tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119065792024-03-13T14:44:19.995-04:00Kreative Arts Room & Inspiration NookA safe haven suitable for my artistic pursuits, spontaneous prose seasoned with the occassional tantrum due to domestic restraints and the mundane stupidity.wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-89333169969540970322015-01-27T22:00:00.001-05:002015-01-28T06:13:32.413-05:00How Spontaneous Function Crashed the Party and the Puppeteer's Magical Muse<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Damn! This is hard!"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"What's hard?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Writing a blog post. I have nothing, but I need something."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Why?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Because I made a commitment to myself to keep a blog."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Why?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Are you going to just sit there and keep asking me 'why, why, why?' Why don't you give me some constructive suggestions."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Why don't you write about us. Write about our relationship and how we met and how I make your thoughts a little bit...more interesting. You could start out by introducing me."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I guess I could do that although I'm not even sure how I would tell it."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Isn't that the best part of story telling? Sometimes the writer doesn't even know how it will play out let alone end. Write about me and how we met. Don't you remember?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"No, I don't."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I don't either, but you could just make something up! It's called a story, right?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Right. It's my story..."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"And you're sticking to it!"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Right. I need a title."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Why?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i style="background-color: white;">Sigh...</i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i>
<i><b>"The Puppeteer's Magical Muse and How Spontaneous Function Takes the Cake</b></i></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Is that the best you can do?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"What do you mean? That's what you told me to write."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I suppose that's how you interpreted it, but, well, okay, whatever."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Hmm, it's the cliché <i>'takes the cake'</i> that's bothering you, right?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Yup."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"So let's hear another one."</span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-O33GpcxpFcA/VMg591k4esI/AAAAAAAAAjE/Fnk2SGCOjLE/s1600/Hello.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-O33GpcxpFcA/VMg591k4esI/AAAAAAAAAjE/Fnk2SGCOjLE/s1600/Hello.jpg" height="200" width="160" /></a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Um? Hello? Are you there?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I never left.Try again."</span><br />
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<i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>How Spontaneous Function Crashed the Party and the Puppeteer's Magical Muse</b></span></i><br />
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"Better?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"It's good for starters.Time for a nap. You know the rest of the story."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I suppose I do."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<i><b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How Spontaneous Function Crashed the Party and the </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Puppeteer's Magical Muse</span></b></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I was a young girl left to her own devices, I had ways of amusing myself through play and pretend. Plush animals and hand </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">puppets made themselves at home and talked incessantly. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Invisible creatures lived in tall grasses, clouds formed into parades of sculpted wonder, the wind in the trees, the stones in the streams were alive and spoke of longing while babbling to me. I was never lonely and I was never alone. I have fonder memories of me doing nothing than I do while up to something.</span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v8y1Qz19rcw/VMgXoviDNhI/AAAAAAAAAiA/3CJkhM7VVZc/s1600/tent.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v8y1Qz19rcw/VMgXoviDNhI/AAAAAAAAAiA/3CJkhM7VVZc/s1600/tent.jpg" height="400" width="283" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"<i>Yawn</i>. You definitely were always up to something."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Ah, you're back from your nap so soon?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I wasn't really napping. I'm always listening in."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I should realize that. Can I continue?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Continue."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I grew up, I found friends who also welcomed pretend and was able to point to the unseen and hear the whisper of voices sending us to another world until the adults called us back down; back home. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"We were hardly whispering."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"When no one else can hear you, it's like a whisper, but yes, right now you are speaking in a normal tone and volume."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Except no one can hear me but you."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Right."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My family was pleasant enough. We always sat together for dinner each night but I couldn't remember or tell you what we spoke about. I remember looking at potato skins that looked like elephant ears, or broccoli that looked like trees. I had the ability to visually distort my immediate surroundings. I could make people or objects that were close seem very far away.Their heads would be smaller than their bodies. It was really very odd, yet exhilarating to have this entertaining gift. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ye-hyamJG9Y/VMg4ZAqNc4I/AAAAAAAAAi4/OyL8N75IFvM/s1600/Spiral.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ye-hyamJG9Y/VMg4ZAqNc4I/AAAAAAAAAi4/OyL8N75IFvM/s1600/Spiral.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"That <i>was</i> weird when you did that."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I know. I've only been able to do it once in my adulthood by accident, but never again since."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dinner was over and I was excused, later to reluctantly return and help with cleaning up. My sister would wash and I would dry then I would disappear again to play outside or slide into the sanctuary of my bedroom and do the things that made me content and comfortable.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Let's get to the part where you let me out and put me down on paper!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I'm getting to that."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Eating toadstool and rocking rolls is good for your complexion and penmanship."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I'm getting to it!"</span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lFvWZmm3dGE/VMhGyFRt92I/AAAAAAAAAkM/wMTU3THY9bM/s1600/Paper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lFvWZmm3dGE/VMhGyFRt92I/AAAAAAAAAkM/wMTU3THY9bM/s1600/Paper.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am of adult age now. It is not the same as saying I'm an adult now. My age is inconsequential, like yourself, I still think and feel like I always have. My settings have changed and my experiences have broadened my world, but I will always see myself as a child with attentive wonder and I never want to miss the moments where I can delve into the heart of carefree play.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Very well said."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Thank you. I've been trying to figure this out."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I've been with you all the way."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Some days your naps are longer than I'd like."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now certainly I can pretend I'm somewhere or someone else right now, but it's difficult and different. Along the way I have accumulated other, shall I say, darker voices who have filled my thoughts with doubts, fears, shame --"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bVHMgUsNvvA/VMg9m9DfEdI/AAAAAAAAAjQ/m685d00xF8M/s1600/Doubt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bVHMgUsNvvA/VMg9m9DfEdI/AAAAAAAAAjQ/m685d00xF8M/s1600/Doubt.jpg" height="320" width="238" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Not me!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"No, not you.They definitely come from a place of modern day madness."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These harboring barnacles tend to settle in just when the gods have spread open a wide sheet of a new day before me and say, "have at it, karen!