tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45859883764333369972024-03-05T01:09:09.352-08:00~ My Blog & Role Fantasy ~Mostly just crazy talk, punctuated by humor and the occasional gem (!!!) of perception. I’m a creative, animal-loving, forty-something woman, newly married, and an unpublished writer (working on it!). Oh, and I'm in the midst of starting a greeting card company (complicated!). Sound like something you can get behind? Please, read on...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-19658106254562513022015-09-25T11:28:00.000-07:002015-09-25T11:28:00.366-07:00Madness Must Come Out, they said...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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You won't find me there, I said</div>
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But here instead...</div>
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<a href="https://intricateknot.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">The Journal of Intricate Knot</a><br />
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Or here<br />
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<a href="https://cardsforagloomyday.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">aRT for a Gloomy Day</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvtqPJJ6uXpuA36NdkifhtG8RmDj4nHU6zStE6m10cy2h9or_gYDJiA5ilqdkrUiYuDTBVOFRXu6Nfcb5j1jOv4vS5BsZ_U9rmTPP6c6sWoZKwcHuQAu_29rHfWg_rXJ4o5VuCwZlBQAWw/s1600/Voice+in+My+Head+PR2222.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvtqPJJ6uXpuA36NdkifhtG8RmDj4nHU6zStE6m10cy2h9or_gYDJiA5ilqdkrUiYuDTBVOFRXu6Nfcb5j1jOv4vS5BsZ_U9rmTPP6c6sWoZKwcHuQAu_29rHfWg_rXJ4o5VuCwZlBQAWw/s400/Voice+in+My+Head+PR2222.gif" title="" width="400" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-732303111124742722012-09-06T13:52:00.002-07:002012-09-06T13:54:31.010-07:00Words...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Sometimes there's too few, other times far too many. Hopefully these words are just the right amount.<br />
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Everyone needs one of these.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX1jtKjvw5uwYBfVkheOV69Fxxw2XKehwt2Y92QdjUoiy22D1RK1Pq9gRvad2o-RX6kwffSBLPDn5eIDdbtLcSoj5WxI3w07BtqECblVi5DPrGJGQNPneG-JpnqAD1OJisfkFhtE9tiRND/s1600/P1070469+rw.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX1jtKjvw5uwYBfVkheOV69Fxxw2XKehwt2Y92QdjUoiy22D1RK1Pq9gRvad2o-RX6kwffSBLPDn5eIDdbtLcSoj5WxI3w07BtqECblVi5DPrGJGQNPneG-JpnqAD1OJisfkFhtE9tiRND/s400/P1070469+rw.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Newcastle</td></tr>
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Preferably two...each with a different view.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsrKyAjecvMk-tx9wzN0lwALDoqkTMn61GZC-jhEO2y2sSe_aTMGT4hRvmD6mYbDXNk5SypXCoGMtCicj1z3NwIXb7tnJRsRYxNbHIV-zGIp12FBPkIa0VhP1q-ov1YwE8PwKwRyEScfA_/s1600/P1070415+rw.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsrKyAjecvMk-tx9wzN0lwALDoqkTMn61GZC-jhEO2y2sSe_aTMGT4hRvmD6mYbDXNk5SypXCoGMtCicj1z3NwIXb7tnJRsRYxNbHIV-zGIp12FBPkIa0VhP1q-ov1YwE8PwKwRyEScfA_/s400/P1070415+rw.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scotland</td></tr>
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And a place to stop and rest.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRuh3ZS1kozDK4zLJlBpQcmLTJViHXNfbtK_N_-8fDaDoMeHCIZtqZgdCH_MQg8k4JLVrZMtlg7CSU4MLpdmBBI6rTgF9ICM4e-tBybTXZ9qTsKIFZ6QTLVO0TOlpIG5slx1ssRzE-mdOM/s1600/P1070625.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRuh3ZS1kozDK4zLJlBpQcmLTJViHXNfbtK_N_-8fDaDoMeHCIZtqZgdCH_MQg8k4JLVrZMtlg7CSU4MLpdmBBI6rTgF9ICM4e-tBybTXZ9qTsKIFZ6QTLVO0TOlpIG5slx1ssRzE-mdOM/s400/P1070625.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">London, England</td></tr>
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Have a cup of tea...or something stronger.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZiBWgO3ZgLAcwmuZqKXCWEoKyFKNxkCt_5O4RBwTT32u-KMfO4Hab9e00bCYAzmiTxqcrSY2FBjc6PdczMdOgv9reSShkBqcMXxAqW22G_0W4xSSRKT4J4OSGea3jo3PxtZqGIQG6tZjJ/s1600/P1060637rr.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZiBWgO3ZgLAcwmuZqKXCWEoKyFKNxkCt_5O4RBwTT32u-KMfO4Hab9e00bCYAzmiTxqcrSY2FBjc6PdczMdOgv9reSShkBqcMXxAqW22G_0W4xSSRKT4J4OSGea3jo3PxtZqGIQG6tZjJ/s400/P1060637rr.JPG" width="301" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Edinburgh</td></tr>
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Remember to keep your<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx6kLnzMXsyXkvCN7kDkm6OlrmGmk5xb9PPKvZBaW0RzDnK_Cbdv9kS6bL0xfveD_KFF3959nVL9mXxbrhbBQj-oSCkZzdKYN2Fx7tHAUN4f3IRztokfxUrirOgd8fZPaq3HebQNi6SkgA/s1600/P1060674.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx6kLnzMXsyXkvCN7kDkm6OlrmGmk5xb9PPKvZBaW0RzDnK_Cbdv9kS6bL0xfveD_KFF3959nVL9mXxbrhbBQj-oSCkZzdKYN2Fx7tHAUN4f3IRztokfxUrirOgd8fZPaq3HebQNi6SkgA/s320/P1060674.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Royal Mile, Edinburgh</td></tr>
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and don't abuse them.<br />
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Enjoy a bit of Magick...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHybAokgIMArLvZGOS_wJ0KJxjotbWdR9PBcO_7sURd0hxIEj2Bs0Jl8eFrkP0xnW4WA4RwAAkr0SCUomW0s1xhCVYZCUMx7oW_IocHa_jdddmFSRam7WYW0s74PdCsuGggAR3sc_oXKAW/s1600/P1060686+rw.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHybAokgIMArLvZGOS_wJ0KJxjotbWdR9PBcO_7sURd0hxIEj2Bs0Jl8eFrkP0xnW4WA4RwAAkr0SCUomW0s1xhCVYZCUMx7oW_IocHa_jdddmFSRam7WYW0s74PdCsuGggAR3sc_oXKAW/s400/P1060686+rw.JPG" width="273" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Royal Mile, Edinburgh</td></tr>
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And Spirit along your way.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZKRQq80uVUoVbmWeS5_5OHMX8-ZmVObHOvH0sB9eCf-qjzUgP7Q8Dkry72dYceNHJCls8MQZpnkxAn1H5ZH0ISCEsJOF5c2k6s6bjdWu_CWXoi_jKS25dtOgUhDhn3R-ZPIzoDC_jh8T/s1600/P1060665.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZKRQq80uVUoVbmWeS5_5OHMX8-ZmVObHOvH0sB9eCf-qjzUgP7Q8Dkry72dYceNHJCls8MQZpnkxAn1H5ZH0ISCEsJOF5c2k6s6bjdWu_CWXoi_jKS25dtOgUhDhn3R-ZPIzoDC_jh8T/s400/P1060665.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Princes Street, Edinburgh</td></tr>
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Maybe learn a bit of Latin,<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguFBDuJBw-He7fWGl3k6cpktgrQvb95fyEdvkUQNVEBV7zhuFdyuozN0fxHtyXilxg_k9iuEb5itdQ68NGDONXB18MOFV6He9dl_iAABAFzIXyUbJskTIkaSP0MymXHVW70iu_t3oju0w6/s1600/P1060696.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguFBDuJBw-He7fWGl3k6cpktgrQvb95fyEdvkUQNVEBV7zhuFdyuozN0fxHtyXilxg_k9iuEb5itdQ68NGDONXB18MOFV6He9dl_iAABAFzIXyUbJskTIkaSP0MymXHVW70iu_t3oju0w6/s400/P1060696.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Nemo Me Impune Lacessit" is the motto of The Order of the Thistle and the Scottish Regiments of the British Army. This is written at the entrance to Edinburgh Castle. It means "No One Attacks Me With Impunity."</td></tr>
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But don't forget how to have your<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX5Cz3NEo9k_LAdDMyCFXeK6byikXvNiGXbVWOsglpOIrk0r50M93cOhV3q8vqzcr_AdwmgrThf31dgn1CeCoa0CH6UkgeLVGBnhsju2yt6pvu3gdNc_7zSwioC7qjBqRnIE8WY1GZZrAe/s1600/P1070028+rw.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX5Cz3NEo9k_LAdDMyCFXeK6byikXvNiGXbVWOsglpOIrk0r50M93cOhV3q8vqzcr_AdwmgrThf31dgn1CeCoa0CH6UkgeLVGBnhsju2yt6pvu3gdNc_7zSwioC7qjBqRnIE8WY1GZZrAe/s400/P1070028+rw.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jollie's Close, The Royal Mile, Edinburgh</td></tr>
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Once in a while it's okay to be immature, especially if you can't help it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvhu7pSX0dy6q7p8o5ubMH6J70sRRjRXCNYCiLwFRuNNnO-nliAD-PvAEyaAIvK35zZnr9aQs7jbbORPdLgaJS-M1bG4dEQpZp8wnmZRbEeRb32uZ4weR5FcHDWRZHOTHP7b7wBJu8pJ7o/s1600/P1070049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvhu7pSX0dy6q7p8o5ubMH6J70sRRjRXCNYCiLwFRuNNnO-nliAD-PvAEyaAIvK35zZnr9aQs7jbbORPdLgaJS-M1bG4dEQpZp8wnmZRbEeRb32uZ4weR5FcHDWRZHOTHP7b7wBJu8pJ7o/s400/P1070049.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Edinburgh</td></tr>
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Always play like a child.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6-xuV0vomWZc5muq3VJGMg3F1MF_Xf_IZiFoeyTpdn6BTSMc8SfTqogwLIL_VH8cIZ5qvrhtw9LKC0U9i9Uemj-oIx-GJ4MvK7YODWN9Ppd9jJ11lyj2aT551YcfcGXcR9UDFhg0urjTj/s1600/P1070065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6-xuV0vomWZc5muq3VJGMg3F1MF_Xf_IZiFoeyTpdn6BTSMc8SfTqogwLIL_VH8cIZ5qvrhtw9LKC0U9i9Uemj-oIx-GJ4MvK7YODWN9Ppd9jJ11lyj2aT551YcfcGXcR9UDFhg0urjTj/s400/P1070065.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Edinburgh</td></tr>
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Do what you love. Follow your path to your very own tune. Come on, don't be a<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAZRYsHdzF_wGuPJco9YzR4Sh2eFLDjBOZK9KawtVXcgXRnpS7uzv5sqcayz6vrnpYxxYUpm4Uc9t5nVJFQTIjmV-QQGd0V9jjigzHkjmiBcis6aWEBboCM4TiToUo5gyj3R6pMfpgXSKb/s1600/P1070072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAZRYsHdzF_wGuPJco9YzR4Sh2eFLDjBOZK9KawtVXcgXRnpS7uzv5sqcayz6vrnpYxxYUpm4Uc9t5nVJFQTIjmV-QQGd0V9jjigzHkjmiBcis6aWEBboCM4TiToUo5gyj3R6pMfpgXSKb/s400/P1070072.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Edinbugh</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-77126928377940174072012-08-27T14:27:00.000-07:002012-08-27T14:39:59.379-07:00Up ‘til noon, back up again at sundown. Or is that the other way around? Just breathe.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Hesitantly her hands
reached out to grasp the ledge of earth above her head and then focusing her strength, pulled herself from out of the hole. It's bright up here. The
sunlight made her gasp and squeeze her eyes shut. Sunlight is a powerful thing.
