On Keeping Journals

You've probably been there: Sitting in front of your computer with a Word document open and nothing to say. You've tinkered with the margins, messed with the fonts, even titled the thing so so you have a topic, but nothing is coming. Or you've dug out the paints and a canvas and made a great show of clearing out a space and setting things up and now that blank white canvas stares at you. I had a similar moment of panic when I was planning to demonstrate linoleum block printing to masses of customers for three days. I cleaned, I organized, I set up, and it was looking good the night before when I realized I had not one idea what I was going to carve on that clean grey block at opening time at 10:00 a.m. the next morning.

But these moments don't last long for me because I have a vast disorganized collection of things that can only loosely be called journals or sketchbooks. I always have at least one in the car, usually sliding around dangerously on the dashboard, I always have a couple in in my computer bag, in the bag with whatever reading or knitting I am doing. I take one in a pocket on hikes and one of those nifty waterproof numbers when I backpack. When I get an idea for an artwork, I make a little sketch. Sometimes, I know it is an idea for a linoleum print or a felt, but sometimes it is just an image that could be done in most any medium, and in that case, I will try to find or create a photograph of it first, then the photos will serve as reference when I convert it to other media. I write down ideas for articles, ideas I want to bounce off friends for discussion, things I want to look up online and learn more about, even ideas for talks or classes that might be fun to teach. If I am working on a project of some sort, it is a way to capture ideas for it that occur at other odd times. I have kept one outside the shower if I am working really hard on a project and having a storm of ideas. My fiction always starts with an image or a few words that create an image. Working it into a story only comes later. Sometimes, when I am in a mood of prolific "thinking things up" they are in roughly chronological order with a blog topic next to an interesting image for felting next to a jewelry design next to a question about a prairie plant. Sometimes, I make an effort to put like ideas together in various parts of the book by making sort of a topic key at the front with blackened marks at page edges. The ideas scattered about the book have black marked edges to link them with the topic list.

So when I was ready to carve but lacking an idea, I got out a few of my journals and paged through them and soon had more than enough image ideas for the weekend of block print carving and printing.

You don't have to be an artist or a writer to benefit from a journal. Don't we all have moments out there were we wonder at the meaning or origin of something and then lose the thought once back home? Don't we all get ideas about things in our lives, even just questions we want to ask someone or stories we want to remember to tell someone, and then lose them once we move on in the day? Keep a little blank book in your pocket or bag or purse or desk drawer and jot those things down or make a little sketch or diagram. Give it a try. Than maybe I can call YOU someday and say "Hey, got any great ideas for a block print?"

500th Post

What is in a number? Numbers are a way to keep track of things. To catalog your belongings, to demand a certain amount, to make a trade of unevenly valued things by quantifying the sides differently so as to be equal to each other, to mark the passing of time, to assign relative value. But do these round numbers like two hundred or six thousand or 100,000 really have any significance? They are fun but they are strictly man-made boundaries. Because we have ten fingers, we have a number system based on tens and tens of tens and tens of tens of tens and on in that pattern. So 500 is 5 times the number of our fingers times the number of our fingers.

If we had 8 fingers and a number system that went 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 20 and so on, the number 500 would have occurred 180 posts ago, at post 320, which is 5 times 8 times 8, or 500 in base 8.

If we had used our toes and our fingers for a base 20 number system, as in 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 a b c d e f g h i j 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 1a 1b 1c 1d 1e 1f 1g 1h 1i 1j 20, then 500 would be 5 times 20 times 20 or 2000 and this would be blog number 150. I would only be a quarter of the way to 500.

As such, this being my 500th published post is about as significant as the roundness of the number 500 itself: Not at all.

Still, it would make me feel like I write this for someone other than myself if SOMEone would wish me a "Happy 500th Post-iversary" or some similar sentiment to mark this (meaningless) occasion.

Apologies to Readers

Okay I took a break there. Yes, Gene, I violated the "Blog Every Day" rule. And I know that to even average once a day, I have some "catchin' up" to do! Never mind the details: I am back and I will even try to post ahead to cover the days I play with my kid over spring break. Some random facts: I got a new van. My Jeep is broken. I solved the problem about how to paint the larger scarves. The house is 'done' except for a million tiny details and the landscaping and the interior of the garage and . . . okay, it isn't really 'done' yet, but we can relax and live there with what is done now and the worst of the making big messes due to construction is over. My son got voted co-captain of his chess team for next school year. My other son got a 100% on a test this week. My friend got two cats. Another friend has to have her dog 'put down' on Friday. Another friend has barely missed being flooded more than once this winter. Another friend really does have a terrible disease. It was over 60 degrees yesterday, which I know because the new van has a thermometer on the dashboard. Today it was 17 degrees. 17 degrees is hard on a March day when it has been 60. I am going to teach at WomanSong 2009. Good things happen. Bad things happen. There are always more good things than bad things. Life goes on. Life is good.

