2 minutes

If anyone else is having trouble writing or doing art work, please respond with how you are coping.

Bully for you

Jonesin' For My Baby

Thursday afternoon I took a break from the paper I was writing for class to visit friends at Stampadoodle. I had a little thing to show off, like a DIPLOMA. (Yahoo, I'm cuckoo for cocoa puffs, cuckoo for cocoa puffs). I asked after Steve & Wendy's daughter and then mentioned how hard it is for me to go for long periods of time without seeing my son. Ya da ya da ya da.

I went home and finished writing my paper. I wrote a stupendous conclusion. I even wrote an abstract for the first time. This was a big hairy deal. Then I wished I had someone to share it with and realized I live alone. Wham! In my face-missing my son-begin panic attack. I called my brother immediately and told him what I was feeling inside and said, "Talk to me." Anything to get my mind off it.

Finally I calm down and decide to watch TV for a couple hours of couch potato-ness. From 11 pm to 1 am, I made artist trading cards for today's gathering. I finished painting and gluing and left everything on the TV tray and set the tray behind the front door. I said to myself, 'Now watch, Jake will come walking in the door and knock over the tray. I went to bed at 2:30 am.

At 3:40 am, I hear the key in the lock and the door open, and there he is. Jake. "Don't knock over the tray." A coincidence? Wishful thinking? I don't know but as he sacked out on the living room couch, I thought how nice it was to have him home. (Fishing season opened today so he was at Lake Padden at midnight to welcome the fish).

Time for Wordle #106

Gone Fishin'

The silver and pink trout

made a harrowing escape

when it saw a rare breed 

sink below the surface.

On thin, transparent line

tied to a borrowed hook

three grubs marched to

the head of the chow line.

My guess is either the fish

had a full stomach, or it

swore an oath to only eat

sources of bone marrow.

Shelter from the Storm

Shelter from the Storm

Once upon a time in the land of milk & honey

A band of lowly infidels haggled over money.

They spent their lifelong earnings on a bomb

and had one shipped

A promise to their god hardened resilience

nuclear tipped.

They thrived on struggle 'gainst the West,

dissonance, and faith

Took shelter from shocked citizens
and a lone jihadist wraith.

A holy war waged on behalf
of Islam is a duty
But religion promised nothing and should be
a thing of beauty.

I propose a better way to end
our lives in Heaven
Let's laugh and laugh and clasp the hands
of sisters and our brethren.

Wordle #105. Thanks for Brenda at The Sunday Whirl. I am also participating with Postcards from Paradise at recuerda mi corazon, thanks to rebecca. 

Puget Sound
our own little slice of paradise.

Thanks for visiting. Please leave a comment.

Sunshine Happiness

52 Photos Project for Week #52 is self-portrait. I took this photo yesterday outside of my doctor's office. I couldn't get enough of the blue sky so after my appointment I walked my bad knee over to the transit station. It was a 25 minute walk in bright sunlight. Warm enough to take my jacket off but don't be fooled. It's only April and that "heat" measured out at a whopping 49 degrees.

Monday I spent several hours typing up the second chapter of the book I'm writing in preparation for my writers group meeting in Fairhaven. After I finished writing I spent a couple hours working on a collage based on how I felt. I'm pretty happy with it.

Tiger in the Woods

It's time for the Sunday Whirl with Wordle # 104.

In the Woods

There's a Tiger in the woods.

He fell on his sword

when he lost control.

Saturate the media!

Why are you so skeptical?

So what, if he often strayed.

He made a bold move

coming out on the ninth hole.

Preparing to unwind his swing

with all his might,

there it flies on a slight curve

only to land on the threshold

of the cup. The crowd

breathes a sigh.

The Tiger is Back!

