Not A Sanctioned Activity

I recently had a hilarious conversation with a friend of mine...I hope she won't mind if I write about it here.

We had a conversation about a boy we both knew in junior high/high school. Neither of us liked him very much at the time, or even since, really... (I once threatened to hit him with a yardstick. I'm not normally a violent person, and I'm not really sure I actually would have done it, but I was so mad at him at the time...it's safe to say he was my nemesis.)

Anyway. I told her that although I haven't seen him in ten years (oh, that makes me feel old), and I'm not sure I would recognize him if I saw him on the street, for some reason, he's kind of stuck with me, and for whatever reason I've actually had a few dreams where I married him. I think about him and if he's doing fine upon occasion, which is far more often than I ever thought I'd think about him at all.

This is funny because she says she's had dreams about him too, in the past. Never that she married him, but occasionally that they were dating. She texted me the other day to say that she had another dream about him just a few days ago, after our conversation.

It was even more funny because the same night she had a dream, I also had a dream. I had a dream I had been kissing someone, I don't know who (which was a little unsettling...I don't really like kissing dreams, I'd rather be conscious when I kiss people). And then suddenly I was in the garden, in my parent's backyard, kissing the leaf of a plant. (This wasn't unsettling, as this is how dreams go sometimes.) My five-year-old nephew was next to me. I said something completely inane, like, "Oh look, I kissed a leaf" and he just looked over at me with his big earnest blue eyes in his cute cute little face and said, in utter seriousness, "Kissing isn't sanctioned."

I was so surprised that I laughed myself awake, and had to pinch myself to make sure he wasn't there in the room with me, and I was sad I couldn't kiss his sweet cheek and tell him that under many circumstances, I heartily agreed.

Over (Dream On)

hey now, hey now / don't dream it's over...
hey now, hey now / when the walls close in ...
they come, they come / to build a wall between us
we know that they won't win


dream on, dream on, dream on, dream on, dream on, dream on til your dreams come true

I watched National Velvet last weekend. I was thoroughly struck by how supportive Velvet's mom was - they were both dreamers...her mom's dream was to be the first woman to swim the English Channel, which she did...and Velvet's dream was to enter her horse, Pie, into the Grand National, the largest horserace in England. Velvet's mom knew V was a dreamer, and even though V was only twelve, she wanted to do the horserace thing so badly that V's mom gave her the prize money she won from swimming the Channel to enter the race. But before she gave her the money, she told Velvet, okay, look. This is your big dream. This dream is so so big, it has to last a lifetime. And there will be a time when the dream is over, and win or lose the race, after the day, you have to let the dream go and move on to the next thing. It was like her mom was singing the Birds song "to everything, turn, turn turn..." to her. And in the movie, twelve-year-old Velvet understood it. I'm not sure twelve year olds now or ever can really understand and really let it go...but wow, what a powerful lesson to learn. To really go for a dream, all out, with every fiber of your being, and then when the dream is over, let it go, realize that dream needs to be let out of the BFG's jar and just float away instead of being blown through the dream trumpet into someone else's head. Wow. That'd just be amazing.

I thought about dreams. I thought about dreams being over. I thought about dreams that maybe I didn't dream because I was afraid to go after them...or maybe that I was afraid to dream because I was afraid I wouldn't be able to let go when the time came.

so, in honor of dreams that are over:

o is the shape of your mouth when you realize the moment has come--one way or the other, the dream is done
v is shape of the movement of your heart..down into the deep abyss, whether you accomplished your dream or not - the letdown of the dream being over. The 'v' is a lot deeper when you didn't achieve your dream. (I know.)
e is the shape of the squishy internalizing in your mind that you do after the fact. the turning in on yourself in a circle, going around and around until you run into yourself, only to (often) pick up the pen, start over again, and make the same shape
r is the shape of your soul moving on, starting at the bottom and working yourself forward and right along the graph of life, starting at the emotional low and moving up, then evening out - plateauing, as it were.

The worst part about over is that you have to do it over...over and over and over again. The best part is that sometimes you get second chances for big dreams.

over...and out.

New York, New York

Chapter I:  Plane ride of the Anxious Mind

March 31, 2011: I woke up at 5am to catch a non-stop flight to the Big Apple. That's right. NYC - for the first time ever. I was a little frazzled in the packing stages (long story). I was just settling in on the plane, and it was pushing back, when I sat upright in my seat (I was doing my usual travel slouch which probably isn't goof for me but is comfy in the moment) with my heart hammering: I forgot my Very Important medication. This was not the sort of thing that I could just get by without during my trip. I had to have it or I would be pretty much dysfunctional for the entirety of my vacation and subsequent work meetings. My mind immediately started calculating ways that I could get my hands on some meds as soon as I touched down. But I didn't have a smartphone, so I wasn't sure I would have internet access to even find a pharmacy, etc.

