Saturday, October 1, 2011

Kudos to the Soul


I recently moved to China, and blogs are not exactly accessible. Neither is Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Hulu, or any other fun websites. Google and Gmail also do not play well with China.

I was slightly panicked that I would not figure out how to access any of my blogs. How would people know how many miles I’ve run on my thousand-mile journey? How would my friends know what is happening in China? One small part of my brain was hoping that I would not figure out a method. Who really cares what I do, anyway? No one reads these things. I would be off the hook! I wouldn’t have to write.

However, a larger part of my brain knew better. Oh, and my soul also knew better. I slothed through internet jibberish to figure some things out. You are reading this entry, so I succeeded. Let’s just say that I know much, much more about VPNs now.

Thank you, Soul, for knowing me well enough to make me figure it out. I should listen to you more often.

Next Blog, Next Story, Please


When I should be writing my own stuff, I find myself perusing other people’s blogs. I keep clicking “Next Blog” to see what pops up. What else is out there?

Some stuff is just crap. I’m not kidding. I make my share of mistakes, but I at least try to put out a good piece. If you can’t put together a few complete sentences, WHY ARE YOU BLOGGING? Don’t embarrass yourself! I’m quite judgmental, but Microsoft Word created spell checks and grammar checks for a reason. If you decide to break grammar rules, it better be for a reason, and it better be effective!

The God blogs abound! So many people feel God is working miraculously in their lives. I respect this, I do, but those religious folks are DED-I-CAT-ED! They actually keep on their posts, which just irks me. Strike one! They are also grammatically correct. Strike two! I’m completely jealous that God or Allah or Yahwey is on their side. Strike three! I can’t click “Next Blog” quickly enough. I’m certain eternal damnation awaits me.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

I’m Disappointed in My Boobs


I’m an artist. The pièce de résistance of a good artist is the ability to draw the human form.  

Let me tell you something … the male form simply is not pretty, at all. There are reasons why artists drew, painted and carved the female form – not the male form -- for millennia. Yes, we have Michelangelo’s David, but have you ever seen a real man look like that?

When creating, we draw from our own experiences and our own references. I understand how the female body connects because I have one. In drawing sessions with nude female models, I figure out the proper proportion of torso to hip by thinking how my own body works and moves.

However, my boobs fail me. When it comes to my drawings, I better use the model’s chest. My boobs don’t help me one bit because I often cannot find mine. Curse my genes!

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Just Walk the Rabbit


My mom was so bored that she took my brother’s pet rabbit for a walk … as in collar-and-leash walk … with a rabbit. And yes, Carrotina is a white rabbit. Alice would be intrigued. 

Oddly enough, walking a rabbit is more like walking a dog. I thought it would be more like walking a cat, with the cat pulling against the leash, flopping onto one side, and dragging behind in the grass. I guess a rabbit takes well to the leash, reveling in new-found freedom from a cage, jumping and flipping around in the air just like a young bunny.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Forgotten Memory


“That’s stupid.”

Silence. The jaw dropping kind.

Tension slides out of my chest, pooling in my belly, deep and low and round, drowning my ovaries in its heaviness.

Dread, mixed with Knowing, now take residence in my chest.

Time really can stop. And, Dread and Knowing are a calming combination. Who knew?

Storm Season


The chopper box is flipped upside down, on the barn room – but the roof is gone – and the haymow is gone, too. This is not normal, not normal at all. This is what my parents didn’t want me to see? Ok. Yeah, this is scary. And it’s raining.

It’s more scary to see Dad cry, to run the front door and into the bedroom.

“It took the whole damn thing,” he said. THAT’S scary.

Dark nights pushing thunderstorms around that suddenly fall silent. That’s still scary.

“It.” “It” took the whole damn thing. I’m five. What is “it?” Candles burn. It’s dark outside. A fire truck backs up the driveway, the driver leaning out the door, in his tan firefighter jacket, trying to maneuver the truck backwards.

Now, I would ask, “Who drives a fire truck backwards?”

Friday, April 1, 2011

Food For Thought


In the grocery store today, I thought a lot about what I put into my body. I came armed with a list and a cookbook for ideas. For the most part, I only shopped the perimeter of the store, collecting fresh food in its various forms, and I have my reasons for this.

I’m training for a marathon. I’m also learning to cook. This combination allows me to be very intentional about what I eat and how I eat. Grocery store aisles cause can cause mental strife as I ponder every food’s value. Because I run a lot right now, I want quality food in my body for energy, along with food that lasts awhile so I’m not hungry all the time. Food is quite an investment, in more ways than one.

Monday, March 14, 2011

See Me! Hear Me!


I’m running a marathon in May!

There! I said it! Listen! Listen! Listen!

*******

People ask, “So, what’s new with you?” I pause. “Oh, not much. You know, same old, same old,” I say.

“NOT TRUE!” says my mind to myself.

Actually, I’m training for a marathon, a full one, 26.2 miles. I’m running … a lot … and I haven’t even fully amped up my miles yet. 

But I don’t talk about it much. I don’t want to have to explain. Most people don’t understand my reasons. “Because I want to,” doesn’t seem to cut it. “Because I can,” stumps them even further.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Why I Run


A space … a gap … a pause … a moment of nothing and everything.

