Congratulations Debby!

My sister just (well last week) completed her initial training to become a Gyrotonics instructor.

If you don't know what that is, you're not alone...

If you are curious, check out the gyrotonics website.

Yeah! Debby!!

Finally!

Julie and Mirna and Susann and me at
The Del Mar Fair...  "they" changed the name to the San Diego Fair,but to me, it will always be the Del Mar Fair.






Tongues.




Suprise!





Scarry...

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

Taos.
I was going to do this: http://www.thewritingsalon.net/home-taos.html but a friend, who had gone in 2004 said something along the lines of "DON'T GO!" and when I said, "but I thought you loved Taos," she replied, "Taos yes. The workshop, no." I was so close to putting my money down, and had started to dream of Taos...

Thank god I had another friend who had gone to Taos the year before, but had gone to: http://www.unm.edu/~taosconf/index.htm
Michelle said this was the best conference, not too schmoozy, lots of great events, and of course, Taos. So I signed up for the Creative Non-Fiction workshop.

The Welcome Letter from the teacher scared me.

He assigned three books:

The Situation and the Story: The Art of Personal Narrative by Vivian Gornick;

I Could Tell You Stories: Sojourns in the Land of Memory by Patricia Hampl; and

This Boy's Life: A Memoir by Tobias Wolff .

I assigned myself one book: Mountain City by Gregory Martin

The teacher also requested we submit 10-25 pages of our manuscript via email a week before the workshop... Manuscript? What manuscript? I didn't know I was working on a manuscript!

Anyway, after several false starts, I managed to cobble something together, starting with a piece I wrote about banana bread... I titled it "Reconstructing My Mother" and sent it off. In return, I received via email the 10-25 pages of manuscripts from each of the other 12 workshop attendees... and an assignment to provide a written response, 1-2 pages typed for each. I planned to drive, figuring I would have time to wind down from my life, and get into a more meditative space mentally, so I had less than a week to do it in!

My instructor,Greg Martin, looks like a sweet twenty something young boy, dark curly hair, dimples even for gods sake, but in reality he is a stern task master! and in his 30s. On our first evening, at the welcome dinner, he handed us each a packet 3 inches tall .... more reading material, earning our class quite a reputation around the Sagebrush Inn, our "campus" for the week.

Suffice it to say he is very smart, very driven and quite intense. Fortunately he is kind, and he is a good writer and a good teacher. He really knows his stuff. I learned a lot about the craft of writing, and where to go for more.

I did manage to see some of Taos, as I arrived early and had one complete day (Sunday) to tour: I wandered the plaza in the early morning, and went to the Pueblo, and then the Pow Wow.

Our schedule was full with not only homework and classes, but with other activities: author readings, panel discussions, open mic events and other such literary stimulation. It was great fun.

I was, however, very tired; the intense intellectual schedule, combined with the heat (90s) and the dry dry air, and high altitude have conspired against me. No headaches from the altitude though. (nearly 8000 feet!)

It turns out I picked a good conference ultimately. One of the 10 Best according to USA Today.
It was an awesome experience.

I shoulda been a detective

I'm getting pretty good at it. Finding things. Finding people.
...

I found my mom's high school sweetheart... in Corpus Christi Texas. That story is being written for my book-in-progress, "Reconstructing My Mother." Due out in stores... well, sometime after I finish writing it, and find a publisher, just a few details to work out!

I found my cousin Troy and through him, found my cousins Terri and Todd and Travis who apparently have this cool gaming business in Tallahassee.

I'm sad that I lost my cousins in the first place. Not sure how it happened. They used to live down the street from us. Then they moved to Saudi Arabia, contact got sporadic as we all moved to different cities, states, countries. Things got weird after Papasan died... we all went our seperate ways and had our lives.... then Tia died... and now I find out Uncle George died too. Seems strange that we were so close at one point, and to not even know the fundamental details. It's sad. I want to stop that. I don't have much family left, and lord knows my family doesn't seem to have the longevity gene firmly in place.

Friends come and go... but family is at least supposed to stay on the Christmas card list, even if you don't send Christmas Cards.

