At home in the Fun Zone

Art Can't Hurt You

2011-09-05T22:29:00.001-07:00

There is a fair that happens in Hermosa beach every year over labor day weekend. It involves a lot of crowds and arts and crafts, kiddie rides like slides and things that spin, pink puffy cotton candy, giant sausages with grilled onions wrapped in aluminum foil. There is even a beer garden where you can see a Journey cover band that has their very own groupies- not Journey groupies, but Journey cover band groupies.

To make the weekend's festivities more exciting for me, I went down on the Thursday before to add a bit of my own happiness, my own FUNism to the masses. My mission was simple: on either side of the strand entrance, I would put a message of joy and happiness for the fair people to read, to give them a smile, to help them think happy thoughts.

I share my fluffy thoughts with crayola chalk, the stuff kids use to play hopscotch and draw daisy's and dinosaurs on their driveways. Harmless. Good clean fun. Yet somehow, every time I go out with my chalk, I get people telling me that what I am doing is wrong. They just mumble it as they walk by. No one ever tries to actually confront me or discuss my motives or rights to my face, they just mumble words like grafitti and vandalism as they pass me by. These same people would never consider asking a person to pick up garbage they saw some litterbug throw on the street or pick up a cigarette that was tossed out a car window. I wish these closet vigilantes would ask someone to scrape up gum they just spat out their mouth onto the street or sidewalk and leave me and my chalk alone.

Somehow, because I am on my knees and coloring with chalk, I look like the person they should stop, a criminal easy enough to apprehend. Until the police come and put the cuffs on my wrists all I have to say is "Hell no I won't go!" The world needs a few less Starbucks cups laying around next to the McDonald's burger wrappers and a few more chalk daisys and stick people. One more message from the grave of Dr. Seuss saying "Fun is Good" in crayola chalk isn't going to hurt anyone. Sometimes I just have the need to ask the world to smile with me, to say hello! Occasionally I go back later and observe, and most people do get a smile out of it. My soul begs me to share my art. My O.C. D. demands that I bring along handiwipes to keep the dust on my hands to a minimum.

But, this Thursday was different. This time a brave man came right up to me and started a dialog.

As I started to chalk on the strand wall, a restaurant owner came up and asked me what I was doing.
I explained I was playing with chalk.
"Why?" he asks.
"Because it makes me happy" was my reply as I smiled up at him. "Because it's FUN".
"Does it wash off?" he wants to know.
"Of course, it will fade within just a few days, its just sidewalk chalk, like children play with, haven’t you ever played with sidewalk chalk? I ask.
"NO" He says, almost offended that I would assume he could do such a thing.
"Well then, that's our problem!" I declare, as I offer him a piece of beautiful deep blue chalk. "Here-try it."
"NO!" he says loudly and recoils.
"Why?" I ask him.
"I am afraid" he replies.
"You are afraid of chalk?" I ask.
He starts to back away from me as he says in his best grown up voice; "Don't you need a permit to do this? This is city property!"
I smile at him sweetly and reply "I don't need a permit to play with chalk and if this is city property, then it belongs to me." I continued with my message of JOY and left him with his fear of it. He walked back into his restaurant and was left with this message when I walked away.

If you see someone without a smile
Give them one of yours.

More Funism here: The Fun Zone; The Center for the Study of Funism

Drawing Life

2011-07-05T13:11:00.000-07:00

When I was 21 A friend of mine had been modeling for art classes and making great money and my boyfriend Michael encouraged me to pursue that source of income so I would have more time to create.

I discussed the modeling with my Mom and she was against it. She couldn’t imagine why I would even consider stand nude in front of a bunch of strangers and have them draw or sculpt me. She was a very modest woman and I suppose women from her generation had different thoughts about nudity than I did. She made it very clear she was against it. Michael took life-drawing classes in college and explained to me that the artist/model relationship is one of the oldest and most celebrated in history. Michael told me that usually the artist models were older and chubbier and that the class would be so grateful to have me. "But I thought you said it didn’t matter what I looked like, they just needed a body to draw!" "Yes, but drawings and sculptures of beautiful young women sell much better than drawings of old saggy gals." He replied. I had never paid attention to or truly understood the meaning of the word "Muse" until Michael explained it to me. I thought that being a Muse would be a wonderful thing.

I felt like that cartoon where there is an angel on one side and the devil on the other. I knew that both Michael and my Mom thought they were the angels in their opinion and I couldn’t tell the difference. I decided to give it a try and called Mr. Suzuki, the art instructor at the local community college. I told him my friend Christine referred me but I had never modeled in an art class before. I had never even been in an art class before! He told me he had an opening next week and I took the job.

Any doubt I had about this job being based on appearances disappeared as soon as I got off the phone after all, he didn’t ask me for any physical description. Christine’s good name in the artist model community was enough of a reference for Mr. Suzuki to presume I would be reliable. The modeling job happened to fall on a date when my Mom was going to be out of town.

When I told Michael that I booked a job, he continued to be supportive and was genuinely excited for the class and me. He gave me a blow-by-blow explanation of what I could expect. Before the date of the job, he gave me all the tools of my new trade- a timer with a bell that is not too annoying, a robe, and a beautiful tapestry to spread out below me.

I was terrified and filled with apprehension the morning of the job. I took a long shower, shaving twice to make sure I not miss a single spot. How do you prepare to stand naked in front of people? Do you wear makeup? Do you style your hair? I tried to reassure myself that no one cared how I looked, and they were going to pay me 10.00 an hour cash to stand around and do nothing- which was probably double what minimum wage was back then.

Parking at the community college brought back memories, the last time I had been there I was fresh out of high school taking a writing class. Here I was 4 years later, still writing all the time but coming to college to take my clothes off for strangers instead. It didn’t dawn on me until I was walking through campus towards the art building that I could very well be modeling in front of people I went to high school with. Too late to turn back now, I made a commitment and the entire class was counting on someone- me- to be there to draw.

Parking at the community college brought back memories, the last time I had been there I was fresh out of high school taking a writing class. Here I was 4 years later, still writing all the time but coming to college to take my clothes off for strangers instead. It didn’t dawn on me until I was walking through campus towards the art building that I could very well be modeling in front of people I went to high school with. Too late to turn back now, I made a commitment and the entire class was counting on someone- me- to be there to draw.
　
Mr. Suzuki the instructor was an older man who seemed just a little creepy to me and had a lazy eye, which did not help my opinion of him. How could he possibly be a real art teacher if he has this wandering eye? As we walked from his classroom to the administration building to fill out paperwork, he explained to me how the 3-hour class was going to work. He’d like me to start off with several 3-minute "gesture poses"- just simple movements for the students to quickly sketch as they warm up. Then I would do two 15-minute standing poses and then the class and I would take a 10-minute break. When we returned from the break, I was to select a simple pose that I could hold for the rest of the class- about 2 hours; of course I would be taking 5-minute breaks every 15 minutes for the remainder of the class.

When we got back to the classroom, it had filled with students. They were busy getting their easels set up, breaking out their cool toolboxes full of art supplies. I had always wanted to be an artist, but had been told early on that I couldn’t, because I didn’t know how to draw. I was happy to be in an art class, even if I was just going to be standing naked in front of all the "real artists". Mr. Suzuki led me to a dressing room, and told me to come out when I was ready.

I took off my clothes and put on my robe feeling foolish to wear anything at all when everyone knew I was naked and there with the sole purpose of being be naked in front of them. I ran over the order of events as Michael told me they would unfold; I walk out in my robe, I lay my tapestry down on the floor in the center of all the artists. I slide my robe off and toss it far enough away that it doesn’t block anyone’s view of my feet, but close enough to know it is nearby. I stand as still as I can until it’s time to change position.

I walked out of the dressing room and Mr. Suzuki was waiting for me. He led me toward the class and told me to stand on the round pedestal that was in the center of the students. I lay my tapestry down and stepped up and was surprised to discover that this little stage was on wheels and moved just a bit. I slipped off my robe and dropped it to the floor beside the round rolling stage. I didn’t know how to pose, in fact my mind went completely blank and I couldn’t recall a single pose I had memorized during the week before. I simply stood there and just put one hand on my hip and let the other one hang at my side. As the students picked up their pencils and began to draw, the classroom door was thrust open and two police officers yelled, "You are going to have to leave the classroom immediately." That’s when I knew that modeling for art classes was all bullshit, Mr. Suzuki was obviously a criminal and the police had just saved me from being assaulted by all these artist freaks.

The students started to walk towards the back door and I grabbed my robe and headed in the opposite direction towards the dressing room. "Miss- you need to leave the building immediately!" the officer demanded. "But my clothes are in the dressing room" I was totally confused. "There’s been a bomb threat and this entire building needs to be evacuated immediately," he said, blocking the path to my clothes. Wearing nothing but my robe, I walked outside with the rest of the class.

Bumming a cigarette from a student I said "Boy this sure isn’t what I expected for my first modeling job". "You mean this is the first time you ever modeled for Mr. Suzuki? I didn’t think I’ve seen you before." The student said. "No, I mean this is the first time I have ever modeled in my life." "No way! Oh my God! How crazy!" Other students began to join in the conversation; the situation was so strange, so surreal. I don’t know that there has ever been a bomb threat before or since that day at that college. Guess it was just my luck it happened during my first 3 minutes of modeling nude for the first time.

At first it was a bit strange to be talking to students who had just seen me standing naked in front of them, and I felt very exposed wearing nothing but my robe. By the time I had finished the cigarette, I felt at ease and actually learned a lot from the artists that I wouldn’t have known until I had a lot more experience. I wouldn’t have known unless I had been an art student myself. I learned that drawing hands and feet are the hardest and so poses where they are slightly concealed are often appreciated. I learned that for brief "gesture" sketches the more extreme the pose- with limbs heading in different directions, the better. I learned that even though they liked my long hair, they wanted it up so they could draw the lines of my neck. I learned that most of the people in the class were there because they really loved art, and wanted to master the challenge of drawing a live model. If they just wanted to look at naked women, they would have bought a magazine. If they had needed an easy art credit, they would have taken ceramics.

Once back inside, I felt better knowing the class was aware of my inexperience. We had all just survived a bomb threat together and we were now all on the same team. As I disrobed and struck a pose, I let my eyes wander around the room as much as I could without moving my head. Afraid to make eye contact with the artists, I noticed the art on the walls first; there were just as many drawings of men as there were women. I noticed what Michael had told me was true, that most of the women in the drawings were much older than me, perhaps in their 30’s or 40’s and they had a lot more flesh- hips, bellies, breasts. I had a very athletic and muscular build.

As I struck my next pose, I let my eyes wander to the artists and was surprised to discover that they were completely unaware of me looking at them. They were busy looking at their papers, then squinting and straining to look at my arms, my wrists, my hands. What I noticed was that even though I was completely naked in front of them, they spent much more time staring at the parts of me that you would see in every day life, very little time drawing my breasts which have much less detail then say, my elbows. I realized that the way they looked at me was very clinical and that I had felt much more appraised when being looked over at a bar.
　
The two 15 minute poses taught me that it is physically challenging to stay still for any long period of time. Modeling was hard and I was earning every penny. For the final pose of the last hour of the class, I chose to sit, and even though I was young and in great physical condition my muscles ached. It was a test of endurance to stay still for the last painful minutes before my timer went off and I could go outside and have a cigarette. I stretched outside and moved my body into any position besides the one I had to go back to for the next 15 minutes.

When I walked back in, I noticed one of the artists’ drawings. Then I walked to the next easel, and the next. Each drawing of me was the same, but different. They were the same in as much as they were drawings of a 21-year-old girl with her hair in a bun, sitting in a chair. They were different because each artist had their own flair, their own interpretation, their own issues wrapped up in their art. There was a chubby woman that had drawn me heavier, there was a young man who drew me with larger breasts. As I looked around at 25 different drawings of me, there were 25 different ideas of who I was and that had much more to do with who was drawing me than anything.

I got back up on my rolling pedestal and thought about the difference between the artists and me. No one could tell what I was thinking while I was sitting there but I could look around the room and tell by the artists expressions whether they were happy with their drawing or not. Their art was also under their scrutiny as well as that of their peers and their instructor. I was not being critiqued at all, in fact, as long as I stayed still, I may as well have been a bowl of fruit for them to draw. It dawned on me that even though I was nude, it was the artists that were naked. They were the ones who were exposed. I was simply unclothed.

At my next break, I didn’t run out to have a cigarette, but spent my time walking around the room and looking at the drawings again. This time I noticed that even though I looked different in each drawing, I looked beautiful. It didn’t matter if my hips were a bit wider or my arms a bit more muscular. My body was proportionate and feminine and beautiful in each drawing. Looking at a 360° view of myself by way of 25 different versions was a lot different than seeing myself in a mirror. I got to see myself through other’s eyes and it was a lot less critical. I was a body; a beautiful miracle like a flower. I was a muse! Even better-- I was ART!

I continued to model for several years. As my experience grew, so did the types of jobs offered. I loved working at "Life drawing marathons" all day drawing classes where the students got to choose what room they wanted to go into- 15 minute poses all day, half hour poses, 2 hour poses. I would choose to work in the room that had the all day pose. I would set up pillows and blankets and try to find a position I thought I could stay in for 8 hours (with breaks, of course). Before I moved my body for my first break, I would have the teacher trace the outline of my body with chalk, to help make sure that I would return to the exact same pose after my break. It was always funny to get up and walk away from my cushy stage of pillows and see a chalk line of my body on the stage- as if I had just been murdered. I would often fall to sleep in these classes and my timer bell would wake me up and tell me to move around and take a break. The students began to ask me (on the side without the teacher knowing) if I could set my timer for a little more often, the students needed a break more often than I did. I loved getting paid to sleep on the job, and I loved getting to see the art people created.

Sometimes I would book a job as a model for a sculpture class and I would have to hold the same pose throughout the entire day and go back to the same class and pose several days a week for months. This job security made modeling for sculpture classes ideal for me. I also loved that eventually everyone in the room had a clay voodoo doll of me and the artists were all putting their best creative, successful energy into them.

I began to think a lot about this voodoo idea while standing there, I imagined myself more as an ancient Goddess rather than a muse. I focused on the positive energy being put into me; my body and spirit and I did my best imagine the artist’s hands actually massaging me rather than bending and pressing the clay. As my back hurt from standing in one position, I would watch one of the artists scraping clay from the back of the little statue and I would imagine them scraping the pain away.

At some point I felt a horrible pain in my neck, this pain was impossible to ignore. As I reached up to my neck and apologized for breaking my pose, I looked around and saw that one of the sculptors had just pulled the armature out of his piece, he had pulled it straight out of my neck. I looked at him with shock, like "Why did you do that to me?" and he looked back at me surprised at what he had done and said out loud "Sorry". The entire class stood silent for just a second in reverence for our power.

Father's Day 2011

2011-06-21T17:03:00.000-07:00

This Father's Day I made new happy memories hanging out in Carmel Valley with Duke, Chris, Dustin, Jessica and their Mom; Lisa.
Here is a video of the boys jamming out down by the river.

What a beautiful day, what a beautiful life indeed

Riding in L.A.

2011-05-19T06:11:00.000-07:00

Nobody walks in LA. We all sit comfortable, or uncomfortable in our little metal and glass cells and strive to stay in our bubble untouched by others.
Today I felt deep concern for a stranger, then overwhelming sadness and loss followed by such joy and hope and levity- in the course of perhaps 25 seconds. It was an entire day of emotions squashed and intensified like the rest of L.A. living.

My morning started with breakfast with my Dad. We ate at a fairly well known place called Joes which is a family style restaurant- that means that we share a bench with other people who are having their own breakfast dates. Typical to all plans made in L.A. we had a date at 8am and so at 8:15 I had to use the cell phone to call to see where he was. "Oh I wish you would have called me" he said, "I had to move my cars- street sweeping" In L.A. cars take precedent over people. Parking tickets cost twice as much as breakfast dates so that just makes sense in numbers. I told my Dad I would wait and sat at that bench alone for 15 minutes. The waitress got my coffee order, but other than that, I had no human contact. There were people sitting next to me, on the same blue vinyl padded bench, an arms length away, I could smell their food and hear them chew, but we didn’t talk. It’s like we were all still in out cars.

When my dad showed up we were engages in conversation, and I wasn't really aware of anyone around us. Towards the end of our meal, I dropped my purse on the ground and had to bend over to pick up my pen and wallet. I was at the very end of the bench, next to a window, my head below the table to retrieve my belongings. As I pulled myself and my purse back up above the table, a woman walked past the 8 other people sitting on the bench, slid a piece of paper onto my table top and walked away quickly. It was as if we were in Jr. High and she was passing a note, except that when I grabbed what she had left behind, it was simply a sticker sheet with all but 3 stickers missing. (2 of the stickers were Disney witches, and one a Disney warlock, but I am not even going to try to read into that). "Do you know her?" My dad asks. I look at the back of this lady’s head as she rushes out of the restaurant. "I can’t say I have ever seen her before in my life. Perhaps she thought I dropped this out of my purse? " I suggested. "She came over from the other side of the restaurant" My dad explained. I try to re-create the vague image I have of her in my mind- well-dressed, short hair- dyed a bright orange color that is obviously not natural but still socially acceptable in a work environment. "I have no idea who that woman is, or why she would leave this with me" I replied. My dad became frustrated, almost angry. "What the hell was that about? He demands, "Go ask her!" "Dad, I’m not going to chase her, I don’t really care. It doesn’t make any sense to me." My Dad surprised me when he dropped the issue. Letting go is not a family trait, so I suppose we both made great strides in our acceptance of whatever may be will be.
　
I meet my friend at the mall at 10 am. I need to buy a dress for a fancy semi formal function and I am not prepared. I wear combat boots, tights, mini skirts. Everything I own is black. I don’t wear heels. I don't own "Country club casual" but I did like the idea of the chance to get a bit dressed up. I had tried shopping by myself the day before with zero results.

