Under Scrutiny

Goodbye Eli my friend.

2009-12-04T01:10:00.000-08:00

My friend Eli died on Friday. He and his wife had been together for 60 years. After a mere 15 years Mark feels like such a necessary part of me. I can't imagine what it is like to lose that. More than 60 years! Can you imagine? I can't. They grew together and raised a family of 4 amazingly sensitive and lovely sons. They were with their dad not only at the end but throughout his illness as well. What a lucky family. Until now.

His service is Saturday afternoon. I won't speak of course - it isn't my place, but if I could, I would talk about how until the very end, until our 2nd to the last visit, the first words out of his mouth were always, "how's Mark?". His capacity for generosity knew no bounds. Eli was (oh how I hate that word) my neighbor and was my first line of defense when Mark wasn't around. On the day my beloved dog Moon would die, it was Eli who rushed us speeding to the vet and offered to wait with me. That meant so much to me. The last time I saw him, I was sitting with him while his wife ran an errand. The errand took longer than she expected and Eli was not doing well. Emma, the spiritual adviser from hospice showed up while I was there and we woke him up so they could talk. He wasn't really alert enough to speak to her. I don't think he knew I was there as he had been asleep throughout my whole visit. When Emma told him I let him in, I think he misunderstood her to say that she met me. He said, "Robin's a great gal". That was one of the very last thngs I heard him say. What a lovely memory to have. Thank you Eli, for that, and so much more. I miss you already.

Drowning....

2009-05-11T13:47:00.000-07:00

I love school. I LOVE it but I have so much homework right now. No time to write and barely any time to take pictures. It's spring and the Love in a Mist is blooming in the backyard once again. Lovely!
I have to finish my storyboarding assignment. I have no clue how this will help me with graphics. I understand the whole planning process but I am not going to work in film and so why am I drawing little bitty people arguing on the side of the road?? To clarify, I chose a scene from Revolutionary Road that has the couple's relationship in the midst of it's steady course to destruction. Not a lot of action so I have to try and draw the gamut of crap emotions on the character's faces. I am so not good at this. As proof, I am attaching a page of last week's roughs.
Argh! Back to it.

Lily, sweet Lily

2009-04-08T10:12:00.000-07:00

Mark and I had a great time in San Diego with my Lily last week. We went to the zoo one day and the wild animal park the next. She is so precious and funny. She makes great faces and can already flare her nostrils fast enough to give me (the champ) a run for my money!

When I look at her I think of all of the things that may be barriers to her happiness. The fake image of beauty we hold in such esteem. The idea that suffering is necessary in relationships. I worry that my son, her father, will get married and have babies with another woman. Of course I want him to be happy but I also want the world for Lily and I know what it's like to have your position usurped by a new and improved family. It's hurtful and can affect the rest of your life. I hope that somehow all of these obstacles can be overcome and that she can find the happiness that everyone deserves but so few seem to attain.

Sigh.

Okay. Pictures. Here is my angel.

Decisions, decisions....

2009-03-05T02:12:00.000-08:00

It's fun to be taking a photography one class after shooting for a while.
We're finishing up the quarter and have to choose our best 4 to print. Below are the 10 I have chosen. Trying to decide which to print.

Hmmmmm.....

2009-02-28T13:28:00.001-08:00

I'm not feeling so well today or the last few days actually.
I just feel a bit achy and I'm not sleeping well. The power of a good night's sleep cannot be underestimated. Oi.

I think I'll go take a nap with my puppies and my sweetie.

Back later.

Naps in our house are generally a family affair. My Markie likes to sleep with 2 pillows length-wise down his torso to keep warm (weird!) and Luna likes to go up on top of the pillow on his chest and sleep there while Abby sleeps at our feet with her little snout resting on one of us. Today it was on her daddy's ankle. What a sight.
I don't feel much better but I think I'll go make cookies. Peanut butter. That usually helps. How can you feel sad while baking?
:-)

Awwwwww....

2009-02-27T19:53:00.000-08:00

I just can't imagine a world without puppies!

RAIN!

2009-01-22T19:29:00.000-08:00

Finally, rain! I must admit to guiltily enjoying the last couple of weeks of sunshine but I am glad the rain is finally here. Mark, Abby and I have been hiking and bird watching and just enjoying this unseasonably warm January. Last week we saw a beautiful young coyote. She was so playful and gorgeous. She was hopping around in the tall grass probably scaring some small animal into an early grave but we sure were happy to share the trail with her.
Today Mark and I headed up to Rancho San Antonio knowing it could rain buckets on us but it didn't. It was so lovely and green with a heavy mist over everything. It was just beautiful. That is what being in church should feel like. We surprised a few animals coming out of the mist the way we did. We walked within 10 feet of a few deer, were treated to the sight of about 10 California Quail crossing the trail and best of all, we saw a bobcat. It was a little bit of a thing but with the attitude of a mountain lion. He watched us back for a few seconds and then, in no particular hurry at all, turned his back on us and padded slowly away.

Some days you just feel so lucky to be breathing on this incredible planet ya know?

Joy and Peace

2008-12-22T11:12:00.000-08:00

Journey? Like, with Steve Perry?

2008-12-08T21:08:00.001-08:00

We've all heard it said that it's not the destination but the journey that's important. I have always given that homily passing agreement but tonight, because of something on This American Life , it suddenly struck me, like struck me, that even if you do get your heart's desire, a published book, art in a museum, etc. that stunning moment is simply that. A moment in time. We really do need to take the time to get all we can out of the moments leading up to that next big (or small) moment.

I have been trying to be conscious of that and it is probably why I was struck so damned hard (Another homily about the teacher coming when one is ready to be taught comes to mind) as I do my finals. After all, these finals are in Photoshop! And Illustrator! Well okay, and in InDesign but ahem, the deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy it can contain. Or words to that affect.
:-)

Mexican Islas

2008-11-21T02:03:00.000-08:00

I took this in Mexico last month. It was off the Nayarit coast close to Puerto Vallarta. They were lovely and green under a cloudy sky.

Rally against Prop 8

2008-11-15T18:16:00.000-08:00

I love this first line from a San Jose Mercury News article on line:

"They stood together on the plaza outside San Jose's City Hall Saturday under a cloudless blue sky, the sun shining down on gay and straight demonstrators alike, as if they were just exactly the same."

