To Learn by Going Where We Have to Go.

The crows have built a magnificent nest in the long arms high up in my Maple tree. They have instinct, skill and whatever evolutionary magic is on their side.

As I struggle with the sticks of new skills, the structure I am building called “marketing” and “presence” is so much less compact and architectural. At times, I feel as if my head empties out. I learn how to record on Garage Band, change the file to an MP4, load it into IMovie and then… and then…

The next time I attempt it, my voice has so much reverb I am an opera diva soloist. The track sounds like I have a 500 pound barrel body with words careening off of intestines and ribs.

What also fell out of my head or perhaps is just not aligned electronically is the method of paying my PST for my art work. Then there is getting insurance on my art hanging in a local bnb. So far it is two days and multiple phone calls.

I think to myself that it must be some Zen Koan life. When I am dealing with electronics or institutional authority, I must first fall to my knees in humility and work through waves of frustration. Eventually, it will work. Eventually, I will learn it.

Maybe, one day the path will arise to meet my feet instead of being hidden in dense under brush.

What I have been learning is how to market my work. The first task is to allow people to see what I have created. So my store on the Redbubble site found at is being featured on my facebook page, on twitter, on linked in and every time I go out for a walk, I wear the leggins.


My Maple tree in winter wrapped around my legs

My Maple tree in winter wrapped around my legs

At the present time, I have a list of nine things that I am trying to learn. They are in a scrawled and numbered column on my neon orange index card.

I look like the crow when it sits watching me from its perch. I have my head to the side, blinking my eyes black with ignorance. I can feel the sharp beak of curiosity trying to figure out the way in, the way out, the best way to grasp that shining bit of knowledge and fly away. I can take it back to my nest of a mind where I now “own it.”

It is a process. It is all process.

DIY is it an Illusion?

Embracing the Power Dragon

Embracing the Power Dragon

This last month there have been so many lessons learned. When Pay Pal made a deposit to my account twice and then had to remove a payment, I flipped the anxiety switch off. Like a current of negative electricity that threatened to run through my mind, the story started to play. Flip the switch.

open draw

My thoughts immediately went to a statement which I had read in a library book, Zen and the Art of Falling in Love by Dr. Brenda Shoshanna.

She asked the question, “What is the host and what is the guest.” It was simply put. It got through to me. Is a feeling of being at home, loved, supported and respected the host in my house of emotions? Or is the sense of lack, scarcity, vulnerability the host? Are moments of sorrow, grief, anger, numbness the elements that take up most of my mental floor space? Or do these emotions just visit for a while to a place that is more fulsome and joyous?

So $600 that I had not expected to flow out of my account would leave. First, I said to myself, “That was never your money. You are glad to pay back that which is not yours.” Secondly, I went into my practice of asking, “What are you supposed to learn?”

Going to that place lead me to understand more fully how my relationship with money is less than adult. Do I know how much is in my account as if I were an adult? Am I anticipating payments that must come out such as my house insurance which I had “forgotten” about?

So much of managing my money has been about deprivation because that is what I have become an expert at living. My parents worked four jobs yet when we went shopping my mother would visit every store on both sides of the Columbia river to see what items were cheapest. When she died she still had every receipt for each and every item she had purchased since 1960.

I was in graduate school for an extended period of time and lived with no heat and little money. My way of living has always been as a poor student. With over 2,000 books, I moved from one boarding house to another. The thrift stores provided me with clothing and household items. Each time my life fell apart it cost me thousands of dollars and I had to begin again.

So being cold, underfed and wearing thrift clothing became a sign of competence. It meant I could live within the constraints of my pay check. But this month, I was once again directed in a more powerful mind set. What if you took your assets and managed them more mindfully to allow plenty to flow in?

I went to the bank and sat down with the investment banker. I was reassured that my understanding of the world economy was accurate. I do have two years before inflation will begin. I have two years to pay down my “reverse dowry” line of credit obligation taken out to buy my freedom.

I felt actual fear as I took the money out of the self directed account to allow the bank to manage it. But the jar of coins under the bed attitude was not serving me. The wrap up in a blanket and keep the lights off mentality was not serving me.