One Year Of Blogging!

It was one year ago today that I started this little blog. Gene said "You should have a blog for these stories you tell". And Chuck would say "That would make a good blog post. You should start one." Kathy always said "You should write about your experiences with your boys!" I told them they were silly. I am not a writer. My sister is the writer. But then, it was January, my hardest month. Because it is after the happy family-filled holidays but it is still cold and dark and winter. And cold. And dark. Because I lost my father, the grandfather to my precious children, in January. Because like many people, I get a little down from the lack of sunlight that leads to a lack of Vitamin D. Seasonal Affective Disorder (S.A.D.) or Seasonal Affective Depression Disorder (S.A.D.D.) are the names for it. I guess that makes it a little easier, that enough people share in the misery that it has an official name. And I was visiting my mother who was recovering much too slowly from a surgery. A friend's mother was dying. It was many days of many degrees below zero. So I took the advice of Gene and Chuck and Kathy and wrote a few things down. The writings last January were sad. But I intended that each one would have a bright spot, a tiny shred of optimism. I read them now and see their mistakes and clumsy sentences. But they got me through, my little blog entries and the emails and phone calls to and from friends and family. Gene said "Write every day." This is my 366th post in a year. But I cheated. I went for a day or two or more sometimes with no entry and some days I made many entries. Some were just photos with no words. But I averaged one every day! Is that okay, Gene? I have a few regular readers and a few more who read in spurts. I have a few regular commenters and have had a couple from other countries! And I have people who can't handle the steps it takes to comment but email me or tell me in person. I write it for me and for anyone who cares to read. I try not to offend anyone, but still I have. I try to be honest but sometimes I make things up to make a point. Or to keep it a little bit anonymous for me and my family. And like those first days last January, I try to tell it like it is but I also try to keep a little bit of hope and joy and optimism in here. Life is like that. Things suck, but there is still beauty. Bad things happen and then good things happen after that. More good things than the bad things. And always family and wonderful friends to keep it all going. Keep readin' cuz I am gonna keep writin'!

Over and Over and Over and Over and OFF!

I am a sad blogger. My laptop is broken. It froze. Like a deer in headlights. Like a Dew left in the car in winter. Like the nozzle of the Super Glue the next time you try to use it. So I restarted it in some special mode and ran some recovery stuff. And some more recovery stuff. My son tried to feed it some CDs. I reset some stuff and cleared some stuff. Now when I try to power it up, it pops up this crude looking window that says something about a password not matching and starts the start up process over until it gets to that window and starts the start up process over until it gets to that window and starts the start up process over until it gets to that window and starts the start up process over until it gets to that window and starts the start up process over . . .
So I have few posts scheduled and I might log in from the laptops of others, but don't count on any comments getting approved quickly or any clever or biting emails from me or any regular posts or any brilliant new Power Point presentations on natural landscaping or the aesthetic principles of art. I am down for a while, a blogger without a laptop, one whose social like depends on email, and whose news comes from online news magazines and various blogs that point me to interesting stories. It is different world, unwired. Not better, not worse, just . . . different. I miss it. But I will maybe read some books? You know, paper books, maybe some of the good kind with hard covers and those annoying dust jackets that slip off. Maybe I will get the artwork for the compass rose for the slate tile done. Maybe I will clean the accumulated piles of riffraff around the house. Maybe I will catch up on napping. Maybe I will solve the remaining questions of physics. Maybe I will call my "PC Medic" again and get the damn thing fixed.
"Thank you for your patience and understanding."

Vote!

I voted yesterday. Since I will be out of my home state painting at the new house next week, I was grateful for the ease with which one can do that these days.

But the last couple days I have been thinking too much about this election season and though I try to keep this little blog fun and light and about nature and related things, I just want to get a couple things said.