I like knowing my local paper is on the same side that I am. :-)

I met up with a group of rally attendees at the Billy DeFrank Center, at 9:00 this morning. We stood around for a while waiting for more people to join us for a walk to City Hall scheduled for 9:30.
I enviously eyed the folks drinking coffee from the swanky-cool newish coffee house next door. I was afraid to drink the coffee. Or the water for that matter. Why you ask? Because I was (rightly) worried there would be no place to PEE! That was my main concern. Okay maybe not my main concern but it is something I think about.

There was a great group at San Jose's rally. The news reported 900 people. I'm not sure I saw that many people but there were hundreds for sure. All kinds of people gave up their Saturday morning for the cause. There were gay people, straight people, kid-people and pups galore. There was a lot of chanting. I felt like I was back in the Marine Corps.

What do we want?
Equality!
When do we want it?
NOW!

Surprisingly, I still have my voice (Sorry Mark).

I'm thrilled to know that Prop 8 has become a springboard to bring gay rights to the forefront all over the world. There have been small victories but the job just isn't done until everyone is equal. Period.

I was talking to my friend the other day and trying to figure out from an anthropological standpoint, why people seem to need someone, a group of people to feel superior to. Is it pack mentality? The pecking order that determines who eats? Even though as a rule that isn't an issue anymore, is this behavior a remnant of that time in our evolution? I will probably never know.

In closing this evening I'll say something I didn't think was possible even this morning but I believe there is something to be grateful for in the passage of Prop 8 and that is that I believe it will be the catalyst for the world working toward total rights for all humans. Maybe it will even help women (please) in countries where they have no rights and no worth. Maybe soon they can stand up for their rights as well. I'm ready to stand for anyone being denied the basic human rights that we are all absolutely entitled to.

Tomorrow Mark's band is playing at Palo Alto's Farmer's Market which means I have to get up early for a Sunday (7) so goodnight vast universe into which my thoughts go.

Thank you from me to anyone out there who is fighting the good fight. Or should I say fights?

Prop 8 Continued

2008-11-13T09:42:00.000-08:00

I took this picture in downtown San Jose at Guadalupe River Park. I stood up on a bench by the tennis courts and shot a picture of an old barn-ish place that is now in the process of being torn down.

Like so many of my fellow civil rights activists, I am still horrified by the passage of Prop 8. It has cast a shadow over what should be a time of celebration and HOPE. I am glad that people are mobilizing against Prop 8 as it gives me a place to protest. Protest. That almost seems too tame a word for what I really want to do. I want to scream til I’m hoarse. I want to force every one of those who voted 8 in to look a gay person in the face and tell them why they feel they shouldn’t have the same basic rights as they do. Tell them why they took away their civil rights.

I really don't understand how we can take such a basic right away from people. Doesn't it say in the Declaration of Independence that all men (and women) are created equal?

I watched a spoof video on The Onion that said we have finally become so angry and disillusioned that we could elect a Black man.

True. Damnit.

It’s interesting that those who have historically professed to be in favor of less government in our lives are the very people who are actually snooping in people’s bedrooms. You just can’t get more invasive than that!

Wasn't this country founded in the name of freedom? Our ancestors, except those brought here as slaves of course, came here to be free. To escape those who treated them as less than equal.

When we first arrived, to be free of tyranny, we almost immediately began our own tyranny against Native Americans. Why do we always seem to feel the need to designate someone to be less than us? Why must we operate from a place of there not being enough for everyone? Why can’t we be tolerant, loving, and generous? I just don’t get it. Is it bred into us, this need?

Some times it seems as though we become less enlightened as time goes by.

There is hope for us yet!

2008-11-05T10:03:00.000-08:00

What a place to be this morning. I am over the moon that Barack is our President –elect. I never really thought the American people would come through. My faith in my country is restored. I can’t see him on TV without tears coming to my eyes every time. It’s a miraculous time.
I was so impressed by the volunteers who came out for Barack. At the SJ campaign headquarters you saw every type of person. I saw young Black people and young whites which was a wonderful site to see. The passion shown by young voters is incredible and hopefully not an anomaly. There were people both Black and white in their 30s, 40s, and much, much older as well, giving up their time to make calls and knock on doors to create this climate of hope and change. I am just amazed and thrilled and I must say, a bit scared. Overall though, it’s just magic!

I hear Whoopie Goldberg say something profoundly moving this morning.
To paraphrase, she said "that she had always felt herself to be an American and a proud American but last night, she felt like she was able to put her suitcase down. She didn't even realize she had been holding it up all this time."
What a beautiful thing to finally put it down. Wow.

That the same people who elected Barack Obama would vote for Proposition 8 constitutionally banning same sex marriages is abhorrent! Why must there always be a social/moral caste system. Why must we always have someone to look down upon and make them wrong? The only glimmer of hope is that I know that someday things will change. Why must we wait for those who hate to die off? I am just devastated and shocked and angry. My brother said the reason he was for the idea of Prop 8 (He lives in Missouri so is not affected by this issue in any way. Yet.) is that he doesn’t want gays to be able to raise children. He would rather have that kids have no parents than gay parents. That anyone would choose to have kids in the foster system than with loving parents of any persuasion is incomprehensible to me. I just don’t get it. To vote based on how you wish things were is not logical or realistic. For myself, I think anyone who wants to provide a loving home for children should face no obstacle based on sexual orientation. Because someone is born gay is no reason to be treated any differently than anyone else damnit!

Thank goodness Proposition 4 is so far being voted down. But only narrowly.
The proposed law that would require doctors to notify parents of minors seeking abortions. Again that’s like saying that is we vote this law into affect teenage girls in trouble would no longer have abusive parents and that all kids can now easily go and speak to their parents when they are in trouble thanks to a bunch of misinformed voters. I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way.
There are so many misconceptions around Planned Parenthood. When PP or anyone is called pro-abortion it makes me crazy. No one is pro-abortion. It’s always, always a tragedy when someone is in the position of choosing abortion but PP gives information on all of a woman’s choices (CHOICE!) not only abortion. There is counseling and support for the women who need it.
We are pro-choice; not pro-abortion.

There is nothing that can be done about Prop 8. Next time though, I will work to defeat it. In the meantime all we can do is educate people whenever and wherever we can.

