Friends,
I realize it's been some time since I posted, but remember, I said that this was not going to be a "I went to the store yesterday" blog effort. I only want to post when I have something to say. Therefore:
Yesterday, we went to the Fair. Don't worry, this isn't going to be "we did this and that". I was much more intrigued by the cultures that intersected and swirled around one another. Let me see if I can give you a bird's eye view, or should I say "a Big Tex" view. Incidentally, it's hard to understand why Big Tex is so revered - he really looks cheezy. However, I was as thrilled as everyone else to see him standing over the heart of the fairgrounds.
I think the first cultural grouping I noticed were the people working the fair. Missing teeth, a nicotine addiction, tattoos gotten prior to fashionability, and being either noticeably overweight or noticeably underweight seem to be the common characteristics. I talked to several. Everyone was very pleasant even the people who looked a little scary, but I can't imagine doing their jobs. Coming up to the fair I noticed that one entire lot was covered with RV's. These people are the last American gypsys. They must move constantly following the fair swing from the north to the south to the west. I think there is still the "carny" community lurking under the surface carefully hidden from the casual visitors to the annual event. These are also people without illusions. How could you have any left if you brush up against with the American massses everyday? I noticed that at the ferris wheel there was a box labeled "counterfeit tickets". I asked if that was really a problem, and the reply was, "You bet." The ride ticket taker went on to explain that some counterfeiters were so stupid as to use regular xerox paper in place of the official cardboard tickets. His contempt was obvious when he muttered, "Risking 10 years in prison for carnival rides".
The fair workers at the rides, at the booths, and at the demonstrations (let me tell you about Kitchencraft cookware!) were very different from the "car" people. At the auto show, the car salespeople - and yes, there were a lot of women pitching cars, all looked scrubbed, uniformed, preppy and rooted. The impression was that the fair was a break in the routine for them. They just seemed happy to be out of an office. Who knows; maybe they are addicted to funnel cake, and this is their annual fix. The car people were all and I mean all white. Oh, I saw car salespeople with different racial tints to their faces, but they were all projecting the white middle class culture of controlled acquisition. My guess is that's who looks at the auto show at the fair. We certainly did. We also interacted (the 21st centure word for talked to) several people. It wasn't unusual for two or more sets of people to be looking at and sitting in the same care. You know me. When I got into the driver's seat and there was some stranger sitting next to me in the passenger seat, my quip was: "Where do you want to go?" I got some interesting answers from old guys who were happily surprised that a female was smiling at them and talking to them. And I'm fat and old!
There just isn't anything prettier than shiny new cars. I wonder if 200 years ago, people felt that way about horses?
It was also no surprise that different events attracted different audiences. The dog show was filled with strollers - and man, are those high tech now. The babeball exhibit from Cooperstown was populated with old people and the handicapped. The movie show costumes were being seen by women. None of which was surprising at all.
Truly the best part of the fair is being part of something so traditional that appeals to every segment of our society. Unfortunately, it took a long time for Dallas to make the fair inclusive. I read that clear up until the early 1970's - there was a separate day for the "colored" to attend the fair. It was dressed it up with some fancy name, but it was that old devil we call segregation and was really apartheid. During the struggle for basic civil rights, when the young African-Americans organized a campaign to boycott the separate day at the fair, it took real commitment for their community to back them up. After all, the fair only came once a year, and was as looked forward to as any other holiday by not only the children but by the adults too. Think of it as, "This year you don't get to have Thanksgiving." Naturally, money talks and bullshit walks - and ba-boom, ba-bing, no more separate colored day when counted on revenue started to dry up. I was cheered by the fact that there were many, many interracials couples strolling around the fair this year. Now, if we can all just stop looking at them as if they had three heads. My conviction is that the racial tension in this country will be solved when we have enough people who have feet in multiple ractial groups. Of course, my grandparents and I suspect yours, and maybe even you, reader, are horrified. If so, do a little biology study, we're all one species, duh.
The other kind of person who was at the fair is completely recognizable by everyone no matter what your skin color, your income range, your country or city address: The stuffed animal prize winner. First, I'd like to know where giant animals come from and who decides what will be produced: This year's fair is not just content with teddy bears, there are Scooby Doo's, and crayons, and new versions of cartoon characters - I didn't see Bugs Bunny, but I saw Stewie and Bart Simpsom. And they are all ginormous, humongous, and unwieldy to carry. You'd think they'd come with a strap, so they could be carried like a backpack - well, actually, it would be more like carrying a dead body, but hey, your hands would be free.
Picture this snapshot: One father, two little girls about 10 years old - best friends by the look of them - and HE'S carrying a giant pink crayon (I'm talking 4 feet high and about 9" diameter), a Scooby Doo (5 feet tall), and there's a second giant pink crayon leaning against the booth as he shifts around trying to figure out how he's going to carry all of these. Not to mention there are four "small" animals stuffed under his armpits. Oh, and did I mention, the little girls are carrying loot too? I just hope he was on the way to the car. The girls were grinning from ear to ear and chattering excitedly. Hey, all you guys who are thinking, "Well, I'd never have allowed that." - who do you think you're fooling? I'll bet everyone of you has "won" a giant something for whatever female you wanted to impress and lugged it all around the fair. Don't tell me you didn't. This poor guy yesterday had obviously miscalculated - he didn't factor in TWO girls or perhaps their? his? prowess at the games.
You know all the games, so I won't detail the ring toss, balloon burst, rifle shoot, beat with a hammer, etc. However, the most intriguing game was the ladder. It's a rope ladder with wooden sides about 18" across, about 8 feet high. Now, it's not swinging vertically at a 90 degree angle. Instead it's pitched at a 25 degree angle and it's fastened at both ends to something that allows the ladder to twirl 360 degrees. To win the prize you have to climb the ladder from bottom to top. Under the twirling ladder is the same air filled pillow you find in moonwalks. I stood there and watched it for about five minutes and never saw anybody who climbed more than three rungs before the ladder swung them 180 degrees and they fell into the pillow. It really looked like fun - especially if you were about 12.
And what fair is complete without rides. Broadly speaking, there are idiots who will ride anything and the rest of us. There's a new idiot ride this year - it costs $10 for a single ride! You are strapped into a catapult - as if you were in a spaceship - but open air - no cabin. Then the catapult flings you into the air and twirls you in a complete circle while the "seat" you are strapped onto twirls independently. So, you can be completely upside down swinging while you are at the top arc of the captapult - about 50 feet in the air - head down, feet dangling. Oh, and just to add some thrill, the tower that supports the swinging arm of the catapult, sways while the ride is going on. Let's just say that I would never, ever walk underneath this ride. Vomit falling out of the sky is a big turn-off as a fair experience.
Jan, what was your favorite, favorite part of the fair - I mean besides the corny dog, cotton candy, funnel cake and ice cream bar you consumed over an eight hour period? (Isn't that dreadful? I don't think I've ingested that much fat since the last Super Bowl party I attended.) But, I digress - my favorite part of the fair was the creative arts building - yes, all the doilies, quilts, pottery, hobby collections, afghans, painted pictures, cross stitch pictures, hardanger pictures, brazil pictures, crewel pictures, pillows, photographs, jellies, jams, pickles, hand turned wooden bowls, wreaths, xmas tree skirts, vests, sweaters, jackets - need I go on? The list could take up another five inches. It was an entire building of the "winners" in catagories like "Craftsmen, Designers" "Holiday Kits", "Hobby Collections", "Wood Carving", "Needlework", I can't conceive how many entries there were originally. The work, whether you do it or not, whether you even like the finished product or not was exquisite. I drool for beautifully created one of a kind objects. My nose was truly pressed to the glass cases. Such marvels.
However, the one entry that truly made me smile was in the "Junior" (translate kid) Hobby Collection catagory. It was the lid of a clothes dryer. The "center" of the lid had a written title: Everything My Mother has Found in My Pockets This Year. Glued around the title were every conceiveable item a 10 year old boy might stuff into his pockets at any given time. You can just imagine. It was all carefully shellacked, or whatever the modern method of shellacking is. The piece was a total hoot, and apparently the judges thought so too, because they gave it a blue ribbon.
Finally, a heads up to those who have the desire to go to the Fair and the flexability to go on a Wednesday. Fair admission is usually $14 per person. On Wednesday, you can bring 3 cans of food for the food bank, and admission to the Fair is $1.00 - yes, that's not a typo, $1.00 and you can make another small contribution to making life better for someone else in the most basic way - by offering food to the hungry in our community.