She’d forgotten how brilliant and warm it is. She sat there a moment on the
ledge, her feet still dangling into the hole she’d just struggled from and trying
to decide: open her eyes or keep them closed, go back into her oubliette, stay
right here, or move forward. Decisions like these should not be made lightly. It took her so long to escape, what difference could another day or two or three make? Besides, it's not so bad sitting right here…</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 14px;">~</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 14px;"> IK</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">It was much pleasanter at
home, when one wasn’t always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered
about by mice and rabbits. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">~</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> Alice (and my sentiments exactly)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Do
I have an excuse for not writing a blog post in (ahem) over a month? Ye-gads, of course I do! After all, I am part human and we humans excel at making (up) excuses: “I’m
not feeling well,” “My hands hurt,” “I don’t really have anything to say,</span><span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 14px;">”</span> <span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 14px;">“</span><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">A white rabbit keeps asking me to go with him to Wonderland” and
my personal favorite, “I’m too busy working to write a post.” Are those the best
I can come up with? Well, yeah. I could say I was abducted by aliens, but that would merely be a vacation for me and therefore, not a very good excuse.
And if we’re going to make (up) excuses, I say “good” isn’t good enough. Make
them “very” good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">So,
what is it about working that makes me forget about everything else? I have
been writing, by the way. I’ve come up with all sorts of weird little tales (as
is my wont) but I don’t post those to this blog. This blog was supposed to be
about me. In a way. Kind of. Sort of. “Me,” is not my favorite topic, you see.
There are just so many far more interesting topics out there (and in here). So
yeah, I’ve been writing, just not about me. Yay for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><u><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Side note</span></u></i><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">: The truth is, I almost wonder (weird expression, eh? How can
I “almost” wonder, I wonder?) if blogging stops us writers from writing. Okay, I
realize how that sounds. Bear with me a moment, folks. Does blogging keep us
busy writing so we don’t feel guilty about not writing? Yes, blogging is
writing. But is it the writing that we set out to write? Maybe. Sometimes. This
is actually a question we have to answer individually, isn’t it? Crap. There
isn’t a Universal Answer, is there? Crap. Crap. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">I
always think of myself as a Storyteller. Stories are easy and they’re
everywhere. Basically, I can’t shut the Storytelling thing off. And no, that
doesn’t mean I’m a big, fat liar. My stories aren’t close enough to reality to
be confused with lies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Storytelling
is simply a twenty-four/seven thing, man. Anything and everything has at least
one story, and most often several. And I’ve been telling them before I was even able
to scribble, since about the age of five. By the way, stuffed animals make a
great audience. They don’t interrupt and they always laugh in the right places. They're also incredibly patient and best of all, they reserve their judgment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">When
I’m not performing for a room of stuffed animals, then I’m scribbling the stories
down or perhaps doodling a few pictures. Stuffed animals possess many wonderful qualities
(see above paragraph), but a vivid imagination isn’t one of them (lucky them).
So, it helps if you can show them a picture or two while you tell them a story.
If I could stop there, that would be awesome. But damn-it, it doesn’t stop
there. ‘Cos there’s eating, sleeping, general housework (dusting stuffed animals), socializing, white rabbits that must be followed to their natural conclusions, bills to pay, and a business to crawl (sorry, I can’t say I “run” my business, yet. That’s just too grand a phrase). Oh, and breathing.
I really need to remember that one. I forget to breathe constantly. I get air
into my lungs most of the time, but that’s really not the same thing as
breathing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Storytelling
is not something I take credit for, because I was just born this way. Writing came
afterwards. And as most of you know, writing is work. Same thing with doodling.
Doodling is fun. Doodling is easy and can be done anywhere: on a bus, a plane, in
front of a TV, at the breakfast table, in a meeting (especially in a meeting),
inside, outside, right side, left side, upside down. And you can doodle on
anything: napkins, paper plates, cheap tablecloths, empty pizza boxes, old tee shirts,
your husband’s back while he’s asleep (harder than it sounds), whatever. <i>Drawing</i> is the work part. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Writing
and drawing can leave one stiff, exhausted, in pain, exhilarated, and out of breath. Or that’s
how these activities often leave me. You’d think I’d been hiking, skiing, rowing (highly unlikely), or all three at once (now that would be interesting). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCHc301rQrU1920opp7VziDjU5EHiIIMPj5EGx72pZTHJ2Zy_KtlQtW-M6xbdkhLMW72mKxErfSRULSGD-U1BAFOXDJKpA7pqjCkRj5BSy_gnJFkrPMPjqNWQWRFlRhsRTtmA7_ib2HrKw/s1600/Inside+the+Shell+SHELVES+one+reverse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="24" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCHc301rQrU1920opp7VziDjU5EHiIIMPj5EGx72pZTHJ2Zy_KtlQtW-M6xbdkhLMW72mKxErfSRULSGD-U1BAFOXDJKpA7pqjCkRj5BSy_gnJFkrPMPjqNWQWRFlRhsRTtmA7_ib2HrKw/s320/Inside+the+Shell+SHELVES+one+reverse.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">“There were no life
jackets and as the little boat hit the waves I was beginning to wonder if this
was yet another of my not so bright ideas.”</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">~</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> <a href="http://lottienevin.com/" target="_blank">Lottie Nevin</a></span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLxmvo3FBqG-kCy2Pa0YkBoKVa6t8sv4hkbwHwDgu17940-tudBiwnpTpVvQCRLpNLrYGgTwD-xCLb9RjyQuF429vUOtksv0lKqA_ee1JO1ZiVSqr0WhhwtabNynluFvD20pOazOa2KG8R/s1600/Inside+the+Shell+SHELVES+one+reverse2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="27" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLxmvo3FBqG-kCy2Pa0YkBoKVa6t8sv4hkbwHwDgu17940-tudBiwnpTpVvQCRLpNLrYGgTwD-xCLb9RjyQuF429vUOtksv0lKqA_ee1JO1ZiVSqr0WhhwtabNynluFvD20pOazOa2KG8R/s320/Inside+the+Shell+SHELVES+one+reverse2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">I
do remember to come up for air every-so-often, but again, this is not the same
thing as breathing. So, where have I been for the last month? In my oubliette
without window or door, which is the perfect place for discovering stories, encountering
doodles, writing (grrrr), drawing (double grrrr) and much occupied with trying
very hard to remember to breathe. Hope your breathing is going very well. </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-53366703288217812252012-07-25T21:17:00.000-07:002012-07-25T21:17:58.670-07:00By any other name...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">The rose still smells sweet and its beauty remains regardless of whatever we may call it. In
the case of this post, I’m including all flowers. I believe Juliet would
approve.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">As
opposed to “green” my thumb is brown. Decaying, even. Cracking and crumbly. Maybe
more of an ashy-gray-brown than merely brown. Nice visual, eh? Just trying to get my point across
as firmly as possible. How’s this? Someone once said of me that when I visit a
nursery the plants quake in fear that I might actually purchase and take one of them home with me. A death sentence for the plant, to be sure. Not on purpose, mind you. I bear no ill will toward plants of any kind. Mercifully (for the plants sake), I gave up on gardening years ago. Now I stick strictly to taking
photos or doodling plants and flowers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">The
well-manicured holds little interest for me and my taste runs to wildness or at
the very least deliberate unkemptness. As such, rather than receive a flower
delivery or cut and arrange them in a vase, I much prefer them in their
natural element: growing in gardens (other peoples), waiving delicately from
fields, or my favorite springing up unexpectedly by the side of the road and
sprouting from cracks in the pavement. I’ve always felt this is Nature’s way of
saying “Fu*k you, humans. Think you can restrict me? Hah!” in the nicest and
most beautiful way possible. Nature is amazingly resilient and Beauty always
finds a way to be expressed in the world. Sadly, ugliness also always manages
to have its say, but that’s not what this post is about today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Due
to the sticky, at times unbearable, and generally annoying uncomfortable heat of summer like many
others, I’ve taken to hiding indoors. One day I’ll find a lovely cool cave,
preferably one located behind a waterfall, and I'll wait out the summer from there,
but until then the walls of our home will have to do. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">I
still take my early (early, early) morning walks; however, the darkness at this time is not brilliant for taking photos. I need to force myself to do things other than (and
totally unrelated to) work. Photography generally fills this spot for me. Since
the burning sun of summer is not my friend, I’ve been going through and cataloging
my prior photo endeavors. A girl has to have some fun, right? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> A couple of years ago my husband and I took a trip to the country he left for me, the UK (I call it the “old country”). For three amazing weeks we traveled by plane, car, bus, train, and foot from London to Edinburgh and quite a few spots in between. I won’t go on and on about it
(for now), but I will say that I fell hard for the UK. And ouch, it hurts to be parted from a place that you love so much. Under what (for me) passes as normal circumstances, I take a considerable amount of photos. But in the UK? I went insane(r). If I wasn't stuffing my face with chips or slurping a beer, I pretty much had a camera glued to my face. And b</span><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">ecause I literally took thousands of images, I’ve been meaning to sit down and catalog them. I’ve said it before and I’m saying it again, don’t
you just love digital? I could have never taken so many photos with good old 35mm film.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">I
already had the photos sorted into files by date, but I decided that organizing
merely by date or even place isn’t interesting enough, so I’m also creating
collections by subject matter. Regardless of the tediousness of the process, I