My Mid Year Resolution: SEND CHRISTMAS CARDS THIS YEAR! Lord knows I've bought enough of them!

Reconstructing My Mother

I'm working on this project, to reconstruct my mother's life... it is very daunting, overwhelming, interesting, exciting, frustrating and fun. And it makes me cry sometimes.

I've been searching through the one high school yearbook that survived family moves across country (hers and ours) and deaths (hers, her mother's, father's, sister's) There is no family home to go back to. No family to go back to. They are all gone.

The items left are in a box that mostly lives in my garage, but has been visiting the living room floor where I periodically sit and open it, pulling things out to examine them. Its funny what's left of her life. Of course there is my sister and me, and her jewelry, and the tutu doll from Hawaii that we made together, some mementos from her travels in Europe... and of course our family photos and memories. But the questions that tickles my brain, who was she. As a person.

Maybe I'll never know, but I've begun the journey to discover not only her past, but maybe mine as well....

Wikitorial

Crazy. I don't get the purpose of this, except that it makes for an interesting wordplay...

From the June 12. 2005. LA Times:

“Watch next week for the introduction of "wikitorials" — an online feature that will empower you to rewrite Los Angeles Times editorials.”
...full notice here

Wikitorials?

To change an "editorial" which is (according to Wikipedia) a statement by a news organization, expressing opinion ...bla bla bla...
How can another one person change another person's editorial? That is in essence changing what is being expressed as their opinion. I don't get it.
Couldn't folks just write in and express their own opinion, and not change someone else's. Oh wait, those are called Letters To The Editor!

Balance

Merriam Webster Online has as the last definition for balance "mental and emotional steadiness"

There's nothing about balancing work and the rest of life. Not that I expected some sort of How-To, or that I really have much to complain about, but given that balance, or the lack thereof, is such a problem in our society, you'd think the dictionary would reflect that.

I know I have it easy. All I have to do is work from nine to five. You'd think I could find time for fun stuff like like blogging. Or working on my own writing. I don't have kids to take care of, or a husband to consider, and yet I still struggle with finding the time and space, mental space, to work on personal endeavors even when I know they are good for my soul.

So, instead of working on my personal projects, my brain is filled with words for things like Titanium Welding, or EZ Wipes, or grinding tungsten. What's up with that?

Amateur

When did the word "amateur" take on an almost negative connotation? Merriam-Webster Online defines "amateur" as:

1 : DEVOTEE, ADMIRER
2 : one who engages in a pursuit, study, science, or sport as a pastime rather than as a profession
3 : one lacking in experience and competence in an art or science

Usually the first definition is the preferred... seems to me, however, that in the vernacular, the third definition is preferred.

This is on my mind because at work we are trying to come up with a term for our customers... many of whom are not professional fabricators, for example, but may actually be quite proficient. If we call them amateurs it could be taken by some to be insulting.

I may just have to call the verbivores....

sky

Infinite colors filtered through water laden clouds into light blue light of day, dark blue light of night.
Always there reminding us that possibilities are endless and no matter how hard we try we can never touch the edge.
sky.

I write

I write every day for ten minutes. In my dreams.
I write my dreams
I write because I cannot speak my heart.
I write words and phrases and sentences that sometimes say nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.

I write to cry. I write to laugh. I write even when it's wrong.
I write stories of lives real and imagined and half remembered.
I write so that I can remember.
So that others will know who I am.
I will know who I am.

rainbow

Purple streams of consciousness pierce the silver clouds of your minds' sky as yellow arrows flow north along the red rock canyon floor.

The infinite sound of whispering wind and thoughts not spoken aloud are held close-- tucked away in a pocket of truth, or in your pink terry cloth bathrobe.

A blue pearl of sanity rolls out onto the floor and
no
one
is
there
to
catch
it.

Your heart beats the rhythm of green primordial ooze bubbling up through the earth's core filling the universe with questions left unanswered.

"Where does the rainbow end, on your soul or on the horizon?"