The entire time I am shopping for a posh party frock for this event, I am reminded of shopping with my Mom for my first ever real "Work party" when I was a manager in a restaurant at the age of 21. This particular restaurant we got to wear "costumes" dress up as kitschy waitresses from the 1950"s. I was having the same feelings shopping for the dress today as I did then; I want to look pretty, I want to look dressed up. But I want to look like ME! I don’t want to look like I am wearing my Mother’s clothes. When I show up at the place where people make more than me, and people are older and more established than me, I want to feel confident. I don’t want to feel under dressed or in loaner clothes – I want these folks to look at me and think- "She likes the way she looks." Maybe they would never tattoo their arms and dye their hair pink, but I look beautiful and comfortable and my outfit is congruent with me. I want to feel like Maria in West Side Story when I get dressed for the party.

After trying all the stores that I know are cheaper, more practical, I finally go to the store I love, the store I can’t afford, and I find the dress. No I find TWO dresses that I love and would be pained to leave behind. They are so far out of my budget that I should have never even tried them on. For some reason, the sales person in there was helpful and nice, in spite of my budget clothes I arrive in. She smiled, she helped, and she earned her commission. I suppose these days it shouldn't be important to be these days that the sales competent at her job, in addition to taking my money but it is.

I left my friend and went home to see the dog, leave my 2 new pretty dresses and then go get the boy from school I was exhausted and ready for a nap, but had a long drive ahead of me. My Mom was still heavy on my mind, but I had pushed her into my subconscious. I was really just aware of the good times nothing sad or morose. I came to a stoplight that has a very dangerous crosswalk. There was an old woman crossing and something about her build, or her outfit or her pep in her step made me think that perhaps if my mom had lived longer she may have looked like that. I was concerned for her crossing the street and looked all around to make sure no cars were speeding towards her. I rarely do this anymore, but something compelled me to say out loud- "I love you Mom, I’ve been thinking a lot about you." I said it loud enough for the sound of my own voice to suddenly twist my face in pain and well tears in my eyes, but certainly quiet enough that my stereo and closed windows kept anyone else from hearing what I said. My deep sadness shocked me, my voice shocked me and I wiped the tears from my eyes as quickly as they came. The old woman crossed the street safely and I felt glad for her safety.

Then I felt someone from the car next to me looking at me. It was a young boy- maybe 23 or so, handsome and boyish and full of sparkle in his eyes. He looked right at my twisted face, smiled the most genuine smile as if we were old friends and waved to me in the most cheerful hello. My smile was sudden, involuntary, unexpected and welcome. I smiled and waved back and he seemed satisfied, gave me a nod and turned his head forward again, kind of bopping and dancing to the music in his car. How did he feel me? How did he know I needed a friend? An L.A. friend; only passing in his bubble while I’m in mine.

We are so connected as people, no matter how we surround ourselves in glass and metal and unshared thoughts and grief. He touched my heart with that smile and took my grief from me. He gave me hope. In him I saw myself as a carefree girl before my Mom died. I saw an image of my son a few years from now, with his whole life in front of him and his security around him. In the 50 seconds or less that I was at that crosswalk, I felt concern for a stranger, I felt deep sadness for the loss of someone most dear, I felt gratitude and joy. This was not insignificant. This was not just some moment in time that washes over you. This left a mark deep inside me that has changed me. This moment has given me gratitude. This moment gave me something more. That smile changed the course of my day.

I imagine logically that he must have looked over at me, saw my face filled with grief and he just thought he’d try to say "Hey". But no one says "Hey" in LA. and honestly I don’t think he was looking at me that long. He was watching to see that the old lady got across the street safely also. I think he felt me. I believe he felt my pain and reached right out of his bubble. No one ventures out of their bubble, not even if you are sitting alone next to them for 15 minutes in a restaurant.

I wonder again about the lady at breakfast with the stickers. Did she need a smile? Did I miss the cue I was supposed to see? Did she see me as the person who needed more than I was getting from my own little bubble at that moment? Did I not even know it?

So I gather my emotions, and do the best I can to act like a stable person, a responsible person who can handle the most daunting task of raising a 12-year-old boy. I pick him up and he is excited about his day, excited about the drive we need to take 20 miles away to Hollywood. We talk for a while about school, homework, substitute teachers, what he had for lunch. After a while, when our talk had slowed down and I was off the freeway and on surface streets in Los Angeles, I do what I often do and put on my wax lips. Similar to the feeling I used to get when I was a smoker and would absent-mindedly smoke an entire cigarette and then feel like I never had one; I often forget that I even have them in my mouth.

I had my lips on in the car for a while, and my son had his head down looking at the phone or the ipod or his hands or any of the things that keep tween-aged boys head in a constant downward position. At I stoplight I heard laughing. Next to me were two tough looking dudes, riding low and deep back in the seats of their dark Honda. They looked tough, but they were looking at me with smirks on their face and when I turned my head to look at them they started laughing. I pulled a spare pair of lips from the center console of my car. I rolled down the window and the guy closest to me says, "I was hoping you’d look at me! I tossed him the package of wax lips- "Wear these and make other people smile" I told him.

Their faces changed. These 27 year-old tough guys looked like they were 8 and it was Christmas morning. That man grabbed that package of lips and ripped them open like he just got a new X-box. He put them in his mouth and his eyes were so bright and smiling, he gave me his tough guy pose- head cocked back and flashed me the peace sign, and drove off. I wish I could have caught up with them again and got a photo. I thought of all the other people that would be driving by them and seeing the wax lips and laugh, and then possibly pass me and see me wearing mine.
　
I don’t know why I have such a desperate need to connect with strangers- to try to bring a brief moment of joy. I wear wax lips in public; I make chalk murals in the street. I leave tiny plastic mermaids in unsuspecting places for people to find like treasures. It’s not art, it a movement. It’s FUNISM. Fun as a religion. It's my way of trying to lure the people I meet in to trying to be nice to one another.

We are all here alone in our bubbles. Why does that have to be?
Why are we not waving and smiling when we see some old 40 year old crying in the car next to us? I am so thankful for that young boy's smile today, he changed my mood. Because of him my mood changed quickly and I was able to be a better mother. Because my mood changed I felt inspired to put on my wax lips and then I changed the mood of 2 men that looked like they would have never went out and bought wax lips on their own. Who knows how many people smiled when they saw them with the lips on? Why can’t we all have a little more silliness in our lives? Isn’t it silly to pass thousands of people every day and NEVER make eye contact? Is it any less silly to want to see people smile at you?

Memories of Mom

2011-05-05T10:11:00.000-07:00

I can’t remember my mom ever sleeping. My entire life living with her she would go to bed after I did and when I woke up she would be at the kitchen table drinking coffee-already showered, hair already dried. I do remember her owning robes and slippers so I don’t know where that falls into the picture except to say that my mom was modest. I never saw her naked, never saw her in her underpants and only remember seeing her in a swimsuit when I was in my early 20’s. We took a water aerobics class together and when she came out from the dressing room in her modest 1 piece suit I was in awe of her. "Oh my God Mom! Look at you! You are so beautiful, look at that figure"! She laughed at my reaction and told me I had the same body --but it wasn’t true.

My Mom had a class and grace I have never seen in another person, ever. I’ve seen actresses try to convey it on screen and they can’t even pretend that as well as my mom lived it. She could accept a compliment or give one in the most genuine way. Years ago I wanted to have this quality that she had but I’ve quit trying.

My Mom’s coffee cups had little feet on them, and delicate handles and rims that tipped slightly out at the top and the material was so thin you could sometimes see through it. She drank from the pot of weak coffee that she would brew in the morning all day long,

My Mom had amazing table manners and even tough she grew up very poor and underprivileged in Detroit, you would have guessed she dined with the Queen every night.

My Mom never complained or gossiped and kept all of her emotions and feelings inside. If I so much as stub a toe, I need to tell every person I meet every detail about it. My Mom was terminally ill with cancer, dealing with a mentally ill son and a fiscally irresponsible ex husband and had a pot-head daughter who occasionally modeled nude for art classes. All anyone knew about My Mom's world unraveling at the end of her life was that her office door was closed more often.

My Mom was an amazing woman; our relationship was often much less than amazing. We mainly didn’t get along, but luckily for me, the last few years of her life she and I made peace. When I think about where she came from- an absent racist, alcoholic father, a meek subservient mother living in poverty- I see that my Mom gave me so much more than she ever had. She gave me so much more than you could ever expect a person of that background would be capable of giving.

My mom rarely spoke of her past and the small amount of information I have I've collected from my grandparents and photos and the very rare fleeting references my mom would make. She never spoke about her heritage much but when she was older and preparing to die she started to mention our Chippewa Indian heritage and tried to help my Grandpa preserve his small percentage of reservation land.

My mom took me to Minnesota to see where I came from and meet other relatives of mine that share the same Chippewa bloodline. But some memory of that place hurt her. Some relative in that group had hurt her and the entire trip went bad in such a way I had never seen. Even then, in her anger/hatred/bitterness she was in such control that I never dare ask for specifics.

When she died and I saw her body she looked like an old wise Indian woman. I had to identify her body and it was difficult because it was as if I was seeing her for the first time. She was just a small, delicate woman, not the giant I knew. Having to identify her body helped me come to terms with the idea that she was only human, when so many of us viewed her as something much greater than that.

Happy Mother’s day Mom. I miss you each and every day.

my 100th post on my blog!

2011-04-20T13:38:00.000-07:00

I like to make life FUN, for myself and other people. I hide toys in people's houses, I do chalk murals on friend's driveways. Recently FUN people have been participating in my new artistic movement, my not-so-secret-society called "The Wax Lips Brigade" if you wanna play, grab some delicious Wax Lips and send me your picture. I update the photos often on Facebook/funism. Life should be FUN so why not wear wax lips while you drive to work? You will be surprised how many people you can make smile.

The Eel

2010-10-16T14:39:00.000-07:00

When I was 18 and living on my own I saw a freshwater moray eel at the pet store. I immediately had my boyfriend help me set up a freshwater tank so that I could bring this strange pet home and call my own.

The eel at the time was about 12 inches long, about as thick as my pointer finger and a dark caramel color. He was the most unusual freshwater fish anyone had ever seen and I began to collect other unusual fish for my tank. I had a needle nose gar that ate mini guppies. I had painted glass fish in a variety of fluorescent colors. I had two blue fish that would meet lip to lip and push each other back and forth across the tank- it was if they were fighting with kisses.

The eel looked pretty creepy-always opening and closing his mouth just like the big eels you see at aquariums and on TV shows about the ocean. He would burrow into the colored gravel at the floor of the tank and kind of bob in and out of the decorative lava rocks. His funny eel characteristics made him seem to have much more of personality than most fish that just swim around in tanks.

He began to have other strange habits, like always swimming up to the top of the tank and climbing into the out of tank filter and hiding. I would search the tank and when I noticed he was missing I would have to open the outside filter and dump him back in to the tank. I never wanted to touch him because he was a creepy water snake with a strange tooth filled mouth. He was fun to look at, but I didn't want to touch him.

Another funny thing he did was attempt suicide. Often I would come home from work and find him on the ground, a much darker brown than he was in the water. From being out of the water so long, he would be shriveled up and wrinkled. The first time this happened, I was certain that he was dead, but put him back in the water just in case. He quickly turned the lighter color and wiggle through the water and was as good as new.

These suicide attempts became a regular course of events. When my boyfriend moved in with me I explained to him the coming home ritual. First thing when we came home we had to check to see if the eel was still in the tank. If the eel was gone, we had to check the filter and if he wasn’t there we had to search the floor. I told him no matter what the eel looked like, no matter how dead he seemed we had to put him back in the water and he would come back to life. Sometimes he would be out of the tank for hours before we put him in the water, but each time he could come back to life. Re-animated eel.

The suicidal eel carried on like this for years. I had to move into my Mom’s condo for a few months, and I brought my fish tank with me. My Mom, who didn’t like snakes wasn’t very keen on me moving a water snake into her house. I assured her that he didn’t bite. He never did bite me, but he did have those creepy teeth. I explained to her it’s suicidal ways, and asked he to please follow the eel suicide watch protocol and put him back into the tank if she found him. She said there was no way she could pick him up and put him in the water. I suggested she use rubber dish gloves, even tongs or salad forks if she had to.

For the few months I lived with my Mom she never had to pick up the eel. I only had to grab him off the floor a few times myself and was always happy that my Mom’s small dog didn’t eat him while he was on the floor.

I was leaving on a trip for a week, and assured my Mom that the eel would be on his best behavior. I left knowing the eel may be successful in his suicide attempt with me gone and my mom in charge of re-animating him. I left hoping for the best.

When I returned, the eel wasn’t in the tank. He wasn’t in the filter and he wasn’t on the floor. When my Mom came home from work I asked what happened and she told me he had made his final jump to the death. She found him on the floor the day after I left. He was dark brown and wrinkled and she decided it was pointless to put him back in the tank. She figured he was past the point of re-animation.

Not knowing if I wanted to bury him or flush him or trash him, my Mom grabbed him with a paper towel wrapped him up and put him in a zip lock bag and then put him in the freezer. He was in the freezer for several days before I got home from my trip.

I had this eel for many years and we had been through a lot together. He had taught me something about perseverance and having a strong will to live. I decided I wanted to stretch him out and seal him on a plaque. As I unzipped the bag and unrolled the paper towel, the thought occurred to me that maybe he still wanted to live. I opened the fish tank lid and let his frozen wrinkled brown paper towel lint covered body fall into the water.

He sunk to the bottom and I was sad knowing that he had his last fling. I always joked that he was trying to evolve and live on land and that one day he may just sprout legs and walk away. I was sad that I didn’t get to witness his evolution. I was sad that my Mom didn’t put him in the water when she first found him.

Just when I was about to pull him out of the tank, he moved very slowly. His next movement was a bit faster and then in a rapid jerking motion he burrowed his body completely into the gravel floor covering. A few more wiggles and he emerged from the gravel without any lint on him, and back to his beautiful dark caramel color. He slid through the water like he had never been frozen for days. He had survived another attempt.

What if we could push ourselves out of our comfort zone like the eel? What if we tried to just leave our normal world and risk all to try a different way? Perhaps the eel is a good example of striving to "live outside of the box" and surviving against all odds? Imagine if we had the ability to survive for hours or days completely out of our natural element? Most days I feel like I can’t survive a chill for more than 10 minutes without my sweater.

Or maybe he is a bad example- maybe he really was a quitter and suicidal? Maybe I prolonged his life years longer than he wanted? Imagine if every time we felt like jumping ship, someone came along and picked us up? Would we be grateful? Would we feel inspired to make something better of our life? Would we just come to expect it and throw ourselves out of the water at every chance, knowing the safety net is there?

Who knows what the lesson of the eel is. Perhaps it’s different for each of us. There probably isn't a lesson here at all. I just know that he was a survivor and a super cool and interesting pet. I have never seen another one in a pet store, or I would set up a tank just to have another one.

The eel lived for several more years. I eventually had a new roommate who had pets of his own; cats. The eel jumped out several times and became a live plaything for the cats. I would come home and find him scraped and scarred in another room, carry him to the tank and re-animate him.

Eventually the cats won. The eel just couldn’t beat them up and eventually they did too much damage. One day I put him in the water and he just didn’t revive. He was done. I wanted to keep him around as a conversation piece. I wanted him around to bring up his story and tell people about his amazing eel life.

I tried attaching his body to a plaque and coated him with resin, but I didn’t know what I was doing so he shriveled up to just a twig compared to what he once was. I said goodbye and put him in the trash.

Jaan Pehechaan Ho

2010-09-15T18:13:00.000-07:00

Friends

2010-06-30T08:11:00.000-07:00

Sometimes friendships end.
Sometimes it's a welcome ending, long overdue.
Sometimes it's sudden, a shock, unexpected by one or both of the parties involved.

I've had some friendships for over 20 years. Some of my friends I’ve only had for a few years. Some friends have come in and out of my life and then surprised me that they were back in again.

The beginning of a new friendship is exciting, like a new romance. Since I have been in a monogamous relationship for 15 years, this honeymoon period of a friendship can be quite intoxicating. I get very excited as I discover all the things we have in common; similar parenting styles, favorite foods. I share myself openly, eager to share music, books, art, and I share my other friends. I feel like these new friendships remind me of who I am, and I remember that I have some great traits to bring into any relationship.

The more you move through life with your friend, the more opportunities come up where our core values reveal themselves. Sometimes they don’t match up. As the honeymoon period wanes, and reality sets in, the differences begin to add up. I find myself having my weekly coffee at the same place where we have been meeting for 9 months and my friend says "Oh! There’s my dream car!" and points to a "Hummer". My idea of a dream car is an electric vehicle that doesn’t take up more than my fair share of the road. Or I’m out at a bookstore and my friend finishes their coffee and sets the empty cup on the shelf, stating if the bookstore wanted them to put it in the trash they would have provided trashcans on every isle. I pick up most trash that crosses my path; I have thrown my back out many times picking up other people’s trash. I’m obsessive, and a clean freak, I hate seeing trash everywhere so I guess I am the litter morality police- I just am.

