Sun

Went to seek some sun for a bit...

art therapy

In college, I descendee into a lengthy bout of deprssion and figured a new scene might do some good. I applied to a college out of state, a small private university with acprogram in art therapy. I applied, visited the campus, and was accepted! And then my chronic inability to stick to things (yeah, still working on this) caused me to stay put. Besides, I mean how many art therapist jobs are there? My sociology degree and three teaching credentials have led to, in my 15 years of adulthood, 20 defferent jobs , a cumulative few years of unemployment and...overall worthlessness. But off that pity party train and onto my point!,
I do believe art can be healing. I went through a very shitty few years of life. In college  these years kind of scarred me. Trust me, rhings weren't that bad, but as a poster child for being a HSP, highly sensitive person. I still have to mull over those years in my dreams.

Music "spoke to me" back then, and helped me through it all. Tool was a band I loved (still do) and so, over ten years later, I finally decided to do art which went with lyrics. I did book arts to Tool, which I blogged about this month. My in laws wanted to see my book so it became a Thanksgiving conversation piece, likely labeling me as a tortured, depressed, needs psychotherapy, unfit person. I'm none of that and they just were bafflee...why did I choose these lyrics. Why are they so sad? Why did I do the imagesvI did? I explained, or tried to, but they just gave me confused and worrisome looks.

Maybe its the HSP in me, or the artist in me. But I can easily tap into back then and use art therapy now to heal from then. It is cleansing. It makes an ugly thing of the past into a beautiful thing of the present. I think that is pretty damned awesome.

haiku

Everyone's yelling
There's not enough wine to soothe
When family's mad

.....
Can't wait till they're here
I love my family a lot
Hurry up and leave
...
Turkey coma time
This true you are what you eat
Say gobble gobble
....
Hey what is that sound
The bear's in the garbage and
He's drunk, pie and wine

Feast

I loved holidays as a child, even though they never met my Norman Rockwell expectations. By a mile. But to me, regardless, they meant togetherness, family, comfort, fun, and food.

Sometimes we'd go to my grandma's and so they would all cook...whatever they'd cook. My dad stayed home cause he's like that. Grown ups would try and get me to eat yams with marshmallows. Those same grown ups enjoyed wine and White Russians and I would get sprite in a wine glass.

Other times, it was at home and we'd invite my dad's best friend (may he R.i.P.) and his son over for a feast.

And other times it was just us, mom, and, and I. Once we just ate cold canned soup because a storm had knocked out the power and the pipes had frozen, and the gas pilot went out and no one wanted to dig through three feet of snow to get under the house and light it.

Our feasts were generally the same foods, either well done prime rib or ham (two foods I hated), green beans stewed in broth and bacon, a simple red leaf lettuce salad, pumpkin pie, mashed red potatoes, gravy, stuffing. Along those lines, lets forget the year my mom went through a cilantro obsession and we ended up with baked stove top speckled with cilantro. If I were super lucky and begged and begged, my mom would add to the feast, Yorkshire puddings. Simple dough puffs cooked in cast iron, floating in beef drippings...you could stuff them with meat, stuffing, whatever was at hand. I could eat a dozen in one sitting but no on ever let me.

Now, I have my own family and my husband's and we have feasts too. A variety of prime rib, duck, or turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, two kinda of stuffing, pumpkin pie or bread pudding, from scratch green bean casserole or creamed spinach, butterscotch yams, corn, and rolls. (Those rolls do no justice in comparison to Yorkshire pudding an instead just piss me off). Everyone spades over place settings and where to sit and I down a glass of wine to survive. Someone always yells and complains and curses. I get stuck with more dishes than a restaurant, which I hate yet its also kind of zen to scour pans after the holiday rush.

What are your holidays like?

responsibilty

I saw a post about our "babying" of children. It bashed skin to skin time after birth even though it is proven to heal. It bashed other parts of attachment parenting. I "attachment parent" in that I wear my baby and co-sleep which is supposedly evil...an evil that has been around for eons is my guess. It seems western culture bashes it. We hold on to the Victorian notion of a child should be seen not heard.

But yet...I agree with the article, too. When red pens are "damishing self esteem", a 21% becomes a passing grade sofew fail, and everyone gets a sports award just for. Trying....I think we baby and cripple our children. And if your eleven year old has never done dishes, played in the yard, or made a simple meal (think ramen!) There is a problem. When your sixteen year old is treated like an untrustworthy child (teenagers have ruled counties and armies) you do a diservice to our future. When a ten year old knows how to pole dance, but can't make toast, when they can sext but notuse the restroom without supervision, when we tell them to plan for college andact responsibly but we tell them they must wait for passing period to use the restroom...it just seems silly


But that is just my opinionated two cents. Your thoughts?

special ritual

Did you hear? Dunkin Donuts is finally in California!

I am not a huge donut fan...my grandmacould live off of them, and when the time comes for her to pass on, I will remember her as always having a box of donuts nd...for dessert, rainbow sherbert.

Anyway, back to the topic... I don't love donuts, but they do taste good on occasion. I find Krispy Kreme so sweet I shudder, so Dunkin is a nice change.

There is a certain ritual to Dunkin Donuts. Whenever we travel to a place with Dunkin, we buy a dozen and eat however much we can before they go stale. We will go on an adventure in a strange city, looking for donuts and hoping they still have glazed blueberry. Sure, it is heavy, greasy, fake blueberry, processed food, not my usual "thing" but there are always exceptions! I remember getting donuts in Arizona on our honeymoon, and Vegas while 8 months pregnant. A sunny morning in Indiana, and a slushy day in New Hampshire. Their coffee made me feel as hyper as a meth addict, as we once drove I-95, the Jersey-bought cup kept me buzzed and twitchy all the way to Massachusetts.

So this week, my husband who rises before dawn, just might drive over an hour away just toget our fix.

Isn't it weird though...as said, thrir donuts aren't the bes in the world. But the "hunt" for them while travelling, and waking up and finding a box of donuts and hot coffee on the hotel nightstand is special. And a brown box of donuts reminds me of my grandma who was rumored to drive an extra 20 minutes to find the cheapest donuts. So perhaps travelling long distances for mediocre donuts runs in the family.

Place

Place shapes you. Or so is my theory. I am inexplicably fascinated with "place" and the subtleties that make up the place itself and its people.

I can -and do- spend hours perusing google street view to get a peek into someone else's world...Cacaulandia, Brazil or Rostov Oblast, Russia...

I feel like different architectures and landscapes subtly shape us.

If I were raised in an apaato in Tokyo, would I have the same love of a hike through manzanita and granite boulders at treelike like I found near my real-me childhood home? Would the crackle of a fireplace in a log cabin have any special-ness? If I grew up in Acre, Brazil, would I love the quiet of a snowy day? Or would a monsoon rain bring me solace instead?

How does place shape you?