Cross posted from: http://puttputtproductions.com/blogetary/2011/04/26/i-gotta-rock/
When I was a kid we lived down the street from the National Guard Armory. And every year they would have a rock and gem show and one of our family outings was to trek down to the armory and ooh and ah over all the pretty shined up rocks and then spend our allowance on the grab bag of rocks and see what we had when we got home. We loved that. One year I even got a rock polisher for my birthday or Christmas, but we only used it once or twice I think. The rocks ended up being so small when they came out.
The love of rocks runs strong in my family. We had pet rocks in the 70s. And every time we went on vacation or to the beach we’d come home with rocks in our pockets. I even have an aunt who, after years as a microbiologist/micologist, decided it was time to study geology. The study of – yup – rocks.
And I have many friends out there (you know who you are) who confess to that same love of the rock.
They come in so many colors and shapes and sizes. From pink, pebbly sand in Cabo to the granite in the Cascades. There’s just such a variety. Crystals and marbles and sandstone that’s easy to carve. You name it, it’s out there.
One of my favorite rocks, though, is the geode. Not pretty on the outside, when you look inside, it’s an abundance of crystalline divineness that sparkles and shines in the light of day. I used to say, when I was younger, that I wanted to make sure I found people like that as friends, to hang with and influence me. People who sparkled within, who had that creative, imaginative light, different in each person, that shone strong when opened to the world, no matter what they looked like on the outside.
I soon realized that there also people out there who were a lot like granite. They had quartz in them, they were pretty in the right light, but they were not surprising. They were the same through and through. I used to get frustrated when I realized someone was more like granite than a geode, but now I appreciate them more. They’re dependable. They’re always there. You can count on granite. That vein of quartz is going to be running throughout it’s structure. It might be hard to fall against, but it will also support you in times of trouble. Granite is good.
Lately, though, I’ve been realizing there is a third category – shale. Shale is made up of a number of things – crystal and rock, but mostly silt – hardened silt – in other words, mud. So, it will fool you, sitting there sparkling in the sun like granite or a geode or some other rock. And you think you’ve come upon something you know, that’s dependable, until you put all your weight on it and it … crumbles, slides, slips, skips, and before you know it you’ve twisted an ankle, broken your arm and your head and back and other places have mysterious bruises from your tumble down the shale. It takes a while for me, repeatedly making the same mistake sometimes, to realize that the rock I’m looking at is not good dependable granite, but slippery shale. And by the time I figure it out, I’ve fallen down the hill.
So, I’ve decided one of my birthday goals for the coming year is to recognize shale when I see it and walk around it. Avoid it, leave it behind. Move on to a better spot along the river or on the side of the mountain where the rock is more sturdy, more dependable, and certainly prettier.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
It's not pretty...
Crossposted from: http://puttputtproductions.com/blogetary/2011/04/24/its-not-pretty/
Watching Robert Plant on Artists Den. The music is compelling, intricate, sophisticated and simple at once, heart- filled and intelligent at once. It's world class music. But look at those faces. See any botox there? Any "wen" shampoo? Any skin tight spandex or costumery ephemera? No. It's all pure personality, shining through craggy faces, wrinkled hands, wild hair and quirky clothing. There aren't any pretty young darlings here. These musicians are in it, and have been in it, for the long haul. They have poured themselves - their lives, hearts, minds and souls - into the one art that brings them joy, their music. They've sold their souls to their craft and have paid the price. Their music is gorgeous, but they aren't pretty.
You'll notice that's the way it is with many musicians out there who have careers that have spanned several decades: Elton John, Paul McCartney, Bonnie Raitt and others. Or take a look at artists and writers. Even stage actors. The better they get at their craft, the "uglier" they get by the world's standards. Their eyes have the creative spark. They are quirky, see the world from a different point of view still, exploring as much as they can to pour it into their craft while they're still on this planet. They have lots of personality that just leaps off of them when they enter a room. But they aren't the pretty young things they were when they began.
