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Monthly Archives: March 2012

Lotto Motto

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Why is it that the idea of winning the lottery leads most people to what they really really want to do with their lives?  I know, if money were no object….yada yada yada…

The thing is, most of us still need to “work” on something just to keep our brains occupied and not going crazy.  I know I do.  I still need to achieve things, grow, learn, and impact others–just not exactly in the capacity/structure I am employing right now.

Maybe we shouldn’t wait on winning the elusive $500 Million, but take a little step toward that lottery plan every day.  Little steps won’t look so crazy from the outside, and we might just settle into our ideal vocation along the way–so much so, that by the time we win the Mega Millions, we “wouldn’t change a thing about our lives.”  How’s that for living without regret?

I think I will get to steppin’ toward my lottery plans….after I go buy that ticket!

Googlial Pursuit

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I had drawn him a picture and had it framed.

My mother said, “You are doing too much.  He needs to pursue you!”

“I don’t care.  I LOVE him!” I replied.

Four years ago today, he googled me after fifteen years.  I never forgot him, and I will never forget the day his out-of-the-blue email brought us back together.

He did pursue me.  It just took him a minute or 7,884,000.

Word Gift

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I say it alot.  My people say it a lot.  We are a touchy feely crew.

You?  Notsomuch.

When we were dating, I said it at a concert three months in.  I had a couple beers, and you know I was crazy about you the moment you came back into my life.  I knew how you felt, but you wouldn’t say it.  You made up your own catchphrase.

When you drove two hours in the middle of the night (after almost a year together) to say it, you said it so eloquently it felt like a proposal.  I will never forget.

You mumbled it this morning.  You mumble alot.  I said, “What?”

You said it again.

I heard you, and I am still smiling nine hours later.

Writing Everyday

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Fun break for one of my favorite songs from the crypt.

Sometimes I feel like I am so busy in my head writing, arting, and thinking that I’m not really living in the present.  So, for this moment, I’m pausing to dance and nod my head while I write the book of my life.

See y’all tomorrow.

Embracing the Force

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So, I really struggled with the last couple of art pieces I worked on….the kind of struggle that makes you think you just can’t paint anymore struggle…

I was dreading working on a commission piece I need to complete–because I don’t care for: the subject matter, the 3-D object it is to be painted on, and the benefactor herself (she’s just not pleasant, blessherheart).  Once I admitted it to myself, the real reason I was dreading painting was…..wait for it….my last two pieces were near failures.

Tonight, painting has got me thinking about God and God’s will.  Sometimes I am in the groove, and the painting feels like it just comes through me: like I had nothing to do with it, like I was God’s channel, God’s medium.  Other times, I take the brush from Him and “make it work” or “rush” it.  The painting gets tight, as Dear Professor would call it.  (“Tight = overworked.  Good paintings are loose and effortless.”)  The painting gets sophomoric, ugly, muddy, and I get stressed out.  That’s when I look back up to God pleadingly and ask him to finish it for me.  Once I hand over control, God’s flow returns, and I see a beautiful picture of Redemption.

On nights like tonite, when a much dreaded piece painted itself supernaturally, I remember that this talent is not mine.  It was given to me.  I need to use it, but I need to surrender to the Force that paints it for me.

I have never had a painting that came out exactly like I planned it.  I’ve come to terms with letting the piece “be what it wants to be.”  When I embrace the force (God’s will), the result is always better than the plan.  (And for the record, I believe there are many outcomes and directions that God and I can take a painting….not just one predetermined fatalistic one…. )

Thank God for happy accidents and for making something remarkable out of my many messes.

Selective Creativity

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Artsy folks, do you feel like you are only creative in just a couple ways?

I remember struggling mightily with cooking when I got married (and still now).  I’d not grown up in the kitchen, and I’d lived alone for five years, so there just wasn’t much need for it.  My husband had been a hotel banquet manager in his former life, so he was comfortable whipping things up and “plating” everything beautifully!  Me? I have to execute each recipe to the letter, time EVERYTHING, and even then, I’ve had several kitchen casualties.  (The fire alarm has gone off twice in only two years!)

“I don’t understand why you are uncomfortable cooking or trying things in the kitchen, honey.  You are so creative.” Hubs declared.

“Well, flavor and food texture are dimensions I  haven’t had much experience with.  My fortes are line, color, composition, and balance,” I repied, “and then there’s just trying not to burn shit.”

It seems my creativity takes a nose dive after two dimensions.  Length? Check.  Width? Check. Color? Check.  Depth?  3D?  Notsomuch.  One of my professors said I would go to great lengths to try to “stand up” one of my drawings just to call it 3-D.

This lack of 3-D bravado makes me self conscious in a lot of ways.  Because I have an art degree I’m supposed to be great at interior design and landscaping–both baffle me!  I can’t imagine furniture or rugs here and there without moving them here and there until they work.  Forget about imagining how a plant will look several inches lower, planted, and after it grows or blooms!

Is creativity and artisitic talent like working out?  Are the only developed muscles the ones you train and repetitively use?  If so, I have along way to go.  I’m a muscle head with great biceps and chicken legs.



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It’s so much easier to type and play writer games when I’m supposed to be working my 9-5er.  My writing sounds like hard work to anyone walking by.  I get my job done, but there isn’t always much to do!  Sometimes I’d like to sketch ideas for an art piece during those hours, but I fear I’ll be found out.  Easier just to keep punching keys and making word pictures.  I’m still a little worried that my word pictures might be better than my drawn/painted ones.

Easier to stay light than go deep.  There’s stuff down there even I don’t want to know.  Or, if I must go deep, how deep?  How much do you should you share with the blogosphere?  I’ll just be a Slacktologist and stay vague for now, or as long as my circumstances are uncertain.  Muuaaa ha ha.

Mi Cita, I Miss You

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These are the words I wrote when you passed.  It’s been two months, and I still can’t believe it.

  • Full of life
  • Lived to the Fullest
  • Standing low to the ground,
  • But Larger than life
  • Smiling, hugging, laughing Cooking,
  • that wonderful Mexican food
  • Halloween costumes, Christmas treats, Birthday celebrations,
  • Gifts and mementos made Holidays last all year
  • Mischievous, yet Prayerful
  • Keeper of my secrets
  • Dispenser of wisdom
  • from “just an old Hippy”
  • California Blue with accents of Georgia Peach and Pecan
  • “Live and let live” with a dash of proper
  • Photographer with keen eyes
  • Giver with huge heart
  • Dreamer of Dreams
  • Lover of the Ocean, Sand and Sea
  • Walking with her Savior
  • Hand in Hand
  • Child of the King

They played this song at your funeral.  Now that I’ve begun blogging, I would have pushed you until you started a photo blog.

Miss you, Cita.


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  • Ahhhhh, you.
  • You with your springtime, your azaleas, your Bobby Jones
  • Your magnolias and pimento cheese
  • Your seersucker, your khaki
  • Your golfcarts and antebellum
  • Your river, your swamp, your space, your time
  • Ahhhhh, you.
  • You with Your neighbor, your church, your chit-chat, your gossip
  • Your red clay of Tara
  • Your Pride
  • Your Hold
  • Your Draw
  • Ahhhhh, you.
  • Your top of the line guests and attention at
  • Your big Party
  • With your lack the rest of the year
  • They still play through in other seasons, but
  • No one sees beyond the Magnolia Gates
  • Ahhhhh, you.
  • Same as the day I left.
  • Your people making their own party
  • And doing all the same things
  • Without Me.
  • Who am I outside of You?