It is a puzzle.

Today is a beautiful sunny morning that will climb in warmth to the low 50's.  Daffodils are glowing yellow and speedwell has scattered purple blossoms across the spring dark green of its leaves.

Yesterday I finished ALL the laundry, sorted a weeks worth of mail with bills, watered my in-house plants, filled bird feeders, handled a travel problem for my husband, compiled a list of future errands, and should be sitting and smiling today with a review of my accomplishments.

Yet I am feeling as if life is a scattered carpet of puzzle pieces this morning.  I cannot start to put them together because I know that some of the key pieces are missing.  I feel overwhelmed a bit and discouraged a bit and just plain unmotivated today.  How incongruous with the spring sunshine!  It is a puzzle.

Before 5:00

This whole vacation I have slept later than I normally do...sometimes I am under cover until 8:00 AM which is late for me.  Perhaps it is the endless trips to the activities, back to the apartment and then on to the pool.  Perhaps it is the running after a recently turned -two-year-old that has discovered real speed on tennis shoes.  Perhaps it is the emotional ups and downs of seven people confined combined in a two-bedroom apartment.  I just know that when evening came I was more than ready to open my arms to Morpheus.

So, this morning of our departure I awaken before 5:00AM!  I know that it is my anal personality that wants to make sure everything is found, sorted and packed before the long drive back to reality.  But silly me cannot do anything noisy as everyone else is still fast asleep.

I cut a small piece of the remaining birthday cake covered in icky blue trimmed frosting and sit with my Kindle and finish "Schroeder, A Novel" which is certainly a haunting bit of work appropriate with overly sweet birthday cake.  I look around the strangely bare apartment where every board game, laptop, Thomas the Train track and wet towel has been tucked away for another year.   The only sound is that of the climate control unit...which seems to have switched between heat and air-conditioning as the weather has been all over the place.

I wait, somewhat impatiently, for the peach red sunrise to burn over the Atlantic Ocean but only see black inky darkness outside the window broken by soft landscape lighting around the paths to and from the pools. Only one other apartment light on the high rise of the far building is lit in sync with mine.  Perhaps someone else is wandering about looking for the day to start.

I must wait to make coffee so that it will be fresh for my daughter when she rises.  I had brought some of the Mexican coffee with my ground cinnamon and she has become an addict looking forward to it each morning.  We have just enough for one final pot.

I will miss this lovely stressful high energy family as we all go our different ways following spring north.  This has been a week of firsts:  the 2-year-old saying a complete sentence, the 5-year-old actually giving in for a change, and the 7-year-old completing two of the longest bicycle rides in his lifetime. It is not without some sadness that I face realistically my future of less energy and ability to keep up as they grow.  But I am realistic in knowing they will not want me at their side during that future time as well. 

Well, I have a busy spring of volunteer gardening to distract me...if it ever stops snowing up that way.

Brrrrrr! Half Full of Cold Air

Here we are at Hilton Head where the weather is supposed to be in the low 70's F traditionally, but this spring it only breaks 60 F by mid-day with the late winter front!  My neighbors just a short drive to the north got snow...so I am not complaining, even though we have to wear coats and hoodies to the pool! 

The Hilton Head experience has different enticements for some and different disenchantments for others.  It has the reputation of being a place for the upper income folks and in some places is a little hoity-toity.  Many easy golf courses and some championship courses are here.  Tiger Woods will be here in a few weeks.  The places to stay are mostly costly, but we try to come here at least once every couple of years as it is so close to home and so low key.

The beach is hard packed, huge, with lots of room for running and exercise or getting away from everyone.  No sugar sand beneath your feet, and the water is cloudy, but the beach is wide and long and the surf is safe.

The area is close to Savannah, a charming city which has great southern charm and low country cooking.  We are not driving there this time but staying on this island where there is a large and growing assortment of restaurants, both good and bad.  For instance, a bad example, we stopped to try the food at the  "Roast Fish and Cornbread" and they were "out" of about seven items including the cornbread!  This was the middle of a Tuesday...what is up with that?  The fried or grilled seafood was nothing to write home about.  The Santa Fe Mexican restaurant, on the other hand, has wonderful soups and never disappoints with everything else on the menu and is a 'good' example.  Bluffton town nearby is much more small-town and representative of the old south.  A famous TV chef, Robert Irvine, has two restaurants here and is coming down in a week or two.