At first, it is easy to overlook these conflicts, because you have so many other things in common. I’ve just picked up the empty cup on the bookshelf and continued to enjoy the conversation I was having about the books on the shelf. But I always find myself biting my tongue more and more. Each time feeling like my new friend must think the stuff I bring to the table isn’t that great after all. I don’t want to suppress my core values to hang out with someone. I think it’s good that I don’t litter and that I pick up trash -so if my new friend doesn’t think it’s good, then they aren’t really appreciating that part of me. If they like to leave their trash lying around, then they either resent that part of me that picks up trash, or they are taking advantage of me by leaving their trash for me to pick up.

My worst fear is someday becoming a burden to my loved ones, and I’ve had friends who seem like they spend their days making sure they never have to take care of themselves. Eventually I become frustrated to see them working so hard to make sure they don't have to work. I try to keep my judgements to a minimum and to myself, but that's a pretty huge effort to make just to spend time with someone. People who say they don't pass judgement on other's are either willing to spend time with folks who have no moral compass, or they are lying to themselves. We are constantly judging our situation and acting on those choices. Accept it.

Often after biting my tongue for the purpose of maintaining these relationships, I find myself being yelled at for the smallest infraction that they feel I’ve inflicted upon them. I wonder then why I bit my tongue? An example would be- Why don’t I just say at the time "Hey- why don’t you pick up your own trash? MY world is not YOUR trashcan!" A lot of times, it seems the very things I bite my tongue about, I end up getting verbally thrashed about by others.

I have a friend who went for a walk with me once and after an hour, when we were hugging goodbye and parting ways she told me "you have said the "F" word 23 times during this walk. At first I was upset to think we had been having a reciprocal conversation and it ends up she was just counting. But then I was thankful that she was aware of something that bothered her, and she cherished our friendship enough to bring it up. She trusted our friendship enough to know we could move past that. I still say that word way too much, and I do my best to not offend her, and she knows I try and I am aware, but it’s also who I am and she accepts that about me too.

I’ve had friendships that ended in a breakup. A letter, a phone call, an argument. Those are easier for me, because in the end, we know where we stand. I am less comfortable with the friendships that just fade. I had a friend that met me for coffee every Monday for over a year, and then just stopped. I wondered what I did wrong, or why I wasn’t good enough. I asked and was never really answered. I still wish I would just know the real reason why ties were cut. . I do appreciate the people who take the time and courage to tell me how they feel. I’m the type of person who likes to pull the Band-Aid off quickly.

When a friendship starts to fade, and time together starts to wane, I end up missing the conversations about the books, even though I am so happy I’m not picking up trash left by a person who pines for a Hummer. I wonder all the time about friends who don’t call, or who don’t call enough, or who don’t return calls. I guess they have discovered things about me that they don’t jive with, and don’t want to do the "break up" but just want to "keep me on the back burner". As a control freak and sensitive person, and not knowing usually causes me much pain.

Some of my friendships I’ve let fade away- I’ve come to realize that they were a danger to my family or me. Some friendships came at a high price of drama and emotion that I just didn’t want to pay. I am waiting for some of my friends to put their life back together into a manageable state so that I can possibly be their friend again. Sometimes I just need time to ignore the things that were causing me frustration so that I can go back to enjoy the things we had in common. That takes time and sometimes during that time apart you miss your friend terribly, and other times, you find you don’t miss them that much.

I was a person who rarely ends a friendship. My very first blog entries were about how much I cherish my friends. I have since become a lot more selective about who I spend my time with. The people I trust and admire I can count on 2 hands. My life and health is in a precarious state, one that does not lend itself to having "spare time" for shallow or ambiguous friendships. To quote a dear friend’s lyrics- "I’ve made up my mind not to kill my time."

So why am I writing this? Well, there are people out there who I am pulling away from and they don’t want me to, and I just can’t help it right now. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to leave them feeling like I do about the people who are avoiding me. I know how that feels because there are people out there who I want so desperately to spend time with and I guess I want their acceptance and it hurts me that I don’t have it. I don’t like to stop by to say hello to someone and feel like they are feigning joy. I want these friendships back, but don't want it to be an effort for them to hang out with me.

I don’t think any of these situations are terminal. After all, like I’ve said, I’ve had deep, close friendships for several years, then didn’t talk to those people for a decade and then we were able to pick up right where we left off… almost.

May 6th

2010-05-06T12:25:00.000-07:00

I love to leave art on friend's sidewalks or driveways. I always keep chalk in my car- just in case the need arises.

Today is the anniversary of my Mother's death. I miss her a lot. When I look at my hands, I think of her, I have her hands. I have her rings. I don't have her hand to hold. My hands make chalk art for people I love, like my friend Doreen who was born on this day. So today I will celebrate my mother's life, and I will celebrate Doreen's life, and I will celebrate my own life.

Fun is Good

Doug

2010-05-04T12:02:00.000-07:00

I chalk tagged my friend's house today.
A heart with wings heading to the stars to symbolise her late husband.
3 flowers blooming beautiful tied together with a bow symbolizing the family he left behind.

A year ago today a wonderful friend of mine died. His smile is in my mind. His family's tears are in my heart.

We miss you Doug.

420

2010-04-20T09:14:00.000-07:00

Happy 420!
I dedicate this day to my friend Greg- the first person I ever smoked pot with.

He died when he was 32. He left behind his Mother, Sister, Wife and friends. He is missed by all.

The first time I smoked pot with Greg, it made me feel stupid and I eventually threw up. But, by the time I was 17, it seemed like "everyone was doing it". Every year it seemed like more and more people were doing it. Many of these friends went on to bigger and better drugs and eventually died. My dear friend Greg is included in that group of dead friends. By tattooing my initials on his arm on the Valentines day of my 14th year, he was the person who gave me the name most people know me as: KP

Today in celebration of 420 I will go visit a friend of mine who I got high with many times. She is (once again) in a sober living home now. I will walk past the smoking area at the front of this sober living area where many of the tenants will be using their doctor prescribed medicine- medical marijuana. The stress of trying to get sober is enough reason to get your medical marijuana card. I helped pave the way for this situation, and even voted for it. You can thank me.

Today, in celebration of 420 I drove from my son's school one tenth of a mile away to take pictures of 3 of the local businesses:

Everything you need to do it at home.

Everywhere you look people are getting high. Music sings about it, store sell stuff for it, Doctors give you prescriptions for it. It's natural.
Pot makes you feel good. That's why they use if for pain management.
Pot makes you feel less stressed, that's why they give it to people for anxiety.

If you are a 16 year old kid who is too busy getting stoned to make it to school on time, or too high at lunch to get back to class, you should be stressed that you are about to become a high school drop out. But pot will help you avoid those feelings.

If your kid is in trouble in school because they bring pot to share with other students, and your solution is to get them their medical marijuana card, then YOU are smoking way too much pot and you should get a life and some parenting classes.

If you are a 25 year old pot head who is sitting around being a burden letting someone else pay your bills, you shouldn't be feeling good, you shouldn't be living stress free! You should get off your ass and make something out of yourself.

If you are the parent of a teenage pothead, or enabling an adult pot head, you should get a life. But if you smoke enough pot, you can avoid thinking about it.

Don't worry, today is your day- 420! Celebrate. Smoke a fatty. Listen to the local radio station as they have Cypress Hill live on their "Wake and Bake" show. Hang out with your friends and laugh at the television for several hours. Smoke a big bong hit and share the road with my husband as he works to support his family. Share the road with me as I drive my son to his music lessons. After all, I voted for this. You can thank me.

For your entertainment, today's theme song: A lovely Video by The Offspring
Too high to understand the lyrics: Mota, by The Offspring

Ghost

2010-03-11T13:37:00.000-08:00

When I was 21 I started working with my Mom. She had a mortgage company and I ran her escrow department. After many years of a very strained relationship, we had finally come to a place where we respected each other and depended on each other and spoke to each other every day. On the weekends I would live my normal 21 year old life- skating ramps wearing my "die yuppie scum" T-shirt. Palm Springs weekends with my friends. During the week my mom was very happy with me while I was posing as a grown up.

I would often call my Mom when I had a problem with a friend or my roommate or a boyfriend. She would listen and occasionally give advice. Around the time I was 22 or 23 years old my Mom started doing this annoying thing on the phone when I would call upset or crying about a problem. She would tell me "Put your right hand on your left shoulder" and I would say okay and not do it. "Are you doing it?" "I want you to really do it and not just say your are. " "Yeah yeah"…I would think in my head. She would say "Now put your left hand on your right shoulder and give yourself a big hug and know it’s from me." I wondered where she picked up this annoying habit. I would occasionally comply and feel totally ridiculous, other times I would lie and say I was doing it and just go along and wonder to myself when my Mom had become such a sentimental emotional person. She sounded like a hallmark card.

When I was 24 my Mom closed up her offices suddenly. I had no idea why she did but I was left to find a job and try to keep all the things I had grown to enjoy. I was once again faced with the question "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I went back to waiting on tables and I started to study photography. I got a darkroom set up in my bedroom and began to make a bit of money shooting pictures. I was just starting to take risks with my life and I felt like I was possibly on the right track to a happy, productive, independent life. I felt like a real grown up instead of just posing as one. 　

My Mom died when I was 25. She had cancer and never told anyone about it. Not anyone. She was sick for several years and kept that sickness entirely to herself. Her death was sudden and unexpected and so traumatic and painful. It became clear why she so suddenly closed up her office. It became clear why she became this talking hallmark card. I was so thankful for the time I had with her and the deep bond that we managed to build in spite of the baggage from my teen years.

Every problem in my life was compounded because I didn’t have a Mommy anymore. When I fell while skating and got 2nd degree burns on my leg, I didn’t have a Mommy to bandage me or loan me money for the doctor or help with the rent because I missed several days of work. So then in addition to having burning pain in my infected leg, I had the problem of possible eviction from my home. I felt like a child again, an orphan lost in a dark world where I didn’t have a hand to hold. To have my safety net pulled out from under me at that age was very crippling. I didn’t have another adult to rely on.

My life continued to crumble after my Mother’s death. I remained in a relationship that was abusive, I had a steady stream of roommates that moved without warning, leaving me strapped financially. I always felt my mother’s presence around me, I would talk to her and felt like she was watching over me. It hurt to know that I would never hear her talk back.

Talking to a ghost is not as helpful as a hug from your Mom.

I remember lying on the floor during one particularly trying time and crying. I spoke out loud to my Mom; "Please give me the strength that you had, give me the wisdom, give me the answers that you would give to me if you were here. Mom I need you so badly to help me through this, I need to feel your strength instead of feeling like a lost little child".

I swear I could hear her voice so clearly, in my mind, not out loud, but still as clear as ever. She told me to put my right hand on my left shoulder and my left hand on my right shoulder. I felt stupid laying on my floor with tears streaming down my face, but this time I couldn't pretend I was doing it, like I did when she and I were on the phone. I had to actually do it because I was sure that she was watching over me. As I hugged myself I could feel her spirit move through me. I could smell her. I could feel her strength, her wisdom, her soul.

At that moment when I was hugging myself and feeling my Mom hug me I realized that all the years that she was annoying me with her "give yourself a hug routine" over the phone, she knew she was dying. She knew there would be a day when I would miss her so terribly and she wouldn’t be there for me. She was trying to find one last way to connect, and did so without ever letting on that she was suffering and dying. When I think of the sadness she must have felt. How alone she must have felt knowing she would die and leave everyone she loved and she chose to do that alone instead of burden anyone. She made sacrifices that I have never known any person be capable of making. My Mom had more strength than any person I have ever met. Ever.

It was so bittersweet to feel my Mom’s hug. I don’t know how to describe it, but I know that other people have felt this sensation. That is why there are those scenes in movies like "Ghost", or "City of Angels" because others have tried to convey this feeling, this experience and they are much better at it than I am. It is to this day, the closest I’ve ever come to a religious experience. The closest I’ve ever been to God.

I know, I know, it’s in my head, that wasn’t real. I can imagine all the things I would think to myself if I were reading this instead of writing it. But I know what I felt. It was her- my Mom’s spirit. One last hug that she managed to touch me with.

I read somewhere that Houdini and his wife had agreed on a secret word so that if or when he died if she was to seek a psychic she was not to believe that psychic was in contact with Houdini unless they could come up with this word. Of course, no psychic could ever tell Houdini’s wife this word, so she never felt like she could contact him in the afterlife. This telephone hug, this one-person hug that my Mom had given me for years was her secret Houdini word. She knew that someday I would need her and she would be able to hug me one last time.

That was last time I was able to feel my Mom’s presence around me. I think her spirit just left after that, and knew I would be okay. I no longer felt her around me in the same strong way as I once did. I miss the feeling of that spiritual safety net.

We have moved into a new home, with new sounds and new creeks and my son sometimes thinks that there are ghosts around making that noise. I tell him it’s just the noises the house makes. In my heart I wish so badly that it is a ghost and not just some structural problem that remains hidden in the ceiling- some future expense that I hope we can prepare for. I want so badly for it to be my Mom watching over him, someday giving him a hug that he will otherwise never get to feel. I want my mother’s strength and wisdom to pass through me to him. I want my ghost. I miss my ghost. Please let it be a ghost

Value

2010-02-26T11:27:00.000-08:00

I believe it was my brother's 14th birthday when he got a nickel in a box from my Mom. I don't know if it was something he asked her for, or if she thought it up all her own, but that nickel was very powerful in our family and defined relationships, communication and sadly; value.

Whoever thought of it, the idea was simply that once a day, every day of my brother's 14th year, my mom and he would connect. She would give him the nickel and tell him "Happy Birthday Son! I am glad you were born!" He proudly saved the nickels in stacks on his bookshelf, each week there was a pile of 7 more. 7 more confirmations of support, 7 more expressions of love.

I thought the idea was brilliant and touching and sweet. At the end of the year you would only have $18.25- which was not a lot of money back then, but you would have had 365 moments to connect with Mom. Moments when no matter what problems Mom was having in her day, or what problems had occurred in his- there was going to be that one moment where that stuff didn't matter and she would tell her son; "Happy Birthday! Thank you for being my child."

My brother's birthday is in April, so when my birthday came in July I asked my Mom if I could have a nickel too. I was told no. It would be unfair to my brother. It was explained to me that the sentiment between she and him would somehow be diluted by my getting a nickel too. I was told that he was good at saving money and I was not and therefore I'd never be able to stack all 365 nickels on the shelf without spending them. Well, it was their thing, I told myself, and not mine. I needed to think hard to somehow create a special ritual with my Mom.

The following year for my brother's birthday, my Mom and he went shopping together and spent the $18.00 on a gift of my brother's choosing. Later that night while we had cake and ice cream as a family, he received another small box- this one containing a dime. My brother was happily surprised at this gift, because he was certain that the previous nickel was a one-year deal- and now this next year, he would end up with twice as much, and almost $40.00 wasn't too bad for a 15-year-old kid in the 1980's.

When my birthday rolled around in July, I asked again if I could have a nickel. I figured he was now getting twice as much, so my nickel couldn't possibly affect the arrangement between them. I explained to my Mom I was older, and much more capable of saving money and that we could make a deal that at the end of the year, if I spend even .05cents of the money, she could have it all back. It would be a lesson in saving as well as a chance for us to connect every day too. I was told no.

That year my resentment grew at the rate of one dime a day. Each pile that was stacked on his bookshelf was like a monument to their love and their relationship that seemed so strong and so different than the relationship I had with my Mom. I began to feel like I wasn't actually worth a dime a day, or even a nickel, and in some ways I suppose I wasn't. I'm sure my Mom didn't consciously try to create that feeling of inferiority or worthlessness. But when I looked at the facts- he was worth 10 times more than I was every day.

During that year, their closeness became a wedge between my Mom and me. I felt I couldn't get in. The dimes were everywhere as a reminder that I had no value in my family. Mom stacked her dimes in the kitchen cupboard, he stacked his on the most prominent shelf in his room. Every day they would hug and giggle and say "Happy Birthday" and "Thank you for being my family" and I felt excluded. More and more excluded until I no longer felt a part of that family at all. Of course our family had tons of other problems, the dime thing was just something visible I could focus on.

The following birthday he got a quarter! Now he was going to have more than double of what he had the year before. I knew enough that I didn't ask for any special daily ritual. I knew enough to just hide, stay invisible or stay angry. I did a lot of that.
I see this type of situation happening all around me- parents who seem so intelligent and loving but will say out loud; "If I knew how hard this one was going to be, I would have stopped with one." or "My son is so cute or talented or more socially adept than his sister". I don't understand why they can't see how damaging it can be to the child who isn't the easy one. Don't they understand that just by saying those things to children they can make them true? If so-and-so always hears they are the "difficult" child, will they ever believe they can be anything else? I grew up thinking I wasn't worth a nickel and believe me, by the time I was a teenager I was making sure everyone else knew that too.

You can’t call a child a slob over and over and then expect them to clean their room.

I am a Mom now, so I understand a lot more about why my parents did the things they did. I understand many of the choices they made and although I don't agree with them, or I think I would have found another way, I still understand why they felt they had no other choice.

My parents did the best they could, and coming from how they were raised, they have done 100% better. Isn't that all we can really hope for as parents? To improve upon what we had. Take the good and bring it along and revise the bad or make it go away.
Even with all that justification, I just can’t figure out why I couldn't have a nickel. Why would anyone have two children and consistently give one child some things they would never consider giving the other? Again, I am not talking about just the nickels, but other things as well. The nickels were just a symbol for the effort my Mom put into maintaining a loving relationship with her son.

So, when your Mom is dead and you can't ask her as an adult "Hey, what was the real reason you couldn't give me a nickel?" What do you do? How do you make sense of this? How do you heal yourself and make the world a better place for your own child?
I start by telling my son only the great stories about his Grandmother he's never met. I tell him about how smart and strong she was and how much she would have loved to have held him.

