Virtual Scrapbooking

I'm having way too much fun making Treasuries on Etsy and Favorite Looks at ShopStyle. Basically it's like cutting out pictures from magazines and pinning them to your wall, or working simple puzzles. I use this sort of mindless creativity to discover what appeals to me visually and to get my mind off of things I can't do anything about. Hey, it's satisfying, it's pretty, and way more fun than Minesweeper.

My Latest Collages:
The Wisdom of Ratty and Moley

  

in the cool, cool of evening

silk and pearls and quicksand roses... satin softness on your skin

Cocktail Dresses by Herve Leger
Pumps by Christian Louboutin

Collage is an ages-old art form that my sister & I recently have become interested in. Creative websites, blogs and newsletters we've been enjoying that really get your imagination off to a great start include Everyday Beautiful, Country Living, kaboodle, and Cloth Paper Scissors. The whole point of this is to get our creative juices rolling along a path that will not only be personally satisfying, but hopefully productive. We'd like to know what people are interested in and doing in order to mesh the things we'll eventually produce with them. Playing with color, design, and assembly in a virtual palette folds into the little projects I've been designing at home. By experimenting on the web, I get a feel for what I like without getting sticky with the glue gun or having to sweep up paper cuttings when I'm done. Of course, that will all come - but I really feel like I'm moving more quickly toward the type of creative outlet I'll be most productive doing, without a lot of fits and starts, feeling my way in the dark at home.

The wonderful motivational writer Sarah ban Breathnach must be created with initially guiding me toward collage as a way to prime the pump and mine the depths of my creative thought processes. Her method of finding one's authentic inner voice by way of daily work with the "Illustrated Discovery Journal" is a very valuable technique not only for a personal creative outlet, but for focusing self-knowledge and understanding personal motivations and interests. I appreciate her whole-hearted abandon and since I don't want to make too much of a mess while merrily tossing ideas around, I've combined the physical form of journaling with virtual brainstorming, and have been very happy with the results.

Veritas

Men hate passion, any great passion. Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead

I defy the tyranny of precedent. Clara Barton.

I am faced with an exposition of the most ridiculous kind. It is almost as if, by turning round and round upon myself, within myself, I am finding out the true nature of the world at large. Fie! It is an old shoe, a bastard, losing daily whatever dignity it has gained at its own behest. I am well to be rid of it.

The world itself is an oasis that draws us out of ourselves, to interact and play nicely with our neighbors. I am all about community, of course. Enjoying friends and family is one of the greatest joys on earth. And here is the rub, see. An oasis is only that which stands out in the middle of the wasteland, providing nourishment and the opportunity for rest for weary travelers. An oasis! Yes, there I’ll be bound.

And miss the boat entirely, of course.

Why linger at an oasis? Why settle, why drink, why sleep? If life is a journey, hadn’t we better get on with it? Saddle up the camels, do something, for heaven’s sake. Or if life is a banquet, should we at least find a place that has good food? God. Get me away from these mongrels, who do nothing more than clasp and smile and make us all feel so damned good.

Take me somewhere I can hear myself think. I have work to do.

I am a promethean, which means I take my work seriously not as art, but of the fact of its usefulness, probably more so than many. It is the work itself that is the point, and nothing that comes after. And I have no opinion at all on whether or not the work is successful, only that it is good, and says what I want it to say. Otherwise, why do it? Why produce, unless to express oneself? If I were going to express another’s opinion, or mimic another’s work, what reason would I have to exist? I do honor by the fact of my existence in bringing my own view to the forefront. Which, I realize, is basically what Ayn Rand said, in billions and billions of words.

That being said, too often the world itself gets in the way. Why? Because I am shy, introspective, and withdrawn by nature. I listen too often to others and quiet my voice. I write what people want to hear, I know pleasant turns of phrase, am witty, clever, and so I am quite repugnant to myself. I mimic so well the acclaimed voices. Eventually I must stop, it will be my undoing. The roar in my ears does not go away when I lift my hands from the keyboard to cover them. I shout at those nearby; I am shouting at myself. Only when I write does my real voice speak. You will almost never hear it from my lips. That is the way of things, perhaps it makes me who I am. I no longer apologize for being several things at once, I am who I am. That cannot change, or who would be me? What of worth would I have to offer; again, why else should I exist?

