Before the Rain Arrived [Cultivating 'Today']

Yesterday I felt some restlessness creeping in while the afternoon approached.  For the most part I fend it off well enough, but the doubt worms a little hole in my brain and unease can then readily take over.  I find when this happens, and when I become too self aware, too observant of me going about my day, rather than simply going about my day, experiencing nature helps tremendously.  It gets me grounded.  Kind of like a "reset" button on my mood.  Most often it is as simple as taking a walk.

I decided to sit on a bench in the beautiful park across the street and see what might happen in my sketchbook.  A few drawings of the sinking sun, some budding roses, and thick puffy clouds later and my mission was complete: fully grounded, fully here.  Doing this simple activity was music enough for my spirit, but the sun soon disappeared behind a curtain of cumulus, the air turned cold and the wind became insistent. 

I began my short walk back through the park towards Home.  The old trees towered over me and the sky, in varied and deepening shades of grey and blue, churned steadily after me like someone stirring a gallon of paint with a skyscraper-sized stick.  The chilled air kissed my cheeks.  I could feel my soul sigh with peace and happiness.  True happiness.  I felt it surge up from my feet, through my knees, my gut and settle in my chest, heavy but happy.   

Contentment. 

Then a thought, fully formed and revelatory: "What a gift, what a blessing it is that I get to live the life that I want."  And what else is it besides a blessing that not only do I have the opportunity to live the life that I want, but that I am actually doing so, living it, and then it brings me real fulfillment?  The last three days have brought overwhelming contentment and satisfaction, the feeling of not needing or requiring one single thing more in this whole world.  That in these moments, I have everything I want and need, and I am Whole.  That I have the ability to cultivate today, not yesterday or tomorrow, and each moment I breathe unfolds as its own tiny miracle, over and over again.  As I described it to Brother: All of my many buckets are full. 

While I understand I cannot always feel the bliss of such supreme moments, I cherish them when they gently arrive and float back out again, like a wave kissing the shore.

Holy $#!t It's Been a While

So.

It's been six months.

I know I kind of fell off the face of the earth for a while... But I hope you trust I have been productive and buzzing with creativity in addition to making some major life changes.  And I have not forgotten the beloved Teapot.

First off: the Boy and I broke up and he moved out.  I won't go into detail but it's important to note we are still wonderful friends.  I've been living alone in The Brain (what I have now dubbed the place that houses my Mess and me) since early January.  I am totally loving it.  It's been a while since I've lived alone, truly alone, and there is no other way to describe the feeling than it being overwhelmingly the most perfect thing for me right now.

Secondly, my levels of inspiration and creativity have spiked drastically.  I'm painting like a fiend, writing up a storm, and drawing like a madwoman.  I made it my Official 2013 Goal to paint two paintings per month.  So far I'm almost on track -- two in January, one in February, two in March.  If I do three in April I'll be good to go but I'm feeling really great about the progress nonetheless.  I have been posting the pictures on Facebook but I'll put them here too.  To say I am excited about the recent paintings is a stupidly massive understatement.

Thirdly, I've been doing more reading, thinking and pondering.  I have thus far categorically rejected the concept of Time (it simply does not exist), reinforced the power and magnitude of soul connections, and embraced my deep, unrealized love for the perfume "Fame" by Lady Gaga.  (I know, go figure...)  There is more, a lot more, to say about topics falling into the "existential" realm but I will discuss those at a later time. 

Lastly, I bought myself a computer.  A new computer.  A little 15.6-inch HP laptop with Windows 8.  I would like to note how monumental this is.  This is not only the first computer I have ever bought, ever, but the only computer I've ever used that is mine and only mine, not shared, nor used for other things like work or school.  The feeling of purchasing my own computer with my own money for my own purposes is a fantastic feeling.  Powerful, big, "grown up."  Still not sure what being an "adult" means, but I'm getting closer to understanding, I think... maybe......

(Do we ever feel like "adults?")

I hope to do some more regular writing and posting on the wee Teapot, the poor neglected thing... The good thing about her is she doesn't judge me, and has waited quietly and patiently for my return. 

More to follow.

xoxo

Of Home and Things

September 11, 2012

We got keys.  

Lying on the empty floor felt nice.

It still smells like paint, but it's alright.  And it's really cute.

But, it is difficult to be excited right now, for two reasons:

1. Life (read: work) is too stressful
2. Moving BLOWS

Even though it's only about a hundred feet away, it's still moving, and I still have to change my address, move the electricity, update my address with everyone and every company I'm currently in contact with, sign up for gas service, rent some dollies... A bunch of really annoying things that I'd hoped to not have to deal with for a while.

