Majestically Awkward & Other Stuff

Spring pollen is thick this year, coating everything gold, little flakes of the future.  The poor bees keep trying to pollinate our vehicles and the front steps, they are very confused.  We skirt them politely as bees are endangered and we choose to encourage them to stay here, protected and wanted.  When we start the vehicle, switching on the windshield wipers scares them off so they flee to the azaleas or back to front steps.  I feel so bad seeing them flung off the side mirrors as we're going down the road.  I fret about Columbo showing up and saying, "O ... there is just one thing still bothering me, if you have a minute...?"






I had a rant about my job here, but aren't you glad I zapped it away?

I know I am.

Other than moaning about hours in the day that living requires me to work, I've generally kept job stuff totally separate from my Real Life. I don't back up to my paycheck but neither do I allow work to have more of me than is necessary.  It isn't that I don't like my job, I do, mostly.  It is just not who I am, inside.  I work because I am addicted to electricity, water, clothing, a roof over my head and food in the pantry; not to mention the internet and coloring.  There are days it feels like my work might take the final bite of what I am, inside, and there are others it barely touches. And so it goes for most of us, yes?

So, my bad day rant was erased and I changed my mood by throwing some color on my page and finding the blend and shades of a hearty background coming along quite nicely.  I listened to some VooDoo Daddy and Louis Jordan, laughed over lyrics and decided bad days should be as zappable as text you just don't want to spew in to the world.

click here for a musical interlude

Distracting myself with beautiful art is better than feeling grim.  For years, I enjoyed getting on google images and gazing at art work.  I can gaze at the images of master artists or underappreciated lesser knowns and feel physically and emotionally, renewed.  It's been my coffee table book, without the bulk, dust, or the nicked knees on sharp corners.

Instagram has replaced this quirky go-to of renewal.  It's a gallery in my palm and best viewed via desktop so you don't miss the details.  For me, it feels like cheating just to click the heart and not Say anything about how someone's artistic expression made a moment in my life a bit nicer, a bit more worth continuing the slug onward, a bit amusing, or stirred a memory.  I know others who struggle to get words of how they feel typed in a dinky box, so I get that the heart click and a couple words is what they do.  There's room for all of us in this world, contrary to populist opinion.  However, I was stunned by the appreciation for a few thoughtful words about what I liked about their creations.  It reminded me that we all need encouragement and a few moments of acknowledgement of our uniqueness each day. I shall keep that more in mind as I trudge through daily life.

It's a great thing, an art gallery that comes to you.  The artists aren't moldy in their graves with some academic telling you what the artist was like, thought, who they slept with or refused to eat with and probably went mad because of ... No, these artists are as vibrantly alive as their work. You get to actually communicate with them!  You can ask questions, you can Tell Them, before their lawyer controlled estate is all that's left, how their art moved you.  I frequently feel as if I'm walking among the mighty and great.  It's pretty damn groovy.

click for another musical interlude to transition to Flamingo Story

So, in between work and running the roads, I've been working on my coloring page for BecciZCommunityJungle We picked a book, pages were assigned to a multitude of folks, and it is Becci's determined effort to enable us all to say: "I completed a book this year."  She plans to combine all the images in a snazzy slideshow and we can feel proud to be a part of this First Ever Community Coloring.

I begged for my page, pathetically and earnestly.  It has two flamingos on it.  That's right, Flamingos.  Some of you know, I adore flamingos.  I have them in my yard, on my walls, in little statues, bathtub floaties, dishes, cups, planters, t-shirts, night dress, coffee mug ... you get the idea.  Did I mention I adore them?  Oh, O I see.  There is a little story about my love of flamingos....