On my son's 10th birthday, I gave him a nickel.
Each night before my son goes to sleep I kiss him and tell him Happy Birthday! Thank you for being born to me and letting me be your Mom. He thanks me for making him and being his Mom. I kiss him and put the coin in the empty peanut butter jar and screw the lid back on. Every night the child inside me is healed. Every night my son knows I love him and no matter what my mood or his, we stop and say I Love You!

My son just turned 11 and he used his 10 year birthday nickels to combine with the rest of his ipod fund. That birthday night, before he went to bed, I went in his room and gave him a kiss and handed him a dime. We are looking forward to another 365 days of Happy Birthday wishes and kisses.

Art Saves Lives so do Friends

2010-02-04T16:21:00.000-08:00

This is Chalk art that I made about 15 years ago. It says "Art SAves Lives" which is a phrase I have tattooed on my body.

I often stamp my dollar bills with rubber stamps that I've had made- One of the stamps says "Art Saves Lives". For a while I misplaced the stamp and would search for it from time to time, when I found it I sent my friend a text message that said "I found my Art Saves Lives stamp." He saw this text on his phone when he pulled it out to take a photo of something he saw while driving in Oxnard. This is the photo:

Yep, that's right, it says Art Saves Lives right on the wall!

So then he sent the photo to my phone and continued to drive to the Dr.s office and when he pulled into the parking lot he saw this:

Guess I was on his mind a lot that day- or the world was telling him I should be on his mind or to contact me?

Funny how sometimes we have friendships that glow and grow and then fade and flicker while others are always just there- constant, comforting, continuous and dependable.

I've needed my dependable friends a lot lately. I am thankful for them. During times of trouble it's nice to have friends. I think this week these close friends have probably saved my life.

Friends Save Lives.

Thank You

survival

2010-01-26T23:33:00.000-08:00

I have watched many friends die from drugs or alcohol. I miss them all. I mourn for their families.
At what point is the line crossed from support to enabling to letting people drag you down? This is what I am struggling with this week, which leaves very little time for self indulgent essays, although I do love to do that. I have a cool story about an eel I am working on.
So- if anyone has advice- where do you draw the line in the sand? I wonder if I should go back to al-anon meetings? How much time do I commit to someone else's life anyway?
So many of my friends who have died, I sat at their funeral wondering why I didn't try one more time to talk to them, to get them help, to do anything possible to keep them on this earth.

Do you help people as long as they say they want to help themselves?
Do you help people till they are no longer helping themselves?
Do you help until their lifestyle is putting yours in jeopardy?
If my friend was drowning, I would jump in even though I am a poor swimmer. I would try to save them.
Isn't that the same as helping someone even though you may not be able to help or they don't want help and will likely pull you down with them?
And just in case you are concerned- Duke and Chris are just fine-
It's the extended "family" I may need to "cut my losses" with. Other people I love who are falling fast.

Every night I pray-
Please God- don't let anyone I love die tonight or sink so deep into a bottle that they can't see out.
I can't stand the thought of burying another one of my friends this year...

See the following:
Another friend gone
May 6 2009

Peer pressure

2010-01-07T13:48:00.000-08:00

My parents moved from Manhattan Beach to Wilmington when I was 5 years old. They had decided it was better to live like kings in a big 5-bedroom house in Wilmington than live like paupers in a 2-bedroom house in Manhattan Beach.

We lived at the end of a cul-de-sac and I attended a very diverse private school. I took piano lessons and went to the nursery with my Mom to buy flowers for the yard. We had a 2-room playhouse in the backyard - so my brother and I didn't have to share... and a tire swing in front yard that we shared with all the neighborhood kids. Every Christmas all the kids from the neighborhood would get Big Wheels and we would ride for hours in the street- there was never any traffic and all the parents would keep their eyes on all the kids.

Every night before 4th grade I would sit on the floor in front of my Mom as she would carefully wrap my super straight, thin hair into pin-curls. I would sleep with my head covered in hair clips so that it looked like I had a metal colander on my head. In the morning I would brush it out and style it into two "Cindy Brady-esque" pigtails before school. I really wished I was a Brady- from a big family where I would have options on what sibling I would hang out with. At that time my life did seem to resemble a television sit-com, we had popcorn on Friday nights while we watched "the Rockford files" and we toasted marshmallows in our fireplace. Even more nostalgic to me now was that there seemed to be easy solutions and prompt and final resolutions of problems.

My parents pinched their pennies and saved their money and we never took family vacations and we never had the newest and best things but we always had enough and we always seemed to have more than anyone else in our neighborhood. That was as close to a Brady existence that I would ever get.

By the end of 4th grade my parents announced that we would be selling our home at the end of the cul-de-sac in Wilmington and moving to a tiny home at the top of a hill in Torrance. I remember the night we drove by the property in Torrance and I couldn't imagine how I was going to get anywhere living at the top of a hill. It was obvious to me that my Big Wheel days were over.

We moved during the summer and I didn't meet any kids I was going to attend school with the coming year. I showed up for my first day of 5th grade wearing my red gauchos and curly pig tails. I was met with scrutiny and criticism. I was questioned by girls "What kind of pants are those!" and I replied "Gauchos" not understanding the question. They wanted to know what BRAND they were, not what style. I had entered into a world I knew nothing about. When the girls said Dittos- they were not referring to copies of a paper from a teacher, When they said Vans they were not talking about an automobile.

From the moment I walked onto the campus I was an obvious outcast. These girls were so much more sophisticated than I was. They had feathered hair and Dittos and high-heeled Cherokees and I had gauchos and sandals and Cindy Brady hair. The girls in this more affluent neighborhood didn't necessarily purchase happiness, but they certainly sold their childhood. They were little women at 10 and 11 and I needed to grow up fast.

I remember walking home from school crying. I was 10 and couldn't verbalize the problem or imagine a solution. As an adult I understand I was feeling betrayed by my parents- how could they not know what they were doing to me? Why didn't they give me the tools I needed to succeed in that world? All I could do then is cry, and when my Mom asked me why, I didn't have any answers.

My brother was a bit more astute and able to quantify his needs. Within the week he had his O.P. shorts, Hang ten shirt and Vans on his feet. I would lock myself in my room and put a Barry Manilow or Olivia Newton John album on my record player and cry. I didn't really understand why I didn't fit in I guess. I do remember asking my Mom for Dittos and being told that they were far too expensive and form fitting for a girl my age- and as a Mother of an 11-year-old, I agree. The child inside of me longs for those tools of acceptance. Please Please Please buy me some friends!

I remember there was a boy that many kids made fun of; his name was Bobby and he suffered a minor physical deformity that was the subject of conversation and harassment. This was 1978 and back then bullying wasn't yet a prosecutable crime. Bobby and I had in common that fact that we were both Polish and he was nice to me despite my offensive clothing. I imagine now that Bobby is a very successful man, having survived the cocoon of school he probably emerged a victorious butterfly. I know that's such a typical analogy, but when I think of the people who's apex of the greatest moments of their life ended at High school graduation.... well, you get my drift.

I did eventually make some friends like Stacey and Tracey. They were nice girls who were neighbors and had the advantage of having older sisters who had already navigated training bras, curling irons and leg shaving. To this day these girls are nice- which is to say that they had more going on personality wise and could therefore risk at the tender age of 10- being friends with an outcast.

With the help of their friendship, I did eventually, temporarily, superficially fit in. I quit having my Mom pin curl my hair and got a curling iron. I ditched my gauchos and eventually scored some dittos. I got the short Cherokees because my Mom would not allow me to have the tall versions, my short ones were stamped with the correct brand name and I was on my way to social acceptance.

I remember the day Tracey showed me that her legs were shaved and I began to do the same. Shaving at 10 was one of the first secrets I had to keep from my Mom- that paved the way to many more. I have scars on my legs from my attempts without an adult's help. The cuts were like a right of passage I guess, and when I sat on the grass hill and my legs stuck out from under my pants, I was no longer humiliated by the unsightly peach fuzz on my 10 year old legs.

My inability to read social situations and social cues has always caused problems. When I asked for something all the other kids really did have, I remember my Dad telling me "Why do you have to be like everyone else? Why can't you be an individual?" But a few years later, when my parents no longer had the money to buy me the tools of the public school trade I found my individuality in thrift shops. It is easier to look like you don't care- and fit in with the punk rockers than it is to ask for another $100.00 pair of jeans. And then as I begun to act out because my Brady Bunch word fell apart. I was able to misbehave under the banner of Punk Rock and still be accepted into some social group. Then my Dad would tell me "Why can't you be like everyone else?" By then I had already resented everyone. By then I didn't identify with everyone else. By the time I was a "punk rocker" I hated everyone else.

Now I am a Mom, and my son goes to a school where the kids have brand name clothes. I think all neighborhoods have those status symbols now to some extent. I do make sure he has similar clothing as the rest of his peers. Part of me feels guilty, part of me feels like a sell out. I don't really want to have to buy his friends or acceptance. I wonder if I am making life too easy, not allowing him to learn that clothing does not actually matter. Maybe I am enabling him to be one of those 30-year-olds who thinks the best time of their life was High School. I need him to know there is more to life than that, but I don't know if sending him to 5th grade in out of fashion clothing is the answer.

I want him to be friends with the jocks and the punks and the cheerleaders- or whatever the groups are called these days. I want to invest on his insides, more than what goes on the outside. There was something magical about aspiring to be a Brady- wanting a certain feeling in my life, rather than a certain look.

Determination

2009-12-18T17:35:00.000-08:00

When I was 16 years old I was in High school but secretly living on my boyfriend's boat. I say secretly because I had to hide it from his parents, because they did not have a "live aboard" slip permit and they didn't really want to "Harbor a runaway" anyway. I had to hide it from my school because if they found out as far as I knew I would be kicked out of school; that happened to me when I was 14 and ran away from home and still tried to attend school. I had to hide it from my parents because if they knew I had a place to stay, they'd blow it for me, so that it wasn't so "easy" for me to be out on my own away from them. So- I lived on a boat several miles away from my school and I would get up every morning and roller skate to school. My first class was Volleyball during "zero period" at 7 am. so I had to get up very early to get to school. I was always warmed up and ready for Volleyball, while all the other kids were whining about how tired they were and how cold the gym was, I was relieved to be indoors- out of the fog- in the light.

I was in an honors English class, and I only mention it was honors, because I am trying to talk of determination and motivation and integrity and responsibility and I believe that having made it to honors English when my home life obviously sucked so bad is a testament to those traits. I loved that class and the teacher; Mrs. Wickstrom, because we got to do a lot of creative writing and that was an amazing outlet for me. From reading my papers, Mrs. Wickstrom could glean that I did not have a typical home life, but she never let on and would just encourage me to continue writing. I always got A's on the content part of my page, and B's on the execution. This was back in the day when there was no computerised spell check and I didn't have a parent's help of even a dictionary on the boat. I know so little about writing now, I am surprised i got B's in that category. Maybe she liked me and was just going easy on me.

One day I got to the boat and did my homework and fell to sleep especially early- leaving my backpack and roller skates on the floor. I woke up to discover the floor of the boat had inches of rainwater- and my skates and backpack were in that water. My school papers were in my backpack, and therefore also wet. All the clothes I owned were either in that backpack, or in my locker at school, so the only solution was to put on my wet skates and get to school early so I could change into a different outfit then the one I was wearing. High school kids and teachers notice if you wear the same thing two days in a row and it's a sure tip-off that you are not living with dear old Mom and Dad.

Wet homework is another sure tip off, and I had an English paper that was very wet and damaged and I certainly couldn't turn it in like that. I went to the public restrooms at the top of the doc and unrolled about 3 feet of paper towel and took it down to the boat. I copied my barely legible wet story onto the paper towel and rolled that up into my backpack, put on my wet skates and headed off to school.

Rollerskating in the rain is not as bad as you might think. Once you commit to it, it is actually fun. Visually, when you skate in the rain, it's like driving in the snow- you can see the drops coming down but you are skating towards them, it all seems to look like it's coming at an angle- so it looks like you are skating into a tunnel. Once you surrender to the fact that you are going to be wet when your skate is over, it's not as cold as you may think- as your clothes get wetter, your body is getting warmer from the skate, so that kind of cancels each other out and you are just about the temperature you started with. Skating on wet pavement just makes you go faster than usual and creates a super sound effect like an amplified whoosh whoosh that makes you feel like you are skating even faster still.

When I got to school I had dry sweat pants and tennis shoes waiting for me in my gym locker. I was so grateful to be at school and it was such a safe haven for me that listening to the other kids complain really started to annoy me. I would often reply to their whining with comments like "If school is too hard for you then why don't you move out of Mommy & Daddy's palace and get a job!" My ability to keep my "situation" under wraps was waning. And now, I had an English paper written on a paper towel.

I showed up for English class a few moments early and told Mrs. Wickstrom that I did my homework, but it had gotten rain damaged and would she please allow me to fix it? I planned to borrow some paper from a friend, copy it onto dry paper and hand it in by the end of the day. I showed her my paper towel assignment so that she would know that I wasn't trying to get away with anything. She told me it was okay, and that this once I could just turn it in on a paper towel and she would grade it like a "normal" paper. I apologised and folded it neatly on her desk so that no one would know it was my homework. As I turned around, to my horror I saw a student already at his desk and I knew I had been caught.

I sat down and tried to play it off but as the class filled up and he was shielded in the anonymity of the class, he began to tease me for bringing my homework in on a paper towel. I was so mad that I got caught. I was so mad that the teacher was gonna cut me some slack but one of my peers would not. I was so mad that I just couldn't control myself and ignore his comments. I jumped up and yelled at him- for the entire class to hear; "I bet you have a solid oak desk at your house, with piles of multi-colored paper and pens and pencils falling out of the drawers!" "I bet every day when you get home, your Mommy has home made cookies and ice cold milk in a frosted glass that she serves you, and I bet- even with all that help, you still didn't do the assignment, and I did it on a PAPER TOWEL!" Like you would expect a bully to do in a situation like that- he just sat there- shocked that I would stand up to him at all, or draw the rest of the class' attention to the fact that I DID MY HOMEWORK ON A PAPER TOWEL.

In front of the whole class and the teacher too- I challenged him loud and clear to a duel; I bet, on the very next assignment, I would get a better grade than him. I bet him 5 bucks that even though he had everything he needed to succeed, and I had no resources available to me at all, I bet him that I could get a better grade than him. He shook my hand and I sat down, and Mrs Wickstrom was so bewildered and amused by what just happened that she chose to ignore the whole thing and just started in on the regular lesson.

It was a few days before the next assignment grades came out, and I imagine this boy forgot all about the bet. He had to because otherwise wouldn't he have worked extra hard to get the very best grade possible? When the papers came around with all the red pen marks- I asked him what grade he got. The class got quiet. I raised my voice; "I got an A in content and an A in execution- what did you get?" He shows me his paper, and I had the better grade. "Pay up" I demanded as I put my hand out to him. "NO!" he replied. "I'm not giving you anything!" I couldn't believe it. I was so mad, I felt taken advantage of somehow- I lost my temper and jumped out of my desk and brought my fists down on his back- cursing at him. He was cursing back. It was just a flash of insanity- I think they call it a "crime of passion" I had already re-gained my senses by the time Mrs. Wickstrom yelled at us. She sent us both to the principals office. As we walked across campus to the principals office we talked- He didn't really care about the 5.00 or his grades and my issue wasn't really with him, so somehow we went from fist fighting to allies- trying to figure out how to get into the least amount of trouble at the principals office.

The principal wasn't there- only the school counselors. Back then there were many counselors employed by the school, and "your" counselor was assigned by your last name. For instance-all students with the last name starting with A-F got to go talk to "Mr Smith" if they needed something. Usually this was for planning which classes to take, more than talking about trouble at home. I remember my boyfriend always saying that Mr. Schneider was the greatest school counselor, but he wasn't assigned to my last name, so I never got to see him.

Well, this time only Mr. Schneider was there, so we had to go to him instead of the principal. After the boy explained that he had reacted in self defense- he was excused from the office and Mr. Schneider said he was going to have to call my parents. I told him he would have to call my boyfriend, since I was living on his boat, but that my boyfriend always spoke highly of him and perhaps he could help me out. We talked for at least an hour- I explained that I had not lived with my parents for months, but that I wanted to continue in school and get my diploma to spite them- in spite of them. I guess he was moved because he didn't call my parents, and he gave me special tickets so that I could get a free breakfast every morning after zero period and before first period. Now I had food and an adult on my side who would keep my secret.

I don't know why I had such determination to complete High school. Perhaps it was because I had already had several jobs by the age of 16 so I knew that if I didn't get an education, I would be doing the same thing forever. Perhaps because it was so much easier than working at the burger stand till midnight that I didn't see any reason to not succeed. Perhaps I did it because I felt alienated from all the kids at the school, who seemed to have such an easier life yet complained about it. I wanted to finish school so I could be away from them, at least enter the world on a level playing field with them. I couldn't stand the thought of them being superior to me forever. I know I did it because my parents thought I couldn't and wouldn't. That was certain. But I had so many opportunities to give up- perfectly good reasons to just say "Oh my skates are wet, I'm not going to school today". It's not like I would have been in trouble with my parents. They were not there to drag my ass out of bed and drive me to school. By my senior year, many of the kids who had their parents driving them didn't get their diploma.

I don't know how to teach determination. I don't know how to help my child have it. I don't know how. School was easy for me- you show up, you do the work, you get the grade. It's like work- you know what is expected and you just do it. Parenting is so much more difficult, and so much more important. You can always get a different job or re-take a class or re-do an assignment. But every little mistake you make with your child is a black spot on their perfectly sunny light. I need help to teach my son the values and morals that have helped me be okay- in spite of my homework being wet. I had that within me before my parents kicked me out. I had that by the time I was 16. How did they teach it to me? Where did I learn it? I am now determined to be the best mom possible, but I don't know how to do it- and I fear determination alone isn't enough.