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"That was me, saying that."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"That <i>was</i> you, wasn't it? Are you the gods?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"No, I'm just the voice inside your head, let's not completely lose ourselves. Instead, let's learn how to rid ourselves of these 'harboring barnacles'. Many a tale has been spun surrounding the heavy burden of these terrible tyrants of truth."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Okay.Talk about losing ourselves. Anyway --"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is the voice of wisdom and whimsy; play and pretend. There is the voice of deceit and dismay; torment and trepidation.Then there is your voice.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I love your voice."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"You do? How sweet."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I love you."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I'm blushing now."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Sally felt flush when she turned the raccoon into a souvenir."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Getting back on track, I know my own voice has the strength of a million suns and can roar like thunder, shatter glass and rock mountains. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hlm5PVBlEqg/VMhDvzpQq2I/AAAAAAAAAj4/s2Q9LTovmLY/s1600/cute%2Bmonster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hlm5PVBlEqg/VMhDvzpQq2I/AAAAAAAAAj4/s2Q9LTovmLY/s1600/cute%2Bmonster.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is the same with you, my reader. You just have to find it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"My voice doesn't do those things."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"No, it doesn't, but the gifts you share help give me the gifts I share and strength is achieved to match up with any barrier or dark life force that dares to bring me down and for that I thank you."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Woa."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Right now I am pretending to know what I'm talking about. I'm writing and occasionally this puppet comes into the frame of the conversation and speaks when you least expect it. Having these two way conversations is not in the least bit wrong and if it is, keep it to yourself, your puppet is waiting. So, hey, I always dreamed of being a puppeteer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-omChM_4iknE/VMg3FSo9AuI/AAAAAAAAAiw/IYQstFZKWOM/s1600/Hand%2BPuppet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-omChM_4iknE/VMg3FSo9AuI/AAAAAAAAAiw/IYQstFZKWOM/s1600/Hand%2BPuppet.jpg" height="320" width="295" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Betcha my mom never knew that! She wanted me to take a civil service test and be a secretary or better yet left me a pamphlet on being a state trooper! </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Could you imagine a state trooper being a ventriloquist?</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I remember taking the civil service test, but I never got a civil service job. I kept telling Santa I wanted to be a dentist and nobody listened until I had to run away, but I didn't get far because I'm still right here wishing I had become a professional puppeteer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I know what I'm getting you for Christmas."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I can't wait!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"How did you know what I was going to say?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I'm the ventriloquist, remember?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Standing in line, Stu heard the horned owl hoot and ran off with an avocado."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Spontaneous Function</b>: {noun} a string of words that relate to disconnected chaos pertaining to the action of persons or objects in random places doing strange things.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"By the light of the gods! You just officially defined Spontaneous Function!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Yes we did."</span><br />
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wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-84178165719781743042015-01-12T08:13:00.000-05:002015-01-13T21:04:55.667-05:00"We'd Like to Know a Little Bit About You For Our Files"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>I started the idea of writing this Blog in August of 2005 </b>mostly because I had run out of rental space in my head and was attempting to sort out bizarre memories, feelings of inspiration, art work or just rattle off a rant depending upon the size of the rage.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Part of setting up the Blog is to list your interests (favorite books, favorite movies, favorite music) and to give a short introduction of who you are and what you're about. I had already done this in 2005, but I re-read it last week, and I thought it was far too brief and quite frankly almost juvenile. I can't be the same person I was nearly ten years ago! I'm older, my kids are older, trees are bigger; so I decided to delete my pathetic description and replace it with the mind and mentality of the more mature thinking woman I've become. I mean, c'mon! Ten years is a lot of time! My sons are grown, out of college and on with their lives! </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My interests and knowledge have surely expanded.</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Well, I still have the same job, live in the same place, but somehow, I have to have changed at least a little bit. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here was how my previous<b> About Me</b> intro read:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #202020;">Heart Tunes, Expressive Art</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202020;">, Jesus, Chocolate Chip Cookies, Spontaneous Prose and Strong Coffee just about cover it.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202020;">Not me anymore right? I thought so. (Why do I hear laughing)?</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #202020; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So anyway, when the moment to fill in, type away and write my glorious story and accomplishments into the blank, I froze. What do I do? What are my thoughts? Where am I heading? Where have I been? Oh, God! Who am I? </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #202020; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sat at my computer tapping the keyboard, but not a single character showed up. Heck, the space allows for as little or as much as 12 hundred characters.</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This became a bit of a torment and a challenge to me and I was determined to not be the same person I was ten years ago.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202020; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The TV was blaring and I sat waiting for that breeze to fill my sails and spin a wild tale from my innermost self and what it is I would like others to know about me............................ Well, I like cookies and Heart...GAAAGH!!<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #202020; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ten years and I haven't gotten past my coffee fixation, living my life to the soundtrack of Heart tunes, baking the best fucking chocolate chip cookies, hearing Jesus' quiet voice when I need it most, expressive art that fills your mind with pleasant madness; mentally sensing the artists' grace, pain and spellbinding movements to create the piece. And finally, I already spoke about my trippy release for Spontaneous (Function) prose and writing down the barriers that hide my light. I know it's buried underneath layers of years, but it never stopped breathing.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #202020; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not me anymore? Hmmm, sounds like me to me after all and that's all I gotta be. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202020;">So the moral of the story goes that whenever you're looking to fill in the blank, it really isn't about what you've done, or what you're going to do. Where you've been or how you plan on getting there. It's about who you are when you're feeling good and sticking with your genuine self that pour from your heart tunes. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202020;">However, if you're filling in a space for a job interview it's best to elaborate and flat out lie.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202020; font-size: x-small;">Title credit: ©Paul Simon Lyrics from Mrs. Robinson</span></span></div>
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wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-63446067130391417932015-01-07T21:37:00.000-05:002015-01-07T21:58:02.295-05:00Tripping the Memory of a One-Eyed Fish is Like the Color of Midnight Moonshine<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm onto something...always have been...something that is
going to take me away from the mundane day of working for some fool who whines
and complains about how twisted the world is. I want to write poems, write stories, lyrics and limericks. I want to paint these animated nightmares,
colorful dreams from peripheral glances that disappear quicker than i can
note. I have to push myself to recite
the moments that make the time at hand so real.