When you go, say, "Howdy" to Big Tex for me. He's the tall guy in the Dickies right across from the Fletcher's Corny Dog booth, and next to the Chevrolet test drive track.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
School Started Without Me
Yesterday, school started. And it started without me. I can honestly say that I didn't even have mixed feelings. I was just so glad NOT to be starting another school year. If you think about school from a teacher's perspective (which is a whole lot different than either a student or parent perspective), school is on a sliding scale continuum - like a number line.
On the negative side of the continuum are (1) curriculum restrictions - Think: "If it's Tuesday the 29th, we should be on page 4" (2) unreponsive managment - translated: The principal/vice-principal doesn't back you up when he/she has to chose sides in a crisis. (3) the PAPERWORK - Ok, I've changed my mind - this item is the supernegative. Paperwork: Count the kids for this, fill out form, send it to the black hole. Gather together all the work Johnny is going to miss because he's suspended for 7 days. (I did this ad nauseum and I never, repeat, never got a single paper back from Johnny - kids who get suspended for 7 days don't do school work). Count the kids and separate them as to race, reading ability, writing ability, left handedness, extra-curriculars, possiblity of failure, TAKS scores, NCLB ratings, library fines, book returns, honor role, male, female, birthdate, size, etc., etc., etc. - send paperwork to the black hole. Read and responding to email where you have to furnish "a sample". And finally, preparing for, organizing and attending meetings - approximately 3 per week lasting between 3-4 hours a week. And finally, last be certainly not least - this item costs about 10 hours of time every year - the CEIP (that would be the Campus Education Improvement Plan) that everyone is required to help write. Then it's sent "downtown" and ignored by everyone unless the administration needs a scapegoat.
Getting closer to the center of our mythical continuum but still on the negative side: Continual, constant, unremitting grading of papers. I graded 35 regular papers PER STUDENT every six weeks. I also graded 6 involved papers (like projects, major essay exams, writing projects) PER STUDENT every six weeks. If you have 75 students, that's 75 involved papers every week, plus 6 x75 = 450 regular papers PER WEEK. Grading papers tends to eat into your sleep, your social time, your family time. It's a grind. But it's the only way to be fair to students - I didn't teach college - only the ninth grade, and no one should have to stand or fall in a class based on five or six grades for an entire six weeks. Since, I assigned the work myself, I could hardly complain. A sure sign of teacher burn-out is when they stop grading papers. And I was lucky - I had a class load of 75 - 100 kids. I've known English teachers who had class loads of 225 kids. (When the teacher- this was just 2 years ago at Arlington Heights- complained to the principal that she couldn't effectively teach 225 kids, his answer was, "Oh, it will be OK, some will drop-out". Of course, not many left and she was a physical and nervous wreck by the end of the school year.) [SEE ABOVE - PRINCIPAL DOES NOT BACK YOU UP]
Moving slightly into the positive side of the continuum is "discipling of students". You are considered a failure as a teacher if you can't discipline your own students. Nobody in the main office wants to see a kid with a referral (a disciplinary complaint from the teacher to the administration - ie: "he won't do what he's told, and flips me off, and calls me profane names") You can write maybe one of those a year - you're expected to handle these little problems yourself. I used my lunch hour and my planning period to help students work through their discipline problems - That means they had to come and spend time with me when it should have been their free time. I tried various strategies all of which take time, time, time and energy. - Of course, it also meant that many days I inhaled lunch in 10 minutes or had to take a shoulder breaking amount of work home in my shoulder-strap briefcase.
If you still can't get Fred to do what he's told, stop flipping you off and calling you a "fucking bitch", then you personally have to track down the parent/guardian/warm blooded adult Fred lives with through non-existent phone numbers, return to sender addresses, and contacts through next door neighbors, divorced Dads/Moms, or Grannies. Some kids hid themselves from the school district so well that I NEVER knew where they lived or who they lived with.
On the positive side of the continuum is planning lessons that will interest students and be challenging. Unfortunately, this is being taken away from teachers in favor of "canned curriculum" -meaning that everyone in the entire district who teaches 9th grade English (or whatever) is doing the same thing at the same time. The justification for this is to standardize the curriculum. The theory is that you will have the same opportunities if you go to Paschal or if you go to Polytechnic. The reality is that no one is satisfied except for: the average student, the below average teacher, and the administration.
Finally, the only real reward on the positive side of the continuum is the actual teaching - where you see the aha's and the positive energy that learning in a safe environment can provide to both the students and the teachers.
If you look back at this post, it's a sad commentary on the public education system that the things that make the job so difficult are the longest paragraphs while the enjoyable, rewarding part of teaching is the shortest paragraph. I guess that explains clearer than anything I could write why I was glad school started without me this fall.
So, now I'm just looking for a new identity..............................in some ways I feel like an adolescent again - just not as scared.
On the negative side of the continuum are (1) curriculum restrictions - Think: "If it's Tuesday the 29th, we should be on page 4" (2) unreponsive managment - translated: The principal/vice-principal doesn't back you up when he/she has to chose sides in a crisis. (3) the PAPERWORK - Ok, I've changed my mind - this item is the supernegative. Paperwork: Count the kids for this, fill out form, send it to the black hole. Gather together all the work Johnny is going to miss because he's suspended for 7 days. (I did this ad nauseum and I never, repeat, never got a single paper back from Johnny - kids who get suspended for 7 days don't do school work). Count the kids and separate them as to race, reading ability, writing ability, left handedness, extra-curriculars, possiblity of failure, TAKS scores, NCLB ratings, library fines, book returns, honor role, male, female, birthdate, size, etc., etc., etc. - send paperwork to the black hole. Read and responding to email where you have to furnish "a sample". And finally, preparing for, organizing and attending meetings - approximately 3 per week lasting between 3-4 hours a week. And finally, last be certainly not least - this item costs about 10 hours of time every year - the CEIP (that would be the Campus Education Improvement Plan) that everyone is required to help write. Then it's sent "downtown" and ignored by everyone unless the administration needs a scapegoat.
Getting closer to the center of our mythical continuum but still on the negative side: Continual, constant, unremitting grading of papers. I graded 35 regular papers PER STUDENT every six weeks. I also graded 6 involved papers (like projects, major essay exams, writing projects) PER STUDENT every six weeks. If you have 75 students, that's 75 involved papers every week, plus 6 x75 = 450 regular papers PER WEEK. Grading papers tends to eat into your sleep, your social time, your family time. It's a grind. But it's the only way to be fair to students - I didn't teach college - only the ninth grade, and no one should have to stand or fall in a class based on five or six grades for an entire six weeks. Since, I assigned the work myself, I could hardly complain. A sure sign of teacher burn-out is when they stop grading papers. And I was lucky - I had a class load of 75 - 100 kids. I've known English teachers who had class loads of 225 kids. (When the teacher- this was just 2 years ago at Arlington Heights- complained to the principal that she couldn't effectively teach 225 kids, his answer was, "Oh, it will be OK, some will drop-out". Of course, not many left and she was a physical and nervous wreck by the end of the school year.) [SEE ABOVE - PRINCIPAL DOES NOT BACK YOU UP]
Moving slightly into the positive side of the continuum is "discipling of students". You are considered a failure as a teacher if you can't discipline your own students. Nobody in the main office wants to see a kid with a referral (a disciplinary complaint from the teacher to the administration - ie: "he won't do what he's told, and flips me off, and calls me profane names") You can write maybe one of those a year - you're expected to handle these little problems yourself. I used my lunch hour and my planning period to help students work through their discipline problems - That means they had to come and spend time with me when it should have been their free time. I tried various strategies all of which take time, time, time and energy. - Of course, it also meant that many days I inhaled lunch in 10 minutes or had to take a shoulder breaking amount of work home in my shoulder-strap briefcase.
If you still can't get Fred to do what he's told, stop flipping you off and calling you a "fucking bitch", then you personally have to track down the parent/guardian/warm blooded adult Fred lives with through non-existent phone numbers, return to sender addresses, and contacts through next door neighbors, divorced Dads/Moms, or Grannies. Some kids hid themselves from the school district so well that I NEVER knew where they lived or who they lived with.
On the positive side of the continuum is planning lessons that will interest students and be challenging. Unfortunately, this is being taken away from teachers in favor of "canned curriculum" -meaning that everyone in the entire district who teaches 9th grade English (or whatever) is doing the same thing at the same time. The justification for this is to standardize the curriculum. The theory is that you will have the same opportunities if you go to Paschal or if you go to Polytechnic. The reality is that no one is satisfied except for: the average student, the below average teacher, and the administration.