________________________
inspired by pablo neruda's
Book of Questions
and
a writing workshop with Jill Badonsky

Poetry Slams and such

I've been away from the poetry scene for a while, but I'm going to check out the Cardiff Library Poetry Slam tonight. More to see some friends than to hear poetry, but who knows, I may find it inspiring none-the-less.

Life and Death and Butterflies

74.
I counted 74 butterflies when I went outside today for a few minutes.
To smoke.
It is spring in San Diego and the painted ladies are heading north.
With our recent rains, we apparently have a plethora (isn't that a great word!) of the whispy winged bugs. They seem to head off in twos and threes... then you'll see a lone butterfly, you can almost hear saying "hey, wait for me!"
My boss Jim says he was at a party the other day and mentioned the butterflies and no one there knew what he was talking about.
74 butterflies in the space of 5 minutes. How can you miss that?
Not to mention the numbers I've hit with my car. Thunk. I feel like a butterfly murderer.
Thunk.
It's a bit disconcerting.

* * *

I have a lot of thoughts about Terri Shiavo. Too many to articulate now. But does anyone else find it ironic that her parents want to force feed her... and that what apparently caused her brain damage was an eating disorder. "AH WA" she groaned. Which her parents have interpreted to mean "I want to live." I pray for them. I pray that they find the strength to accept the inevitable. To accept that their daughter has been gone for the last 15 years.
(I'm sighing and shaking my head now.)

http://www.sptimes.com/2005/03/27/Columns/Living_will_is_the_be.shtml
Ditto on that....

on Writing

Strangest thing happened last Saturday.
I attended a workshop, taught by Judy Reeves which was awesome. I had expected to mine some more nuggets for the personal essays I'm trying to write, and submit, and potentially publish. Instead, the characters from my "story" showed up.

I call it a "story" because I am not sure what form it will take. Novel? Screenplay? Short Story? Novella? it is at this point a mystery. Which makes it very difficult for me to write, not knowing what the goal is, not having an outline, just some compelling characters.

Anyway, I can't help but wonder... did they show up to distract me? so I will once again have 1/2 finished projects... or did they show up to tell me I need to tell their story? Maybe I need to look at this differently. Maybe it is possible to do both. While writing about tungsten grinders, and Plasma Arc Welding Torches....of course.

Hmmm.

February

is half over.
I've not updated this blog. I've been working on another one instead.
http://MondayNightWriters.blogspot.com
I'm so excited, my fellow writers from the San Diego Writers, Ink class "Become a More Powerful Writer," taught by Sue Diaz and Candace Toft have joined to form a group for read and critique and general writing support.

And today, I am taking a class from Judy Reeves.... who taught the first writing workshop I ever took, about 10 years ago.

Which means, I should have some good writing by the end of the day... perhaps to post tomorrow.

January

Jingle bells
Annoy me
No more
Unless
Avid
Revelers continue
Yuletide festivities

On Asparagus and Home

The cold, blustery Saturday brings thoughts of warm soups, and oven-baked casseroles as I search for the perfect recipe to use three pounds of asparagus before it goes bad. As I flip through my back issues of Cooking Light magazine, I remember Mom’s Chicken Divan. Actually I think it’s the Joy of Cooking’s Chicken Divan. I begin to frustrate myself, looking in almost every recipe book in my library, from In a Persian Kitchen, to International Recipes on Parade, a dossier of the 1966 Navy Wives Club. I’ve already looked three times through my copy of The Joy of Cooking, a 1954 edition handed down from my grandmother, worn and falling apart in places. Ingredients like sundried tomatoes and shitake mushrooms don’t make even a cameo appearance in the yellowed, batter-stained pages.

I have three bunches of asparagus, to be exact. Two from Henry’s Market, pencil thin, tender green shoots of asparagus and one bunch, magic marker thick, from Trader Joe’s, saran-wrap sealed in a recylable plastic dish. I confess to buying only one, and between my sister’s pre-holiday shopping frenzy, and my roommate’s excursion to the grocery store, three bunches of the green sticks ended up in my refrigerator. It’s not that I don’t like asparagus, but I have 3 bunches, and I hate to wasting anything.

