tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54403089763374805112024-03-21T08:45:57.638-07:00Journey to Whole-HeartednessHere are my thoughts and ramblings as I work towards living a whole-hearted life. There are ups and downs and I do everything I can to create a positive life. My hope is that these writings, as they help me become more whole-hearted and understanding of myself, may help you, too, in some way. Namarie and enjoy. sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.comBlogger259125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-82679966110073645482024-03-10T11:19:00.000-07:002024-03-10T11:19:04.603-07:00Attempting to Paint a Waterfall<p><span style="text-align: justify;">Nan and I stopped at a local waterfall in December 2023
coming home from breakfast. She’s been into painting waterfalls and wanted this
scene. I decided to try a waterfall scene myself as I’ve never done one. They
always look too complicated.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdogAJnmO5fpFI1FbVwpIYbBnWfu_lE8nDqPOcQ2VWyHfh3LRRwTc57yF-N8IG9AjSsA1fbyghgjHbPuucWthiTMZuf-3HneR1UQgjcEZvV8t8-a9Iv9j3iqAgyOsuwGUL_fq7AIXdj5jdUHnG41eVAlFneQjIOcfONRVfpWJ3CUHGhpBavZDg9v9yifTw/s1908/24-9595crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1908" data-original-width="1307" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdogAJnmO5fpFI1FbVwpIYbBnWfu_lE8nDqPOcQ2VWyHfh3LRRwTc57yF-N8IG9AjSsA1fbyghgjHbPuucWthiTMZuf-3HneR1UQgjcEZvV8t8-a9Iv9j3iqAgyOsuwGUL_fq7AIXdj5jdUHnG41eVAlFneQjIOcfONRVfpWJ3CUHGhpBavZDg9v9yifTw/w135-h198/24-9595crs.JPG" width="135" /></a></div>I always take many pictures, different angles and such. I
edited a few and chose a couple to work with. However, when it came to doing
the initial sketches, I was at a loss. I prefer to do my sketching freehand,
but somehow, even with working the Rule of Thirds, I get mixed up with the
horizontal ground lines working downhill when there’s a lot of busy-ness.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I tried using the projector. I could not seem to get it to a
size I want. It ended up bigger than I wanted. I tried to work it but kept
getting mixed up as to which spot I was trying to do from photo to the sketch
layout. I gave up.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Over a month went by and the scene began calling me again.
Today, I decided to give it another go starting from the beginning. This time,
I decided to trace. I printed 8 x 10 copies of two scenes after re-editing and
cropping further. Then I chose white BFK Rives paper cut to a size I’ll be
comfortable with and began tracing.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiew49xsX_8G05sdlRDehU-oMB6ZhQdVyFhdoU4Q34kwK3xDiU3o4uyeg2zAeYcaGSgJyR_hRsfUrzWSW_xSx1Xjl_2Mi5ScsOUwmTe75aML-gIEvIU0rMuHWi7JWmSLbwc-UYWBoGSMBorXKBTDGmqxibITh1D4d4wMKzlhWP69VAzW5q9kC5sGp8VVyrj/s2585/23-9318crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1767" data-original-width="2585" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiew49xsX_8G05sdlRDehU-oMB6ZhQdVyFhdoU4Q34kwK3xDiU3o4uyeg2zAeYcaGSgJyR_hRsfUrzWSW_xSx1Xjl_2Mi5ScsOUwmTe75aML-gIEvIU0rMuHWi7JWmSLbwc-UYWBoGSMBorXKBTDGmqxibITh1D4d4wMKzlhWP69VAzW5q9kC5sGp8VVyrj/w267-h183/23-9318crs.JPG" width="267" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaG6snDMt-MVwYcqauJW_MCnJsfXQhNumsT4pCGNJik6txB7dbhcBLEE5QnY_6TjeFDCNpJW3jE4bnuxHM2j0Yv2wyAp2c-gqFZwzbeOlL-hmPy-WcNA1Jwqqw097pY5M0TEKnGZ_TTaD9UmOOSQkFlnXUsYqDBgA04SMFXvBpcClwK5Jn02aFaRboRnIp/s1418/23-9342ccc.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1418" data-original-width="1308" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaG6snDMt-MVwYcqauJW_MCnJsfXQhNumsT4pCGNJik6txB7dbhcBLEE5QnY_6TjeFDCNpJW3jE4bnuxHM2j0Yv2wyAp2c-gqFZwzbeOlL-hmPy-WcNA1Jwqqw097pY5M0TEKnGZ_TTaD9UmOOSQkFlnXUsYqDBgA04SMFXvBpcClwK5Jn02aFaRboRnIp/w220-h239/23-9342ccc.JPG" width="220" /></a></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Got them both done. So far so good. Next, I set up on the
table to make better lines with a charcoal pencil. I again started getting
confused. I got out a blue pastel pencil to differentiate between water and
land. It took a while, but I eventually got both sketches done. Phew, a lot of
work.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Took them to the studio and taped both to the stand-up
easel. One measures 8 ¼ x 10, the other will be 9 ½ x 8 ½. I’ll probably work
both at the same time. ‘Course, that may change when I really get into it,
ha-ha. I took black pan pastel and put in a little behind-the-trees darkness on
one to see how it’s going to look. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It’s a start.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqCBpgG8h5iYVyJB4GpxXoMEFq3JyNNxJKMNHWACZLHV508R8zPuoUUeMCG7fmm0XSMD3DdAI8AhUZLowyzdH5bgwXlVOdCz755gePC1VX75G0nWXPBsuwx0-BbO1JdHTM401Iidl72JwGheQQBeK7hzs9fhHFz6JbK-kojwQ6jlS5zObIrZKAgY1m3_0s/s2176/24-0050crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1722" data-original-width="2176" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqCBpgG8h5iYVyJB4GpxXoMEFq3JyNNxJKMNHWACZLHV508R8zPuoUUeMCG7fmm0XSMD3DdAI8AhUZLowyzdH5bgwXlVOdCz755gePC1VX75G0nWXPBsuwx0-BbO1JdHTM401Iidl72JwGheQQBeK7hzs9fhHFz6JbK-kojwQ6jlS5zObIrZKAgY1m3_0s/w252-h199/24-0050crs.JPG" width="252" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1qOD2wmf6cmpE8gwXv08AGY4PqkNN7GluDK0QjjfWiyzjvC0J8zxoKQMaOZgNtDCUYEoRTWDm8MPicmoXPr_4WC8_O7eOinLyDLqBiuqG5Yv4lB02GCqQr1KypIw4d7DJW5fT6OAD9DrdQf_KFMBtz_9FgvtIul2VeAe-YdV8-G77q1uEetRnz38FzvsC/s1665/24-0052crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1665" data-original-width="1497" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1qOD2wmf6cmpE8gwXv08AGY4PqkNN7GluDK0QjjfWiyzjvC0J8zxoKQMaOZgNtDCUYEoRTWDm8MPicmoXPr_4WC8_O7eOinLyDLqBiuqG5Yv4lB02GCqQr1KypIw4d7DJW5fT6OAD9DrdQf_KFMBtz_9FgvtIul2VeAe-YdV8-G77q1uEetRnz38FzvsC/w234-h260/24-0052crs.JPG" width="234" /></a></div><br />sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-26384298399348050212024-03-01T07:06:00.000-08:002024-03-01T07:06:51.034-08:00The Corruption of Wealth and Power<p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3OKSOXoUzLiehiH4MkPpAX5X-JYhOGnqCv1-tD9Um0TF6oTUz21S62JjB8CghrysHfwFpcEciVZgk81Fog7Sz9fjApV9bwOzN0lx560AqYQpEzE3zFmXBXYdhfVLn6iRqK1Bpk0mIcisfRzJUk8T2Vk3RN3z78vpwUuLwiWqdUI2c7lsTyk0ewPNWmqHb/s2901/24-9841crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2458" data-original-width="2901" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3OKSOXoUzLiehiH4MkPpAX5X-JYhOGnqCv1-tD9Um0TF6oTUz21S62JjB8CghrysHfwFpcEciVZgk81Fog7Sz9fjApV9bwOzN0lx560AqYQpEzE3zFmXBXYdhfVLn6iRqK1Bpk0mIcisfRzJUk8T2Vk3RN3z78vpwUuLwiWqdUI2c7lsTyk0ewPNWmqHb/s320/24-9841crs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I believe there is a huge gap between the wealthy, including
politicians, big business, and the rest of the people. There are more rich than
ever before, and most have become super greedy. It’s an addictive disease. It
gets so it’s never enough for them.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p>I truly believe many people start out with good ideas and
good intent, but once they get into a powerful position, an old saying comes to
the fore:</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“Power tends to corrupt; absolute power corrupts absolutely.
<span style="background: white; color: #202122;">Great
men are almost always bad men, even when they exercise influence and not
authority.</span>” – Lord Acton,
British historian in the late 19<sup>th</sup> and 20<sup>th</sup> centuries.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">This need for more wealth and power is destroying society.
Unfortunately, there is less and less freedom of speech and more and more of
our liberties are being taken away. And it creeps down into the smaller, local
towns.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Even criminals these days seem to have more freedoms than
common people – those who have money, those who can “buy” their way out. The
corruption among elite and organizations has escalated, and it doesn’t seem
like there’s anything anyone can do.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And being told to go to the polls and vote has turned into a
big joke. It’s a way to make people continue to believe they really have a
voice. Yeah, right. Everything has gotten so convoluted, it’s hard to trust
anything or anyone anymore.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">They create good-sounding, helpful organizations to make it
sound like they’re doing good work. They change the meanings of words. The
definition of some words in dictionaries are not the meanings behind words
being used these days. It almost seems the opposite.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">For instance, whenever I hear the word “transparency,” my
thoughts go to “What are they hiding.” When I hear the word “woke,” it means the
opposite of being open-minded and being fully attentive to what’s REALLY going
on. Words are used to confuse the masses between original meanings and intent
to what is actually happening in today’s world. Because people will listen to nice
words and not pay attention to what is being done and/or happening.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The most important thing people can do now is question.
Question everything! Look for the deeper reasons behind what is being promoted –
whether in politics or business. What is logic and truth versus what are the
hidden agendas. Always ask, “Who are the ones really benefiting from this?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">There’s too much smoke and mirrors. People’s attention is
directed in one direction, while those in authority are doing something else.
There’s no balance, no fully listening to both sides.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I fully believe freedom for the people is being slowly
crushed while the elite go on living life as if nothing is wrong. They are so
high up in their towers, they have no real clue of life. Even those who have
come from lowly backgrounds, once they reach that upper crust of the powerful,
seem to have forgotten where they’ve come from and what it was like. That line about
“… power corrupting absolutely” is in full swing.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-49624887920936407432023-11-26T11:20:00.000-08:002023-11-26T11:20:03.808-08:00Trying Something Different<p style="text-align: justify;">I hadn’t done any floral pastel paintings for awhile and
decided I needed a break from landscapes. I chose to do a rose of Sharon and another
of magnolias and printed half a dozen photos of various blossoms. I cropped and
edited the photos. I often have two or three paintings in process on the easels
at the same time.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">One thing difficult this time was using photos of individual
blossoms to recreate a totally different scene. The first major challenge was
arranging the individual pieces onto a sheet of paper. I also decided to use
some smaller pieces of BFK Rives paper than the larger landscape scenes I
usually do.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG9yNJz_EB2y5m_hqY7XoYZf80HIatBW7qp6xq7xYrwf8A8Sjl5eQiG4XzWRc6l78AjEDRxjHNnZgGZQgMKqAM4aewBI0Wv4hogL4H25At5eR9Y0kionQDFSkm7ARhHlWKl7cXLzqGD98_x8TK4tLOuDd_weu3-rQB6C1cwNAnJcEfCG9LlVvzbxwIHSb3/s1824/23-8560crs.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1824" data-original-width="1677" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG9yNJz_EB2y5m_hqY7XoYZf80HIatBW7qp6xq7xYrwf8A8Sjl5eQiG4XzWRc6l78AjEDRxjHNnZgGZQgMKqAM4aewBI0Wv4hogL4H25At5eR9Y0kionQDFSkm7ARhHlWKl7cXLzqGD98_x8TK4tLOuDd_weu3-rQB6C1cwNAnJcEfCG9LlVvzbxwIHSb3/w200-h218/23-8560crs.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>I am not confident to draw flowers freehand to get the right
dimensions, angles, and shapes. That means I trace the outlines and general
shapes using graphite paper. I took a couple of the individual photos and began
playing around with arranging a layout. In the end, for the Rose of Sharon, I
used four photos.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It was almost like doing a jigsaw puzzle figuring out the layout.