I have to pick up where i left off. The part of me that no one knows, that is one spark away from an
eyeball's shift of self ignition.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In High School I used to write these random
quirks I called Spontaneous Function. They came from a gritty place. Born from a witty place of nonsensical expression. At times these phrases had a gruesome turn, a
grim look at our madness and Spontaneous outbursts. When I realized going back means standing still so the tattered scraps of paper could catch up, I stopped and I waited. The old idea and the new idea meet and shake hands. </span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So where do I go from the place I know myself to be? Well, I believe the first step is to follow the trail of notebooks, journals, scratchpads, sketchbooks, and a variety of scrap paper in various shapes, colors and sizes. Collections of my captured moments of daze and dreams, inspired poems with lighted paths that sometimes wind through dark grinding jaws of pain to serve a place for me to map and figure things out. All this is saved and can be found in cardboard boxes, book shelves, drawers and in even smaller, secret places of my home. And of course I have plenty of writing stored on the computer!</span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Not only my writing fill the spaces, but some lively corner drawings, doodles, and lazy lines squirm around the edges to illustrate a deeper level or perhaps leaves another doorway left open to invite a longer story and spell.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">It's evening and I'm surrounded by darkness. The computer screen is boiling my eyes. Well, it's not really boiling my eyes, but if you add butter and salt and a little tapioca pudding, I'll get started on ironing the late October eels.</span></span></span></div>
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wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-608608383724232142010-08-08T16:37:00.003-04:002010-08-08T16:58:57.991-04:00Bookmark and Dog Ear<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">There are too many lists and reasons for lists. There is a list for groceries, and a list for tasks, a list of things to pack, a list of pros and cons, a list of things to do and a list of things forbidden. I have become an enemy to another list. It is the modern list which exists in the cyber world. It is a dangerous list because it never disappears. It is a long list or what may be considered a directory created for the infinite website places I've visited and wanted to "bookmark" so that I might visit them again with a simple click. It can be controlled, but most of the time, it isn't. Somehow, I had acquired this lengthy list over the course of several weeks, months and even years. It was growing slowly like the slim coating of an alien egg farm. Astonishing and quite alarming when I stop to think and wonder on it, really. Before today, I took pride in skating my cursor over to the icon to open my vault of internet wisdom and waste and I would scan my eyes down the alphabetical steps to all of my favorite places and click to my hearts content. I also, of course, had sub-categories in alphabetical order that would occasionally tease me and make me wonder to myself if the webmaster had made any changes to his front page. Oh, I could check on it another day. This new web-like list, unlike the ones that are harmlessly written down on paper, had become quite a library of places or rather of websites accumulated by my fingertips from mindless bookmarking which I felt were considered fantastic cyber venues at the time. </span></span><br />
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<span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Yet after today, I have been looking with tender burden over my own shoulder and I started to notice the golden one who once was consistently giddy was now getting swallowed up by the crashing wave of "favorites" along with the never ceasing passing of time. As pointed out, it appears that many of the random titles that reveal a flashy icon and catchy phrase became lost as a misplaced stranger to that once euphoric bookmarking moment. Therefore, with a firm smack on the back of the head (done out of random necessity), it is time to return to the banal purpose of disposable lists. It is time to surrender the self from the bonds of bookmarks and dog ear practices, let go and release the suffering medulla oblongata </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">from the predictable prison of obsessive compulsive categorizing. Catch the satellite and simply surf, dude, simply surf.</span></div>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-10459390321524768282010-06-15T06:20:00.010-04:002010-06-19T06:50:22.439-04:00The Grasses are Calling Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/TAxH03ym53I/AAAAAAAAAYs/fPuewZyex6s/s1600/Walt-Whitman.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/TAxH03ym53I/AAAAAAAAAYs/fPuewZyex6s/s320/Walt-Whitman.png" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When eleventh grade rolled around, my English teacher announced it was time to choose our subject for the final term paper and that we had had enough time to consider our choices. Now it is my spirited recollection I was sitting in my seat rather passively without a single idea running through my mind. I truly mean to say, yes, I honestly do remember that during that particular moment in time I was in a state of unwavering bliss with everything <i>but</i> a thought in my head. I recall hearing the teacher's voice asking each student one by one to announce an American writer to do research on and write a lengthy paper for. So in the same way, like taking attendance, names were called out and instead of the reply being "here," we were to say, </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Herman Melville." </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Edgar Allen Poe."</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Jack London."</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"John Steinbeck." The match-up game continued and so on. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now it is again my recollection that while the names were being called out like the click of a gun's trigger, I felt a slight tinge of anxiety. My eyes were darting around the room as I tapped my pen, thinking very hard, because in my own mind I was much more interested in Seventeen Magazine, playing air guitar to Zeppelin's Dazed and Confused and occasionally escaping to the mall with friends to look for guys, I mean clothes. Therefore, it is to me quite a mystery, and I am still in complete wonderment to this day, although by now I'm getting used to it, that when the teacher came to calling my name, and with her double sided classic red and blue teacher's pen poised in the air above her paper awaiting my reply, the answer rolled off of my tongue like soft ice cream streaming down a dreamy-eyed five year old hand on a warm summer day. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Walt Whitman." I said.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"<i>Walt Whitman</i>." She murmured as she wrote it down next to my name and nodded. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How did that happen? How did I know who Walt Whitman was? How did his name arise in my head next to Leif Garret's? There was a brief moment, I think, that during that momentary exchange in that stuffy classroom I felt a hand on my shoulder. I can look back on this event, and realize that this could have been the very starting point of cosmic, angelic, celestial, heavenly-Nicholas Cage intervention. Someone in a higher place knew what was good for me and therefore put it before me, allowed me to taste it, follow it, reject it, thrive on it or hate it. It could be a random book, an extraordinary thought, a bad dream, a helpful stranger, a distant friend, or an event that scoops me up and spits me back out. I am sure there may be earlier accounts throughout my childhood I could wonder about and lean into, however, I believe, this was indeed one of those "look here" moments.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I still thank the forces that brought to me Whitman's Leaves of Grass. The Song of Myself held more deeper meaning that I could ever know, and from that day I felt as if it were my own song as it spoke to me.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I Celebrate myself, and sing myself,</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And what I assume you shall assume,</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Darker forces have been after ever since.