It is against my very cautious nature to go out and buy expensive items just to feel powerful. Today, I replaced the stove element on the second hand simple appliance all by myself. It cost $37 and it worked. But I have the heat up and bought some lovely food items on sale.



It is walking that territory between fear and delusion that is the trick.

I am so proud of myself for the head way (and don’t you just love that word!) that I have made. For the first time since my divorce, I have begun to eat breakfast sitting at the breakfast table. I went through the double financial lessons of house insurance payment and having to pay back $600 without drama. It was a lesson and I took the homework with me to the bank. I called a handy woman to repair the tiles that have not worked properly in the bathroom.

Only quietly, like a whisper down a well, was I hearing the anxious beasty voice telling me I would shrivel and die dehydrated and starved. And as I was watching my mind, I could see that I did not have what I call “push back” on the ego voice. I just left it whimpering in the well.

surrounded by blessings

surrounded by blessings

The other wonderful awakening has come through using the tests for the seeds of intention that I found in the book E2. The first test is to ask the universe for an unexpected/unusual gift. The test was for 48 hours. I noticed my negative, ego voice growing louder and louder. “It is 40 hours now and nothing.” “It is 42 hours now and nothing.”

At 46 hours a friend came to my house with five CD’s some by Liquid Mind. I had heard of the artist and thought I wanted to check him out. And now I am standing with his works in my hand. People bought me coffee, Three polka dotted zipper bags showed up in my mail. An old friend left me with a big bottle of Lavender oil she had crafted from her garden.

So what my lessons have all pointed to this month is a sense that I am using the skills I have worked toward. I have been able in the moment of an event to shut off the negative current, to get down into the structure of the thing and ask, “What am I supposed to learn?”

The biggest realization for me has been that it is not about solving problems. It is about developing technique. I was on the tennis team in high school and spent hours hitting balls that were coming at me fast. Some I had to hit back handed. Some I had to smoothly connect with on the forehand side. Some bounced wildly and the ability to calm the ball down with the surface of my racquet and then send it with intention was necessary.

I understand now that that is exactly what is happening. Balls are coming at you. Lessons are coming at you. They will not stop. Hitting one does not mean there will never be another. It is a deluded mind that thinks, “I will solve this problem in order to solve all problems forever.”


The light came on for me. It is about the skill. Am I standing with my feet balanced holding the centre? Are my hands relaxed? Is my mind calm and alert? As things come toward me, there is no place for negative emotion. As I watch myself, I understand that over time, with intention and patience I am building skills.

How did I reach this place where peace, joy and gratitude are the hosts and lower energies are the guest? It is because of my coaches, because of those who have taught me in books, on you tube. It is because of my friends who have moved forward to live more authentically and fully. It is because of my spirits, angels, guides surrounding me.

I eat at the table. I repair those things which need to be repaired. I watch my financial situation with a more alert eye. I am not a Do It Yourselfer. I have been taught with loving wisdom. I am growing to trust myself and others more fully for the first time in my life. Now where is that screw driver?

Dave with the Diamond, The Language of Love

As the baking heat of summer abates, I walk along the waterfront. The experience is so much like the last sip of mango juice, the last kiss of a loved one, the fragrance of the remaining rose standing singular on the stretching branch. Knowing that it is drawing to a close makes me open up my senses all the more.

I think to myself, “Soon you will not see the loose, relaxed bodies of family tribes strolling with a shared rhythm. Soon the skin, arms and legs will be hidden away for winter like putting away seasonal clothing, these exposed limbs. Soon the evening air will not be perfumed by the release of fragrant flowers like a retelling of the narrative of the heat soaked day.”

Sunset City Park

Sunset City Park

It is in the denouement or in the anticipation that we most awaken to our own lives. Studies have show the point of greatest happiness is when an individual is working toward a goal. Olympic athletes report a loss of joy at the end of an event, even if they have garnered a prize.

Quo Vadis losing the way

Quo Vadis losing the way

The ability to be awake to my own life is and has been my focus for several years. How do I stay in a place of contentment even as the seasons change, through the trajectory of plans, effort and achievement? How do I allow emotions, deep grieving memories like forest monsters be recognized and acknowledged? Can I remain aware of what I hold in my body and of what I hold in the grinding fine mill of my brain?