Thank You

2009-12-14T12:46:00.000-08:00

Thanks to all who commented on my last blog entry. The support and love that came my way during that sadness pulled me out of the darkness quickly. I usually drag that gloom along for much longer. I am grateful to have such love and support and understanding from so many. Kind words and hugs mean so much to me.
I want to share with everyone something else that meant so much to me; a gift. A surprise gift from my friend Jerome T. A super cool guy with a super cool business: Picture My Pet
I was at our mutual friend's studio and our friend said "Oh yea, Jerome made that for you" and kinda shrugged over towards a plastic bag. When I opened it up, there was this awesome little miracle for me, the most thoughtful of gifts! Jerome Rocks and I just wanted to take a moment to tell you all that he made this shirt for me:

It made me cry. But in a happy, happy way. Words fail me. I wish I knew how to tell you all what a wonderful gift this was. It was so unexpected. I guess, if you read my last blog, you would have a pretty good idea.

So, I just wanted to say thanks to everyone! And thanks to Jerome for the lovely shirt. If anyone can use his awesome services over the holidays- Click here to check out his awesome printing services you can give someone a shirt that might make them cry. In a good way.

"It's only stuff"

2009-11-18T08:47:00.001-08:00

These are my Grandma's Ladles. Circa 1950? They have that awesome vintage design on them-perhaps it's called a mid-century-modern design? In my home we refer to that star-like shape as "dings". The sound effect from a commercial when your floor would sparkle after using a special product advertised. Back when it was still okay for a woman to feel accomplished if you made your floor sparkle.

The designs back then were "futuristic" or what was imagined the future would look like. Think- 'Jetsons' and hover cars. In that era, there was a general feeling of promise and hope for the future. There was pride for a job well done, and hard work was respectable; not something you suffered through if you weren't wealthy or smart enough to hire someone else to do it for you.

My Grandmother was a hard working woman. She had jobs in factories and cleaning hotels and also quite often when the money would allow; she got to be "just" a Mother and Wife and Homemaker. She was an amazing cook and seamstress. She taught my Mom how to sew and also tried (unsuccessfully) to teach me. My Mother died before my Grandmother. The greatest gift I ever gave my Grandmother was my son because he was her living proof that her legacy would live on. He was that part of her, that part of her daughter, to continue on in the world.

So- when Grandma died, I couldn't keep all her furniture, all her stuff, because I already had all my Mom's stuff. I kept Grandma's photos and I kept her ladles, and the coffee pot with the 'dings', and her dishes. I didn't have room for much more than that. I have so many things.....

I know that these are just things- that the things don't actually contain the memories. I know that the memories are still there if the things are gone. But in the same way you can hug your Mom or Grandma to make yourself feel good and safe- I only get to hold these things. So I want to always have these things. And I want to give these things to my son so he can hold these things.

Eventually the idea came to me to have these 'dings' on my body- near me, like a hug, to have forever. I knew exactly where I wanted them, and how they would look on me and how it would feel to have them placed on me. I was ready to get the tattoo with the only exception being that I didn't have any discretionary income to buy a tattoo. I knew when I got some "extra" money, what I would do with it.

I sometimes work in a big building with individual private offices and at the end of each floor are two bathrooms. Early in the morning, as I walked into the women's bathroom, I found a hundred dollar bill on the floor. I picked it up and checked to see that it was real. I checked each stall and there was no one else in the bathroom. I walked the entire floor and there was not a single person in any office. I walked back to my office and wrote a note- "If you lost something in this bathroom, please call to identify and I will be happy to return it". I taped the sign to the bathroom door and waited all day for a call that never came. When I got off work I called my tattoo artist and said "I found a hundred dollar bill on the bathroom floor- do you want it?"

I love this tattoo so much. I think it is pretty and very fitting for the area and I love that it is my ladle tattoo that I found on the bathroom floor. I know my Grandma and Mom didn't love my being tattooed, but I feel that somehow they gifted this tattoo to me anyway.

I still love having the ladles- and the other "stuff" that I can hold in my hands and pass on to my son. I hope to raise him to be the kind of person who knows his history and values hard work and taking care of irreplaceable things.

We are moving now, into the first home that we own as a family. I have been packing and sorting and letting go of a lot of 'things'-because I can't take it all with me and I don't want to be a hoarder, or pack rat. We have been in this house for 8 years and have acquired a lot of stuff. But there are still so many things that I don't want to get rid of. Like the ladles. And the dishes. I decided to quit waiting "till I grow up" to use Grandma's dishes. After all, I am 42 years old and I would derive so much pleasure from seeing and touching her things every day. So I pulled the dishes out of the attic to assess what I had and prepare them to take to our new home.

When I picked up the box it rattled like an evil maraca. When I opened the box, this is what I found:

The sadness that came over me was so overwhelming. I know, they are just things. I know it shouldn't matter. Yet, I feel so sad. Adding to this sadness is the fact that TODAY is my Mother's birthday, and I can't buy her a cake or give her a hug. I can't eat from her mother's plates. Almost the entire set is broken- completely broke and damaged beyond repair. Even looking at that photo makes me feel like I have been punched in the stomach. So- I have been crying on and off, over some stupid stuff. Silly, right? I still have the memory of my Grandma- what I don't have is the idea that these things of hers were safe in my attic and there for me some day when I was grown up and ready to use them. So my advice to anyone who will listen, is DON'T STORE THIS STUFF! Use your nice things and hold your loved ones close and hold their things often. I would have rather used these for years and eventually accidentally broken each one, than to have found them all as a broken pile of dishes to use when I grow up and deserve nice things.

And now I am consumed with this idea that I should ignore all my moving and packing obligations, and forget my financial responsibilities and go get this pattern from one of the few unbroken dishes tattooed on my body. After all, what better day than today- since it is my Mother's birthday.

I hope as I get older, I continue to have things of beauty all around me, things I can pass on to my sons and daughter. Things they will hold and enjoy and most of all- use daily. Things that will be helpful to them, not just to be packed and stored and eventually broken beyond repair.

Perhaps as the rest of this day unfolds, I will miraculously find tattoo money on the ground.

Sorry Grandma.

Happy Birthday Mom.

Baby Baby, please let me hold you. I wanna make him stay up all night.

2009-11-11T07:11:00.000-08:00

This is little Ryder Layne.

Feet and non-knuckles

Lips

Eyelashes like curtains.

Halloween

2009-10-30T12:14:00.001-07:00

I have always loved Halloween. When I was young, all my costumes were "home made" - a clown, a hobo, a witch. Back then you could buy a costume in a box- like at K-Mart and it would have some weird mask with a string on the back and some thin nylon outfit that you would wear over your regular clothes. But, in my family, we always made our costumes, so I was always envious of the kids who got those store bought boxes:

Now I'm older and I think back to how amazing my costumes were that my parents would create after I imagined them. My Dad would build race cars out of boxes or my Mom would sew a dress and make me a tin foil crown to go with my cardboard and glitter wings.

My son Chris has had nothing but store bought costumes ever since he was old enough to say NINJA! First he needed to be an all black ninja, then a black and red ninja... I loved how he would move around the house all ninja-like once he put the costume on. I loved that it made him feel so special and his imagination was so vivid. I wanted to create the costume from "scratch" but he needed to be like the other kids, he needed to be the ninja he saw in the store, on the mailers that came to the house, Halloween has always been a blast, but secretly inside me, I wished just once that during the school costume parade, he was not one out of many ninjas- I wished he had the experience of building his own costume, figuring out how to create something of his own.

So this year, I asked him what he wanted to be for Halloween and he said "a NERD". I asked if he saw a picture of a nerd somewhere or an ad for a costume and he said no, he wanted to make it himself.

Oh yippee! Hurray!

He had it all planned out in his mind, and we went to several thrift stores to get the goods. I can't sew, so my friend Vania helped with the hemming and dork-ifying of the pants. She also fixed the suspenders so he could keep his pants up super high. Another friend helped by locating and ordering bow ties and pocket protectors because I wasn't having any luck finding these things at thrift shops or office supply stores. It takes a village to raise a child they say, and it took a village to help me help my son make his costume. Thanks Ladies!

Chris was the only nerd that looked like him at the school parade today. I was happy for him and he was super proud of his outfit. I got teary eyed because this will be my last elementary school costume parade I have a family member in until I have grandchildren. I was also a bit teary eyed because I was reminded of my costumes as a child, and how they were always different than everyone else and how that made me feel uncomfortable. I cried becasue my son felt special and unique because he was different than anyone else.

Happy Halloween everyone!

The cutest dork I've ever seen.

Pennance or Funism participation?

2009-10-28T08:32:00.000-07:00

I guess I felt guilty for laughing at "the people of wall mart" website and emails that have been coming around. Maybe I just saw an opportunity to participate in some Funism? Perhaps my friend and I were just waxing nostalgic for when we were in our 20's and we would dress up to go do our laundry?

No matter the inspiration- we went in full "OMG" "WTF?" costumes to Wall Mart to see if we could make it on the website. We have submitted our photos but haven't made it yet, so I thought I'd just share our attempt with the blog world for now.

Do something FUN today-

Survey's are sometimes FUN

2009-07-01T12:28:00.000-07:00

Ask your child(ren) to answer the questions and type their answers in. Ask other moms who might have fun with this. :)

I asked Christopher (10)

1. What is something mom always says to you?
Hey Cutie Pie!

2. What makes mom happy?
Pink Hair and Gir

3. What makes mom sad?
Me doing bad in school.

4. How does your mom make you laugh?
When you tickle me.

5. What was your mom like as a child?
She was cute and nice

6. How old is your mom?
41

7. How tall is your mom?
5 foot 2 inches

8. What is her favorite thing to watch on TV?
Invader Zim

9. What does your mom do when you're not around?
Go to Java Man (local Mom & Pop coffee shop)
(Chris also asked if I use a lot more bad words when he is not around)

10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?
Her pink hair and funny stories.

11. What is your mom really good at?
Being a Mom

12. What is your mom not very good at?
Skateboarding

13. What does your mom do for her job?
She is my Mom

14. What is your mom's favorite food?
Salad (He then called me rabbit girl)

15. What makes you proud of your mom?
Her pink hair

16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be?
Wonderwoman with pink hair

17. What do you and your mom do together?
Snuggle

18. How are you and your mom the same?
We are both punk rock

19. How are you and your mom different?
**I am an actor/model and she is not
(for the record, I am merely the driver.....)

21. What does your mom like most about your dad?
His muscles

22. Where is your mom's favorite place to go?
Java Man

23. If you would change one thing about your mom what would it be?
More patience.

**Chris the survey in the car on our way to Hollywood- probably why he answerd # 19 the way he did- if we were on our way to the skatepark or Guitar lesson it would have been different, I'm sure.

Chalk Art Slide Show

2009-07-01T12:09:00.000-07:00

Chalk Can't Hurt You

2009-07-01T10:28:00.000-07:00

I love chalk art. I have worked in this medium for years- sometimes going to the beach after midnight to create covert chalk murals for the people. I also lived for years on a busy street, with a big blank wall between my home and the traffic- this wall was my canvas. The police would occasionally come by, but then leave me alone when they found out I lived there and it was only chalk. (I eventually wrote "It's only chalk" so that people who drove by would not be afraid or offended) My neighbors would leave chalk on my doorstep, so I knew they approved.

I try to never write political or religious statements, only positive, colorful statements to keep with my idea of "FUNism". I often steal slogans, but I think I read a quote by Pablo Picasso that said "immature artists borrow, mature artists steal" so- that's my excuse. The art is mine, the words aren't always, and I hope if I wasn't able to "steal" the words, that I at least made them worthy of being borrowed.

The last day of school

2009-06-18T10:28:00.000-07:00

Yesterday (Wednesday) was the last day of school for Chris, so naturally, on Tuesday night we went by the schoolyard and scattered more "crystals" as well as a dozen bouncy balls on the schoolyard.

I must say that I experience sheer joy as I throw all those colorful glass treasures over the fence. Chris and I laugh as we feel like secret fairies scattering pixie dust across the grass. I feel an even deeper sense of satisfaction, when on the afternoon of the last day of school I get an email from one of the teachers that says:

I wanted to let you know a little boy from our class found a crystal on the grass at lunch. It couldn't have happened to a better kid, as he has a tough time at home AND at school. I told him it was his lucky day and it must mean he is going to have a wonderful summer. I wish you could have seen the expression on his face... total excitement!

Hurray for us!

Mermaids

2009-06-17T09:10:00.001-07:00

Mermaid tagging is not a competitive sport, but if it was, my friend Kacie would be the winner.
Having just introduced her to the concept of toy tagging last night, she caught on quickly, and managed to place this pink mermaid on our friend's shirt- without our friend even knowing!
I took a photo with my phone before someone told her she had a mermaid hanging from her blouse.
Way to go Kacie!

Mundane errands in my day are just more fun when I am leaving tiny treasures everywhere. The local grocery store is full of mermaids and no one knows- Chris and I look up at the places where we put them days before to see that they are still there! Eventually, when the employees do some dusting or re-organizing, they will find them....in the meantime, Chris and I giggle every time we shop, and leave more mermaids.

Shiney Happy Mermaids everywhere.

2009-06-15T09:17:00.000-07:00

We have been having fun leaving secret mermaids wherever we go. They are in the streets of Hermosa Beach, Redondo Beach, Hollywood and Los Angeles.
Mermaid on a bumper- This is the car that belongs to my old boss from a restaurant I worked at.

Mermaids swimming about the streets of Hollywood:

See the orange speck in the ivy that is growing on the light pole:

it's a mermaid:

The perk that is Chris

2009-06-11T21:29:00.000-07:00

Being Chris' Mommy comes with a lot of perks, like long hugs, and snuggling. I also love getting to hear about his dreams in the morning and his impression of the day's events as he gets tucked into bed.

Chris is also very wise and tells me things like: "Teach me slow, so I can learn fast". A quote I should have trademarked...

There are also perks that make my life more convenient, like when he tells me people's names when I forget (which is more and more often these days).

My son makes me proud every day, and amazed and motivated and overwhelmed and inspired and joyful and.. well, there are just so many perks .

Well, today, there was a different perk- a monkey perk.

Today Chris had a photo shoot for Post cereal. For something to do with "Night at the Museum" which then led us to the pleasure of meeting Crystal the Monkey- who stars in that movie.

Chris spent the day in a Hollywood photo studio with an amazing photographer named Dani Brubaker. The four boys enjoyed working with her and had a lot of fun on the 7 hour shoot, and it's pretty darn hard to keep four boys concentrating on anything for that long!

The trainer, Tom, was such a nice guy and let all the kids have Crystal on their shoulder and even let me video tape as she did her famous Monkey Slap on Chris. When Crystal wasn't having her photo taken with the boys, I follwed her and her trainer around asking questions and playing with her- she really seemed to like my phone and I loved looking and her cute tiny leathery hands.

Thanks Chris, for being such a special guy! And thanks for the special day! As charming as little crystal is, Chris Rennie is still my favorite monkey.

And, in case you are wondering; there are now at least a dozen little plastic mermaids living on the streets of Hollywood!

Random acts of Fluffy-ness!

2009-06-08T09:01:00.000-07:00

We went down to the school again to leave more "Shiney things" or "Crystals", as I've been told the younger students call them. We decided to add a little fluff to the event by tossing in a few tiny chicks.

I had a feeling that the chicks would be too light and fluffy to toss over the fence, so in true Dennis the Menace fashion, I brought along my son's slingshot. This just sent the chicks high into the air and back down at us, which made us all laugh. Dad eventually had to hop the fence and run around the schoolyard depositing fluffy chicks into blank spots in the grass. I'm glad school is almost out for summer, so I can spend my days with my son, but we will miss leaving treats on the school yard .

The last 3 mermaids (for now)

2009-06-05T07:07:00.000-07:00

Mermaid on surfter statue in Hermosa Beach:

Mermaid on a friend's car window:

Mermaid on the coffee bean stairs:

Now, I am out of mermaids. We'll see what comes up next VDub.....

Little Shiney Things

2009-06-02T09:03:00.000-07:00

Chris loves little shiney things and has a bunch of them.

Sometimes we need to share them with the world so we put some in a bag

and take them to the schoolyard and throw them on the grass.

When the children go to school the next day, they find them as they play on the grass, and pretty soon it's like a glass easter egg hunt for them during recess. I like to drive by and watch all the kids get excited as they find shiney little things on the lawn.
I love the acts of kindness that are random and shiney!

Plastic Mermaids and Pastrami

2009-05-31T10:44:00.000-07:00

Saturday we went to Culver City Skate park for an afternoon session, then couldn't resist going to Johnnie's Pastrami for lunch, since they are the BEST!

I brought the mermaids with me for tagging- Culver City needs mermaids too after all!
I placed one in the star Jasmine plant:
One on the light cord:

Then I got an onion ring shaped like the universal sign for "NO!" It must be a sign from the greasy spoon gods-
So I decided it was time to stop mermaid tagging the restaurant:

Magical Mermaids

2009-05-31T10:17:00.000-07:00

I have been leaving little mermaids all over town. There is one next to the light in the bathroom of my favorite coffee shop:

Today I was at my favorite coffee shop hang out and one of my "little friends" came with her Mom and Dad. I had plastic mermaids in my purse. Every time my little friend would leave her seat to go inside for something, I would place another toy on her chair. We began to think the chair was magic and my little friend was quite excited at that prospect.