The grandkids have been the driving force determining activities with egg hunts, fire pit evenings, swimming in the heated pools and bikes riding to lunch off the grounds.  Hilton Head is strict about enviromental controls and the area is full of palmetto and marshlands which I find lovely, though others do not like such rustic enviroment. 

Very close is Pinkney Island with is water birds and alligators and hidden lakes and long paths for biking or walking.  Photos to follow and bore you soon!

Please pat me on the back for writing this post while simultaneously playing pizza restaurant using play dough with my 5-year-old granddaughter !!  Her restaurant is called "Carrie Bijohn"...who would have guessed?  It is one of the 'good' places to eat down here.

Lucky Me.

I lucked out this year.  My amaryillus bloomed before my departure this week to vacation with family.  Since I will be running  lying on a beach somewhere, please enjoy these while they last.

Ah, Spring!

The days do not break as early as we were used to because of that archaic process called daylight savings time.  It does not save any daylight time as far as I can see, it just moves it to  later in the day.  And yet, alas, I still rise early and it is dark at the windows.  I sit with my laptop in the quiet house, thinking my thoughts and waiting for the sun or the writing muse, whichever is bravest to come first.

The sun is just now providing a candlelight glow at the edge of the ridge at the end of the river.  I sigh and return to some important sentence when I hear "chirp."

I cannot help but smile at the joy that some little bird, probably one of the perky wrens, was sharing and beginning to celebrate the season of spring.

"chirp."

I get up to warm my coffee and glance out in the early dawn but cannot see the tiny brown bird anywhere on the deck.  He must be near the feeders.

"chirp."

I wonder why he has not moved into his early morning intermezzo.   No female is going to be impressed with this tentative peep in the cold morning.

The sun lights the backyard and I still cannot see the wren.

"chirp."

I am beginning to get a dreadful feeling in the pit of my stomach and I head down to the basement.  The "chirp" is much louder there.  I move toward the closed door of the guest bedroom waiting for the chirps over-rhythmic return.

"chirp."

And then I know!  Spring with its routines and opportunities for maintenance is at last here in all its glory.  I look with resigned hatred at the white plastic disk attached to the fragile fiber tile in the hanging ceiling.  I grab a nearby chair and  painfully craning my neck try to turn the plastic disk succeeding only in shifting the ceiling tile out of its frame.  I whisper something unladylike under my breath and head back upstairs for my small stepladder.

After carefully avoiding nicking walls I once again reach the smoke alarm and begin the tedious process of figuring out how to remove it and then open the battery case.  It sounds oh so simple but it took me 5 minutes of slow and carefully applied pressures to get at the 9 volt battery hidden inside without tearing apart the ceiling and/or falling off the ladder.  I take out the battery making sure that I can memorize how it was installed.  There is no snap to this alarm's battery...just little slotted unintuitive holes!!

 

 I have remembered to bring a new battery which I install and then return the disc to its frame.  I wait.

"chirp"

Now I am beyond help and glad that I am the only one home or I might maim or kill someone.

I try to read the raised 7 point font white print on the white background  in the inside of the battery casing with no luck.  I even color over it with a crayon...sort of like a person in mental therapy would do before they are given their meds.  That does not help except for breaking the point on the crayon.

I say some more unladylike things and without the care that I should use unscrew the plastic case from its frame moving the ceiling tile cockeyed.  I remove and then reverse the battery installation and then wait.

"chirp"

I go upstairs and get the can of air from my computer desk and return to the scene of  waterloo and proceed to blast the hell out of it.  No bug, fleck of dust or other alien entity could possibly remain.  I wait.

"chirp"

I go back upstairs and talk myself out of bringing down the bourbon from the high cupboard and instead check my emails and work on some photos. 

"chirp"

After the chirping begins to resonate nastily between my ears, I return to the bedroom basement and pull the little  ##**%%%-^^&&@@  off the attachment to electricity. 

"silence"

I have killed it.  Yes, I will have to do something about that, but right now I am thinking about a design on a voodoo doll for the inventor of this piece of %%$ and later getting ready for beach week with the kids.

Such Characters!

Travel is frequently about the people and since hubby and I are those annoying elderly talkative types that you try to avoid on the plane, we were able to meet a whole slew of interesting souls on our travels down and back.  I have given them made-up names and maybe they would work in your next novel...just give me a little credit and think about the test I give at the end.