With each photo, I had to decide which way to angle it, and which one should go
on top or to the left. Would it look better on the bottom? The four photos ended
up as this:</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I also scribbled in some background coloring to get me
started. (The fourth photo eventually ended up being in the lower right corner. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">As for the magnolia photos, I decided to do two paintings,
one on white BFK Rives and the other on black. I had six photos and mixed and
matched in creating the compositions, and again, it was figuring which photo
tracing to incorporate on which part of the paper. Below are the initial
layouts for both. Magnolia 1 and Magnolia 2 (sure wish I could come up with more
interesting names.)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I used one of the photos for both paintings to make sure I
had an odd number of blossoms for a better composition. All three of these
photos show the initial pastel work. Once the initial drawings were done, I
taped the Rose of Sharon to one easel and the two magnolias to another easel
side by side. I figured I’d do these paintings at the same time as the colors
will be the same. Adding some color, even in the beginning, helps me see where
I’m heading.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivrJPYIRVvz7VGbT8rVC57qWN7nkzFaIxMeTHeO1840kz1z7lYQwOdWCR44pJZVCMDM3se5-WDj_bZNUjQnLdtUwmCRIH9w-qFIbZbcC5lh1J_ZlJOBcC9QLtwDQ4TceEGLRkhj9bmigJBDxu5BIBq4zomNBUqJ_7umudxGix_aq2mwfSQnp1tFppQRVmo/s2246/23-8758crs.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1942" data-original-width="2246" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivrJPYIRVvz7VGbT8rVC57qWN7nkzFaIxMeTHeO1840kz1z7lYQwOdWCR44pJZVCMDM3se5-WDj_bZNUjQnLdtUwmCRIH9w-qFIbZbcC5lh1J_ZlJOBcC9QLtwDQ4TceEGLRkhj9bmigJBDxu5BIBq4zomNBUqJ_7umudxGix_aq2mwfSQnp1tFppQRVmo/w206-h179/23-8758crs.JPG" width="206" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFT8ohw-8LP0EZdZkQa6p5cJZCQFigM-WG3UBGUfjNYHoeaoJKinENo5C9mIk8r5uDSIEn3IHuDQgc2QmzqR_hHYeKgtLx6OwFrWDZA8D2u46z6Ef201EUegOP56gILKd-4IMBHKEMmNzukvJRlIL4VddbJqZecqKnuvczSYHNqFUuYWlgV1wOtGswnVxf/s2446/23-8880crs.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1460" data-original-width="2446" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFT8ohw-8LP0EZdZkQa6p5cJZCQFigM-WG3UBGUfjNYHoeaoJKinENo5C9mIk8r5uDSIEn3IHuDQgc2QmzqR_hHYeKgtLx6OwFrWDZA8D2u46z6Ef201EUegOP56gILKd-4IMBHKEMmNzukvJRlIL4VddbJqZecqKnuvczSYHNqFUuYWlgV1wOtGswnVxf/w280-h167/23-8880crs.JPG" width="280" /></a><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">There were challenges galore. The biggest issue for me is I
prefer sharp lines in my paintings. It’s difficult to get sharpness using soft
pastels, even with pastel pencils. Once a soft layer is put down, it’s hard to
get a sharp line.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I also found the tracing made the petals a little smaller
than I wanted, so I redrew them bigger. Yes, I tend to move lines and change
things.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I often tend to be a bit muted in colors. I, personally,
like the moodiness, but… So with these paintings, I decided to go at them using
brighter colors. After over a month of working on these, I’m calling the Rose
of Sharon done. The two magnolias are getting close to being done. I’m still
contemplating.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxpy3aCQ4x_kSqj4co4nYD5HNc4vCYQsbmJPu5hLjUaW0FQ3f__PU7_aevKGNLyh9DVOSyKLxiZ5-Q7u14dNo-8wWR8n_vXuE9Ibjtbz_a_7IjlnIhXRD5jDltWOkYUnMvjvYDfXHSfZynDUwi707zie3FGkgbqt8GFTqBuhv303uUvyHEnPsVIlrIPiro/s1775/23-8987crs.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1775" data-original-width="1615" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxpy3aCQ4x_kSqj4co4nYD5HNc4vCYQsbmJPu5hLjUaW0FQ3f__PU7_aevKGNLyh9DVOSyKLxiZ5-Q7u14dNo-8wWR8n_vXuE9Ibjtbz_a_7IjlnIhXRD5jDltWOkYUnMvjvYDfXHSfZynDUwi707zie3FGkgbqt8GFTqBuhv303uUvyHEnPsVIlrIPiro/w181-h199/23-8987crs.JPG" width="181" /></a></div></blockquote><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxf0DmlfK0UnjtDnWGCDEHDwd5AM-kE7F37sUN6f-bJ4WD28JXbC3TF_EdnFy6npSosoWKnxfXpRytuPwdtrDIsuaTYeOZl_oJKABKKpntFI-TZoc2ncSKlTwPAcpOXN9J9Kd-PEvQEkhLR_IFFgrHvF5hVB3DMLzTmLpub8GGrUOEMNJtFJlFsfGi_oh9/s2143/23-9024crs.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1856" data-original-width="2143" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxf0DmlfK0UnjtDnWGCDEHDwd5AM-kE7F37sUN6f-bJ4WD28JXbC3TF_EdnFy6npSosoWKnxfXpRytuPwdtrDIsuaTYeOZl_oJKABKKpntFI-TZoc2ncSKlTwPAcpOXN9J9Kd-PEvQEkhLR_IFFgrHvF5hVB3DMLzTmLpub8GGrUOEMNJtFJlFsfGi_oh9/w197-h171/23-9024crs.JPG" width="197" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz4ZTKUtAJH5rLoIERH8fBTlyWh0q0eNK7-WG29CmGcOpEtJBarhznO5HCx2DvWukVi2zHmLG7k2tXtPMIYMwSmSIKKJQg5Ss9p_AfPg9jVnMuAtAWmR0dK6j0PmsoAZoRPcz_mIXZy0E9BrvEb35u1S8tG-28xEXyHXCYLPC_Q7OeHEMzsnCtKf5Qpbr6/s2478/23-9026crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" data-original-height="1473" data-original-width="2478" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz4ZTKUtAJH5rLoIERH8fBTlyWh0q0eNK7-WG29CmGcOpEtJBarhznO5HCx2DvWukVi2zHmLG7k2tXtPMIYMwSmSIKKJQg5Ss9p_AfPg9jVnMuAtAWmR0dK6j0PmsoAZoRPcz_mIXZy0E9BrvEb35u1S8tG-28xEXyHXCYLPC_Q7OeHEMzsnCtKf5Qpbr6/s320/23-9026crs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-27831052368137930882023-09-30T04:38:00.000-07:002023-09-30T04:38:04.275-07:00Questioning Leadership<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqnhuf7meVGGfQLr4ZStekxUI2eiEu0IsfInwm1k77Bl52N6W7nhSO7H1GDH2iARkLXjxdA1pxxrA_t-KKLjy8RNDCg2CYOUurpuEJdo-fdSxfPOkFBcFm_rv79XjSt9aIdI0jYZbieq1Wy1a-jfgckIyS1O5eJhx9g_NhJON7qTO3ZXTPSbwlLHl2chfo/s2573/23-8366crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1685" data-original-width="2573" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqnhuf7meVGGfQLr4ZStekxUI2eiEu0IsfInwm1k77Bl52N6W7nhSO7H1GDH2iARkLXjxdA1pxxrA_t-KKLjy8RNDCg2CYOUurpuEJdo-fdSxfPOkFBcFm_rv79XjSt9aIdI0jYZbieq1Wy1a-jfgckIyS1O5eJhx9g_NhJON7qTO3ZXTPSbwlLHl2chfo/s320/23-8366crs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The more I read about WWII and watch other historical shows,
the more I’m understanding that no matter what you call it – socialism,
communism, fascism, Nazism, bolshevism, etc. – it’s all very similar. (These
days I’m not even sure where democracy falls with that. Today’s democracy isn’t
what I always thought it was.) These leaders all proclaim their intent of
providing and caring for THEIR countries, but their true intent is the same.
The ONLY people who prosper are the powerful leaders, the wealthy elite and
their cronies. (And in this country, that includes big business/pharma.) <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p>All these programs and such sound good on paper. Charismatic
leaders and speakers make pretty promises to convince the public they care
about their people. It’s easy to listen to all those ideals and if the speaker
is good, the general public is sucked into believing their schemes. (Almost
like being hypnotized. We want good. We want to believe it’s possible. We want
to believe our leaders care about us. So, when they promise us the moon, we
believe.)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">But, if you look back through the history of civilizations,
the repetition can be seen. Times, circumstances, technologies, and countries
may change, but the similarity in the leadership is interesting. What does that
say about anyone in power and the human race?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Look at what many leaders have done to THEIR people before
they move on to taking over people in other countries.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">People need to start looking at the real intent behind the
good-sounding promises. What can these politicians really accomplish with all
their promises? What will they be ALLOWED to accomplish? The only
accomplishment they really seem to care about is in how many votes they can
get. How many promises actually come to fruition once they get elected?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Maybe one of the things when listening to candidates is to
consider if what they promise can really happen.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I heard about a joke a few weeks ago. Basically, it was
about sports people wearing logos of the businesses that support them and how
Biden should wear such a coat. I think ALL politicians should wear jackets or
lab-type coats with patches showing all the corporations who pay for their
campaigns – which will also show the public where the votes of the candidates
will go.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">These days, I truly believe politicians only care about
their constituents until they get elected. It doesn’t matter to them if they’re
telling the truth or not. They’re only saying what they think will get votes.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Once in office, it’s all about power and playing in the big
leagues. What can they do to become wealthier, support their corporate
sponsors, et al. How to play the political game. Their constituents and general
public get left by the wayside.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-11629975855360068572023-09-03T09:16:00.004-07:002023-09-03T09:16:36.656-07:00Reading art articles and how-to books<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx0Zoa0vPqLMG-QAWfVXDCj7nF6o9TrhRhjp86L8uH9_U7OStS_mqLJ2EWRaP3qAKHtOVbEtNi7GAPOxVyVGOT1QsGIpJTso_K_zmH3T21OG7Uw3YjrFX6WygDhybM9GYSzouCF9olsZ2R6EK6AK1J4vO64WdT3dBDnujJ1pcBggesk4GMj8xSblpcfrhY/s2548/23-4644crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1419" data-original-width="2548" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx0Zoa0vPqLMG-QAWfVXDCj7nF6o9TrhRhjp86L8uH9_U7OStS_mqLJ2EWRaP3qAKHtOVbEtNi7GAPOxVyVGOT1QsGIpJTso_K_zmH3T21OG7Uw3YjrFX6WygDhybM9GYSzouCF9olsZ2R6EK6AK1J4vO64WdT3dBDnujJ1pcBggesk4GMj8xSblpcfrhY/s320/23-4644crs.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Falling on a Calm River," 11 x 19 pastel <br />Original reference photo courtesy Tara Holdner</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The creative writing muses were at war with one another in
my head this morning. Multiple topics were vying for attention. It was driving
me crazy. Which topic to I write about first? All seemed to be shouting for
attention.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Unfortunately, with so many interruptions, I’m just now
getting to it four hours later, although some of the thoughts started last
night. So, let me get my thoughts together and stir those muses again.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The night before, I had finished the Pastel Journal with
reading Lisa Regopoulos’ article. I am impressed and have actually met her a couple
times in person. Last night, I read more in Elizabeth Mowry’s book, “Landscape
Painting in Pastel.” Her paintings don’t all speak to me because they tend to
be too, what I call blurry, (which the proper term is loose.) But I know a lot
of artists paint in that style. For me, I don’t get it. I prefer more realistic
lines. Still, I admire and respect both these ladies.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">There are many interesting tips and suggestions which might
help me. However, I found myself getting a little confused with some of the
explanations on how the artists work. Reading doesn’t give all the nuances of
what a class would give. And, of course, they’re always promoting taking
classes. But I don’t want to take classes. I don’t want to leave the house, nor will I
participate in an online class. (Past group classes haven’t always worked for
me because I am adamant about not doing what everyone else does.)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I’ll also admit, sometimes when reading, I’m just in a hurry
to get through the text. Part of it is because I am adamant about not doing exactly
what other artists are doing. I have taken notes occasionally, but then I never
review them. So, I am wondering… what can I do to remember suggestions that
interest me?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">If I don’t stop reading to take notes, often what I read
slips away. Hmmm, maybe I need to read articles many times – like when learning
in school and having to study. Maybe multiple readings of the sections that
call to me will make them sink in. Rereading could help me fully comprehend
what’s being said.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Perhaps I could better copy the suggestions I like to make