I have a theory. There was a time when they were pretty. Beautiful. Handsome. On every video channel. There was a time when they were the darlings - the hot Justin Biebers, Jonas Brothers, Lady Gagas, etc. of their time. This helped them catch the eye of the public or the manager or whomever until they could prove their talent, or until they grew into their talent. But that beauty wasn't really them. That beauty was a facade meant to fool the shallow media hungry world until it understood the talent underneath the facade. As more of their talent was revealed, more of the beautiful facade fell away, because the world no longer needed superficial beauty once the beauty of the talent - be it music, art or wordsmithing - was revealed. The more the true beauty beneath was revealed, the less the false beauty was needed.
At least, that's what I hope. Or it could be that I find as I grow older and have more crags on my face and wrinkles in my hands, that I prefer the talent of the "uglies" to the beauty and youth of the "pretties", that I resonate more with the depth of the message in the art and music and writing created from experience developed over many years to the quick, hot passion of the young, beauties just starting out.
I guess, over time, it won't matter, though. Because, those young pretties who have staying talent will, over time, lose the beauty on the surface to better show off the beauty of their talent. And then, eventually, they won't be pretty, anymore.
Watching Robert Plant on Artists Den. The music is compelling, intricate, sophisticated and simple at once, heart- filled and intelligent at once. It's world class music. But look at those faces. See any botox there? Any "wen" shampoo? Any skin tight spandex or costumery ephemera? No. It's all pure personality, shining through craggy faces, wrinkled hands, wild hair and quirky clothing. There aren't any pretty young darlings here. These musicians are in it, and have been in it, for the long haul. They have poured themselves - their lives, hearts, minds and souls - into the one art that brings them joy, their music. They've sold their souls to their craft and have paid the price. Their music is gorgeous, but they aren't pretty.
You'll notice that's the way it is with many musicians out there who have careers that have spanned several decades: Elton John, Paul McCartney, Bonnie Raitt and others. Or take a look at artists and writers. Even stage actors. The better they get at their craft, the "uglier" they get by the world's standards. Their eyes have the creative spark. They are quirky, see the world from a different point of view still, exploring as much as they can to pour it into their craft while they're still on this planet. They have lots of personality that just leaps off of them when they enter a room. But they aren't the pretty young things they were when they began.
I have a theory. There was a time when they were pretty. Beautiful. Handsome. On every video channel. There was a time when they were the darlings - the hot Justin Biebers, Jonas Brothers, Lady Gagas, etc. of their time. This helped them catch the eye of the public or the manager or whomever until they could prove their talent, or until they grew into their talent. But that beauty wasn't really them. That beauty was a facade meant to fool the shallow media hungry world until it understood the talent underneath the facade. As more of their talent was revealed, more of the beautiful facade fell away, because the world no longer needed superficial beauty once the beauty of the talent - be it music, art or wordsmithing - was revealed. The more the true beauty beneath was revealed, the less the false beauty was needed.
At least, that's what I hope. Or it could be that I find as I grow older and have more crags on my face and wrinkles in my hands, that I prefer the talent of the "uglies" to the beauty and youth of the "pretties", that I resonate more with the depth of the message in the art and music and writing created from experience developed over many years to the quick, hot passion of the young, beauties just starting out.
I guess, over time, it won't matter, though. Because, those young pretties who have staying talent will, over time, lose the beauty on the surface to better show off the beauty of their talent. And then, eventually, they won't be pretty, anymore.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Coloring Outside the Lines, or as a friend would say - cOloRing ouTsiDe thE liNeS....
So, if you hadn't heard (or seen me post elsewhere), my Great Aunt Billie (Wilma Joyce Avant Ritter, 1920-2011) passed away early Tuesday morning. Billie's husband, Ralph, passed away years ago and they had no children. So, my mom had been looking after her and her care ever since her Alzheimer's became more self-evident and Billie's friends let us know it was getting beyond them. Billie needed more help. So, Mom moved Aunt Billie to and then visited her in the nursing home, making sure she had someplace to go on holidays and felt loved and with family for the past few years. And now Mom is the one also wrapping up Aunt Billie's affairs. Billie had many friends who will miss her now that she is gone, but with Ralph gone and those friends spread all over the world, I wasn't sure where to send a sympathy card - that tradition of solace we practice when people pass on. We do it because we don't know what else to do and "it's the thing to do". But, since Mom was closest to Great Aunt Billie these last few years I decided Mom would be the one to get the "traditional" thing - the sympathy card.