My originally Anxious I level rose to Anxious III in the time it took to skip a heartbeat.

Then, about five minutes later, I realized that it was the end of the month and that I had not paid rent. Furthermore, I would not be able to pay rent until I returned, at which point it would be late. Not good. So bump that Anxious rating ti IV. (Anxious VII = emergency room inducing panic attack, just so you're aware of the scale. Yes, I Anxious Up easily.)

Thankfully, at the time I had a boyfriend who earned Boyfriend of the Year award by helping me out of my situation. Long, involved story, but the short side is that my landlady was an angel, and so was he, and I got my rent paid online in time via exception and my meds from him via overnight mail.

Chapter 2: Central Park

I got a map from the very nice concierge who spent about 20 minutes talking to me about things. I wish I'd given him a bigger tip in retrospect, but maybe I'll go back soon and rectify the situation. Anyway, he gave me a map of Central Park and showed me the best places to go. As you can see it was early April so the park was very drab and actually kind of ugly looking, but this part of the park was not: an Obelisk, originally from Egypt. 

I wandered around Central Park talking on the phone to my friend, C, who'd had a really hard day. I was so intent on our conversation that I missed that darkness was creeping up on me. It was cold to begin with but as the sunlight faded, the rain started. I began to walk faster. I accidentally walked across the park instead of to the bottom of the park. Have you ever been to Central Park? It's huge. I walked what felt miles and miles. I thought I knew where I was and then all the sudden I rounded a curve and the map didn't match, I got frustrated. A pack of joggers cut in front of me. I felt a little conspicuous, out in the dark, looking at a map. The rain started coming down. It literally felt like small needles stinging me. Over and over and over, poking me relentlessly. My hands started to freeze. I finally made it out of the park, but at the wrong corner, and had to walk back across the park again.

When I got back to my hotel room, I think the shower I took to get warm ranked amongst the Top 5 Showers Ever. (I was that cold.)

Chapter 3: The Met: The Seventh Wonder Of My World
 
April 1, 2011: It's no joke, I finally made it to the Met. I woke up and after retrieving my medicine (thank you, FedEx, nice concierge, and Ridj) I went the twenty blocks to the Met. I was in utter happiness because I got to see Cows. (In a separate blog post I will write about how all landscapes are better with cows in them.) This is, perhaps, the best cow picture in the land.

I also saw some beautiful carriages, courtesy of Monet, and this painting, which is almost exactly like its sister, which hangs in the Getty in LA.

There were so many things to see. I covered my favorite sections of the museum - the Dutch painting, American painting of the 19th Century, and Impressionist galleries - and that's about all I could muster strength for in the ten hours I was at the museum. There were many things I did see including the awesome life-size Egyptian Temple of Dendur (but honestly when I saw it, it was much more impressive, due to the fact that it was dark outside, and it was lit by torchlight)  and the Oxbow, which I do not have pictures of here. Ah, but Thomas Cole is one of my favorite artists ever!

There were also a great many other paintings that I loved, loved, loved. And some that I was planning on seeing, but couldn't, because they were either not on display (because they have too many paintings in their "regular collection" to keep them out all at, once), which was a great disappointment, as I really wanted to see The Wave and the Mihrab, but alas, it was not to be, as the Islamic Art collection was under construction.

Here I am with  the Lamassu, which I absolutely had to see because it was the first thing I ever learned about in Art History from Chris Hall. (Love that class. Love that teacher. Best. Ever. Life-changing.) If you clicked on the link you can see more detail of the carvings on the wall. The raven-headed dudes were actually quite imposing, considering they were life-size.

So, something that I do as soon as I walk in the museum is buy the book. Yes, the one that costs like $30 and you wonder why would I ever want to buy that? It's an art journal. My handwriting always gets cramped and messy in these...and sometimes my notes make me laugh a lot when I go back.

For example, about this picture, I wrote:

"Light on curve of tree is more subtle-trees on right not as pronounced. Poor horsey tail!"

Other favorites:

• Wide River Landscape, by Koninck.  The sails are actually much more realistic looking in real life, and the light contrast is amazing. 
• I fell in love with Hobbema on that day. Seriously. Anything by him, go see it!!
• Same with Van Ruisdael. I drew little hearts around his name and underlined it, just like I was a girl writing about her crush in a note to her friend in middle school.  The only thing that would make this painting better is...you guessed it... a cow!
• There's always something to be said for artists who incorporate myths in their work. Here's the Isle of the Dead. The light, in real life, is warm and mellow, but the dark of the trees and water is almost sinister. (Who knew blobs of paint could be sinister without even thinking if they had lead in them or not?)
•  Besides cows, I like action shots of horses.
• And no museum trip would be complete without some Turner and some Constable. About the Turner, I wrote: More contrast in the colors of the couds than shown. Shadow of gondola is exactly a mirror. Detail on building isn't perfect - but it doesn't need to be. Flags colorful but indistinct - would have thought they would have more detail. Looks like for windows, he got a thin line of paint of black paint and just let it drip." And about the Constable, I penned, "Constable and his cows!!! Gent and his lady out for a walk - he has a cane and is pointing out something to her. Water dripping from the central cow's mouth is clear, but the trees are fuzzy."
• This one totally took me by surprise. It was just there, in the main gallery, about eight feet by ten feet. I stood in front of it with goosebumps for awhile before I tore myself away. I wrote, "The Saints (the weird bodies in the back left 1/3 of the painting) aren't even noticeable in the painting. She looks so earnest, pensive...actively thinking, as if she is aching to do something. Her feet are bare - she clearly has more pressing things on her mind than clothes." It amazes me that even after eight hours of museum-ry that my brain still defaults to bad puns. 

I could write on and on, pages, and pages, and pages...the more I looked through my journal the more it made me want to immediately book a ticket to New York and bask in the awesomeness that is the Met. I even put several markers in for stuff I didn't see that if I had known was there, I would have definitely made time to see it...time is limited, I know, but...I guess this way it gives me even more reason to go back. :) LOVE you, Met. Love you.

My legs hurt so bad when I got home I took another shower that was on the Top 5. I didn't care though...I loved every minute, even eating the overpriced lunch in the cafeteria, even the hurrying home in the dark because I was too cheap to take a cab. I don't even remember eating dinner. I think I ordered in Chinese. PS, props to Park Lane hotel for being totally awesome and having a Real Person Sized tub. 

But...as far as the "highlight" package, the Met loses to a small museum, really a collection, really a house...three hours of bliss was mine on April 2, 2011. But I'll write about that in the next post. Now I really need to go to bed...wow. Time flies when you're having art fun. 

San Francisco

for comings:
screech go the breaks of the yellow cab
drivers start to go downhill; give the gas a jab
hold on! hold on!
will my cabbie make the light?
will he yield, or cause me fright?

for tourings:
clack, thwack, whirr go the cables in the street
moving back and forth to the transportation beat
trolley! trolley!
will it make it to the top?
on the way down, will it stop?


for workings:
at the hotel, tired, want to sleep
tomorrow when I pay the bill it won't be cheap
wake up! wake up!
how long will this meeting last?
fifteen, twenty, forty past?

for eatings:
now I'm hungry, time to find some food
yes, there's a cuisine for my each and every mood
yummy! yummy!
will I eat until I burst?
where's my water? Quench my thirst!

for walkings:
walk up streets... now, I'm on a hiking spree
switchback up the hill - there's no mountain goat in me
shin splint! shin splint!
can you hear me huff and puff?
did i make it? I'm so tough!

for pinings/recommendings:
now I'm home, I just miss the Golden Gate
cypress trees, museums, and the shops in Upper Haight*
San Fran! San Fran!
have you been to Lands' End yet?
you and Claude the gator met?

for goings:
call a cab, doorman, with your whistle, please
it's a long plane ride and the BART would be a squeeze
whistle! whistle!
may I pay by credit card?
why must you make this so hard?

...And That's the End of That

Mom used to take us to the storytelling festival every year. Actually, some of us go, some years, still, but as the festival has grown and our energy has waned it's honestly a bit less fun. Also, a couple of my favorite storytellers have passed on from this chapter to the next, as it were, so it's not quite as awesome to go. (I still have my favorites that I never get tired of listening to - everybody who was there for Bill Harley's "Build Me Up, Buttercup" and David Holt playing the paper bag (yes, indeed, it is an instrument) as well as Jay O'Callahan's "Glasses" and Carmen Deedee's "Queen of the Gypsies" still remembers what it felt like to hear those stories being told. I could go on but those are the ones I still remember really well, with a few others peppered in there, along with the Happy Birthday song, and...well, you get the picture.

One other person I remember really well was Jackie Torrence. She had the biggest hands and the longest fingers I think I've ever seen in my life. I have her autograph somewhere. I remember I was so nervous to ask for it. I think I was eight at the time. She always sat down to tell her stories in that warm Southern accent of hers - I think the last time I saw her, she was in a wheelchair. She had a way about her that would just draw you in and you couldn't be free until she was done telling her story.

[Let's face it, all the best storytellers grew up in the South. I always wondered about that until I visited North Carolina...and then I knew why. I may have already written about the experience where I was on a hay ride to get pumpkins with small children and a mom just whipped out a folk tale right there on the bale of hay and everybody listened. She did all the voices and everything. I don't think anybody could get away with that where I grew up. They're all much too self-conscious, so most of them have to go to the Festival to get their story yummers in.]