easily readable printed pages which I can review often. With that, I could also
look up terms I don’t fully understand. (Not going to an art school, I am missing
some of the basics. Yeah, I’ve picked up techniques and such along the way, but
the lack of basics sometimes haunts me.)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">For instance, after all this time, I’m still somewhat
confused on values… shades of light and dark. A lot of emphasis is placed on
values. I feel I’m missing something in my understanding of this topic.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Then, too, here is another time-consuming aspect to take me
away from actual painting and writing. But I feel I lose so many good points by
not paying better attention to other artists. Then, too, wouldn’t some of those
tips help me be a better painter? Not to be like them, but just to strengthen
my own talent and style.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-81714115181471960432023-09-03T07:54:00.003-07:002023-09-03T07:54:36.281-07:00Being Overcome with Worry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjULo_ElbCwL8Bb_1OOLrCJ6292LW8CgX3NU27pILyeoLTnWxd5RYrUlw1ngNhaHTWiftedATBi8UnnDduQFzmTzvTVB1LSWBGbNHfJk_-NTsb2RR1bdSPtRG2pdaqbYjqFqRI67Gk5V2oVgRg4g1I1v7AeD9tq4WWN_j9jauD4QznOy46SXGs-FivU9aVg/s2166/23-7648crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1615" data-original-width="2166" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjULo_ElbCwL8Bb_1OOLrCJ6292LW8CgX3NU27pILyeoLTnWxd5RYrUlw1ngNhaHTWiftedATBi8UnnDduQFzmTzvTVB1LSWBGbNHfJk_-NTsb2RR1bdSPtRG2pdaqbYjqFqRI67Gk5V2oVgRg4g1I1v7AeD9tq4WWN_j9jauD4QznOy46SXGs-FivU9aVg/s320/23-7648crs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">Bright sunlight speckles foliage up the hill across the dark
brook; pale yellow on the thick covering of dark green leaves. The foliage
currently hides homes on the next road over.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Fallen branches along the brook reach long, bony fingers
along the shoreline and onto rocks. Two different fingered branches look to be clasping
a big rock as if trying to hold it out of the water. A big piece of log is
wedged in the crevice of a massive boulder in the middle of the brook. Every
once in a while, a shimmer in the water catches my eye as a bit of sunlight
slips through the trees.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I’ve been struggling the past couple of years. I can blame
some on the “plandemic” and the constant barrage of bad news, but other life
issues have seemed to escalate lately, too. Rising costs, home maintenance, an
old body wearing out, etc., seem to compound issues into emotional massive
crash and burns.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The Sept. 2 “Sunday Coffee” email from Eric Rhoads on “Worry
About Worry” was very meaningful. What? Does he know who I am and what I’ve
been emotionally going through? No, it’s not just about me. Many people
experience the same things; maybe not exactly the same scenarios, but the similarities
show we are not so all alone.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I enjoy Rhoads’ insight and his topics often hit home. I
love how he writes – he always starts with wonderful descriptions of the beauty
around him. Then he continues into the main body of the current subject. His
comments are always on point and helpful. Plus, he often includes personal
story to further show how he also experiences some of these issues and how he
overcomes them.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Rhoads said, “… <span style="background: white;">experts say depression is often driven by the
perfection that others appear to be living.</span>”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white;">That’s what I think, even though I’ve never said it so
clearly. And this is one of the reasons I insist on writing about real life,
personal life… not telling a fairy tale or only talking about all the wonderful
things that happen. I truly believe it’s important to talk about all aspects of
life. We shouldn’t have to hide who we are and are experiencing for fear of
making someone else uncomfortable.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white;">That said, care does need to be taken with who we admit
things to. We can’t admit some topics to just anybody in conversation, but writing
speaks to some allowing others to ignore it if it doesn’t apply to them.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white;">Rhoads also said, “If we allow worry and fear to consume us,
we make life harder.</span>”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white;">This is something I’m working on as I’ve fallen into that
hole. This is also a reason why I can’t listen to mainstream media news. It’s
all depressing and leads me to believe there is no help for the country. Lately,
it seems the news only has the negative. If I’m not careful, I succumb to only
seeing the world as a negative place and there being no hope for mankind.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white;">Then I read about people taking road trips and seeing beautiful
places around the country. See, it isn’t all bad news. There are wonderful
things out there. It’s sad that I’ve chosen not to go on any more adventures.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white;">It’s almost kind of funny. After daring to go on a solo
driving trip in 2013, doing another in 2015, then one to a wedding in Wichita
in 2016, I thought I would continue doing a lot of travel and writing travel
books. It was so wonderful and fun seeing parts of the country and sites I’d
never visited before.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white;">What happened? Why did I stop going places?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white;">It started because of fear. As much as I loved driving, there
were moments of intense fear. Traveling alone doesn’t give you anyone to rely
on. I’m uncomfortable in heavy traffic and city areas are not comfortable.
Sometimes I wasn’t sure what lane I was supposed to be in.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white;">However, the beauty and joy of the sights seen were sometimes
breathtaking. Acres of rolling farmlands, incredible heights of mountain ranges
with jaw-dropping scenery, crossing rivers over spectacular bridges, and finding
spur-of-the-moment places to visit added to the adventure made the journeys
unforgettable.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white;">Unfortunately, I gave in to the fear, the stories of
violence, road rage, and more. There are the expenses, too, which have risen
out of control. Even if I wanted to visit other states, these days, besides being
afraid, I don’t feel I can afford to travel anymore. Oh, well. Guess I’ll just
concentrate on my art. It works for me.</span></p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-82060112083232452402023-08-31T13:25:00.005-07:002023-08-31T13:25:36.558-07:00Choosing Photos for the Next Paintings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuFqmlc8_QQgyNf7ILiFohFO73x7CbobPE0DYNFnZneN-8gUjLeLPXOqQpbJfEffJECMI3-R9kfubfphO4kAS-C5KwfQJFRFj7-MdZpc2OqCKX9SIQbfKsWsdD6Byqg0a-Hi4EtJrJ2D6Cap5VhGPf3-S5PSh5NsGlpx6vtiXmRE1Tzzt89XkZqlqWe6Si/s2110/23-7808crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1596" data-original-width="2110" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuFqmlc8_QQgyNf7ILiFohFO73x7CbobPE0DYNFnZneN-8gUjLeLPXOqQpbJfEffJECMI3-R9kfubfphO4kAS-C5KwfQJFRFj7-MdZpc2OqCKX9SIQbfKsWsdD6Byqg0a-Hi4EtJrJ2D6Cap5VhGPf3-S5PSh5NsGlpx6vtiXmRE1Tzzt89XkZqlqWe6Si/s320/23-7808crs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">My mind runs rampant – in between moments of, “Duh, I don’t
know what I want to do,” the creative fires are screaming for me to do
something. I want another landscape, but I’ve also been considering doing
another floral.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU9ESNWq3Up0Gy9_mk1QqA7r8B_cAdD-ofTC7CNVl-Si0VFVPgbbDCLj1nHgTzRJSTh73x-rhD55aEwyI6gRm0wwMK40NiSV6Rr7x9Z0WT3ekAd9U2DoQgUKvAeqAyfRROogw9yL5lmN5QbQffnwDVnQi14qwpzXrRFo05TEjdHy-UeU3QPOrAWbwcts0P/s2045/23-7813crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1468" data-original-width="2045" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU9ESNWq3Up0Gy9_mk1QqA7r8B_cAdD-ofTC7CNVl-Si0VFVPgbbDCLj1nHgTzRJSTh73x-rhD55aEwyI6gRm0wwMK40NiSV6Rr7x9Z0WT3ekAd9U2DoQgUKvAeqAyfRROogw9yL5lmN5QbQffnwDVnQi14qwpzXrRFo05TEjdHy-UeU3QPOrAWbwcts0P/s320/23-7813crs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p></blockquote>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I spent an hour looking through photos. Nothing is perfect,
and with florals, I need to use the projector to get proper shapes and dimensions.
I am not good at free handing the blossoms and getting all the intricacies.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I also have the photo of Tuli and the one of Leo which I’d
printed on plain paper a couple weeks ago. Today, I printed six florals on
photo paper. They’re not perfect photos, but hopefully I’ll be able to transfer
them to pastel paper. I may try to combine the two magnolia photos to have two
blossoms. I might do so with two of the rose of Sharon photos, too.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-2VJ6-Vjsmtq1m6B29Au9kCEsqDi83OqIcH1XpaU4kVI82TuWaQ0S88_wqXFS2IIIcsb9NBSvmX_qqpBDfJ_msy9pU1LtWc8c6tVFinMkpi6PFooUt9tRHaRK0MRjJp55dvlfOSIH1AbmkXp5PJQNiPGn2xi7A2z2oSMOOLpsIvL11_ErVn08nkobsWDh/s1885/17-1581crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1446" data-original-width="1885" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-2VJ6-Vjsmtq1m6B29Au9kCEsqDi83OqIcH1XpaU4kVI82TuWaQ0S88_wqXFS2IIIcsb9NBSvmX_qqpBDfJ_msy9pU1LtWc8c6tVFinMkpi6PFooUt9tRHaRK0MRjJp55dvlfOSIH1AbmkXp5PJQNiPGn2xi7A2z2oSMOOLpsIvL11_ErVn08nkobsWDh/w284-h217/17-1581crs.JPG" width="284" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I’ll have to experiment and play around with creating interesting
compositions. This is what I enjoy about painting -- developing vibrant, real scenes
using the photos for reference, not to exactly duplicate the prints.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">As for the proposed Tuli painting, this is hard because I
feel guilty for not doing better when trying to paint Pele. I feel I didn’t do
her justice.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXKC4h_RvooVvdW2UT2rGh1l2wVMd8ZKWZnnrW7ANIPD1ul9pDvYCnpRJ0GziieuDRFv0n0y8r8eloD3l7Cm2je9-AMJVJwADfuxkLvBwBVjEZWE-QtJH6O_6QCygPAzaaLLylaM_XP8FYKVIj2mAYYvGRK7xZPJEQDzqmoANEk61yE2vJGDosWohVdo-G/s3000/22-2798rs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXKC4h_RvooVvdW2UT2rGh1l2wVMd8ZKWZnnrW7ANIPD1ul9pDvYCnpRJ0GziieuDRFv0n0y8r8eloD3l7Cm2je9-AMJVJwADfuxkLvBwBVjEZWE-QtJH6O_6QCygPAzaaLLylaM_XP8FYKVIj2mAYYvGRK7xZPJEQDzqmoANEk61yE2vJGDosWohVdo-G/w284-h189/22-2798rs.JPG" width="284" /></a></div>I’ve talked before about the kinds of paper. For years, I
used BFK Rives paper because I like the smoothness. However, I’ve been trying textured
papers the last few paintings. I like the colored backgrounds, but I don’t like
the texture. Texture is OK when using darker colors, but I cannot get bright
color clarity with lighter shades like whites, yellows, and oranges… the dark
of the paper makes a gray, bumpy underlayer to the light colors.<p></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-7208413378799396252023-08-26T04:59:00.000-07:002023-08-26T04:59:01.606-07:00Bad Days vs Good Days<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF2pQ5ml3O6lreMMn31ckJHqFaM2dNGQrWS6cSlcJK0yzf4qiWGzp5H7-lfwXLOltSXXpLRPFUiYOBUIfXwzxVfh_ILQuIEjycUe_vXKJkc55PvYNYXWBylNPWh5bx0PP-aKdIZsJuf2OZc0zo9aQRFlyVcxWXiNLQQNZgJvV11JUge28oTJxl43bcOMLn/s3000/23-5126rs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF2pQ5ml3O6lreMMn31ckJHqFaM2dNGQrWS6cSlcJK0yzf4qiWGzp5H7-lfwXLOltSXXpLRPFUiYOBUIfXwzxVfh_ILQuIEjycUe_vXKJkc55PvYNYXWBylNPWh5bx0PP-aKdIZsJuf2OZc0zo9aQRFlyVcxWXiNLQQNZgJvV11JUge28oTJxl43bcOMLn/s320/23-5126rs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">This morning’s thinking:</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">These past few years many things have gone horribly wrong. There
have been many, many struggles, days of feeling sad and lots of tears. Do the
bad days outweigh the good?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Hmm… maybe it’s because when bad happens, it’s hugely,
horribly upsetting and seems to follow me for days and weeks like dark clouds