am finding it enjoyable sorting through our memories. And you may find it a relief that I'm finally getting back to the subject of this post by saying that below are a few images
from my still-in-the-process-of-cataloging Flower Collection. If wherever you happen
to be is also too hot to enjoy being out and about, I hope you’ve found some
fun ways to occupy yourself indoors during these summer months. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVowqjT8Dp5eQ8frLP9fRYIwVE5pjelBBl1xY0qtASEGjJHLGviQAFA8BknVTJ7cZQrZ76tgAzGKUr4rMhB__5ovegt_9qJIQHr1U2LkNlGLJQs0Q68Oi4kR6EZ5OOX5HPBd_bGGaOOArN/s1600/P1020312+Hyde+Park+090710.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVowqjT8Dp5eQ8frLP9fRYIwVE5pjelBBl1xY0qtASEGjJHLGviQAFA8BknVTJ7cZQrZ76tgAzGKUr4rMhB__5ovegt_9qJIQHr1U2LkNlGLJQs0Q68Oi4kR6EZ5OOX5HPBd_bGGaOOArN/s400/P1020312+Hyde+Park+090710.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black;">Hyde Park, London</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQjC2txTObNf9O6i4LpNXE-L7opKUmGTK6epB_-Uu8JCK0WV-xiYmgppA6pz8kcK_Z3hSwsv12IxocA0P8KMh48Fo6cc1ocjVFkhMHnoGFettT1g66FuKX7fhtay3PliWvzUPGVmXqKSuo/s1600/P1020313+Staffordshire+090810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQjC2txTObNf9O6i4LpNXE-L7opKUmGTK6epB_-Uu8JCK0WV-xiYmgppA6pz8kcK_Z3hSwsv12IxocA0P8KMh48Fo6cc1ocjVFkhMHnoGFettT1g66FuKX7fhtay3PliWvzUPGVmXqKSuo/s400/P1020313+Staffordshire+090810.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black;">Hyde Park, London</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0WWGs5ewZ9AnWlXOd1-3UZRo5YTCYNyRDaK9f8Lq8TUOQVuK1qSGRRN1KnaB-MexWyqjyihQR3VsrfmH8_-m8ab2QUWbYcohnWaaJkinzeXKcSObacyZFDfJf_V-JjGLxHGHPjwgatJNt/s1600/P1020459+Leasowe+Promanade+091010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0WWGs5ewZ9AnWlXOd1-3UZRo5YTCYNyRDaK9f8Lq8TUOQVuK1qSGRRN1KnaB-MexWyqjyihQR3VsrfmH8_-m8ab2QUWbYcohnWaaJkinzeXKcSObacyZFDfJf_V-JjGLxHGHPjwgatJNt/s400/P1020459+Leasowe+Promanade+091010.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black;">Leasowe Promenade, the Wirral</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgChbOHze7j0zcqLji9vZFes0X1GkIv6GrOppjXgGYCow6eULGQZNMJKoT0HfxhL1e8zitz-9wjJwLzvsHc4vnYNZJHZK7jVPZdBj9WQs_5y-8BD4x0bUgly11qV2QOwIfAOF1CN9NSPGnM/s1600/P1020990+Thurstaton+091312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgChbOHze7j0zcqLji9vZFes0X1GkIv6GrOppjXgGYCow6eULGQZNMJKoT0HfxhL1e8zitz-9wjJwLzvsHc4vnYNZJHZK7jVPZdBj9WQs_5y-8BD4x0bUgly11qV2QOwIfAOF1CN9NSPGnM/s400/P1020990+Thurstaton+091312.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black;">Thurstaton, the Wirral</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwrnFmx4L_zYQBKpcC1EkF0Wpihe9MSSG_IiHf6Hc4jwL5h6cu6SxggzJwzz9j2W-qLn4n1nOFKpRlJheD0FXGBMsv2Rki2Q3lpiCKGj_gZTO-n2eYcbhCt9uwW2B_xTByWGBfdhYC10c-/s1600/P1030019+Thurstaton+091310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwrnFmx4L_zYQBKpcC1EkF0Wpihe9MSSG_IiHf6Hc4jwL5h6cu6SxggzJwzz9j2W-qLn4n1nOFKpRlJheD0FXGBMsv2Rki2Q3lpiCKGj_gZTO-n2eYcbhCt9uwW2B_xTByWGBfdhYC10c-/s400/P1030019+Thurstaton+091310.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black;">Thurstaton, the Wirral</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTnTGFzkT0Hcn73QGXydSJRUNcSCB4I5J8gCUAxZ0PIALvKl2BmIZt3NIyl0J74pt-3TCSNZpuoUv-3ZFczUNYZOdYHlXWG98ANWBi3ByklcwjfNUlpFDI04VI3BMYe4YK2O74hUkkee6u/s1600/P1030072+West+Kirby+091310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTnTGFzkT0Hcn73QGXydSJRUNcSCB4I5J8gCUAxZ0PIALvKl2BmIZt3NIyl0J74pt-3TCSNZpuoUv-3ZFczUNYZOdYHlXWG98ANWBi3ByklcwjfNUlpFDI04VI3BMYe4YK2O74hUkkee6u/s400/P1030072+West+Kirby+091310.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black;">West Kirby, the Wirral</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjWnUi0Y9Y39CPqYD8gFwIwXkUfVjdGckDANfHVTXwisjqtyTj_eppWmv4JWoQ7rl0x3YlRQa2en9lwBrTXkyOGIR5CQAynaL_ZUrriCZ2vcuy8fO_OMh3y2Dpe1rwCWfnQ2Khyyc9rtUE/s1600/P1030086+West+Kirby+091310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjWnUi0Y9Y39CPqYD8gFwIwXkUfVjdGckDANfHVTXwisjqtyTj_eppWmv4JWoQ7rl0x3YlRQa2en9lwBrTXkyOGIR5CQAynaL_ZUrriCZ2vcuy8fO_OMh3y2Dpe1rwCWfnQ2Khyyc9rtUE/s400/P1030086+West+Kirby+091310.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black;">West Kirby, the Wirral</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5PiT9pBM5Jr9FmoWRgedTxbDoArhwawhraxQq_AB2zsHPilLmfJzKMFuAZMsQpjx5fdQh_V2qdxm8gTo7aYyNhlXsYRzgGe2E4-OIx7MkH4UfNrw7ZSPrKsqjv4UcmDLjuWkrtLHFlnpb/s1600/P1030326+Ripley+Walk+in+091410.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5PiT9pBM5Jr9FmoWRgedTxbDoArhwawhraxQq_AB2zsHPilLmfJzKMFuAZMsQpjx5fdQh_V2qdxm8gTo7aYyNhlXsYRzgGe2E4-OIx7MkH4UfNrw7ZSPrKsqjv4UcmDLjuWkrtLHFlnpb/s400/P1030326+Ripley+Walk+in+091410.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black;">Harrogate, North Yorkshire</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black;">Harrogate, North Yorkshire
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifm2TN5zrUEO9AQDuGIk48mpdqPV8MtjFmogJmHqMhD1Z6QpX3MwRDb5oWVNZTqVzjLiP9DkQpBv1LT-yn9ywzZVV3ohmG7ZlQUYQBP2j1zO2ZA5bX3yTXx2qXJvxzRZ4LBcm_KZRvEVJm/s1600/P1030412+Ripley+Garden+091310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifm2TN5zrUEO9AQDuGIk48mpdqPV8MtjFmogJmHqMhD1Z6QpX3MwRDb5oWVNZTqVzjLiP9DkQpBv1LT-yn9ywzZVV3ohmG7ZlQUYQBP2j1zO2ZA5bX3yTXx2qXJvxzRZ4LBcm_KZRvEVJm/s400/P1030412+Ripley+Garden+091310.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black;">Ripley Castle Gardens, North Yorkshire</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrzdtzxHTV3GqCPOu-rUTQ2grNsP3c44ojPsrSAYQb7WVkI7azOcfW1eyI7RtfZVpW6pKU5-nAX25IMVcArOaxzUqneHRsaCN6Svo2IzU6a7rgIW7bZLKZw4dHs41OHWMcB4cORoE-ZWwo/s1600/P1030415+Ripley+Garden+091310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrzdtzxHTV3GqCPOu-rUTQ2grNsP3c44ojPsrSAYQb7WVkI7azOcfW1eyI7RtfZVpW6pKU5-nAX25IMVcArOaxzUqneHRsaCN6Svo2IzU6a7rgIW7bZLKZw4dHs41OHWMcB4cORoE-ZWwo/s400/P1030415+Ripley+Garden+091310.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black;">Ripley Castle Gardens, North Yorkshire
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVKMLBd_Du6CRjgRx5VqLlT3LhV2GBX1IsgxZKwD2F81Z0AaLUHqwyNSs2Zn-vU7qAi5r_7-y7SStJhCqKxXhVAFeQBgrlTS6-g3WHQ_KHJRMnmpW4xgdaIBsaQdhdQQDID_2vuvC1fJo3/s1600/P1030422+Ripley+Garden+091310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVKMLBd_Du6CRjgRx5VqLlT3LhV2GBX1IsgxZKwD2F81Z0AaLUHqwyNSs2Zn-vU7qAi5r_7-y7SStJhCqKxXhVAFeQBgrlTS6-g3WHQ_KHJRMnmpW4xgdaIBsaQdhdQQDID_2vuvC1fJo3/s400/P1030422+Ripley+Garden+091310.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black;">Ripley Castle Gardens, North Yorkshire
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black;">Ripley Castle Gardens, North Yorkshire
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-44130867059882981112012-07-06T14:36:00.000-07:002012-07-08T13:04:31.078-07:00Viva La...Something<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>With the fireworks,
cookouts, and various celebrations of American Independence Day just behind us,
I find myself looking forward to celebrating Bastille Day on July 14<sup>th</sup>.
I’ve never celebrated Bastille Day before. Why now? I’m just not done
celebrating Freedom. I want more. Because the seeking and winning of Freedom,
regardless of one’s country of origin, must be encouraged and commemorated
above all else. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl37hlfeaFCTQR7fKi5t-gZxDwMGJiXKfMDcQzJJPeJOhkjMuEsb40cM2gceYZJX01nnQ0Zpqt6LbFbNq270kZE6BnpZA0XP7qCqyKvCsnf7wb5J8jp9ntC_fiqD3BwExZGBGIVho1liPj/s1600/Snail+Bastille+Day2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl37hlfeaFCTQR7fKi5t-gZxDwMGJiXKfMDcQzJJPeJOhkjMuEsb40cM2gceYZJX01nnQ0Zpqt6LbFbNq270kZE6BnpZA0XP7qCqyKvCsnf7wb5J8jp9ntC_fiqD3BwExZGBGIVho1liPj/s400/Snail+Bastille+Day2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Always ready to embrace change and move forward with ease, Marie Snail celebrates both Bastille Day and the American Independence Day with the great enthusiasm and loads of ice cream.</td></tr>
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Sometimes I become overwhelmed with everything I
want to do and everything that I must do. It is clear to me that I cannot do it
all, at least not <i>all</i> at once. What I
can do is <i>trust</i> that I am taking the
correct steps for the path that I am meant to follow. <o:p></o:p></div>
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That sounds really enlightened, doesn't it? I'm
not quite there, yet. I'm working on it. I opened the doors to my online stores
a little over three months ago. Sales are not overwhelming. What I am finding
overwhelming are: <o:p></o:p></div>
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- Marketing-on-a-shoestring, which requires
constant vigilance and for me a massive learning curve. <o:p></o:p></div>
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- Inventory. I <i>create</i> the inventory, which requires many steps: I write it, doodle
it, sketch it or photograph it. Then I scan it to my computer. Then I clean it
up, add stuff (maybe), change stuff (probably), format it, print it, photograph
it, write descriptions, tags, upload it, tweet it, facebook it, pinterest
it...then I have to let it go and hope someone will take interest.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Up until six months ago, I had always
worked for someone else, doing my best to make <i>their</i> dreams come true. It was
never presented to me in such a lofty manner. "Yeah, come work for us and make our dreams come true." Did any of the places I worked at actually ask me to make their "dreams
come true"? No. Never in those words. But that's what I took on. Look, this is what I subscribe to: a business shouldn't be just about making money. A business should be about
fulfilling your heart's desire. What you do for a living needs be about doing
what is in your heart period. Some of us are Healers. Some of us are Teachers. Some of us are Artists, Nurturers, or Storytellers. The form our healing, teaching, art,
nurturing, or storytelling manifests is <i>not</i> the point. In fact, it
really doesn't matter. If you're a healer you can choose the form of doctor,
nurse, therapist, masseuse, witch or shaman. <i>It doesn't matter.</i> You'll still be a healer, regardless. Whatever
lies within our heart is who we are and what we <i>must</i> express. Or
else…what? Or else we’re freaking unhappy. And unhappy people make for an
unhappy world.<o:p></o:p></div>
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With this as my compass and little else but
huge-white-hot-gulping fears and major-butterflies-in-my-stomach excitement, I began
my very own Quest for Freedom to do the work that lives in my heart. Let the Serious-as-a-Heart-Attack-Doubts
begin! Wheeeeeeeeeeeee! What a ride this is. I cannot say that I’m enjoying it
all. Some of it has sucked. Sucked in ways that I’d never even imagined. And my
imagination sits on a lone outpost somewhere beyond Pluto welcoming pretty much
anyone and anything to sit and place an order at its Diner O’ Strange &
Unexpected. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m not kidding about the doubts. The doubts are
huge and overwhelming. Way more overwhelming than marketing, finding the right
100% recycled paper and envelopes, setting up an online store, or doodling.
Doubts can absolutely kill you, literally and figuratively. I had to come up
with a plan on how to deal with the doubts. After trials and many errors (something
I proudly admit to excelling in), I’ve come up with this: do it anyway. Really?