Flight #1

Melia:  I boarded the plane behind a thin wisp of a girl in her teens weighing no more than 90 pounds.  Her dishwater blonde hair was pulled up carelessly in a pony-tail and she looked very sleep deprived on this early flight.  Hanging limply over her shoulder was a tiny vomit-yellow patent leather purse and she clutched to her chest, like a life-saver, a beige pillow larger than her as she squeezed into the seat in front of us.  (What was unique is that she was on both of our planes down to Mexico; and we also were on one of the same flights back a week later.  She had not changed her appearance, attitude, or her soft round companion.)

Juan:  My seat companion was in his mid-thirties, stocky with close-cropped spikey hair shiny from some tonic.  He had a pleasant round face with a gentle smile and Latino coloring.  He was retuning to California from the east coast where he had done some consulting as an electrical engineer.  I learned that he had been a policeman in Los Angeles but quit after eight years because of the corruption he saw in the police force such as racial profiling.  He was most proud of his 12-year-old son who was a baseball all-star in the community and even the state and Juan was hoping to make the connections smoothly so as to not miss one championship game that evening.  Juan eagerly pulled out his cell phone to share a series of photos of a this kid in a crisp baseball uniform who clearly had great form in his swing.  Juan was distracted and somewhat quiet later in the flight and it wasn't until several hours later when we arrived for our brief layover in Pheonix that I learned he was fighting the flu!

Flight #2 out of Pheonix

Bethany:  A lovely 15-year-old girl of mixed ancestry bubbled into the window seat next to me.  She had this seat while her mother who appeared white sat with her younger brother who appeared to be black across the aisle.  Bethany was full of energy and unlike the other teenage girl so eager to get to Puerto Vallarta.  I asked her if she was on vacation and she grinned and said that she was on a work trip for Eagle.  Hubby thought that she meant a small airline, but I guessed it was the clothing company.  I still could not understand why she was flying all that way for retail work when she explained that she had entered a modeling contest and while 20 others had won, she was selected anyway as an extra because of her 'niche' look.  She had a lovely face with big brown eyes and a head full of shiny curls flying every which way.  Hubby thought it was a luxury trip for her but I knew, as a photographer, it meant long days of work in early and late hours outside the window of the mid-day flat sun.  I was glad to see that as a minor she was being accompanied by a parent!

Our plane had a late start due to some delayed passengers on a connecting flight and thus the stewardess did some switching so that the girl could sit next to her mother and the window seat became empty once again for a brief time.

Manuel:  This handsome 23-year-old flew into the plane crashing and pushing his carry-on into the overhead bin with high energy and required both hubby and I to move once again into the aisle so that he could take the seat left open by Bethany.  I learned, before he fell into that abandoned sleep that only single college males can conjure, that he was a student at the University of Pennsylvania and on spring break.  He had decided only the night before to join some friends in Puerto Vallarta and booked this flight.  I could not help but be a little jealous over how nice it must be to be rich enough to head to another country on spring break while still a student in college.  (I was waiting tables on spring break.) He said he was a finance major, so I also squeezed in some digs about hoping he was planning to give the wall street profession a better name.  He smiled and said he was planning to make money.  I also learned he was fluent in Spanish as his father was from Columbia and his mother was from Costa Rica whch he shared as the plane took off.   Soon he had lowered the tray and fallen into a deep sleep to prepare himself for a week of drinking and beaching and bikini watching.

Flight #1 heading home

Mark:  Another good-looking male sat beside hubby on this flight, this time in the aisle seat, while I took the window and forced hubby to sit in the middle.  I am guessing he was in his mid-thirties wearing a nice white polo shirt that complimented the tan he had acquired in Mexico.  I talked little since hubby was doing the interrogation this flight.  Mark was not married, had no children and was glad of it as he seemed to be in a place (perhaps permanent) in his life where he could remain footloose and carefree.  He just shook his head as he watched the various families settle in with babies and toddlers for the flight.  Mark was a biochemist and worked for a company that made mulch.  The biochemist part seemed to have something  to do with the various colors that mulch comes in these days.  When interrogated further about the addition of tannins he made it clear that if he leaked even the smallest information on the formulas he would have to kill us.  He was good at getting hubby to talk about himself the rest of the flight...although in reality this is not difficult.