Feel, release. Listen, release.

When I wake up the dreams are tangled around me like dark sheets. For decades I would have nightmares about being killed. The residual fear of my father coming in my room would be presented to me in dreams. My subconscious would be saying, ” Deal with this. Feel this.”

For decades I would awaken sobbing with my heart already shattered.

Through my vision quests; through my sitting at the feet of Shamans, teachers; through my listening to broadcasts from life coaches; through my reading DIY reconstruct your life books I have come to a place where there is an opening.

My eyes unclench at the start of day. I am encased in sadness like a gray, smudging cloud and then I move to gratitude. I put my hand on my heart and thank it for being so committed to staying alive. My heart has kept me here. I thank my heart for being so open and child like. The spirit I am wants to be in love, to share love, to be innocent and expectant. “Thank you, heart,” I say.

Seeing the love

Seeing the love

I lay my warm hand on the place where I held cancer. The place where I have growths removed every five years and I say, “You are healthy. You are fully alive. You live in freedom. You are beautiful. Thank you body.”

As I swing my feet over the edge of the bed, I envision jumping off of the edge of a ledge into the day.

“What kind of a day will you have?” I ask myself.

“Any kind of day you create,” I answer.

“Oh great. Then, it will be wonderful and full of love.”

How do I know my focused study is working? Because there are times when I do not hear a dozen crows and fifteen monkies all chattering in my mind at once.

How do I know my dedication to feeling and healing is effective?

As I walked along the boardwalk a little boy under the age of two was being pushed in his stroller by his parents. He was wearing a wonderful, expensive fedora. I did not smile at him. I did not stop and make faces at him.

I only thought, “Dude. I see your spirit. You are one rocking dude.” He broke into a smile and put his hand up to high five me. His parents stopped, looked at him. They looked at me and were puzzled. And then we all laughed.

I went to the bank and behind the counter was an attractive, thin, very stylish new bank clerk. His name tag said: Dave.

“Dave,” I said, “are you new here?”

“No,” he responded, ” I usually work in another bank.”

I thought how much I liked him daring to be so trim so stylish so unmundane. And then I saw the gigantic engagement ring on his left hand.

“Oh,” I said, “aren’t you the lucky one.”

“I know,” he said, ” and it isn’t because of the ring.”

We smiled together about his love, his claiming who he is in the world, my recognizing how wonderful he was. We just stood smiling together.

As I walked down the street, I saw a car enwrapped in love. On the windshield were two generous bouquets of gladiiolas. An aluminum heart balloon saying, “I love you,” was on the windshield. And balloons, balloons so pink and plasticy were floating from all of the wiper blades.

t I love you ballon

I am so grateful when I see the bravery of love. I am so lifted up when I see two people kiss on a street corner, exchanging tenderness. My heart sings when a baby waves at me.

t power feet

The nightmare world of helplessness, having my bones broken and my spirit invaded are giving way. These days I step out into a world of surprising, magical moments of love. Thank you Dave for wearing your diamond and sparkling bright.

It is not a new season. It will not slip away like summer. It is where I plant my feet. Now.

My thoughts still attach to the narrative trajectory… anticipation, tension, release but I am thankful that I can be aware of what is appearing on my “reality screen.” And sometimes, I can even switch the channel.

The illusion of Stillness

Mundane, repetitive, stuck, cycling gray
bare cutting into the sky
branches dividing the flat planes.

Over two yards a tree
is busy with dead small leaves
standing texturing the view somewhat.
I seek continuity of
over and over the same
gestures, habits of delusion.
Mind full of thought crows
brassing sounds
comparisons, directions
attempts to keep me scared
and small.

One day looks like the next
a river’s flat silver surface
all turbulence underneath
where water meets the rocks.

To be still, quiet and accepting of one state or another is a monumental practice. My urge to weave a story keeps presenting itself. Today after a month of taking my laundry to the laundromat because some mysterious parts are no longer functioning in my second hand washing machine I see my mind is at work. Up there, in the tree head I weave narratives.