We idolize our heroes. We put them on a pedestal and expect them to stay put. Well, guess what? Heroes are human, too, filled with the same frailties as we are. The fact that he did it on prime time television is a testament to our own sick fantasies. If we didn't buy the tabloids or watch TV we'd be sending a message to the media that our heroes are sacrosanct. Leave them alone. This goes for Michael Phelps, O.J., Marilyn Monroe, Jackie O, and a host of others throughout time. Let he who is without blemish cast the first stone!

Ok. I stepped down from my soapbox. Personally I am disgusted by the behavior of O.J. and Tiger but that's because I'm a woman and because the media came into my livingroom and showed me the pictures as proof. On a kinder note, who cares if Michael Phelps smoked pot? I mean, really.

Marit's Paper World just accepted me to write an article with photos about Bellingham, during her virtual tour of the U.S. I'm delighted to be a part of this great project. You can read more about it Here. 

And here's some more photos of journal pages:

Favourite Places

Week 51 at 52 Photos Project

San Francisco and the beach

any beach

Zuanich Point Park

and

Boulevard Park

Alone or with friends

Paper Cafe is the place to play

Goofing around or

gathering around

family is best 

to be around.

Don't give Up

I'm going to tell you a secret. This was my 2nd husband.


Larry Hunt

Sing a Stellar Mantra

Wordle #103

Sing a Stellar Mantra

I used to think I was born to be wild

played folk guitar to sing about living.

Now I am a slave to technology by

Steve Job's inquisitive urge to merge

stellar science with smudges of brain matter.

The marketing mantra activated

a latent urge for scholastic achievement.

Now I project delicious words onto a screen

that clamor for the unity of your brain cells

and my vocabulary. 

  

I'm listening to classic rock on the radio and dancing in my seat. I'm working on a project that needs tweaking. It involves a lot of clarity and organization on my part. That's mumbo jumbo for procrastination. I need to think. But I also need to bounce my ideas off someone else. In the mean time, enjoy these journal pages from 2010.

Handmade Journal

Yesterday I made a journal from extra stuff I had around the house. Sort of a recycle project. I found an Oreos box in my recycle bin and decided to use the large sides as the front and back cover. I had previously pulled apart an old journal, keeping the journaled pages intact, and removing the unjournaled pages. I used these for my pages in the new journal and cut them down to size.

I used masking tape and various colours of duct tape to adhere the pages together and create a book block. I used bookbinding tape on the outside to adhere the covers to the book block. Then I just made sure all the inside pages turned. I counted the pages and came up with 48, so I added a flap to round it out to a nice, clean 50. I taped an envelope to the back inside cover.

I'm linking to 52 Photos Project  Gallery 50-Tangerine.

Petals and Powders

This week's wordle #102

Powders

powder puff 

powder puff football

powder your nose

the "white" powder

baby powder

take a powder

the movie "Powder".

Petals

It is written that

strands of white rose petals

wove through her locks

and around her neck.

The moon at its peak

calls after her and

she dances in its light.

Her staff of discomfort

leads her to the stone pit

where young monoliths are born

lost in fog...

At her side swaying,

wolves dance in frenzy.

She calls to the stars

claiming rites of passage

Feverishly she pranced,

cavorting with spirits 

of older women,

mothers and teachers.

Heart pounding the rhythm.

Elves played whistles and flutes.

White rose petals wove

round her neck and

through her locks.

Photograph of original work by Mucha

I'm linking to The Sunday Whirl.

Once Bitten

A vine-ripened Beefeater tomato

Prophylactic skin defying the kitchen knife

Once bitten, red meat mashes

Easily against molars

While the tongue gently moves

The jellied seed sack back and forth.

Side to side.

Long Romaine lettuce leaves

Peeled crisp and clean. A crinoline slip,

Its fluted edges peak out

From toasted rye crusts,

Smothered by Yellow Fin and Mayonnaise.

Cucumbers, tumescent vine spurts,

A plethora of size and variety,

Pickled or plain.

Sliced in discs like calamari.

White teeth nibble the edges.

Its crisp, white flesh sears tangible

Memories of garden salads.

Garden picnics.

Garden love.