Flight #2 heading home

Veronica:  Our last victim companion on our last flight was an attractive woman in her late forties or early fifties with shoulder length blonde hair and upper middle class make-up.  She was over-weight, but not obese, and dressed in jeans and a casual top accessorized with fashionable chunky jewelry.  Her smile was warm and friendly and her eyes were bright and intelligent.  She got the aisle seat next to us, lucky girl, while her husband had been assigned a seat several rows toward the front.  She had just spent a long weekend in Palm Springs "holding down a chaise lounge" while her husband had attended a bankers conference there.  As we talked we learned she had been a lawyer who had worked in the juvenile justice system before leaving that stressful venue and changed to the professional contracting business.  She took foreclosed properties and remodeled them and then sold them.  With the inside track provided by her banker husband I am guessing she made big bucks which she was putting toward a vacation/retirement home on a lake somewhere in North Carolina.  At one point during our extensive conversation she asked my husband if he believed in global warming.  We are always surprised by those who think it is a hoax by scientists (all 10,000 in ca-hoots across the globe) to raise more research money.  We tried to provide some facts, although it is complicated, to moderate the effects of the kool-aid she was being fed by her conservative colleagues.  She was enjoying this time in her life with her kids off to colleges or soon on their way, and she now had the freedom to travel with her husband and also plan for their future time together.

OK.  Now, if you want a writing exercise, be brave and take one or more of these and make a tapestry of words for a brief story that I can read and enjoy and let me know of the link-back in the comments below. 

Kiss Me...Even Though I Am NOT

Gotcha!

Gotcha!  I changed my header out of boredom today.  It has taken me the entire week to get back on a normal waking/sleeping schedule.  I slept 10 hours last night, which is something I have not done in a long, long time.  I have forced myself to get out of the house to do various (backbreaking) volunteer work projects and that has (maybe) got me adapted to the sunset/sunrise timing.  I think this header photo on my blog is too large...so working on that as soon as I can count pixels once again.  This photo is from a statue on the beach at Puerto Vallarta.  I want to feel like her!  (Also looking like her might be a plus.)

I feel like my blood is made with molasses and yet at the end of next week I am going off again to spend time with my daughter and her family to a beach place about a 9 hour drive south of where I live.  I am looking forward to this...I keep telling my self that as I see my house needs major spring cleaning, my garden and yard need major spring cleaning and my brain needs major spring cleaning!

Even the Mexican coffee I brought back does not seem to burn out the webs.

Grannie Annie asked if current events in Mexico made me concerned to go.  No because Mexico is a huge country and the crime that is reported is very localized.  Statistically Puerto Vallarta gets 1.5 MILLION tourists a year and that is just ONE resort city.  I honestly was a little more concerned about my trip to Jamaica a while back.  The crime and human trafficking that is reported on such a small island were of more concern.  But I had to admit that I found the Jamaicans lovely, polite, friendly and only on occasion asking for money and we pretty much avoided Kingston entirely.  I mean it is even somewhat dangerous these days to take a cruise so I will not hide out in a cave until I die!

Going to make some coffee now....

Yes, You are Correct

Yes, in answer to my readers, (I actually missed you all and have been having fun catching up on your blogs...never guessed I would feel that way.) I spent a week in Mexico. Regarding the prior post the man in the photo is alive and is covered in some medium that allows the sand being thrown at him to stick to him. He kept his eyes tightly closed.  We did not stay long enough to see him perform.

Our point system offered a kitchenette in an "all-inclusive" time share facility in Puerto Vallarta which is on the coast of the Pacific Ocean. This small city is very much a tourist spot for Canadians and Americans tired of their cold weather. Most of the people I met were from British Columbia or Northern California, and while there were a number of students on spring break, most were old farts like me. The city does not have the hard, flat, festival feel of Cancun, but is hanging on to its softness and culture although it is growing larger in size each day. The buses are easy to manage and get the tourists downtown cheaply, if with questionable safety in terms of traffic, where there are lots of good restaurants and all kinds of shopping. There are plenty of canned tours that get tourists out of the city as well. Tucked at the end of the city are several small, sterile, but lovely Stepford communities of ex-patriots homes where life is good. Everything is cheaper in Mexico and the people are very polite and friendly and that is the biggest attraction for most tourists and those that live there half the year.

Lovely young couple dressed up to welcome us to their restaurant.

The greatest danger is getting waylaid by time-share sales staff who number in the dozens and wait like sharks at the airport in an interior corridor and pretend to be your contact for your shuttle to your hotel. (They get paid $200 if they can get you to the sales site.)  Ignore all those men and women dressed in crisp white uniforms with name tags and head straight out to the waiting cars.