As a last resort, I search the small pink and yellow box filled, in no particular order, with borrowed favorites like the green chile enchiladas Donna brought to an office potluck lunch eight years ago, and tasty hand-me-downs, like the giant foil-wrapped Laramie Loaf sandwich Midgie Brooks would bring to every picnic, Hawaii, 1972 to 1976.

I finally find the recipe on a folded piece of lined paper, tucked in between Lemon Bars and Beef Stroganoff. I don’t recognize the handwriting, but it is mostly legible, so I do a quick inventory of my larder before heading off to the grocery. All I need is chicken and cream of mushroom soup. I repeat this mantra as I drive to the store. Chicken Cream of Mushroom, Chicken Cream of Mushroom. I do this not only to remember what I’m supposed to buy, but to stay on task, to not to wander to the gourmet food section, Chicken Cream of Mushroom and to stay away from the bakery, Chicken Cream of Mushroom.

I manage to get in and out of the store in about 10 minutes, successfully carrying to the car one package of boneless skinless chicken breasts and 2 cans of Cream of Mushroom soup, 98 percent fat free. I’ll use one tonight, and save one for another rainy day, another casserole.

I had invited my friend Cathryn to dinner, and my roommate, Susann, and when my sister Debby called to see what I was doing, I invited her as well. I figured there’d be plenty of food. Well plenty of asparagus, anyway.

In my tiny kitchen, I retrieve the small square casserole dish that belonged to grandma, and prepare to assemble mom’s Chicken Divan… substituting asparagus for broccoli. I rinse the green stems and bend the tough ends until they snap, leaving only tender tops to layer along the bottom of the dish. I then layer the chicken and prepare the sauce, one can cream of mushroom soup, one half cup mayonnaise and 2 teaspoons of curry. The recipe also calls for 1 teaspoon of what looks like “juice” but I leave that out since all I have is cran-rasberry, which I’m pretty sure won’t work. My time spent with Cooking Light makes me feel a bit guilty that the mayonnaise is not fat free, but I pour the sauce over the chicken anyway. I again take liberties with the recipe, adding slivered almonds to the top instead of the recipe’s requisite breadcrumbs. I figure I’ve already challenged tradition, so I might as well go all out. I set the oven to 350 and slide the Pyrex in.

As I wait for everyone to arrive, I prepare a fire and light the candles on the mantle. Burning wood, citrus, sage, and cranberry scents mingle with the warm curry perfume emanating from the kitchen and my new apartment begins to feel like home.

Archiving my website: Poetry

I first started writing poetry in high school, you know the kind, angst filled teenage poems about the pain of life and first loves-- mostly awful, but very cathartic at the time. Then, a couple of years ago, I tried to write some more poetry. I approached the task as a craftsman of words, trying to sculpt the words to fit a thought or an idea. Again, mostly awful.
In April 2002 I attended a poetry reading. And I really listened. I listened for poems that I liked, and thought about why I liked them. What I found was that I liked poems that described a scene, a moment, a slice of life.

The next day I wrote three poems-- slices of my life. For the most part, they came to me as complete poems, with very little edits needed. I’m not sure how this happened, but I think it’s because rather than forcing words into lines of poetry, I let the words come to me. And let them fall into place.

Now, I'm working on personal essays, that are hopefully poetic ;-)
See samples of my poetry in comments below:

Archiving my website:: Prose

In the early ‘90s I toyed with the idea of getting master’s degree in journalism. I did end up taking some post graduate classes at Northwestern University in both journalism and public relations, then actually worked for a PR firm for a time before getting laid off... then moving back to California.

I’ve since had several freelance gigs writing press releases and writing for the Del Mar Times. In addition, I’ve written several articles for my Techniquelle group’s website as well as the newsletter for the 101 Artists’ Colony. I certainly don’t consider my coursework at Northwestern to have been a waste of time, and one of these days I may still go get that master’s degree... but there’s no training like just doing..

Samples of articles and PR archived here in comments section...

November

Is not here yet. But I wrote a poem about it.
Got a writing prompt in the email from Jill Badonsky of:
http//TheMuseIsIn.com

Naturally
Overt
Vibrant
Energized
Maple trees
Become
Effervescent
Red