Thing is, I hate sympathy cards. My sister had the great idea of sending chocolate from both of us - something simple and gratifying that would make Mom feel good after a long day. But I thought, maybe I "ought" to still send a card, because it was "the thing". But, did I mention how much I hate sympathy cards? They're always so, soo, SOOOO sappy and serious and PASTEL. Ugh. I hate them. When you're grieving, of course, they're probably exactly what you need to help you feel like you're not alone in your grief. But, the "thing" is - the thing is this - our family's tradition when it comes to death is that the body is a shell. We're mostly of the "burn and toss" variety when it comes to the final goodbyes. Funeral plots, burial plans, large services with people dressed in black - just not a part of our experience. It was drummed into my head from an early age that once the spirit and soul have passed on and left the body behind, they've gone on to a better place. The best way we can celebrate them is to remember them, tell stories about them, joke about them. And laugh. Maybe share a bit where we'd like our own ashes to be tossed when it comes to our time (compost pile, redwoods, the ocean, the mountains, the garden...).
You could say, we're not a family that colors within the lines when it comes to death.
But I can never find any sympathy cards that talk about laughing about the old good memories of the loved one who has passed on. I want a card with a bad joke about death that will give the receiver an excuse to snort an inappropriate chuckle in the middle of their tears and the last rites of finding places to donate old belongings and dumping old medications. Anyone who has lost a loved one knows how much grieving and crying has already gone on. There needs to be a sunbreak in the rain clouds, occasionally.
This is one picture where I am definitely coloring outside the lines.
I don't like all the grim, dim pastel cards. I want bold, birthday type cards that celebrate the LIFE of the person who has passed on. I can't be the only one, can I? Who hates all those grim, dim pastel cards with their morbid and morose feel? But today, at Rite Aid, when I was looking at the cards spread out over the aisle I thought I must be the only one. The closest I could get to not being a sour, sad card was to pick up a vague "support" card. And even that was a bit too pastel, especially for Aunt Billie. But, it had butterflies, which I knew Mom would like. And glitter, which appeased me. So, it was the card that came home to be used as a sympathy card because it was "the thing" to do. Even then, I couldn't leave it as is, but had to make sure the message was more uplifting than the original intent.
But, as frustrating an exercise as the searching for the right card was, it was a good reminder that it's okay not to color in the lines. Aunt Billie was a good reminder that it's okay not to always color inside the lines. I'm not very good at it anyway, so it's not something I need to put my energy into - trying to fit within the lines. And in the end, I believe, those of us who are willing to own up to coloring outside the lines, not only have more ownership over our lives, but we also create better art work. ;-)
Thing is, I hate sympathy cards. My sister had the great idea of sending chocolate from both of us - something simple and gratifying that would make Mom feel good after a long day. But I thought, maybe I "ought" to still send a card, because it was "the thing". But, did I mention how much I hate sympathy cards? They're always so, soo, SOOOO sappy and serious and PASTEL. Ugh. I hate them. When you're grieving, of course, they're probably exactly what you need to help you feel like you're not alone in your grief. But, the "thing" is - the thing is this - our family's tradition when it comes to death is that the body is a shell. We're mostly of the "burn and toss" variety when it comes to the final goodbyes. Funeral plots, burial plans, large services with people dressed in black - just not a part of our experience. It was drummed into my head from an early age that once the spirit and soul have passed on and left the body behind, they've gone on to a better place. The best way we can celebrate them is to remember them, tell stories about them, joke about them. And laugh. Maybe share a bit where we'd like our own ashes to be tossed when it comes to our time (compost pile, redwoods, the ocean, the mountains, the garden...).