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, 'lucida sans', helvetica, geneva, sans-serif; white-space: pre;"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/TBdYW_0MqQI/AAAAAAAAAY0/zOxgckZzHOc/s320/walt_whitman11.jpg" /></span></div>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-73116227565737650172010-01-02T08:52:00.001-05:002010-01-02T10:27:51.101-05:00My Coffee is Waiting<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/Sz9PdYa2E5I/AAAAAAAAAYc/Nci3u1jarsM/s1600-h/Hands2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/Sz9PdYa2E5I/AAAAAAAAAYc/Nci3u1jarsM/s320/Hands2.JPG" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stillness and the new year arrives and beckons me to change into something extraordinary. Actually, I don't think I could actually change into anything. Haven't quite explored shapeshifting. Nor would I want to change into someone else. I am just fine the way I am. I am, however, learning to lower my expectations to avoid anxiety over fruitless moments. However, there is always room to change my way of daily thinking. So the momentous date stays ingrained in the brain. January one. New day. New year. I'm also hearing, "The start of a new decade." The dinosaurs could give a shit about a decade now that their contorted bones lye still in the earth. They continue on through lumbering dreams of tearing through flesh or picking up a ton of lake mud and grasses; chewing and pondering paradise. My paradise is here. Electrical fed momentum is my daily bread. There are no dangers here. At least not yet. Only good old fashion American want. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In this dirty and twisted world, to some people, I suppose, a new year is just another day for them to pick up a rifle, dig in and fight for instilled principles. To someone else the new year is just another day covered in bruises, a fat lip and maybe in a few months when the new year doesn't matter much, a broken arm. There are also some people who know the new year holds nothing more than business as usual in a foreign place that wants to see you naked and will pay for it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My paradise is here. My coffee is waiting. Nothing needs to change, yet something needs to change.</span>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-42686719735793109612009-06-30T07:40:00.002-04:002009-06-30T07:41:43.154-04:00Clouds<span style="font-family:arial;">Clouds cover the moving canopy<br />and stir the memory of restful times.<br />Of Sitting in trees and following bees<br />through the dark and lime green grasses.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Cool air songs rest upon the shoulders of thought<br />and send dreams running from their prisons.<br />Escaping the noise and restless voices<br />from troubled memories and painful lessons.<br /><br />This is the place where the comforts of gray<br />turn the inward light in motion.<br />It soothes the moment and quiets the claw<br />that cuts through the morning's closure.<br /><br />Suspension is bearing its weight on the room<br />while the spirits are unwittingly twirling<br />Among the blue hue the longing will end<br />while captured thoughts continue their yearning.<br /></span>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-46311881586014014052009-03-12T06:38:00.005-04:002009-06-23T06:22:21.669-04:00Weary and Dark Song<span style="font-family:arial;">I already had my morning imagined. I was going to approach my minutes step-by-step. I wasn't going to invite my expectations to get too far ahead. I didn't want to get caught in the net of disappointment. I wasn't going to invite the hoodlum of doubt into my hour of bliss. When the walls of obligation squeeze and suffocate the breath of creativity, it is time for the sledgehammer. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I was able to get a better view of my intention by just using my voice. A request was made through my spirit to ask for an adjustment of working hours. What might seem to be a minor interruption can forcibly blast a path of self destruction and sabotage to end the course set for purpose and enlightenment. This selfish intrusion only defines the illusion of my limited equation. It is within my own power to wield the hammer and smash the shadow that bears down on my mental capacity. I'll slice through the lies that bind these tortured thoughts and hold me captive in a fixed and weary longing. My head, my shoulders and gut scream for the warm rays of healing. Hands only sought and found between the layers of vapor through the grainy mirage. I'll drag my weapon and leave a trail for you to find me.</span>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-43199906364717849222009-03-06T06:18:00.018-05:002009-03-08T09:51:42.395-04:00Bite Me<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SbPMqXTZ_AI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Yab24CqO-ks/s1600-h/modigliani_elvira.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310813413781928962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 126px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SbPMqXTZ_AI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/Yab24CqO-ks/s200/modigliani_elvira.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Routine is an accident of preconceived self-discipline. Routine is the heart of mindless expectations. Routine is a dark and endless tunnel reaching only as far as the end of the room. Routine is our soul's prison and Eve's punishment for believing what she was told.</span><em> </em></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>~k.guarino</em></span></span></div><div align="center"></div>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-75696041191741368342009-01-24T08:04:00.008-05:002009-01-24T08:23:34.614-05:00Not Me<div align="center"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SXsUnXO6lPI/AAAAAAAAAXg/O5ZIJ_V9bqs/s1600-h/blue064background.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294848453388178674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 100px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 100px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SXsUnXO6lPI/AAAAAAAAAXg/O5ZIJ_V9bqs/s200/blue064background.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;"> I'm saving the world, </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">unplugging </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">and taking a walk to get ready </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">for alot of running and screaming. </span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">Care to join me?</span> </div><br /><div align="center"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294850230310084322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 28px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 27px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SXsWOyyHHuI/AAAAAAAAAX4/w-ZRpMgIO98/s200/otlswirlie.gif" border="0" /><br /><div align="center"></div>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-28048015507023053732009-01-18T17:48:00.013-05:002009-01-18T18:50:41.443-05:00ATC Workshop Forming<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SXO2xZcdj8I/AAAAAAAAAWg/0jeOYdJg4zo/s1600-h/Oblivious-ATC.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292774946850574274" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SXO2xZcdj8I/AAAAAAAAAWg/0jeOYdJg4zo/s200/Oblivious-ATC.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Here are a few ATC's I've been working on:</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Spontaneous Art and Expression...<span style="font-size:85%;">click on each image for a closer gander if you so desire.</span></span></span></div><div><div><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SXO3hIf0NEI/AAAAAAAAAWo/Y_-a0hiFIKo/s1600-h/Good-As-Gone-ATC.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292775766934959170" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SXO3hIf0NEI/AAAAAAAAAWo/Y_-a0hiFIKo/s200/Good-As-Gone-ATC.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SXO2NEhHWyI/AAAAAAAAAWY/59o__qOeKBs/s1600-h/FreeWillATC.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292774322757655330" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SXO2NEhHWyI/AAAAAAAAAWY/59o__qOeKBs/s200/FreeWillATC.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SXOyfUHyPKI/AAAAAAAAAV4/BEnvDwl7rME/s1600-h/AskKnockSeekATC.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292770238137515170" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SXOyfUHyPKI/AAAAAAAAAV4/BEnvDwl7rME/s200/AskKnockSeekATC.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SXO7asMIRFI/AAAAAAAAAWw/uf3JIlwgvNs/s1600-h/LoveATC.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292780054303491154" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SXO7asMIRFI/AAAAAAAAAWw/uf3JIlwgvNs/s200/LoveATC.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div></div><span style="font-family:arial;">I'm going to be organizing an ATC workshop and eventually swap group at the new <a href="http://www.merchantcircle.com/business/Candles.Creative.Gifts.And.More.845-527-7112">Candles, Creative Gifts and More </a>shop. She's started allowing her vendors the opportunity to teach classes in their area of expertise. I decided to choose the trendy creative outlet found in designing Artist Trading Cards. I've got tons of paper and mixed media materials to do this with and I am eager to share an evening with those who wish to experiment and express their own love for collage and story telling. Further info with be announced soon. (As soon as I tell Luann!)