Today I will focus on the fact that my new president is a calm and measured man of great intellect, an original thinker with immense passion and compassion. We should all vow to work in service to the new ideals and vision of hope that we have chosen.

A close friend

2008-10-04T13:19:00.001-07:00

I love the ocean and everything in it. When I look at the ocean, I see it in a cut-away view like a school room poster with all of the sea creatures in it at their preferred depth. You just never know what may come popping out at any given time. Maybe a pod of dolphins will appear. Maybe a flock (?) of flying fish or a mother and baby humpback whale. I love that surprise and the mystery of it all. My Markie and I have had amazing adventures in the ocean. We had the extreme privilege of swimming with a pod of wild dolphins. So humbling. We have been joined more than once on snorkeling expeditions by spotted eagle rays. They are so beautiful as they fly through the water like magical birds. On our last snorkeling trip I met a white tip reef shark up close and personal. After a split second of misplaced fear I relaxed and enjoyed the encounter.
One of the scariest -in a cool way- creatures of the deep is the Humboldt Squid. Check him out!

Although we are only 30 miles from the Pacific ocean, it is FREEZING so we rely on vacations for our watery fun. To get us through between our adventures, we are members of the Monterey Bay Aquarium. During one of our recent afternoons there, we had the pleasure of making the aquaintance of the Cuttle Fish pictured above. He (?) was so cool. We hung out with him for over an hour and he really put on a show. He stayed right by us and seemed as interested in us as we were of him. The employee we spoke to said the Cuttle Fish are very friendly and that they recognize their keepers and friends. We were happy to spend time with him and he was kind enough to pose for this picture.

Later gators!

More Love in a Mist

2008-09-29T10:50:00.001-07:00

Feeling Green

2008-09-23T16:25:00.000-07:00

An Old Gold Rush Town - Campo Seco

2008-09-17T21:16:00.000-07:00

Valley Receding 2

2008-09-16T16:11:00.001-07:00

I call these last 2 photos Valley Receding because the place where I grew up is receding in real life but also in my head. It's getting harder and harder to remember what it was like here when I was a child. The popcorn (plum) trees that lined the street where I grew up and the orchards that outnumbered the office buildings feel almost like a surrealist dream now. I guess that all part of growing older.

Valley Receding

2008-09-16T16:04:00.000-07:00

Grapefruit Blossom

2008-09-15T12:09:00.000-07:00

The Lines Blur

2008-08-26T21:16:00.001-07:00

Homework - Write about a Conflict

2008-08-15T11:58:00.000-07:00

It was a hot and humid night just like every night had been since I had arrived at the Marine Corps Base in Parris Island, South Carolina. I was lying rigid in my bunk my cotton pajamas soaked with an acrid sweat. My muscles were drum-tight knots of tension. My breathing, when I remembered to breathe, was shallow and forced. We were about halfway through our 8 weeks of boot camp; far enough along that we knew how things were done. We had all heard stories of the vigilante justice that Marines meted out to those who didn’t toe the line but they didn’t seem realistic to a young girl so recently a civilian. At the time, those stories seemed as far away as home.

We had no idea what was happening that afternoon when the drill instructors came roaring into the squad bay hurling expletives at us and tearing apart the flawlessly arranged contents of our foot lockers. Our closets with uniforms meticulously pressed during free time and hung on hangers each a carefully measured 1/2" away from the next were hurled to the floor. Countless hours of hard work and fastidious attention to detail dashed in minutes. We were told that one of our own was the cause of this destruction and I’m sure I wasn’t the only person who felt immediately guilty and terrified wondering if it was something I had done that had brought this punishment down around our heads. The DIs were shrewd enough to let us sit in this fear for a few interminable minutes before they revealed that one of our platoon mates had stolen a candy bar from the PX. We were in shock! That someone would have the nerve to do such a thing was beyond imagination. This was not remotely the same crime that it would be at home. For 3 hours we stood painfully at attention as the squad bay was searched and destroyed. The contraband was finally found hidden in the acoustical tile above the offender’s bunk. I can’t begin to imagine what it was like to be her. To stand all that time, guilty, waiting for her fate to be determined. Every member of our platoon had paid the price for that one person’s transgression and we would spend many hours repairing the damage.

A cold realization came over me. Tonight, there would be retribution.

It was the advent of the first and only blanket party I had been a witness to and though I wasn’t an active participant, I knew that I was a part of it and knowing that was absolutely beyond my comprehension. As the clock loudly and slowly ticked away the minutes that night, I almost couldn’t stand the pressure of waiting for it to happen but even if I couldn’t, what was my choice? There were no phones. There was no contact with outsiders at all so who would I tell? And what would I say?
The absolute worst part though, was that a tiny shameful part of me was angry enough to believe that this was right and that she should pay. But I didn’t wish for this. I didn’t want a group of fellow women marines to sneak up in the dark, throw a blanket over this girl’s head, pull her into the bathroom and beat her and then walk out of the bathroom leaving her there alone. I was absolutely powerless to stop it, change it or to wish it away.

And so I waited.

I lay there feeling the pain from the tension in my muscles, inhaling the stink of fear all around me and feeling the anxiety pulsing through my brain trying to remember to breathe.

And I hated myself.

Only 300K!

2008-08-13T22:41:00.000-07:00

A Thorny Subject

2008-07-27T08:13:00.000-07:00

Black & White Gramma's House

2008-07-14T18:18:00.000-07:00

At the Nut House

2008-06-02T12:43:00.000-07:00

Dear Job,

As I try and make it a habit to always inventory the positive before I get to the negative, I’ll start with that; the positive things about you. There are things I like about you. Let me tell you what they are.

Just give me a minute…..

Oh! Oh yes! I like the paycheck so thank you so much for that. If not for my paycheck, how would I handle the neurosis I leave with every day? If not shopping then what? Without the paycheck I obviously wouldn’t be able to afford drugs or alcohol and we all know I’m a bit too old to start a sexual addiction.

Without that paycheck I wouldn’t have a place to live either.
And I don’t think I’d make a very good homeless person. OCD does not go well with life on the streets. I can just see the sign I’d hold: “Will work for anti-bacterial hand cleaner”. I sleep with 4 pillows for gosh sake! I would have no room in my shopping cart for anything else. It would be all pillows. Well, okay and a blow up mattress. So where would I put my books? And my magnifying mirror?
Where would my Martha Stewart Living magazine be delivered? Where would I warm up my lavender heating pad for my back?