That’s the best you could come up with, IK?? Yep. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Eventually, what I’m hoping for is that by “doing
it anyway” I’ll gain freedom from my jailor, Doubt. I realize the doubts will
not go away entirely. I know that there is a reason we have them in the first
place, but ultimately, freedom is what we’re meant to experience. That I do
believe. We are meant to be free. We are meant to be free to do the work that
lives in our hearts. It’s why we’re here. And nothing can truly stop us, except
ourselves. So, Viva La...fill in the blank. </div>
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This is how I celebrated the Fourth of July and this is how I’ll
celebrate Bastille Day. To honor the lives lost and the
sacrifices made in the effort of becoming free, I must battle my own demon
doubts with equal bravery, drive, and commitment. </div>
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-7301713627251664942012-06-24T19:06:00.000-07:002012-07-07T10:01:38.543-07:00Here's Some Crazy Talk<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>I know I've been missing it, so just in case you were craving some Crazy Talk (to be filed under Gibberish, which is located in the Lunacy drawer), I thought I'd better sit down and write a post. </i><br />
<br />
I think I've been spreading myself too thin. I'm not complaining, it's always good to be busy, but there's busy and then there is Spinning-Top-Mania. Spinning-Top-Mania is <u>not</u> productive. Don't let this happen to you! Although, it's almost certainly already too late. You're probably well-mersed in your own mania of spinning toppidness (when I'm cranky, I make up words. Sue me). We're all of us so busy, busy, busy and <i>mostly</i> we're busy with crapola that we don't even <i>want to do</i>. What the hell??? I'm standing in a line for stuff I don't want again, aren't I? Talk about crazy! Yeah that's all right, I'll have mine with a Side of Buttered Guilt (all the better to shove it down my gullet) and a mess (emphasis on the <i>mess</i>) of Smashed-And-Dashed Feelings. Thank you.<br />
<br />
Just what am I trying to say here?? I really haven't a clue. There is way too much going on in this head of mine. And try as I might (really? is that the best you could come up with, IK?) I can't seem to make friends with my brain. So...I'm shutting it off. Yeah, that's right. Shut off the brain and enjoy the bliss...or at least that's the plan. I don't want to dump the poor dear <i>permanently</i>. Just shut it down for a bit. Honestly, my brain is so loud these days that I can't think. And yes, that actually <i>does</i> make sense. Just shut down your brain for a moment and you'll see. Ahhhh yes...much better.<br />
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And if all else fails, listen to The Beatles...<br />
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And if THAT hasn't solved the issue, here's Mr. Marley...<br />
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<span style="text-align: left;">AND to bring this madness to a full and complete stop (please remain seated on Err Insanity until the captain's light goes on...you could be here awhile), I will leave you with a doodle. Yep. It's another Faery Snail. Hope all is going well in your world(s)...</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtVJ3iII54J-gi_Rx6aWWhDBTYZ-w8oN7f4T-LktdMv84zrolGchxDeXtfmYiIY_5yDIDGgGoSCD5kOS8XMz_5DooNZKoq9zg9raLZSi7tB7wbH7-BJ0N_ag-gdSXG2QmKNL9tsi895oS1/s1600/Snail+Gracie+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtVJ3iII54J-gi_Rx6aWWhDBTYZ-w8oN7f4T-LktdMv84zrolGchxDeXtfmYiIY_5yDIDGgGoSCD5kOS8XMz_5DooNZKoq9zg9raLZSi7tB7wbH7-BJ0N_ag-gdSXG2QmKNL9tsi895oS1/s400/Snail+Gracie+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Her Faery Snailness<br />
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Why is it that my snails have better fashion sense than I do? I'm a jeans-and-tee kinda gal. Where do these ball gowns (and wings. let's not forget about the <i>wings</i>) come from? Perhaps it is some sort of deep-rooted desire. Interesting. I don't really want to analyze this, by the way. My semi-functional delusions are far too much fun to risk losing them on some psychiatric couch.</div>
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-9884556496771064482012-06-08T12:46:00.001-07:002012-06-11T15:13:20.913-07:00Grayscale Part II – Winning the Battle of the Gray<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>“Life imitates Art far
more than Art imitates Life.” Oscar Wilde’s theory is that Art sets the tone
for how we perceive everything. Without Art, we would not know beauty or despair
or be empowered to glean meaning. Through the artist, Art presents us with the
achingly beautiful, the depressingly ugly, and meaning. I don’t know if I’m 100%
there with Oscar (having spent so many nights with him, I’m fairly certain we’re
on a first name basis); however, I do believe that Art of whatever form (painting,
photography, writing, humor, sculpture, poetry, music, film, food, whatever)
does elevate Life. In the sense that without Art, there is merely existence. I’m
not saying we all have to get to a museum more often, although that would not be a bad thing. I am saying that Art is
actually everywhere, we just need to temporarily forget about the laundry, those
aches and pains, our bank balance, or what’s for supper, and simply open our
eyes.</i></div>
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A battery of tests (labs, x-rays, and biopsies oh my) have
been run on me. Why do they call it “battery”? Did this all energize me? I
think not. Is “battery” meaning battalion? As in the white coats are attacking
me with tests? To that I can only say, they’ve thrown pretty much everything they
have at me and I’m Still Standing (thank you, Elton) so na na na na. </div>
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And throughout it all I’m proud to report that I’ve maintained
my F-U attitude with the white coats. As far as I’m concerned medicine and all
the bureaucracy that goes with it, is a necessary evil, and perhaps less on the
necessary and more on the evil. I don’t feel the same about nurses, by the way.
Mostly, I think that’s because nurses generally don’t have that holier-than-thou
demeanor and because they get stuck with all the dirty work of traditional medicine.
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And what have all the test results told the white coats?
Well, they know something’s wrong with me. Seriously? That’s what you get paid
for? Stating the obvious?? Okay, they do know that it’s <i>not</i> cancer and that is a very good thing and I am really-truly-no-fooling
grateful for that. </div>
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Apparently (or not so apparently), I have some sort of
connective-tissue-disease-auto-immune-disorder thingy. Why didn’t you say so? If I were Yoda, I might say clear, things are not. The white coats have no idea
which disease-disorder thingy my body is expressing at this point. Apparently (no
qualification this time), there are a whole lotta these auto-immune thingamajiggies.
I have been told that I’m in a “gray area” and until another symptom manifests,
they probably won’t be able pinpoint which connective-doohickey is occurring.
My advice to the white coats was, “look for the strangest, most obscure of
these disorders and there will be a picture of me waiting for you to name it.” </div>
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Unfortunately, the white coats did not find my advice
helpful. So for now…I’m stuck in this “gray area.” At first this seriously
anger-and-frizzle-fried me. All this time has gone by, all these stupid,
miserable tests, all that money and they can’t give me a name to associate this
with??? And then, like the errant brick that Truth sometimes is, it smacked me in the forehead and I realized how dumb is that? Who cares what label they want to slap onto my whatchmacallit?
Will that label cure me? No, it really won’t. </div>
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Does being in this “gray area” surprise me? No, it really
does not. Gray has always played out a theme in my life and not just with my
love of Grayscale Photography. My first novel features a land of gray. My
greeting cards are grayscale doodles printed on (100% recycled) gray paper,
which by the way took me ages to find. I’ve never been a fan of gold jewelry; I’m
a lover of sterling silver. I tend to associate gray with depression, something that I've fought valiantly for most of my life. My finances are certainly more on the gray side than
black (and thankfully not red). Philosophically, it has always been the “gray
areas” of life that intrigue me far more than the black or white. And
give me the lovely, soft light of cloudy overcast over recklessly blaring sunshine any
day. Holy Graymoly. Sometimes it takes an illness, difficulty, tragedy, or a drastic change to connect the dots of your
life, because we all have such bizarre patterns. But I do believe that we all have a pattern, perhaps several. </div>
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A great deal of my life has been about gray, I just never knew it consciously until now. Upside? Now I can have fun with it. It’s what you <i>don’t </i>know that
runs you like some sort robotic marionette. Once you know, you can run <i>it</i>.
That may sound like a dubious upside, but not to me.</div>
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So, does Life truly imitate Art? Or is it that Art imitates
Life?<i> </i>As my husband always says, “a
little from column A, a little from column B.”</div>
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-40687805451488184732012-05-30T11:28:00.000-07:002012-06-11T15:14:10.372-07:00Woke up with a faux hawk this morning…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12.5pt;">Not a really, really
faux hawk. It’s just that while sleeping part of my bangs somehow got smooshed
(it’s a word) and is now pointing straight up. I keep looking where it’s
pointing, but so far, I’ve not seen anything of merit. I’m not saying that this
means anything (at least not straight out), but I do find it interesting. It
got me to thinking (and you know how dangerous that can be) about a bunch of
articles I’ve read recently about what makes a “successful” person. Does a
“successful” person wake up with an unintentional faux hawk? The world may
never know or at least, I may never know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12.5pt;">Instead of
discombobulating myself with thoughts of whether or not I'm a successful
person, I decided to doodle. Believe it or not, this is actually progress for
me. Hah!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ZHKy9hOD9RTZkQo-6_9i6l0GNmeDT4bHSdgWjSYvKC9D-2hkoM6mYkzrdDhWIYZx9LI591bvldSx3X8pD5f3Cd9qAttUjeStY6rm1MS2F5j4pB4p5jY1kf1B4-k8aE7gKvE6B6FrfwEZ/s1600/Snail+Lady+with+Swirls+on+Shell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ZHKy9hOD9RTZkQo-6_9i6l0GNmeDT4bHSdgWjSYvKC9D-2hkoM6mYkzrdDhWIYZx9LI591bvldSx3X8pD5f3Cd9qAttUjeStY6rm1MS2F5j4pB4p5jY1kf1B4-k8aE7gKvE6B6FrfwEZ/s320/Snail+Lady+with+Swirls+on+Shell.jpg" width="296" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ms. Swirly-Shell Lady, so damn successful that she just says balls to the faux and goes for the full on mohawk. </td></tr>
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-56935656680104154382012-05-18T10:27:00.001-07:002012-06-11T15:15:03.406-07:00Grayscale – Part I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Desaturation: To
remove color from an image. 100% desaturation results in a grayscale image. Notice that it's a "grayscale image" even
though we call it Black and White, which is odd considering that "grayscale" is quicker
to say and type. I'm not saying that we shouldn't call it “B&W,” I'm just
saying that it's odd that we don't say “grayscale.” Another oddity to add to my
collection (which is massive…just saying). </span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">As a lot of
photographers will agree there is something very special about black and
white photos. Black and white are the essence of photography. When all color
except for black and white (and gray, let's not forget the all-important gray)
are eliminated, it is never more clear that photography is the art of
<i>Shadows and Light</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Don't get me wrong, I
absodamnlutely love color. Every color. Color is awesome. Stunning. Brilliant. Sensing a "but" is on its
way? You got it. Here's the "but:" color is distracting. Yeah. Color
adds dimension, but color can also detract from whatever it is you happen to be
perceiving. There are small details in shapes that can be missed because color
gets in the way. Weird, but true. And this is true of any shape: fruit, flowers,
blades of grass, animals, and people. Especially people. There is nothing quite
like a black and white portrait. In a strange way, I believe color doesn't
really do the human form justice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Maybe it's because most
of us see in color and we're accustomed to missing the finer details of shapes
and when color is eliminated it's astonishing to see what we've missed. I
suppose the perception of people who are color blind must be completely
different the color sighted. An interesting thought. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">And how flipping
fantastic are digital cameras? I used to have to buy black and white film,
take the photos, and then hope everything would come out all right in the
darkroom. Now, I can set my little camera to “B&W,” which essentially
desaturates my view and I can actually <i>see
everything in black and white (and gray)</i>. How awesome is that? Not to
mention the fact that I don't have to go through the hassle of developing the
film, making the prints etc. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">How different the world
is when seen through a desaturated filter...grayscale is pretty cool. But we
all know that it’s the contrast that makes for a great B&W image, not the
grays. Too many grays and everything just blends, the image becomes “muddy”
and nothing stands out. Not enough contrast and your image is flat, and
basically uninteresting. Too much contrast and you can’t see a damn thing. The lights
are too bright and shadows too dark. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">It’s all about balance,