But what can I do?  Not much.  Except sit here and whine about it while eating fresh blueberries and yogurt, and making sure I jump on the fast moving train that is my recent creative rampage (crampage?).  Some of the stuff I'm working on is a little bit secret, and Susan Miller said it would behoove me right now to continue to work in "secret."  

Since she's right about almost everything, I'm going to take her advice.

Disappointment: Part II

August 21st

Helser's on Alberta.  Again.

Only this time, breakfast and coffee on a Tuesday afternoon.

How did I get here?

It started this morning.  I was at work when I got the email that we are being forced to vacate our apartment by December 15th.  Well, "no option to renew" is the technical part, but if we find something sooner then that is allowed.

We just moved in on June 15th...

I expected to be here at least a year.  This place is magic.  I fall in love every single day when I walk through the door, when I make coffee in my sunny kitchen, when I sit on my stoop in the crisp mornings reading a book.

I instantly started crying, a little bit uncontrollably.  I had to take a walk.

All of the things happening lately.

All of the "life" I'm struggling to handle.

And now this -- something of a mighty blow.

What a pisser.

Forget trying to work.  Forget these stupid emails and meetings and phonecalls and BS.  I want to be away from here, more than anything.

Only, where can I go?  My distress about this news makes our adorable, wonderful, perfect little house the last place on earth I want to be.  I don't want to be at work because I cannot emotionally handle it.  I don't really want to be walking around in public for fear of nuclear meltdown.

So what does that leave?

I got through the morning best I could, fulfilled some duties that would have reflected badly on me had I not handled them.

Then I bailed for the only place I could call sanctuary: breakfast on Alberta.  And Helser's specifically has a pepper bacon and cheddar hash that is Heaven dipped in sunshine drizzled in chocolate served on a toasted English muffin with a pint on the side, and a cup of coffee, blessed personally by God Almighty, spewing rainbows into the Cosmos.

[...]

And now it's in my belly.

Fuck this day.

Dealing With Disappointment

Not really what I wanted on a beautiful Tuesday morning.


"
...

I'm unfortunately not going to be able to renew your lease after your six-month term is up.  Right after I leased the condo to you, I lost my job...

...

so I have decided to move back out to Portland where the job market is better and start again...

... 

As it stands now, your lease would expire Dec. 15th, which is a really bad time of year to have to move given the holidays.  I want you to know that I will not hold you to staying that long if you find an alternative living situation prior to Dec. 15th and want to vacate sooner.

...

I know it probably seems as if you've just settled in only to have me throw you this curveball.  I feel really bad about this.  I never would have anticipated this situation, and I apologize for any inconvenience it causes you.

...

"

So, uh, moving again, sometime.

Maybe it's another blessing in disguise?

Things That Make Me Feel Wealthy

Listening to a dishwasher whirring

Having a place by the front door where we can leave our shoes

Access to any food I want, at any given moment

Being able to drink coffee every day of my whole life

Being able to save a lot of money, even though I don't make a lot of money

Day: Saturday. Mood: Quiet

Stumptown
7:40am
I want to run again.  A lady is talking to a man about a 10k and my guts wrenched for a second.  I want that feeling of freedom, of weightlessness, of not caring and feeling my breath move in and out of stretching lungs.
My gym workouts are okay.  The stairs are good and challenging enough.  But it's not the same.  I can't walk out into my neighborhood, breathe deep the chilly air and step out onto a stairmaster. 


8:30am
Children are mesmerized by me.  I don't appear to be doing anything differently, but the last two days I have suddenly become very compelling to these new little minds.  I don't think I'm doing anything differently.  They must sense something about me.  They must sense that I'm almost 27 and without children.
I am quite okay with this, but biologically the universe is like Tick tick tick tick tick . . .
Thanks for the reminder, Universe.


8:45am
Dear Laura Walker,
I'm afraid you are severely undercharging for your artwork.  It pains me a little.
Love,
Newly Devoted Fan


8:55am
I think too hard too much.  Sometimes answers come not by thinking so hard to find them, but by relaxing the mind and letting go to let the answers arrive naturally.  Like that sand metaphor: If you squeeze too tightly a handful of sand, it spills away.  But if you hold it gently in a cupped hand, you can carry and bolster it.
I'm thinking sitting in a public space and drawing and writing is good for this kind of thing.
Relaxing my thoughts and absorbing the soothing sounds of low chatter and coffee clamor.