I like that 4 out of 5 of her fingers have Hello Kitty band aids on them. Super cute. That alone must make her magical!

The little Mermaids

2009-05-28T14:29:00.000-07:00

More Not So Random Acts of Fun-Ness

So, for a while we were toy tagging, and that was lots of fun, but eventually we ran out of toys.
So I purchased little plastic animals and began using them; hiding them in purses, in bar bathrooms, in cars- everywhere and anywhere. When you listen to the recording of "All the Grown ups" at the Good Hurt, you can hear people in the background saying "I got a chicken, I got a Pig!" I hid them in the ice cream section of the grocery store. The joy of secretly giving; My Not so random acts of kindness. But eventually we ran out of the little plastic animals.
We also had lots of fun with John McCain, and many of you enjoyed checking in to see where he showed up. But people didn't get to keep John, they just got to live vicariously through him so it wasn't like sharing little gifts with the world....we were just sharing bits of our world with others.
So- I got mermaids. Little plastic mermaids. They are to assist in identifying drinks when you have more than 2 people in a room drinking (like those clever little wine charms) but these are clever little mermaids.

So far the mermaids have come with me to see the Meat Puppets:

(That little orange speck on the mike stand is a mermaid.)
And this little green mermaid got left on the toilet seat covers at the L.A. Zoo:

I had 60 mermaids to share with the world, I'm down to less than a dozen. Let us know if you find one.

The Meat Puppets

2009-05-15T10:06:00.000-07:00

I like this interview and I don't know how to "follow" this blog- so I will post a link here:
http://decemberschildren.blogspot.com/2009/05/meat-puppets-have-seen-and-been-through.html

Here is a photo of Chris and the Kirkwood brothers:

May 6 2009 -

2009-05-06T15:42:00.000-07:00

This time last year I was chalk tagging Nancy's house. I still managed to tag Doreen's for her birthday, but I didn't even take a photo.

17 years ago today my Mom died. Her death was sudden and I was left alone to take care of everything- from identifying her body to planning the funeral.

I found out 2 nights ago that my friend commit suicide. He left behind 2 young boys and his high school sweetheart. I've been his friend since we were in my very early 20's- I first remember watching him skate down my hill when I was 11 or 12. We first spoke when I was that age- he had the first backyard ramp I ever attempted to skate at that age.

I was angry about his death for a while and then finally sad and now just really missing my Mom on the anniversary of her death. I feel like I am walking through quicksand today. My body is heavy. My heart is heavy. My life is heavy. Duke stayed with me today and for that I am grateful. But- he can't be my Mom.

I need so badly to have a Mom figure in my life. My Mom did not lie, or gossip or manipulate. She did not diet or discuss her weight. She was an amazing cook and seamstress and business woman. She did not take any crap, but she could take honesty. She dealt with everyone on a professional, considerate, human level. I do not have any grown women in my life like that. I feel a huge deficit in my life right now.

I am 41 years old and the thought going through my mind and heart today is I WANT MY MOMMY.

The Presidential Inauguration

2009-01-20T10:18:00.000-08:00

Yippee!! WE have a new president!

I listened on the T.V. whilst prepping chicken for my family's dinner. I felt excited. Then I went to the living room and saw on the screen something that made me worry for our country. I felt embarrassed for our country.

When people who travel all the way to the white house to witness the inauguration- why would they leave trash lying on the ground as they go?

Was I the only one who noticed? (I do have compulsive tendencies when it comes to litter)

Didn’t our new president urge us to take personal stock in our environment? Didn't he just give a speech the other day about- "If there is an empty dirty lot with trash in it and dangerous things- don't sit and wait for someone to clean it up, get off your couch and do it yourself?" So, why, after this historic event, did people just walk away and leave trash on the white house lawn? I witnessed the "presidential trash pickers" and wondered how much WE had to pay them, and do they recycle?

How do we litter the white house lawn while the whole world watches?
I wonder when we can start being all that we see in Obama and less apathetic and entitled Americans?

Well, I will try to suppress my O.C.D. and just feel hopeful for our new beginning here in the U.S.A. It is a historic day!

Who needs action when you've got words?

2009-01-16T11:20:00.000-08:00

Wednesday night I went to see the Meat Puppets. Yes, they are back and rocking like they always have. When I found out about the show, I tried not to get too excited, like when my favorite book was made into a movie and by the time production was over, I knew it was gonna suck. I'm just a 40 year old punk rock mom; the first non-nursery rhyme song my son learned was Iggy's "Now I wanna be your dog" and the next was the Meat Puppets "Lake of Fire" . In fact as my son started to learn to play guitar, that was one of the first songs he learned.
I recently had neck surgery and shouldn't have been out in a crowd but just couldn't resist. After all- like most of their fans- I never thought I would get to see them play again and when I found out I could, I was driven by a force greater than my self-preservation. I was warned to wear my neck brace to the show, but couldn't bring myself to do it and instead just positioned myself next to the stage with my friends surrounding me like a human wall of protection. The only time I felt my neck was in danger was when a guy kinda jumped off stage and did a half-hearted stage dive thing and landed on the girl 2 bodies away from me. I feel sorry for that girl, but grateful the gods didn't land him on the girl who has metal plates in her neck and cadaver bone that needs to fuse.
I had no reason to minimize my expectations- It was possibly the greatest show of my life! My face hurt from smiling. It felt like Christmas morning and each song was another gift to open. Each song was like unwrapping a big wheel or jewelry box with a spinning ballerina or today's equivalent of an Ipod or Wii. There was never a disappointment- no new underwear or socks in the box- just amazing music and so many memories of my teens and early twenties coming back to me, as well as forging new memories by bringing Duke to his first Meat Puppets show. As we drove home he told me that it was probably one of the two best shows he has ever attended as well. Now he understands me deeper- he has listened to the Meat Puppets for years, but it is something different to see them live. Now we are fans together. Meatheads. I can't wait for the next one.
Who needs action when you've got words?

Cool Plants

2009-01-13T17:17:00.000-08:00

Isn't this shrubbery art amazing? The cheeks are actually rounded like you'd want to just pinch them.

It's really quite huge- in fact, the boy standing in front of them is 4 foot 2 inches!

John McCain

2009-01-01T20:20:00.000-08:00

I can't say enough about the joy John McCain has brought to our family. Recently he has found a few friends, but first, I'd like to share a few more photos of John.

Happy New Year!

John McCain embracing the Chrismas spirit

2008-12-10T22:07:00.000-08:00

We still have way too much fun with John.....

Little big man

2008-12-09T15:42:00.000-08:00

This is my little boy- being a big boy- comforting me in the hospital. He has been amazing- very nurturing, doing all he can and reminding me that I have to sit and heal- so I don't get scar tissue in the area that was operated on. He tells me: Mom- I still have scar tissue from skating lances pool on my leg- you don't want it to be like that! Well, he did have a terrible "goose egg" on his shin from skating that day:

My boys- they are taking such good care of me. Even Duke learned how to french braid my hair for me- because I can't wash it and felt dirty and gross. See that french braid in the photo above- Duke did it himself.

And my friends- so sweet. People bringing food and picking up my boy for school and bringing him home. Friends loaning me movies and keeping me company on the phone and praying for me.

This is the week I usually mess things up- when I feel just a little bit better but a whole lot more guilty about making my boys do everything for me. I sit on the couch and learn more about nothing while I ask Duke to wash some clothes and ask Chris to bring me an icepack. They don't mind, but I do.
I'm going to be a good girl and sit- just like Chris told me to- so I don't get scar tissue. So soon I can take care of them.

Thanks to all who have helped me.

Breakfast with John McCain

2008-11-19T10:27:00.000-08:00

Okay,Chris is still hanging out with John McCain, so I have more fun and frolic to share. Thanks for watching.

John McCain likes Cheerios:

John McCain is with us all

2008-11-17T17:03:00.001-08:00

John McCain came with us to a Mexican restaurant, and hung out in the bar :
Here he is, having a sip of my black russian:

More John McCain

2008-11-16T14:46:00.000-08:00

John McCain getting some skateboarding practice in our Microwave:

John McCain at Santa Monica Skatepark:

John McCain

2008-11-15T20:14:00.000-08:00

If you are confused about why there are photos of John McCain doing things and stuff, read here. Otherwise, just enjoy the shots!

John and Froggy:

John caught a MerMan!

He's a funny guy (My son)

2008-11-13T09:35:00.000-08:00

My son and I recently went to a bookstore and he saw this John McCain action figure.

He wanted to buy it and I told him no- he only wanted it because it was the only toy of interest in a store full of books.

The next day Chris earned some money and he asked me to drive him back to the bookstore to buy the doll. I drove, he bought. He wasn't even reluctant to spend his hard earned cash. He unwrapped the "Call to action" figure in the back seat on the way home and started saying "I'm John McCain, and I've approved this message".

I drove and giggled.

Chris took John to a school function that night, then played with him the next morning. We took John McCain to the beach, the market, the coffee shop, for sushi. Chris uses my cell phone to take photos. Kind of like "Flat Stanley" but 3-D. And weirder, like my son.

I will be sharing John with the rest of the world now.

And for the record, I would have happily bought an Obama doll, but they were sold out.

Another wonderful thing that makes me happy

2008-09-16T09:55:00.001-07:00

I love this hedgehog ribbon!
I mean, I really really LOVE it! I squeal "Hedgehog Hedge Hog!" when I see it. I got it from Nancy, of course, because she was using it on some clever clothes, because she sews things and stuff.(If you look really close, you can see the hedgehogs on the link provided) I think a clever friend of hers actually designed the cute clever hedgehogs. Can you imagine? I would be painting hedgehogs all over my house, tattooing them all over my body- my car would be one big cute hedge hog.

I am truly excited about one of my favorite author's books being made into a movie and coming into the theatre a week from Friday, so I am re- reading the book and using the Hedgehogs as a bookmark! Now I am extra- extra happy. For those of you who know me- that is pretty hard to do.

Things that make me happy

2008-09-03T21:08:00.000-07:00

The lyrics that make me really happy when I hear them are:
"And if that ain't enough to make you flip your lid, there's one more thing, I've got the pink slip daddy!"- it's by the Beach Boys, but I'm sure everyone knows that right?

The guitar solo that makes me really happy is
one that starts out attacking and pounding and hitting and smashing and then it gets very subtle and gentle and coaxing. Kind of the opposite of the usual for a guitar solo. It's in one of my favorite songs by my all time favorite bands. The song is called Little Man with a Gun in his hand and the band is The Minutemen. Check it out.

More favorite lyrics are these:
"My parties have all the BIG names and I greet them with the widest smile, tell them how my life is one BIG adventure. Always they're amazed when I show them 'round the house to my bed, I have it made like a mountain range with a snow white pillow for my BIG fat head. And my heaven will be a BIG heaven, and I will walk through the front door." That one's by Peter Gabriel. It's called BIG TIME. I like to scream that some some time to try to convince myself. I'm not a Huge fan of his, but I dig that song, it makes me happy. I think it describes me a bit- I do have a big fat head, and I do have big parties with lots of cool people.

I like when I've had a really bad day that I can try to think of a few things I like and try to share them with people I don't even know.

Check out Keb Mo- he's like that too.

Thank you Nancy for finding my Flaming Duke!

2008-08-27T17:45:00.001-07:00

Looking for a beer commercial through the power of BLOG

2008-08-26T18:44:00.000-07:00

Ladies and Gentle People- It's time for an Internet scavenger hunt!

Years ago ( 1979 or early 80's) there was a Superior Beer commercial. The name of the beer was "Superior", but the commercial was superior as well, in fact it won a "best commercial" award that year. The beer was from Mexico and the commercial may have only been shown in Mexico on Telemundo or what not.
It featured a "Farrah Fawcett" type girl in a gold jumpsuit skating a pool on roller skates. I am willing to search for something you need.. like tiny plastic animals to leave in bar bathrooms or dirt fields. I am willing to pay $100.00 to anyone who can get me a copy of this commercial. Please. Pretty please. Pretty Please with a Shiny Gold Jumpsuit on top!

More California Summer

2008-08-19T20:48:00.000-07:00

So, this is the summer my boy learns to surf. First time out he gets up on the board, second time he takes a bonk to the head- big blue bump. He didn't mind, was back in the water 10 minutes later to keep trying.
We had a great family trip to the beach on Sunday with our friends & family.
But now because the fin attacked him, (Surf injury #2 and only 4 days out....) he has to stay still for 3 days- which is rough to do when he s so "surf stoked"

We are looking forward to this weekend... Stay tuned!

California Camping Vacation

2008-07-28T11:14:00.002-07:00

Little Beach People Feet:

This last weekend we had a fun time, driving up the coast, camping at a site with friends and family, watching Duke surf, watching Chris run around. My neck even survived the air matress! I feel so grateful to live in California and there is so much left to discover.

More Hootenanny 2008

2008-07-21T15:32:00.002-07:00

Thank you to everyone who came and to frolic on my birthday! I had tons of fun at the "hootenanny lite" No cops- No hangover, just good fun and good friends! Thanks

Hootenanny 2008

2008-07-21T15:32:00.001-07:00

Priceless....

2008-06-01T11:14:00.000-07:00

3 Round Trip airplane tickets to Traverce City Michigan- $ 1,900.00
Taxi fare to and from airport- $ 60.00
Having a 4 generation photo for your son's photo album- Priceless.

I was told Grandma never smiles in photos, but I have my ways:

This is the first photo of this kind as well:

Grandma's 3 (out of 5) remaining children,
Her Grandchildren and (2 out of 4) of her Great- Grandchildren.

waiting and NOT sitting

2008-05-26T13:52:00.000-07:00

As some of you know, This week I have not been able to sit at the computer, or sit on my couch or sit behind the wheel of my car. Because of that, I have not been able to read fabulous writings by Chuck Palahniuk, or sit and edit wonderful photos from our Michigan vacation, or walk or drive around to commit more not so random acts of kindness.
But I am getting there. Slowly. Painfully. I am almost there.
So, I have to ask you to help. Chalk someones porch or driveway for me today. Leave a toy on a doorstep or banana bread with white chocolate chips on a car hood for me. Do it for someone and you will find that you are doing it for yourself.
I am tired from NOT being able to do these things, I am saddened by it. Being tired and sad makes it harder to heal.
Today my sweet Duke built a mountain of pillows, gave me my pain meds and put his laptop on my lap so I could quickly check emails and do some computer stuff before I have to lay down. So this is my message to you: COMMIT AN UNEXPECTED ACT OF KINDNESS. That, and watch all skin wounds carefully and go to the DR. at the first sign of trouble. Stay away from people when you are sick, even after you feel better and the weather is nice outside. Be good to the world. Even though lately I am surprised at how much bad stuff happens to good people, I still want to be good. Get out there and be good.

Kitty Plates

2008-05-20T21:13:00.000-07:00

My friend who lives in California like I do, likes to buy kitschy things at thrift shops and such. One day she came home with this amazing artwork- soft fluffy kitty's under glass. It is actually a plate with fuzzy kitties glued on and then covered with another clear class plate except that you couldn't use it because of the gold stuff (is it called brick-a- brack?) covering the under plate and over plate seam. Still, I love the kitty plate and took these photos with my cell phone to share the lovely art with all who would look:

Here is a close up to show the amazing detail:

So, this past week I went to see my 90 year old grandmother in Michigan- she lives in a small town that takes 2 planes and an hour car ride to get to her 60 acres. After bringing my bags down to the basement room where I was staying, I found on the wall ANOTHER KITSCHY KITTY PLATE! I was shocked and amazed. I brought my husband down to look, then my son, then my dad, then my cousin. We all laughed at the improbability of it all. We compared the kitties on the phone with the kitties on the wall. (My grandma says her's are cuter)

How does one woman buy a kitty plate in a thrift shop in Redondo, and another woman buy a kitty plate at a garage sale in Michigan? Where are the other two that would make up the set? I am determined to find them. The family of kitties must all be united! I have now begun the search to get myself a set of kitty plates. It seems to be my destiny. Grandma has one, Nancy has one... What about me and my needs?

Drive by L.A.

2008-05-14T07:50:00.000-07:00

In the spirit of Nancy, Because I love her spirit, I am embracing the drive by L.A. photo thing, except that I am letting my 9 year old shoot, because I am still deathly afraid of another accident.

Here is his recent work.

"Mannequin Pays Parking Meter":

"Blow up Toy on Corner":

Acts of kindness that aren't random

2008-05-10T12:05:00.001-07:00

As fun as field toy tagging is, we have been having much more fun tagging our friend's houses, and our friends. Recently I was with my friend and her teen daughters and I secretly and discreetly put a toy in the hood of the oldest girl's sweatshirt. When she got in the car and leaned back against the seat, she discovered the toy and didn't know where it came from.. Their Mom tells me that she and her sister are having fun finding and hiding the toy

In spite of my recent sensitivity to incompetence in the world, I am still working every day to perform acts of kindness that aren't random- they are planned:

This guy is the protector of the field....

I am talking about my cat; "Trumin the assassin" he follows us while we toy tag, because he thinks he's a dog. He also protects us from gophers!

Adults Vs. Children

2008-05-09T09:55:00.000-07:00

Good Photo of ADULT Taken by Annie Leibovitz:
Bad Photo of CHILD Taken by Annie Leibovitz:

If I had taken that photo of Miley, I could expect to be arrested for child pornography. If I sold it, I could be arrested for distribution of child pornography. If I let my child pose for it, I could be arrested for child prostitution. Why is this okay?

Can we please let kids be kids? Why make them grow up so fast? I am not afraid of nudity, or the human body. Believe me, I would have rather my son see nudity instead of the graphic violence he was exposed to in Iron Man.