First, it seems kinda odd to me that in a country where religious tolerance and religious freedom are not only founding principles of our country but the reason people continue to take refuge here today, one side has used accusations about religion as an attempt to insult and discredit. Religion has come up on both sides. On one side, a specific candidate has been held accountable for specific extreme ideas that she holds due to her religion that are in direct conflict with an overwhelming majority of science. It has been suggested that she is not a viable candidate because she believes in those unscientific things and would make policy based on those unscientific beliefs. That seems a fair thing to hold a candidate accountable for. On the other side, a candidate has simultaneously been lambasted for radical things the pastor of his church says, as though any of us really challenges our pastors or is responsible for things they say, and also been accused of being of another religion entirely. Well, I would like to point out that if you are going to claim one thing, you should shut up about the other.
And then I would point out that due to the fact that this country was founded by people seeking relief from religious prosecution, you should stop making it sound like being from that religion is a bad thing. Most of you who are trying to insult that candidate by claiming he is an adherent of that religion are using it as an insult, and it should not be used that way. Making such implications feeds religious intolerance and feeds discrimination and we are a better country than that.

Second, it seems kind of odd to me that when there was a certain party in control for, oh, 12 years, give or take, and then they lost their absolute power just a few months ago when the majority shifted in congress, that certain party would choose to blame all that they claim is wrong with the country on those in power before 12 years ago or those in power after the recent shift in power. To do so would seem to be admitting that nothing happened in the last 12 years. It would seem to be admitting that they, while in power, were ineffective in fixing anything and that they left things so unstable that it could all be wrecked in a few months. Why would that make us want to put them back in power for the next four years? As a parent, it seems like shirking responsibility is a bad thing.

Third, one campaign has been about negativity and fear and tearing down others, directly and by slimy implication and insinuation and plays on words with exaggerations and twists and misrepresentations and misinterpretations. Those things count as lies in my rule book. The other campaign has been about what is good and what we need more of and it has been about ideas and proposals and problem solving and hope and promise and making a better future for an already great country. It was never a hard choice for me. I voted for positive instead of negative.

Whatever side you are on, if you have not voted yet, please do so. Too many people gave time and lives to keep our freedoms intact and to ensure that everyone, property owners or not, male and female, young or old, black or white or any color in between, has that right to vote. The leaders of this country should represent the hopes and dreams and ideals of the people, and voting is one way you can make sure that happens. No excuses! Leave early before work, skip a meeting, take a lunch break early or late, leave work early, watch someones kids while they watch yours. Take a bus, beg a ride, walk. Be counted. Make a difference. Vote, no matter how inconvenient, because it how you, on this historic day next Tuesday, get to be part of the process that makes our country great. Vote!

Live From The New House

The cabinets are in boxes in the living room and the bathrooms are painted with primer only and there is no grout between the slate tiles yet and the window screens are in boxes in the garage and the landscape consists of orange brown subsoil and the places where the second floor is open to the ground floor have no railings and there are gaps in the heating ducts and in the plumbing and there are no light fixtures installed so the only light is from one floor lamp and some clip-on utility lights and the only furniture is a lawn chair and paint can end tables and my sleeping bag, but . . . WE HAVE INTERNET SERVICE. Okay, my wireless card does not talk to the phone company's broadband service, so I am cabled to the wall right now, but still! I am blogging live from the new house at the lake! But I better not include much content because there are bathrooms to paint and I am burning daylight here online!

Holes

Hillary and Sarah and Linda and Molly and the rest of the women from Knit Nite were talking about the first time we got anything pierced and after I told my story, they said I should blog about it. So here goes: When all my friends in high school were 'doing it', in their bathroom with a potato and ice and a needle, or with those tortuous gradual spring hoop ones that dig in deeper and deeper over days of agony, or by making an appointment at the doctor's office, I was having allergy issues and it seemed pointless. But when I was something like 44 and visiting family on summer vacation, talk was all about how my niece wanted her ears pierced and her grandma, my mother, had agreed to pay for it for her as a gift. They had, in fact, made appointments with my mother's hair salon a couple times, but my niece had gotten cold feet and cancelled. I, without much thought, volunteered that if she did it, I would go along and get mine done. Pretty soon, appointments were made and there were promises to keep that had not been all that well thought out. When the fateful day arrived and we ended up at the salon at the appointed time, she wanted to go first so she would not chicken out. Well, the salon had a new 'gun' that rapidly 'instantaneously' makes the hole in the earlobe and inserts the earring and attaches the back. The 'gun' is supposed to then slide effortlessly off the ear. Well, it got stuck on my niece's ear! So I had to sit there while the salon employee broke into a cold sweat trying to loosen the device and as the manager was called for and as they tried various maneuvers to get it off. And after that was accomplished, I had to rise from my chair and bravely walk to the salon chair to face certain death by piercing gun. The longest walk of my life. Perhaps this is why I was willing to go on the 50 mile backpacking expedition in Red River Gorge in Kentucky or the 50 miles backpacking trip this past summer to Isle Royale. Because I survived the long walk from the waiting room chair to the piercing chair and never looked back or turned to run.