isn’t it? Photography and Life have a lot in common.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxUnyaBtnQSUGWLTsOJENWu-Od7D5hEi-3XgfjrY_6AgkOYsf2tmz58MBPLa8718cSvmeluvMTnmpDYbd_F0JQamS9uhjdO1iyXf2arpBWDbyhJO6acZP-SW1_-wC5I3k_k8hu4WO1DIW2/s1600/P1110468+BW.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxUnyaBtnQSUGWLTsOJENWu-Od7D5hEi-3XgfjrY_6AgkOYsf2tmz58MBPLa8718cSvmeluvMTnmpDYbd_F0JQamS9uhjdO1iyXf2arpBWDbyhJO6acZP-SW1_-wC5I3k_k8hu4WO1DIW2/s320/P1110468+BW.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning light on bedroom wall. I know it's grainy, but I still like it. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv-jgsoa3J46sHob5PEYn4ZJh0pe9_dwClmMj8FgSKbHAvJWBjiEIWEKo874RP75ac6Ov3-gGAd5ZD8LBUvc_nJOZ72QMv0EpsPfZH0KFB7leq8Iyn7dCRfY0N5DHkQcsUPazrwklY28Ib/s1600/P1110254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv-jgsoa3J46sHob5PEYn4ZJh0pe9_dwClmMj8FgSKbHAvJWBjiEIWEKo874RP75ac6Ov3-gGAd5ZD8LBUvc_nJOZ72QMv0EpsPfZH0KFB7leq8Iyn7dCRfY0N5DHkQcsUPazrwklY28Ib/s320/P1110254.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Weird, eh? This bulletin was just laying on the sidewalk. There are signs everywhere.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9VskNuKVp2MF7aAgeVQQFpRWa0iBD53lQuCWdDklI8Tc_tIYyfLJAqLjk-fp0dr4YCjQMG4LFCaOhUFwMeOaWSBTqZMtfQrerr8fEENRbbwjCSQWC0RZ8QK2C3ccgqpZxldvJAaBS4Olb/s1600/P1110328+rw.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9VskNuKVp2MF7aAgeVQQFpRWa0iBD53lQuCWdDklI8Tc_tIYyfLJAqLjk-fp0dr4YCjQMG4LFCaOhUFwMeOaWSBTqZMtfQrerr8fEENRbbwjCSQWC0RZ8QK2C3ccgqpZxldvJAaBS4Olb/s320/P1110328+rw.JPG" width="242" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and my husband's feet lazing about on Saturday morning. A bit muddy, but I like the intimacy of this image. I have no idea what's on the TV.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSqinYOsnK469_USf_ZAEAo4ubFL8Gp5DbLbY2BUWFFJxzBHoM1IVW4VnXxxfzozWA3AcjoT4Pf2g3UY-YJ8CtcsNdO1AN5xZXy-TP-A5RnFKcPnALmZlT_dPyZWOE837GU57P7FRmjbpe/s1600/P1110419.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSqinYOsnK469_USf_ZAEAo4ubFL8Gp5DbLbY2BUWFFJxzBHoM1IVW4VnXxxfzozWA3AcjoT4Pf2g3UY-YJ8CtcsNdO1AN5xZXy-TP-A5RnFKcPnALmZlT_dPyZWOE837GU57P7FRmjbpe/s320/P1110419.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flowers work in grayscale or color. Nature always works.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px;"><i>P.S. Whether in conversation or writing, it's not like me to blurt things out (except, of course, expletives)...and grayscale doesn't blurt out. Grayscale saunters, meanders, works its way up to whatever. Nice.</i></span></div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-84463820405448082832012-05-07T13:28:00.001-07:002012-07-08T11:43:42.276-07:00Cront Ardead…RIP Edgar Allen Poe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Being that he died in 1849 it could be a bit late for a Eulogy, but then you know the saying, right?
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“<i>I have great faith in fools; self-confidence my friends call it.” <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihTiIjhaiYszE0N6StY4ZHbJ_8SR8UGO3iN91Gfcdk7rFdBo_0gWxa_3k9wS2NcOfqf6zEvfhAXb4WAJ8plgo3aKGlQLkgc1Bg51CCDtPo_tiw5nnHY7QNU9a_fDdrpiNH8Ox4Onw4CaAD/s1600/Edgar_Allan_Poe_portrait_B+Oscar+Halling+1860ish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihTiIjhaiYszE0N6StY4ZHbJ_8SR8UGO3iN91Gfcdk7rFdBo_0gWxa_3k9wS2NcOfqf6zEvfhAXb4WAJ8plgo3aKGlQLkgc1Bg51CCDtPo_tiw5nnHY7QNU9a_fDdrpiNH8Ox4Onw4CaAD/s1600/Edgar_Allan_Poe_portrait_B+Oscar+Halling+1860ish.jpg" /></a>I am a woman with a classical
bent. Or just bent. Probably both (you can almost hear the snare drum during
one of my posts, eh?). In the past, I’ve mentioned a few of my favorite classic
literature titles and authors on my blog and will
continue to do so in the future. Just try and stop me. Hah! <i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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An old love of mine is getting some recent press due to the
film The Raven, starring John Cusack. I fell in love with Mr. Poe at the ripe age
of eleven. Yeah, I had weird taste at eleven. In case you haven’t noticed, my
taste is even weirder now. While most eleven year old girls were swooning over Donny
Osmond, I was devouring Mr. Poe. Gruesome, no? </div>
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Years later I became aware of a modern day Goth movement in
both music and art…and make-up. People (myself included, for a brief
period) who find an odd solace in donning a wardrobe of primarily black, along with
heavy black eyeliner, lipstick, and fingernail polish…and I wondered if they
knew the man who truly lived Goth (and to my knowledge without the heavy black
eyeliner, lipstick, and fingernail polish).</div>
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<i>“…All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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How beautiful is A Dream Within a Dream? Achingly so. And here
I am not alone, this poem cleaves the heart (notice my use of
nineteenth century phrasing?). His hero was Lord Byron and Poe’s earliest
writings were indeed poetry. So, a romantic dreamer was Mr. Poe? Uh, well sort
of…</div>
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Literary critic, Cryptologist, and Cosmologist, he also put his
own unique spin on Gothic writing, leaving us with what flavors the genre
today. I think what makes his horror
tales so absolutely horrific is that he did not write them as horror…but
perhaps more as cautionary tales. Don’t let how someone else views the world
upset your applecart to the point that you smoother him in his sleep, cut him
up into pieces, and hide the parts under the floorboards. You’ll only end up
hearing the incessant beating of your victim’s heart and it will drive you up
the wall. If you’re abusive to a cat and then kill your wife, don’t bother to
brick up her body in the basement. The cat will only tattle on you. In case you
ever wondered what would happen if you do these things, Mr. Poe tells us. </div>
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Horror fan or not, regardless of which side of the fence you
sit (and even if you didn’t know that there was a fence) you must admit Mr. Poe
has an enviable style, as well as a flair for evoking strong reactions. Mundane
he was not. Otherworldly? Most certainly, yes.</div>
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I think some (if not all) of the original intent of
the horror genre has been lost in a sea of gore and
oh-boy-look-what-we-can-do-with-make-up-and-special-effects. Mr. Poe knew what
it was about. No matter how smart or rich or angry you are, perform evil deeds
and you will never truly escape the consequences. </div>
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Since he wrote about madmen, alcoholics, and murderers, and
made it all so creepily believable, it’s no wonder that most of us still think
of Mr. Poe as some sort of coked-out, drunken, necrophiliac freak. And all of
this is thanks to a bogus obituary written by a man who hated him.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBCv_FZ6whxose4FQyD3B_P_m7WQlVLhHUTLb_ps1w1Cz9xGmdeqsIh9EKHXDTDHrcMdM6_XFZjCvwY-CJHhsiCjDGtOcK4GxIsODn2zB3EzwYuBdRCiDm8drvMUhjfo0qePS1aPeDP1JQ/s1600/Untitled.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBCv_FZ6whxose4FQyD3B_P_m7WQlVLhHUTLb_ps1w1Cz9xGmdeqsIh9EKHXDTDHrcMdM6_XFZjCvwY-CJHhsiCjDGtOcK4GxIsODn2zB3EzwYuBdRCiDm8drvMUhjfo0qePS1aPeDP1JQ/s200/Untitled.gif" width="200" /></a></div>
Personally, I believe that Mr. Poe was simply comfortable on
the darker side of life. The scars of one’s childhood run deep and quite often
will shadow our entire lives. Poe experienced the heavy loss of loved ones at a
very early age, compounded by further losses later in life. Grief changes us
forever. For a rare few, loss leaves them with a willingness to explore the
shadow that causes so many others to shudder and look the other way.</div>
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And certainly, as his tales attest, though he may have
shuddered he did not look the other way. He chose instead to become a master of
his craft, an artist true, squeezing out every drop of sadness, terror, beauty,
darkness, and ugliness with each word he penned. I cannot help but tip my
imaginary hat to him and give him a very real and hearty nod of appreciation. </div>
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<i>“They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those
who dream only by night.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Whatever dreams you may be dreaming in daylight, keep
dreaming them with the certain knowledge that they are what sets you apart from
the weak and weary and oh-so-dreary mundane.</div>
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<i> </i><i> </i><i> </i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDteBssLrO4ZIH2J4fnJoesh8OvkGnofe-oXmBsRtSHDIFWau3bP904gUktCtvZKM6KRl5Bgcz7t7sxaW_15z5JIDy4DQ3IT6KVEw04kiJnvREpG_wWO4V27qUR1W9p03Rhzojwph_OjiU/s1600/Raven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDteBssLrO4ZIH2J4fnJoesh8OvkGnofe-oXmBsRtSHDIFWau3bP904gUktCtvZKM6KRl5Bgcz7t7sxaW_15z5JIDy4DQ3IT6KVEw04kiJnvREpG_wWO4V27qUR1W9p03Rhzojwph_OjiU/s320/Raven.jpg" width="288" /></a></div>
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<i>Wondering about “Cront
Ardead?” I’ll tell you, anyway. As far as I know, it means nothing. You know
those prove-that-you’re-not-a-robot thingies? Yeah, everyone hates them and
most of the time I too, find them unnecessarily annoying; however, sometimes
I’ve discovered interesting inspiration and a bit of amusement from the
not-words that the characters spell out. “Cront Ardead” seemed appropriate for
a post about the late Mr. Poe.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-32464109063240416752012-04-30T21:39:00.000-07:002012-04-30T21:39:18.039-07:00It's a bit Island-of-Dr.-Moreau-ish in my head...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Should I even admit that in a public forum? Or for that matter, in a private forum?? Ah well, too late now.<br />
<br />
Doodling snails wasn't enough. I had to dress the snails in evening gowns, tuxes, and tiaras. Now, I've decided to morph snails and fairies together. Why? I. Have. No. Clue. The scary thing? Nothing seems to be stopping me from continuing down (up?) this curious path. <br />
<br />
Still...I'm having fun. Hope you are, too. You deserve it.<br />
<br />
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<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-37990565238763220712012-04-22T15:53:00.001-07:002012-04-22T15:53:45.140-07:00Still Looking Closely...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>There probably comes a time when you need to stop looking closely and move on. Wherever that time is, apparently </i><i>I've </i><i>not arrived. There's just too damn much holding my attention right here to even consider moving on...</i><br />
<br />
I've not been able to type (or doodle) in the last week or so, due to out-of-the-flipping-blue-inexplicably painful joints in my hands and fingers. Who knew joints were so necessary? Oh. Everyone but me. I see.<br />
<br />
Although currently, I'm not as "fine" as I'd like to be (ah, but will I ever? hah!), at least I can (finally!) type a sentence or two. While I was out of commission (sounds much more official put that way), I took longish walks and let Nature do her amazing Magic on me.<br />
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I sound fairly calm about all this joint-pain-out-of-no-where-crap, don't I? You should have heard me last week. Below is sample of the shenanigans:</div>
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<i>Me:This is fucking unacceptable.</i></div>
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<i>Body: Oh yeah?</i></div>
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<i>Me: Yeah! Now type damn it.</i></div>
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<i>Body: Sure.</i></div>
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<i>Me: Freaking ouch already. Type withOUT pain, please.</i></div>
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<i>Body: Oh. Without pain? Why didn't you say so? No.</i></div>
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<i>Me: No???</i></div>
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<i>Body: No.</i></div>
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<i>Me: At least turn it down a notch, would ya?</i></div>
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<i>Body: Uh, no.</i></div>
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<i>Me: F*ck you, Body!! F*ck you AND f*ck the horse you f*cking rode in on!!!! Who the hell do you think you are??? If I want to type, I should be able to type. You are NOT the boss of me!!!</i></div>
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<i>Body: Oh yeah?</i></div>
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<i>Me: ^^$@$!! ##! ^@$! !$!@$*!@#&$******&(&##@!!!***$!@#$!!$@#$@@@~~!!#!!#$%$#$!#!#! </i></div>
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The balance of the conversation has been deleted due to the graphic nature of the violence that ensued. </div>
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Thanks for tuning in and hope all is well with you. </div>
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<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-44616680264378187572012-04-04T00:12:00.000-07:002012-04-04T00:12:07.196-07:00Looking Closely<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Details create the bigger picture.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">- Sandford I. Weil<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">And the only way to see those details is by getting in close. Miss the details and you could quite possibly miss the bigger picture...<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">In life I tend toward, get the heck up there and soar! I like aerobatics. Zoom. It’s fun. It’s exhilarating. And hey, we’ve got to check out that "big picture," right? It is a dilemma though (one of many), because I also love the details. Yeah, the details can drive me to utter distraction, which is already a failing of mine. “Utter Distraction” could be my middle name. I’ll never know though, because it doesn’t hold my interest long enough for me to find out. I’d have to check out my birth certificate. And on the way to looking for my birth certificate, I’m sure I’d find a bazillion other pieces of paper that would be fun to browse and by the time dinner rolled around I’ll have forgotten what I was looking for in the first place. See? Distracted. Easily. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">As distracted as I may (may? hah!) get, I do realize that we really need to view everything in life from both angles: way up high and down in close. Otherwise, you will miss stuff. Important stuff. There are things that you absolutely cannot see unless you get down in close and <i>really</i> look. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">"Getting down," in the non-Jungle Boogie-Kool & The Gang sense, is necessary in life (and in writing). Getting close to something or someone or examining an idea...it can get messy. It can be disillusioning. That's the risk of looking closely.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">My point (yep. I do have one) is that unless you're willing to look at things closely you'll never see all those lovely and not-so-lovely fine details. Up close, you will see those wrinkles and scars, but it is the only way you’ll ever get to see that sparkle in someone's eye and the real texture of someone's soul…especially your own.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can't take credit for this one. My husband (definitely the more grounded one of us) spotted this little guy. I just snapped a picture. He's cute though, isn't he? He just posed for us...almost blending in with the fence post he sat on. </td></tr>