Finally, the only real reward on the positive side of the continuum is the actual teaching - where you see the aha's and the positive energy that learning in a safe environment can provide to both the students and the teachers.
If you look back at this post, it's a sad commentary on the public education system that the things that make the job so difficult are the longest paragraphs while the enjoyable, rewarding part of teaching is the shortest paragraph. I guess that explains clearer than anything I could write why I was glad school started without me this fall.
So, now I'm just looking for a new identity..............................in some ways I feel like an adolescent again - just not as scared.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Got to find the right venue
Friends,
I just returned from the "reception" of the art show I entered this weekend. First, I didn't win anything - well, I didn't expect to. It was surprising that in our podunk town that the majority of the entries were really beautifully done. I loved several pictures, and appreciated the technique in many others.
However.........that said..............I was like a big, bright piece of what the heck is that doing here in the midst of all these paintings? This was not the right venue for me. There turned out to be no catagory for what I do. There were no other "mixed media" offerings at all. I think I just committed a big no-no, and everyone was too nice to say so. This show was all about painting and only painting. As Drake commented, "Maybe 'Fine Art' is code for painting." They had oil, they had watercolor, they had acrylic. Nothing else was really offered. I only felt a little stupid for not 'getting it'.
But, that said; I do have a brochure with my name bigger than Texas under the title "Contributing Artists". I learned a lot about how the system works - assuming this art show was representative. And, it will be a long time before I risk putting work out there if I have to compete as an orange among apples.
I just returned from the "reception" of the art show I entered this weekend. First, I didn't win anything - well, I didn't expect to. It was surprising that in our podunk town that the majority of the entries were really beautifully done. I loved several pictures, and appreciated the technique in many others.
However.........that said..............I was like a big, bright piece of what the heck is that doing here in the midst of all these paintings? This was not the right venue for me. There turned out to be no catagory for what I do. There were no other "mixed media" offerings at all. I think I just committed a big no-no, and everyone was too nice to say so. This show was all about painting and only painting. As Drake commented, "Maybe 'Fine Art' is code for painting." They had oil, they had watercolor, they had acrylic. Nothing else was really offered. I only felt a little stupid for not 'getting it'.
But, that said; I do have a brochure with my name bigger than Texas under the title "Contributing Artists". I learned a lot about how the system works - assuming this art show was representative. And, it will be a long time before I risk putting work out there if I have to compete as an orange among apples.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Declaring yourself an artist and handing the piece over are two different things entirely
Update on the "I am an artist" first experience: Yesterday, I entered the Mid-Cities Fine Arts Juried Exhibition with my self-designed piece of embroidery that I had matted and framed. I'll attach a picture of it to this blog. If I've done an attachment before, well, too bad, I'm really proud of this piece. Back to the story............
Gulp. Now this show isn’t exactly the MOMA in New York City. For pete’s sake, it’s in the Hurst Recreation Center. I don’t know what I thought was going to happen. Well, actually, I did. I'd had daymares as well as nightmares of what submitting a piece was going to be like. I was sure that I would be laughed at, or even worse, sneered at and told to take my "craft" home.
After all, St. Paul people like my pre-designed kits and flowers, and admire my technique, but no one there has been too receptive to my own designs. Well, I took the picture over to the Hurst Rec Center, and the first thing that happened was some midget middle-aged helmet haired woman wearing what looked to me like a housecoat said, “What’s this supposed to be?” “What’s it made out of?” Where are we supposed to put this?” I just wanted to vanish like a wisp of smoke and take my picture with me. My worst fears were unrolling right in front of my eyes in real time.
Fortunately, a couple of angelic savior women working the show came over and said, “Wow. That’s amazing.” “You designed this yourself and did all the work?” “Of course, we’ll put it in ‘mixed media’; it’s spectacular.” So I started breathing again, and smiled for real instead of continuting this sort of rictus grin – you know the kind you see in a Halloween fright movie of the insane killer? The roaring in my ears stopped enough to hear that I’m supposed to be there Sunday afternoon at 3:30 for the reception and the awards, I guess. There are prizes which are probably the equivalent of state fair ribbons. I don’t care. My picture is hanging on the wall WITH OTHER ARTISTS. I’ll let you know what happens. To be continued.....................
Gulp. Now this show isn’t exactly the MOMA in New York City. For pete’s sake, it’s in the Hurst Recreation Center. I don’t know what I thought was going to happen. Well, actually, I did. I'd had daymares as well as nightmares of what submitting a piece was going to be like. I was sure that I would be laughed at, or even worse, sneered at and told to take my "craft" home.
After all, St. Paul people like my pre-designed kits and flowers, and admire my technique, but no one there has been too receptive to my own designs. Well, I took the picture over to the Hurst Rec Center, and the first thing that happened was some midget middle-aged helmet haired woman wearing what looked to me like a housecoat said, “What’s this supposed to be?” “What’s it made out of?” Where are we supposed to put this?” I just wanted to vanish like a wisp of smoke and take my picture with me. My worst fears were unrolling right in front of my eyes in real time.
Fortunately, a couple of angelic savior women working the show came over and said, “Wow. That’s amazing.” “You designed this yourself and did all the work?” “Of course, we’ll put it in ‘mixed media’; it’s spectacular.” So I started breathing again, and smiled for real instead of continuting this sort of rictus grin – you know the kind you see in a Halloween fright movie of the insane killer? The roaring in my ears stopped enough to hear that I’m supposed to be there Sunday afternoon at 3:30 for the reception and the awards, I guess. There are prizes which are probably the equivalent of state fair ribbons. I don’t care. My picture is hanging on the wall WITH OTHER ARTISTS. I’ll let you know what happens. To be continued.....................
Sunday, August 5, 2007
I am an artist.
Friends,
I have an announcement: I am an artist. Here's how this epiphany came about. As everyone knows, I embroider. I'd probably embroider the shirt you're wearing; I so obsessed. What many of you don't know that the heart tin that I travel around with is just my boring, amuse myself, traveling piece that I've usually bought on ebay for a couple of bucks. I have no real attachment to these pieces and tend to just give them away to whoever really, really likes the piece when I'm done with it. To me they are like "paint by number" kits that showcase - hey, Jan does really nice work. They are craft items. Nice craft items, but craft, not art.
These pieces also tend to wind up in the fall festival live auction at my church because they are usually very representational and safe and people like them. In actuality, I live and breathe to create my own designs. I love the challenge of a blank piece of cloth waiting to be drawn upon. I've been a closet artist for a couple of years now. These pieces are much, much harder for me to part with. I usually choose very carefully who gets these. (Well, except for the piece that I put in the silent auction a couple of years ago - and it turned out the right person won it.) If you own one of my original pieces, then you are truly a special person to me. I sign and date these pieces.
To continue..................I had just finished an original creation and showed it to Cody Aarons. This sixteen year old friend is an artist himself - he paints, and is a photographer, and just has an artistic eye. He flipped over this piece. When I tentatively asked him, "Do you think this could be art? - his reply was puzzled surprise that I would even think to ask that stupid question. Of course, the piece was art.
Carpe Diem - The very next day was the announcement of the Mid Cities Fine Arts Juried Art Show sponsored by the City of Hurst. I'm picking up my piece from the framer this afternoon, and I'm entering it in the show which will be displayed at the Hurst Rec Center on Mary Drive next weekend - August 11th from 11:00 a.m to 2:00 p.m is the judging. The reception August 12th, 3:30 - 5:00 p.m. Other than when you can bring your piece, that's all I know. Oh, and you have to be older than 18. I defininately have that covered.
What I don't know is if they will accept my piece. Here's my thinking: (1) Most people will not laugh in your face; they will wait until your back is turned. (2) Sarah's coming home to give me moral support, and she's very enthusiastically encouraging me. (3) It's only the Hurst Rec Center - this ain't exactly the Lourve. (4) My piece may be abstract, but that doesn't mean it's not "fine art" and (5) I'm pretty sure that there will be no one else working in my medium (See? I'm already throwing around the art lingo!) What I mean is there won't be any other thread pictures. Come and see - maybe if I can get huge numbers of people saying, "LOOK! THAT'S JUST MAJESTIC!" , it will drown out the comments I'm afraid I'll get: "DOES THIS WOMAN THINK THAT'S ART? SHE'S CRAZY!"