I also think it would extremely difficult to be a foodie if I were homeless. Fast foodie just doesn’t have the same ring to it and I don’t like McDonalds on the first go-round let alone out of the dumpster. I know this without even trying it once.

So, yes, I do love my paycheck.

Hmmm…what else is positive about my job…..still thinking…. still thinking….
Not the coffee.
Starbucks my ass! I think they package up the burnt stuff and sell it to their corporate customers because the supposed Starbucks in our coffee room is pretty vile. They never run out of CoffeeMate and though I am loathe to admit it, I am so addicted to CoffeeMate. I know. I know. Gross but there you have it. Now you know my deep dark secret.

The cafeteria food is okay if you’re fond of water weight gain. Salt would be the 1st ingredient listed were they to package this slop and since I’m not, well then we can’t put food in the positive column.

They keep the bathroom clean and I like that. Of course I do as well so I could get that at home. What I don’t have at home though is a self activated flush toilet.
We have that here at work. You stand up and it flushes. It’s funny how quickly you get too lazy to flush the damned toilet. I can’t tell you how many times I have walked out of a friend’s bathroom without flushing. It gets pretty embarrassing.
Works well with porta-potties though so that’s a point for homelessness. Of course I despise porta-potties. What self respecting female doesn’t?
So I take back my point. Homelessness points still hovering at zero.

Let’s talk about the people. Those self important folks wandering the halls with a cell phone super glued to their heads ‘taking a meeting’. Let me tell you how impressed I am with that feat. Of course the in-person meetings aren’t any better (unless I bring a tootsie-pop). The attendees sit there with their TREOs and laptops buying collector’s plates on eBay or having their illicit email affairs or whatever it is they do. What they don’t do is pay attention to the meeting so when we get to their bit, status, answering questions or whatever, we have to start the whole conversation over because they were not paying attention. If I have to pay attention at these boring-ass meetings then damnit I want everyone paying attention.
I hope they at least won the auction and that their commemorative StarWars dessert plate is in the mail. Oh yes, these people ROCK!

My chair is pretty comfortable as is the brace I wear for my newly developed Carpal Tunnel.
Nuff said.

In conclusion, I guess I’m here for the paycheck.
And only the paycheck.

Back to work.

Seating for Ghosts

2008-04-10T19:53:00.000-07:00

Grey Seed Pods in Mendocino

2008-03-06T08:21:00.000-08:00

Looking forward to Spring!

2008-02-14T07:50:00.000-08:00

First Christmas without my Brother

2007-12-26T08:09:00.000-08:00

For those of us who have left our religious faith way behind us along with other childish beliefs like thinking we’re really someone special or that our parents have to love us. For those of us who have found ourselves living in a world where the only things to hold on to are luck and medication. The holidays veer wildly between heaven and hell. Cynicism doesn’t ward off the cold or allow you to shut down your brain no matter how much we may wish that it could.

Every year when Christmas comes around you can drown in your wishes and the ghostly shadows of a family that never really was.

Still we chase them.

Christmas is all about proving your love to your family and friends hopefully creatively and sincerely both. I usually work hard at it myself.

Christmas and my brother Clay went together perfectly. It was much too scary for him to express himself with words but gifts were an easy way for him to say that even so, he loved me. Though I feel greedy when I say it, I loved getting his beautiful gift baskets or his bag of gifts for me and my sons and Mark.

It is greedy, but not in the way you may think. It made me feel like I was really someone special and that my brother did love me and to have had to give that up really leaves me with no family who feels that way about me. Not even once a year.

With my brother gone there are no witnesses left other than me. I feel like I‘m alone at the scene of the crime.

I miss you Clay.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2007-11-19T20:22:00.000-08:00

I took this a couple of years ago and obviously I played in Photoshop. It is of a hawthorne tree in the rain at the cemetery I worked in for a bit.

Love of my Life

2007-10-24T13:16:00.001-07:00

Watercolor Love-in-a-Mist

2007-10-12T14:45:00.000-07:00

I'm not much of a gardener. I love gardens madly but our backyard is shady and I'm lazy so we have a big lawn. A few years ago my lazy ass threw some wildflower seed in the area where flowers would be if we had them. I didn't cover them up with dirt or anything. I merely tossed the bird seed, er, flower seed out there and hoped for the best. As you may have guessed, the birds ate most of them. A couple of months later, imagine my surprise when a poopload of beautiful blue and white flowers started blooming. They are called Love-in-a-Mist and they are not only gorgeous, they reseed! So every year I get pooploads more! They are the ultimate lazy gardener's friend.

They are also wonderful posers. I really liked the watercolor affect on this one. Let me know what you think.

Blowin' in the Wind

2007-10-07T14:48:00.000-07:00

My sweetie pie plays guitar obsessively. Seriously. He gets up at 6:30, plays until 7:30 when he has to get ready for his pesky job. He goes to work then comes home to eat dinner and then he plays his guitar until about 10:30. At 10:30 he generally ambles out to the living room to catch the news. And by the news I mean The Daily Show because these days the only trusted news source is, of course, Comedy Central.
At around 11 he goes to sleep where he no doubt dreams of, and I’m guessing here, playing his guitar. His schedule does vary. It’s not like he’s a machine.
On Tuesday and Thursday evenings he instead goes to rehearsal with his band.

It’s a bluegrass band.

Do you know anything about bluegrass?
They say that if the girl isn’t poisoned or drowned or somehow violently dead by song’s end, well then it just isn’t bluegrass.

Ain’t that bitchin.

All of this wouldn’t really be an issue except for the fact that humans tend to get songs stuck in their head. You know what I mean; the lyrics play over and over and over until you almost lose your mind. Usually it’s something like, “Blinded by the light. Wrapped up like a douche you know the roener in the night…” or whatever those lyrics really are.
And I believe that you are what you think for the most part and so you really don’t want most bluegrass lyrics going through your head all day. Especially at this love fest of a company. I’m cruising to the printer room, feeling pretty good, when I see my nemesis Agatha (or any number of my cheery, effervescent, fanciful, frolicsome (love my thesaurus!) co-workers coming down the hall) and I realize I’m singing a little ditty with lyrics like maybe… “pimps and the gamblers were hanging around to carry Little Sadie to the buryin' ground” or “Little Janie, Little Janie- Your arms are wrapped so tight and Satan leads my fingers as I pull away the knife…”

It’s time like this that I wish my guitar lovin’ sweetie were into maybe… folk music.
Music about peace and love and women who are ALIVE!