Still, why is it okay for this 15 year old girl to be sexualised at her young age just so everyone can make money off of her? I know a lot of people will disagree. I know many of my friends will be surprised because I have taken many "artistic" nudes of women and men and myself. BUT- all of my subjects were ADULTS.

Sorry about the rant. More happy acts of kindness that are not random to be posted VERY SOON!

May 6 2008- Chalk Tagging

2008-05-06T17:52:00.000-07:00

My Mother died on May 6th 1992.

Some years on the anniversary of her death, I spend a lot of time crying or feeling sad or reminiscing.

Today instead I celebrated the lives of two women I admire and adore and I chalk tagged their homes.

The first one because it is her birthday and I've been chalking her driveway every birthday for 4 or 5 years and I thought she might be terribly disappointed if she came home to a blank driveway. Plus I like to let her neighbors know it's her birthday too, and what better way than with a chalk mural?

I also tagged my friend's porch, just because I love her and wanted her to know.

I still miss my Mom, but today was a good day. I'm glad she taught me how to have good clean fun!

IRON MAN

2008-05-05T18:57:00.001-07:00

DO NOT TAKE YOUR CHILDREN TO SEE IRON MAN. IT HAS GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF TORTURE....
SHOULD BE RATED R

Lucky

2008-04-29T08:26:00.000-07:00

Every year from March through May this hill has a blanket of purple flowers on it. I have come here with friends and family to take photos- as do most of the people who live in this neighborhood.

This year it occured to me and my son that there might be another fun activity to be had on this slick, soft purple pad of flowers.....

"Extreme Flower Frolic!"

It works quite well.

We did also take the annual purple flower photos, and I am once again convinced that I am the luckiest girl in the world. I have two boys who love me dearly, and who will turn a family photo session in to an extreme sport.

Toy Tagging...

2008-04-26T17:38:00.000-07:00

Tip-toe-ing up the stairs to a friend's front door....Toy in hand. It's hard to keep from giggling.

Have you found a tiny toy when you got home from work or school? Are you discovering smiling little friends in places you wouldn't expect? Perhaps you've been "toy tagged"- it's the newest fad- the coolest way to recycle.

Toy Tagging day 3

2008-04-24T18:22:00.000-07:00

Still having fun with the toy tagging thing. But in addition to leaving toys in the field by our home for people to happen upon, there are other toys mysteriously appearing.... has it happened to you?
Can you see Buzz?

There is a little guy at the bottom of this pole:

SEE?

I like these plants better with surprises inside:

another mutant turtle:

Toy Tagging Day 1

2008-04-24T07:26:00.000-07:00

I live next to the power lines. Rumor has it that they cause cancer. I don't know about that, I think the black mold on my decaying floor will hurt us sooner. There are some good things about living next to the power lines. One being that it provides us with a big empty field to play soccer or throw baseballs or watch the cat chase critters. Now they put this bike path in, which is a great thing for skating and radio control cars.

Recently my boy had to clean his room, and there were toys he was no longer playing with that weren't necessarily good enough to give to charity but we didn't want to dump them in the trash either. We decided to go "toy tagging" down the bike path. Toy tagging is fun- little kids who pay attention to detail and are low to the ground find the toys and get all HAPPY! We've watched them from our bedroom window- like toy tag spies.

Going for walks at night and hiding toys around the neighborhood is so much fun with a 9 year old boy. We giggle. We dash from hiding spot to hiding spot. We look the next day to see if the toys are still there. Good Clean Fun!
Can you see the toy on the pole?

It's Hans Solo!

What about the friend in the tall grass?

It's a "Happy Meal" frog!

More toy tag blogs to follow soon. We're not done yet.

Toy Tagging day 2

2008-04-24T06:45:00.001-07:00

Scootering down the bike path to hide toys is fun as well. Maybe the helmet will protect him from the power line radiation? There is a tiny turtle in this picture that suffered from Radiation problems, can you see him?

He's right here:

And another Star Wars guy is ready to attack:

This is our neighbor's tree:

We saw the gardeners notice Shrek, but they didn't remove him! He is still there- we check every day.

I suppose this is all evidence that I let my child eat at McDonald's much more than I should.. But we are probably having much more fun than most people I know with these toys.

Death, Disertion, Divorce

2008-03-31T10:07:00.001-07:00

My parents didn't get divorced till I was 18 years old (although I often wished they had much sooner). Still, whenever I hear the song "Stay together for the kids" by BLINK 182 I cry, or now, after years of hearing that song, I am able to at least push back the tears. I don't know why exactly that song affects me so much, but it does.

Thank you to all the parents that wait to have kids until you are ready.

Thanks to those who do their best to work things out.

Thanks to those who know when it's time to give up.

I know, it's wrong; but the secret punk rock shock value guilt trip kid that lives inside me wants so badly for my boy to perform this song at the elementary school talent show, just so I can see if anyone else cries too.... But I wont.. don't worry.

Better Parenting Through Skating

2008-03-19T09:33:00.000-07:00

I have been asked many times why I let my young son skateboard. People suggest he might pick up bad habits or foul language from the older kids who skate. My response is always that hanging out with skaters has made my son Chris a better person.

“Isn’t he missing a lot by not playing TEAM sports?”
I hear that question all the time. We have done the soccer and baseball thing. We paid the money to join leagues that other parents didn’t want to volunteer for. We learned that the soccer commissioner was hiding money, the baseball commissioner was stacking his team with the leagues best players only to be certain that that the opposing team cheated when his “superteam” lost. When adults started expecting their kids to “toughen up” (There’s no crying in baseball) while they coached them with loud voices and pointed fingers in faces, we decided that this team sport thing was really cutting into our family time and values.

Watching Chris’ continued attempts to use a pitching machine long after her son gave up, a playmates mom asked me how I taught Chris to persevere. I am certain that he learned perseverance at the skatepark. He learned at a very early age that the key to success is practice. At age 4 my son would try all day to land the same trick. If he didn’t succeed, he would return the next day to try again. You don’t walk into a skatepark and drop into a ramp the very first time. You have to fall. You have to pick yourself up. You have to figure out what you did wrong and correct the problem.

When Chris did finally land a trick he had attempted for days, the other skaters would cheer- not because he was doing something no one else could do- but because he achieved a personal best. Skateboarding teaches you to set personal goals and to cheer on those who achieve them. It doesn’t matter if you are landing a 720 over a 20-foot gap, or you are landing your very first kickflip. If you have tried to achieve something you set your mind to and practiced again and again- the skate community is there to cheer for you and congratulate you. People that skate together often are a team; they are a team of people working to achieve their personal best.

“How did he learn to skate like that?”
Skaters share secrets. Skaters teach each other. Skaters seem to only complete seriously with each other for money, and usually in a friendly manner. Ever watch a televised skating event? Notice how the people competing seem to know each other and cheer each other on? That’s because when big business isn’t involved in offering tons of money to these skaters to skate against each other, they are usually skating with each other. They were probably together at a backyard ramp or pool the week before the competition skating together.

In backyards across the neighborhood my son has developed an understanding of protocol, hierarchy. He shows respect for elders- and just people in general. You can’t just walk into someone’s backyard and drop into his or her pool or ramp. You have to be invited. You have to show respect. You don’t just assume you have a right to skate there. No one owes you anything. You have to earn the privilege to skate there by showing respect and waiting your turn. You have to be a good enough person for someone to invite you along in the first place.

In skateparks it’s a little more difficult- but the end result is usually the same. There are those parents who use the skateparks as “concrete babysitters”. Parents who drop their kids off at the park on their way to the manicurist or to go have a beer at the sports bar. These are the same parents who don’t want to do their volunteer work for the soccer league. The difference is that eventually the skate community will teach these kids how to behave. Even if the parents don’t want to watch their kids to cheer them on, the other skaters will, and eventually the kids will want to be accepted in the skating community. If they continue to have a bad attitude, they won’t have anyone to skate with. They won’t be invited to the backyard ramp, or they will be vibed out of the park.

I’ve been asked so often if I am afraid of him getting hurt. Of course I am. As a mother I am afraid every day for his safety. But I have to say; he has gotten hurt much more severely just walking off the back porch and not paying attention. When he’s skating he wears pads and a helmet and he has a deep mental focus on what he is doing. I believe it is safer than chasing a ball at high speed during an intense competition with no pads.

What about the older kids he is exposed to?
In team sports the kids are grouped together by similar age. I have to say that I’m not sure if competition among similarly aged kids is a good thing. When each kid is expected to conform to a group and vying for the coaches or parents attention, there can be a lot of bullying. In skating- the older kids are just happy to see a young kid getting excited about skating. I have been told more than once by these older kids that they wished they had a mom that supported their skating.
I tell them someday they will be better parents through skateboarding.

At schools where they are trying to find a way to have “sports” without competition- skateboarding is the answer. If we want to build confidence in our kids, and get them involved in a physical activity, we should have skating as an after school activity in our elementary schools. The best thing we can do for our community is build more skateparks.
Determination:

Success:

Ridiculous Family Fun Day

2008-03-16T11:55:00.001-07:00

The Promised land...Who would have known that it was only an hour and a half away? This right handed kidney pool is so good for skating, it's ridiculous- hence the name "The Ridiculous Pool" **

What's truly ridiculous is how Duke can grind the coping above the stairs-

Chris had no problem hitting tile-

But he was much more determined to master his air over the hip:

Here is our family- deep in Ridiculous- we are at home and quite comfortable here:

thanks to our buddies....

** I did NOT make either one of these you tube videos- I'm just NOT that clever.

To my Niece

2008-03-14T20:22:00.000-07:00

Princess Bean-
You have a giant 20 foot golden aura. You glow and sparkle and hum. You are wise and old and inspired and young.
You are at a brilliant point in your life. The time where you can do such good in the world; devise a plan to make great impact. Unfortunately it happens around this time in a young lady's life they flounder- They involve themselves in the constant search for male attention, or seeking approval of other females in groups or cliques- or drugs.
The Damn Drugs....
Somehow, my dear Sabrina, I know you are going to forgo all those useless distractions and spend your time doing something amazing.
I believe in you. I feel your magic and you don't have to give it away or let anyone or anything chip it away.
If you have a brilliant idea to make millions- I'll invest. If you have a need to get away, I'll drive.
I have hope in the world when I see you. I have such excitement for you when I think of the wonderful life you have ahead of you. How wonderful my life would have been if I had your wisdom at your age.
Thank you for letting me know you, and for being my friend.
Uncle Karen

Let me explain

2008-03-07T07:15:00.000-08:00

After learning that the soft feathery hairs on my back contained magical powers, I trimmed them and boiled a tea that I served to Jehovah's witnesses. Studies found that it increased their creativity 93% which had an alarming effect on the world around me. Soon, instead of bicycles, they arrived at my door riding hover skateboards, which only inspired my stunt man son to do more dangerous moves. My entire reality was at risk.

Never mind-
I will explain something easier to understand, like...
How it wasn't really the fact that I didn't have the designer jeans, but the idea that I wasn't worth them....

Another Friend Gone-

2008-03-06T09:46:00.000-08:00

Painting by the Late Great Vikki Burton

Sunday I went with my friend Carol to attend Vikki Burtons funeral. I figured I wouldn’t cry- it had been at least 10 years since I saw Vikki. The day before the service I got emotional as I pulled some photos I took of Vikki out of my attic. I figured that I pretty much had my emotions in check . The room where they held the service was standing room only. I didn’t recognize anyone there. I figure I hadn’t seen Vikki in a while, and these are all the people who had to watch her struggle with her addiction. These are the people who tried to help her, and the people who got high with her. Her Mom didn’t attend the funeral- perhaps it’s easier for her to believe most of these people were the problem, not the solution.
A photo slide show was shown first. Many of the photos on that show I took. Watching it was when my face first started to pinch up and my eyes burned with tears. I felt guilty standing there- crying- while people who had spent time with her just last week were still keeping it together. Then I noticed a giant photo poster of Vikki where her coffin would be. At the time I took that photo of her, I wanted so badly to be like her. She was so tough. I was raw and vulnerable and open to pain and drama- Vikki was always so much stronger and cooler than me.
How do you raise a drug addict? How is someone in so much pain for most of their life- she struggled with this for over 20 years- How does it take control of them to the point where they just leave this world? To see the room full of people who loved her so much, you can’t imagine that there wasn’t enough here to keep her tethered to this earth. Her mom sent a note to be read and it spoke of how intelligent Vikki was, how creative she was, how strong she was. That was the Vikki I knew. So with everything going for her, why did she have to get high?
It stands to reason that she got loaded “for fun” then.
When it wasn’t fun anymore it was too late and she was hooked.
Too late for “just say no”.
The last time I saw Vikki she was a beautiful, vivacious, tough cookie who I admired so much. I took many many photos of her because she was so gorgeous! So, I had no warning, no getting accustomed to her killing herself slowly. I only remember the Vikki who I wanted to trade places with.
I heard from other people that seeing the loaded and struggling Vikki was awful. I got to photograph the best of Vikki. I got to know the Vikki that loved life; it saddens me to have to accept that she is gone.

So Goodbye my dear friend Vikki. Beautiful, capable, sweet, strong, fun Vikki who had the world at her feet. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you- I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed to be saved.

When I knew you- you didn’t need anything more- you were amazing all by yourself.

R.I.P. my friend Vikki

Farmers Market

2008-03-06T09:34:00.000-08:00

I had to stop off at the Children's Place Store next to Farmers Market on Fairfax a few weeks ago. I called my friend Nancy who said "Make sure you go into the actual farmers market". Well, I try to live my life with the Motto W.W.N.D. (What would Nancy do?) so, Chris and I went in.

I've lived in L.A. for 40 years, I've never been to the farmers market as far as I can remember. The only thing sadder than that is my poor neglected son, already 9 years old, had never experienced Funnel Cake before!

Problem solved:

He loved it!

I liked the farmers market- anyplace that has marzipan pigs is alright by me....

Anyplace that has two different styles of Marzipan Pigs is my new favorite place!

Please don't make me shoot myself

2008-02-13T13:25:00.001-08:00

I am the hands-on-art docent for my son's 3rd grade class. I was told yesterday I needed a 4x6 photo of me to bring to the training tomorrow for the next project. As if I have photos of me that I like... I'm 40 years old! I've just had 2 surgeries. I've gained 30 lbs in 3 years.
I used to love to take my photos. I learned a lot about photography that way. NOW.... not so much as they say. I wonder if I can use this upside down wrinkly forehead photo for the project. They told me to do like a headshot. I don't have headshots. Chris has headshots. I have wrinkly forehead photos.
Time to get my boy. The best part of the day.

Lists

2008-01-10T16:11:00.000-08:00

Things I love:

My son (at age 9) still RUNNING up to hug me, screaming MaMa! as he leaps into my arms every day after school.

Holding hands with my husband
Being able to rely on my Dad when something goes wrong

Sees candy Marzipan
Nancy's homemade Lasagna
Movies that you love so much you enjoy watching them 5 times while you share with people you love.
The field next to my house because Chris can go out and play and feel independent even though I can see him at all times.

The feeling of rollerskating at a steady pace on a smooth surface

Things I hate:
My body hurting as my son runs into my arms

The "extra" 20 pounds I've put on in the past 8 years (blame it on Marzipan and lasagna)

The day before surgery, when you worry you aren't ready emotionally or physically. Still trying to (over) prepare by doing too much.
Not being able to rely on my Dad for every day things.

1 ply toilet paper

The field next to my house with the power lines running through it because supposedly the power lines cause cancer and people walk their dog in the field and don't pick up the poop.

Not being able to skate because of the metal in my body

Incompetent people in service oriented positions.

Metal in my body:

Happy Holidays

2007-12-05T23:54:00.000-08:00

At first I was upset that Christmas was on it's way because I had no money to buy presents and I felt a huge sense of obligation to go into debt which I HATE at Christmas time. Then Duke took me out for a day of (reasonably inexpensive) Christmas shopping followed by a day of Christmas photos on the beach. We even made a sand snowman!

Hot Golly! Now I'm in the Christmas mood. Thanks to Duke for restoring my faith in Christmas and Thanks to my friends that supported me during my 3 day X-mas funk.

And Just in case anyone is interested in reading my Christmas poem, here it is

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

I do want to spend the remaining part of December just hanging out with the people I love. I don't want to spend it in malls, or anywhere my bank card is accepted. Friends- Lets hang out and FROLIC!

I miss him.

2007-11-28T12:23:00.000-08:00

Rollercon 2007

2007-09-13T15:38:00.000-07:00

I may never get around to writing about all the fun I had in Vegas, but this slide show should give you a vague idea of how it all went down....

The Plastic O Matics

2007-09-10T18:18:00.001-07:00

I'm younger than that now

2007-07-26T15:30:00.001-07:00

Happy Yummy Fluffy 40!

2007-07-26T14:28:00.001-07:00

40 forever

2007-07-18T12:28:00.000-07:00

Plastic O Matics

2007-06-18T17:17:00.000-07:00

I went to see my friend Kellie perform in her Plasmatics Cover band. She rocks! Kellie has so much energy and confidence and joy! She can make her voice sound just like Wendo o Williams. And she even chainsaws guitars and everything! I just thought since I havn't actually been "blogging" that I would put up some photos I took with my new camera... I like this shot I took of her with two faces

Come see her on July 6th or 7th! We can have FUN

They set the stage with dolls and lights and fog!

Kellie is the only gal I know that can look shy while standing on stage in plastic panties and electric tape.

