massive fail

I'm normally better than this.  But I can't seem to do those darn (yeah, I said darn, I guess there is a pun in there somewhere) african flowers.  I want to make those cute little hexagons that everyone is making all over the blog world, but every time I start, I end up throwing them across the room. 

But I will not give up!  I'm about to try them a different way.  While I watch the Rachel Zoe project that my tivo so kindly recommended for me. 

Tails California (11/2)

Many years ago, I made a mix CD for my brother, for when he was driving across country.  I found the perfect song, "Heads Carolina/Tails California" to describe his journey, because he purposely seeks to live near the ocean, the mountains, and has had the freedom to move from coast to coast.   Now, whenever I listen to it, it makes me cry, in a swelling, tight, pain-in-the-chest kind of way. 

  

Heads, Carolina Tails, California.
Somewhere greener, somewhere warmer.
Up in the mountains, down by the ocean.
Where? It don't matter, as long as we're goin'
Somewhere together. I've got a quarter.
Heads, Carolina Tails, California.

 I sing it at the top of my lungs until my heart hurts and my voice breaks.

 

This song makes me think of so many things: my brother moving, me moving, our tiny little family staying put in their tiny little town and all my assorted guilt about that...my husband and I, before we were married, all our world in a moving van, going to an apartment I'd never seen before. 

This wanderlust burning, aching below a need for stability, yearning to move, see, travel, live.  A heaping dose of jealousy.  A sense of being "willingly trapped" like the fox in the Little Prince.  Unwitting enmeshment in an impending sense of family obligation.  Conflict, ambivalence, confusion, uncertainty, responsibility, indecision, burden.

Stability is safety, expectations, roles, the known.  Wandering is living.  Hope.  Freedom.

Logan Airport, at 4 am.

Last week, we packed up our suitcases and set off for Sacramento and the American Art Therapy Association Conference.  I kept thinking "what the hell am I doing?"  

I didn't expect the trip to change the world, I was just hoping for some perspective, some time away.   I was desperately burned out, but still spent AN ENTIRE WEEKEND doing paperwork for work so that I could leave and still have a job when I got back.  Things have to change.  But I felt guilty the whole time and wishing that I could take back my vacation.  This is how skewed my thinking was.

The convention center.

Us.

I meant to post these during my vacation, but we had terrible internet service.  And a little perspective is good.   So these next several posts are after the fact.  More for me, but having this as a place to put it all together feels very containing.

The Capital Building.

And so, Sacramento?  We flew in on an eerily quiet election day (absentee ballots in the mail), and checked into a hotel right down the street from the capital building, office of Arnold Schwarzenegger.  

Orange trees and palm trees sat along side of fall foliage, flat land.  

We wandered around the city and got trailed by a security guard after climbing up on a parking garage to take photos of a church with 5 crosses.  Delusional jet leg, our bodies protesting the existence of the sun.  Observations of poverty, homelessness, recession and mental illness. 

Trying to understand where we are.  Even as wanderers, already setting down roots and trying on a new city.  A chance to find clarity in our identities, a different direction to our journey.

Preparing

This is becoming a theme:  I'm supposed to be preparing for something or doing something, but instead I'm fooling around with something else.  This time, its a website called TiltShift.  It is supposed to make your photo look like a miniature scene, but I also found that it just did cool things to my photos.  I used to be really good at Adobe Photoshop, and want to get back into photo manipulation again.  Because its fun.  I also realized that we've been on lots of adventures this summer. 

That's my fella, walking through the Met in NYC.  Highly recommend this exhibition.

Near Castle Island in South Boston.

That's my 'hood. Hard core, right?

 

In South Boston, near the Institute of Contemporary Art.

 Another one from my 'hood, from the roof of our building.  I need to go up there more often. 

 Downtown Boston.  I thought it was funny this camper was navigating the little one ways.

The next two photos were taken at Waterfire in Providence, RI.  

The first one went wonky on transfer but the second one is magical.  If you live near this, I highly recommend going.  It is really an unusual, wonderful experience.

This one turned out like its "supposed" to look.  

I took on my way to the interview for the job I didn't take.

We leave early, early on Tuesday for the American Art Therapy Association conference in Sacramento.   You'd think I'd be well on my way to living the vacation dream but nooooo, mounds and mounds of paperwork must be done before I can leave.  I can't wait to step onto that plane, to make art, to re-evaluate, to be free just for one week.  And I get to see my little brother!