What happens in these places? Are they moments of emptiness? Or are they moments of fullness?

A lot can happen in a pause. Thoughts fire in the brain. They are collected and sorted, with one selected as the course of action. A pounding heart is felt. Breath is caught, air pulled back into the lungs to breathe fully again.

In a millisecond, with a gap of consciousness, the old brain is activated. It makes a decision. We react. We don’t actually THINK. Later, we feel, and then we rationalize.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

It's True ... Less IS More

Over the last few years, I merged an entire household of my belongings into smaller and smaller spaces. Lots of belongings, things I once believed that I really needed, have moved onto new spaces, outside my own, now belonging to different people. Bob the Rubber Plant has a new window in a new home, sharing space with Fiona the Ficus. Fifteen plus boxes of books now live on other shelves and are read by new eyes.

I’ve traveled to Africa and China, to off-the-beaten-path places where the luxury of excess does not exist. In China, simplicity is a way of life. Families are sardined into tight quarters and money’s tight, necessitating fewer belongings. In Africa, simplicity’s not a choice. It’s a necessity. Even basic resources are scarce, and you’re lucky if you own one pair of shoes that match.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

To Marathon or Not to Marathon?


I am considering running a full marathon this May. I have a few halves under my belt, so I have a solid grasp of what a full means … a lot more work and a lot more pain. I know my strengths, to some degree, but I know my weaknesses and slant toward running laziness better. I believe I can finish, but will I enjoy it? No one ever raves about how great mile 18 feels.

About the time I opt out of the full and decide I want to just have fun with this “running thing,” something sneaks back into my brain, percolating reasons why I should run the full 26.2 miles. Lately, it’s been the book Born To Run, by Christopher McDougall, about the Tarahumara people in Mexico. The Tarahumara run incredible distances in the Mexican desert with flaps of rubber for shoes and smiles on their faces the whole time. 

Monday, January 31, 2011

Are You My Drawing Table?

I spy ... a drawing table underneath it all.

I have never drawn at my drawing table. It’s a treasured possession that has moved with me several times, and yet it’s never seen a drawing completed. As an artist, this must be sin.

I bought the table five or six years ago, part of a New Year’s resolution to do more art. I quickly pieced it together, but when I sat down to draw, I instead curled up on the end of the couch with a board, happily drawing away. Soon, the table became a storage space, buried in books, drawing notes, a cat collar, and a few plant pots and other random things. The table soon traveled to a new house, this time to a dedicated art room. It again accumulated odd and ends. It was cluttered. My life was also cluttered with things that were not nurturing me. I wasn’t doing much art at all.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Nests


“I want to write a poem,” says my mom, “about the empty nests in the bare trees.”

“You know they used to be little homes,” she continues. She pauses. 

I think. I picture a little nest nestled in a haggard oak tree. I image a few pieces of silver garland from last year's Christmas tree weaved into the stems of dead quackgrass … oval blue eggs (it a robin’s nest) tucked in a trio … featherless baby birds with big closed, bluish eyes covering most of their little heads … small chirps as food of crushed worms arrives from above … an empty nest a few weeks into June … there’s a lot here for me to write her poem, but this is not my idea. It is hers. She should write it.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Don't Believe Everything You Think


* Dear readers, if you follow my second blog (dana-onethousandmilesthisyear.blogspot.com) you may feel you are reading the same entry. This is actually a different writing spun off the other, if you read through to the end.

“Pick a subject,” Ricardo said. “Let’s not focus on our suffering.” Six miles into a seven-mile run, we were both tired.

Earlier in the run, we tackled some crazy hills, and the last one took a lot out of me. We were only half way through our distance. If Ricardo wasn’t ahead of me by fifty steps, I might’ve bailed and started walking or sat in the snow and started crying.

When I finally caught up to him around mile four, I was winded and tired. I scanned my body. From my neck down, I felt just fine. I realized I just THOUGHT I was winded and tired. My mind was tired.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Spiders as Roommates


Spiders are nice roommates. They don’t take up much space, they are quiet, and they keep to themselves. They don’t ask for much, except an occasional rescue from the bathroom sink or bathtub. They are those non-threatening spiders, all legs and tiny bodies. They appear so fragile that I feel a need to protect them.

I share my small apartment with quite a few spiders. They come and go, often popping up overnight. I now know where to expect them, but one did surprise me in the kitchen sink, weaving a small web in a clean measuring cup in the sink. I kindly scooped her out, and I put her on the counter. I’m not sure where she moved.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Reviving “A Thing A Week”


It’s time to pick up the writing reins again. Welcome to new newly revived A Thing A Week for 2011.

This past November, I joined National Novel Writing Month, committing to 50,000 words in 30 days. My goal veered a bit from NaNo’s intent, as I wrote personal essays, not fiction, for my stint, but some rules are meant to be broken. As long as I consider it a novel, say the rules, a novel I wrote. I knocked out my words, learning a lot about writing, the process, and my role in it. I felt pride in my accomplishment on many levels, levels that will likely be explained right here over the coming year.