I'm stepping out. I'm declaring in a public forum: I'm an artist. Boy, is this emotionally scary.
Fingers crossed. Heart thumping. Absolutely determined to do this.
I have an announcement: I am an artist. Here's how this epiphany came about. As everyone knows, I embroider. I'd probably embroider the shirt you're wearing; I so obsessed. What many of you don't know that the heart tin that I travel around with is just my boring, amuse myself, traveling piece that I've usually bought on ebay for a couple of bucks. I have no real attachment to these pieces and tend to just give them away to whoever really, really likes the piece when I'm done with it. To me they are like "paint by number" kits that showcase - hey, Jan does really nice work. They are craft items. Nice craft items, but craft, not art.
These pieces also tend to wind up in the fall festival live auction at my church because they are usually very representational and safe and people like them. In actuality, I live and breathe to create my own designs. I love the challenge of a blank piece of cloth waiting to be drawn upon. I've been a closet artist for a couple of years now. These pieces are much, much harder for me to part with. I usually choose very carefully who gets these. (Well, except for the piece that I put in the silent auction a couple of years ago - and it turned out the right person won it.) If you own one of my original pieces, then you are truly a special person to me. I sign and date these pieces.
To continue..................I had just finished an original creation and showed it to Cody Aarons. This sixteen year old friend is an artist himself - he paints, and is a photographer, and just has an artistic eye. He flipped over this piece. When I tentatively asked him, "Do you think this could be art? - his reply was puzzled surprise that I would even think to ask that stupid question. Of course, the piece was art.
Carpe Diem - The very next day was the announcement of the Mid Cities Fine Arts Juried Art Show sponsored by the City of Hurst. I'm picking up my piece from the framer this afternoon, and I'm entering it in the show which will be displayed at the Hurst Rec Center on Mary Drive next weekend - August 11th from 11:00 a.m to 2:00 p.m is the judging. The reception August 12th, 3:30 - 5:00 p.m. Other than when you can bring your piece, that's all I know. Oh, and you have to be older than 18. I defininately have that covered.
What I don't know is if they will accept my piece. Here's my thinking: (1) Most people will not laugh in your face; they will wait until your back is turned. (2) Sarah's coming home to give me moral support, and she's very enthusiastically encouraging me. (3) It's only the Hurst Rec Center - this ain't exactly the Lourve. (4) My piece may be abstract, but that doesn't mean it's not "fine art" and (5) I'm pretty sure that there will be no one else working in my medium (See? I'm already throwing around the art lingo!) What I mean is there won't be any other thread pictures. Come and see - maybe if I can get huge numbers of people saying, "LOOK! THAT'S JUST MAJESTIC!" , it will drown out the comments I'm afraid I'll get: "DOES THIS WOMAN THINK THAT'S ART? SHE'S CRAZY!"
I'm stepping out. I'm declaring in a public forum: I'm an artist. Boy, is this emotionally scary.
Fingers crossed. Heart thumping. Absolutely determined to do this.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Friends,
It's been almost three weeks since I've posted. It's not that I don't have anything to say, but that I don't have the time to say it.
I did a human rite of passage this week: death rituals. Now, some people I know will be offended that I've catagorized the death of a friend in such a clinical way, but truthfully, the rituals we observe are for the living. The dead are gone from this life, passed, passed over, deceased, bought the farm, expired, gone to their reward, pushing up daisies, departed, checked out, bereft of life, resting in peace, knocking on the pearly gates, gone to meet their maker, out of their misery. I think the "words" we personally use to talk about death with other people reflects our own personal ideas of what death is, what it means, and what we hope is the outcome of our own death.
I like the word "passed" when I'm talking about someone's death. I picked it up from my African-American friends. It has such possibilities. I believe in life after death, and as a Christian, I believe in the concept of heaven, but I don't think my beliefs are a lock on what occurs after death. What if all the after death concepts are correct? If you are a Buddhist, hopefully you'll move up the ladder toward perfection (unity with God). If you're a Hindu, you'll be reincarnated as a reflection of your last life. If you are a Muslim, your heaven is paradise but it is still sexually segregated - well, except for those virgins. (Here's an aside: Don't those Muslim guys know what a lousy lay a virgin is?) Sorry. Back to the topic. If you are a Christian, then you're expecting to get INTO heaven under the cover of Christ, and when you make it, you will be reunited in paradise with your loved ones, and bask in the perfection of God's love. (OK, so I know more about Christianity - so shoot me.) I even think if you believe you feed the worms with your dead body, and there is no life after this one, then that's what you'll be doing.
So, back to the original idea: death rituals. To be clear, I'm talking about "viewing", funerals, memorial services, burial, cremation, funeral food, and sympathy mail and phone calls. That pretty much covers the rituals, I think. Incidentally, some people have already stopped reading because even talking about death, or thinking about death is way, way too uncomfortable. Well, they are going to miss the good part. Think about what type of rituals you would want in the event of your death. Here are my ideas - for me, what I would want at this point in my life if I dropped dead tomorrow. One think I've already discovered, is how much what I'd want has changed as I've aged.
Once upon a time - for almost 20 years, I refused to attend funerals. If I had died during this period, I would have been very upset if anyone had planned any sort of funeral or memorial. I wanted to be cremated and have the ashes go unclaimed. I mean what is the funeral home going to do if whoever is left behind refuses to come and pick up the ashes? FedEx them? Send them to unclaimed parcels? Put them in lost and found? Put them in a garbage bag and toss them in the dumpster? I figured, "Who cares?" All the rituals seemed much too pain filled. I couldn't deal with them, and I couldn't understand or even contemplate why would anyone else want to.
Upon maturing (nice way of saying - getting old), I've realized the rituals are comforting, reaffirming, and the way a group accepts and processes the death of one of their members. That's exactly what has happened at St Paul this week. We went through many rituals as a group, so that we could support those of us who are truly devastated, reaffirm our after death beliefs, and witness our beliefs to others outside of our group. St. Paul people were magnificent this week. Our dead friend would have been very proud of us. However, I do think she would have enjoyed the viewing more than the funeral. The only thing the viewing lacked was food - a bad oversight in my opinion considering her reputation as "the hostess of St. Paul". Those Irish have the "wake" thing down. That's the way to do the vigil before the funeral - with food, drink, stories, tears, and laughter.
So, here's what I want: NO DEAD BODY to look at. Hello! I won't be there anymore, and plus, I'll look like shit because I'll be (1) old, and (2) DEAD. No one "looks asleep" - please, get over it. And, while on this subject: No one "looks natural" either - you look DEAD. However, I would like a vigil, wake, whatever - with food, with liquor, with music, and with everyone I know coming to talk about me! Hey, it won't all be good, but I will definitely be the center of attention, and as a complete extrovert, what could be better? Seriously, this would be heavy duty "group processing". Very healing, very comforting.
Next, I do want a memorial - but no flowers. What a complete waste of money. If you want to do something with $50 (don't those floral people just take you to the cleaners with funeral flowers? They are almost as bad when they hold you up for wedding flowers.), then give it to my church, send a check to one of the public schools in your neighborhood, send a contribution to an art museum, give it to public television or public radio, or even just take yourself out to dinner, or go to the mall and splurge. Either do some good, or if you're too self centered for that, at least treat yourself rather than waste your moola on flowers that I certainly won't see.
Back to the memorial - got sidetracked there with one of my pet peeves. I want music. Specifically, I want classical music and hymns. My favorites are Vivaldi, Bach, and the fun hymns. I'd like to hear a little "Do Lord", some "I'll Fly Away", "Hark the Herald Angels" (get over it, it's my memorial, and that's my favorite Christmas carol), "Blessed Assurance", "Jesu, Joy of My Desire", and my all time favorite: "Here I am, Lord". And I want EVERYONE to sing. I love to sing even though I can't carry a tune with a suitcase, and singing youself is more fun that listening to someone else sing.
I only want people who really knew me to talk about me during the memorial. I don't want to hear my biography - I mean who cares when, where I was born or grew up? How boring. Tell some stories. And, some of them had better be what a complete bitch I could be. And, some of them had better be about what a good friend I was. And I hope those left behind will be laughing and crying all at the same time.
And pictures. Lots of pictures for people to say - oh, look, I remember then.
Finally, I want life to go on with minimal sadness or regret by those who are still alive after my death. After all, death is just another part of this life, and these rituals help us understand this, process this and get on with living.
So............those are what I want when I die. How about you? I'm very interested. Email me what you would like. I promise just talking about it will not "jinx you". We're all headed down that same highway, just don't know what exit we'll be taking.