Happy Halloween!

wandering

Every weekend, my husband and I go wandering around, soaking up the sunlight and enjoying the fall before it disappears into winter.   I just got used to the summer:  I love getting up early and going running, I love the sun, I love the beach.  Heading into winter is dangerous territory for me.  But this year, I'm going to keep getting heaping doses of sunshine, decrease the french fry/cookie intake and try to stay off the couch.  Although, I can't wait for a big snowstorm so we can play video games, take naps and snuggle under blankets.

As we wander around, I'm taking a lot of photos and am starting to notice my photographic style again:  something to do with colors, a bit of macro, and high contrast.  I'm trying to keep my edges clean, and I'm thinking more about composition.  Although sometimes I still just snap and hope for the best.  I haven't paid attention to all of this since college, where I started to figure it out and then lost it somewhere in the midst of criticism and the real world.  I feel like I should do something with it again, but I don't know what.  I do know that capturing images and how I capture images is an intrinsic part of me.

As for the real world, well, hmpf.  

As much as I love our adventures, I'm starting to realize that every time we go out wandering, we are avoiding everything we're supposed to be doing.  And it all desperately needs our attention.  When did we become adults with so much responsibility?  It feels like we haven't even really gotten started yet!

Take this weekend, for example:  we were "supposed" to go to open houses and look for a house.  Instead, we've been wandering around these fantastically well-to-do neighborhoods and their gorgeous parks, pretending that we belong there and knowing full well we never will.  I don't think we can afford a house.  But we're paying a fantastically high rent for a small little box, and getting creamed on our taxes.  We can't decide.  We can't compromise.  We're stuck.   

And, while I'm not quite ready to talk too much about having babies, I'm learning that my body doesn't make the right hormones.  So beyond the "are we ready yet" talk that is in constant negotiation, there is something more sobering.  I don't want to be pumped with synthetic crap.  I want to work with a doctor who is more holistically connected, find an acupuncturist, start yoga.  My goal isn't necessarily to get pregnant.  My goal is to be healthy and balanced, so that if I did get pregnant, my body would support a healthy pregnancy. 

And my job is a big problem.  I still feel good about turning down the other job, and I still like what I do.  But I am burnt out.  Paperwork sucks.  So in a few weeks, I'm traveling to Sacramento to attend the American Art Therapy Conference.  I'm hopeful it will fill me up again, that I'll get some new ideas, a big dose of self care, some space from things, community.  

I'm desperate for the next stage, but don't quite know the next step.  And I've been stuck here for way too long.  Maybe this is it, living is just this and I'm making it too much of a big deal.  Maybe things will sort themselves out.  I also think I need to set boundaries around some things and jump in and make some tough decisions.

Until then, every weekend my husband and I go wandering, taking pictures and going on adventures.  That's what its about anyway.  Not money, or career, or doing things just the right way.  Its just being together, soaking up the sunshine, observing the world, thinking, talking and wondering.  And making tough decisions.  Even when I don't want to be a grown up.

doin my own thang

Yep, I'm totally not going to be able to keep up with the 365 challenge.  I've just settled for taking photos when we're traipsing around in the woods. 

i love my mil

Yes, I love my mother-in-law.  She is the neatest, coolest lady ever.  She runs a day care center and has a room full of art supplies.  She loves pulling out all her supplies and letting me play and doesn't care if I use things up or screw things up.  She cares a lot, about everyone.  And makes them feel as good as I feel whenever I'm around her.

Several weekends ago, she put together this crafts event as part of a week-long bicentential celebration of the little town my husband grew up in.  She put together several craft areas for kids and adults to wander around and try out fabric-based crafts.

Stop #1:  Flower Pressing
My husband and I ended up being in charge of this one for awhile.  Wow, some kids look so normal but are crazy when they have a mallet in their hands.  Limits may need to be set.  Like, don't hit yourself in the forehead with a mallet.



Take flowers, grasses and leaves from the garden.  Lay them onto a piece of muslin.  Cover with wax paper.  Beat it with a mallet.  Mount on colorful paper.  Enjoy your artwork.  

Stop #2:  Yarn Crafting
Ladies were set up at each table with mounds of yarn to teach crochet, knitting and weaving.  I kept walking around, touching piles of yarn.  Somehow I ended up teaching five lovely eight year olds how to weave on a wooden loom.  We did it by hand, but my husband created a tool to do his weaving (of course). 