that won’t go away. And because it sticks, it seems to outweigh any good days.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Then when I think about good days – they’re not excitable,
jump and down, extremely happy times. Because that’s not me. There are some
truly joyful moments, but most days are just simple, good, OK days. Nothing to
be truly excited about.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">So, does it just seem like too many things go wrong because
all the good days aren’t phenomenally good -- meaning the good days don’t stand
out? Is it just that most good days are just simple, quiet, everyday days?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It’s kind of like bad times are a loud punch in the gut
whereas most good days are quiet, do my work (whatever I happen to be working
on at the time) days. I’m not into adrenaline rushes. I’m not one who needs
over-the-top excitement, nor do I want that. I like the simple, quiet.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Simple things give me joy – like at this moment as I look
out over the still dark brook. My attention is grabbed by a little hint of
sunlight sparkling on one limb of a tree, wet from last night’s rain. It lasts
only a minute, but as the sun rises higher, more sparkles shimmer on leaves
showing of other trees up the hill.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-39941725712191201422023-08-20T07:32:00.003-07:002023-08-20T07:32:42.376-07:00I’ve Made my Life Too Complicated<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG7sC6j-HGhl0sl_TGj8fucx1VruVrlVpf-bRJJ61hhBVJY-FDLMZfKgmurYcsfQg7F8nT2xQHyojJSGVWpX7pwz2kOJSovWGXaOwpRw2DhDIGzs8kL5FbzdLf3orOnqsrn9grMlzwhKlL_9iNPPFtu8-RWq5T4fu1YnQafHCG7O7uPZD-LEN_7GK4k9DH/s2573/23-7587crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1714" data-original-width="2573" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG7sC6j-HGhl0sl_TGj8fucx1VruVrlVpf-bRJJ61hhBVJY-FDLMZfKgmurYcsfQg7F8nT2xQHyojJSGVWpX7pwz2kOJSovWGXaOwpRw2DhDIGzs8kL5FbzdLf3orOnqsrn9grMlzwhKlL_9iNPPFtu8-RWq5T4fu1YnQafHCG7O7uPZD-LEN_7GK4k9DH/s320/23-7587crs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">My life is complicated. Even with not having a full-time job
anymore (I’m kinda semi-retired but still feel I’m working most of the day), my
to-do lists grow longer. Yes, I get to cross off items almost daily, but more
ideas of things to do and topics to write about multiply before I accomplish older
projects.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I love to write and do pastel paintings, but my brain is on
overload most the time. Do I work on this or that? I’ll start writing about one
topic, then other subjects will jump in. I’ll go in the studio to paint and get
distracted by cleaning up or wanting to start another painting scene. I just
can’t make up my mind and the see-sawing, wishy-washiness causes anxiety.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Flower gardening has fallen by the wayside this summer. The
plan to re-paint the deck, front porch and steps have been put on hold until
next year because of all the inclement weather. Plus, I can’t deal with the
biters out there.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I now have so many lists, my life is getting even more
discombobulated. My mind spins and shuts down. Decision making causes even more
stress.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">This all said, I find life very interesting. Yes, I get
discouraged and even depressed sometimes, but for the most part, there’s
excitement in delving into topics, sharing thoughts and feelings, and creating
colorful paintings. There are many scenes I want to paint and some I’d like to
paint again.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Then, too, all the overthinking makes it hard to focus on
one task at a time… and it’s exhausting. I know, it doesn’t make sense, but I
swear thinking too much can be more tiring than physical labor – then again, that’s
another topic as to the issues physical labor causes now. (See how my thoughts
pile on.)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I am easily distracted… and if I’m not distracting myself,
my Tuli-kitty often wants attention when I’m in the middle of some intense
work. Then there are the interruptions with phone calls – scams, marketing,
begging, surveys, et.al.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I don’t mind working, and I don’t mind working hard. But I
don’t want to feel like I’m working all the time. Yet, it seems the more I try
to simplify my life, the more complicated I’ve actually made it.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Maybe I’ve just reached a point in my life where I just can’t
do it all by myself any more… but I have no choice. If I want these things
done, I’m the only one who can do them. Most of these things are on me, but
now, even the things I could hire out to have done, I can’t afford to do so anymore.
Such as it is.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-35223541497004450922023-08-13T08:37:00.001-07:002023-08-13T08:37:15.273-07:00Responses to art questions and comments<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifMjsrOssLYS6Ywq6Q6THh_G92AjIl_bFBRadYuNUSpBKm_NBJNbm6_TbizZ3TsMw-pAstj8pmK0JHwsXSEZIZlOFx-NvMmsfvFYlN2tWZByOpJbbeUDKmQomVHgKZxz6YbNbGsED8EvBKfo05Uq1EbvLGrx-kzoKtryNotza5fNPixYr26ykyJ5w2b3hb/s1980/23-7456crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1464" data-original-width="1980" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifMjsrOssLYS6Ywq6Q6THh_G92AjIl_bFBRadYuNUSpBKm_NBJNbm6_TbizZ3TsMw-pAstj8pmK0JHwsXSEZIZlOFx-NvMmsfvFYlN2tWZByOpJbbeUDKmQomVHgKZxz6YbNbGsED8EvBKfo05Uq1EbvLGrx-kzoKtryNotza5fNPixYr26ykyJ5w2b3hb/s320/23-7456crs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Two topics from Jason Horejs,
of Xanadu Gallery, in his “RedDotBlog, particularly caught my attention. It stirred
my own responses.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Is Creating Art Hard Work?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Creating art, for me, is hard
work. Sometimes the creative muses are warring with one another as to who’s
going to get my attention. I am easily distracted and, these days, if my
concentration is interrupted, I lose the desire for other works in progress.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Unfortunately, but really not
unfortunate, I have inspirations in many directions. (Unfortunate because I
always feel like that bumblebee flitting from one flower to the next. I jump
from project to project often before I finish the current one.) On the other
hand, it’s exciting to have so many interests.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I am pulled into four main
creative endeavors: writing, poetry, photography, and pastel painting. (This is
the short list in which my life has evolved around.) I can be busy working on
one project when something interrupts and I’m off on another gambit. It can take
me a long time to get back to my previous work. Then there are times if I let a
piece go too long without attention, I can’t get back into it all. So many new
things claiming my attention.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“The Discipline It Takes to
Create Art.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Can I say I fail at
discipline? Maybe not. I am disciplined in some aspect, especially my editing
for the newspaper. However, with my four main creative passions, it’s sometimes
hard to choose one over another. Especially when the muses are all pulling me
in different directions.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">There’s a part of me that
loves this. There’s something exciting about being compelled to create. It’s
thrilling when a muse grabs me. There are even multiple avenues with each
creative project. I can be writing on one topic, when something else gets my
attention. Sometimes when I let the distraction have its way with me, I’ll lose
the creative desire on the previous working.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then there are those times
when regular life gets in the way of creativity. Life has been getting to me
the last couple years and sometimes I can’t get out of my own way. During those
times, discipline to work flies out the window.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then, too, living alone means
all other life aspects is up to me to take care of, so I can’t devote the time
I’d like to art.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Maybe it all should be:
Creating is hard work because it takes discipline and there are many
distractions.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span> </p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-22522802541270747612023-08-13T05:02:00.002-07:002023-08-13T05:02:30.746-07:00Finally Realizing and Accepting Who I Am<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYEFGMtLW8eDedGDqSrTXZrbhyAOfw9LVyb2rwFWT_BF93iA88Kyu1Rj7lGPgaSdn5QV7W3qy8qAdOg3gVCzUpxM2NkmniANkaZaJjz3fIbH9nPNBTJd3wSHoeDCY2VPObk--QrVsa6OpcQJ9pOvaQOKiyNqZBvRf7QXUrBC4rNVOX_MAxx7IU5mmCUtxC/s1876/23-7485crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1270" data-original-width="1876" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYEFGMtLW8eDedGDqSrTXZrbhyAOfw9LVyb2rwFWT_BF93iA88Kyu1Rj7lGPgaSdn5QV7W3qy8qAdOg3gVCzUpxM2NkmniANkaZaJjz3fIbH9nPNBTJd3wSHoeDCY2VPObk--QrVsa6OpcQJ9pOvaQOKiyNqZBvRf7QXUrBC4rNVOX_MAxx7IU5mmCUtxC/s320/23-7485crs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">While getting ready this morning, I realized I’ve changed
with every house I’ve ever lived in. It’s weird. Things I loved or was into shifted
with every house, even with this place where I live today.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I think about all the things I was into during my life: writing,
poetry, massage therapy, studying different beliefs, playing Native American
flute, to name a few. When I lived in the family home in Kensington, I started
getting into writing and poetry. I went to massage school. I joined a woman’s
support group and led brown-bag lunches and Artist’s Way classes. I got into
Tai Chi and eventually became certified to teach.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">When we moved to Hampton, I wrote a lot of poetry and left a
job I’d worked at for almost 30 years. During the Hampton years and after I
moved to Barrington, there were Native American drumming circles, meditation
and other types of spiritual searches such as investigating Wiccan, Buddhism,
and other. I also got into playing Native American flute.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In Bradford, I continued doing some massage, taught tai chi,
and got more into gardening. I continued to write. But I started recognizing
things I enjoyed in the past no longer held my interest. Here, I started
working as freelance writer then editor of the InterTown Record. I also got
into charcoal landscape drawing and became more of a gardener.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Then, when my mum passed, my entire world fell apart. A part
of me was ripped away. She’d been my rock, and I became a severed rope end
flopping haphazardly in the wind with no connection. In downsizing to move to Hillsborough,
a lot of things got thrown away – part of me got thrown away shattering my
heart even farther… but it needed to be done.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Hillsborough was about pulling myself together and trying to
figure out who I was now. Past passions no longer held me. I gave up massage, tai
chi, and flute playing. Charcoal drawing turned into pastel painting (which I
love). After a couple of trips, I stopped traveling, then stopped going places
at all except to do errands or an interview for the paper or to bring paintings
to a show (although the latter is now waning due to expenses.)</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Why and/or how has this happened? Have others experienced similar?
It’s almost like I become another person with each house/town. Or has it just
been leading me to accepting the person I am and have always been on the inside?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">So, this morning, while brushing my hair and seeing the
flutes in their stand on a cabinet, I was filled with guilt. I haven’t picked
one up in over a year or more. And those flutes were not cheap to purchase, and
I have many. What does this mean?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Perhaps each house experience was kind of a rite of passage.