This picture is a macro of a dandelion taken just before it blew apart to propagate baby weeds all over my front yard.

Homework - Your Writing Voice

2007-10-06T21:01:00.000-07:00

As I venture away from the safety of my sarcasm, I find myself feeling unsure of my voice. I know that I have used humor to hold people at arm’s length but I want to bring them closer now. As I get older, I see that the real magic occurs when you let people know your struggles, when you let them see your scars. When I make myself vulnerable I find that everyone around me opens up like so many doors and that metaphor really fits. People share and then connections happen. When I really make myself available and honest, others do as well. I want to write from that place.

Let me tell you a bit about me. I really like to laugh but more often I cry.
I cry when I’m sad, tired, when I’m moved, happy, hysterical whatever.
My boyfriend Mark and I joke that I can’t go to breakfast without crying but it’s true. And we go to breakfast every weekend. Without exaggeration, I cry 80% of the time. It’s like there’s something in the orange juice. I cry over everything. I cry over babies and pregnant women and old couples holding hands. I cry over the beauty of one voice coupled with one guitar. I cry over sunsets and a beautiful sky. When we pass a squirrel stretched out on the side of the road Mark tells me they’re napping and I believe him. Almost. I cry when I watch the Olympics and when young girls play Little League. I didn’t make it through Winged Migration or March of the Penguins. Movies are tough for me. I just nudge Mark and he gives me the keys. I wait for him in the car where I always have a book handy.

I read constantly. If there was a reader’s anonymous, it would probably be recommended to me that I attend. It is sometimes like an addiction and so I cut myself off- for a chunk of time every year or so, or when I find it getting out of hand. Sure reading is a good and admirable hobby, but when you spend all of your free time reading memoirs of other’s lives and not living your own, well you’ve got a problem. I love to picture the RA meetings. I see myself standing up and saying, “Hi. My name is Robin and I’m a Reader”. “Hi Robin” the others would singsong in reply and welcome. The room would be filled with others like me; mostly middle aged slightly overweight women with a long trail of unfulfilled dreams stretching out for miles behind them. I see them as brightly colored ribbons tied up neat and safe and pretty with bows.
It’s a tough addiction because reading saved my life. In the 2nd grade Miss Mackie taught me to read and as long as I was reading, my too real life receded into the background.

I have 2 brothers. My oldest brother was the product of my mother’s first marriage. My little brother and I are from her second. She didn’t have any kids with her third husband although he had a daughter. I grew up with these 2 brothers Clay and Fred. My father had a passel o’ daughters and one beloved son. He had two girls with his first wife, no kids with his second, me and Fred (his only son) with his third wife and another girl with the fourth. It gets pretty complicated to explain and as far as I’m concerned I have 2 brothers and that’s it.
Clay lives in Pacifica and has been depressed every day of his life, without exception. He was such a beautiful child and it’s sad to say, but I can’t picture him smiling. He always looked despondent until he began to look wicked. He was the type to pull the legs of spiders to see how many they had to lose before they couldn’t walk. The animal torture may have gone further and probably did but I don’t know the details. Small favors.
These days he whiles away the hours waiting to die. Whether it will be the recurring lymphoma or his HIV status, we’re not sure. The gift, if there is one, is that the closer he gets to death, the nicer he becomes. Last week he called me and we spoke for 45 minutes. It was really nice to be on the receiving end of some family contact for a change.

When we were young, people used to think my little brother Fred and I were twins even though I’m 4 years older. Because the genetics are a bit watered down in our family, having a true sibling was sort of amazing. He and I had the same weird emaciated ballerina stance that you’d have to see to understand. We had the same mannerisms.
We looked alike, talked alike, and thought alike. We were so close. It truly was like we were twins. I never imagined a day would go by without seeing him but he married and started making his way east. He’s now in Missouri and lives on a lake with his wife and my 16 year old nephew. When I’ve been there to visit I have witnessed what they do and say when my Dad calls; how they roll their eyes and comment on how screwed up the family is (which is true) and how they can’t be bothered. Of course they would swear it was different with us and that I wasn’t like the rest of them.
He never answers my calls or my emails. And of course he owes me money.

My dad is a charming man and a good storyteller. He’s also an unlikely mix of sentimental and asshole. It’s from my father that I inherited the tendency toward tears. It’s kind of hard to take his seriously though. This is the man who used to put a timer on the table at dinnertime. This was the early 60s so dinner was usually some yummy combination of variety meat like SPAM or meatloaf, the ubiquitous potato in one form or another and one of two canned vegetables; corn or green beans. And don’t forget the bread and butter. We had til the timer went off to finish our meal. At least we had a warning I guess. While the timer ticked away in the background, my father would yell at us for every little thing we did wrong during the day. We were not allowed to have anything to drink until we ate all of our food so what I remember most about dinner time was choking and crying. Clay was wily enough to drop food into the napkin on his lap for later disposal in the toilet. My little brother and I were not that good at deception. I was rarely able to finish my meal and so spent my evenings sitting at the table looking at my food and being swatted and yelled at until bedtime. You’ll not be surprised to know that I spent half my life with an eating disorder. In the summertime we weren’t allowed in the house except to get screamed at, I mean to eat. Being a girl I was reluctantly allowed in to use the bathroom while my brothers were relegated to the back yard. We had to drink out of the hose. My dad worked at home and he always seemed to be just inside the door conveniently enabling him to yell at us if we dared to put a hand on the screen door.
Now at almost 80, it seems he tries to use his now ready tears to convince me of his innocence although he won’t own up to the crimes.

My parents were musicians. That’s how they met. My mother sang and he played piano. He fixed TVs at home during the day and my mother worked at inside sales. She was good at sales and singing because her voice was amazing; husky and low and full of dark feelings. They played jazz and on the weekends our house was a textbook 60s party full of alcohol, cigarettes, jazz and the sex that floated over the surface of everything. That’s one of my earliest sense memories; sex. I can’t explain it but it permeated everything. My mother was beautiful and my father was jealous and the fighting and the accusations flew through our house like birds.
My father left when I was ten and on that day I was able to ride my bike out of the driveway for the very first time.