The loom you can make at home with a piece of sturdy cardboard.  Cut notches at each end.  Pick a thin yarn, tape one end on the back, and then loop the yarn up, over and down (not around the back).  At the end, cut it and tape it down on the back.  Pick another yarn (the girls loved anything fuzzy, and it felt good to do).  Cut off a length, not too long.  Weave it through.  If you're working with littles, picking up the yarn whenever the yarn goes under was really helpful.  If you need to know how to finish, don't ask me.  I yelled for my mil and she finished everyone's weaving. 

Step Three:  Alpacas!
While we were working the tables, I didn't get to try spinning the alpaca wool!  Still darn cute though.  The little girl next to me called this one Whitey.  The other one was Blacky.  And if there was a gray one, he'd be called Oldey because old people have gray hair. 

travelling not running

Right now I should be working on trying to dig myself out of the mound of paperwork I need to complete for work.  I should be making some art, sewing up my quilt, reading a book, paying attention to the British sitcom we have streaming through Netflix, snuggling with my husband.  But first I wanted to share something.

Today I became eligible to apply for my license as a mental health counselor. 

I've been thinking about this day since I was hired at my job, and have had the date circled in my planner for the whole year.  Actually, I've been thinking about this day since I started daydreaming about going back to school eight years ago.  I've worked hard for this day. 

Today I had to apologize to a client and begin working on healing our relationship.  I had to say goodbye to one of my art therapy clients because she met all her goals and it was time to move on.   Another about her experience in the hospital, another about his children.  Another about losing her children.  My heart hurt several times today.

Whenever I stopped to think, I felt so overwhelmed.   But I wanted to finish the application for my license TODAY. 

To send in the application, I needed a pile of information:  recommendations from my current supervisors, transcripts, forms from former supervisors, application form, a photo, a check.  So today, I walked up to the post office and got a very expensive 2X2 photo taken, chatted with the postal worker about the after hours goings on at the post office, and walked back towards work. 

The day was a gorgeous stunning blue, and I decided that I wanted to take a photo of the train tracks that run past my work.  Every day the commuter rail rattles my windows and reverberates in my ears; the little kids always stand on the chairs and yell "Thomas!"  It felt fitting to mark the day with this.

So I took a quick photo and felt oddly embarrassed like I was doing something wrong.  I thought about the fancy camera I want to buy to celebrate my huge milestone, and how I needed to stop being so embarrassed and just take photos.  And I then heard, "Excuse me!  What are you taking photos of?"

I was always the good kid in school, and already felt weird for taking a photo of the train tracks.  I started waving my camera in the air and said "you can look!  its just a picture!  I just like to take pictures!" 

It turned out that this was a male meter maid, checking the cars and moonlighting as a vigilante, self-appointed to maintain our transportation safety.  He told me a whole story about how the police swarmed the train station just last week because some kids were filming the train tracks and I better be careful but fortunately I don't look much like a terrorist and be more careful next time.  I told him how I felt uncomfortable and wasn't sure, and then I wondered, why can't I take a photo of what I want to take a photo of? 

And I also thought about the drug deals that go down around these tracks completed by the suburban youth, the many terrible things I know that happen in this neighborhood behind closed doors, and how I'm not actually worried about taking a photo of the train tracks.  And how I wish people weren't self-appointed vigilantes but I also wish people would speak up when they see something wrong happen.

Later, I see a ton of police cars outside my work and a client tells me that a telephone pole fell over almost hitting some cars.  

And I absurdly thought to myself, I am in the right place.  It is undeniably ridiculous and painful and filled with a big heaping dose of humility.  I am often uncomfortable and unsure, and afraid of doing what I know I have a right to do.  I am going somewhere, but I don't know where.  But I am here now, and heading in the right direction.  Now if I could just dig myself out of this pile of paperwork, I would feel really great. 

365 ... oops

If I forget to take a picture (or many) do I have to start over from the beginning?  Maybe I'll make my own mission and do 52 weeks or something.  Here's what I have so far...

 September 6th, 2010

September 11, 2010

September 13, 2010

Now, if only I could afford a fancy camera...

Edited:  I realized how proud I was and then worried that my photos could be stolen, and so added watermarks to them which kinda ruins the photos!  Anyone have any good tricks they use to protect their images?

addiction

We cleaned our apartment today.  It was a monumental event, especially since I can't remember the last time we cleaned it.  Or rather, the last time I cleaned it.  (Thank you honey.)