Why don't I do this anymore?
 ...
It feels like it's been a long time since I've sat and reflected and written down my thoughts.  It feels a little unfamiliar.
I think there's some fear.  Not wanting to confront some things, maybe.  Not wanting to address frustrations in my life and delve into thought paths that are all too familiar and, sometimes, dark.
Lately I feel like things aren't going the way I want them to.  I don't know if it's me or if it's everybody else.

It's easy to think it's everybody else.
...
I

In Case It Was a Mystery:

Yes, I teared up while listening to Adele on the way to work this morning and didn't feel silly about it.

Yes, I will hold in my pee while waiting for someone else's bomb to clear.

Yes, I eat popcorn off the carpet when it falls out of my fingers, past the ten-second-rule.

Yes, a part of me is totally over this "Earth" thing and awaiting the alien arrival.

Yes, I write somewhat irrelevant items on my To-Do List just so I can cross them off.

Yes, I dropped a piece of steak on the kitchen floor, rinsed it off, and then mixed it with the other pieces of steak so I wouldn't know which one it was.

Yes, experiencing a full moon in Cancer when you have a Cancer Moon produces migraines (or so I'm convinced).

Yes, I would much rather be a mermaid.

Last Saturday

I boarded a very small airplane, so small it was necessary to duck when entering.  We took off in a terrible rain that I watched pelt the propellers in the darkness of the sky.  A few mermaid sketches and two cups of coffee later, the horizon slowly revealed the blazing sun and lit up the ocean of clouds below.

We descended over Oakland and I'd hoped I could see the Occupy Oakland movement from the sky.  (I couldn't.)  I enjoyed the postcard-like view of the Golden Gate Bridge, downtown San Francisco, and the entirety of The Bay.  For some reason, Oakland smelled like rotting garbage. I couldn't remember if this is how California always smelled and I'd just never noticed before.

My bestest friend J Chanandler Bing, her husband B, and her eight-month old baby Bambino picked me up at the airport in a small white car I'd never seen before.  We went immediately to breakfast because J knows that's all I ever really think about on any given day.  She also knows I must eat precisely every two hours to maintain mood equilibrium.

I enjoyed a third cup of coffee, something called Eggs Michael (which B inadvertently nicknamed my three-month old nephew), and watched Baby Bambino munch happily on his very first pancake and also on a spoon.

I feel confident Bambino and I bonded sufficiently.  He was skeptical at first, I could tell, but I think he realized we get along well because we're both Water signs.

My first night there, J made spicy pork chops, zucchini, and purple mashed potatoes with mushroom gravy.  I was genuinely impressed with her mad kitchen skillz and heartily devoured my dinner, plus some extra.

The next morning she impressed me even more by whipping up some sourdough French Toast with cream cheese and homemade jam-like syrup, which they call "jyrup."  

French Toast shown at actual size.

Mmmmmmm JYRUP MONSTERRRRRRR

After that, J and I made felt mustaches and glued them on sticks.  We made templates for several different styles and then modeled them for each other.

Fetch me my cigar.

We even tried one on Baby.  He liked it for a minute, but then decided it didn't coordinate very well with his nighttime onesie and would be better suited to a tuxedo or suit and tie.

Later, our lovely friend Flamingo came over and the three of us (well, three and a half, including the Wee One) spent the rest of Sunday acting fancy and nibbling on delicious snacks, including a nice Brie, edamame (please note: there is no "n" in "edamame"), and some manner of pink wine in beautiful crystal glasses.  Bambino decided he would pass on the wine, as he was saving his taste buds for homemade pureed prunes.

After the pink stuff I felt so happy I drank some of the sweet white stuff (that's what she said?) and ate way too many snap peas. Monstrous gas ensued.

We sapped that bottle dry before we knew what happened (whoops) so the next day it was necessary to pick up two more bottles at Trader Joe's.  (Those were gone pretty fast, too.)

The next morning we woke up, drank coffee, and packed up the Little One for a special trip to Santa Cruz, where J and I met in college on the first day of Art 60 in 2006.  We planned to head up to campus and pop in on our old painting teacher, but popped in on our favorite Mediterranean food restaurant first.  We reminisced about how eating there in college was really spendy, and forking out $7 for a meal would really set back our budgets.  I used to "splurge" sometimes and get an iced tea to go with it.