It seems I’ve always been experimenting to find out what works best for me. (I’m
still trying to put these thoughts together, i.e., trying to make sense of it
all.) It’s like each situation has helped me further recognize who I am and
have always been even when I didn’t realize it.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It’s all about learning to accept who I am and be OK with
who I am. Yes, there is always room to grow and learn. I have become stronger
in my beliefs. I recognize who I am and there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I
stand strong in stating, “I am not a sheep. I AM the odd duck.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-25867142847275044302023-08-06T07:50:00.005-07:002023-08-06T07:50:50.803-07:00Some Thoughts on History<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNOsh6fUjnUcHnHp77glKEaOvB1bc33fVZGn-2DzXrOMMzrOl-bbDvDSos--uKs04_xczMMwF_t1e9XMLeThbg06wjnR9ySpNQWO4yEl5CcgrOV6UYFhRd8bAJMqvqIpf2nGABbof3bzkS47rZodj_gnbbYnDNQ5U_opZT9EUHtCFEBpIGMmFza1a-xddD/s3000/23-7286rs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNOsh6fUjnUcHnHp77glKEaOvB1bc33fVZGn-2DzXrOMMzrOl-bbDvDSos--uKs04_xczMMwF_t1e9XMLeThbg06wjnR9ySpNQWO4yEl5CcgrOV6UYFhRd8bAJMqvqIpf2nGABbof3bzkS47rZodj_gnbbYnDNQ5U_opZT9EUHtCFEBpIGMmFza1a-xddD/s320/23-7286rs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">The past few years, I’ve been watching a lot of history
shows and reading history books. It’s repetitive, in a way. Times and
technology change, but, in many aspects, human beings don’t. There are always those
who want to control the masses (to put it simply) and they’ll say and promise
anything to get people to follow.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The latest shows I’ve watched parts of are from the series “What
Really Happened: America’s Wild West…” It’s an eye-opener, and yet, it’s also a
sign of what I’ve been coming to believe and understand for some time.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">All our lives we’ve had our history drilled into us – as “they”
wanted the U.S. history portrayed – and now, we are learning and hearing more
from other sides and stories. How does that old saying go? Something about the
conquerors getting to write the history which always portrays them as being in
the right.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">There is more than one side.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And, all our lives, we’ve been taught that the U.S. is the
best country in the world, that our government is the best, and our leaders
want the best for American citizens… And I so want to continue believing that,
but I don’t anymore.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">To see other sides, to start having other truths come out, I
have come to the conclusion we’ve been manipulated our entire lives. I’m
beginning to think our leaders aren’t much better than leaders in other
countries. Men are men. Humans are human with all their frailties.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Oh, I believe many leaders often start out trying to do good
for the people they represent, but when the power of control gets hold of them,
it all changes. It becomes not about the people in general but about protecting
those in power and getting richer from it.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Manifest Destiny – leaders believing they have the God-given
right to do whatever they want because they believe they are in the right. They
believe their ways are what’s best… and they don’t care who they destroy to get
their wants fulfilled.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">How many cults and cultures have there been? Someone always thinks
they’ve been given some divine right and it always proves to be false. Oh, some
benefit, but in the end, most do not.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Leaders create rules for the people they themselves don’t
have to follow.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">If you’re not pushing your agenda and beliefs on others,
they’re pushing theirs onto you.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I don’t know what the real answers are. Yes, there are
stories and sides that need to be told. It’s hard to sort it all out.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-51093938281687349392023-07-13T09:53:00.004-07:002023-07-13T09:53:52.135-07:00Do MY Work!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzFjF6SjP7yGlswB9Mr4-vTiWmXJneAkZtT3D7_6oi8VGcog-rds_PQZw-mG9KUPqMM32AQo2lzcDhCS-ans7oBOBOIX5GP_xDZqrppChiQM6ZR-mcAy3VrlGzYAg9lezOsz6mF4ZPzVyhUB518IBOYuSLWHfR4EyKtNpDEYrF15wian1tFNJsRxrjy24A/s2337/23-6450crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1861" data-original-width="2337" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzFjF6SjP7yGlswB9Mr4-vTiWmXJneAkZtT3D7_6oi8VGcog-rds_PQZw-mG9KUPqMM32AQo2lzcDhCS-ans7oBOBOIX5GP_xDZqrppChiQM6ZR-mcAy3VrlGzYAg9lezOsz6mF4ZPzVyhUB518IBOYuSLWHfR4EyKtNpDEYrF15wian1tFNJsRxrjy24A/s320/23-6450crs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I have so many projects going on, all in various stages. I
can’t help it; I have many interests. I am easily sidetracked by other ideas
with my mind jumping from one thing to another with little getting fully
finished. Then, I seem to get stuck with trying to make decisions, so much so,
I end up giving up and doing something else. Which means more things not
complete.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Sometimes, I can’t seem to decide between A and B and the
indecisiveness cripples me further. My to-do lists grow into multiple pages,
and while I manage to complete small chores, the big ones get left by the
wayside.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">There’s so much on my mind, I can’t think straight and
forget things. I find myself getting frustrated and depressed to the point
where I’d spend half my days in tears. I’m my own stumbling block. So, what can
I do?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Last month in one of my meditations, I asked the Divine
Spirts for help and within seconds, got a clear message: “Do your work!”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And I got it. I have to do MY work! (And MY in this instance
is in caps.) Not for anyone else per se, but for me. I have to do it FOR ME and
my own wellbeing. MY work for me means finishing my books even if they’ll never
get published and doing my paintings even if they’ll never exhibit or sell.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The revelation was an awakening. Do MY work! In that moment,
I felt excited and inspired. How wonderful it will feel to finish all these
projects. What an accomplishment that would be. No, it won’t matter to anyone
else, but it will matter to me.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I must keep telling myself this. If I don’t, I start falling
into the same old, same old. Unfortunately,
some of the old issues come up. Do I go with A or B? Overthinking becomes a
huge obstacle. Still, I’m plodding along and making some headway. Who knows,
maybe if I finish the two travel books, I may feel OK to travel again. Wouldn’t
that be awesome!</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-63387954005691265222023-04-16T06:43:00.006-07:002023-04-16T06:49:01.878-07:00Am I the Person I Always Should Have Been<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.55pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizEQIKQlpSu8RKvV3cEnhCUp-2VZB7FbaTizOyGKRWZT6cNZzVw99DaazyriTireAtVl-PklX2yonho_7xgX1lDOZx6dmR5Jyb0JAokD4xQpMpczt_DRTwQjmbvq3P5wD_q2zlfbx_htHob5yq2kjNYa2mYwGd6f3uKuTA_I5XarAT-qxFxFTqKDZ9kQ/s2233/23-5233crs.JPG" style="clear: left; display: inline; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1632" data-original-width="2233" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizEQIKQlpSu8RKvV3cEnhCUp-2VZB7FbaTizOyGKRWZT6cNZzVw99DaazyriTireAtVl-PklX2yonho_7xgX1lDOZx6dmR5Jyb0JAokD4xQpMpczt_DRTwQjmbvq3P5wD_q2zlfbx_htHob5yq2kjNYa2mYwGd6f3uKuTA_I5XarAT-qxFxFTqKDZ9kQ/s320/23-5233crs.JPG" width="320" /></a>… well, partly… </p><div style="line-height: 17.55pt; text-align: justify;"> "If
you are pining for youth, I think it produces a stereotypical old man because
you only live in memory, you live in a place that doesn’t exist. I think aging
is an extraordinary process whereby you become the person that you always
should have been." – David Bowie</div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 17.55pt; text-align: justify;"> Hmmm, realizing now
and acknowledging I am the person I always should have been, is taking me on a
new journey. I never liked myself when I was young. I think back on my younger
years as a time of unhappiness. This new self-realization helps me understand
that, in some respects, I am kind of remarkable because I went against the norm.
I was not a follower. (We are not all made to be sheep.)</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> In thinking more
about this, and remembering my brother saying something about regrets… I can’t
say I regret past things because you can’t regret what you didn’t know at the
time. If I knew then what I know now, what might I have done differently?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> Working for a newspaper
-- (because I now love working for the InterTown Record) but never having read
newspapers as a kid, I had no clue. I remember when I was a freshman getting a
zero on an assignment to write a review on a newspaper article – needless to
say, my parents never got a paper, and I didn’t know how to get one on my own.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> There have been
instances in my entire life where something inside me balks at the norm or how
others dictate how or what should be done. ‘Course, when I was young, I thought
there was something wrong with me because I couldn’t be like others… Why couldn’t
I be like the other kids? <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> But there has
always been something inside me that drove me to be different. I didn’t mean to
be, it was just no matter how much I wanted to be like others, I just couldn’t.
(See, even today I have trouble explaining it, but I’m beginning to understand
it better and embrace it. I have nothing to be ashamed of!)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> In school, art was
my favorite subject, along with English. In elementary school, the teachers
would sometimes let me stay inside during recess because I was so picked on by others.
I’d draw all over the blackboard. (I don’t remember any comments – just that I’d
do it.)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> I don’t recall
really being taught how to be an artist. I remember being told to do a certain
project, but not being given any real instruction. I don’t remember studying
the masters or anything like that – except in eighth grade having to write a paper
on a famous artist (where again, I didn’t choose one of the more popular.) <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> Finding my own
way with art was one of the first instances where I remember speaking up for
something I created. It was in my sophomore art class, and I still can picture
that sculpture in my mind though I can’t remember the material we used,
something foreign to me. I’d never made any kind of sculpture and had no idea
what to do. So, I made a tall tower with windows carved into the material… (Now
I know from watching history shows, it resembled an empty, abandoned relic…
maybe why I didn’t get a good grade, ha-ha.)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> What made what I
created less artsy than what others did? I told the teacher I deserved a better
grade. I’d never spoken up to an adult like that before, but I couldn’t
understand how we could be given a grade for something we create? I can’t
remember her response, just that I returned to my seat in tears.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> But in looking
back at my life, I realize there were many, many instances where I would not follow
the crowd. Goodness, no wonder no one liked me, and because I was not like the
others, I never felt good enough. However, now I look back and can feel proud
that I stood for myself. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> I also realize my
mum was something of an oddball. She, too, had her own way of doing things. She,
and sometimes my aunt (her twin), would take regular games and recreate them
making up new rules. Croquet, Parcheesi, Yahtzee became new games, more
elaborated. Croquet became Obstacle Course Croquet using two sets of the game
and creating a rambling course around the yard, over, under, and around various
obstacles. Parcheesi also became a double game using twice the men and Yahtzee
turned into Yap using 10 dice and becoming more like poker. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> Years later, we
took Big Board (a takeoff on Monopoly) and made an entirely new board with a
parody on local business names. We wrote up our own to-do cards to go with the
game… and it could take all day or multiple days to play.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> And, although we
played to win, we were not in heavy competition. We played to have fun, not
make fun of other players or call them names or wish them ill will. Sometimes
we’d even help one another do better, and this attitude is something I’ve
carried with me my entire life.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"> So, maybe there
was something inherited that made me different. My mother certainly wasn’t like
other mothers I knew, and my aunt spent 20 years in the army, which made her
different. And what was funny, even though they/we made up new games and rules,
the rules we made still had to be followed. Interesting. </p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-59098608751495437492023-03-30T05:31:00.003-07:002023-03-30T05:31:40.179-07:00On Being Old 9: Sharing stories and responses<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZcDsd8NDgkJclZpqYKvTFxVgdRnRlx2XlTaZjTt5XmWx2LLN97m7dGzJ3NcUaQuARhLP98OCiglJgqu7apU4fbtWyBTArcsJseqwAIqJmCVRjZaFHBk03enXfMLWgKFhVXKnGI684P9SVnGb3LIL7KU94unWTFefLhZZfIHsCQgHlmP5Mo6cW-D9hcg/s909/23-4235crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="781" data-original-width="909" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZcDsd8NDgkJclZpqYKvTFxVgdRnRlx2XlTaZjTt5XmWx2LLN97m7dGzJ3NcUaQuARhLP98OCiglJgqu7apU4fbtWyBTArcsJseqwAIqJmCVRjZaFHBk03enXfMLWgKFhVXKnGI684P9SVnGb3LIL7KU94unWTFefLhZZfIHsCQgHlmP5Mo6cW-D9hcg/s320/23-4235crs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="text-align: justify;">I enjoy writing these columns and sharing some of what many
of us go through as we get older. Some of it is just about life story, being
honest about these struggles, daring to speak up about it and not feel ashamed.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Growing old shouldn’t shame us. Yeah, I know, sometimes I
can’t help it. I’m embarrassed when I can’t do something I used to. I hate
asking for help for something I feel I should be able to do. I feel bad when
I’m gimping like and old person through the grocery store – especially when I
see someone who looks older than I zipping up and down the aisles. It’s
humiliating if I’m standing in one spot (like at the checkout) and struggling
not to grimace in pain. I don’t want people to see me like that… but it’s part
of life. We should not be ashamed. We do the best we can.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It is an honor to have others appreciate my writings. I am
grateful for the nice comments I’ve received along with suggested topics.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">One reader wrote, “Gratitude gets me through the tough
spots.” She sent the following random quotes and thoughts on aging:</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“Dear old world, you are very lovely and I’m glad to be
alive in you.” – L.M. Montgomery<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“Whatever the present moment contains, accept it as if you
had chosen it. Control of one’s life is only an illusion. Only with accepting
the present can we experience relief from negative thought.” – Eckhart Tolle<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“There is no death only a change of worlds. The spirit stays
alive and wanders about the beautiful places of earth which they loved in their
life. The spirits often visit their loved ones to console, comfort or guide
them. We are but one thread withing the web of life. Whatever he/she does to
the web, he/she does to himself/herself.” – Chief Seattle<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“Let us cherish and love old age; for it is full of
pleasure, if one knows how to use it.” – Seneca <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Sometimes, someone else’s words, while not exactly telling
us what to do, offers some insight. Sometimes, their words remind us to slow
down and remember it’s all part of life’s process. We can whine about it or
just get on with life the best we can. (Sometimes, too, though, the whining can
help a little by getting those feelings out.)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">While things for me might not be exactly as you experience,
there may be enough similarities to remind us we are not alone. And, too, age
may not even be a real factor. After all, when does one start feeling old?