Anyway...one year, a long time ago, Jackie Torrence was on stage, telling the story about Jack and the Imps. This is not Jack and the Devil, although the Devil is definitely in the story. I remember Jackie used her long, ring-spangled fingers to pretend to be the Devil pushing his eyeballs (which inconveniently popped out at regular intervals during the yarn) back into their sockets. I think my eyeballs just about came out of their sockets watching her, as the Devil, shove the eyes back in.

The main line I remember from the story was the Devil wailing, "Jack! You've converted my imps!" when he discovers that he's been outsmarted by the country bumpkin and in fact, no, his minions will not drag Jack off to hell; he enlightened them (by reading them the Bible, no less) and so they didn't feel the need to do as the Devil commanded anymore. It's kind of become a family inside joke now.

We liked the story so much that our mom got us a tape of Jackie to listen to. I mostly listened while I folded socks in the laundry room. (We had seven people. There were a lot of socks to fold.) I loved loved loved Jackie's stories...I listened to them over and over again. I never got tired of her accent when she said her special tagline. Or rather, endline. She ended every story with, "And that's...the end of that."

It occurred to me the other day that so many of life's stories end with: "And that's...the end of that." A few examples:
* A handful of dates with a guy you liked enough to say yes to but in the end neither of you is interested enough to pick up the phone, so it just kind of fizzles out, mid-text conversation, kind of without either of you noticing at first, until one or the other of you is fiddling with the phone and realizes, "Huh. It's been a couple weeks. Wow. Really? Hm. Oh well. That's the end of that."
* Missing the ferry, or an airplane, or any other mode of transportation, which causes the domino effect that makes you miss an event you really wanted to get to. Whoops.
* Out of the blue break-ups. (My friend had to do one of those the other day. It was awful. I felt so bad for them both...but I guess once you know (either way), you know.)
* Eating a really good meal, relishing the last bite of entree or dessert, maybe with a little pout on your face because you wanted just one more taste...
* Turning in the key at an apartment you're moving out of, shutting the door for the last time.
* Finishing the last question on a test, putting the pencil down and walking to turn the exam in.
* (falsely) When you get the kids tucked into bed and all seems quiet just for a moment, and you think they're actually asleep.

Sometimes, I can hear Jackie's voice in my head as I mull over events of the day, week, month...I think about chapters of my life that are closing, some that are opening, and some that are being written...hopefully with happy bits thrown in there somewheres. (The s was on purpose.) It makes me smile, think of the Devil and his converted Imps, and then I say (as appropriate), smiling and imitating Jackie:

"And that's...the end of that."

I Spy, With My Little Eye...

Some more things crossed off my bucket list!!

Let's see:
I went whale watching. I didn't get seasick while whale watching. (Unlike last time.)
I got roaming charges because I was in Canadian waters. (Not on my list, but it happened anyway.)
San Juan Islands: check.

Let's play a little "I Spy", only it's not like the I Spy books. Not as cool, but my photoshop skillz aren't that stellar, and also it would ruin the pics because it would be out of context.

I spy, with my little eye (from left to right, top to bottom):

Mt. Baker from a boat, and tiny islands from another (bigger) boat (also known as a WSDOT ferry). Speaking of which, we almost missed the ferry. We saw the cars begin to load from about a mile away as we rounded the curve (we left in plenty of time, but got distracted by road tunes and a quest for Dairy Queen confetti cake freezee (or whatever they're called) and got a little pinched for time. He parked while I paid, and by then almost all the cars were on the ferry. We ran and ran and I was dropping things and Ridj ran behind me picking them up and it was like we were in a movie.

I'm pretty sure they held the ferry for us but I'm so glad they did - so we got a Ferry Happy Ride Thereafter, just like characters in a movie would.

I also spy: a Steller sea lion on Whale Rocks. Stellers are HUGE, by the way. This guy was "adolescent" and was probably still about 8 feet long. Later, we spied one tear apart a mud shark, and we were about 50 feet away (we almost ran over it as it tried to gulp the whole thing down in one piece). Stellers aren't snakes and they have the inconvenience of needing to breathe so it wasn't quite that easy, but the whole thing was gone in under two minutes. Impressive.


Then harbor seals, which I can actually see better in this picture than I could in real life (thank you, zoom),  a bald eagle on a private island, not in its nest (which is the huge mass of sticks); a lighthouse framed by crazy ribbon currents;

Now see if you can see the tiniest bit of whale or porpoise in these pictures. The porpoises were super cute but they're really fast so I'm not actually sure I caught any on camera. Actually, the frustrating thing was that I wasn't sure if it was a wave I was seeing or a porpoise until after the porpoise had gone back under.

My little eye didn't spy one tiny speck of a killer whale, which was kind of the point of going whale watching, but I did see a Minke whale.  Sometimes killer whales hunt Minke whales, even though Minke whales are about the same size. 

We watched it go up and down for about 45 minutes.

And now: which of the following 3 large shots do you think is the most striking?