Goodbye Willie. Loved you lots, kiddo. Loved planning those last parties with you. Loved your laugh. Loved how you just reveled in your life on this earth. Over and out - or should I say, until we meet again. And when we do, I know the food will be great, and the party will be fun.
Grace and Peace,
Jan
It's been almost three weeks since I've posted. It's not that I don't have anything to say, but that I don't have the time to say it.
I did a human rite of passage this week: death rituals. Now, some people I know will be offended that I've catagorized the death of a friend in such a clinical way, but truthfully, the rituals we observe are for the living. The dead are gone from this life, passed, passed over, deceased, bought the farm, expired, gone to their reward, pushing up daisies, departed, checked out, bereft of life, resting in peace, knocking on the pearly gates, gone to meet their maker, out of their misery. I think the "words" we personally use to talk about death with other people reflects our own personal ideas of what death is, what it means, and what we hope is the outcome of our own death.
I like the word "passed" when I'm talking about someone's death. I picked it up from my African-American friends. It has such possibilities. I believe in life after death, and as a Christian, I believe in the concept of heaven, but I don't think my beliefs are a lock on what occurs after death. What if all the after death concepts are correct? If you are a Buddhist, hopefully you'll move up the ladder toward perfection (unity with God). If you're a Hindu, you'll be reincarnated as a reflection of your last life. If you are a Muslim, your heaven is paradise but it is still sexually segregated - well, except for those virgins. (Here's an aside: Don't those Muslim guys know what a lousy lay a virgin is?) Sorry. Back to the topic. If you are a Christian, then you're expecting to get INTO heaven under the cover of Christ, and when you make it, you will be reunited in paradise with your loved ones, and bask in the perfection of God's love. (OK, so I know more about Christianity - so shoot me.) I even think if you believe you feed the worms with your dead body, and there is no life after this one, then that's what you'll be doing.
So, back to the original idea: death rituals. To be clear, I'm talking about "viewing", funerals, memorial services, burial, cremation, funeral food, and sympathy mail and phone calls. That pretty much covers the rituals, I think. Incidentally, some people have already stopped reading because even talking about death, or thinking about death is way, way too uncomfortable. Well, they are going to miss the good part. Think about what type of rituals you would want in the event of your death. Here are my ideas - for me, what I would want at this point in my life if I dropped dead tomorrow. One think I've already discovered, is how much what I'd want has changed as I've aged.
Once upon a time - for almost 20 years, I refused to attend funerals. If I had died during this period, I would have been very upset if anyone had planned any sort of funeral or memorial. I wanted to be cremated and have the ashes go unclaimed. I mean what is the funeral home going to do if whoever is left behind refuses to come and pick up the ashes? FedEx them? Send them to unclaimed parcels? Put them in lost and found? Put them in a garbage bag and toss them in the dumpster? I figured, "Who cares?" All the rituals seemed much too pain filled. I couldn't deal with them, and I couldn't understand or even contemplate why would anyone else want to.
Upon maturing (nice way of saying - getting old), I've realized the rituals are comforting, reaffirming, and the way a group accepts and processes the death of one of their members. That's exactly what has happened at St Paul this week. We went through many rituals as a group, so that we could support those of us who are truly devastated, reaffirm our after death beliefs, and witness our beliefs to others outside of our group. St. Paul people were magnificent this week. Our dead friend would have been very proud of us. However, I do think she would have enjoyed the viewing more than the funeral. The only thing the viewing lacked was food - a bad oversight in my opinion considering her reputation as "the hostess of St. Paul". Those Irish have the "wake" thing down. That's the way to do the vigil before the funeral - with food, drink, stories, tears, and laughter.
So, here's what I want: NO DEAD BODY to look at. Hello! I won't be there anymore, and plus, I'll look like shit because I'll be (1) old, and (2) DEAD. No one "looks asleep" - please, get over it. And, while on this subject: No one "looks natural" either - you look DEAD. However, I would like a vigil, wake, whatever - with food, with liquor, with music, and with everyone I know coming to talk about me! Hey, it won't all be good, but I will definitely be the center of attention, and as a complete extrovert, what could be better? Seriously, this would be heavy duty "group processing". Very healing, very comforting.
Next, I do want a memorial - but no flowers. What a complete waste of money. If you want to do something with $50 (don't those floral people just take you to the cleaners with funeral flowers? They are almost as bad when they hold you up for wedding flowers.), then give it to my church, send a check to one of the public schools in your neighborhood, send a contribution to an art museum, give it to public television or public radio, or even just take yourself out to dinner, or go to the mall and splurge. Either do some good, or if you're too self centered for that, at least treat yourself rather than waste your moola on flowers that I certainly won't see.
Back to the memorial - got sidetracked there with one of my pet peeves. I want music. Specifically, I want classical music and hymns. My favorites are Vivaldi, Bach, and the fun hymns. I'd like to hear a little "Do Lord", some "I'll Fly Away", "Hark the Herald Angels" (get over it, it's my memorial, and that's my favorite Christmas carol), "Blessed Assurance", "Jesu, Joy of My Desire", and my all time favorite: "Here I am, Lord". And I want EVERYONE to sing. I love to sing even though I can't carry a tune with a suitcase, and singing youself is more fun that listening to someone else sing.
I only want people who really knew me to talk about me during the memorial. I don't want to hear my biography - I mean who cares when, where I was born or grew up? How boring. Tell some stories. And, some of them had better be what a complete bitch I could be. And, some of them had better be about what a good friend I was. And I hope those left behind will be laughing and crying all at the same time.
And pictures. Lots of pictures for people to say - oh, look, I remember then.
Finally, I want life to go on with minimal sadness or regret by those who are still alive after my death. After all, death is just another part of this life, and these rituals help us understand this, process this and get on with living.
So............those are what I want when I die. How about you? I'm very interested. Email me what you would like. I promise just talking about it will not "jinx you". We're all headed down that same highway, just don't know what exit we'll be taking.
Goodbye Willie. Loved you lots, kiddo. Loved planning those last parties with you. Loved your laugh. Loved how you just reveled in your life on this earth. Over and out - or should I say, until we meet again. And when we do, I know the food will be great, and the party will be fun.
Grace and Peace,
Jan
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Greetings,
You know, every time I start a letter (or a blog), I think of Paul's salutation that he used over and over again to the communities he was writing to: "Grace and Peace to you from God the father and the Lord, Jesus Christ." I would feel too self conscious to start my emails, letters, blogs, etc., but reminding my correspondents of the grace and peace available to them has become my ending especially to my emails.
I've been thinking about "stuff" - of course, because I'm working the magnificent, munificent, humongous garage sale. More later...........storm coming.............., so I'll just post this tiny piece. Think of it as a cliff hanger.
TO BE CONTINUED!
You know, every time I start a letter (or a blog), I think of Paul's salutation that he used over and over again to the communities he was writing to: "Grace and Peace to you from God the father and the Lord, Jesus Christ." I would feel too self conscious to start my emails, letters, blogs, etc., but reminding my correspondents of the grace and peace available to them has become my ending especially to my emails.
I've been thinking about "stuff" - of course, because I'm working the magnificent, munificent, humongous garage sale. More later...........storm coming.............., so I'll just post this tiny piece. Think of it as a cliff hanger.
TO BE CONTINUED!
Monday, June 25, 2007
This is a musing on memories. I've discovered that the essence of memory is uniquely individual - even among or between people who essentially share the same memory. I realize that family legends are nothing except the agreed parameters set by blending mutual collective memories of an event.
When I was in Tulsa this week, my brother kept asking me, "Don't you remember when.......?" I truthfully had to keep saying "No." That's when I began to get the inkling that what I remembered from 45 years ago was not necessarily going to be what my brother remembered.
I think there are two kinds of memories - the file cabinet kind; they are there, but hard to access unless someone else prompts you to look up the file. Then there are the cherished snapshot memories all lovingly collected and replayed usually in living color, sometimes like 4 x 6 pictures, other times in full video playback with sound. These are the ones we scrapbook. However, as I discovered over and over again this week what I scrapbooked was nothing like what my brother scrapbooked. He has vivid memory movies of things that never even made it to my file cabinets. It's as if we lived in alternate universes as children.
My father is losing even his scrapbook memories. He tells me the same stories over and over again - some the most mundane such as the walking route he has developed. Others are memories that he's struggling to hold on to. I think many of his memories are simply fading to white ghosts. Other memories he's joined together to create something that didn't really happen. It's sad and frustrating for all of us.