We create turbulence

The higher place is where I try to stand. I call it the balcony view. I picture myself standing on a balcony looking down at my thoughts as if I were a cultural anthropologist and the primitive society was ME.
As I bagged up the laundry, I checked in. So far so good. No story. Just putting the bags in the car. Then I remembered the times when I was in Europe doing laundry and as a grad student. So here was the version I was constructing: I was on an adventure. I was going to a new place.

At the laundromat, I realized I had no soap. That made me laugh. It had been so long I guess I imagined the soap just trickled down like pixie dust from the soap fairy.

When I went next door to the deli/grocery store, a sample pushing woman approached me in her pseudo maid’s outfit lofting a silver tray. After exchanging information about my gluten intolerance, she ran off to check on the two miniature hamburger shaped chocolate eclairs. They were “safe”. She gave me both.

On the way back to the laundromat, I breathed deeply, looked at the sky and thought about how wonderful my day was. Two amazingly delicious, sugar saturated chocolate eclairs melted in my mouth one after the other. The machines were gigantic and tipped on their sides could be a power smart car. Fast. They were done in 20 minutes. I put the wet clothes in the car and drove home singing to the Glee CD I am determined to wear out.

So I did create a story. It was a story of finding the adventure in the flat places of winter. It was a story of seeing my being alone as being free. It was a story of unexpected pleasure when I dropped the turbid drama weavings, the cat’s cradle of catastrophe.

The washer still isn’t working. The repair men went away but after looking at the back of my dryer they explained that the luke warm hours of turning are a result of bad venting. Because they came today, I will have both the washer problem and the dryer problem resolved.

As I sit here with the tepid light coming in my window, I know that there are more things that will appear to be unrepaired, too slow, stultified which are in fact only incubating. Under the shell, under the soil there is growth going on. And that is a story that I allow to dance in my head.

Christmas Eve

Beautiful blue eyes

I have been staying with my daughter, Dominique, and her husband Troy since I was coughed up by the Greyhound Bus after a twenty hour ride on rough roads. The fact that somewhere along the journey my suitcase that I foolishly dropped my medications into and that was full to the gills with Christmas Presents had gone veering off in a separate direction from my bumpy trajectory could not lessen the experience of arriving.

Firstly, seeing my daughter was wonderful. Secondly, just being able to stop the alternating of the rough jostling with being kicked out into the yellow-green slime of light that coats all the surfaces in the small “cafes” lining the route was a cause for celebration. Had I been able to unbend my knees sufficiently to dance, I would have. However being in hedgehog-fetal position to try to fit onto the seat through the night precluded anything more than being calmly thankful that I had enough stamina left to disembark.

Lastly, I had the practice. My mind wanted to run to the first window which was victim. Oh poor me. No suitcase. Then came the second window which was blame.

“You stupid twit, why did you put your medications in the suitcase. You traveled all over Europe. Twice. And you knew enough not to separate yourself from clean underwear and medications.” But because I have been basting my brain with Buddhism, the last part of that alternative of bad vision was minimized. I managed to shut the curtains shortly after, “You stupid twit.”

Then came the use of the practice…. being patient. I asked to file a missing luggage form but was told by a very terse woman (who had previously hung up on my daughter) that they waited five days or more before filing a lost report.

Rahne is a serious, focussed leader. Her eyes say it all.

Now my mind did its work. I saw that the woman was angry. I saw that her life wasn’t working. I saw her treat people without respect including hanging up on another caller as I watched and I wondered, “How’d you get that way?” Reading Wayne Dyer and How to Win Friend’s and Influence People taught me a few skills.

I was patient. I didn’t crowd the woman but I didn’t go away either.

I came back to the depot three times, phoned three times. Politely. I explained that my daughter would be living with a werewoman after my withdrawal from my bionic woman meds. My poor little waifs of grand daughters would be deprived of their Christmas presents.

And lastly I went for the heart or the jugular. I said I had no other clothing and needed a change of underwear after 21 straight hours on the bus. What human being could resist that plea?