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-15774607725461189752012-03-26T23:01:00.000-07:002012-03-26T23:01:46.254-07:00It's a Strange Life...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">But someone's got to live it. Might as well be me.<br />
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This is my most recent snail doodle. I call them Nick & Nora. Yeah, I know. I'm seeking help, but can't find anyone who specializes in weirdo doodlers who have <i>no</i> delusions of grandeur. Plenty of them deal with delusions of grandeur types. Go figure. At this point I do believe I deserve a specialist, so if you do know of anyone, please feel free to pass their name on to me.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>My inspiration. Sigh. Ah, to have been born in a 1934 madcap detective movie...<br />
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-49423724686454851272012-03-19T11:03:00.001-07:002012-03-19T12:12:21.348-07:00Gorgeous Evil<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>The antagonist is a character, characters, or force that the protagonist must deal with essentially in order to end the story. You can pick up a book or two that doesn’t follow the “protagonist vs. antagonist” formula, but ultimately these stories (although interesting in theory) are pointless because they simply do not go anywhere. And we all want the story to take us somewhere. At the conclusion, whether we like where the story took us or not, we will set that story aside and move on to the next. But if we really like where the story took us? We'll remember it.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Every writer knows the importance of having an antagonist (of some sort) in their stories. The better the antagonist, the better the conflict, and of course the better the conflict the more fascinating the story. That’s just the way it is. You can argue and fuss, whine and ponder, but eventually if you want a vivid, absorbing, can’t-put-it-down-can’t-get-it-out-of-your-head story you <i>must</i> include a compelling villain. Is this what’s meant by the phrase, “necessary evil”? Perhaps. If you’re a Storyteller, yes. It’s pretty close to the top of the list of must-do’s, thereby necessary. And evil? Well, evil speaks for Itself. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If you run across a villain that nearly makes you want to choke the author while demanding the answer to “how could you create such a fiend?” That’s a damn good villain. If the villain has reasoning and can make us see his/her point, that’s a plus. If tragedy made the villain, that’s an A+. We like to get to know our villains. If they’re interesting, that is. Who wants to get to know a boring villain? Just get rid of him/her/it and move on, right? But if the story exposes more than one dimension of the villain, we begin to wonder what made him/her? It’s fun to find out. A great villain will know or be able to easily read your protagonist (like a book, hah!). An excellent villain will always be one or more steps ahead of your <i>hero*</i>, this makes for a lively, thrilling, adventurous tale. When we get to know what’s coming next, but the hero doesn’t know what’s coming, this is exciting. We’re all just a little bent, aren’t we? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The highest honor I can bestow a villain is the title Gorgeous Evil. “Gorgeous Evil” is the <i>exceptional</i> villain, the especially decadently delicious villain, the villain’s villain, the we-love-to-hate-him/her variety of villain. You know. The villain who you’re <i>almost</i> rooting for at the end. Whoops. Is that no-no? I don’t think so, but then I’m (more than) a little bent myself. </div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal">Storyteller or not, we all know that the very existence of that Gorgeous Evil is what makes our Heroes grow. Without Gorgeous Evil, our Hero would have wandered aimlessly in Oz or just stayed at their uncle’s farm on Tatooine. Without Captain Hook, Neverland is merely a fun place full of anarchists and bohemians. Sherlock Holmes rouses from his rather pompous and cool demeanor when challenged by a criminal mind and is never more passionate than when on the trail of Moriarty. And what would Cinderella be without her Wicked Stepmother? A spoiled, daddy's girl. Legend's Jack and Lily without Darkness? Two lowly humans frolicking among the fairies. Or comic book superheros without his or her supervillains? Dull, dull, dullsky.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrGn7Tf7aVhtQyA_vC4GJ6ySHCAbL8EV6J7cdJUlit0dM22jo7KaDSvMtolOtrGVkWN1LxM7eqdJwzTNVkxPFPwIHY3I8Rq-jS9SnAudBCtg7h3sIvggTFwHYVZv2u7NskTqdpl21B9sK2/s1600/Legend+poster+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrGn7Tf7aVhtQyA_vC4GJ6ySHCAbL8EV6J7cdJUlit0dM22jo7KaDSvMtolOtrGVkWN1LxM7eqdJwzTNVkxPFPwIHY3I8Rq-jS9SnAudBCtg7h3sIvggTFwHYVZv2u7NskTqdpl21B9sK2/s400/Legend+poster+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Long live Gorgeous Evil. May it continue to flourish <i><u>and</u></i> be defeated in equal measure. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>*I chose not to use the term “heroine” for a female hero. It annoys me. A hero is by definition someone who commits an act or acts of bravery. That is simply not limited to males. Period. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><br />
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</i></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-11227045840268117922012-03-14T20:19:00.000-07:002012-03-14T20:19:47.023-07:00The World is a Beautiful Place<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><u>Note</u>: <i>Although it is majorly tempting, I refuse to add a video of Louie Armstrong's "What A Wonderful World" to this post. It makes me cry every damn time I hear it and I'm not in the mood for tears right now. I'm in the mood for a brownie. Sigh.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I lived in the big, bad city I took photos of alleys, graffiti, chain link fences, broken sidewalks and broken people…and I found beauty. Sometimes it was hard to find, but that made the eventual discoveries all the more stunning. Now I live here and beauty is never hard to find and I’m grateful. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My health is truly pissing me off. Sorry, I took an abrupt turn there, didn’t I? I am going somewhere with this, but I should have warned you to buckle up.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Medical experimenting (what the white-coats call “tests”) is still going on, but no answers, yet. In the meantime, I’m feeling worse, not better. I know in my heart that it’s <i>not</i> life-threatening. I trust my heart, because it never lies to me (unlike my head who can lie a garishly neon blue streak). So, it’s <i>not</i> that I’m thinking I have anything really, really bad. It’s more that right now I struggle to do normal, everyday stuff. I enjoy being independent. I can do anything. I’m strong. I’m resilient. But lately? Not so much.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The thing? I always have a thing! Here it is, as annoying as the not-in-the-greatest-health-thing (hah!) is, I need to remember that there is a world out there bigger than me (what????). Oh, yeah there is. And knowing that <b><u>is</u></b> actually soothing. In a bizarre way. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Not only is there a world out there, it is a truly beautiful world. It doesn’t matter where you happen to be located in this world or what your circumstances are, there is beauty to be found...in nature and art and people. Typical, maybe not. However, I do believe if you make a point of seeing that beauty (hunting it down, if you must), that can go a long a*s way to making just about any challenging situation seem…smaller. Beauty is a constant. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT025Y7NKHD1_gSQXGF95FQvTYoUPVXW97ImSztiMbiEMIb8DXppXlE32yl70Z_pUIfmjmhSr62u9Zfg7MgsYnbos_LlmSioykXSgfGECFVr5EC8_w3klTiAsduAa8dFa0DLdFML-6nNYx/s1600/P1100682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT025Y7NKHD1_gSQXGF95FQvTYoUPVXW97ImSztiMbiEMIb8DXppXlE32yl70Z_pUIfmjmhSr62u9Zfg7MgsYnbos_LlmSioykXSgfGECFVr5EC8_w3klTiAsduAa8dFa0DLdFML-6nNYx/s320/P1100682.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Throwing you with this one, eh? I call it "Self-Portrait in My Good Shoes." Hah!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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</div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-30214056039421769762012-03-08T02:18:00.000-08:002012-03-08T02:18:07.506-08:00Can of Worms<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><i>Note: As always I’m yammering at myself here. This is what I need to tell myself right now. In condensed (hah!) form, of course.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal">No matter how simple and straightforward a project <i>appears</i> to be, it almost never turns out that way. At least, not for me. I suffer from what I call the “Can of Worms Syndrome” or COWS. Perhaps you too suffer from COWS. What is COWS? Glad you asked. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Projects, tasks, goals, or whatever-the-heck-you-end-up-pulling-out-of-the-Great-Grab-Bag-of-Life just <i>love</i> to disguise themselves in Simple’s Clothing. Underneath that Simple though, lurks Purely Complicated. I don’t particularly care for complicated, but I won’t run from it. I’m far too stubborn. But honestly, really, and truly I don’t actively seek it out, either. “Complicated” has a way of finding me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Could it be my penchant for looking deeper? I rarely take things at face value. “Face value” seems meaningless to me and perhaps even unrealistic. I mean, you can slap a band-aid on anything and maybe even stop the bleeding, but what is going on underneath that band-aid? Did you clean the wound before applying the band-aid? Shouldn’t we put on some ointment, too? Isn’t healing the goal?? And crap! Does that need stitches??? Questions. I’m full of them. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m not saying that I don’t like to indulge in the occasional Sail Along the Surface (ahhh nice) or grab a box of mind candy (yum) once-in-awhile. Not everything has to be deep. Good grief, if that was the case I’d be a lunatic. I’ll rephrase, shall I? I’d be <i>more</i> of a lunatic. Look, I enjoy mind-candy just as much as the next person; however, mind candy doesn’t move me. And what is the freaking point if we’re not going to be moved, passionate, and alive? That reminds me, I believe I’ve meandered off my point. Where was I? Complicated. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m running my own business now. Well, “running” may be too strong of a word. More like just trying to keep it from crashing into stuff. Plus, it’s brand new so maybe it’s actually more like trying to get the engine to turn over and not really being sure if there is an engine. I probably need to build one. Crap. You see! Complicated. In fact I’ll go as far (why not?) as to say that starting a business is just one way of shouting to the world, “I have COWS and I can’t help myself,” because a business is <i>surrounded</i> by cans of worms. I can’t move for stepping into another one. First it was the Creating A Fabulous (No Pressure) Website, then on to the Great Paper Dilemma, now it's the E-Store Extravaganza. It’s tiresome, annoying, scary, sometimes angrifying, and often an incredibly exhilarating ride. What’s an Opener of the Can of Worms to do? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Here's the thing: I’m not afraid of the mess that opening a can of worms is going to make. Generally there’s some dirt nearby that can use aerating. And yes, worms are wiggly and a bit strange, but then, so are some of my most favorite people. The can is not going to go away by ignoring it (damn). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Crap and double crap. I don’t really have a choice, do I? I have to keep opening the blasted things and do my best to deal with the ensuing entanglements and sheer complicated messiness. I didn’t really think this was going to be easy, did I? Of course not. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My fellow sufferers of COWS, I suppose we could wish that those Cans of Worms don’t exist or if they do, that we simply can’t see them. Wouldn’t that be refreshing? Nah, not really. That's sort of like wishing for a lobotomy. And as much of a pain in the a*s my brain is to me (and others) at times, I really wouldn’t want to part ways with her (it?). Not yet, anyway. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-30649553326122219082012-02-29T20:57:00.000-08:002012-02-29T20:57:30.878-08:00Losing It...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Then again, perhaps I've never had it. It's illogical to miss something that you may or may not have had to begin with, yes? And I'm all about being logical. No, I'm not joking. Logic is important. Especially, the nuttier things (or I) seem to be. Besides all that, having "it" is probably overrated anyway.<br />
<br />
