Back in the Saddle

Yeah.  Well.  I’m back, after an unsuccessful baseball career.  Did you miss me?  Did you notice I’d left?  Why did I leave and delete every post on my blog?  Because I was feeling huffy.  "Bobbie Lee is very huffy, see how huffy Bobbie Lee is" (quick, name that film!).  It’s not important why I felt that way, it’s enough that I did.  Plus, I was feeling rather frustrated with the way my blog dominated my life – I’d hover over it all day waiting to see if I got a visitor, if someone left a comment, if my hits went up.  It became my master, and I its slave, and that pissed me off.  So I had to show it who was boss.  I feel better now.  As God is my witness, I will not hover over blog stats again! 

Before deleting however, I did copy all my posts to my iDailyDiary, practical girl that I am, so I was able to re-post them, albeit with some broken links that I plan on fixing in the next few days.  But not on Sunday.  Sunday I’ll be busy.  All day, soaking up my last chance to watch My Beloved Patriots play football this season.  Please God, 19-0!  (I did maintain my football blogs here and here during my fit.) 

A few days ago, my Beloved had a dream, he told me, in which I’d started a writer’s blog.  What he described was pretty cool, so I thought I’d take up the challenge.  I only just created the page this morning and haven’t posted anything there yet, but it’s in development and I’ll post an announcement here when it’s ready.  Any ideas you’d like to suggest, writer types?  I’m open! 

In the meantime, here’s a video of this post’s theme, and where I got the title while listening to my iPod this morning. 

Pssst

Don’t tell anyone I was here, okay?

I just couldn’t resist sharing this with you.

Do you like to read?

Check this out.

Project Gutenberg.

Rockwell, straight up, with a twist of King, please.

Magpies, I tell ya, magpies! When Darc and I start talking we forget to shut up. He went to bed at a decent hour last night, but woke up in the wee hours, shortly before the baby went down. We were both going to try to get some sleep after that but started talking about writing, writers, the writing industry … scintillating stuff! Somewhere along the way we started talking about his series of “Childhood Memoirs” stories.

“Yes, the voice was very important to you, as I recall,” I said.

“Well yeah, I was trying to paint a story with sepia tones, like an old picture.”

“You did that,” I replied, “but I still say it has an edge to it.”

He got frustrated. “You said that then and I just don’t get it! What do you mean by ‘edge’? I wasn’t trying to have an edge, I was trying to be funny. In a nostalgic sort of way.”

How to explain what I meant? “There’s a blackness to them,” I offered.

“I feel like a LOLcats picture!” he groaned, “FAIL! What do you mean by ‘blackness’? What’s black about kid stories? I was going for Rockwell!”

Aha! “That’s what I mean! He never painted a picture of a drunken mother! You don’t see the picture of Santa with dozens of bottles of vodka on a counter behind him, you don’t see Santa with rum dribbling down his beard! ‘Mare Chrishmesh!’”

The laughter erupted from my Love in a shout and he grabbed a pillow to stifle it so as not to wake the babies. I’ve heard him laugh, but I can’t tell you when I’ve ever heard him moan helplessly, “My sides! My sides!” Every time he caught his breath, he’d laugh again. Oh I confess, it felt good to turn those tables on him, since he’s made me laugh like that any number of times! I swear he had tears in his eyes from laughing so hard. “Your stories are wonderful, and they ARE funny, but you can’t deny the Stephen King-ish aspect of your Rockwellian childhood.” He lost it again when I said that.

Really, I wasn’t trying to be funny. Something about what I said tickled him in a major way, but I think he understands my point now. It wasn’t a criticism so much as an assessment. If you’ve read the stories I think you know what I mean. If you haven’t read them, now’s your chance for some really amazing dark humor.

“Well this blog’s on you,” I told him as I tried to go to sleep.

“Uh, no, it’s YOUR funny, you blog it,” he retorted.

“But you’re the writer!”

I got the sounds of his deep, sleeping breath in reply. That’s why I’m sitting here struggling to put these thoughts to paper, and he finished hours ago.