OMFG FALAFEL

The air, the sky, the trees -- completely unreal.  Being there reminded me of my old Self.  Being there made my soul ache.

We participated as Guest Critics at a critique in our painting teacher's Intermediate class.  Our critiquing skills were really out of practice, so I offered the standard suggestions that helped me when I was in school:  Go bigger.  Get texture.  Stop thinking so much.

The next morning J dropped me off at the airport.  Both her and Bambino cried upon my departure and I couldn't remember the last time anyone had cried about me before.  Hugs hugs hugs and I was gone, sitting at a Starbucks in the terminal, thinking about how cleansed I felt, how much fun I had, and how wonderful things are.  I wrote some stuff in the little sketchbook J gave me and drank some terrible coffee.

Truly bittersweet.

Today Must Be Irritating Day

I’m not much for venting about stuff, but today it is essential.  An observation: It must be built in to human programming to comment on the temperature, not limited to the weather, or in a room, or of our own bodies, or how we feel in terms of temperature, but primarily so.

It’s hot.

It’s cold.

It’s too cold.

I’m cold.

It’s cold in here.

It’s warm in here.

I’m suffocating in here.

I’m a sunlight person.

My feet are cold.

My toes are ice cubes.

I’m sweating balls in here.

My face is hot.

Your mom is hot.

Your mom like sweaty balls.

It’s too hot in here to think that’s funny.

I’m freezing and you don’t even care.

So that means I’m not a “sunlight person?”

It’s dark and cold in this office.

I like working in a cave.

I hate how you’re cold all the time.

Your mom hates it too.

I happen to be of the School that thinks being slightly on the cool side is far better than slightly on the warm.  I can always put something else on, drink something warm and yummy, walk around and generate heat.  But if I’m too hot, I’m just too bloody hot.  And when I get hot I get mad, and if I’m too hot and mad and there’s lots of computing going on, then it’s sort of over at that point.  So nevermind the fact that being in a cool environment should always trump being in a hot one, I feel no pangs of sympathy if anyone in my vicinity is “too cold” (whereas in most situations, I usually feel slight pangs if not hefty pangs of sympathy.  I am even capable of empathy, too, but it depends where I am in my cycle).  I truly do not care about your fingers, your toes, your face or how sucky your space heater is.  Wear something wool, put on a scarf, and shush.  Running one’s mouth does not, in fact, generate heat like regular running does, which perhaps explains why it happens so frequently.  And that means you can STOP COMPLAINING ABOUT IT because it’s NOT MAKING YOU WARMER.

Other things that mystify me:

• Why the heater in the office bathroom runs at full blast for about an hour in the morning and at no other time of day.  Have you ever tried to poo with a strong hot blast of air pouring over you?  It’s strangely challenging.
• Why the person in the next parking space at my building insists on parking diagonally in their space.  Technically legal, but SO. IRRITATING.  I guess they’ll get the hint by the dings in their door.
• Why coffee = happiness (not that it matters…)

Today, to combat the arctic cold, I am wearing the best thing in the world: a cerulean blue and hunter green wool Pendleton shirt with pearly buttons.  It was gifted to Brother #2 by our Stepdad along with a few others in different colors.  They’re “vintage” because he wore them in the seventies during his cop days when his mustache grew to Tom Selleck proportions and he’d bust pervs in Church parking lots.

Okay, that’s a lie.  His mustache STILL measures at Tom Selleck proportions.

When Brother “got too fat” for the shirts (which really means nothing.  Even when he was running half marathons every other day and sustaining himself on one apple per day and that’s it, he’d say he was “too fat” for his jogging shorts) he passed them on to me and now, HOO-rah, I get to wear them on delightfully brisk days like today.  It’s a good thing I was wearing it, because I might have frozen to death in the frigid sixty-eight degrees in my office before we got the heater fixed.

More Fall Things, Because I’m a Glutton for Fall Things

Ma sent me a picture of Autumn as it looks in Ohio.

Quite impressive!  Last year she sent me a picture of a GIGANTIC leaf she found in her yard.  She’s got some huge old trees on her property that produce some real big fatties.  She scanned Mondo Leaf with a “mere mortal leaf” and it was like looking at a semi truck next to a scooter.  Absurd!  And the Autumns in Ohio really are something special, if you’ve never been.

To satiate my monster Autumn appetite: a golden tree aflame!  The photo is no measure of this tree’s energy and magnificence.

And, uh,  if you couldn’t already tell, I’m a sucker for trees.  And flowers.  And planty things.  I must get it from Ma.