<br /></span><div></div><br /><div></div></div></div></div>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-80232271177371583902009-01-03T07:46:00.007-05:002009-01-03T11:53:34.031-05:00It's All There ~2009~<a href="http://www.jbaskarts.typepad.com/"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287065462591243474" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 132px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SV9uBrH8xNI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/p_yN6aG32H0/s200/girlintree.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">At the start of every year I always find myself contemplating a new course to follow. Writing down the changes I'd like to make within myself. Wanting to feel and think and be an instrument of love to the current and upcoming events and challenges. I can only hope for daily inspiration to appear and help keep me on track. I believe this desire dwells in everyone and it appears to be a highly marketable idea. Why, I only have to glance over at my fresh roll of paper towels hanging above my dish drain to find inspiration. <span style="color:#990000;"><em><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;">Discover! Dream! Believe! Till the soil of your dreams... Keep growing, keep dreaming.</span> </em><span style="color:#000000;">Bounty<span style="font-size:78%;">TM</span> towels; giving me words of encouragement and simple wisdom. While glancing inside my date book, there are famous quotes written along the sidebar to remind me of noble ways to think and reflect. <em><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;">"Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadow." ~ Helen Keller.</span></em> We possess powers beyond our understanding. Our own thoughts are spirited tools revealing a higher calling for ourselves when practiced wholeheartedly. Wholeheartedly each day without fear, without doubt, without want, without hesitation.</span></span><br /><br />So let's surround ourselves with words, phrases, quotes and even framed photographs reflecting joyful events to ease the burden of an angry world to soothe and feed our anxious soul. Absorb the tiny retreats found on book shelves, arranged in the clouds, spoken by a grandmother, viewed over the bridge and delighted on the trail of wind that lift and swoop the dance of winter birds overhead. These moments are presently ready to weave their way into our day and express the words that inspire, aleviate, elevate and bring to us a moment of pause and introspection. Some moments are many times far too awe inspiring for words.</span><br /><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">God Bless this moment. Hold fast to this new calendar year. It is moving.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></p><p><a href="http://www.quotegarden.com/"><span style="font-family:arial;">http://www.quotegarden.com/</span></a></p><p><a href="http://www.wallwords.com/index.asp"><span style="font-family:arial;">http://www.wallwords.com/index.asp</span></a></p><p> </p></div>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-12720333537851475102008-12-19T21:31:00.011-05:002008-12-19T22:49:57.287-05:00My Christmas Touches<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxivyRZkQI/AAAAAAAAAUw/rcck4gTzqrw/s1600-h/clgblinkie059.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281705036086874370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 146px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 24px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxivyRZkQI/AAAAAAAAAUw/rcck4gTzqrw/s200/clgblinkie059.gif" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">I've finally put the finishing touches on creating wonderful signs of <span style="color:#990000;">Christmas</span> in my little home. I love my growing seasonal collection. It's all coming together so nicely. The best part of all of my stuff is that every piece is very meaningful to me. It's not just something I picked up at Target or TJ Maxx. If it isn't painted or created by my own hand, it was handmade and bought or given to me at some time. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Here in this snapshot is part of my snowman collection. I painted both plaques pictured here. The stuffed snowman was givien to me as a "thank you" gift for hosting a party. the ceramic snowman canister was given to our family from relatives and the little snowman sled was purchased from another painter from an arts and crafts show. The clock was an anniversary gift.</span><br /></div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxaRfsYWAI/AAAAAAAAAUo/2LHgQ5KfYhg/s1600-h/Christmas-shelf08.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281695719610669058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxaRfsYWAI/AAAAAAAAAUo/2LHgQ5KfYhg/s200/Christmas-shelf08.JPG" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:arial;">The other side of the shelf is more painted pieces by myself and the snow family fabric wall hanging was purchased from a crafter at the annual Bethlehem Presbyterian Church fair. The stuffed snowman is pals with the other snowman sitting to his right.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxaQ_LU0aI/AAAAAAAAAUg/cjXUMh9ZAVM/s1600-h/Christmas-shelf208.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281695710882091426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxaQ_LU0aI/AAAAAAAAAUg/cjXUMh9ZAVM/s200/Christmas-shelf208.JPG" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:arial;">These two little quails are usually sitting in my Christmas tree, but I decided to let them nest in the ficus tree this year. They look pretty content.</span></div><div><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxaQtL4l7I/AAAAAAAAAUY/qe3VCV_iNN0/s1600-h/christmas608.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281695706052597682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxaQtL4l7I/AAAAAAAAAUY/qe3VCV_iNN0/s200/christmas608.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">I love Santa Claus and cookies! He is surrounded by cool blue LED lights and glass ornaments. Our tree is the bomb this year! We decided to go to the same Christmas tree farm as last year. Farmside Acres, which is owned by Robert and Leslie Nannini of Angola Road. It's the best way to get a tree.</span> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281712073426231650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxpJaZ2YWI/AAAAAAAAAVI/F7MDkYVu8HE/s200/christmas508.JPG" border="0" /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">TA-DA!</span><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281711427951620658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxoj10tcjI/AAAAAAAAAU4/0jAO4FZUh_k/s200/ChristmasTree2008.JPG" border="0" /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Another Santa ornament dwarfed by a keepsake glass ornament from WAAAAY back when my mom bought them at Barkers in Newburgh.</span><br /></div><div><div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxaPpLD9RI/AAAAAAAAAUI/GK7tc0Y0fyY/s1600-h/christmas308.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281695687795537170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxaPpLD9RI/AAAAAAAAAUI/GK7tc0Y0fyY/s200/christmas308.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">I Believe! I Believe! This is my hand painted sign that I made last year. I have three of them hanging around the house. I point to each one and yell out, "BELIEVE!" My boys think I'm nuts!</span></div><div><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxZnv1ODoI/AAAAAAAAAUA/BMjzhwIvmqc/s1600-h/Christmas-sign08.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281695002388205186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxZnv1ODoI/AAAAAAAAAUA/BMjzhwIvmqc/s200/Christmas-sign08.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Ahhh, my sweet nativity. My DH bought this for me two years ago. It's complete with stable, shepards, and 3 wise men. Each figurine expresses biblical verse from the gospel of Matthew, Luke and John.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxZnUgyrTI/AAAAAAAAAT4/pURXsirMGQ0/s1600-h/christmas208.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281694995054767410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxZnUgyrTI/AAAAAAAAAT4/pURXsirMGQ0/s200/christmas208.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">On the other side of the room is my Santa Shelf and it's where we hang our stockings. Ho Ho Ho!</span><br /></div><div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxZm5uYWHI/AAAAAAAAATw/vVxA4O5EKx8/s1600-h/Christmas08.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281694987864004722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxZm5uYWHI/AAAAAAAAATw/vVxA4O5EKx8/s200/Christmas08.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;"> I love nutcrackers! I've got a small collection. The store I work at has an attractive line for sale, but they really have to mean something to me, so I haven't given in to buying them. These two guys were bought when I lived in Germany as a kid. They were my mothers and I got to keep them. I see my big guy has a missing mustache! I should glue that on one of these days! Last year his little foot had to be glued. The other one is missing his sword. Peace on Earth. </span><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxZmqYDriI/AAAAAAAAATo/a7vMinqEroU/s1600-h/christmas408.