During the recounting of my tale, it spilled out that I had purchased my ticket on line. The woman’s face shut down like a castle gate under attack.

“On line. We don’t want you to purchase tickets on line. We don’t get any commission for finding lost luggage for people who purchased a ticket on line.”

Poison words. I had poisoned my case and now had to begin reworking our relationship. She was mistress of that desk and I a mere suppliant. The very repetition of the phrase, “on line” was for my benefit because I was obviously an “idiot.”

Part way through the days of sweet persistence, she deigned to fill out a form while asking me questions. I described my luggage in laborious detail. When we were done, she handed me a slip of paper indicating that I now had permission to pick up my suitcase. And when the detailed, adjective rich depiction of my suitcase was complete the line for description on this power-of-pick up form simply stated,” suitcase.”

To understand the depth of mini-autocracy at work, I had talked to this woman daily. She is working at a depot with only two people. Both people had been included in the conversations I held with them. So as I took the paper which said that I could pick up my luggage should it ever arrive and present it to the only two people in this tiny, unadorned closet of a depot to make sure that it was official, I was silenced by the sheer force of convoluted logic. Perhaps the idea was to get rid of me by sending me away with a white scrap of hope.

She could, apparently rule her kingdom with an iron will.

So I called the Greyhound national office… It is in Texas. The woman who answered gave me the Canadian corporate headquarter’s phone number. And thus began my Christmas conversation with Emmanuel. I explained to this savior the details of my plight… now for the eighth time. It was good practice. I was becoming more succinct and gently hopeful while maintaining my dogged persistence with each retelling of the saga of the lost suitcase.

He said I should call the national office in Texas. I told him that I had. He said,” You should ask the depot to put a trace on it.”

I said, ” I asked the depot immediately.Yes. Yes I have tried for three days, six different times,” I informed him.

“Why don’t you go to another depot and fill out the form?” he asked.

I fell for a moment into a pool of confusion. Whaaaat?

“The nearest town with a depot is four hours away and I took the bus. I don’t have a car with me, ” I said starting to blank out from the sheer confusion of those I was dealing with.

“Well, I don’t really do that, the tracing. But I can ask for a trace if I file a complaint at the same time,” he offered.

And there it was. The rune in the full moon light. The switch to the sliding bookcase. An opportunity to educate the Houston, B.C. Greyhound Depot staff on the company policy. A chance to help those poor fools who thought they could call a business and ask a question without having someone slam down the phone. My intention was to stay out of anger and just keep the attitude that everybody was going to be alright. Even my dark blue almost black, 35 lb, cloth covered suitcase with a pull handle and wheels.

On the fourth day, Donna, who reigns supreme, allowed me to fill out a form. From then on everything changed. She actually looked at my face when we talked. She immediately faxed the request to the stations along the way where some, in her words, “idiot” could have miss-routed my luggage.

The next day after the fax went through to the six stops along the way, my luggage showed up. The woman was actually happy for me. Her face had softened. She said, “Now your grand daughters have their Christmas presents.” She let me hug her.

I will write a letter. But now it won’t be a letter of complaint. Communication is the problem all down the line. The mistresses of the desk needs to know that, yes, a trace can be filed immediately. The company needs to know that a review of procedures will help bring in more customers. And the driver needs to know not to leave Christmas parcels out in the parking lot where some “idiot” will back over them.

My body is now nicely humming along with all of my bionic woman meds, I have clean underwear, the Christmas presents are under the tree. I have learned so many things about travel, about loss of focus when packing, about compassion and not least of all about why I want to be rich enough to fly first class.

Merry Christmas everyone. Blessings out.

Teagan is a loving, sensitive, bumptuous soul.

Where do we exist?