I became very intrigued with memories. I spent time with two friends who've known me since I was 15 while I was in Oklahoma. Again, it was like alternate universes - their memories aren't mine. When we stumbled across one that we both remembered, it was curious to notice us shaping the recall into a new memory which each of us will validate as "what really happened".
Looking back at childhood, I remember mainly 4 x 6 pictures - snippets of frozen time. Perhaps one of my most interesting memories comes from the date of my 17th birthday - I looked into the mirror for about 10 minutes trying to memorize my face and trying to imagine that face 17 years into the future (at that ancient age of 34!). My 34th birthday prompted the recollection of that young girl trying to "freeze" a memory. Naturally, it didn't work. There's some voodoo selection process of what is saved. Don't ask me what it is.
Of course, when talking about memories, its the traumatic times, the stressful times, the peak times that are most readily saved. As I've aged, I'm sad to report that trauma memories are beginning to overtake the peak ones. Do we not experience those "emotional highs" like we used to when younger, or did our youth insulate us from the painful traumas that accumulate in everyone's life?
If you want to introduce a new topic to the dinner table, pop a memory out on the table (now, not a tried, true, and reshaped legend, but some arbitrary memory that involves the people you're eating with), and see what memories appear. I think you'll be surprised.
Finally, all you cat lovers - Alice (our cat) has her own "myspace"
http://www.catster.com/cats/569987 It's still a work in progress, but I think it's a hoot. Sarah (of course) found this little treasure on the web - and "Jackson" - her new cat has his own page too.
Until next time.......................................maybe from a galaxy far, far away.
When I was in Tulsa this week, my brother kept asking me, "Don't you remember when.......?" I truthfully had to keep saying "No." That's when I began to get the inkling that what I remembered from 45 years ago was not necessarily going to be what my brother remembered.
I think there are two kinds of memories - the file cabinet kind; they are there, but hard to access unless someone else prompts you to look up the file. Then there are the cherished snapshot memories all lovingly collected and replayed usually in living color, sometimes like 4 x 6 pictures, other times in full video playback with sound. These are the ones we scrapbook. However, as I discovered over and over again this week what I scrapbooked was nothing like what my brother scrapbooked. He has vivid memory movies of things that never even made it to my file cabinets. It's as if we lived in alternate universes as children.
My father is losing even his scrapbook memories. He tells me the same stories over and over again - some the most mundane such as the walking route he has developed. Others are memories that he's struggling to hold on to. I think many of his memories are simply fading to white ghosts. Other memories he's joined together to create something that didn't really happen. It's sad and frustrating for all of us.
I became very intrigued with memories. I spent time with two friends who've known me since I was 15 while I was in Oklahoma. Again, it was like alternate universes - their memories aren't mine. When we stumbled across one that we both remembered, it was curious to notice us shaping the recall into a new memory which each of us will validate as "what really happened".
Looking back at childhood, I remember mainly 4 x 6 pictures - snippets of frozen time. Perhaps one of my most interesting memories comes from the date of my 17th birthday - I looked into the mirror for about 10 minutes trying to memorize my face and trying to imagine that face 17 years into the future (at that ancient age of 34!). My 34th birthday prompted the recollection of that young girl trying to "freeze" a memory. Naturally, it didn't work. There's some voodoo selection process of what is saved. Don't ask me what it is.
Of course, when talking about memories, its the traumatic times, the stressful times, the peak times that are most readily saved. As I've aged, I'm sad to report that trauma memories are beginning to overtake the peak ones. Do we not experience those "emotional highs" like we used to when younger, or did our youth insulate us from the painful traumas that accumulate in everyone's life?
If you want to introduce a new topic to the dinner table, pop a memory out on the table (now, not a tried, true, and reshaped legend, but some arbitrary memory that involves the people you're eating with), and see what memories appear. I think you'll be surprised.
Finally, all you cat lovers - Alice (our cat) has her own "myspace"
http://www.catster.com/cats/569987 It's still a work in progress, but I think it's a hoot. Sarah (of course) found this little treasure on the web - and "Jackson" - her new cat has his own page too.
Until next time.......................................maybe from a galaxy far, far away.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Today I'm in Oklahoma. My father is doing much better thanks solely to my brother. I'm amazed and humbled at the amount of responsibility he's shouldering to give my very elderly, grieving and confused father a wonderful qualilty of life. My father looks better, has regained his health, and is "tracking" now - something he hasn't been able to do for quite some time. Oh, he's still mired in grief that he's having trouble expressing - too stoic, too locked down emotionally to really allow himself to truly grief for his lost wife of 60 years. In many ways he is lost without her. She met his most basic needs for so long that, if it wasn't for my brother, he would starve to death.
My brother and I haven't always been close - in fact, for years we really didn't like one another much. Our lack of closeness was a source of sorrow for my mother. Sometimes death brings out the worst in family relationships. We've all heard the stories of selfishness, greed, and anger when a key family member dies. I'm happy to report that my family has managed to escape that fate. And that harmony is due to my brother shouldering the enormous task of caring for my Dad. I couldn't do it. I wouldn't do it. What a blessing it is to have a such a compassionate brother. My mother used to tell me when I couldn't understand things my brother did, that his basic core personality had sweetness and caring and compassion. I've realized that it has taken her death for me to actually understand her insights into his personality.
Now, that's not to say that he's an angel - oh, far from it. His son, Trey, really loves to hear me "tattle" on his Dad about nutty stuff that his Dad did when he was younger - such as jump off a diving board into a swimming pool when he didn't even know how to swim. But that's how you build family legend. Every family has a legend composed of stories that we tell and retell. Those stories bind you together. Some families only have good, heartwarming stories. some have stories of anger and betrayal. Other families have stories that tell you to run as fast as you can away from them.
Contemplating my family legend, it's a mixed bag. Some good. Some bad. Death rearranges a family, reinforces some legends, creates new legends, and lets you drop some hurtful legends out of the family history. Our family dynamic is being rewritten and edited now. I only hope what emerges is more positive, more functional, more supportive. So far, we've got a good start.
Think about your family legends. How do you add to them? How do you drop the hurtful ones? So complicated. So unfathomable sometimes.
Anyway, I'm here for a short time. I'm hoping to do whatever I can to aid my brother who is working hard out of love for my father.
My brother and I haven't always been close - in fact, for years we really didn't like one another much. Our lack of closeness was a source of sorrow for my mother. Sometimes death brings out the worst in family relationships. We've all heard the stories of selfishness, greed, and anger when a key family member dies. I'm happy to report that my family has managed to escape that fate. And that harmony is due to my brother shouldering the enormous task of caring for my Dad. I couldn't do it. I wouldn't do it. What a blessing it is to have a such a compassionate brother. My mother used to tell me when I couldn't understand things my brother did, that his basic core personality had sweetness and caring and compassion. I've realized that it has taken her death for me to actually understand her insights into his personality.
Now, that's not to say that he's an angel - oh, far from it. His son, Trey, really loves to hear me "tattle" on his Dad about nutty stuff that his Dad did when he was younger - such as jump off a diving board into a swimming pool when he didn't even know how to swim. But that's how you build family legend. Every family has a legend composed of stories that we tell and retell. Those stories bind you together. Some families only have good, heartwarming stories. some have stories of anger and betrayal. Other families have stories that tell you to run as fast as you can away from them.
Contemplating my family legend, it's a mixed bag. Some good. Some bad. Death rearranges a family, reinforces some legends, creates new legends, and lets you drop some hurtful legends out of the family history. Our family dynamic is being rewritten and edited now. I only hope what emerges is more positive, more functional, more supportive. So far, we've got a good start.
Think about your family legends. How do you add to them? How do you drop the hurtful ones? So complicated. So unfathomable sometimes.
Anyway, I'm here for a short time. I'm hoping to do whatever I can to aid my brother who is working hard out of love for my father.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Community
Greetings,
I've been thinking about the concept of "community" and it's place in a human being's life. Questions like: How many people do you need to be a community? How is a community different from a group of people with something in common? If you accept the idea that a group is different than a community, then what's the definition of community? Is "a community" or "the community" different from "community". I know - pretty stupid musings, but my mind just takes flight sometimes.
The reason I started even musing about the idea of community is the "social occasion" that we just had last week at St. Paul (my church for you non-St. Paul readers). It was a big success - and the reason was that the vision that organized the set-up made it so that everyone had to talk to one another. In fact, I emphasized that the mission was to talk to at least two people you didn't know. People were really buzzed, and I think it's because they felt reconnected to the St. Paul community. Our community is powerful and empowering.