I really do have to get on board with the whole focus thing, though. I will...eventually. In the meantime, I've decided that what my world needs is more doodles of snails. I came to this conclusion after a lengthy internal debate (not really. it took me an hour tops). You have to admit (or not) that there is a serious lack of snail exposure. As such, I'm doing my part. And she may look like she's not going anywhere, but she is. At her own pace. Which is after all the only pace that she can go.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs7asuykAb6uSEsFb2FamLDC0GW3xFwkLTHsJ5EcOVL-QkDFu4QMnfxCn1LwvLHXSUI4liSaXu-4ZNAKFLr-s9kFg4yMzoBOcxorJYFFohv_0H7tneK7ES_5WDwrY3zHKqwm6xUuDnUPNh/s1600/Snail+Mothers+Day22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs7asuykAb6uSEsFb2FamLDC0GW3xFwkLTHsJ5EcOVL-QkDFu4QMnfxCn1LwvLHXSUI4liSaXu-4ZNAKFLr-s9kFg4yMzoBOcxorJYFFohv_0H7tneK7ES_5WDwrY3zHKqwm6xUuDnUPNh/s400/Snail+Mothers+Day22.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-48939788633283689002012-02-25T12:36:00.015-08:002012-02-25T20:11:43.402-08:00Estrogen<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><u>Disclaimer</u>: <i>Many health care professionals and Wise Women advise: venting is good for the soul. My take is that venting (generally) keeps most murder sprees in check. I don’t have any hard evidence, I just happen to know a lot of people who repress. I can hypothesize what the results of this repression could be if it should explode out of them, rather than little leaks at a time. This post is merely a little leak. If you happen to work in law enforcement, I hope you know the difference between venting and actual plotting. If not, please look it up before you start arresting people. Thanks.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>As most females and some males can attest, testosterone has nothing on estrogen when it’s not in balance. Mine is not in balance right now. As a woman who’s reached a certain age, my little bottle of little lilac hormone pills gets me through my day without experiencing what are referred to as “hot flashes.” Anyone who hasn’t experienced a “hot flash” has no idea how absofu*ckinglutely insane one makes you feel. One, people. And by the way, a woman doesn’t just have <u>one</u> in a day’s time. One, you could deal with and quite easily plan your day around. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“No, John, I can’t meet you in the board room at 2:00. I’m having my hot flash at that time and before you ask, <i>no </i>I can’t rearrange it. Believe me, you do not want me at that meeting during my hot flash. Oh, then you know what I’m talking about. I’m sorry to hear about your gardener. Your wife’s all right now? Good. And your gardener? No longer your gardener. Well, it sounds like everyone learned a valuable lesson that day. Will 2:15 work for you? Yes, a few minutes are all I need. So, 2:15? Good. See you then.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We don’t just have one, though. There are several, and sometimes (whee!) many. Women are so damn lucky.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I can see my point just beyond the horizon, thither and yon. I’m getting to it. Now is not a good time to push me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I went to the doctor’s three weeks ago and had some tests run on me. Don’t you just love how doctors get to experiment on you, you submit quite easily and hardly ever put up a fuss, and <i>you</i> pay <i>them</i>? Anyway, these tests came back saying that there is some kind of stress on my liver. Contrary to all the rumors, I’m not a heavy drinker. <i>“I only wish I was,” she says in her best drawl, with a sigh and a flip of her hair.</i> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Because I’m not a heavy drinker, here’s where the experimenting begins. No more ibuprofen for me. That’s a bummer, because ibuprofen is my buddy. I like to take her with me everywhere. Just in case, I get a headache or exercise too hard or carry something I really shouldn’t etc etc. This all happens to me a lot, by the way. But okay, I’m willing to play along with the doctor and stop taking ibuprofen. Next? No drinking. Oh, water is okay. Soda, juice, blah, blah, blee, blee are all fine. But no alcohol. As I mentioned I’m not a heavy drinker; however, I do enjoy the occasional glass of pinot grigio. And if I’m not in the mood for wine, then there’s nothing like a glass (or pint, depending on my mood) of ice cold lager, is there? So, no drinking. Okay, now I feel a bit as though I’ve been bad and my crayons have been taken away from me until I learn my lesson, but I’ll deal with it. Then, just as I’m on my way out the door,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Oh, and one more thing,” says the doctor evilly. </div><div class="MsoNormal">You can hear the evil, can’t you?</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “You’ll have to stop your estradiol, too.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">What? </div><div class="MsoNormal"> “What?” I ask. Maybe my hearing is going. Does a bum liver affect your hearing?</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Estradiol can also be hard on your liver, so I need you stop taking it.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">What??</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “What??” I ask again. You know, hoping I might get a different answer. But I don’t. Crap. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For nearly three weeks, I’ve been living without my little lilac pill. It’s not just the hot flashes (by the way, my husband calls these power surges. Is that awesome, or what? It’s why I married him), it’s also the <i>not</i> sleeping. Flipping great, right? But no, it doesn't stop there. On top of the at-no-notice-I-want-to-rip-every-stitch-of-clothing-off-my-body-regardless-of-where-I-happen-to-be AND I’m beginning to feel empathy for zombies (they don’t get any sleep, either) now begins the [insert sinister music here] intense emotions. It’s sort of like PMS, only much worse. And patience? Where the f*ck did I put my patience?? So now I’m a pissed-off, hot-flashy/power surgey, sleep deprived woman with no patience. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">All I can say (haven’t you already said way too much??) is that if I don’t get back on my little lilac pills soon, I’m going to have to kill someone. Perhaps many someones. And it won’t be pretty. This isn't going to be dropping an elegant spoonful of poison in someone’s porcelain teacup. It’s going to be bloody. Body parts will be flying. I’m talking axes, chainsaws, perhaps explosives of some kind. Who will it be? Does it really matter? Okay. Well, I’ll start with the doctor. From there, who knows? I have a lot of friends who have people they can do without. I’ll exercise my demons and help out some pals. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Gees. Hope I’ve not scared anyone. It’s a good thing I’m a writer and I can kill people off, without getting arrested (I think). I actually do feel better and much less inclined to take out my wrath on society at large. This venting thing really works. Huh. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There are more tests to deal with in the next few weeks. In the meantime, let’s just hope that no one tips the balance of this already imbalanced soul. More venting may follow…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://1.gvt0.com/vi/fv5_X_Y5D-0/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/fv5_X_Y5D-0&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/fv5_X_Y5D-0&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-24279811323377571512012-02-22T23:15:00.000-08:002012-02-22T23:15:30.105-08:00“I have questions, queries, posers.”<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Recognize the quote? It's from a movie. Johnny Five? Not ringing any bells?? No, I didn’t choose the most obscure quote, from the most obscure movie ever. It just seemed to suit the occasion, as I’ve been tagged! Thank you to the lovely Scarlett of <a href="http://scarlettstattoo.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Scarlett’s Tattoo</a>. And what does it mean to be tagged in non-playground terms? *The Rules* I am to follow are to seek out worthy opponents and ask them (worthy) questions that I’ve penned. Ideally, my worthy opponents will name their own opponents, as well as come up with their own questions. Hopefully, I’ve understood! Regardless, it sounds like fun and I’m game.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Scarlett’s Questions and My Answers:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><i>1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal;"> </span></i><!--[endif]--><i>If your life were a book, what would it be titled?<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">“Are You F*cking Kidding Me?” No, really, that’s what it would be called. Granted it may not end up a best seller with an expletive in the title, but that wasn’t the question, was it? Believe me, as a title for <i>my</i> life (as a book) it makes perfect sense.</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><i>2.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Tell s a favorite childhood memory.</i></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Camping with the Girl Scouts. Yep. I was a Girl Scout.</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><i>3.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Is there a time limit on fortune cookie predictions?</i></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Absolutely not. I’ve never found an expiration date on one.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.35in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><i>4.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Name three lessons LIFE has taught you.</i></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Don’t be afraid to fall flat on your face. It will hurt much less than if you don’t try at all.</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Always tell your truth to those you love, even if telling that truth risks the relationship.</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Sometimes people dig holes to deep to get out of, think about that while you dig away.</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><i>5.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Oceans or mountains, and why?</i></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Mountains. I grew up surrounded by mountains and took them for granted. I briefly moved to Kansas and although the people were amazingly kind souls, the flatness of the land depressed me. AS much as I love the ocean, I can live without it. Mountains make me feel like soaring and I don’t want to live without that feeling. Plus, I’m much more likely to climb a mountain than swim in the ocean (sharks…eek).</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><i>6.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]-->What makes you smile?</i></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">My husband. He makes me laugh, too.</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><i>7.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]-->What would you dare to do if you knew you could not fail?</i></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">If there’s no risk of failure, then there isn’t any real joy, is there? Besides, failure is generally a perception and often a temporary one.</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><i>8.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Do you believe in ghosts? What about Muppets?</i></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Both, but I draw the line at the ghosts of Muppets.</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><i>9.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]-->What is your favorite thing about yourself?</i></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">My heart. It’s a good one. Not perfect, but really good. My breasts aren’t too shabby, either.</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><i>10.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Given three wishes, what would you wish?</i></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Peace on earth. Why not give it a shot? The war and terror thing has been done to death (hah!).</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Live without fear (expect of course when it comes to fire or getting my photo taken).</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Have the means ($$$) to travel the world with my husband, going anywhere our heart’s desire at any time.</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><i>11.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]-->What is the one thing you could not live without?</i></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 0.6in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Humor, because seeing it in all the right places enables us to overcome anything.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Not too painful! Now it’s your turn. How does that spotlight feel? Not too hot? Good, here we go:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.35in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Mr. Green Genes @ <a href="http://mrgreengenes-isthereanybodythere.blogspot.com/?zx=92695e9d1973cf80" target="_blank">Is There Anybody There?</a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.35in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Mary @ <a href="http://gigglesandguns.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Giggles and Guns</a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.35in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Donna @ </span><a href="http://musingsofapennilesswriter.blogspot.com/" style="text-indent: 0in;" target="_blank">Musings of a Penniless Writer</a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.35in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Chrissy @ <a href="http://chrissypeebles.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">ThePurple Brick Road</a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.35in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Kranky Girl @ <a href="http://krankygirl.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">I Work Best With Animals and Dead People</a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.35in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">DRC @ <a href="http://nhwcwritingexercises.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">WTF’s Writing Thrilling Fiction</a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.35in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">Natalie @ <a href="http://bridgetsdaughter5.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Bridget’s Daughter</a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.35in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.35in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">No pressure to play, but I’d love to hear your answers to My Questions:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"></div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">What are you OCD about? Come on, I know there must be something.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">What’s the most recent music/album you’ve purchased and do you recommend it?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">What fictional character would you like to interview and what is your first question?</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Cake or pie? And what flavor??</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">What is your best quality?</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">What’s your book or movie favorite: zombies, vampires, or werewolves and why?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Do you have a junk drawer and what do you usually throw in it? Please be more specific than junk or more junk.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">If you could strike up a conversation with an inanimate object, what is the object and what are you talking about?</span></li>
