19 September 2008

September

Project Blog-It

30 days hath September
And where it’s gone
I can’t remember
I have been to the desert
I have been to the sea
I roam without boundaries
I long to be free
Nine is not lucky
What does it mean
Nueve Nueve
paradas aquĆ­


Next week’s prompt: "Love is an art you learn degree by degree." I Want a Long Time Daddy – Bea Foote

12 September 2008

Baby, it’s cold outside

Project Blog-It

There is a hurricane sweeping away the sandy beach
Oil wells won’t fit in my hip pockets
The quintessential cadillac doesn’t get good gas mileage anyway
I am the Ruby in a mountain of rocks
I am the Cracker Jack stuck inside the box
Even though the hour of departure is dark
Even though it is cold outside
Even though the way is hard
There ain’t no way I’m ever going to love you
It is Time
And if tomorrow ever comes
It promises to be sunny and bright

Next week’s prompt: September

05 September 2008

Road Trip Girl Rides Again

Project Blog-It

I am moving southwest with the Monarchs now. I wonder how long it takes them to get from point C to point M and back again. In eight days, I have traveled from point TX, to point MS, to point AL, to point NC, to point DE, to point NJ, and then back, but in a very different way. After sitting still in primarily a single position for so long, I feel my body more. The horizontal morning stretch releasing sleep from all my joints. The rest stops where my hands are above my head joined and reaching for the sky, and then arching my back popping the sediment from my spine. Pulling my shoulders forward and pushing them back until I feel the air flows more freely into my lungs. Pointing my toes until passers-by think I am a giraffe. Hopping back into the car, I once again fling my spirit down the highway; my mind in perpetual motion.

Next week's prompt: It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hourwhich the night fastens to all the timetables. Pablo Neruda, "A Song of Despair"

29 August 2008

Damn Skippy

Project Blog-It

Be always sure you’re right—THEN GO AHEAD! – Davy Crockett

Right is subjective. Right is non-existent. And yet, there are times I possess this certitude in life. Unexplored and under quoted is the outcome of the action I feel so absolutely I must make. I knew I must defy my father, leave my husband, educate myself, challenge my charges, and make love, not war – all the time not knowing where it would lead. As long as I never look beyond the action, certitude is mine.

Next week's prompt: movement

22 August 2008

Art functions as lungs allowing my mind to breathe.

Project Blog-It

To list, describe, or even know all the functions of art would be as an exhaustive a task as counting the raindrops in a summer storm. Art functions as a way to communicate when language and structure fails me. I am so grateful to be artistically multi-lingual – to send and receive messages through the many mediums, colors, and textures of art. I feel blessed; at once, humbled and superior. Art functions as a bridge across classes, cultures, and civilizations. Art functions as a binder and compels participants to use their senses to reach a higher level of consciousness and existence by touching the ethereal through the tangible.

I am becoming increasingly convinced that art is the tap that will open up the source of power within me that I have so long been afraid to let loose. If I allow it, the function of art is to free me and let me be.


Laugh * Dance * Sing * Paint * Draw * Build * Grow * Cook * Design * Compose * Play * Be
Write on, Sister, write on.
Next week’s prompt: certitude

15 August 2008

Shayne Larango and the seven other dwarfs

Project Blog It

If I were Snow White, I would have never run away from the wood cutter or the wicked queen. I would own that bitch.
I would buy my own beautiful cabin in the mountain forest with expansive vaulted ceilings, so there would be room for my hair.
I would have first pick of all the jewels coming out of the mine for my personal bling.
I would finance clandestine pharmaceuticals that would make the seven dwarfs giant and life sized, and then I would do a talent search and cast the roles of Hottie, Lovey, Tidy, Funny, Cookie, Smarty, and Yummy with men like Josh Holloway, Ralph Fiennes, Ming Tsai, Kidd Rock, Henry Ian Cusick, Gary Allan, and Zack Efron.
And live happily ….. for a while.

Next week’s prompt: What is the function of art?

08 August 2008

Strawberries

Project Blog-It

I have always been a chocolate milkshake kind of girl, so strawberry stories really stand out throughout my life. The only strawberry story I have from my childhood came from a book about a little blind boy. He grew a strawberry as an offering to the child princess who planned to visit his village. He asked the sun for help, and she sent her sun rays to warm the earth. He asked for the clouds to help, and they sent raindrops. The thirsty strawberry grew fat and juicy. When the day arrived, the little blind boy plucked the ruby red ripe strawberry. The princess with her eyes closed popped the strawberry into her mouth, and it was scrumpdelicious.

I can’t remember if I had told the boy that story. One day when I knocked on his door, he opened it, told me to close my eyes, and popped a most delicious strawberry in my mouth.

One summer a friend’s husband had died. On a warm sunny afternoon several weeks later our families were together, and we went to pick strawberries in the narrow three tiered strawberry beds that stretched across her backyard. We picked and talked and remembered and laughed and cried and ate all the strawberries we picked. We lay back on the grass, our bellies full, and were happy we were together in that moment.

The first time I remember drinking a strawberry daiquiri was at DFW International Airport with Deniessa. We were sixteen and concocted this elaborate ruse to get the bar to serve us alcohol. We pretended like we didn’t speak English, pointed to picture of the strawberry daiquiri, and pulled money out. Every time the waiter asked us for our identification to prove we weren’t underage, we pulled out more money, smiled, and pointed fervently to the picture of the strawberry daiquiri. I can’t remember if we drank two or three before our flight, but I do remember we felt very proud of our accomplishment.

This year, I received a basket of strawberries from Susan and ate them with the lemon curd and cheesecake Shmonkey made me for my birthday. I also received the very first strawberry from the very first strawberry plants Deniessa ever grew. I wondered why she had saved it for me. She told me she knew that I would love it, and for her it wasn’t so much about the edible strawberry. She just loved to watch them grow. And with that, I remembered why we are friends. We compliment each other.

As I look back across these remembrances, I realize strawberries are associated with some of my most important friendships. Amazing that a fruit can do that.

Next week’s prompt: Make up names for Seven Other Dwarfs
The Seven Dwarfs' original names are Sleepy, Dopey, Grumpy, Bashful, Doc, Happy, and Sneezy.