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281694983743843874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxZmqYDriI/AAAAAAAAATo/a7vMinqEroU/s200/christmas408.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281711434031397378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SUxokMePegI/AAAAAAAAAVA/9-sEJPbdywI/s200/Dove2008.JPG" border="0" /> <div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-71894855130607713962008-12-06T22:20:00.012-05:002008-12-06T23:55:55.556-05:00December Thoughts<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/STtXLc23s5I/AAAAAAAAAS4/Ess4qRO7qa0/s1600-h/candle-votives6.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276907242631181202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 162px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/STtXLc23s5I/AAAAAAAAAS4/Ess4qRO7qa0/s200/candle-votives6.jpg" border="0" /></a> <div><br /><div><div><em><span style="font-family:arial;">30 days hath September,</span></em></div><div><em><span style="font-family:arial;">April, June, and November.</span></em></div><div><em><span style="font-family:arial;">All the rest have 31</span></em></div><div><em><span style="font-family:arial;">But February’s the shortest one.</span></em></div><div><em><span style="font-family:arial;">With 28 days most of the time,</span></em></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>Until Leap Year gives us 29.</em><br /></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">It was first grade with Mrs. Grew that we recited this lesson. I remember just moving my lips and observing her and hearing the rest of the class chanting along in perfect rhythm. I had no idea what the hell they were talking about. Now, 36 years later, I know <strong>way</strong> more than I want to and I would prefer to return to being the toe-haired girl simply moving her lips knowing that somehow I was in good care. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">I fondly recall quite a few magical moments in my elementary years. I remember sitting on the floor gazing up at my music teacher Mrs. Galloway with her long Lynn Anderson blonde hair. She played her guitar for us and swear I could still smell the pages of her spiral music book that held the whimsical songs she taught us. I remember another time sitting on the carpeted floor with a visiting teacher. I'm not sure what she was teaching, but I remember her taking a perfect piece of chalk and making the most beautiful circle. I was so moved that my voice broke through and said, "That's a good circle!" She thanked me. There was also the memory of my classmates and I practicing Goldilocks and the Three Bears play. I remember my teacher scolding me as I said my line, "This porridge is too hot..."</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">"Karen, how can we hear you if you don't take your hair out of your mouth?" She sighs. Goldilocks eats porridge, Take 5.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">This year is almost over and I've used up all of my takes. This is the last scene for the year. There is no particular title, but there is a spirit-filled theme I believe in. It is as silent as snow falling on a powdered filled street and it is as certain as a night star. It is within all of us and it is who we all are. "Unto us a child is born" take 2009.</span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/STtWvJnRDZI/AAAAAAAAASw/72oNqOTpFxk/s1600-h/Winter-sky-08.JPG"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276906756429122962" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/STtWvJnRDZI/AAAAAAAAASw/72oNqOTpFxk/s200/Winter-sky-08.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div></div></div>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-17646845956658075222008-11-28T06:45:00.007-05:002008-12-02T07:06:11.173-05:00What Freakin' Day it is?<span style="font-family:Arial;">Araaagh! I'm lying in bed this morning thinking it's Sunday, so I shuffle out into the dark, prepare my brew and lethargically stare into the crack box (computer). Lo and behold, after a sip of coffee, my brain begins to fizzle and then WHAM-O! I realize it's Friday and I have to go to work! Holy Hell!</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Araagh! Thursday's turkey feast faked me out! I'm high on tryptophan and I don't even know what freakin' day it is! I was planning on lounging in my pj's all day. Sunday. Ha! Where did those aliens take me to last night anyway?</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Araagh! It's BLACK FRIDAY! I shouldn't even be stepping out of the door. All those hung-over shopping loons are on the road. I'll just have to drive like them to assimilate otherwise I'm roadkill. The ride home should prove to be even more horrifying because everyone will be starving and broke.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Araagh! I'm working late because I promised to "deck the halls" at the store. Araagh! I have prescription deliveries too, so I'll really be caught in the zoom with the mall zombies and pillagers running red lights and screeching lefts. I gotta stay calm. I gotta get into the spirit, except I think the spirit is slipper sliding today and eating left-over pie.</span>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-84141038744674595382008-10-26T19:53:00.015-04:002008-10-26T20:50:03.194-04:00Autumn Leaves You Laughing<span style="font-family:arial;">I finally tended to my living room shelves today and adorned them with the magic of filtered hues and celebratory colors of the Autumn season. It's my favorite time of year. I thought these snapshots would have been bigger, but alas my skills in digital photography....</span> <div><div><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261615583034573826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SQUDfttvhAI/AAAAAAAAAQM/fomvQ1d-KBU/s200/Fall4-08.JPG" border="0" /></div><div></div><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SQUHHNvkEcI/AAAAAAAAAQk/8Jim-lPsbnY/s1600-h/Fall3-08.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261619560181928386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SQUHHNvkEcI/AAAAAAAAAQk/8Jim-lPsbnY/s200/Fall3-08.JPG" border="0" /></a> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261620729106201154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SQUILQU0-kI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/1ZSqiIlEDr0/s200/024.JPG" border="0" /></div></div></div><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Yeah, I know I should have been outdoors because it was a beautiful sunny 60+ degree day, but I spent the day inside making homemade chicken soup, oatmeal raisin and chocolate chip cookies.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Arial;">In my homebody state, I decided to collect a list of words that I associate with, identify with and am attracted to in the mental sense. My intention is to meditate on this vocabulary with the hopes to inspire and generate a stimulating composition consisting of art and prose. Basically the conversation in my head with images. It's a fucking process and a journey that'll take me whenever I decide I'm to take complete blame for all of this delay.</span></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261629247512173794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SQUP7F3E3OI/AAAAAAAAARE/Wtk8eniAjms/s200/015.JPG" border="0" /> <p></p>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-7801751239068120662008-09-28T08:02:00.014-04:002008-09-30T08:37:29.708-04:00Expressions In The Arts<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SOIGyLLESoI/AAAAAAAAAMM/PoyzjtvIK4s/s1600-h/kgcards_corner_eye.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251767574529854082" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SOIGyLLESoI/AAAAAAAAAMM/PoyzjtvIK4s/s200/kgcards_corner_eye.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">I crossed paths with an acquaintance of mine during a grocery store run. She is a fellow artist and it seems whenever we meet, we have lengthy chats about our recent ventures and struggles to "get our artwork out there". I have never seen her artwork, but for some reason, her and I have this relaxed understanding between us that confirms my nagging belief in reestablishing a meeting place for hungry artists. Hungry for reassurance, inspiration, motivation and a place to show and tell our tales of expression and strip away the layers; hiding our soul's intention.<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">In fact, I know and have met many creative souls that are always eager to talk with me about their craft because I love to listen. It's fascinating when I hear the language of spontaneous art. It is the emotional songs in our conversation that sing about intangible, imaginative and moving moments that can only be captured by the artist's mind and eye. Beautiful, irrational, ghostly, fleeting, timeless, raw and sometimes unintentional. </span></div><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;">In the next few months I will dig through the files of "someday" folders and place them in the "today" pile. A few years ago I nurtured an idea and it was called Expressions In The Arts and was followed up by my monthly newsletter called The Artisan Article. The way I see it as the days unfold, the HUMAN spirit is in GREAT DEMAND!! A thread of ideas, forging community spirit, and creative ingenuity. Not just art, but a forum for inspiration, uplifting escape and personal expression. I'm sorry and tired of hiding and pausing my talents and good intentions. I can sing, I can speak, but I lost my courage somehow.