</ol><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Have fun! Can’t wait to see your answers! Oh, and t</span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">he quote at the beginning of this post? It’s from the movie Short Circuit. If it’s available do check it out.</span></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-68305314594616305222012-02-21T22:25:00.000-08:002012-02-21T22:25:30.053-08:00In My Head<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;">A scary place indeed! Sometimes I have a difficult time getting out of this head and out into the "real" world. When that happens on those rare (daily) occurrences, I take a walk. I really have to take a lot of walks. I'm lucky to live in a semi-rural area. Total rural would freak me out, so here is just right. Or at least until the publishing/greeting card business takes off and we can buy a winery/goat farm. Not really. Although, I do love goats...and wine. </span>I wonder if goats like wine.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;">So, semi-rural which equals lots of trees, flowers, birds, squirrels, horse ranches, hawks (love them), and coyotes (love them, too). Since my brain-type mechanism is spinning inward the last few days, I thought I’d share some of my photos of the flora (and a bit of fauna) in my neck of the world. Once everything gets unraveled in this head of mine (and it will, it always does), I’ll post something with words. Maybe I’ll even string some sentences together…in paragraphs even. Whoo-hoo.<span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><br />
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-57828175752676169362012-02-13T10:30:00.000-08:002012-02-13T10:30:39.206-08:00The ORIGINS Blogfest<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><a href="http://dlcruisingaltitude.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-origin-story.html" target="_blank"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMIlOkE1_uE7NBxdHEeYQ7wF0-pAYLGkxuTan5tzeY4-3HwpJE9m7_-a90cGFUyv0DjXEJnUNuEB33LraJ0_i5IHRI5zC0Gioq4MVxdbpmz2frsg82yX1SzaxrmX3fZyql6YslwXcfEh4/s320/Origins_edit.jpg" /></a> </div><br />
<i> “When did your writing dream begin?” What an excellent idea for a blog hop! This blogfest is being hosted by <a href="http://dlcruisingaltitude.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">DL Hammons</a> and co-sponsored by <a href="http://alexjcavanaugh.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Alex Cavanaugh</a>, <a href="http://creepyquerygirl.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Katie Mills</a>, and <a href="http://theqqqe.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Matthew MacNish</a>. I found out about the hop through <a href="http://jeremybatesbooks.com/archives/749" target="_blank">Jeremy Bates</a>. Thanks to all!</i><br />
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</i></div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve always thought of myself as a storyteller first, a writer second. Storytelling comes naturally, writing (as we all know) is the hard part. And contrary to what parents and teachers scolded, being a storyteller is <i>not</i> just one rung down the criminal ladder from shoplifting. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As a child of about five, I remember sitting in the backyard and being absolutely positive that I could see evidence of tiny people and tiny animals living in our strawberry patch. The story of how these tiny people came to live in the strawberry patch, where they came from, who they were, and what they did all day just, um…popped into my head. I seemed to have been born with [insert horrifying realization background music here] an <i>imagination </i>(eeekk). Since no one believed me when I told them about the people who lived in the strawberry patch, or for that matter the little king who had lost his kingdom, or the goat who liked to hide treasure under the neighbor’s house, I decided to write down these stories. Then, I created someone to believe me. Her name was Henny and she was a chicken. Just to clarify, as a child I did not live on a farm or what would even be considered a rural area. Although I had heard of them, I’d never seen a chicken or a goat, which became proof of the aforementioned, dreaded (at least by my parents and teachers) imagination.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Stories continued to present themselves to me. Characters continued to fill my head. By the time I became I teenager I decided that I was either nuts (a distinct possibility) or I was a writer (same thing). And here I am. The truth is, I write to keep the characters who continually dance, cry, sing, walk, fly, laugh, fight, or whatever else they dream up in my head, appeased. Above all, this motley group is demanding, so believe me when I say that I will do whatever it takes to keep the peace…even if it is writing. </div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-10294135911430335062012-02-09T12:10:00.000-08:002012-02-09T12:10:10.512-08:00Strange & Unusual<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Please note: I wrote the following, as is often the case, because I need to hear it. Sometimes, we must remind ourselves of simple facts.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Once I grew up (last week), I realized that everyone struggles with parts of themselves that they are reluctant to share with the public at large. Hmm, perhaps "everyone" is too broad a stroke. It does appear that there are those of us who don't seem to give a flying fig or a spinning turnip (come on, why not?) what anyone thinks. Ever heard of Walmartians? I rest my case. For the remainder of us though, revealing ourselves is a terrifying prospect. Some of us would rather have several teeth pulled during a rectal exam while having our heads shaved, than actually expose even a tiny part of our innermost self. Sorry for the visual. I am so <u>not</u> speaking from personal experience (per se) it’s merely an example to illustrate how terrified we can be. Totally sad. How is it that we can walk among each other, sit next to each other at work or on a bus and</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><u><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">not</span></u><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">let people see who we are? The really sad thing? Some people don’t even know that they’re hiding. Um, me? I’m slightly (hah!) normalcy challenged. I spent many, many years trying to cover up what others deemed “odd” about me. Covering up doesn’t usually work, because my strangeness seems to have a way of popping out (helloooooo) at the most inconvenient of times.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I actually don’t feel strange, but then crazy people never think they’re crazy either, right? Logic aside, in my maze-like brain, I’m normal for me. Being “different” or just plain old weird isn’t something I try to do. I just came that way. Maybe there was a special on weirdness while I was in the womb, and my mother being a compulsive shopper, just couldn't pass up that deal.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Will she ever please get to the point??? Okay, here’s my point. I realize that this isn’t news to anyone, but in never hurts to validate: we are all weird in our own weird little ways. And you know what? That truly is the best fu*king part of us. That’s the part, we need to let out of the flipping box. It works best in writing, music, art of any type, cooking, whatever. What you think of as your "weirdness," that secret self you try so hard to contain, may not speak to everyone. However, it will have an audience, because what people really dig is authenticity. Yeah, yeah I know it doesn’t</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">always</span></i><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">mean something. The IRS doesn’t give a spinning turnip (see, it does work!) if you’re authentic as long as you pay your dang taxes. But if you want people to enjoy the dinner you cook or buy that book you’re selling, being authentic will come in handy.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Share the real you with your public, even if your public is only a few close friends, your family, and several crickets. Without the essential “you,” what is there to your music, poetry, novel, painting, or dinner party? Technique? How empty and utterly boor-ing. And you are so definitely <i>not</i> empty or boor-ing. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBgRzH3Syjs7Irh2rFyjkEOxavqNFr20jF-nici5rUJCAWhWkYPGsNoAWwxsK-WRnGouZyyGifXvf5JVhZfbxmIUvHEKQPzWPmXceoGl05_cMtGbNWyyxRQcRbriujHNm6xTsfHDonmyVz/s1600/beetlejuice-black-girl-movie-myself-Favim.com-233868.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBgRzH3Syjs7Irh2rFyjkEOxavqNFr20jF-nici5rUJCAWhWkYPGsNoAWwxsK-WRnGouZyyGifXvf5JVhZfbxmIUvHEKQPzWPmXceoGl05_cMtGbNWyyxRQcRbriujHNm6xTsfHDonmyVz/s320/beetlejuice-black-girl-movie-myself-Favim.com-233868.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My goth is showing, but wasn't Lydia Deetz in Beetlejuice an excellent character? <br />
"...the living ignore the strange and unusual, I myself am strange and unusual..."</td></tr>
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-69959568527616959482012-02-02T12:53:00.000-08:002012-02-02T12:53:22.556-08:00“We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad”<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is my favorite book of all time. If you know me at all, this will not come as a shock. My favorite character? No, it’s not the Mad Hatter (although, he is a close second). My favorite character is the Cheshire Cat. He both annoys and cheers up Alice. He’s never around when she thinks he should be, but then turns up when she does actually need him. He’s full of riddles, yet completely logical. Yes, how can you behead a head when there is no body attached? And he’s nearly always in a jolly mood. The Cheshire Cat makes me think of my mind and how it works (or doesn’t). Perhaps I was too influenced by the book I read as a child, and now possess a twisted mind that raises questions when people demand answers, finds humor at what causes despair in others, and more often than not seems to be nothing more than a grin in the darkness. Wow. Deep.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Regardless, I have been feeling of a literary bent (or perhaps, just bent) this week and Alice, the Cheshire Cat, and Lewis Carroll are on my mind today. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>“Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat, “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”<o:p></o:p></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>“How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>“You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”<o:p></o:p></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal">Simple logic…and why complicate matters if there is no fun to be had in it? You have got to love that Cheshire Cat. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjnvIR4r8CYki01YI635ncDtzvA5IFi0gdSJPhcpE6h6LOEaBEuy6D0PZWozVsdNLsPB6opqobpmLk7_AhTSW5xWgxAnN27IqsDnhhmIpRDRZXI2x6STR235kCqE4A3KKse32wjND_XZ63/s1600/402110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjnvIR4r8CYki01YI635ncDtzvA5IFi0gdSJPhcpE6h6LOEaBEuy6D0PZWozVsdNLsPB6opqobpmLk7_AhTSW5xWgxAnN27IqsDnhhmIpRDRZXI2x6STR235kCqE4A3KKse32wjND_XZ63/s320/402110.jpg" width="215" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lewis Carroll<br />
If you haven't read Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, please do so today. And no, the Disney cartoon does NOT count! </td></tr>
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</div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4585988376433336997.post-7815690714492959632012-01-31T16:51:00.000-08:002012-01-31T16:51:33.201-08:00Thought for the day...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">Since my day has been a bit of a bummer, I decided to borrow someone else’s thought.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">“<i>We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.</i>” Don’t you just love Oscar Wilde?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">I remembered this quote and moved from feeling bummed to saying “fu*k it!” I’m not alone here in the gutter, I just need to keep my eyes on those beautiful stars. Thanks, Oscar. xx </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Oscar Wilde" height="320" src="http://photo.goodreads.com/authors/1316521008p5/3565.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Check out Oscar's Goodreads page and read something by him today (or tomorrow, just make it soon!) <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3565.Oscar_Wilde" style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;">http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3565.Oscar_Wilde </a> </td></tr>
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13160671849686091948noreply@blogger.com5