You could say, we're not a family that colors within the lines when it comes to death.
But I can never find any sympathy cards that talk about laughing about the old good memories of the loved one who has passed on. I want a card with a bad joke about death that will give the receiver an excuse to snort an inappropriate chuckle in the middle of their tears and the last rites of finding places to donate old belongings and dumping old medications. Anyone who has lost a loved one knows how much grieving and crying has already gone on. There needs to be a sunbreak in the rain clouds, occasionally.
This is one picture where I am definitely coloring outside the lines.
I don't like all the grim, dim pastel cards. I want bold, birthday type cards that celebrate the LIFE of the person who has passed on. I can't be the only one, can I? Who hates all those grim, dim pastel cards with their morbid and morose feel? But today, at Rite Aid, when I was looking at the cards spread out over the aisle I thought I must be the only one. The closest I could get to not being a sour, sad card was to pick up a vague "support" card. And even that was a bit too pastel, especially for Aunt Billie. But, it had butterflies, which I knew Mom would like. And glitter, which appeased me. So, it was the card that came home to be used as a sympathy card because it was "the thing" to do. Even then, I couldn't leave it as is, but had to make sure the message was more uplifting than the original intent.
But, as frustrating an exercise as the searching for the right card was, it was a good reminder that it's okay not to color in the lines. Aunt Billie was a good reminder that it's okay not to always color inside the lines. I'm not very good at it anyway, so it's not something I need to put my energy into - trying to fit within the lines. And in the end, I believe, those of us who are willing to own up to coloring outside the lines, not only have more ownership over our lives, but we also create better art work. ;-)
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
The Man in the Hat
The Man in the Hat, a short story based on a news item I saw in the LA Times about ten years ago, has officially been accepted by Sam's Dot Publishing for their November 2011 Cover of Darkness Anthology.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Oracle of Themazuri on front page of Mindflights!
Though it's been up all month, it's now on the front page of Mindflights.com. So come on by and check it out. Let them know whether you like it, or not. www.mindflights.com/
The above image is the front page artwork for this issue and is called The Woodland Faerie by Chasity iJames.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Seeking Reviewers!
In a month or two, my scifi novella will be coming out and I wondered if there was anyone out there who would like me to send them a copy for review on their blog. I'm not asking for a good review - because that's not fair and it doesn't help me get better. What I would like is for people who will read the novella and then give the world (or their world anyway) their assessment of my story.
To give you a better idea, it will be a hard copy (not online) and is of the space-ship-exploring-the-galaxy variety. While I didn't write it for kids or Young Adults, I think it probably skews that way.
If you're interested then leave a comment here or send me a PM/email.
To give you a better idea, it will be a hard copy (not online) and is of the space-ship-exploring-the-galaxy variety. While I didn't write it for kids or Young Adults, I think it probably skews that way.
If you're interested then leave a comment here or send me a PM/email.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
"See! Saw! Margery Daw!"
xposted at: http://puttputtproductions.com/blogetary/2011/03/16/balanc/
“Johnny has found a new maaaaaster….he can pay but a penny a day, because he can’t work any faaaaaster!”
That song used to make me laugh as my dad, and sometimes my mom, would sing it with me when we were on the See Saw. I didn’t realize how much they were pushing up to make me feel like I was getting them in the air. And I loved when they sat down placing me in the air. The ups and downs made my belly flip and I laughed with delight, and just a little bit of fear, when I felt the bump as their end hit the ground. Sometimes they’d tease me and stay seated. I’d swing my legs and look down at the ground. What if I fell? Half the fun was wondering. The other half was knowing I was safe. And then Mom or Dad would level it out, bring it back to balance. The fun would come to an end; it was time to get off the See Saw.
I’ve been remembering that because I’ve been thinking about balance recently. Balance is such a mundane word. It’s so utilitarian. It’s used for weighing something, or perching something, and for describing a state of being whether in regards to a single organism, or the entire cosmos.