I know things, things that I left out of the most recent work. I am a miner of the soul; I will go and put them back in. It was wrong to take them out –I am happy now that someone pointed it out to me. As if to say, “Why did you not –“ and “It would have been better if you had –“ when all along I truly believed no one would have understood had I done so. I am glad to put them back. They will complete the work as I originally envisioned. I sigh a deep sigh of completion, and gratitude.

This past week was a vacation for me and the children. We went home to the mountains, to the blue sky and clear air of Virginia. We visited post-card towns and had tea & cakes with the vicar –okay, he was imaginary, but we had them outside on the lawn behind the library not fifteen feet from where I first made out with the father of one of them when I was about thirteen years old –and no I did not mention it! That would have been gross. To continue painting the pastoral scene, we shopped and walked and took miles of pictures. We bought fabric at Schoolhouse Fabrics to make new fall dresses for the girls & me, and a cool grey shirt for my son. We lived and breathed and sang and tromped down to Asheville to take in Biltmore and the highlands in all their pre-fall glory. And about halfway through it, while walking along atop a century-old rock wall in Rocky Mount, Virginia, my youngest said to me, “Mommy, it feels like we are in a movie.”

And I said to her, “That is passion, dearest.”

“What’s passion? I thought what happened to Christ was The Passion.”

“Yeah, that’s passion, too. Passion is when you love something so hard it becomes real.”
She giggled, skipping ahead. “Oh, I get it. Like how I love my turtles when I talk to them.”

“Yeah, like that.”

“Get me down, Mommy.”

I held out my arms to her and she jumped, landing neatly on the cracked sidewalk. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.” And hugged her tight.

She walked on ahead of me, and eventually climbed back up to walk along the top of the wall. “It still feels like we are in a movie,” she said presently.

“That is good, I’m glad.”

“I like it.”

“You should. In fact, that is the best. You should feel that way every single day. Don’t ever lose that feeling, OK? Don’t settle for anything less.”

“Really? ‘Cause I don’t feel this way hardly ever.”

“You hold onto it. It makes you strong. Don’t ever lose it.” And I laughed with her.


The work will be a beacon, when it is finished. Again. This I know. And yes, it is all about me. I am the only one left to tell. It is my mind, my entrance upon the world’s stage. I gather up the bits of straw from the threshing floor – the fleeting bits that fall from my fingers in the times when I must compulsively be writing something about passion, for the voices will not stop – and toss them skyward. They fall on happy faces who lick their lips and feed upon them, devouring the little bits of my heart I’d sewn in so carefully. I am happy to do that, their happiness makes me smile.

But there will be more in the morning. So watch, and see. It is practicum for the larger work, it flexes my working muscles and makes me concentrate on plot and character and making something totally imagined real.

Soon I must leave the oasis. It is discipline, yet it is too much in the world. When I have completed it, it will be time for surgery on the original work. The one that has followed me around for the better part of two decades. That has received two lovely long letters of encouragement from now two editors who press me to add voices to it, find an agent, and submit to, as one put it, “a larger publisher with a more literary (quieter, less pop-fiction-readership-oriented) audience.” This is the work that defines my vision of experience and reality between the perfectly imperfect man and woman. That rocks my boat. That frustrates me no end because I just don’t want to give up and feel all the things working in this mine field makes me feel. And so I take the coward’s way out, and try to make it a popular read. I got what I deserved.

I received the go-ahead to basically be true to myself, my vision, and write what I know. What good does it do within me, when it is obvious that the work would be so much better with it out?
And so I will do. That accomplishment will give me the peace I affirm is the only true peace, in the end. That is the point of my existence.

For nor in nothing, nor in things
Extreme, and scatt'ring bright, can love inhere
--John Donne, Aire and Angels

finding peace amid rapidly truncating options

Hanging out on the porch with oldest daughter Rachael, June 2007

...in other words, watching your big fat world shrink. there is a parallel for what has happened in my own life over the past few years or so and what is happening in the world at large. this is so often the case that i have ceased to wonder at it, and only rarely stop to comment on the phenomenon.

the health is not good. it is a result of long ago choices that were ill-conceived and momentarily self-serving. while the popular culture of my youth espoused chemical pleasures and lack of remorse, my own experience was a grueling dedication to succeed physically and mentally but with no more thought than anyone of what might be happening within my own body, that would later require a reckoning.

the same might be said of our earth. long ago, or maybe not so long ago, the world began spinning on its axis at a much faster rate. or so it seemed. we reached out across miles of wilderness to grasp at whatever we wanted. if we saw it we calculated its effect on us and made the decision to go after profit as a matter of course. we did not stop to visit other options. profit equalled progress. students of history and social systems foretold the nasty outcomes and estimated the length of time we had left to adjust our behavior to avoid them. we as a society of individuals largely ignored them, save for a few feel-good celebrations of our existence and the good of sharing the seemingly unstoppable wealth here on dear mother earth.