The dictionary defines community as people who live in an area, an environment, or who have something in common. I think St. Paul qualifies on the third definition - they have Christianity in common, and further, they try to practice the WWJD ethics when dealing with one another.
Therefore, as a member of the St. Paul community, (and you have to do more than just "join") you never have to face life alone - whether your child dies (which has just happened for two of our members - to my St. Paul readers: don't forget to lift them up both spiritually and actually - remember: "Love is kind." (1Corinthians, 13:4) or your daughter gets married, or if your life is going gloriously good, bad, or indifferent. The interaction - the feeling that "somebody cares" is getting to be a rare commodity in our frequently fragmented, isolated, on-line society. Yes, being in a caring community is all good.
However, community also carries responsibilities - you actually have to leave your comfort zone sometimes. Because the St. Paul community is a Christian community with a specific set of ethics to live by - you know the two biggies (love one another, love the Big G with all your heart, soul and mind), you have to shed your prejudices and face your shortcomings. Then the community holds you accountable - especially the small community of St. Paul. (Off the subject: I think that's one of the big appeals of mega churches - you get the illusion of community, but not the accountability.)
You can't consistently act in a non-Christian manner or have your own agenda (instead of the Holy Spirit's) and get any respect in the St. Paul community. Oh, that doesn't mean that we won't love you, but we won't respect you, and ultimately, we won't follow you. So..............community gives and takes. If you choose to be part of the St. Paul community, then you are going to be asked to not only take solace, but also to offer it, to not only participate, but sometimes to lead, not just offer opinions, but also to listen to opinions you don't want to hear. The big questions........................Is it worth it? Why do you belong to a community that asks so much of you?
On a lighter note: My better half (Drake) did something so incredibly stupid today that I've laughed until tears came to my eyes. Tinkering around with the fax system, he managed to change the language into Russian! Then he was unable to reverse his tinkering because Russian uses a different alphabet. He couldn't even figure out where the menu was to change it back to English. The look on his face was priceless. When I started laughing, to his credit, he began to laugh too. What a priceless screw-up. We tried to find the Russian words for "language" and "English" using an on-line translator (which was very cool, incidentally) - and that sort of worked. However, he finally had to call the HP help line and confess his stupidity - "Duh, I had my finger up my ass and changed everything to a language I can't read......." He finally got it straightened out, but it was a great laugh, let me tell you. I swear; the ways the computer can mess with you is almost diabolical.
Finally, I pass onto you a web site you might want to look at. A friend sent me this, and she asked my opinon which I gave her. I'd like yours. The web site is: http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=418_1176494781 What do you think?
Grace and Peace.
Find someone to be kind to today. Not only do they need the kindness, but so do you.
I've been thinking about the concept of "community" and it's place in a human being's life. Questions like: How many people do you need to be a community? How is a community different from a group of people with something in common? If you accept the idea that a group is different than a community, then what's the definition of community? Is "a community" or "the community" different from "community". I know - pretty stupid musings, but my mind just takes flight sometimes.
The reason I started even musing about the idea of community is the "social occasion" that we just had last week at St. Paul (my church for you non-St. Paul readers). It was a big success - and the reason was that the vision that organized the set-up made it so that everyone had to talk to one another. In fact, I emphasized that the mission was to talk to at least two people you didn't know. People were really buzzed, and I think it's because they felt reconnected to the St. Paul community. Our community is powerful and empowering.
The dictionary defines community as people who live in an area, an environment, or who have something in common. I think St. Paul qualifies on the third definition - they have Christianity in common, and further, they try to practice the WWJD ethics when dealing with one another.
Therefore, as a member of the St. Paul community, (and you have to do more than just "join") you never have to face life alone - whether your child dies (which has just happened for two of our members - to my St. Paul readers: don't forget to lift them up both spiritually and actually - remember: "Love is kind." (1Corinthians, 13:4) or your daughter gets married, or if your life is going gloriously good, bad, or indifferent. The interaction - the feeling that "somebody cares" is getting to be a rare commodity in our frequently fragmented, isolated, on-line society. Yes, being in a caring community is all good.
However, community also carries responsibilities - you actually have to leave your comfort zone sometimes. Because the St. Paul community is a Christian community with a specific set of ethics to live by - you know the two biggies (love one another, love the Big G with all your heart, soul and mind), you have to shed your prejudices and face your shortcomings. Then the community holds you accountable - especially the small community of St. Paul. (Off the subject: I think that's one of the big appeals of mega churches - you get the illusion of community, but not the accountability.)
You can't consistently act in a non-Christian manner or have your own agenda (instead of the Holy Spirit's) and get any respect in the St. Paul community. Oh, that doesn't mean that we won't love you, but we won't respect you, and ultimately, we won't follow you. So..............community gives and takes. If you choose to be part of the St. Paul community, then you are going to be asked to not only take solace, but also to offer it, to not only participate, but sometimes to lead, not just offer opinions, but also to listen to opinions you don't want to hear. The big questions........................Is it worth it? Why do you belong to a community that asks so much of you?
On a lighter note: My better half (Drake) did something so incredibly stupid today that I've laughed until tears came to my eyes. Tinkering around with the fax system, he managed to change the language into Russian! Then he was unable to reverse his tinkering because Russian uses a different alphabet. He couldn't even figure out where the menu was to change it back to English. The look on his face was priceless. When I started laughing, to his credit, he began to laugh too. What a priceless screw-up. We tried to find the Russian words for "language" and "English" using an on-line translator (which was very cool, incidentally) - and that sort of worked. However, he finally had to call the HP help line and confess his stupidity - "Duh, I had my finger up my ass and changed everything to a language I can't read......." He finally got it straightened out, but it was a great laugh, let me tell you. I swear; the ways the computer can mess with you is almost diabolical.
Finally, I pass onto you a web site you might want to look at. A friend sent me this, and she asked my opinon which I gave her. I'd like yours. The web site is: http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=418_1176494781 What do you think?
Grace and Peace.
Find someone to be kind to today. Not only do they need the kindness, but so do you.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Greetings,
I finished the last class of the spiritual formation study tonight. As always, I learned more than I taught. The teaching tonight I received was to concentrate on your blessings rather than your problems. I've been in a blue funk for several days struggling with what has seemed like a never ending list of difficulties. Pain (always), but it has been wearing me down. Worry about the insurance problem (I've been turned down for health insurance.) My Dad (how long is my brother going to be able to cope, and general anxiety about the whole Altzheimer's situation). Hassle about the new roof, new gutters, etc. Applying for disability so I can get insurance - knowing I really am disabled, but not really believing anyone else will believe me. (Catch this: I actually had a doctor say to me this week, and this is a quote: "You won't be declared disabled because you dont' take enough pain medication." LIKE I WOULDN'T LIKE TO JUST GOBBLE IT DOWN 24/7! However, I am convinced all I would get in return is an addiction and no real pain relief. Anyway, you get the drift.
What I really need to be thinking is that I have a great marriage. I have a healthy, happy child who is sailing into adulthood. I live warm and dry every day. I always have enough to eat. I own more possessions that 99% of the world could even dream of having. I'm surrounded by friends who care about me. I live in a great town that has a wonderful quality of life. I am politically free - no one's going to throw me in jail because I think the President is a doofus, and say it outloud to anyone I care to. God is working in my life. What a joy.
Now, look at that second paragraph - what do I have to worry about? Sometimes you just have to convince yourself - and with hard heads like me - it's over and over again. I'm so smart about some things, and so unbelieveably dumb about others.
Count your blessings - may be trite, may be banal, may be simplistic, but it works.
Grace and Peace - have you counted your blessings today?
I finished the last class of the spiritual formation study tonight. As always, I learned more than I taught. The teaching tonight I received was to concentrate on your blessings rather than your problems. I've been in a blue funk for several days struggling with what has seemed like a never ending list of difficulties. Pain (always), but it has been wearing me down. Worry about the insurance problem (I've been turned down for health insurance.) My Dad (how long is my brother going to be able to cope, and general anxiety about the whole Altzheimer's situation). Hassle about the new roof, new gutters, etc. Applying for disability so I can get insurance - knowing I really am disabled, but not really believing anyone else will believe me. (Catch this: I actually had a doctor say to me this week, and this is a quote: "You won't be declared disabled because you dont' take enough pain medication." LIKE I WOULDN'T LIKE TO JUST GOBBLE IT DOWN 24/7! However, I am convinced all I would get in return is an addiction and no real pain relief. Anyway, you get the drift.