I wish I had researched better to find more eco-tours as that is my preference. There are three million tours to swim with dolphins (for first timers, children, pregnant women) and those I do not consider eco-tours, so we passed. There are lots of bungee-jumping, sky riding, zip-lining activities for thrill seekers as well. Instead we took a boat out to the Marrietas Islands which is a protected wildlife sanctuary and marine preserve made famous by Jacques Cousteau and home to a rare species of bird: the Blue-Footed Booby. We did some snorkeling, but since it was after December water was cold and visibility was about three feet! A bit of a disappointment although we saw close-ups of boobies (the bird kind) and whales, dolphins and sting rays. A few posts/photos about these on my other blog.

We toured a tortilla factory or two, small family sized operations. We toured a tequila factory or two and got to taste a variety of tequila's which fortunately I like...not the sweet ones...but at 80 proof that is a pleasure that has its limits. We toured a botanical garden that was not near the tropical example it could have been. We looked at a few small village towns with traditional churches off the center square, and we stopped at one Catholic cemetery where the Catholic church allows the rich to build large monuments to their dead and the poor to have small raised graves and where everyone visits relatives on the Day of the Dead.

The white truck is a police escort that the government felt necessary on our trip to the petroglyphs in the remote country.

Actually this was my first real vacation to Mexico as I cannot count the trip I took to Cancun 20 years ago as anything different than hitting Miami on spring break!

Back From Visiting the Sun

Must be getting old because the 3 time changes and the lost hour from daylight savings were far harder on my metabolism than the tequila shots that I did in the back of an open sided Mercedes Benz Unimog on the day before I left.  (But that is another story.)  Below some lovely folk art and sand art as a tease.  Can you guess where I went?

Added Information

Rethinking my earlier post...I think this picture above gives you a more accurate rendition of what it looks like from my dock if I turn away from the sunset.  According to my neighbor that lives in the million dollar house just to the right of this photo...all will be gone by summer. No, no one is building anything here.  They are just trying to keep the red barge from sinking as it has rusted through!   She promised last year it would be gone and then this fall the red barge was joined by the black barge and tug!  (Click on the photo if you are a machinery/equipment person.)

Got Points?

I am going away for a week's vacation.  Since I am retired you may ask why in the hell I need a vacation.  I don't.  But because I am in the elite upper income bracket I have something called "points" that I will lose if I do not use.  Do not ask me to explain this point system because I will have to tell you that is is like joining a fancy country club where you give them $10,000 for a year's membership and they allow you to eat rubber chicken next to another person who has $10,000 to give away.  Instead of this they give me a week in some questionable hotel in another country along with all the rubber tortillas that I can eat next to other people with 'points.".

I promise to come back with stories about food, culture, scenery and nature.  I am going to one of those areas where all the tourists go...not the rich tourists...just the people who like to drink margaritas on a beach and look at women in bikinis.  I am not one of those people either.  I like a beach for a day or two, but then I want to see the faces of the people who live here, the faces of the animals that live here and the culture and geography that makes these faces the way they are. 

In the between time I have posted a photo of what I currently (and all winter long) have seen from my dock.  My neighborhood is not as high class as you may think.  The trailer behind the tug and barge has been empty for a few years, but it may be for rent if you are interested.

Who is Responsible?

I have posted on the artist Al Weiwei twice already and from all the interesting examples in the very limited exhibit that is currently touring this country, I will select just one more.  He did some beautiful works in wood and those I will save for another time, perhaps, when the writer in me is looking for something to say.  These next examples are about children, corruption and government ... in somewhat that order.  The photo below is one of my children when they were very small with some friends in Indonesia.

The photo above is distorted because this post is about an earthquake and children.  We had earthquakes in Indonesia, but this is about an earthquake in China.

This description above is blurred because in most museums you may not use a flash and therefore it was taken in dark light requiring a steadier hand than I have.  But since this is about earthquakes, I think a bit of shaken text is appropriate.

This rebar in the photos above of the artwork came from the actual schoolhouses that collapsed like houses of cards after the earthquake.  Many Chinese parents lost their children due to schools built with very poor quality materials and questions about corruption and kick backs were made.  The metal bars are arranged a little like a river and seem to have waves across its surface like the waves of an earthquake.