The question of where we exist in time and space often occurs to me. At times, such as the weeks when I was recovering from bunion surgery I feel almost invisible. Like the tree clapping in the forest or a ripple of lightened water, I was without witness. The boundaries of self begin to dissolve when movement is restricted and the house is an isolate place.

the self

energy of self

From the time I had the surgery until the day I drove myself to the final x-ray by the surgeon I was mainly alone. Forty days of being unable to drive, to work, to consume and lord knows I like to talk. The silence kept me company.
However, when I begin to drive again I noticed that I tended to go out less frequently. It was easier to maintain a level of frugality and channel whatever funds arrived into my massive line of credit debt. The only distraction/craving which I was swept right back into was sugar. While I ate no cookies or treats for forty days, I am now storing gluten free oreos around me to prepare for the long days of winter.

mending, reforming

Today is the beginning of the new cycle of fruition according to the Aztec calendar. So I celebrated by working ten hours editing and loading in my books to
I find it less than pleasant to edit in Open Office which keeps shutting down when it is loaded with my images. Watching the mocking wheel grind its way to no where on the screen feels less than fulfilling. However, I persisted and I have the first anthology Facing It in both ebook format and in paperback book file. Facing In, the more recent short poems that I have posted on Facebook during the year 2011 is loaded up as a paperback as well. This time I put in a request to have all of the books appear in the google search. It is eight weeks before that happens.
So I continue to work toward the goals I have set on my resolution chart that I composed from Gretchen Rubin’s book The Happiness Project. I am walking 30 minutes a day, doing crunches. Today I added a few repetitions with 10 pound weights.
My writing is moving forward and the next project may well be making a book of my blog postings. Gretchen suggested the idea and it really appeals to me.


One of the things my writing teachers and mentors have always said is to respect what you have written. Cherish it. Keep it in a good notebook. And don’t be afraid to publish.
I am teaching myself more about the software of Photoshop Elements after fifteen years of using Paint Shop Pro. The similarity of driving a certain type of vehicle which becomes an extension of your body and then trying to find your way around a rental vehicle comes to mind.
I teach two classes in the coming weeks for UBC-O Continuing studies on painting into a print and on blogging. Teaching is such a joy for me. I have an actual physical reaction in my body. I feel lighter, more energized and excited about life.
Now to try to figure out how to get my television to work again. I put the computer down on the remote and apparently ordered a movie from Shaw which I couldn’t get to go away so I just shut it off. Perhaps, some kind soul will wonder past the house and I will run barefoot into the street to ask for an interpretation of the technology. I often feel like an immigrant to a planet I don’t understand. But I am used to it.

Whence Goest Thou? Huh?

Really. It has been a month since I posted. Whaat has happened?

First the public protest to save the Cedar Creek properties along the lake shore as a Park for those in the future who will reside in one of the most densely populated areas in Kelowna. Then attending various meetings as a representative of the North End Resident’s Association took some time.

Hefting art in and out of Five local shows was also a focus. I was pleased that my piece London Lights sold at the Sopa Under 8 show.

Only two shows still remain on view. One is the abstract geometrics at the Blood Collection Agency on Dillworth Road and the second are the three works in the Myths and Legends show.

The garden has taken much of my focus and energy. As life returns to the soil, I return to life and become dirty. Black feet marks across the floor leading in from the open door.
I painted the front steps and the back deck. I have planted, weeded and mulched the beds. The tulips are dancing jovially across the yard with their yellow, pink, red petals painting the air.

They are truly the happiest of flowers. Not just because of their appearance after the terminal loneliness of winter but their very nature is celebratory. Not too complex, enameled and architectural in form, they are a pleasure to the eye. These are not timid expressions of promise.

The furnace shafts toyed with by the local raccoons and their deviating ways have been repaired. The furnace was leaking, the hot water heater out of sorts.

So one asks where do the days go. Taking care of “the estate” is an act of devotion and stamina. Currently the entire backyard is aglow with the yellow of dandelions. There must be thousands. It reminds me of the poppy fields in the Wizard of Oz. The sight of them makes me feel sleepy.

There is the rigorous approach. Should I want to be swept immediately to heaven upon my demise, I will take out “the tool” and dig up every root. A less rigorous solution would be to use the weed eater and slow the process of seed head formation. Using the weed eater is always fun no matter how many black spots of bruising I sport afterward. It is primal in its gratification.
Or, and here is the indolent solution, I could wait for hot weather to simply kill them as it does every year. No water. Too much sun. Dead.
I am probably incapable of the last two alternatives but I like to delude myself that I am making a choice.