I know my parents must have both been in a massive amount of pain to treat us and each other the way they did but it happened and my brothers and I have spent most of our lives trying to find the love and acceptance they denied us. I’m happy to say that I have found it and it appears that Fred has as well even if he had to leave everything behind to do it. I wish I could say the same for Clay. And I keep hoping that he’ll still get that chance.

My Wacky Son

2007-10-02T21:56:00.000-07:00

When you fancy yourself a photographer, it's quite handy to have a rubber-faced son to pose for you!

Desaturated History

2007-08-14T15:15:00.000-07:00

Leg Lifts

2007-08-14T14:34:00.001-07:00

When we first moved into our house 10 years ago, we divided the main chores.
Mark basically got the outside, the wood floors and the garbage. I got the house, groceries, laundry, toenail clipping and cooking.

I’ve noticed though, that no matter how busy Mark is, I cannot do one of his chores for him because then HE WILL NEVER DO THAT CHORE AGAIN!
It’s like I lifted my leg on it, peed on it and marked it as MINE!

One of his chores is taking out the garbage and also on trash day, taking the recycling to the curb. We are lucky enough to have a (theoretically) walk in pantry so we store the paper, bottles, etc there. Trash pick up is Thursday and one Wednesday night, while in the pantry, to prove once again what a thoughtful and sweet pseudo-wife I am, I pulled the recycling out of the pantry. BIG mistake.
The next week he didn’t take the recycling out of the pantry, nor the next week or the next… I finally had to get all “mom” on him (and boy I live to do that! It makes him sooo HOT!). It worked though. 85% of the time now he does put out the recycling.

When we first moved into our house, even though the yard is his bailiwick, I weeded a little separate garden are in the front yard and so he has never touched that part of the yard. Unfortunately, I only did it that one time so it has looked like crap for years now. :-0

Foggy Ranch

2007-08-10T18:24:00.000-07:00

Pierce Ranch - Revisited

2007-08-09T06:31:00.000-07:00

More from the amazing and very foggy Pierce Ranch.

Farm Bones

2007-08-07T18:45:00.000-07:00

Inverness - Tomales Bay

2007-08-07T18:10:00.000-07:00

Reflections on the Past

2007-08-06T06:31:00.000-07:00

I took this reflection at the historic Pierce Ranch in Point Reyes.
http://www.nps.gov/pore/historyculture/people_ranching.htm
For those photographers, I'll tell you that all I did was change the levels in PS.

I think reflections are very cool and an interesting way to view life.

Osprey Fledglings

2007-08-05T06:50:00.000-07:00

I so wish I had both the lens and the weather to have done these cute big ole babies justice but I feel blessed just to have been there.
This was also taken in Point Reyes. There were 3 big Osprey nests but this was closest to the road.

A Black & White World

2007-08-01T22:40:00.000-07:00

I'm very distressed to realize that every week I wish my days away so I can get to my precious weekend. That's most of my life that I'm wishing away, rushing to the end of my life.

Something has to change. Although I don't quite see the possibility of a new job, my doctor said to just be open to the idea. Okay. I'm open. WIDE open.

I tell my son Chris that having a job you really like, if not love, is absolutely crucial. I started out with the perfect (for me) job back in the olden days when I was a drafter. My job then was to sit at my drawing board, with my headphones on listening to talk radio, making gorgeous drawings. Isometric drawings (3D) on a really good day. It was awesome! And when I left for the day, I couldn't take my work home on a laptop. When I left, I was off to my other life completely.
With the advent of computers and 3D modeling software, my job has degenerated into an analyst position. All I do is sit at a computer all day. I rarely even talk to anyone other than my closest co-worker. It's not a horrible job and I know there are lots of people who would gladly sit in my seat, but it's not the job for me. I am outgoing and creative. I'm a people person. The only strength that I utilize in this job is my OCD-like tendencies! Ha!
I have to be open to something new happening for me.

The Silicon Valley is an interesting amalgam of the money culture that we Americans have created. There is nothing more important here than money which in turns makes your employment a huge deal. Lots of the people I come in contact with value their job more than anything. They work so many hours and make lots of cash. And hey, good for them if that’s what they want to do. I just value other things. This is not to say that I don’t want to be comfortable and that I don’t love my Passat station wagon but I don’t ever want that to be my priority.
That is so not me. I value the connections I have with people more than anything.
My family; my beautiful sons, their girlfriends, my sweetie-pie, my granddaughter, my cousin, my friends who are so funny and talented. I am so lucky. I need to concentrate on that and not the fact that I am wasting away at a job that I don’t like.

I am so lucky.

Lucky me.

Happy, Happy, Happy Birthday Lily!

2007-08-01T10:48:00.000-07:00

When my son told me his girlfriend was pregnant, I was happy. Concerned but happy. I was there when Lily was born. I saw her make her way into the world and it was an awe-inspiring moment. Then she was a baby who lived far away and I didn’t really feel her presence in my life. I know my son was disappointed and I was disappointed in myself. I wanted to be different from my parents I really wanted to be the kind of grandparent a child would love to have. My Nana was that to me and I truly believe that if I hadn’t had her to help me through the loneliness that was my childhood, I would not have survived. Though I don’t want Lily to need me in that way, I want her to feel the same love I felt from my Nana.
But it wasn’t happening and I was afraid that it was me and that I lacked something that would allow me to connect with her.

That has all changed because now she is a real little person. A little person with a magnetic force that pulls me to her. Now I know that all will be well. I love her madly and there is really nothing I would rather do than spend the day with this little miracle of a girl. When I hear her commanding little voice calling me “Na-Na!” or calling Mark “Papa”, my heart and Mark’s, melt absolutely.

Today Lily is 2. We will have her party up here in Northern California in September. I can’t wait to share her once again with all of my family and my friends. She is the gift that I didn’t even know I needed.

Happy Birthday my lovey little girl!
I will see you soon. I promise.

I promise myself.