 

Art and Artists

It needs to be said that I am not an artist.  Yes, I can make beautiful babies, but other than that, not much on the ol’ art résumé.      I can’t draw a straight line if my life depended on it, not even with a ruler.  I can plant a mean garden, but to me that’s not really art; it’s rearranging plants.

My husband found a website for artists a few years ago because he loves to draw.  He’s posted a few of his drawing there, like this one (_by_DarcKnyt).  There’s a few others (my favorite Jedi Lady is missing!) but mostly it’s filled with his written stuff.  Once in a while I’ll browse around on Deviant Art, just to see what’s out there.  A lot of it is kids with dreams of anime and that doesn’t really interest me.  Sometimes though I’ll come across something that just blows me away.  I’ll see the kind of art that makes me cry, it’s so beautiful.  There are people out there, so talented, so gifted, that it almost hurts my eyes to look away.  I thought I would take a moment and share two of my favorite artists with you.  All pictures in this post are linked to the artist’s website.

(_by_imaginee) (_by_imaginee) Great pictures aren’t they?  Yeah.  They aren’t photographs.  I think I did a triple take the first time I saw the glass of water.  When I realized that was a drawing I was simply amazed.  A drawing of water?  Just a simple glass of water!  That’s all it is, and yet, that someone could draw that astounds me.  Same thing with the drop of dew on the branch.  If you look closely, the artist has even included a reflection of the scenery in the dewdrop.  This artist has so many things in her gallery, things I would have sworn were photos, but they aren’t.

Some of this (_by_shimoda7) artist’s stuff is a little more surreal, but it’s still amazing.  I love this one of the artist chained to the paper.  I imagine artists often feel that way!  Their art is such a part of them, it’s who they are and they will never escape it.  That can be both a blessing and a curse I would think.  I’m more of a bookkeeper type so I don’t have those feelings of going insane if I don’t do something creative, but I know my husband does.

I’ve never talked to these artists, I just lurk, admiring their talent, wishing I had some.  I never will and I’m ok with it because I can look at their stuff and find a sort of joy in the beholding, that I wouldn’t have if I were so driven myself.  Then it would probably feel like a competition to me, trying to do as well.  As it is, I don’t have that concern.  I can just look and drink in the beauty of what they draw.  If I had the money I’d probably pepper my walls with some of this stuff.  In the meantime, I check out their websites, and dream of being a patroness.  Won’t you join me in admiring the view?

 

 

/tickle

It was one of those evenings that just happen.  You can’t plan it, don’t even “hope” for it, it just happens when you aren’t looking.

It started I guess when the kids were watching TV, and my son yelled out, “Dad!  She’s poking my cheek!”  “No, I’m not poking your cheek,” responded the baby, “I’m poking your pants.”  I turned to look, and she wasn’t poking his face at all – her big thing lately is to giggle “butt cheeks!” whenever she can, and those were the cheeks she’d been poking.  I had to cover my mouth so they wouldn’t hear my laughter as encouragement.  The baby’s only 2, when did she learn how to be such a wise-acre?