The federal election is over and my over-zealous postings on Face Book of every damning article in the Globe and Mail, CBC or Provincial newspaper articles on Harper’s controlling, draconian methods have ceased. I do what I can to educate others from my FB and Twitter pulpits. We move forward we mere 60% that didn’t vote for Harper and will keep our eyes open for what next convolutions of chicanery will be forthcoming. For someone who is not political, I certainly spend a lot of energy being political.

My book on LuLu has garnered many thumbs up and I have sold copies both on the site and to local people. I need to investigate how to create some poetry readings in Kelowna so that I can market this anthology.

A couple of pieces of art that I donated for Artists for Japan had many bidders and that is gratifying. On Thursday I pick up the piece from Carrie Harper who organized the event, contact the winner and collect the money. At that point, I will donate it to the Red Cross Japanese Disaster fund.

Also, I have been creating and producing a vision which appeared to me during meditation. The Fun Fancy Flash Mob to raise funds for the Elizabeth Fry Society came to me when I heard a friend’s voice say, “I never get a chance to wear that evening dress I bought in San Francisco.” So now all of these beautiful people in their tuxedos and tiaras will appear at Jim Stuart Park to strut to some recorded music. Four camera over seen by the local filmmaker Jason Woodford will capture the event. Only 30 minutes of glory from 2 until 2:30 will await these red carpet adventurers. I am really pumped about the event. The link for the event is on Facebook should you want to investigate.

In addition, on Saturday our neighbourhood is having a garage sale so I am going through all I own and putting the treasures for someone else out on Saturday morning for the Block Garage Sale. It starts at 9.
Between that event, the Fun Fancy Flash Mob on Sunday and the garden, it will be a furious and fascinating weekend.

Cultural Community

Tonight I went to two events. The first was a group of people interested in working on their presence in the world through retreats, conferences and reading. The second was a group gathered together by UBC-O’s creative studies department to learn which individuals were to be awarded the top three places by guest judge Annabell Lyons.
It was a joyous, relaxed evening.
At the first event, I met three people formally that I had passed in my life. We shared many experiences. One used to own a book store where I was selling art work on commission. Another taught dance in the building where I had my studio. A third was a close friend of a friend. It is interesting to see where connections can lead. It is why my daughter keeps telling me to go out the door. Staying home in my diaphanous Emily Dickens reclusiveness is not moving me on from this stuck place in my life.

Original photograph of a piece of string on the floor

At the short story competition announcement, I got to hear readings from four writer’s works. It was varied, skilled and interesting work. I had the audacity to take flyers of my poetry anthology which is for sale on LuLu and handed them out to four people. It took guts. I felt very hesitant but know that I have to start getting behind my talent if I want to make money from the work I am doing. My anthology is 36 pages of poetry written over the last year and posted to facebook.
My hopes are that the process of advertising my work becomes easier and more natural for me. Finding a gallery, an agent, a way to run the work I have been doing for thirty years up to a point where it begins to create it’s own energy is what will happen if I keep working to that goal.
I am going to a retreat in Victoria for the last week in March and really happy about having some time away. Life has been very lonely and quiet. Shows are coming up: Myths and Legends opens Saturday night at 273 Bernard; Digital Art show in Vernon t.b.a.; Sopa Under 8 in April. Currently, I have a show at the Unitarian Fellowship Hall which is a wonderful space to show art.

Plans to attend the Permaculture group meeting for tomorrow night are flying around in my head. I also feel like getting out to see a movie or go to Chapters. I have been disciplined this week working on art, cleaning the house, feeding my blog. Tomorrow, I need to prepare for my course at UBC-O Continuing Studies teaching Grammar Lite. Being back in the classroom is always a rush for me. I love to react to what it is my students need. Teaching, for me, is not about feeding a baby. Open the door. Here it comes. Neither is it like teaching steps in a dance routine. People need to know what they are ready to learn. I guess the really challenging aspect of teaching is being able to deal with four or five levels at the same time. It is a challenge; however, it is a thrill to walk out of a room knowing that you have awakened confidence and curiosity in your students. I love it.