Autumn in Portland

is why, I’m convinced, people move here.

Of course, every time the season changes I say that, but this time I really mean it.  Autumn is where it’s at.

I took this while driving.  I don't recommend it.

Birch trees = my *favorite*

My favorite little cheapy shoes, unraveling even as we speak.  I tell everyone I know not to buy Target shoes ’cause they’ll fall apart, and what do I do?  Fall in love with some.

Puuuuuuuurple !

I found the sun hiding in this puddle.

This Week's Accomplishments, in Order of Appearance

• Executed Mom’s Famous Chili Recipe with flair and excellence.  On only the second attempt in my life I successfully combined the savory, hearty flavors of blow-your-top-off meat chili with bonafide sex appeal.  AND, as Brother so wisely informed, the gastrointestinal effects of chili become compounded over time.  I only wish I had some warning — between Bear and myself, sterilizing with flame thrower and a bucket of acid became imminent in the W.C.

BAM.

• Successfully — and by “successfully” I mean “without mishap, disaster, or crying babies” — baked corn muffins to go with hot chili.  I ate three, the Boy devoured four or five (I lost count), and the warm butter and honey were *the* perfect accompaniment.  Eat that, June Cleaver.

WOMP.

• Found The Zone for a quick minute getting lost in this pretty tree.  The first of those around my “office” building to succumb to the dipping nighttime temperatures.  I was rather swept away!

• Conquered this morning’s breakfast like a true champ, only breaking one yolk of six.  Those are much better than my previous odds.  Luckily, I was feeding barbarians who don’t eat, but merely initiate shoveling.  Plus, everything tasted so damn good one broke yolk didn’t make much difference.  Nobody cried, nobody went for the jugular, no feelings got hurt.  Just warm full bellies and an endless stream of rich roasty coffee with a gallon of half and half.  Is there anything better?  MmmmYeahNo.

<Insert gratuitous yolk joke>

• Lastly, with not aforementioned ferocious spacial reasoning skills, I wrangled my shitty computer desk into submission.  If I’ve never talked about it before, sitting — anywhere, any time, in any fashion for longer than fifteen minutes — is murdering me slowly with plaguing determination.  I was in a car accident in late March and ever since, my neck, back, and shoulders have been an utter wreck (no pun intended), and sitting sets off all forms of pain, sharp and dull, in one or all of these areas.  I’m working on getting a standing desk for work — the guy in the shop next door is building me one out of an old door — but my home desk, if you’d even call it a desk, has been an additional problem.  But voila!  A genius new setup where I can stand and blog and not regret every bit it of when I’m done.  Now THAT’S an effing victory, Son.

BOO-YAH sucker!!!

For the Love of Bulk

Brother and I took to Winco today for some reconnaissance.  His budget is strained right now and he enlisted my help in acquiring essential food goods for the least amount of money.  Such things require Winco.  Such things also require his sister's superior budgeting and sustenance retrieval skills.

Much to my dismay and unprecedented surprise, Winco was an effing madhouse.  Luckily the panic didn’t set in until after we’d combed most of the aisles and were in search of contact lense solution (which they do not carry) and contemplating whether or not the pickles were a worthwhile investment.  We decided they were, but not worthwhile enough to maneuver the thickening crowd coagulating around the entrance where the killer pickle deal resided.  We shall forego the savings and forge on, Comrade, into the treacherous unknown . . .

Items best bought in bulk:

Dried beans

Spices

Nuts

Rice

Canned fish

Items more or comparable in price to other groceries:

Most produce

Deli meat

Bulk cheese

Minced garlic

Fine juices

Non-bulk cereal

We felt pretty good upon completing our two-hour excursion, but only after we got the hell out of the sea of overloaded shopping carts and children darting around our knees.  I splurged on the four-dollar bottle of juice because it was made in my hometown, and Brother went ahead and splurged on sixteen cans of tuna to get him through the next couple months.  A valiant effort, at forty-nine cents a can.

Our checker was unfortunately and visibly dissatisfied with her life even though I didn’t notice until we left the store and Brother noted, “Wow, our checker was really dissatisfied with her life.”  He said it while mildly distracted by a shoplifter trying to get away with nabbed goods on his bicycle, which was a little silly because his bicycle was still chained up to the bike parking post, and he was then pinned to the side of the building by two beefy dudes in black shirts and escorted away.