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><em>Courage: (noun) mental or moral strength to venture, persevere, and withstand danger, fear, or difficulty</em></span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Got it!</span></p>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-28072117030126053752008-09-06T08:43:00.020-04:002008-09-28T08:22:06.761-04:00Up To My Elbows<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SMJ7TmtIvfI/AAAAAAAAALc/aUar07brgBs/s1600-h/Sink.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242888492950273522" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SMJ7TmtIvfI/AAAAAAAAALc/aUar07brgBs/s200/Sink.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>Dirty dishes in my sink</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>Gives me time to stop and think...</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>What it means to wash a glass, a mug, a spoon, a plate and knife</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>Contributes to your well-being and purpose to my mundane life.</em></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">I don't like doing the dishes. Other days I hate it. My emotions fight it every time it is time. See? I'm here at the computer, instead of washing the morning dishes. It only takes about ten minutes or so, but it feels like an agonizing endless chore. I did time myself once or twice using the microwave clock-timer. I set the countdown at ten minutes and I raced through the whole pile give or take a few seconds. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Now a good stack of anxiety could consist of about four to five dinner plates, five glasses, several cereal/icecream bowls and assorted utensils. Throw in a coffee mug, some of those Chinese take-out bowls that accumulate even though you just want to throw away, and of course, a greasy frying pan with matching flipper. If I can arrange and rinse the mess in some sort of order on the counter before I begin, the roar and growling from irritated food particles isn't as audible. I robotically fill up the stainless steel sink with hot water, add about seven or eight squirts of liquid soap, swish, swirl and animate my sculpture of suds. There's no turning back now.</span><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SMei1EZQEyI/AAAAAAAAALs/jTDRSG06N2k/s1600-h/001.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244339323692651298" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SMei1EZQEyI/AAAAAAAAALs/jTDRSG06N2k/s200/001.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">I have the classic set-up. My back is to the room and I have a window with a view. A view of the driveway, old mother tree, and the tree lined road. Like I said, I have the classic set-up. My back is turned, I am banished; facing a spotted and smudged, cobweb laden window. My anguish soars along the tree lined road hoping someone will rescue me.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">I don't slip into latex gloves like some ladies. Indeed I have a pair. I even bought the hot pink Playtex ones over the yellow thinking I could fool myself to add whimsy to my cleaning experience, but I really only use them for the real scrub jobs. This is a ten minute dig compared to a hour scourge in the bathtub but that's another story.</span><br /><br /><p><span style="font-family:Arial;">Dishes stacked. <em>Check</em>. Sleeves rolled up. <em>Check</em>. Nose is itched. <em>Check</em>. My hands glide into the steaming water and my thoughts drift through the window screen as suds stick and roll along my hands and arms. If I hurry, I'm sure I'll break something, but if I can focus on the diligent rhythm of dip, swirl, dip, swirl, stack, rinse, stack, then this task will not reach that nerve. So in the words of the famous zen master, Thich Nhat Hanh, <em>"The time of dishwashing is as important as the time of meditation. That is why the everyday mind is called the Buddha's mind."</em> (from Present Moment Wonderful Moment <span style="font-size:85%;">Mindfulness Verses for Daily Living</span>)</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Arial;">The moment arrives when the last orphan spoon shines in the running water and plops into the draining cup. Down goes the water. Down goes the soap. I'm free! I'm free! I have put aside all traces from my transcedental meditational session, and I turn around to embrace my release. I whisper never to wash another thing for the rest of my life and then I gasp and witness my youngest son filling up a clean glass with refreshing, cold milk. "Thanks Mom!" Ah Heaven.</span></p>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-24473961029039980332008-09-05T04:46:00.013-04:002008-09-05T07:49:30.234-04:00What More Do You Want? A Political Statement<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;">(a letter to an Obama supporter)</span><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SMEGnTiVwyI/AAAAAAAAALM/f99GdIR8vvg/s1600-h/patriotic01.gif"><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242478713564939042" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SMEGnTiVwyI/AAAAAAAAALM/f99GdIR8vvg/s200/patriotic01.gif" border="0" /></span></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Can you convince me that democracy will still stay in place and I'm not going to have to share MORE of my hard earned income and wealth (peace of mind) with lazy asses that collect welfare and sit in front of a computer all day upgrading their My Space (They've got satelite TV, cellphones, jewelry, drugs, nails, and fresh tattoos) and then listen to how they're really hurtin' and can't wait for the free stuff Obama's gonna give 'em. Y'know, that white collar computer nerd, stock broker, engineer, pharmacist "employer" just bought me Christmas dinner, gave me a raise and a 401K option so I can support a family. Who else is gonna do that? Joe Schmo, the union president, taking his 5th cigarette break and figuring out how he's going to stick it to the man, fuck over his fellow co-workers and fake some "on the job" disability? I certainly don't want any hand outs from the Government, although the economic stimulus package was helpful, but SURPRISE! you only got it if you paid taxes! People have to take care of themselves. We don't need a president who is going to coddle lazy people with more government programs. We already have Medicaid, and don't even get me started on Medicare and Social Security that I contribute to every week. I never met so many wealthy unhappy, unappreciative, selfish seniors in my life! "Whadda mean my monthly co-pay is ten dollars? My entre at Red Lobster is only $9.99!"<br /><br />Tell me that I can proudly still hold on to my guns and religion, that I don't have to watch the family unit be mocked by trans gender legalized gay marriages, that the freedoms we enjoy today, like walking in a mall, visiting a historic site, traveling abroad, like to the Grand Canyon (lol) isn't going to be diminished because for the last eight years, we haven't had a single bombing incident on American soil. Please don't be one of those nuts who believes Rosie O'Donnell. Wasn't the National Guard in Louisiana for "the storm of the century?" See what happens when you have a real leader there that says, "Either you get the fuck out (evacuate), or you're screwed." And in came the buses. We've got a kick ass military, let's keep it that way, and let me tell you what, I want them over there on the offensive in the Middle East keeping an eye on those fuckers and helping the Iraq people live freely, kids play, people shop, eat, dress, speak their minds. We take it all for granted here.<br /><br />And who the hell are these 21st Century 20 something anarchists breaking the law in MN? Get a fuckin' job you wayward brat! They've got is so bad. Did Mommy forget to put the jelly on both sides of the bread?<br /><br />It's 3am...and I know where my children are, we are a proud hard working, law abiding contributors to our community, and this country. My DH works for a municipality with all its BS, but it puts food on the table, shelter over our heads, gas in our cars, health coverage, and all the other necessities we need to live and be . I work for a pharmacist who owns several properties, drives a nice car, has a fuckin beautiful Jag, doesn't know how to hold a hammer, but he's awesome to work for! I wish I made more money, but it's my choice to stay and work there. I could've gone and finished college, but I didn't. I'm not going to blame the government for my life! So we live within our means and when all is said and done, we're content because as you know, it's not ever about things. I do wish for you plenty of success and wealth as you pursue your happiness. See you at the polls.