Delivering a water quality report to Rural Water Board Members, Barbour County, Alabama, 1987. At the time weighing about 90 lbs., funny how piling on the layers of clothing hides that so well... typical trick of the anorexic, along with wearing things that fit too loosely.

it does not matter that those of us who were aware of impending climate and societal changes that would be brought about by over-reaching on so many levels knew they were coming and tried to do something about that. we will reap what we all have sown. and that's ok in my book. it is fine to be challenged, perhaps especially by ourselves. we who foretold --if we were all that smart --should be out in the forefront, continuing to feed back to those who struggle to understand just how we are supposed to continue to function in the face of a shrinking planet's growth pains the hows and wherefores of our continued existence. we should not cease to be scientists just because it's starting to get downright wicked and hot up there in the crow's nest, and because the mists of doubt and distaste that are rolling in obscure the horizon that was clear not so very long ago. we now see what we foresaw --what makes that so difficult to discern? we must now see beyond that horizon, and press on to the future that awaits.

i welcome that extreme of categorical oblivion. it is true that some of us see bliss in the hardest press of faith. to us the journey is the most pleasant option --to hell with the outcomes. when we find ourselves struggling with the present, we know that if we look up and outward, we will find the present disintegrating and our future ahead of us once more. continued effort will only yield a difference. it is up to us to choose whether to press on, or to succomb to our own ineptitude and lack of vision.

to apply this to myself is my own personal challenge. the damage wrought in youth by ignorance and inattention to my health at times just kicks my ass. lupus is a disintegrating disease. i refuse to acknowledge the damage without a hefty dose of envisioning renewal. that philosophy is largely what has kept me going forward... and has kept me largely able to deal with this drug-free. the time may soon come when i will have to consider those options. i am searching for ways to continue to avoid them, and am presently considering a somewhat radical change in my activity pattern.
Age 26, 87 lbs. and hanging over the edge. Note the loose-fitting clothing trick.

so for now, more palatable to me than drugs is facing my propensity to overdo and undereat. for the past ten years i have avoided strenuous exercise because of the rush of adrenaline and appetite suppression that accompanies it. i know these are learned psychological reactions, not normal ones, but apparently these do not go away even after years of therapy and healthy eating. in past years whenever i have picked up ballet and modern dance exercise the weight always plummets. this was the trick i used in youth that kept me hovering between 88 and 93 lbs until i was over 30. and my doctors eventually convinced me that "you can kill yourself alot quicker by not eating than by overeating. you need to get used to what you consider fat --and embrace it." so i did, so that hopefully my children would still have a mother when they graduated from college. i haven't weighed myself in over a decade, since i threw away the scales. and my husband, the gourmet, assures that i eat wholesome, regular meals regularly, watching constantly for signs of avoidance like ribs and hip bones that look more like sticks and plowshares than the inner supports for a human being. with his help i have been able to survive and care for my children.

Precious moments

but i am heavier and softer than i can possibly stand --even with all the mental tricks I can utilize --or can reconcile even given my warped sense of what is and is not "fat," and i believe the stress on my legs and the circulation problems that are being exhibited must be aggravated by the extra weight and lack of muscle tone. ok, we are probably talking about less than 10 pounds here. to some that is laughable. but i am a tiny person, and the niggling suspicion driven by daily pain is, shouldn't i do something? and perhaps it isn't the weight so much as the tone. my arms feel like pudding, my legs are starting to look like my 75-year-old mother's --fine for her, untenable for me. surely a moderate amount of exercise, beyond the walking and stretching that i allow myself to do, would help. so the question now is, how to find middle ground? it is easier to understand how to solve the world's consumption problems than my own. i find i have no knowledge whatsoever of what constitutes middle ground in an exercise regimen. this is exacerbated by the fact that when i work out, i have no sense of time or stress. i am carried aloft by the chemicals my own body generates that are akin to a dose of methamphetamine for an addict. i know when that happens i will swallow it whole and press on until i can feel nothing but the light and air that surrounds me. and so it is only afterwards that i may realize i went too far, and by then the damage has been done. this happened so much in the past that i can ill afford to do any more damage, and so i stopped exercising, rather than collapse one day before my kids were grown and still needed me.
Dance class, 1983.