Chinese officials remained in denial about how many died, and about how the poor construction of the schools contributed to these deaths. The government refused to release the names of the children.  Thus Weiwei made his artistic protest.  An entire wall in the museum lists the names of the children who died and an audio track is run in this room saying each their names.

You can learn more about "Al'  here  <http://www.pbs.org/newshour/art/blog/2012/12/on-the-newshour-ai-weiwei.html>  and here <http://www.pbs.org/newshour/rundown/2012/12/dissident-artist-ai-weiwei-not-optimistic-about-new-chinese-leadership.html>  You will need a kleenex.

What is Valuable?

The bowl is from Japan and the rice is from Italy and this photo was taken in my kitchen.  This is the beginning of an homage to Al Weiwei.  If you don't quite get it, you will have to read the prior post for help.  As I look at this photo I remember driving by a busy corner as I was entering the city of Jogjakarta in Indonesia and seeing a totally naked and very thin woman who looked well into her 60's with an empty rice bowl held out in her hand.  Others stood around her trying to cross the street and truly appeared not to see her.  That image will never leave my consciousness.

If you  look closer at this photo above you will realize that these two bowls do not contain rice.  The bowls are made of the finest porcelain from China and the shiny objects are a half-ton of freshwater pearls.  (Weiwei 2006)  The bowls are exactly one meter in diameter.  I think I am in sync with Weiwei by putting these two photos in the same blog.  Which do you think is worth more?  Depends on who you are and how full your belly is I guess.

  I was very tempted to let my hands feel the tactile sensation of of these shiny orbs.

"The choice of materials and the use of traditional techniques show his determination to highlight in these artworks both his “Chineseness” and his active subversion of it, as in Bowl of Pearls (2006). This sculpture consists of a pair of bowls one meter in diameter filled with freshwater pearls. While abundance of pearls can symbolize wealth and provoke a strong desire, the large number displayed in the bowl is such that it triggers an opposite feeling. The feeling of value and preciousness commonly associated with pearls, when displayed in a small quantity, is replaced by an ordinary feeling despite the pearls’ inner beauty." Review from Mori Art Museum.

This is my small personal collection of both freshwater and salt water pearls, and since some were handed down from an elder relative, their value is much greater to me emotionally than practically.

Is It Art?

In what must seem as an addendum to my prior comments on art and artists, I expanded my experience by visiting an exhibit of one of the more famous dissident artists in the world.  This is his first U.S. exhibit which was successful on its first stop at the Hirshhorn Sculpture museum in D.C.  I am, of course, writing about Al Weiwei who is "waiting" for China to return his passport.  He was unable to attend the opening of this exhibit months ago, although over 200 diplomats from around the world were there to see it.

Whether one considers his work art, a statement of dissident symbolism or moments of Zen interspersed with his black and white photography, I was drawn to each piece and it left me thinking about art and humanity.  Could he be as famous an artist without the repressive government in China motivating him and giving him fame is a question made by some.  He lived in the U.S. for twelve years and returned to China where he became more interesting and more motivated.

In repressive China he has been arrested, beaten around the head (photos of the x-ray of the head concussion are part of the exhibit) and thrown in jail.  He has also had his newest studio bulldozed.  He currently faces charges on tax evasion.  He has won international awards and fortune which makes it awkward for the government to keep him out of the public eye.

I feel that China is a bomb of youthful energy and ideas waiting to explode.  When, not if, this happens, the global community (art, finance, health, etc.) will be forced to sit up and take notice.

The first work of art that you see when you arrive at the museum is outside in the courtyard.  It is the Zodiac of animal heads (12  bronze heads) that stand outside the Hirshhorn museum...an over-sized re-creation of twelve bronze animal heads that once adorned the Zodiac Fountain in Yuan Ming Yuan, the Old Summer Palace, in Beijing before being destroyed by British diplomat James Bruce, the 8th Earl of Elgin after the Opium wars.  The history of this destruction includes burning people alive and looting.  This is a perfect example of Weiwei's desire to connect the ancient with the contemporary and to connect art and politics.

 "The original heads had been made by Giuseppe Castiglione (1688-1766), an Italian Jesuit who, while living in China, had executed commissions for the Chinese emperor in the 18th century.
In other words, Ai Weiwei, a Chinese artist who has been considerably influenced by Western Postmodernism and who lived and studied in New York for over a decade, had recreated works made by a European who had lived and worked in China in the 18th century. What had spurred Ai Weiwei to make another Zodiac?"  John Seed

It gets even more complicated from here.  Questions are raised on authenticity, value, and who owns art anyway?  Just today CNN reported on some wall graffiti/mural by the now in-demand street artist Banksy being stolen right off the side of the building on a London street!