I'll be at the next show- I suggest you come! You can check the dates here:

http://www.myspace.com/plasticomatics

New Toy

2007-05-29T15:24:00.000-07:00

I like my new camera- it let's me take photos like this.

seven

2007-05-22T08:49:00.001-07:00

Seven things.

I have enjoyed thinking about this for the last few days. I imagine it will be absolutely impossible to write anything that may be a surprise to anyone because I am such an open book (people are always wishing I would stop revealing so much.. like "Close the book already!")so, let that be number one...

#1- I KNOW I talk too much and reveal too much about myself. I can't help it. (See item #2) I am always trying to find some sort of understanding in this world. (See "How I lost my virginity")

#2 Contrary to what Nancy said about my current hormonal state being like that of a teenager- I think I am just actually coming back into being myself again..I am a fairy. And, as J.M. Barrie explained so eloquently in my favorite story Peter Pan, a fairy is so small, they can only feel one emotion at a time. I have always felt this way. So, when I am saying things like "Gawd, People are such idiots!" I mean it completely, for that one second. I can feel nothing else but that feeling for that moment. And then in the next moment, I am filled with AGAPE or Gratitude for Nancy for teaching me about AGAPE.

#3 Okay, -It was me!. I was the secret flower giver! I love to surprise people and do my best to contact one of my friends every day and try to brighten their world. You may wake up one morning to find a chalk mural on your driveway. Perhaps that is why I have so many happy friends!

#4 I believe that the BEST place to raise your child (Male or Female) is in the skate park. More on that in the future......

#5 I refuse to wear uncomfortable shoes or underwear unless I am having my photo taken in them. I also hate clothes shopping, warehouse (Costco) shopping and most other things that people assume women love. Still, I am very much a girl. I also agree with Marilyn Monroe when she said "I don't care if it's a man's world- as long as I get to be a woman in it.

#6 I watch Malcolm in the Middle because I envy the parents love for each other. I know I should have better role models for happily married couples, but I don't. At least I don't aspire to be like the folks on Married With Children. I am married to my absolute soulmate and we feel lucky for every day we are together.

#7 I wonder where "stars" like Britney Spears or Brad Pitt throw away their undergarments when the elastic wears out? What about their toothbrushes? Is there a Hollywood landfill with armed guards just for the famous?

Okay, now I have to tag some people, but I don't know any "Bloggers" except my dear friend KiKi.....who makes me feel like I have a backstage pass every time I read her writing. Also, Miss Bubbles, who I would love to read more from. If I make more friends out here in cyber space who somehow think I am "self indulgent in a good way" I will add them to this list.

Thank You Nancy the Great for the fun.*

* and just so you know, the stuff about the Doc Martin shoes and the Dying of the cats is comming soon to a webpage near you.

Mud Pie Engineer

2007-05-14T12:41:00.000-07:00

I was a mud pie engineer when I was very young. We lived in a home that had a huge yard with very little grass. My Mom let me take the hose down to the far corner of the yard and play in the mud all day.

We had a white dog named Laika and he played in the mud with me too. How lucky was I that my Mom cared more about my ability to amuse myself than the cleanliness of the carpet. How lucky was I that we were kind of poor (compared to our neighbors) so we didn't have the nice things in our house to worry about messing up. I had friends from the neighborhood who would come and mud with me. Their Mom's wouldn't let them do that at homeI have to remember to encourage my son to be more dirty ! Perhaps he can get his master's in Mud Pie Engineering.

Wild at ART

2007-05-08T16:37:00.000-07:00

This is Kellie creating her painting called "Michael Jackson's dream before plastic surgery"

I have wanted to paint for 2 weeks, and every day I would tell myself "after the laundry" or "as soon as I get the kitchen floor scrubbed I will paint". I am not an amazing painter- I wouldn't even call myself a painter. I just like the way paint feels. I like to blend colors, I like to use different brush textures. I like to play with the airbrush. Before my son was born I painted EVERY day. The walls, the bricks, the furniture. I even painted many of my friends and then photographed them. You can see one such photograph at the bottom of the page here.

Finally today my friend Kellie was demanding I keep my promise I made to her to go skating, I wanted to stay home and paint but off to skate at the beach. (I know, I have it so easy) When I met her at the beach, she said she didn't have her skates and I was so HAPPY and YIPPEE because I told her then- We have to go buy canvases and Paint. Yippee! Kellie painted with her top off, I'm sure the neighbors loved that, but it was hot and she didn't have painting clothes on. We listened to Ween for inspiration. When Kellie's painting was born she named it "Michael Jackson's dream before plastic surgery". When my painting was born, I named it "Kellie Collier's eyebrows". I had fun today and I need to remember that I may not be a painter and I don't really like how it came out, but I am much happier now because I spent 2 hours playing with the airbrush and getting dirty!

THE FIRE TIPPED DISTANCER

2007-05-03T08:43:00.000-07:00

Just in case there may be one other person out there who might benefit from my words...I have decided to answer my friend's questions about not smoking here-

Here are some thoughts that helped me quit smoking:
I was not giving up smoking- I was given the blessing of not smoking. This simple mind set makes all the difference- I no longer thought in terms of "What will I do at my party when everyone around me is smoking?" Instead I thought of how great it will be to have my friends around me and not have the desire to smoke. NO MORE FIRE TIPPED WANDS TO KEEP PEOPLE AT A DISTANCE.

The ritual around smoking was good- it was just the putting poison in my body that was bad. The only time I ever took for myself was the 5 minute breaks I took to smoke. Other than that I was working. So, I vowed to continue the ritual without the poison. I would take a time out in the yard without smoking. Then the way I took small breaks started to change- I would read a trashy magazine. I would water the flowers. I would hold my son in my arms. I would make out with my husband. Ah- the lovely things you can do in 5 minutes that make life so wonderful!

I love not smoking and not smoking is fun.....
Not smoking is FUN because I can kiss and cuddle my son any time and I know he is feeling the LOVE and not associating that love with the smell of cigarettes. I touch his face with the hands that used to smell. I no longer feel stinky when I do this.
Not smoking is FUN because I don't have to leave the house every hour to go outside and hurt myself. After you quit, you will begin to smell the trail of stench that follows people as they come in from smoking outside.

Life is easier and calmer- you begin to notice all the ways cigarettes used to control you-
I can sit through a movie without anxiety. I don't rush out of the theatre to smoke.
I can have a conversation with someone and not try to lure them outside so I can smoke.
I can be sick at home in bed and not leave the bed.

I feel better about myself. On my day's off of work, I used to stay home all afternoon and smoke, so I could shower right before going into my son's class to read- so I wouldn't smell like cigarettes. Now, I shower and get dressed and smell like all the yummy stuff I used to buy to conceal the smoke smell. I don't have to hide in a corner and smoke- ever! I am a good example for my son and all the other people around me.

A week or so before I quit smoking, I had a dream that I was laying on my death bed and my son was crying. I was dying from smoking and he was asking me " Mommy, why did you love cigarettes more than me?" "Why do you have to go before my children are born?" Now he knows I quit because I love him more than anything.

The day I quit- I visualized my son sitting on a bench in a park. I came up to him and knelt down to eye level and told him- "I promise you I will never smoke again". That was a pretty big thing to think about. It is easier to break promises to ourselves. Imagine a promise to a loved one.

Have a mantra
The day after I quit smoking, I got fired. I wanted so badly to drive to the same gas station where I always got my cigarettes, get a pack and smoke while I cried, blaming it all on my boss. Instead I repeated my magical mantra- "I am now a non-smoker. I will be a non-smoker for the rest of my life." During times when I could barely mutter the words, at my weakest moments, I would repeat that again and again and again. 10 times- 50 times. Whatever it took. I said it before I went to bed at night, and I said it before I got out of bed in the morning. When I got through that first day after being fired, I knew what I was repeating was actually true. You don't have to believe it at first, you just have to act like you do.

Okay- if you are "Cutting down" then just stop- or set a date and DO IT. It is not okay to put 2 cigarettes in, anymore than it is okay to put 20. You have to give yourself the gift of being FREE! Take my mantra right now and use it. And don't light another cigarette.

Here are some things you can do with your "free" time, now that you aren't smoking..
Wake your husband up in a surprisingly passionate way.
Climb in bed with one of your children and kiss their little faces.
Call a friend
Go on line and look at the effects of cigarettes on our bodies.
Do crunches- They will keep your back strong and now that you are going to live longer, you need to think about that stuff.
Eat baby carrots
Chew on pens
Chew gum
Sugar free popcicles
Finally put all those photos in albums
Write a blog in the morning
Talk to your boss, or your child's teacher and not feel inferior because of smoking.

This list can go on forever. I hope others contribute

Mom's gone wild

2007-04-21T16:39:00.000-07:00

My friend Angie is in love with Dave Wakeling, and My friends Rodge and Danielle, who own Re-Style know him, so I thought we should all get together at a Dave Wakeling show and make all Angie's dreams come true.
Duke and I got to the Malibu Inn at 8:30- too early to be at a show, but too late to be at home for fear of falling to sleep. When did I get so old anyway? Even though our tickets said 8:00- they wouldn't let us in to the club so Duke and I went next store to Jack in the Box to get some coffee.

The gum is for after the coffee. The sponge is because Duke promised Angie he would bring one for her to use to sop up any manic fan moisture she may develop during the introduction to her dream-man.
After coffee, we went for a walk to listen to the waves. Duke kept wanting to join the sea level club in the parking lot- but I knew that was a bad idea and no sooner than I had my skirt raised for Duke to take a photo-(I'll save myself the embarrassment of uploading that) the police drove by. Just like the old days- using a brush with the law to get the adrenaline pumping. It was time for a drink-

Soon, our friends arrived and then the opening band showed up on stage. They were called The Hairbrain Scheme. Their music wasn't all that interesting to me, but I did enjoy the stage show.

The guy in the pink suit was (of course) my favorite. He jumped off the stage many times, and once I got down "buffoon dancing" with him. If you don't know what "buffoon dancing" is well, perhaps in the future I will learn how to upload video and share this wonderful phenomenon with the world. Rick calls it "creeping" as in, "Why do you dance like that?" "Because I'm a CREEP!"
For now, just know that the object of buffoon dancing is to dance as oddly as possible, yet try to look like you're serious. Creative interpretive dance, my dancing was in fact a hairbrain scheme. Just like wearing these costumes without the benefit of a stage sock.After the first band, it was quiet enough to properly introduce Danielle to Angie, and then go back stage to introduce Angie to Dave.
I have never met Dave Wakeling before, and the last time I saw the English Beat was when I was about 15. I must say he is a very kind guy who you feel friendly towards immediately. He was kind enough to sign Angie's English Beat Shirt (He wrote- "Just this and heels") which made her need that sponge Duke had me bring.

Then he posed for 2 photos- he looked funny in one and Angie looked funny in the other, so he said- let's take another, now that we had practice-

Angie is so happy. I did notice that Dave actually looks like Angie's husband Rob. I suppose that makes Dave her "type" or she is acting out a weird fantasy by marring Rob. Kind of like if Duke looked like Uma- I would have the best of both worlds. I like Dave's guitar that looks like a giant sperm. I like that now that I've met him, I will refer to him on a first name basis, as if we have been friends forever. Towards the end of the show, Dave announced that he likes to collect money for Smile Train. For only 250.00 they can repair cleft lips & cleft palates I was glad that he collected money for a good cause- but being that I am the most selfish person I know, I couldn't help but wish he was taking a collection for ME- who here in aMErica had to spend $150.00 just to get antibiotics for my son.... and I have medical insurance!
Dave did say he loved being on stage with people throwing money at him, and I wondered if he was going to rip off his pants and start gyrating on stage- Angie would have passed out on the spot.

We danced and danced and had tons of fun, except this one guy kept pushing into us and invading our space. I realise that when you are at a show and everyone is crowded to the front, there is limited "personal space" but even slam pits/ mosh pits/ dance pits have their rules of etiquette and he was in violation! He turned it into more of a grope pit.
We continued to dance in spite of his need to do this squatting wiggle very near our bums. At one point the husbands started to think that they would have to escort him away from the wives. Then he turned around and started dancing with Rob in the same manner he had danced with the women! Rob was pretty bummed about that and left the dance floor. I told the guy to get the hell away from us and Danielle demanded that I not get in a fight. Okay, who am I to start a fist fight with a guy while Dave is taking money for charity and singing about opening the doors of your heart and all that.
Eventually girls started to get up on stage and dance. I knew Angie needed to be up there to have her photo taken but she was just being too shy... (Not enough rum I suspect). I asked Danielle if she would get up with her and Danielle was a bit shy too, so... that left me to drag them up. Okay, The old women take over the stage, and the benefit was not only having Angie's photo taken, but we no longer had to be fondled by cap guy.

We look pretty good up there, if I do say so myself.....

Angie was all smiles as she held her sponge...Then she had a dance with her husband Rob who definitely seemed to enjoy that more than dancing with cap guy.

A good time was had by all and I reccomend going to see bands at the Malibu Inn and seeing Dave whenever you can.

The big picture

2007-04-17T08:27:00.000-07:00

My fingers won't let me type much today, think I already maxed out typing to a friend I saw for the first time in probably 13 years.... so, I will put up a picture/drawing that I like.

What makes a K.P.Ness?

2007-04-12T17:46:00.000-07:00

I have lots of friends. I collect them. I have an amazing collection of friends. My collection is the best in the South Bay- possibly the best in the State! Every year I have a birthday party and every year it gets bigger. I let only the best come in but no one gets out. Becoming my friend is like joining the mafia- you can't un-do it. Like a gang-very few get out without dying.

My friend Nancy the Great made me this shirt for my birthday one year. (Yes, those are fake apples on my vines)

Even though I don't remember telling Nancy that I was a fairy, she knew. Nancy is a friend that I admire deeply. She is so smart and witty and worldly- Sometimes when Duke and I are not sure what to do in a situation, we ask ourselves -W.W.N.D.? - you know, What Would Nancy Do? Nancy always makes me feel loved.

So, recently what Nancy would do is write a blog- and I wanted to read her blog, and she let me! Then I wanted to comment on her blog and I couldn't without starting my own blog.... so I did- that's what Nancy would do. But I'm not sure what to write about. I write about my friends and how they changed my life, how they saved my life, how they give me life. I don't know if that's the same thing as writing about my life.I like this photo of me-my super cool friend KXF took this shot and I think she may have known that it told a story of me, to me. This shot is cool not only because the sun is shining through my hair real nice but because I am wearing a loud print moo moo with thermal underwear underneath and wings on top and my face is darkened and scarred from "the mask of pregnancy" but I am smiling so big because I had just come out of the darkest period of my life- like a cocoon and the sun was finally shining on me and my wings had been spread and I was about to soar.

All hail the friends of Miss K.P.-Ness! My friends, I'm convinced, are what make me me.

How I lost my virginity

2007-04-07T08:51:00.000-07:00

In my darkest hour- this is the letter that saved my life again and again. I had it pinned to my wall to I could read it daily- sometimes hourly so I could remember there is someone out there who understood me. The letter was written in pink ink- and today I had to use a magnifying glass to read the words because they were fading away. I needed to save it. This letter has always explained who I am- or who I was untill the happiness finally de-virginized me.

Dearest K.P.- Goddess of goodness
My beautiful friend, you are a flower- not a rose, or a sunflower or even a mum. You are a special kind of flower which blooms again and again- each time, a different color and a slightly different shape. K.P.- you are a virgin- you’re probably wondering what the hell I’m talking about. Well, I’m not sure. But something tells me there’s a whole lot of wonderfulness making it’s way slowly towards you. It’s taking it’s sweet time. It’s got a long and rocky road to travel and it’s had to make a few stops along the way but it’s got a specific destination- a final destination. It knows how to find you and it will find you for that’s it’s sole purpose. So, K.P. my beautiful virgin friend, don’t look for it because it wants to surprise you, and it’s kind of shy. But remember when you are sad that tomorrow may be the day. And when you go to bed at night, call out to it to help it along it’s way.
You’ve been de-virginized by everything but happiness, K.P.- so what better thing could have been saved for last but that?
You know what’s wrong with you and me? Human contact, communication, bonding and understanding is something which we crave. We can never get enough. When I think about it I wonder why this is. But I think I know. We are too big for our bodies. There is not enough flesh on our bodies to really feel touched when we’re touched. There is not enough oxygen to fill our spirit-lungs. When someone tells us they love us, we know that they really love the part of us that they know and that’s not enough. But we know that they can never know all of us and that makes me feel lonely. And I’m an all or nothing kind of spirit-body. If they don’t love all of me then I won’t let anyone love any of me- cuz it’s not enough.

I was big and strong

2007-04-05T21:58:00.000-07:00

I don't know what to say about this except at some point in my life I had to convince myself I was strong enough to survive- turns out I was.

Why?

2007-04-05T21:07:00.000-07:00

New year's day I got up at 4:30 a.m. and drove with my friend Kellie to San Pedro to take photos of her nude in a metal full pipe. My mother in law asked me why... I didn't have an answer. I don't have an answer about why she would ask me why. Why not? There is a rusty metal full pipe with the sun coming through it at sunrise- Kellie has a tall beautiful body and is willing to freeze her butt off so I can shoot her. If I had long, lean legs I would want someone to shoot me like that. That's why. Because I can, that's why.

Trying to build a foundation

2007-04-02T07:22:00.000-07:00

I am trying to learn how to have a "normal" family life. My body keeps getting in my way. The whole thing reminds me of a quote by Marilyn Monroe-
"My work is the only ground I have to stand on.
I seem to have a whole superstructure with no foundation.
But I am working on the foundation."

I will do my best to write my thoughts without making them sound like complaints. This will be easier when I regain the ability to use my right hand without pain.

Pain in inevitable, suffering is optional.