I went to lie down for a while, just feeling a need to be still, reflective, prayerful.  It wasn’t long before the kids came in and hopped on the bed.  “Whatcha doin’ Mom?”  “Oh, nothing.”  “Wheee!” cried the little one as she bounced around on the bed.  Eventually my husband joined us, giving free tickles to all takers.  He’s good at tickles.      The kids giggled and laughed, full of nothing but the joy of being a kid and being tickled, and bouncing around on Mom and Dad’s bed.  My son was almost breathless from shrieking, laughing so hard from Daddy’s tickles, that he called out, “Pause!  PAUSE!”  Pause?  A bit too much time on the game system, son?  So then my husband said, “Yeah, slash tickle!”  I was almost losing it by that time.  The tickling temporarily ceased, the kids ran around the living room, then back into our room, my son proceeding to stub his toe on something and my daughter ran smack into the foot of the bed.  Both of them bounced to the floor, not injured thankfully and Daddy muttered, “Bumper kids.”  I’m fast developing a stitch in my side from laughing so hard, when my son ran back into the room from getting a drink of water.  “Hey folks!  I’m back!” he called.  “What, are you playing Vegas now?” asked Daddy.  “Yeah, Thursday is Ladies night!” I offered.  “I’m here all week, try the fish, and remember to tip your waitress!” finished Dad.  Naturally my son didn’t get it, but he laughed along with us anyway.  Then he started to make faces, silly faces, and I about split open.  I had tears rolling down my face.  “Hey Mom, watch this!” he’d say, while making another face.  Faces like Popeye, one eye squinted, mouth tilted to one side, “wonka wonka wonka!”  “My sides!  My sides!” I laughed, begging him to stop, this little boy who has always loved to make people laugh.  Ever since he was a baby, nothing made him happier than the laughter of others.  He settled down after a few minutes, finding a spot on the floor at the foot of the bed.  We all got quiet, the giggles slowly ceased.  Out of nowhere, my son started chuckling again.  “Why are you laughing?” I asked him.  He replied, “Cuz I’m thingin’ … thingin’ … thingin’ funny.”

Yes my boy, yes you are.     

Peeking from behind the sofa …

Is it over yet?  Is it done?  Please say yes!  I kind of hate the new year thing, really.  Oh sure, when I was a kid the whole ball dropping thing was cool and magical in its own way, but now?  Not so much.  The crowds, the noise, the drinking, the people.  And you say, oh but the crowds!  The noise!  The drinking!  And all the people!  Yeah.  There’s the difference between you and me.  I’m just not into it, ok?  I watch the ball drop thing on TV, but only so I know the moment the clock strikes midnight and I can kiss my beloved; and the kids think it’s cool, but honestly it’s just another day.  So far I’ve had about 15,908.  Interested in how many you’ve had?  Just click here.

I don’t make resolutions and I don’t have any traditions for either new year’s eve or new year’s day.  Why wait around for January 1 if you want to change something about yourself or your life?  What’s wrong with just today, whenever today might be?  What if it’s … May 13?  Or September 5?  Why all the hoopla about a new year?  Nothing’s really different you know.  Sorry, I’m honestly not trying to piss on your parade, I’m just telling you how it is for me . Traditions can be cool, but only if they mean something to you.  Take Darc and me – we decided this year that we no longer wanted to have traditions for tradition’s sake.  Neither of us are particularly fond of turkey, but we’ve always had turkey on Thanksgiving.  Why? we asked ourselves.  Well, the Pilgrims ate turkey, we think.  Probably.  Maybe.  Buuuuut, we’re not Pilgrims.  So from now on we’re ditching the turkey for Thanksgiving.  The day is about gratitude, right?  Blessing and bounty, thankfulness.  Frankly we’re not all that thankful about turkey. 

So what about new years?  What’s the meaning of the traditions?  You know, there really isn’t any.  It’s just a period of time, the period of time the earth has revolved around the sun once.  New Year’s used to be celebrated on March 15 in ancient Roman times.  Now-a-days, it seems that the only tradition for the new year is to get falling down drunk.  Now there’s an auspicious beginning.  Do you really like starting something with a hangover?  Really, I’m genuinely curious.  I’m not against drinking or anything like that – I enjoy a glass of wine with dinner, but the drunk part I just don’t get.  And yes, I’ve been drunk – that’s why I don’t get it.  Let’s see – standing around the heart of New York (or anywhere else) in the cold with thousands of drunken strangers in the middle of the night … this sounds like fun to you?  Would it on any other night?  If not then, why December 31?

Is it the “new beginning” thing?  The collective “everyone in the world has to buy a new calendar” thing?  I can see why that would make calendar makers happy.  But really, isn’t each day a new beginning?  Each breath, each heartbeat?  What have calendars to do with that?  It’s not the year that matters, it’s the moments; each and every one a shining star begging to be captured and held dear.

In the meantime, I’ll be over here behind the sofa.  Let me know when it’s over.  Oh, and Happy January 2nd.