There are enough differences that some start feeling old at 50 while others are
still dancing in their 90s.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">What’s important to me is that by being able to openly talk,
I can sometimes figure things out for myself. Or some small return comment may
give me an “Aha!” moment. Sometimes a comment about a struggle may find someone
offering to help or giving a suggestion which helps me take that next step.
And, perhaps, a comment I make may give someone else comfort.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-60539473723489216562023-03-30T05:27:00.006-07:002023-03-30T05:27:38.714-07:00More on Sharing Life Story about Dealing with Depression<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUN1oSKPMTiTLrHYY1v-Knwu8aU6-J14PWMcRBfsm743i27Reru2PBOoyCRotQjedFyEVrfRAKRDQP4fJlkHF0rpx23hrzZRlTmN6a3NOtMocymbo7S2426HNnuLy88OS8tjPRbtI6T_eaK5H1aEBc8-pXAFpHBlu46mAGZ72a4YHEpKppmF1caAFZPA/s3000/23-5154rs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUN1oSKPMTiTLrHYY1v-Knwu8aU6-J14PWMcRBfsm743i27Reru2PBOoyCRotQjedFyEVrfRAKRDQP4fJlkHF0rpx23hrzZRlTmN6a3NOtMocymbo7S2426HNnuLy88OS8tjPRbtI6T_eaK5H1aEBc8-pXAFpHBlu46mAGZ72a4YHEpKppmF1caAFZPA/s320/23-5154rs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Once more, in writing my morning pages, I hit on something
that drives me to turn to the computer to write what I’d like to share.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I was writing about sharing my depression stories. I know,
many people don’t want to hear it. Some people can’t handle listening to these
types of issues. Some don’t want to know a friend or family member is having
problems. Some believe it’s up to the person to handle it by herself or get
professional help.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I’ve heard all the usual comments – all along the lines of “Let
it go, get over it.” “Grow a pair…” (Well, I’m not usually told that one, but I’ve
heard it said a lot.) The ones I keep telling myself are: “Put your boots on
and get to work,” and “Pull up your big girl panties and get to work!”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Whenever I hear those types of comments, it tells me the one
I’ve talked to doesn’t want to hear it. It doesn’t mean they don’t care about
me. It just means what I happen to talk about isn’t a topic in their wheelhouse.
And, I also know, one person’s sadness can easily bring another person down.
So, in reality, there are few people to be totally open with. (And with my
writing, people can choose to read… or not.)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I don’t expect anyone to solve my problems (unless someday I
could come up with a personal assistant to handle things I don’t want to,
ha-ha.) I don’t expect anyone to do anything for me (except maybe to just say, “I
hear you. I understand.”) I just need to speak and write. That’s my way of
getting frustration out of me.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">What I realized today, is that by my speaking of my anguish,
it’s almost like I’m tossing the issues out of me. I’m cleaning my inner well,
so to speak. It’s not to put burden on anyone. It’s getting it out of me!</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Yes, I talk to Great Spirit, God, Divine Presence, Mum,
whatever good spirit might listen, which is good, but there’s something about
telling another human being that takes it to another level. Maybe it’s because,
as humans, we all go through crap. Some handle it better. Others struggle.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I also believe this is something along the lines of being
witnessed. In the telling, it’s like I’m not so all alone in dealing with
issues – even though the bottom line is I am the only one who can solve my
problems, and I know that. However, just knowing some other person has heard me,
makes me feel better. It’s like letting a breath of fresh air inside me… I can
even feel Light in my inner soul.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p>I</o:p>t’s also important to remember balance. For every
supposedly bad or sad thing, there is something to feel joy about – even if it’s
just the snow’s melting or the sun is shining today or Tuli is being lovable. </p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-5699471802558258822023-03-26T09:55:00.003-07:002023-03-26T09:55:26.452-07:00Sharing Life Stories to Release Depression<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Pk0AtlnalFFwHz1PXQc17VDH4tFGBuckojFdYVO8MwDWA5W8esDG6NQ-VfWPgNGfObV8mnfG9fukEC0_x7HAL0x9vRZU8fbU0xPerpaVcffIxlgexkQLAGn2Tf5k3e5hqE0HzzORRE60coEmRsgUbaoYYC_4-XNGYM6pNxioN86Zfo1sraqZZIED5Q/s3000/23-4608rs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Pk0AtlnalFFwHz1PXQc17VDH4tFGBuckojFdYVO8MwDWA5W8esDG6NQ-VfWPgNGfObV8mnfG9fukEC0_x7HAL0x9vRZU8fbU0xPerpaVcffIxlgexkQLAGn2Tf5k3e5hqE0HzzORRE60coEmRsgUbaoYYC_4-XNGYM6pNxioN86Zfo1sraqZZIED5Q/s320/23-4608rs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="color: #222222; text-align: justify;">Today is one of those days where, by writing
about my woes and wondering about life lessons, I had an instance where “something”
came through to me. This something doesn’t happen often, but when it does,
gladness fills my heart and I feel a reinvigorated.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222;">I have no real name for it and have called it
many things: Great Spirit, God, Divine Presence, Spirit Guides, Creative Muses.
Maybe someday I’ll know the who, but it usually doesn’t feel like it comes from
any one spirit or from any one particular place. Suddenly, I’m just being
filled, and I know it’s some kind of message.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222;">“Pain shared is pain halved." Out of the
blue, that quote came to me as I sat here in tears while writing about my
current depression. It was more than just a thought; it was like the words were
spoken directly to me. A simple quote, then the “presence” was gone leaving my
mind brimming with words to expand on that phrase and my current emotional
state.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222;">Wow, I’d been depressed most the day yesterday
and all last night! The whole thing with the scamming and thievery, which is
escalating every day, and no one can seem to do anything about it, has put me
on the ledge. The sword is getting too heavy to bear. (Is this another aspect
of growing old?)</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222;">So, I was sitting here worrying about my
computer. I'm afraid to do anything, look up anything on Google, FB, place any
orders, etc. I’m even hesitant to send emails. Plus, I hate that I can't answer
my phone -- I must get two-four scam calls daily.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222;">Lately, I’ve forgotten what it is like to be
happy. The negative outweighs the positive by a lot these days. Then I thought
about what does make me happy. My only shining lights are a couple of awesome
friends, kitties Tuli and Leo, my writing and my painting. (Writing that last line
makes me see there is a lot that makes me happy.) However, the dark clouds keep
closing in more and more.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222;">And I don't want to have to keep bothering anyone
with my woes. So, having that quote come to me lifted me. Came to me as I
needed to hear it, I guess... and then I thought: I don't want anyone to have
to share even half my pain. And yet, it is this very thing that I feel is one
of my purposes in life -- not that I do it a lot -- but it's that anyone can
tell me their darkest story and I will listen without judgement and only offer
what simple words of wisdom I might have without making them feel they’re wrong
by telling. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222;">For some of us, there are times when a story
needs to be told over and over before we can finally let it go or be OK about
it. It's about processing our experiences in life. It's a sharing and being
witnessed. It's not about having someone "save" us or tell us what to
do; it's just being listened to with compassion.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222;">As I’m working on yesterday’s morning pages,
and going over how everything seems to go wrong and wondering about the lesson,
I thought: What if the lesson is that by my openly talking about my depression,
others dealing with similar feelings might not feel so alone?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222;">The sharing can open the door to light.
Sometimes, someone else’s words can show us something about ourselves we weren’t
acknowledging. Sometimes, having someone else see/hear us and not condemn us
for thinking sad thoughts is all we need to put our boots back on and get to
work.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222;">The last thing (and something I fear) is
always sounding like a woe-is-me person. I just have to balance the writing/talking
about the sadness with something positive – like today I wrote a beautiful poem,
or I made progress on a painting, or I discovered such and such, or Tuli and/or
Leo…</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222;">Today, I am happy to have made a breakthrough
emotionally. I’ve gained a better understanding of who I am and why.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-37954928930963689092023-03-19T08:49:00.005-07:002023-03-19T08:49:59.111-07:00Emotional Self Defense Part 2<p>This is what stirred in me on Saturday </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3ZN08aUQR560fPbFlTHGR66WG3q8gqDPJGbJZ7eR1iqjW6yb_cImFu54L8Qra5PoZe1-dXi62oZQp9DOIw0U_Q7AESKJqQvUjqvve44C-zFtu9HoywkrXdu0PqYPT4xZ_QAe15Z6ai-jVCeZkmcS6d8trI331fnNdK3ziTnZOWpg2y0HawCmmykx_w/s2241/23-4950crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1586" data-original-width="2241" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3ZN08aUQR560fPbFlTHGR66WG3q8gqDPJGbJZ7eR1iqjW6yb_cImFu54L8Qra5PoZe1-dXi62oZQp9DOIw0U_Q7AESKJqQvUjqvve44C-zFtu9HoywkrXdu0PqYPT4xZ_QAe15Z6ai-jVCeZkmcS6d8trI331fnNdK3ziTnZOWpg2y0HawCmmykx_w/s320/23-4950crs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Again, writing morning pages, stuff deep inside stirs as I write
about Friday.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">This morning, I’m hitting on how I feel like all my pulling
away from people is to protect myself. I first realized this is what I was
doing when Mum was declining and clinging to me. However, now that I’m thinking
about this, I’ve been doing this for a long, long time now and not realizing
what it was. (And now I wonder, too, if this is what Mum did… in the end, there
was only her and I.)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Of course, an old-friend’s words echo back to me as she’d always say,
“It’s all about me.” She started that when that term started became popular,
but with her saying it, I knew it was a put-down on me and how she felt about
me. (She’s always been some kind of a do-gooder, but that’s not who I am. Oh, I
want to be good. I’m just not personally into being… drat, I don’t have the words
here… one of those… well, I just call them save-the-world-do-gooders, those who
run to others’ sides to help them.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The bottom line is it IS all about me! I’ve had to protect
myself from a young age my entire life. (Though I never realized that was what
I was doing.) Maybe that’s what’s made me what I am, how I am, and who I am.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I’ve never vocally or physically fought back or argued. I’ve
never told her how her snide comments made me feel less than and unworthy.
I’ve never been able to outwardly defend myself. I just built inner walls and
hid… and in many aspects, at least in physical company with others, the walls
are getting thicker. I only have a couple people I feel I can be totally safe
and open with.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And yes, I do feel guilty about that, but there’s something
inside me that creates a volcanic, emotional, overwhelming… fear/anxiety...
that makes all my walls come crashing down. I just can’t… go to funerals or do
other of those kinds of supports, for instance. And yet, someone can sit one on
one with me and tell me their darkest secrets, and I can handle that. How
weird. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Maybe it’s because all my life I’ve had to stand strong on
some things because I felt so put-down-upon on so much. The few times I’ve
tried to put myself out there with groups have been complete failures. I am the
odd duck and not a sheep. I don’t fit in with the herds… and don’t want to. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I’m not calling others wrong. They have the right to their
beliefs. I just can’t do and/or participate when my entire being is screaming
no. Pulling back and isolating is the only thing I can do to not bend to
others’ wills when everything inside me is rebelling. I can’t live to others’
expectations. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Yeah, I’m still trying to figure it out. Maybe part of me
always felt… how do I describe it… there’s just been something inside me that
slams inner doors shut when I don’t feel safe. So, I need to alienate myself to
protect that individualism, my uniqueness.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I’m still learning about it. Is it being selfish? But we
don’t all have to be the same. Why do I have to be in the wrong just because I
don’t want to be like others?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">My mind is whirling around… there’s some kind of a
breakthrough close, but I’m not there yet…</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-2144350754788851272023-03-19T08:39:00.000-07:002023-03-19T08:39:07.038-07:00Lessons from the Past<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0iui_GWwlE_uwZpfP7WkVOdCRlZ6Of9juZGZvpVj1he2ugAatghYH7ou0cKRQmHzZjxwu6ClvwGMeN2h1-Pc1DSVSbwFf3WoCNBlQMWQCrPqje9dUhq_Y2EfDlODIFOqqNJPY7eBsAAGCGoNMWUylTxM0UgP6f_3RWDpP-T4v45A5eyDBiGZCfWRZw/s1657/23-5037crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1321" data-original-width="1657" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0iui_GWwlE_uwZpfP7WkVOdCRlZ6Of9juZGZvpVj1he2ugAatghYH7ou0cKRQmHzZjxwu6ClvwGMeN2h1-Pc1DSVSbwFf3WoCNBlQMWQCrPqje9dUhq_Y2EfDlODIFOqqNJPY7eBsAAGCGoNMWUylTxM0UgP6f_3RWDpP-T4v45A5eyDBiGZCfWRZw/w255-h212/23-5037crs.JPG" width="255" /></a></div><p></p><p>The past few days, my morning pages have been interrupted by inner emotional ramblings and I feel I'm reaching a bit of a breakthrough in self understanding. <br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The past helps make us who we are and what we are. Yes,
there are still choices, but getting a better understanding of the past can
help us move past any old hurts. Being able to talk about things to one another
helps us also understand one another. That doesn’t mean we have to agree or
like, but the stories help in understanding and with understanding comes better
tolerance and acceptance.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And yes, there are times when we have to let go the past to
move on. Sometimes, though, issues resurface, and when they do, what are the
lessons to learn?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">When the past pops up, which can drop me back into some
extremely unhappy times, I also know I’m on the verge of a breakthrough. I
still haven’t quite grasped it yet, but it’s close to my fingertips. I’m
understanding myself better which in turn opens me to better understand others.