Isle Royale Intro

People who know about the trip and read here ask "Why haven't you written about it?" There are many reasons for that. The main one is that I haven't really been altogether sure what to say about it. It was hard. Very hard. My hiking companion said one day on the trail "It wouldn't be a Boy Scout High Adventure if it wasn't challenging. And it isn't challenging if you are sure you can survive it." I am not certain that is really quite the level of challenge the Boy Scouts of American are after in their High Adventure program, but it was encouraging and inspiring at the time. The backpacking was hard. I did not train for the trip adequately for a number of reasons, some my fault and some beyond my control, not the least of which was bronchitis a few weeks before the trip with a very bad and lingering cough. The Boy Scouts that I was traveling with were older teens and stronger and faster than those that I backpacked with on the Kentucky trip. For some reason, I spent most of two of the days nauseous. There were horrendous amounts of mosquitoes and flies determined enough to bite through wool socks. I fell not once but twice on the last day of backpacking, and just after my last mile of the 50, some sort of pain set into my left knee that made it nearly impossible for me to walk. Aside from that, it was perfect. It was the most beautiful place I have ever been. The landscape was unspoiled and stunningly beautiful. We travelled through classic ecosystem types I had only read about before. I saw wildflowers I had only seen in pictures. There were ferns and aspen and birch. We saw moose and heard loons. It rained and I love to sleep outdoors in a tent in the rain. But it was hard. It was so hard that I almost didn't know what to say about it, almost didn't want to force myself to relive it. Then I read something in the last Patagonia catalog about rock climbing. It said "It doesn't have to be fun to be fun." Well, that about sums it up. It was NOT always fun in the usual sense of lightness and pleasantry. Though the boys and their humor certainly made for a wonderfully great deal of that too. But it was fun in the strange and complicated sense of a challenge that you rise to, a goal that you achieve, work that has purpose and meaning. And it WAS the most beautiful place I have ever been.

HOW TO COMMENT

Okay, so maybe it isn't THAT obvious! At the bottom of the post, it says 'comments' with a number in front. Usually '0' and that is what we hope to remedy! Click on it. You will be taken to a page with a box on the right. Type some fluffy words there. Move your cursor down. There is a funny looking word over a little box. That is called 'word verification' and it is to prevent kooks from putting advertising onto other peoples' blogs with automated programs. You have to figure out what the sqiggly or wavy letters are and type them into the box. I hope the sqiggly waviness does not trigger any drug flashbacks for anyone. Below that, you have to click on a way to identify yourself. If you have a Google blogger login, you should not be reading this cuz you know how. If not, you should click the circle by 'Name/URL' and then fill in a fake name that will give me a clue who you are, then click on the orange button that says "Publish Your Comment". Your comment will not show up right away because I have to read it and approve it because some weirdo saw my comments supporting gay rights on some other blogger's post and tracked me down and was putting in mean stuff, so I know it is less fun to have to wait to see your comments, but the mean guy wrecked that. Anyway, thanks for letting me know you were here!

One Hundred

This is my one hundredth post. What started as a whim at the suggestion of a friend who has his own infrequently posted on blog (yes, that is a challege for him to post more) was spurred on by the admonitions of another friend who has his own (too frequently posted on?) blog who said if you aren't going to post every day, you may as well not start. I hoped you readers would comment more, for those zeros make me think no one is reading, but when I miss a day or two, I get emails, so I suppose you are out there. But still, give it up now and then, eh? And I aim for an average of one a day, you know, like vitamins, if you miss one, you just take a couple the next day. Anyway, thanks for reading.

The lazy blogger posts a photo only

I am not

I am not a writer. My sister is a writer. She will cringe at my bad grammar and poor writing and crappy sentence structure – phrases that are not complete sentences - and terrible punctuation; and careless sppellling if she reads this. I probably won’t tell her about it. She is a far better writer. She is prettier and smarter and thinner and more talented and more successful and funnier too. I should tell her, now that I have written that. We aren’t the sort of people who actually give each other personal compliments like that. We aren’t huggers either. I might say “Nice sweater” and she might tell me that her friend liked my artwork. I’d never tell her all that good stuff to her face. But she is a great writer. She is a real writer. I am proud of my sister.