As we loaded our groceries into the car I thought about how long it’d been since I’d seen that much packaged meat in one place (that’s what she said?) and decided I would only make minimal trips to such expansive and frenetic stores because my stress level was markedly higher coming out than going in (that’s what she said?) and I’d long lost count of how many times Brother made jokes about “tube meat.”

Feeling satisfied and rather accomplished but also much too hungry, the only reasonable reward was hitting a dirty Chinese food buffet on 82nd Avenue.  I felt okay about the assorted vegetables and not too bad about the various meats in sweet sugary sauces, but completely regretted the Banana Vanilla Cake because

a)  it was not, in fact, cake but much-too-banana-y banana pudding made with Nilla Wafers

b)  I had two bites too many.  I do not know why I felt driven to the second bite, but it was worse than the first and my pallet will forever hate me for it.

I made Brother try it and he shared my sentiments, which I think in this case I will call “antiments” because that seems much more appropriate.  And, truth be told, I feel better now with heavy carbohydrate-laden Chinese food in my guts than I did all day eating moderately healthy.  I think it must have been my non-hangover hangover, as I only had two sips of beer last night with my pancakes and bacon at ten o’clock, and the only cure for a hangover of any variety is something greasy and regretful.

I shall not make the same mistake again.

Oxbow Park, 2nd Day of Autumn

On Art and the Inherent Preoccupation

Making bundles of balloons out of white price tags
colored with pink and green, inked with wandering chicken feet
and bouquets of flowers and wise words:

Live
Rinse
Repeat

What good advice I gave myself when I drank until six AM
and pieced myself together enough to get to class by eight;

I boiled the eggs and bought the milk and la-dee-dahed the day away
unable to get it off my mind, even tried a nice salty float
but had a hard time --
she's weird about things in her ears --
and my mind kept going back to that stuff;
plagues every train of thought
every avenue of existing comfortably in my skin
and comes back every time
like it did back then when I used to drink a lot
and make things --

What is different?  Have I changed?

I'm still me, pretty sure,
I have the same ailments, same mental emotional retardation
and latent anger I keep thinking is destructive a little
but GOD DAMMIT it feels good sometimes;
I drank some wine and that made it worse or maybe better
depending how you look at it,
maybe better like it used to make it,
but J. Chanandler Bing would say it's fucking awesome
'cause I think she wants to drink the wine with me too;

I feel in love and alive and level and clearer than I've been in a while
even though my dreams are nuts and grossly epic,
I still love when Bear ponders the emotions flitting across my face --
'cause there are thousands, just thousands of them --
because it lights up his and I love
when his face looks like that, so sweet and eager,
and damn that fucking charming beard.

Revelations

In descending order of importance:

.Yes, I am a Master of spacial reasoning 
.Improving my posture does ease my pain level
.English cucumbers are far superior than American cucumbers
.My hair looks infinitely better without a blow dryer and flat iron (can I get a Hell Yeah??)

July Wrap-Up

It is disappointing when I discover, over and over again, that coffee and peanut butter are not compatible.

Oh yeah, I had a birthday. 

Yay for being closer to 30!
(No, really.)

He bought me a piano for my birthday.
I couldn't believe what I was looking at.
I screamed.
Then cried.
Then went silent and quietly wept for many minutes.
He didn't know how to take such a reaction.
Neither did I.

Now that's all I want to do.  It's all I think about.  I curse this blessedly enchanting weather for the pressure it puts on me to be outside, and not inside playing the piano.  I get to feel moved every day, moved beyond the place I thought my moveability stopped.

He calls that flow.  I like that idea, flow.  It's hard to find it in painting.  It's there and always waiting, but hard to get to.  But piano -- with piano flow is instantaneous.

                >>>>More piano

                       Less everything else

Best lately things:

the appeal of the aged radish

bye-bye hair

discovery:  the Americano 

super invention you think would be more wide-spread: ceramic travel mug (with lid)
"some things needs to feel accidental"
the process of "brain dumping"

Not-so-good lately things: 

Road Rage (on my end, not theirs)

the causes of said Road Rage (on their end, not mine)
       <see previous entry Of "All the Time & Things & Places">
85 degrees and hotter (YUGH)
getting back into a regular workout routine after the injuries (past progress = gone)
feeling a tad embarrassed when my hair dresser laughed at my DIY bangs
missing the sass from the gals at my old job . . .


                     flow

              . to circulate around the body

              . to move or progress freely as if in a stream

              . to proceed or be produced continuously and effortlessly

              . to be present in abundance

              . a continuous stream

              . natural happiness

I daydream of more tattoos.

. . .