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the use of the word in English dates back to the 9th Century CE, though Euripides described the concept of balance as far back as the 5th Century BCE ( “The best and safest thing is to keep a balance in your life, acknowledge the great powers around us and in us. If you can do that, and live that way, you are really a wise man.” Euripides).
And what is balance? The day after the 8.9 earthquake in Japan, a large chunk of the world away, where reactors were beginning heat up and start their terrifying journey creating some sort of outlet for themselves, it was a beautiful day in L.A. The sun shone. The sky was blue. The breeze had that slight tang of beach – seawater, salt, sand. It was a perfect day. Was that balance?
If you grab one of those fantastic tools called a thesaurus, or my favorite, Rodale’s Synonym Finder, and look up the word balance, you will find six inches worth of words in 8 point font.Words of varying pedigree and age, but arguably as much history. Words like equilibrium, acumen, aplomb, poise, equipoise, steady, uniformity, evenness, reckoning, estimation, counterpoise, reason, sanity, weigh, ponder, deliberate, align, range… the list goes on. You could write an entire scene using mostly words that mean balance:
She sat poised on the chair with great aplomb, breathing evenly, awaiting the deliberation. The jury had some reason, in her estimation. She wondered, though, as they weighed her innocence against her guilt. Would they question her sanity? In a moment she faced her reckoning. With the uniformity of the justice system they declared her…
See – it could go on for a while.
Aplomb isn’t used much anymore (which is too bad) and dates from the 19th Century. I like to think that cats work to keep the concept of aplomb alive. They certainly seem to have plenty of it.
Poise, counterpoise and equipoise all come from variations in the 13th-14th Centuries. When did we cease teaching poise to people? I guess we assumed people would just pick it up. But, while you could say nature seeks balance, you wouldn’t say it seeks poise. Poise needs to be taught. But first the beings learning poise need to understand the concept of balance, and know what it is to be balanced, even – not constantly on an up or down.
But, we don’t allow for that anymore, do we. Everything is up or down. There is no “even keel”. We’re so enamored of the See Saw ride – we want to keep that belly flip. Not that there’s anything wrong with the belly flip, but eventually, we gotta come down, or at least even out. Eventually, osmosis works to create an equilibrium between spaces. Eventually, boundaries are reached, rebounding back and forth until some kind of accord – kinetic or otherwise – is reached.
My dad fixes pinball machines. He fixes other bar games and video games, but his father was in the pinball business and so it fell to my dad to get into it as well. When you play pinball, it’s all about keeping the ball off balance long enough to hit things and make points without QUITE throwing the machine off balance. So to get more points, you gotta get that steel ball to bounce the right spots at the right angles. When the ball finally does find it’s own equilibrium – well – that’s when you’ve lost the ball down the hole.
It’s easier for me to find balance when I’m in my own world – of course. Easier when I’m gardening and ignoring the world around me. Easier when I’m reading a book and listening to my iPod, shutting out everything else. Easier when I’ve shut and locked the door and decided I’m not leaving for the weekend.
Out in the great world out there, I might, like the steel ball, hit the wrong band, get stuck in the wrong hole, or set off the wrong lights, get bruised and bounced around while I seek all those “points” I’m supposed to be seeking.
I might lose balance.
Or, maybe I could learn from my four-footed friends and gather aplomb and poise around me like a fur cloak to keep the world from battering me about too much.
And now we’re at that point in this blog when you’re wondering what is the point? And there is none, unless you’re talking about the point that is used to balance…
Happy St. Patrick’s Day. And if you’re looking for something to read, check out The Oracle of Themazuri at Mindflights.com.
“Johnny has found a new maaaaaster….he can pay but a penny a day, because he can’t work any faaaaaster!”
That song used to make me laugh as my dad, and sometimes my mom, would sing it with me when we were on the See Saw. I didn’t realize how much they were pushing up to make me feel like I was getting them in the air. And I loved when they sat down placing me in the air. The ups and downs made my belly flip and I laughed with delight, and just a little bit of fear, when I felt the bump as their end hit the ground. Sometimes they’d tease me and stay seated. I’d swing my legs and look down at the ground. What if I fell? Half the fun was wondering. The other half was knowing I was safe. And then Mom or Dad would level it out, bring it back to balance. The fun would come to an end; it was time to get off the See Saw.