I am thinking that it is time to go through all of the boxes of ballast I have in the shed. Clothing, books and fabrics can be freed, reorganized and utilized to create some revue for me. What I am not wearing, I must sell. The separation settlement left me in a position whereby I must start doing things to dig myself out. Listening to Tony Robbins was inspiring yesterday. Tomorrow I will sit down and brain storm 200 methods of bringing in prosperity to deal with the giant debt I had to take on to be free. Now I will find a way to be free of the weight of this debt.

Recently, I created two book jackets for a client who is a poet. I also created a banner for his web site. I worked images as far as I could in Gimp then I finally broke down and downloaded a free trial of Photoshop. Some of the images I created from playing with photoshop were interesting. I am missing my Flaming Pear, Eye Candy and Painter filters that went bye bye with the multiple crashes on my computer during my dark and disheveled days this last year. My creativity is coming back and the feeling of anticipation for what will be is like the pink shoots in my flower bed. Promising.

chocolate enclosure

Step by Step: How does the future unfold?

Today I worked more on getting the patio area outside my studio ready. I dug up the weeds, moved old wood, picked out the stones and laid out the big jig saw pattern. The handyman is coming next week to put in the last windows, make a plywood wall for behind the counter and then I can lay the entire studio out for work.

Hopefully a former student is coming to visit and look at my art.

Because it is 90 degrees out I am taking a break from working in the sun. Listening to Wayne Dyer under the air conditioning and drinking bubbly water is great. When it grows cooler, I will go out and finish laying the patio. It feels so good to get the back yard in order so that I can have a calmer life.

night sky image

night sky image

Next I am writing a poetry book from my old journals and making some applications for schools. Opening up to the wonderful possibilties in life. What a journey.

Iridian Night of the Stars Charity for Bridges Programme

Two of my pieces Zephyr Moon, copper and Green/gold were donations for the charity that Charlie Hodge has helped to organize for the Bridges Programme.

Corey Doak sang his Scruffy the Elf song

Corey Doak sang his Scruffy the Elf song

So many great musicians and bands donated their time that I felt that there was compunction on my part to attend. I have been less than healthy for over 7 weeks but kept chugging along. However, I do have only a few items to complete and my list can rest until the new years.

Corey entrances the audience

Corey entrances the audience

Some of the images that I took of the bands I worked with Paint Shop Pro to reflect the sound of the music. I really enjoy recreating the feel of an original situation and keeping the energy in my final piece. Nixie is a band I have been following for several years now. Moving to Vancouver, B.C. from Kelowna, they have now stepped up to move their career to a higher point.

Corey Doak award winning song writer

Corey Doak award winning song writer

Corey Doak is a musician that Cameron has played bass for on some of his CD’s and his sound is creative and full of his personality. He stood alone on stage and held the audience. His fan base is large. Playing Christian music at his church, he has garnered a big following.

Nixie singing their set

Nixie singing their set

Currently, I am completing 110 Christmas Cards which will be used by the City of Kelowna. Each is unique because I have drawn into them with metallic ink and Indian ink pens.

over lay of picture of Nixie

over lay of picture of Nixie

It was a laborious, time consuming task but it means they are NOT the type of works that are churned out by a factory like process. I cannot by my very nature ever work that way.

Nixie playing in Kelowna

Nixie playing in Kelowna

Loading to my web sites, attending to my on line galleries is the next task for the business.

final image that I really like

final image that I really like

Next week I will finish a very large committment to my community with the all candidates forum that I have organized. And not least, hopefully not last, is the wrapping and mailing presents.

paint shop pro layers

paint shop pro layers

Since I will be a hermit for a while after some surgery, I want to have things all complete.

Cameron is working full out on the electrical jobs he is getting.

electronica, rock

electronica, rock

He finished working on two houses in the last two weeks and is completing a garage. He must also replace the service to our house in the next two weeks to comply with the insurance companies proviso.

bright sound, big sound

bright sound, big sound

Hopefully, there will be time to knit, to read and to enjoy the “cave” existence of winter. For every season….

Looking forward to cinnamon spice tea, naps and dreaming.