so my prayer today is for middle ground. i don't believe this is the answer for the earth --i believe that concerted effort toward conservation and cutting back on economic fortitude is the only thing that will stem the tide of environmental backlash. but i could be wrong... in that, too, the answer may be "everything in moderation," as it seems to be in my own life, and so often is the case. then again, the answer could be in the definition of what constitutes "middle ground." perhaps that might be found by looking at the earth overall --in which case, extreme measures should still be taken by the most developed countries, so that the overall result the world over is moderation, buffering, slowing down to a less dizzying pattern of growth, renewal, and faith in the future --reaching toward the light, yet never losing conscious contact with our feet upon the ground.

plain as plain

and what, you may well ask, is plain? well, for starters, me. i am plain. i live plainly. plain keeps life "doable," so to speak. anymore when life starts to clutter up it lets me know that i'm not living plainly enough. so i look about for something to divest.

that latest divestiture is worry. worry about whether or not i'm doing the right thing, mainly. all i know is i really am doing the best that i can.

also, i'm concentrating on the planning work, and my writing. besides my children and my husband (and two houses!) that is enough. i'm not cut out to do manual labor for others, my family keeps me busy enough. recently we re-incorporated adair fox as a non-profit. it better fits our mission, and makes us able to work more closely with others aligned with the same tasks: that of bettering the world, instead of our own pocketbooks. in all honesty, i have never felt so free to do what i see that needs to be done in the world.

thank god, thank god.

i just like to be able to sleep at night, and my work must continue to enable me to do so. i quit the government sphere because my body told me "no more stress." i am honored to be seeing my work being fulfilled at last with love, honor, and truth. this is all that matters. so. onward and upward. when my children no longer need me there will still be this work. it continues to be the most important contribution i make aside from them. i am glad to be able to say it is all finally coming together, amen, and amen.

bonne anniversaire

yesterday was my birthday and today is my wedding anniversary... two lovely, if cool, spring days in a row. i loved this picture of a doorway in a rural area of france... full of possibilities, therefore, an apt symbol for beginning another new year. i do feel a bit more introspective around birthdays & anniversaries, even more so than at the official 'new year' in january. each year around this time i cannot help but take stock, where i am all but too busy to think about such things as the old year dies and the new one begins. spring, too, brings thoughts of rebirth, and similarly, a gathering together of all that is good and meaningful in life. the earth is rebounding with good things, all in all i feel blessed and fortunate, and cannot imagine going thru life without dh... and also, looking forward to the day when we two can visit my ancestral country and i can hear his bemused, erudite comments on what we come across there.

school pix

these were taken recently for the school directory. so proud of these kids.

a purpose

i am defining the hows and whys, the direction of this venue. i have never traced the path of my life, and it is possible that by doing so i will find answers to questions that haven't been answerable heretofore. and thus perhaps i will be able to find more answers, such as, where does my world go from here? and are there any answers i can give to the worlds' questions?

the census bureau has published figures that show that our county made the top 25 fastest growing in the states. dubious distinction. and the commissioners are so mad about it they have shut down the development community --taken their ball & gone home, so to speak. i am laughing up my sleeve, being a child about it. i take my joys where i find them, and do not apologize.

the needleworker in me sees a parallel between those beautiful landscapes and some of the wonderful older neighborhoods in my community: they are like embroidery upon the canvas of the rural landscape. not so the newer absurdities. they defy description; i cannot reconcile them with anything useful or good. they are merely manifestations of greed.

but i digress. first, this is about me, it is a lesson i need to learn. i am a private person, i shut down descriptions of myself even in my own mind. but something pulls me onward to disclose this biography, and make it parallel with my search for meaning. i will post next my favorite picture of my younger self. it has always said more than i could say with words. i remember being shocked when i first saw it, and a little embarrassed. certainly it showed more vulnerability than i cared to admit. but damn, i looked good, didn't i?

innocence in black and white

susannah... at one time, i was going to be a ballerina. this was during that time.

a well-grounded child

meaning, of course, that i was certainly familiar with the ground. this is where it all began, i think. i remember the day my father took these pictures, i can smell the green grass in my grandmother's yard as surely as if i were there right now. i can feel its cool quickening beneath my cheek, scratching across my shoulder blades as I twisted about to look up at the sky. how much time did you spend looking at the sky when you were young? i believe it was this grounding, this looking up while being so firmly set down that began my love affair with the earth.