(Too bad I am in my late years when coming to these realizations, ha-ha.)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">But maybe that’s part of what wisdom is all about. I am able
to release old grudges and hurts because I now have that wisdom of life to help
me see how the past has made me who I am, and to accept this is who I am. This
is nothing to be ashamed of or feel guilty about. We were not all made to be
sheep. If we were, we’d all have preprogrammed robot brains.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The big thing is in recognizing that I have never been a follower,
a sheep, part of the herd. Every time I’ve tried, I end up in a crash and burn.
There’s always been something inside me that rebelled and refused to jump on
popular bandwagons or buckle down to others telling me what I should be doing. That
feeling can turn almost into a physical reaction when I’m being pushed towards
something my inner being is rebelling against.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And, of course, that has caused tremendous inner anguish,
especially when I was much younger and couldn’t fit in with my peers. There has
always been some super strong conviction that makes me feel sick when I’m being
forced to do or can’t agree to something. Which doesn’t mean it’s wrong, it’s
just not right for me.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Unfortunately, those feelings and inner reactions often put
me on the outskirts and makes me a loner, never fully belonging to anything.
But, every time I sit here in tears over one thing or another, I know there’s
something I’m learning.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And what keeps coming forth strongly is: It is OK to me! I
don’t have be like everyone else. I don’t have to be a sheep. It’s OK to
celebrate being an odd duck and thinking for myself.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">When I think thusly, a content sense of something greater settles
over me filling me with an inner peace and telling me I AM OK being me.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-35592791261781569842023-02-25T09:47:00.004-08:002023-02-25T09:48:16.796-08:00On Being Old 8 How the Elderly are Viewed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYBjgi2yi1hoVOHqulYmcU9A7qw8ifv4jVCwnkfuI_GqRCbJEIJfGSDRd_DWE7clZucQ0wnGizYaQ2uV6qAqKKYv-AzmBpoANWNt9WzW0MAIPY8HvkMASd0FV5NmyZ0nZIIR8miZOkamRUIRW0I-bv_IbP_VH-Sb-bYaqGI794OduhjqQI5MQqkA_Dsg/s909/23-4235crs.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="781" data-original-width="909" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYBjgi2yi1hoVOHqulYmcU9A7qw8ifv4jVCwnkfuI_GqRCbJEIJfGSDRd_DWE7clZucQ0wnGizYaQ2uV6qAqKKYv-AzmBpoANWNt9WzW0MAIPY8HvkMASd0FV5NmyZ0nZIIR8miZOkamRUIRW0I-bv_IbP_VH-Sb-bYaqGI794OduhjqQI5MQqkA_Dsg/w218-h187/23-4235crs.JPG" width="218" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Do younger people just see
old people as complainers? Are the elderly seen as curmudgeons? (Think “Rowan
& Martin’s Laugh-In” and the Arte Johnson and Ruth Buzzi characters.) Does
it seem like those oldsters are always finding fault with “young people
nowadays?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I know when I was young I
didn’t want to hear some old geezer trying to tell me how I should act. The
times were different. There were places to explore, life to live and
experience. Who wanted to listen to some old guys talk about “When I was young
…?” (But I also have to admit, I didn’t have much contact with anyone over 60
until I was in my 50s.)</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then, when my aunt went into
a nursing home and we visited, I was appalled at seeing all these oldsters
hunched over in their chairs with hardly any life in them. Or, their
wheelchairs in circle with some young thing crowing, “Let’s play ball,” as
she’d toss a beach ball to one. (That’s my image of nursing homes … not very
appealing for end-of-life days.)</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">When I first moved to
Bradford and saw what was happening at the Mountain View Senior Center, I was
excited. What an awesome place for people to get together. There were many
programs and groups, and the participants were wonderful, friendly and vibrant.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I told myself when I got older, I’d
definitely join.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I tried to get my mother
involved, but she wouldn’t go. Now, years later, I understand more. Mum reached
the point where she loved people to visit, but she just didn’t have the
gumption to go anywhere. Not everyone is highly sociable towards group settings.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I’m that way now. I find
myself wanting to stay home more and more. I no longer want to be around groups
of people. I’ve turned into one of these curmudgeonly old people. I can easily rant
about these “young people nowadays.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I sometimes wonder what
happened to older cultures who respected their elders. When did old people
start being locked away in nursing homes? When their children could no longer
care for them? (I never want to be a burden on my kids.)</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And, what happens at that
point, when years of experience and wisdom are not honored or wanted? When no
one is willing to listen, what happens to life purpose? When people stop
visiting or calling, do the older folks become invisible? Do they feel
unappreciated and unloved? Are they only relegated to senior events and centers
with some young person providing entertainment to keep them occupied?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I no longer have the energy
to do things, go places. And that’s hard being an artist who loves to share her
work and participate in exhibits. Besides the lack of energy, there are the
aching joints at walking around, dealing with stairs, getting in and out of the
car, etc. Standing in one spot while chatting with someone is the worst … or
waiting in line at the grocery store check-out.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then, too, my curmudgeonly
ways have me standing my ground on what I believe, ha-ha.</span></p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-48023042633622889652023-02-19T06:50:00.009-08:002023-02-19T06:50:57.577-08:00On Being Old 5 Living with Pain <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiePfLkJL2ExMG9d_RV1Vye-j1GUUVTpCFS_wqyhdzukY78jXaeVKqwqYKbVORBfSGGMEMjNZ7eTkR6gdFXgUMBYK_KNp1v-3_Q4a8gFVVQ6b1q3ISzd2HyDR1ayqzSQU6GLUaL5tjrxW0dNb7mAcuz1XhMQdq3HNPIIrMsaXiXy4XOiAaxTt-8F8QEg/s909/23-4235crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="781" data-original-width="909" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiePfLkJL2ExMG9d_RV1Vye-j1GUUVTpCFS_wqyhdzukY78jXaeVKqwqYKbVORBfSGGMEMjNZ7eTkR6gdFXgUMBYK_KNp1v-3_Q4a8gFVVQ6b1q3ISzd2HyDR1ayqzSQU6GLUaL5tjrxW0dNb7mAcuz1XhMQdq3HNPIIrMsaXiXy4XOiAaxTt-8F8QEg/w169-h145/23-4235crs.JPG" width="169" /></a></div>As I get older, pain, in one form another, seems to be an
almost always companion. I’m stubborn about running to the doctor’s (haven’t
been in over 30 years except for one time when I had strep throat. I nd other
ways to deal like ibuprofen, Olbas salve, essential oils, ice, etc.) Pain
issues may be one aspect of an older person becoming invisible. (Becoming
invisible is a topic I’ll talk more on later.) <o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Pain forces me to stay home, keeping quiet so I don’t sound
like a whiner while trying to suck it up and be brave. Also, I find it
embarrassing and humiliating when out in public and struggling to stand without
showing pain. However, I think we should be able to talk about these things.
After all, it is part of life. We shouldn’t have to be ashamed of being old or
feel like we’re being pushed aside or that we no longer serve a purpose. We
shouldn’t have to suffer alone or be relegated to being with others just like
us. (And don’t even ask me what I think of nursing homes – I’d rather be dead.)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">There was a time when elders were appreciated and honored.
Some days it’s almost easier to say what doesn’t hurt. I chalk it all up to
getting old … except when I do something stupid, like tripping and falling.
I’ve been lucky most my life with those types of things. I’ve always had good
balance. However, if I’m not paying attention and hurrying …</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Like in 2019 when I took a header out on my deck. It
happened so fast; I didn’t have time to brace myself (probably a good thing).
My foot caught while stepping up, and I fell flat on my stomach, and hard. I
saw the deck coming up and can’t believe I didn’t smash my face. What saved me
was my chest. The worse injury was to my right knee and foot. The skin in those
areas still show bruised areas three years later.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Then, there was a fall last month. That time, though, it was
because my foot sunk in mud up to my ankle. The only bruise then was to my ego
for taking a short cut across a damp, new grass area of the lawn. Although, any
kind of a fall causes some aches and soreness just from jarring the body when
momentum suddenly ceases.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The most recent fall was Jan. 23. I’d gone out to shovel the
front porch and steps. Coming back inside, my toe caught the stoop and down I
went slamming my knee onto the floor (thank God for carpeting). My scream
scared the daylights out of Tuli and Leo and the two kitties took off. Thankfully,
my momentum carried me forward so the door closed on the snow still falling
outside.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I knew enough to lie still for a few minutes mentally
accessing the damage then slowly moving little by little. I contemplated how to
get up before actually trying to do so. I believe taking this time, breathing
and calming down, allows the body and mind to pull together. I eventually was
able to stand. I had to use a cane to get around. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">As I write this three days later, I am much better, but
walking is still difficult. Getting out of bed is still the hardest, especially
if Tuli is sleeping with me as I try to maneuver my leg around her.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">One of my issues with dealing with bad knees, achy feet,
etc., is being short. Now that I’m not able to lift my legs well, I tend to scuff.
(Scuffing has always annoyed me and now I’m doing it.) This also means stairs
are a major issue, and “building to code” with a 7-7 ½ inch rise makes steps difficult.
Both the fall in 2019 and this recent one had to do with a single step up.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">With stairs, I have to consider if my knee(s) will hold my
weight with the movement as I step up or down. I lean or hold heavily on
railings all the time. But now, I also need to consider my other foot when
climbing stairs, the foot that might drag behind. This was my downfall (pun
intended) on the 2019 fall and now this one. Guess I’m not as attentive on
these single step-ups.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">One of my goals when moving to this house was to set myself
up for my older years. The builder I had insisted on the code for steps. This
bothered me because we’re not a one-size-size-fits-all people. What if code
sizes don’t work for your personal safety … whether it’s age or body type?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Yes, I understand needs for families, but as an older woman,
those rules don’t fit me. I need my home set up for my safety, yet all I kept
hearing was about selling the house in the future. Hello, I’m living here now.
I didn’t buy this house to turn around and sell it. I spent a lot of money
making this house fit my needs. If, when I’m gone, the next owners need to
make changes for their lifestyle, then they can do that.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">A couple years ago, I had my back steps and steps to the
garage rebuilt to suit movability with a shorter rise and wider tread. What a
difference that made! I can easily go up and down these steps and the railings
on both sides are sturdy for when I need the extra support. Making my living
space work for me gives me peace of mind along with safety. </p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-6613745487841576242023-02-19T06:24:00.001-08:002023-02-19T08:15:35.082-08:00On Being Old 7 A Conversation with my Brother<p class="MsoNormal">The importance of talking with family continues … </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_YACyZ1BrsG_O35W4cPpntzJS6PQnE2CboEpfXMymS6aOZGDxZEzJwXU52qZbq2rV1vdODodtrdN7-TOLPTdIv28uFB0ORcNSSU8DRQ-6s820NbLHX6Z5oPWHfNOU98q1as7fZN9xJCTrp8J2bESrGydr6qtC7H_K75k_iDL_wtYmmbSCouAR507pdQ/s909/23-4235crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="781" data-original-width="909" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_YACyZ1BrsG_O35W4cPpntzJS6PQnE2CboEpfXMymS6aOZGDxZEzJwXU52qZbq2rV1vdODodtrdN7-TOLPTdIv28uFB0ORcNSSU8DRQ-6s820NbLHX6Z5oPWHfNOU98q1as7fZN9xJCTrp8J2bESrGydr6qtC7H_K75k_iDL_wtYmmbSCouAR507pdQ/w173-h149/23-4235crs.JPG" width="173" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-align: justify;">My brother and I didn’t get along well as kids. I suppose,
being siblings, we both thought the other got the more attention – or whatever.