It was today that I realized I have a serious problem.  It began to spiral out of control when our local library closed for renovations.  The next closest one was tiny and junky and had terrible hours.  So I began trolling the internet for cheap books to get my fiction fix.  I stalked amazon booksellers and bought stacks of books from them.  Then I got an ad in my inbox:  get 5 books for $20!  Days were spent drooling, scrolling through amazon wish lists and databases, reading reviews, deleting and re-adding.  I negotiated with my inner accountant, and came up with an agreeable bargain.  And last night I got a package of a lot of books.  My shame prevents me from admitting how many.  But I began to realize that my addiction is more than just having or owning; this addiction feeds on searching and list making and reading about.  

Last week I talked my husband into letting me check out books from the university he works for.  He lets me for a little bit every once in awhile until he realizes that I have brought home thirty books and his work is looking for him to return them.  They have a lot of good books.  Fiction, books on writing, psychology, art therapy, theory.   And they have something like eight libraries.  One whole library for art books.  Let me say that again:  One whole library for art books.  Sigh.  And don't get me started on the Harvard Bookstore.  Stacks and piles and shelves of really good, really smart books for those crimson smarties. 

Today I emptied out the box of books.  Books were pulled out from next to the bed, piles were picked up from the living room.  I have books shoved above every row of books on my bookshelf.  I have books hidden under my bed.  I carry them around.  I pile them up.  I think about them.  I order them by subject matter and then jumble them up again according to how badly I want to read them.  I daydream about owning a library with shelves so high you need a ladder on wheels to reach the top shelves. 

I think I'm currently reading seven books.  At the same time.  This is a problem.  Or is it?  Truth is, I will finish many of them.  I won't finish some of them.  Maybe I'll finish them years from now.  Maybe they were never worth finishing.  Maybe I'll get what I need and move on.  I never lend books, I have a hard time giving them away, and I don't even tell people that I read a lot.  I don't join book clubs, because I can't read a book just because someone else is reading it.  Although:  the best class in college I ever took was on Albert Camus and George Orwell.  We inhaled a book a week and talked about it, Socrates style.

When I think of books, I use words like inhale and eat.  I wish I could just open up my head and dump the contents in.  Or swallow them whole.  My need to read is insatiable.  I am always hungry and there is never enough.  I wish I could still get prizes at the library for reading ten books, fifty books, a hundred.  But there is never enough time:  I have to do annoying things like work or clean.  Or maybe if I put down my computer for five minutes.  But then, I'm still reading, right? 

"Knowledge comes from crafted bindings and pages, Buffy, not ones and zeros."

Some of the books I'm reading:  this, this, this, and highly recommend this.

Sunday Creative: Comfort

I did not complete the creative prompt this week.  I started to write a character sketch but instead ended up with this:

This week I've been teetering between comfort and discomfort.

The discomfort of my childhood and adolescence, with its glasses-wearing, braces-needing, bad haired, uncertain where to sit at lunch, stumbling over words, awkward self.

The comfort of being a woman, being loved and loving.

The discomfort in exploring the possibility of a new job, learning new people, cultures, systems, deciding if I would fit in, succeed.  The discomfort of turning it down; the greater discomfort of quitting.

The comfort of a team, co-workers, clients, my tiny office with its golden light, the predictability of me, knowing my role and my possibilities.

The discomfort of fear and anxiety.

The comfort of rhythm, pattern.

Deciding how much discomfort I can tolerate.  And recognizing how much I already tolerate well.  Knowing that I sit in my discomfort quite often:  listening to and sitting with pain, tears, hurt, hatred; riding through another's anxiety; searching and probing; knowing when I am being lied to and not being able to do a thing about it; talking to people who should be helping who are not.  I handle more than a lot.

I recently read about the transformative power of sitting in something distinctly uncomfortable, like anger, and exploring the intensity, the jagged edges of the feeling, the power.  I'm learning that it tells me that I am alive.  If I can sit in my discomfort, I can tolerate another's.

Somewhere along the way I grew so comfortable in discomfort that I forgot that it was okay to push myself within the parameters of my comfortable boundaries instead of picking up completely and moving squarely into the middle of uncomfortable.  I tend to use that escape to mask the need to focus on something else uncomfortable.  I may change my mind by tomorrow but right now I am going to stay in comfortable, but push some of the other uncomfortables that I have.  That's a new discomfort, staying put.