<br /><br /><span style="color:#660000;">“My friends, we live in the greatest nation in the history of the world. I hope you’ll join with me as we try to change it.” ~ Barack Obama</span>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-10278377380731031602008-09-04T06:37:00.013-04:002008-09-05T06:11:36.755-04:00Call It What You Want<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SMECQrZIe-I/AAAAAAAAALE/TBtLkd_nzyQ/s1600-h/Composition+Notecards2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242473926785268706" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SMECQrZIe-I/AAAAAAAAALE/TBtLkd_nzyQ/s200/Composition+Notecards2.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SMD85l_v6UI/AAAAAAAAAK8/Cv9VIyGpgXk/s1600-h/Color-Composition.JPG"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242468032641493314" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SMD85l_v6UI/AAAAAAAAAK8/Cv9VIyGpgXk/s200/Color-Composition.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242114149675536450" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SL-7C5N1kEI/AAAAAAAAAKs/PkQsmfI3fu8/s200/Composition+Notecards3.JPG" border="0" /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">During my earlier artistic endeavors, I illustrated and colored spirited and spontaneous designs of color and shape. It was very freeing to create. Controlled doodling, really.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Applying myself to that natural response, I completed this 12" x 18" colored pencil piece that you see. I was pleased to pursue my play and make mini frame and focus areas mounted for notecards. An amusing way to stimulate more expressive possibilities. Call it what you want.</span> </div>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-68063599321076577472008-08-25T07:05:00.015-04:002008-09-02T06:22:02.287-04:00Righting the Writer<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SLqyi0eC13I/AAAAAAAAAKU/OuJtzTc__Gg/s1600-h/coffbook.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5240697427668948850" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SLqyi0eC13I/AAAAAAAAAKU/OuJtzTc__Gg/s200/coffbook.gif" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I have a lot of journals, notebooks, steno pads, sketchbooks gathered in piles, stacked in boxes, leaning in shelves and I know there is a constellation of meaning to them. This morning, as I rocked up from my bed, I grabbed three and flipped through the intended words and thoughtful works inside. Sometimes it is very sad to read my inner struggles from five or more years ago as they catch up with the ones that are still haunting me. Some demons are more imagined than real.<br /><br /><br />There is a line in one of my writings that prompted this entry. It is a sigh to the Lord.<br /><br /><em>Cloak me in your shield of light.</em><br /><em>Save me from my imagined turmoil.</em><br /><em>Is the Devil going to be as determined to keep me still?</em><br /><em>("Be still and know that I am God")</em><br /><em>Sit with me and tell me something.</em><br /><em><span style="color:#6600cc;">Hold out your open hand</span></em><br /><em><span style="color:#6600cc;">And allow me to gaze upon its Universe</span>.</em><br /><em>Follow and clean my footsteps from hesitating darkness.</em><br /><em>It is only when I look ahead</em><br /><em>Will I succeed.</em><br /><em>04/06</em><br /><br />Same journal, almost a year later:<br /><br /><em>Don't waste your time asking me "What?"</em><br /><em>My answer extends beyond measure and cannot be expressed with words.</em><br /><em>It is when you can find confidence without asking "What"</em><br /><em>That you will find me.</em><br /><em>03/07</em><br /><br /><br /><em>There is this flawless path of knowing,</em><br /><em>And the uncertain group of hopes with fears.</em><br /><em>Endless anguish colapses in the frame of memory.</em><br /><em>We also pass through this envelope of time,</em><br /><em>Only to surface and gasp for heaven's air.</em><br /><br /><em></em><br /><br /><em>SLAM!!!</em><br /><em>Well, that's all for now kiddies! </em>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-46845384598502664782008-08-23T21:27:00.010-04:002008-08-23T22:25:49.380-04:00Internet Explorer cannot display the webpage<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SLDGQxqTHhI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/O6bD2paT_hw/s1600-h/gatedcottagedove.gif"></a><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SLC6P8nsojI/AAAAAAAAAJw/lpURZ_ugWFM/s1600-h/logoimpressionsbykarenguarino.jpg"></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Well, I finally did it. I've been wanting to for awhile now. I canceled my website. Yahoo was raising their monthly web hosting fee, so I clicked CANCEL plain and simple. The month's not even over and they completely erased it from the web like THAT! The bastards. Who gives a shit? Yeah, I saved most of my text, graphics and pix. Shake the dust off. Impressions by karen guarino is done and I'm glad. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">So now it's time to keep walking. Sit with myself and think, think, think. There's a story, there's a tale and a miracle howl somewhere in this body of hope. So here I am at the burning barrel again, tossing in forgeries and devil maps of where I thought I was supposed to be. Jesus, everything makes so much more sense to me when I'm dreamy-still and entranced with an earful of songs. Where are the wooded areas? Where are those paths that led me to spiritual places only seen by me? The tiny voice speaking through pebble petting streams, cool, smooth tree bark, bending grasses and leaves that turn over and over on windy caresses. It's time for me to listen.</span></div>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-49057662958841639442008-08-23T09:23:00.008-04:002008-08-23T09:45:44.852-04:00Autumn Leaves You Laughing<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SLAPgah4cFI/AAAAAAAAAI4/PS28Vomx4u8/s1600-h/Autumn+Piece+Leaves3.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237703416183550034" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SLAPgah4cFI/AAAAAAAAAI4/PS28Vomx4u8/s200/Autumn+Piece+Leaves3.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SLAQiahPn7I/AAAAAAAAAJA/TDG951n-erA/s1600-h/Autumn+Piece+Leaves2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237704550052241330" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SLAQiahPn7I/AAAAAAAAAJA/TDG951n-erA/s200/Autumn+Piece+Leaves2.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SLAS-Jm6MSI/AAAAAAAAAJI/GzP4B_JOHwo/s1600-h/Autumn+Piece+Leaves.JPG"></a><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><div></div><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>What is this? Well, it <strong><em>was</em></strong> a honey brown stained piece that I bought for $2 from a Grandma's Attic table tag sale. It has two "mystery" dowels across the face of it and a pocket. I plan on displaying it with a row of mini drip candles or tied dried flowers hanging down for charm. At least I crackled and tackled it instead of letting it sit for a year or more. More fun in store for today!!</div></div></div>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-92127742196997744652008-08-10T15:07:00.012-04:002008-08-10T20:03:54.344-04:00Morning Buzz<div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SJ9StibvLdI/AAAAAAAAAGo/vuqjJIrjZ50/s1600-h/Kettle.JPG"></a><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5232992246738924978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SJ9SuQs_NbI/AAAAAAAAAGw/ZFNAAIYhoBw/s200/Mornin+Coffee.JPG" border="0" /> <div><span style="font-family:arial;">Routine has its place. My early morning routine is a must. Don't futz with my slipper slide to the coffee zone. Don't tell me to snuggle for five more minutes because before coffee, I'm about as cuddly as a rabid badger. You're truly better off. So, with feet to the floor, I'm barely out of my dream state while I'm zombie rockin' over to the java machine. Please, just give me a solid hour to fill one up, sit, sip and stare into the web. I'll come around.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> </div><div> </div></div>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11906579.post-49051739691955815002008-06-03T06:46:00.005-04:002008-06-03T07:07:06.669-04:00Cottage Additions<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SEUigO46BoI/AAAAAAAAAFI/73BfWyZlT1g/s1600-h/letterholder.jpg"></a><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SEUiPe46BnI/AAAAAAAAAFA/hUFjVRlJa7E/s1600-h/100_1673.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207606193508976242" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SEUiPe46BnI/AAAAAAAAAFA/hUFjVRlJa7E/s200/100_1673.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SEUhIe46BlI/AAAAAAAAAEw/WcIJQldEjrE/s1600-h/100_1676.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207604973738264146" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aqW1m-gdbg4/SEUhIe46BlI/AAAAAAAAAEw/WcIJQldEjrE/s200/100_1676.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><em><span style="font-size:100%;">Wood shelf with dowl rod for dried flowers, tea towels, drip candles, greeting cards</span>...</em></span></div></div></div>wildmotherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18421117071566081732noreply@blogger.com0