Letting in the Real World Now and Again

My leadership on a landscape committee for our local museum has taken more time than I anticipated when I first volunteered.  There is maintenance of the email lists, planning of spring activities, composing the meeting agenda and trying to assign tasks, getting a meeting room reserved and a date on the calendar, and finally, since most of us are old ladies, making sure there is coffee and coffee cake!

Then my husband has volunteered for a new project on getting fresh food to the food pantries by getting volunteer gardeners to contribute and talking to the local staff, at another museum, to incorporate this into their summer camp with children.  I have been attending a number of meetings regarding that which takes up more time, but meeting cool new people as a result.

All of this has taken me away from my birding, photography, reading, writing, blogging and new attempt at more exercise.

Today I drive up to my daughters house and am spending all day tomorrow with her perusing some of the Smithsonian's special museum exhibits.  It is her treat to me for a belated birthday gift.  It gets her out of the house even though the venues are not her favorites.  She might rather be clothes shopping or some spa enjoyment.  But it does give her the opportunity to get away from obligations and kids.  We will stop at a bar early in the evening and talk and laugh and then head to a top  restaurant for some high end food.  These are the golden times because we have no expectations from each other.  We have that special genetic connection that sometimes appears in family relationships and is worth all the money in the world.

Hopefully my return will provide some blog posts more worthy of my discriminatory readers.

Madonna and Child

I have been thinking about the article that will be (may be) requested this month that I mentioned in the prior post.  After all, they may have room only for half a dozen photos and no text.  That little task would only take me days.  I love all my photo children and how could I choose.  I also realize that you must pick things that go together artistically.  Now most artists have developed a style...not so much me.  My photos are all over the place in subject, mood, realism vs. romance. 

But let us assume they want some text.  Should I explain that in being myself I have spent hours today uploading my photos to Photobucket and backing up again the more precious of these to a separate hard drive?  I use this site because it allows me a full resolution download, makes a good backup site, and for a small fee I have unlimited gigabytes.  It is expensive to print albums of stuff so most of my work is kept digital.  I do not think other photographers want to hear about the time-consuming maintenance tasks of choosing the thousands of photos one wants to save for posterity nor the unique folder names that one creates to help find stuff.  Needles in a field of haystacks is what we have created with digital photography.  Within my software I can add words to an index that tags each photo, but I do not think this data transfers to the internet site.  I am a very organized person so I dread to think of how others are going to lose masses of history with their casual storing of camera and phone captures throughout their young lives.   

Most of my readers suggested I just be myself in writing about my (hobby) artistic endeavors.  Well, I have thought about it and come to some simple out-of-my depth conclusions.  I tend to favor red.  I like nature but on a rare occasion can capture a memorable face.  I cannot divorce the emotion I feel from a photograph I have taken which may leave others cold.  And, of course, I am addicted.

Well, it seems that my upload of 262 sunset photos is finished, and that number is just for 2012!  (As I said I tend to favor red.)   Hubby and I took a hike yesterday as the weather almost reached 70F in mid-February.  (Photos above and below) I always bring a camera and while rounding the path in the late winter afternoon sun a young woman with curly red hair (lots of hair) was holding a young baby in her arms and trying to take a picture of the two of them while she sat on a bench.  The sun caught the golden red halo of her hair and the soft fuzz of the baby's head and I wish I had taken a shot of this amazing silhouette.  But I was polite and instead offered to take photos of Madonna and child with her camera.  She had a small camera so I am not sure how they turned out, but I was really having fun!

Captive Audience

The past few years I have grown more fond of BBC television programs that are purchased by our public television stations and then re-broadcast here in the USA.  Most of the programs are mysteries or detective stories.  Others are humorous stories taking place in small towns in the country side.  There is one series Masterpiece that re-broadcasts some fun costume dramas.  I have wondered why I find these shows so appealing.  The stories in small towns are simple and old fashioned, nothing that leaves me in deep thought after watching.  The mysteries are pretty traditional and usually have just enough red herrings that I can resolve them only in the last fifteen minutes.  But that doesn't mean anything because I even re-watch them the very next season!  The costume dramas are a guilty pleasure but not as fulfilling perhaps as reading an historical novel of several hundred pages.  So once again I ponder what it is that I like about these shows from "across the pond."  ( I do watch too much TV, but I try to do something like folding clothes or sorting files or straightening the living room while watching so that my guilt in this addiction is not so bad.)