Another Gift

2007-07-31T08:07:00.000-07:00

Another day spent indoors when I should be outdoors enjoying this lovely summer.
The weather this year has been perfection. And the pollution that usually hangs in the skies hasn't made an appearance. It's been all I could wish for. Well, except that I'm in here and not out there. Oh well! Guess I'd better get some work done since I am here.

Cheerio!

Life Goes On

2007-07-19T08:18:00.000-07:00

The thing about being human is that we are resilient in spite of ourselves.
No matter how much I still struggle with the loss of my brother, the hole it has left in my world, life keeps poking it’s head in and yelling for my attention.
The little angel in the picture being the most lovingly persistent voice I hear.
So I’m back. I’m writing and photographing again and I’m breathing.
I still wake up every day and have to remember all over again that Clay is gone but then I move into my day expecting to smile.

Flowers for my Beloved Brother

2007-03-12T09:59:00.000-07:00

I love this poem

2007-03-07T10:54:00.000-08:00

As a child, didn’t you dream of distant countries?
And later, as the soul grows up yet still clings to the past.
You miss the paradise lost
In dreams glimpsed at the end of the day.

Where earth ends
Ships left their anchors
Taking symbols of precious beauty
Up on their masts.

More Flowers

2007-03-02T10:26:00.000-08:00

Beveled Mirror Flowers

2007-02-26T20:11:00.000-08:00

Aggie- Parts 1 & 2

2006-11-29T12:07:00.001-08:00

I just didn’t measure up. Well, except literally. At 5’10” I was taller even than my twin brother. My mother recited the laundry list of my deficiencies so often; they became almost a nursery rhyme that played in my head: “Hard head-ed, Blue Stock-ing, Lay-about, Plain-Jane”.
The thing is I really wasn’t any of those things, at least not completely.
I was 13 years old and hanging on for dear life to the only thing that ever made sense to me; school. My mother was pushing cooking and sewing on me like it would save my life. And maybe it would.
There wasn’t much on God’s green earth that was worth less than a homely girl and in view of all I’d been taught, the most I could hope for was marriage to a man who might appreciate my 18 hours of daily slave labor and hopefully treat me as though I was a human being and not a brood mare and a pack horse. Based on what I’ve witnessed in town and in my own home, the chances weren’t good. It just doesn’t sit well with me. If God truly has made us in his image like Preacher tells us, then why would he give me a brain and then ask me to waste it? Back when I was still naïve enough to ask these questions at home, my mother would tell me all the ways in which she used her brain like figuring recipes and stretching her allowance to pay the household accounts. I certainly don’t hold any anger in my heart toward my mother. I know she’s just trying to be the best mother she knows how to be but I’ve always known I was cut from a different cloth. We speak different languages. It’s as though I came down from the moon or one of the stars that shine so brightly in these California skies.

If it wasn’t for my teacher, Miss Seaton, I couldn’t begin to imagine a happy ending for myself.

My teacher was an amazing human ‘bean’, as she called herself. She was the smartest person I knew and she was still her own true self. She lived in a world made up of book learnin and whimsy mixed with a big dose of the cold hard truth. Sometimes I think her silliness was the only way she could get by in a world where she was regarded with sneaking suspicion from all sides; especially the side from which I‘d been issued. My mother thought she was filling my head with nonsense and my father thought she was down right dangerous. Since she was our one and only teacher she was of course treated with a modicum of respect but any woman who has reached the ripe old age of 29 years but is not yet married will raise many questions in a community like ours; even today. In regards to Miss Seaton, those questions had been asked and the answers were not what anyone expected.

My teacher was raised and educated back east in the state of Connecticut.
She had lived and taught in places that are merely names on a map to me, places like Casper, Wyoming and Sioux Falls, South Dakota and Seattle, Washington. Of course my parents traveled as they made their way here to Saratoga from Jeff City, Missouri, but that was before I was born, so me, I have never been further than the saw mill where Daddy works. I would love to travel some day. I want to be a teacher like Miss Seaton. It would be so exciting!

Although one might think a man was involved in a woman’s long journey of 4000 miles, in this case, nothing could be further from the truth. She headed west for the same reason my father and all the other fathers I know did; for a new start and a chance to make their own rules. Although it didn’t work out quite the way she thought it would, every morning she brought her blithe spirit and her considerable knowledge into our classroom. For that I am truly grateful.
Miss Seaton created an environment of safety where I could ask all the questions I wanted about anything at all. The boys laughed at me and made fun of me in a way that made me nervous in my stomach. It felt the same way when my father started in on his nightly grievances, “Girls had no reason for too much schoolin. Enough maths to follow a cooking receipt and enough grammar to write a letter. Beyond that, they’re to rely on their husband’s knowledge.” Many times I tried to turn his tirades into a conversation. “But Daddy,” I would say, “most of the boys in my class don’t have the brains God gave a house fly and it will be cold day in hell afore I would put my safety and security in their hands.” Maybe if I had started out a little less self-righteous, a tad less forthright in my argument I would have had a chance, but I am his daughter. I didn’t hear him and he surely didn’t hear me.

A Wrinkle in Time

2006-11-21T14:44:00.001-08:00

I really thought getting older would be easy for me. Though somewhat cute when I was younger, I wouldn’t have been categorized as gorgeous by anyone who wasn't sleeping with me. Because I was used to residing in the world of mediocre, I thought the transition would be fairly easy. Uh, I was so wrong!

Some mornings I have to wait til I get to work to put on my makeup because it can take hours for my pillow wrinkled face to snap back into position. I guess ‘snap’ is the wrong word. It used to ‘snap’. Now it slowly ambles, whistling show tunes and taking in the view along the way.
When I can finally start troweling on the makeup, which is painful enough because I actually have to look in the mirror to do it, I also have to face the brand spanking new “Wrinkle-of-the-Day”.
I swear.
Every day.
A new wrinkle.

And this is only the beginning! I’m 46. I have a good 30 more years of deterioration and decay to look forward to.

I can’t wait.

