Monthly Archives: February 2007

Another book signing…

(See link in paragraph, below, to order book)

One of my co-workers, an attorney by the name of Bill Scarff (who also edits her books), mentioned several weeks ago that a friend of his, Maureen, will be featured at a book signing at Borders in Crystal Court, to promote her newly released book Pandemic Predator: A Mary MacIntosh Novel.

I purchased a duly signed copy of the book from her. It was great to be able to attend the Q&A session, which picked up momentum once members of the Orange County Writers’ Forum, who organized/sponsored the event, started asking questions. In fact, I wasn’t sure I was going to get a word in edgewise, but did manage to ask several questions. It was all very informative, and encouraging, to know that I wasn’t the only one to deal with some of the issues that I have when attempting to write a story.

I also felt heartened to find a group of writers in the area who gather once a month… I’ve already sent an email requesting for membership. Belonging to a group will be at once exciting as well as motivating.

Intro to adulthood…

“It’s not easy to run around in a suit all day!”
Dressing up for extra credit for their Presidential fireside chats

That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while! How hard can it be to be in elementary school with a suit on? Apparently very, because Gabriel managed to play jump rope and tag (and get his suit dirty… his first comment was “Mom, you’ll have to wash my suit.” …to which I responded “dry clean only.”) In any case, he found it sufficiently exhausting to go about his normal daily activities wearing the suit. Now I know why all those execs are so tired at the end of their day…

What Questions Do You Ask?

This morning I awoke to my usual hundred-something emails, which, of course, ninty percent of are junk. I do get good ones too, though, and I found the Digest version of posts from one of the Yahoo groups that I am a member of, Belle Papier. One of the members, Judy Carlson, writes:

I received a post from my dear friend who is battling lung cancer, and doing very well, to my eternal joy. I would like to share part of it with you.

Human life is a quest. We are on a journey the end of which is not in sight. Searching, longing, questioning is in our restless genes. The practice of philosophy is a way of life that results from falling in love with questions—-the great mythic questions that can never be given definitive answers. Who we are and what we will become is determined by the questions that animate us, and by those we refuse to ask.

The difference between Einstein and Hitler depends on the questions they asked. What you ask is who you are. What you find depends on what you search for……. Imagine the different type and quality of life you would have if the main question you asked when you got up each morning was each of the following: Where can I get my next fix of heroin? How do I serve God? What will the neighbors think? What happened during the big bang when the world was created? Who will love me? How do I get power? How can we destroy our enemy? How can we end violence? Where will I spend eternity? How can I make enough money? Who are my friends? How can I be comfortable? Is my cancer curable? How can I become famous? How do we heal the earth? Where can I get food for my children?

What is your quest? Your question?

* What is the purpose of my life?
* What ought I do?
* For what may I hope?
* Whom do I love? Why?
* What curtails my freedom?
* How can I escape from the constricting social, political, sexual, and economic myths that were imposed on me by my family and culture?
* To what cause, idea, faith, may I surrender without destroying the integrity of my self?
* What does it mean to experience the sacred?
* How can I live a spirited life in a world dominated by a secular-technological-economic vision of reality?
* What is my credo? My philosophy of life?

Such thought-provoking questions… things that I wonder about, on and off, all of the time… and also wonder, likewise, how others’ questions differ, and why? Why is it that I wonder about ‘the purpose of my life’ while others wonder about very different things, if they wonder at all?

How did I get here from there?

Pencil sketch on index card

It’s so strange, this life. It’s strange that one can be in a room full of people and yet still feel alone and how when a heart is filled with love, even if one is by oneself, one still feels sustained and not lonely. Most times I simply ignore a whole lot. I pretend that all is fine and that I am fulfilled. I spend so much of my time making a living and attending to others that it leaves me tired and spent. I escape into sleep but awaken unrested… tired and dissatisfied, as if I’d forgotten a most crucial ingredient out of my spaghetti sauce but can’t quite put my finger on which one it is. Most days I simply ignore that slight incongruence, and eat the food and make like I like it. Other days it just doesn’t work so well, and I quietly call my own bluff. Today is such a day, I suppose.

Valentine’s day is just a few days away, and I can look forward to a card with a few words in it. Nothing meaningful, because I know in my heart that such a thing between us has long since been extinguished. I’ve been alone for so long now that I’m not sure what I would do if I wasn’t. There’s a certain comfort in it. Never having my expectations dashed because I don’t have any. I still dream of being wholly loved, sometimes, and awaken with wet cheeks-my eyes leak of their own accord. Sometimes I dream that I have that most elusive thing, and feel as though a fire flutters in my chest like a butterfly and burns like the sun. I dream that I am loved for all that I am… cherished. Then I awaken to… now… this.

I often wonder what it is that I’ve done to deserve it, this void. Is this what it’s like to be dead, I wonder? This nothingness. Except for the sex… which is like a giant black dwarf threatening to implode upon itself and suck everything right along with it into darkness.

Does this love that I’ve been hoping to find in my lifetime even exist, or is it the sawdust that stuffs the fairytales of the world? Is it something hoped for but never attained? There have been moments in my life when I would have sworn otherwise… when I was certain that there was such a thing, because it burned hot and bright, almost consuming me. But… when a fire burns and there is no one to stoke it, eventually it loses its fuel and is extinguished. How can it be so hard to find another whose heart burns as brightly for you as yours does for them and still being able to keep the fires stoked and burning? It is a mystery to me.

My heart beats for my son… he is its driving force and while the fire ebbs and flows there is an ember amidst the others which shall never burn out, miraculously infinite. Oh… wait… it is unconditional love… a mother’s love for her child.

Catch-up posts…

Been busy this week, what with a parent-teacher conference, doctor’s appointments and the like. I’m posting a few doodles today… one is a pencil sketch of Keanu from many months ago, the other a pen & ink sketch of no one in particular, both on index cards. I love drawing on these… not sure why. Well… sleep beckons… hope the iron pills I popped will help make me feel a bit more spunky by tomorrow.

Petit déjeuner on a Sunday and what, exactly, is black and white…

(Click to see enlarged view in separate window)

After making breakfast this morning, I finished up my ‘color’ postcards for the year-long swap I’ve organized. This month’s theme was black and white, and while contemplating the different concepts that I’d been thinking about, winter scenes and snow were what finally tied my attention.

It took me all of yesterday afternoon and evening to draw out the postcards on illustration board with pen. This morning, after our pancake breakfast, I resumed working on them and finished them, adding watercolor and watersoluble color pastel. I quite like how they turned out.