However, since we’re much older, we’ve occasionally touched on a topic from our
past and life in general.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I am always amazed when he mentions something about our
childhood I never knew or realized. And, of course, I say things he never
thought about. We agree it’s almost like we grew up in different households. He
was certainly treated differently than I. Mum used to tell me he was jealous of
me because I was smarter. I used to be envious of him because I felt all the
other members of the family treated him better and gave him more things than I
ever got.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">This is another example telling me how important it is to
talk. We saw things differently as kids. We never could have discussed these
topics back then without fighting. But now that we have a lifetime of living
and experience, we can look back with a more open heart and mind. We need to be
able to talk freely; with that, comes a better understanding, and, perhaps,
healing from past hurts.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">He made a comment about regrets and my mind immediately went
to Frank Sinatra’s line, “Regrets, I made a few, but then again, too few to
mention …” A few, ha-ha? I try not to have regrets or guilt, but too, working
through them helps us grow. The trick is to not let them bring us down, which
is one reason to talk about them.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">My brother’s biggest regret is his inability to read well. Although
he quit school at 16, he still made a good life for himself. He’s always worked
hard, had his own landscaping business for years and made a decent wage. It’s
sad to hear he’s harbored the regrets of not succeeding in school. He wondered
why Dad and Mum didn’t push us harder to succeed. (My reply was that they
didn’t know how or even understand why that was important. It was the time and
area we grew up in, not that they were bad parents.)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Dyslexia wasn’t a known diagnosis when we were kids. Not
being able to read well put you into the lesser classes … not being able to
read was seen more like being stupid or too lazy to try. This was a time when
any inability at learning subjected you to … not so good times in school. (And
when we were kids, terms like “retard” were often used. Oh, how cruel kids
could be.)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">How brave my brother is to admit these things now. I admire
him for having the courage for talking about how it. And, how sad, that in his
later years, it still bothers him. It takes courage to talk about believed
failings, to admit feelings, to discuss things before it’s too late. It’s not
about, “You did this to me when we were kids.” It’s not about finding fault or
bringing up past hurts. It’s about coming to terms with one’s own life and
gaining better understanding in humanity. These things can stew inside you your
entire life.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">What does this have to do with being old? Years ago, we
couldn’t have had these kinds of conversations. As kids, there was always a
sibling rivalry; always that feeling that Mum liked me better and Dad liked him
better. (I can hear the Smothers Brothers saying, “Mom liked you better.”) Now
we have the wisdom of lives well-lived (which doesn’t necessarily mean easy).</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Why haven’t we talked more? Is there fear of the old terms
and hurt feelings resurfacing? Is it fear of admitting guilt about some things?
Being embarrassed by feelings of failure? Being afraid to be ridiculed … again?
Is it because we were taught you didn’t talk about these things?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It’s important to talk. I think about the conversations I
wish I could have now with my Mum, Dad and other relatives. I wish I’d known to
ask these things years ago; how to ask them. If I had, would they have answered
or brushed me off?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">There are questions brewing which I’ll never have answers
for. I wish they talked more about issues bottled up inside. Perhaps those
conversations could have led to earlier understandings of life and family
dynamics.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">There’s a need for our own stories to come out and be told. The
stories help show what we’ve gone through and overcome. They also help others
who also struggle to know they are not alone. We shouldn’t be afraid to share those
stories. We are who we are. We’ve come a long way. Let’s celebrate that!</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-60777828900418789172023-02-19T06:05:00.001-08:002023-02-19T08:19:48.202-08:00On Being Old 6 The importance of telling your story<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPZlvYmX6wLiQvwZKhm-nF4vgGpcfywBHhGhIOJ4tsPMvQYxK1BKkYDHgKhvt9SEqGXzc4b-LmKmsfkRy76ibdlOxf4Hk4EkV4JzJ5vJeG4KpxDC6iJY3SwTHLEL2-hGu0uMszlbPubHL8AWNpF0bOhtGCp-T_OuDZ8URn6NqHhDqkneKnByySql-0Uw/s909/23-4235crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="781" data-original-width="909" height="117" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPZlvYmX6wLiQvwZKhm-nF4vgGpcfywBHhGhIOJ4tsPMvQYxK1BKkYDHgKhvt9SEqGXzc4b-LmKmsfkRy76ibdlOxf4Hk4EkV4JzJ5vJeG4KpxDC6iJY3SwTHLEL2-hGu0uMszlbPubHL8AWNpF0bOhtGCp-T_OuDZ8URn6NqHhDqkneKnByySql-0Uw/w136-h117/23-4235crs.JPG" width="136" /></a></div><span style="text-align: left;">My Mum and I had an awesome relationship. I always felt we
could talk about almost anything … and we did … almost …<br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I often think about her realizing there were conversations
we never had and should have. I never remember her talking much about sadness,
grief or being in pain. I don’t know if I ever heard her talk about feeling
lonely. Is it because, back then, people didn’t talk openly about their issues?
Is it because I just don’t remember? Or is it because, at a younger age, I
didn’t want to listen?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I remember my brother telling me after she passed that she’d
sometimes keep him home from school because she was depressed, crying and
didn’t want to be alone. I was shocked. I had no idea she was ever unhappy back
then. (It would have been in the ‘60s.) Why wasn’t it me she kept with her? I
was the older, the daughter.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-align: justify;">Now that I am old and am thinking back, I don’t remember her
talking about being in pain (except for the couple times when she’d had to have
an operation.) When she got older, her only gripes were with breathing (she’d
been a heavy smoker and had COPD) and having either constipation or diarrhea.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">When she turned 70, she stopped driving. Not because she
couldn’t (that I know of) but because she just didn’t want to. Then, as the
years went on, she even stopped wanting to go anywhere at all. Eventually, she
wouldn’t even go outside. (And she used to be an avid flower gardener.) I came
to believe she was afraid that when she left the house, it’d be the last time.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I think back on all the things I
wish we’d talked about. I want to know if her legs ached like mine do today.
Did she feel lonely when no one was around? Did she get depressed? Did she feel
like giving up? It seemed she stopped caring about all the things she used to
love. Did she just get tired of living? Did she no longer feel useful?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Me, I feel I’m whining all the
time. Although, in my mind, it’s not only just whining, but also about sharing
story. Did my mum go through all this and just bottled it all up inside? Would
she be looking down on me now saying, “I told you so.” And yes, I do remember
her telling me, “You wait until you’re this age.” Now, I reply, “I hear you,
Mum.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I wonder how things would have
been if we shared more of these types of stories. I wonder, if knowing what she
experienced, would that help me better cope with my own aging?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">One thing I come to believe more
and more every day is that sharing life story is important. Listening to one
another can be very beneficial in handling life’s ups and down, the
celebrations and the sad times.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-70603844729612438742023-02-19T05:57:00.004-08:002023-02-19T05:57:23.651-08:00On Being Old 4 Frustration with Phone Calls and Lack of Customer Service<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhir_Hw3ZGUIiU-CMTGlG_PnjW3oixYHfsX-17Jo5og5vrww0u5a1ZaWrGQL1Zg_MOXwzXh1hZosahV8KmyH07iiFRRbWYc1_Jn0MegMYZX7g4bwnWl7XnfEIK0Bp46j8cH2DTYaEpFV4zT_Caa_DwsAA-kEXdSrCwVni9AU22c2eNheVGSHJczriSEYQ/s909/23-4235crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="781" data-original-width="909" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhir_Hw3ZGUIiU-CMTGlG_PnjW3oixYHfsX-17Jo5og5vrww0u5a1ZaWrGQL1Zg_MOXwzXh1hZosahV8KmyH07iiFRRbWYc1_Jn0MegMYZX7g4bwnWl7XnfEIK0Bp46j8cH2DTYaEpFV4zT_Caa_DwsAA-kEXdSrCwVni9AU22c2eNheVGSHJczriSEYQ/w134-h115/23-4235crs.JPG" width="134" /></a></div><span style="text-align: justify;">One thing I find about being older is my lack of patience.
Although, I don’t know if it’s fair to blame my lack of patience after growing
up during a time when customer service was very important to businesses. There
was a time they’d go out of their way to make the customer happy. There’s no
such thing as “the customer is always right” anymore. <br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I remember when a real person answered the phone. She would
listen to your needs and direct you to the right department. It was nice to
hear a pleasant voice and it made you feel welcome. Or there would be an
answering machine with a short message asking you to leave your number and
they’d call back. And someone would.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Nowadays, a machine picks up and you’re barraged with a
dozen questions. I feel I’m being interrogated and half the time, the automated
questions have nothing to do with what I want. There are times the fake
mechanical voice says, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand your question …” Then there’s the repetition of “This call is
being recorded …” and the worst is, “Your call is important to us.” (If my call
was important, they’d have a real person answer the phone.)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I totally lose it and become a screaming lunatic. It’s a
nightmare to get to a live representative and then you end up being
interrogated again. Or, if ending up with a representative from another state,
you might get a “We don’t service your state” answer. I’ve had that happen
numerous times ... as smaller businesses are bought out by corporations from
other parts of the country.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And then to top it off, many want you to answer a survey
afterwards to tell them how they did. Oh, don’t set me off with that one!
You’re not allowed to say what you really think. All the answers are pre-set
up.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I’m to the point where I don’t want to do business with a
company that puts you through this. Especially a local company. I find it
horribly rude to their customers.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Oh, I know all the reasons … what’s that famous line?
“Follow the money.” It’s always about the money and businesses find many ways
to cut their costs, at the expense of their customers.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Unfortunately, what choice do you have? Put up with it or
don’t get the service or products.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440308976337480511.post-77829390523479276142023-02-19T05:50:00.003-08:002023-02-19T05:50:32.233-08:00On Being Old 3: Random Acts of Kindness<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvuMKOlnCQessmD27fy1tIaCe6h3DGSQQ8DTcVcu4hVMF1OUB-N6QYAqEAFmHgdNwJVVKjKG-2n_b61gayIWrhxz5sfw5_dvMwQwJIl3jLZoARGI7AuDYDwj9p4vNm7r65BUHCt-5RFkeQRUXXaafnjrpo1CoRuV_zoKSO_AZ4_l4GXRnuBrLSBj0Z2A/s909/23-4235crs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="781" data-original-width="909" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvuMKOlnCQessmD27fy1tIaCe6h3DGSQQ8DTcVcu4hVMF1OUB-N6QYAqEAFmHgdNwJVVKjKG-2n_b61gayIWrhxz5sfw5_dvMwQwJIl3jLZoARGI7AuDYDwj9p4vNm7r65BUHCt-5RFkeQRUXXaafnjrpo1CoRuV_zoKSO_AZ4_l4GXRnuBrLSBj0Z2A/w195-h168/23-4235crs.JPG" width="195" /></a></div>I was at Shaw’s. Shopping is a struggle for me as
my knees and ankles ache almost all the time. Standing in place is worse than
walking which makes the wait very painful, especially after walking up and down
those long aisles. <o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In spite of that, and no matter how close to tears I am during
the waiting, I always talk to the cashier and bagger, even including others in
line with kind comments. I’ll compliment strangers in the aisles, too, just to
offer bits of nicety and cheer in this stressful world. By the time I gimp to
the car, though, I have all I can do to walk.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">That day, there was a big pickup truck parked fairly close
to my driver’s side. I slowly opened the back door careful to not hit the
truck. I’d just put the first bags in the backseat when the truck’s driver came
out with her few groceries. I offered to move and let her get her things
unloaded. (I usually let people who have less stuff and/or move faster than I
go first.)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">She told me she could put her things in on the other side.
When done, she came back to me and offered to hand me my remaining bags, so I
didn’t have to walk back and forth to the cart. (Even though it was only a few
steps, my legs were screaming.) Then she took my cart to the carriage stall.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I was so grateful. Yeah, I could have and would have done
that (I always take the carts to the stalls), but to have a stranger help …
there’s something so special about that. There are kind people around. Every
time I start to lose hope in mankind (hearing news horror stories of criminal
activities every day), I meet a kind, thoughtful person.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“Random acts of kindness” is so important these days when it
seems random acts of violence is something we all must be so wary of lately.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">About this column: I have so many topics to write about
regarding being old. It’s hard to decide which to choose. My list is growing
longer faster than I can cover the subjects. Yet, I don’t want this to just be
about my issues. I’d like to hear from others, too, as we sometimes deal with
issues differently.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I’m a believer that telling our stories may help others
dealing with similar. Talking/writing also helps us not feel so alone with our
struggles. Others can relate and have their own stories to tell.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p>
</p>sashahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01519365873826104339noreply@blogger.com0