Aggie's Story (first draft)

2006-11-14T13:00:00.000-08:00

RANT- Impolite People in MY Movie Theatre

2006-10-16T12:45:00.000-07:00

I HATE it when people make noise during a movie. Yes I am neurotic and rather pit bull like. If someone near me is talking or making any noise at all, even if it's just a whisper, I cannot hear anything else. (I am such a secretly angry person. Please don't tell anyone.) I want to severely punish all offenders. We generally go to the same group of theatres all the time and I suggested to the management that just before the movie starts, an employee should make a quick announcement reminding people to turn off their phones and remain quiet for the movie. Imagine my happiness when I attended a movie at another theatre and they did just that! I know I'm not the only person who appreciated it. There was applause from the audience. I realize you can't make people behave without corporal punishment and though I think that would be a fine idea, we do live in a litigious society and the theatres would need expensive lawyers on staff. But wouldn't it be fun? Either spank them or make them sit in the corner with a sign that says "I cannot shut up for 2 hours" or better yet, "I SUCK!". If their cell phone goes off they automatically lose their phone privleges for...I don't know, a month? We want this to be a deterrent after all so it's got to be painful. And who the hell decided that popcorn would be a good movie snack? Jeez! It would be a serious challenge to come up with a louder food. And then there are the loud-ass bags that it comes in. Actually we sat in front of someone once who was eating Doritos and it actually was worse than popcorn. And the bag? Oh. My. God.
If I were the Queen, people would only be allowed to eat gummy things in the theatre and said gummy things would come in really quiet packaging. Maybe in cups.
Movie goers would be forced to turn in their cell phones for the duration and a really strict drill instructor type would come in before the movie to threaten everyone with bodily harm if they made any noise.
Oh, and no one could sit in any of the seats around me except my boyfriend because he doesn't make noise either.

Okay. I'm done now.

Homework - Free Write & Short Piece on First Day of School

2006-10-16T12:41:00.000-07:00

This assignment doesn’t resonate with me. I don’t have many school experiences and certainly none that I can remember well enough to write into a non-fiction piece. I do know what kind of child I was and so I’ll write about that.

What I know about myself as a young child is that I was eager to please and be liked. I know that I was hungry for attention and praise. I’ve been told that I always woke with a smile on my face. I know that I laughed a lot and in a goofy way. I know that I have always been animated and effusive. I know that until I was 8 I was guileless and absolutely unencumbered by self consciousness. My first school teachers were very patient with me. By today’s standards I’m sure I would have been considered hyper active and probably would have been drugged. But I wasn’t hyper active. I was hyper needy. And my teachers saw that and they comforted me. They gave my life some consistency.

I sometimes think about the child I was and I can’t help but wonder how my life would have been different if I’d been, I’m not sure what word to use. My first instinct is to say, “If I’d been wanted” but that sounds so absolute. Like I was absolutely “not wanted”. That’s the right word whether I want to use it or not.
But if I had been wanted, how would my life have been different?

I worry about all of the children who are like I was. They are no longer the exception. They are an army. They need so much. They have broken homes and broken parents. They live without even a semblance of a normal family life. They grow up without love, without acceptance, without compassion and without dreams. They use bravado to camouflage their broken hearts. They fill themselves up with music, with drugs, with sex and with hate. And they fight, this army of discontent. And they kill each other. Every single day.

It's in the Bag

2006-08-24T14:53:00.000-07:00

Okay, so it’s Monday and I knew I’d be spending another day here at work with ab-so-freakin-lutely nothing to do. I found out on Friday that the project I was hired for is not due to start until OCTOBER 15th!!!! Why am I here???? I am being paid a more than decent amount of money to do nothing, but as you know, it doesn’t feel right to me and I hate being bored! I don’t like to be blatantly sitting here working away on art projects on my personal laptop. The only way I can sit in my office has my back and my laptop’s front facing the door, advertising to those who do have work, that I am screwing around and getting paid for it. I did it Friday because I was trying to get my sweetie’s band webpage up and running (And no you can’t see it because it’s STILL NOT UP! Argh!).

So let’s look at the contents of my bag to see what low tech, on the down-low projects I brought to work on today. Here is the list:

Thank You cards – 2 boxes – because I still haven’t sent out cards from my granddaughter’s 1st birthday party 3 weeks ago.

Address Book – To address above listed cards

2 novels – The Art of Mending by Elizabeth Berg & Living on Air by Anna Shapiro (I am a very fast reader)

A book on hand coloring photos – I have the coolest picture of my Nana on her Harley circa 1915 that I would LOVE to hand color.

A book on making some cool jewelry out of bottle caps – I love making jewelry!

Granola and almonds – I could easily fall into the bored eating habit

It’s 9:26 and I’m already getting sleepy………….

Oh, the picture. I took this on a lovely spring day in one of the last remaining orchards where I live. In Photoshop I put a gaussian blur on it and corrected the levels.

Ice, Ice Lady

2006-08-03T14:43:00.000-07:00

Those of you who work in offices will probably agree with me when I say that the admins are usually really, really nice. They go out of their way to make the newcomers at home by loading them up with office supplies and telling them who to watch out for. They throw flower petals and spread happiness wherever they may roam.

Usually.

Not at my new job. At least not with me.

There is an admin syndicate in our building. There are 2 young sweet admins and 1 evil old shrew of an admin. I can call her old cause she may actually be my age but with way more bitch spots and whine lines. It may be that very fact that makes her detest me so.
Oh, plus I have all my hair.....

Most people like me. I'm not beautiful so women don't hate me and I like sports and I bake so guys usually like me. But not Serf-zilla.

Tomorrow I plan on baiting her by being disgustingly nice to her. When she complains to her minions about me, I want them to think, "She seems nice to me". They don't even answer my cheery good morning without checking with her first so I know they will only *think* it!

I'll let you know how it goes.

My Intention

2006-08-02T14:18:00.000-07:00

My intention today is to be....um, content. As a somewhat hyper person, I am having a bit of difficulty with my current employment. I started last Monday at a large company and have so far done nothing at all to earn my keep. This is a new breed of strange for me as I am accustomed to small companies where the employees are running so fast they have bugs on their teeth. Here they even smile in slow motion. If they even deign to smile. This is not a good place for a recovering Catholic. The whole day is an opportunity for guilt. But at least I have the time and opportunity to do some of the things I've been meaning to do, such as google all of my friend's names to see what comes up and do research on Classmates.com to try and find out if my high school best friend really did marry my high school boyfriend (yes). Until tomorrow I shall remain Content About the photo...I love small things and dead things (within reason) so a small dead flower was right up my alley. I kept this grapefruit blossom safe for 2 months until I bought my macro lens and it was the first shot after purchase.