I’ve been remembering that because I’ve been thinking about balance recently. Balance is such a mundane word. It’s so utilitarian. It’s used for weighing something, or perching something, and for describing a state of being whether in regards to a single organism, or the entire cosmos.
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the use of the word in English dates back to the 9th Century CE, though Euripides described the concept of balance as far back as the 5th Century BCE ( “The best and safest thing is to keep a balance in your life, acknowledge the great powers around us and in us. If you can do that, and live that way, you are really a wise man.” Euripides).
And what is balance? The day after the 8.9 earthquake in Japan, a large chunk of the world away, where reactors were beginning heat up and start their terrifying journey creating some sort of outlet for themselves, it was a beautiful day in L.A. The sun shone. The sky was blue. The breeze had that slight tang of beach – seawater, salt, sand. It was a perfect day. Was that balance?
If you grab one of those fantastic tools called a thesaurus, or my favorite, Rodale’s Synonym Finder, and look up the word balance, you will find six inches worth of words in 8 point font.Words of varying pedigree and age, but arguably as much history. Words like equilibrium, acumen, aplomb, poise, equipoise, steady, uniformity, evenness, reckoning, estimation, counterpoise, reason, sanity, weigh, ponder, deliberate, align, range… the list goes on. You could write an entire scene using mostly words that mean balance:
She sat poised on the chair with great aplomb, breathing evenly, awaiting the deliberation. The jury had some reason, in her estimation. She wondered, though, as they weighed her innocence against her guilt. Would they question her sanity? In a moment she faced her reckoning. With the uniformity of the justice system they declared her…
See – it could go on for a while.
Aplomb isn’t used much anymore (which is too bad) and dates from the 19th Century. I like to think that cats work to keep the concept of aplomb alive. They certainly seem to have plenty of it.
Poise, counterpoise and equipoise all come from variations in the 13th-14th Centuries. When did we cease teaching poise to people? I guess we assumed people would just pick it up. But, while you could say nature seeks balance, you wouldn’t say it seeks poise. Poise needs to be taught. But first the beings learning poise need to understand the concept of balance, and know what it is to be balanced, even – not constantly on an up or down.
But, we don’t allow for that anymore, do we. Everything is up or down. There is no “even keel”. We’re so enamored of the See Saw ride – we want to keep that belly flip. Not that there’s anything wrong with the belly flip, but eventually, we gotta come down, or at least even out. Eventually, osmosis works to create an equilibrium between spaces. Eventually, boundaries are reached, rebounding back and forth until some kind of accord – kinetic or otherwise – is reached.
My dad fixes pinball machines. He fixes other bar games and video games, but his father was in the pinball business and so it fell to my dad to get into it as well. When you play pinball, it’s all about keeping the ball off balance long enough to hit things and make points without QUITE throwing the machine off balance. So to get more points, you gotta get that steel ball to bounce the right spots at the right angles. When the ball finally does find it’s own equilibrium – well – that’s when you’ve lost the ball down the hole.
It’s easier for me to find balance when I’m in my own world – of course. Easier when I’m gardening and ignoring the world around me. Easier when I’m reading a book and listening to my iPod, shutting out everything else. Easier when I’ve shut and locked the door and decided I’m not leaving for the weekend.
Out in the great world out there, I might, like the steel ball, hit the wrong band, get stuck in the wrong hole, or set off the wrong lights, get bruised and bounced around while I seek all those “points” I’m supposed to be seeking.
I might lose balance.
Or, maybe I could learn from my four-footed friends and gather aplomb and poise around me like a fur cloak to keep the world from battering me about too much.
And now we’re at that point in this blog when you’re wondering what is the point? And there is none, unless you’re talking about the point that is used to balance…
Happy St. Patrick’s Day. And if you’re looking for something to read, check out The Oracle of Themazuri at Mindflights.com.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)