I think the reason I like these shows is that:

1. All ages are represented and not just in token small roles. Ruggedly handsome includes gray hair and a paunch sometimes.
2. All ages are not usually stereotyped but presented as interesting faceted characters
3. People look real with wrinkles, weight issues, and non-model proportioned faces. (NO Barbies)
4. If someone has an idiosyncrasy that they were born with, it fits gently into the role they play (right now I am thinking of Chummy Browne in "Call the Midwife.")
5. They can be edgy but still keep some sense of decorum and humanity.

The one thing that is difficult in watching is translating, on a regular basis, when I watch with hubby.

The Soul of an Artist

When you pursue some skill that you love you reach a point where you wish people to take notice no matter how shy you are.  When I first joined the RedBubble, a photography website out of Australia (far away where no one knows me), I thought it would be a good source for feedback from professional and amateur photographers to help me grow.  I was most naive.  I posted a comment about how there was so much praise and no suggestions for change and improvement which was met with deadly silence!  As the months passed I submitted a few very veiled critical suggestions to others and they were taken with a grain of salt.  But I also noticed some very angry discussions unbecoming photographers when I perused other sites and journal entries.  It became clear to me that some artists have very sensitive egos and do not appreciate critical input.  Fortunately I was never on the receiving end of this, but I would not have been dismayed, and just accepted that I had bruised someone's sense of self.  Thus, I realized this was just a site to post and wait for praise or silence.  There is one venue for input from others, but it is somewhat complicated for me to figure out how to post the photograph for review so I have only posted one or two items!

I have entered contests on this site which are primarily set up to stimulate membership and have over 100 features of new work or photographs that have been selected for top ten praise in challenges that are put forth by volunteers hosting the various groups.  Some of these groups leaders are professional photographers, so I am honored in this selection. 

I have submitted photos for free for publication and been rewarded.  I have not won any of the local contests to which I submit.  I have sold a few photos as greeting cards.

Some of my readers of this blog are artists.  They write, paint, take photographs and feel comfortable that they are a perfect fit into the artist mold.  They are not intimidated by anyone or do not show it.  I, on the other hand, have a tiny ego in this world of the artist and see myself as a really struggling persona.  (Please note, I am not a shrinking violet and do NOT have a tiny ego in other areas of my life.)  While I love the praise my readers send with love on my photos and my prose and poetry, I never really feel as if I deserve it.  I accept it as encouragement and a pat on the back from a loving parent, but not recognition of  small genius...which we all would really love.

Okay, what is my point in this long, self-involved post?  I have recently been selected as a feature artist in a small (very small) online journal.  I do not know what is expected.  It seems to be not an interview but more so a write up by me of who I am and a selection from my works.  The surprise for me is that I have only entered two works into this group that selected me...others I have entered dozens.   I was told not to worry about that!  So, please wish me luck and tell  me how you would get in the mind set of an artist for this!

Glazing

It is early on a lazy winter morning at my daughter's house.  All is ominously quiet since there are three little kids that live here who could awaken at any moment with amazing energy that has been restored by a good night's sleep.  Actually two of them find mornings a bit of a challenge and on cold winter days burrow deeper into their soft blankets begging to be left alone.

This leaves the oldest, now at seven, who has always been an early riser.  He used to rise in the mornings by screaming his lungs out as if having a root canal.  Thankfully he outgrew that in a year or so and now awakens gently with a mischeivous smile on his face.  He skips downstairs to where I am reading my kindle and drinking my first cup of coffee.

After greeting me, he then snuggles for about three seconds before the squirming and stretching kicks in.  He had a bad dream that he tells me about in glorious detail.  Then he had a waking dream which he begins to explain.  Finally he changes the subject to Harry Potter and how well he can read small parts of this book with his mother and I tell him I am amazed at that.  Then we switch without segway to discussing comic books.  He asks if I know about Loud Boy, which I must answer in the negative as my reading genre is somewhat limited.  I must admit that my eyes begin to glaze over when he explains in all the dreadful detail how Loud Boy makes his escape from a video game and also saves the world from an asteroid with a configuration of rubber bands.

Finally he sighs and then asks if he can play some Wii before breakfast.

I never realized how much I could love a ball of imaginative energy.