What I really need to be thinking is that I have a great marriage. I have a healthy, happy child who is sailing into adulthood. I live warm and dry every day. I always have enough to eat. I own more possessions that 99% of the world could even dream of having. I'm surrounded by friends who care about me. I live in a great town that has a wonderful quality of life. I am politically free - no one's going to throw me in jail because I think the President is a doofus, and say it outloud to anyone I care to. God is working in my life. What a joy.
Now, look at that second paragraph - what do I have to worry about? Sometimes you just have to convince yourself - and with hard heads like me - it's over and over again. I'm so smart about some things, and so unbelieveably dumb about others.
Count your blessings - may be trite, may be banal, may be simplistic, but it works.
Grace and Peace - have you counted your blessings today?
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Annual Conference Commissioning Ceremony
Well,
To set the stage: I went to the United Methodist Annual Conference Commissioning Ceremony because St. Paul (my church) had two, count 'em, two people being commissioned. We went early, early, early to this shindig because I had been forewarned that seats would go like hotcakes. They filled a baroque sanctuary with 1000 people - all but a handful of whom were in place about 30 minutes before anything started. It did give me time to look over First Methodist - that magnificent edifice that I've driven past for 16 years.
The sanctuary is dominated by the pipe organ with pipes hanging on the walls on either side of the choir loft. The building with its lofted, soaring ceiling reminded me of the Anglican cathederal I was in near Cambridge, England when we went to a concert by the London Philharmonic. Unfortunately that's where the comparison ended............to put it kindly, the music in this ceremony tonight was just terrible. In the opening concert, it was all strum und drang (storm and stress) - referring to emotional upheaval. Lots of crescendo and banging of the keys. I kept thinking during this performance, "yep, that there's a pipe organ". Actually I winced during some of it with it's predictable pounding. So, that was a big disappointment. The hymns were picked according to which ones would be the most boring to sing and listen to. Their only redeeming value were some of Charles Wesley's lyrics - but the tunes represented the worst of 18th century music.
Therefore, the sermon by the Boston Ave United Methodist (Tulsa, OK - my hometown) preacher was a pleasant surprise. I especially loved his closing. Let me see if I can approximate it: Draw a circle and a square on a piece of paper. Inside the square write down the names of people who have shamed you in your life. Inside the circle write down the names of people who have lifted you up. Then ask youself, if you had to look at the papers of people you know - where would your name be on their papers? Of course he dressed it up with a football theme, but that was the gist. He made the point which I think is so true: shame is when you feel bad about yourself, not to be confused with guilt which is when you feel bad about something you did or didn't do.
I guess it was a revelation to me that there are some "assigned" emotions that are worst than guilt - and I hadn't realized shame would be one of them. Shame is really a very old fashioned word - rather out of fashion these days. I can remember hearing as a child the phrase "Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" I can't think of the last time I even heard that in any context. Is that a good or bad thing if we think of shame as being a societal socializing emotion? Hmmmm. Have to think about that. Does shame have a place in a society?
OK - back to the commissioning. The cememony itself was very moving - I didn't even embroider during it. Hey, now that's high praise. Actually, I was so happy for Jimmy and Marilyn. Especially Jimmy. I've known him for so long, and I know how hard he has worked for this. He feels called by God - what a magnificent gift. To be called. Marilyn's achievement was awe inspiring. I know it's taken her eight years to get to this ceremony tonight. I've been to doctors with less training. Both Jimmy and Marilyn were radiant. But, I must admit John (Marilyn's husband - who has stood by her during all these eight years) had the best line tonight - "I did really well through this whole ceremony - I didn't even make any animal noises." I love someone who can laugh.
Well, that's it. If I could have snuck in for the last 45 minutes of this deal it would have been better - sermon, commissioning and I'm out of there. Then I would have had to hear only one boring hymn.
To set the stage: I went to the United Methodist Annual Conference Commissioning Ceremony because St. Paul (my church) had two, count 'em, two people being commissioned. We went early, early, early to this shindig because I had been forewarned that seats would go like hotcakes. They filled a baroque sanctuary with 1000 people - all but a handful of whom were in place about 30 minutes before anything started. It did give me time to look over First Methodist - that magnificent edifice that I've driven past for 16 years.
The sanctuary is dominated by the pipe organ with pipes hanging on the walls on either side of the choir loft. The building with its lofted, soaring ceiling reminded me of the Anglican cathederal I was in near Cambridge, England when we went to a concert by the London Philharmonic. Unfortunately that's where the comparison ended............to put it kindly, the music in this ceremony tonight was just terrible. In the opening concert, it was all strum und drang (storm and stress) - referring to emotional upheaval. Lots of crescendo and banging of the keys. I kept thinking during this performance, "yep, that there's a pipe organ". Actually I winced during some of it with it's predictable pounding. So, that was a big disappointment. The hymns were picked according to which ones would be the most boring to sing and listen to. Their only redeeming value were some of Charles Wesley's lyrics - but the tunes represented the worst of 18th century music.
Therefore, the sermon by the Boston Ave United Methodist (Tulsa, OK - my hometown) preacher was a pleasant surprise. I especially loved his closing. Let me see if I can approximate it: Draw a circle and a square on a piece of paper. Inside the square write down the names of people who have shamed you in your life. Inside the circle write down the names of people who have lifted you up. Then ask youself, if you had to look at the papers of people you know - where would your name be on their papers? Of course he dressed it up with a football theme, but that was the gist. He made the point which I think is so true: shame is when you feel bad about yourself, not to be confused with guilt which is when you feel bad about something you did or didn't do.
I guess it was a revelation to me that there are some "assigned" emotions that are worst than guilt - and I hadn't realized shame would be one of them. Shame is really a very old fashioned word - rather out of fashion these days. I can remember hearing as a child the phrase "Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" I can't think of the last time I even heard that in any context. Is that a good or bad thing if we think of shame as being a societal socializing emotion? Hmmmm. Have to think about that. Does shame have a place in a society?
OK - back to the commissioning. The cememony itself was very moving - I didn't even embroider during it. Hey, now that's high praise. Actually, I was so happy for Jimmy and Marilyn. Especially Jimmy. I've known him for so long, and I know how hard he has worked for this. He feels called by God - what a magnificent gift. To be called. Marilyn's achievement was awe inspiring. I know it's taken her eight years to get to this ceremony tonight. I've been to doctors with less training. Both Jimmy and Marilyn were radiant. But, I must admit John (Marilyn's husband - who has stood by her during all these eight years) had the best line tonight - "I did really well through this whole ceremony - I didn't even make any animal noises." I love someone who can laugh.
Well, that's it. If I could have snuck in for the last 45 minutes of this deal it would have been better - sermon, commissioning and I'm out of there. Then I would have had to hear only one boring hymn.
Monday, June 4, 2007
My First Blog................. may be my last.....
Grace and Peace.
I've wanted to "blog", but wondered if I really had anything to say. I suppose we are going to find out. Somehow it seems rather mind numbing to use this space for "today I went to the grocery store", so I think I am going to try and be more metacognitive, as well as include musings about life rather than documenting minutiae. Hmm.....now I'm wondering if I spelled that right. Onward.
Currently, I've been pondering spiritual direction. I have been using a spiritual formation study to find my spiritual direction. I just finished teaching formational ways to encounter scripture. That's just a fancy way of saying - "what is God saying to me personally" rather than "when did this happen, who wrote it, where did it happen, and what is the message for Christian life?" It changed the way I read the Bible, changed the way I think about the parables, and certainly changed the way I think about the Psalms. Now I'm eager to understand what I'm supposed to "do" rather than what am I supposed to "think" about a passage. This week my mission is to show patience especially to someone I have a tendency to be impatient with. Love is patient. (1 Corinthians - 13:4) It just occurred to me that I've blown the patience thing today with two people - the gutter salesman (does he count?) and the Cigna help line. I think I'm getting it - I'm called this week to be patient with people I DON'T have a personal relationship with.
I have a close friend who talks about "opportunities". There are so many opportunities in this life to reflect agape. I've learned I need to be polishing up my mirror for better reflection.
Next study I'm leading is called "embracing prayer", and I'm worried that I don't have a good enough prayer life to lead a study about it.
As always, waiting to be filled with the Holy Spirit.
Jalyss
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