Back in the day, when I was a coffee cup, long before I became a mug, I had a lovely aunt and uncle that swanned off every spring to Florida. They spent a week in the fun and sun and were renewed by this.  The first weekend after they returned, they brought us goodies from their adventures.  Touristy type goodies that certainly did not break their bank but delighted us no end! Sea shells, cups, necklaces, earring dishes, ash trays, fake flowers for our hair, and of course some of these things had flamingos on them.  How I loved those bright majestically awkward birds.  How I wanted to believe my awkwardness would eventually transform into beauty and majesty!

However, being the eldest; my turn for flamingo goodies wasn't often because youngest always picks first.  I didn't mind that because I still got to look at them even if they weren't mine.  Time went by like it always does.  I got more awkward but not more majestic or beautiful, alas, some of us are just destined to average, medium, ho hum, trip on your own shadow at the most embarrassing moments of life.  Mostly that amuses me, now that I'm an Old Biddy, but there were times ... well, what teen or young woman [or young man for that matter] can't finish that sentence?  We all go through those phases, stages, and please gawd, grant me amnesia or a hazy recollection of those times!

My aunt and uncle stopped bringing goodies after their trip because our parents objected to the waste of money.  Tension among adults is never easy to understand when your in the middle of it all.  I just knew I missed the hope of flamingos.  In perverse transformation from cup to mug, I grew to hate the color pink, worked hard not to be a clutz or say stupid things or get flustered if everything wasn't perfect. I made a nest, raised my fledglings and learned to fly solo instead of mated.

When five of my children, horde of cats, plethora of fish and I moved in to a Real House in Town, as opposed to a Trailer in the Boonies, the first thing I bought were a dozen flamingos for the yard.  I've since added another dozen every year.  My second son creates nifty flamingo flocking patterns around the bird bath every time he mows the front yard.  I told them the story of how flamingos make me think of beautiful things and special people that saw more than clutzy wren in me, even when I didn't.

So ... every little excuse they bring me flamingos snagged off dollar store shelves or on hot deals online.  The best find was the Flamingo Tea Kettle with the not-even-a-little-annoying whistle that sounds like a rolling honk.  Then my eldest son found a wind chime with a glass flamingo I hang from the air vent in my room.  It is the first thing I see every morning, the neon flamingo light the last thing at night ... this makes me smile and laugh and believe even the awkward have a place in the universe, majestic and beautiful, or not.

my version of Pink Houses

One more because this is a Great Track & you just gotta hear it!

Too much stuff, that's what I've got.

And so, of course, I ordered more pencils and two books.

I have a closet full of old clothes I need to sort.  I have a shed full of junk I need to pitch or yard sale.  My nest hasn't been made all week, I just got up and left blankets and pillows shoved aside, unappreciated though vital to my well being.  I did get my chores done this week, but really, that's not a gold star achievement on my Chart of Life.

I work from home on a computer with 2 screens.  I have a personal computer I use with 1 screen.  I have my coloring desk and a shelf. These three desks form a U with a computer chair in the middle that slides around on a mat that is a bit bumpy.  It's more spacious than my cubby back in the day and I have groovy posters and paintings on the walls plus all my desk toys and knick knacks.  It's a nice space.

When we bought the house I knew I was going to work here until the day I drop dead at my desk.  Even so, I took the smaller bedroom because the other bedrooms would have multiple people and thus beds in them.  I like cozy spaces.  It forces me to be tidy, organized and keeps most everything in reach.  When I have a goofy week, one where I'm not feeling great and / or life isn't all sunshine and lollipops, the walls can close in due to the messiness I let pile up - organized piles of mess, of course.  When I have a couple goofy years of unstable health, many piles are formed and willfully ignored.

This is not groovy.

This is now bothering me.

Not enough to give up sleep and Do What Needs to Be Done, but it is getting there.  It's late in the Spring to be majorly cleaning but that's just too darn bad.  I have my list made and when I get a good day + time, I'll jump in with both feet and gritty determination to get the piles sorted, mess eradicated and organization restored.

I hope to do so before Christmas, next year.

Stay tuned for updates, but don't expect one anytime soon, just mentioning.

The FlaminGoghs