Photo Therapy



Day 1, Job 2, downtown

From one job (researching art therapy for use with trauma sufferers), I now know there are art therapy techniques geared for use with photography. I was obviously already on to the idea that pursuing just about any kind of art can be relaxing and therapeutic, but I hadn't really thought about photography per se. 

So today, as I had 5 minutes to spare before my first day at job #2, I dug my camera out of my bag and snapped a few photographs to help gather my thoughts.  And lo and behold if it didn't settle a jitter or two and set me off on a good course for a good day at what I hope will continue to be an absorbing new project.

Sketch Fest

My father, based on a photo circa 1975.

For my father's birthday, rather than give him one more shirt that he doesn't need or particularly want, I decided to spend a few days trying to create a portrait. 

If nothing else, it was an absorbing exercise for me. Only in retrospect did I realize that perhaps the shirt might have been more fun for Dad.  By way of metaphor, giving Dad art is about the same as giving me football tickets. 

But in any case, he knows I spent time thinking about him and his birthday -- a good long time, given all that erasing. So at least that requirement was met. 

I've been working on sketching, off and on, for the last few months, and minor progress continues. Some other attempts are below.

 

Rule of Thirds

Rule of Thirds, DC Style

Indoor Nature

Butterflies, atrium Neimum Marcus

Metal flower, TJ Maxx

Photography Bender

Berries, Gallaudet University

A photography bender has started, thanks to a fabulous friend who has loaned me a camera with a real lens and the ability to change things like aperture and ISO and set the focus and such.

I still don't know what aperture is, despite her best efforts to explain it to me. 

But I do know that if I have aperture set to 2.8 and zoom all the way in, I get the effect of some things blurry and some things not. 

I'm unreasonably excited by this.  I'm almost as excited by this as by the fact that this super cool camera also still fits in my purse so I can still carry a camera around with me everywhere. 

I expect I'll be annoying about the new toy for quite a while.

Birdhouse & Giant Metal Chicken, Capitol Hill

Tommy's Birthday

My brother Tommy

A friend of mine who lost his sister to cancer warned me that there were certain times of year, around her birthday and the date of her death, where he would just feel off, sunk in a glumness that he couldn't pinpoint, and then he would realize: Oh. Somewhere in his subconscious calendar, he was tracking the movement of time away from her. 

And so January creeps forward here. It's been busy with new projects and a sick cat and social outings and one thing or another, life the way it is, but today I realized: Oh. My brother Tommy's birthday is on Tuesday. That's the dark noise flittering around in the background. 

It's the third of his birthdays to pass since he died at age 45 in August 2009, and time has, as advertised, smoothed some of the sharp edges. 

The initial rawness was, in some ways, shocking in and of itself.  Because of my brother's severe autism, he lived in residential schools and group homes from when he was 7 and I was 2 years old.  I have no memory of him at home beyond vacations -- Christmas, Easter, summer break.  Sometimes, Mom and Dad would drive out to his school in Delaware, my sister and I packing the backseat full of Barbies to entertain us through the drive there and back. Susie is older and remembers him at home, but I don't. 

Tommy lived the last 24 years of his life in a small group home in Maine with some of the kindest people I've ever met working with him there. He made friends and went bowling and to baseball games, rode regularly with the therapeutic riding program he loved and kept the yard free of dandelions with a ruthless vigilance.

Tommy wasn't part of day-to-day life in my memory, so as much as I didn't expect his sudden death at only 45, I also didn't expect how much the finality of his absence would unravel me for a time.

For most of my childhood, Tommy injected a level of chaos into most family holidays. To be honest, the spitting and the bedwetting and the less-than-ideal table manners weren't all that much fun. But he was family and I felt that bond. We both took the same destructive glee in ripping into Christmas presents.  And he more glee in tidying up (I'm more of a slob; Tommy liked things in their place, although that order could remain mysterious to the rest of us).  

He didn't make much eye contact, but I do remember moments, hiding out with him, where I'd just sit next to him and talk when no one else was in the room. Mostly, he would rock back and forth and I couldn't tell if he was listening.  But every once in a while, usually when I made some crack about a relative, he'd shoot me a look as if to say, "Yeah, I know. They're all a little nuts."

This is what siblings do, exchange sidelong, knowing glances about the quirkiness of family.

We looked alike, and in some pictures, I see family expressions, the mix of Mom and Dad that came down to both of us.

And then we were not alike. I spoke; he didn't.  He hummed and rocked and flapped, the classic self-soothing mannerisms of autism.  

Autism diagnosis has exploded in the last 30 years.  But when I was a kid, half of my childhood cohort thought my brother was artistic, painting portraits in some garret.  No, I'd explain.  He was different. Really different.

When we were growing up, the now dismissed Refrigerator Mother theory put forward by Bruno Bettelheim and Leo Kanner was just falling out of fashion. They suggested that emotionally frigid mothers who turned away from their children inspired the emotional distance of autism.

Autism is now largely considered to be a genetic issue.  But in the 50s and 60s, all those mothers who had kids like Tommy were, on top of having to deal with the difficulties of having kids like Tommy, told his autism was their fault. I don't have kind feelings toward Bruno Bettelheim.

There weren't any autism walks or ribbons of awareness when Tommy and I were growing up. The resources available for him and my parents were frequently lumped together with children with related, but different issues needing different care. My parents spent innumerable hours investigating every new treatment that showed promise, from the B vitamin megadosing to hours working with Tommy on picture and word recognition. He went to day schools and, when he was older, bigger, and more energetic, to residential schools.  My parents navigated labyrinths of legal and funding options and did everything they could to make sure Tommy had every opportunity to be healthy and happy.  


I am thrilled that autistic people and their families today don't have explain nearly as much, that there are more and better options, that there are approaches that can help autistic people and their families connect more with each other. And I also wish more of those options, instead of Bruno Bettelheim, had been around for my family.   

One huge impact on my brother's life was the introduction of facilitated communication (FC).

Transcript, FC conversation, 7/25/1996 - p. 1

Until that point, we were all told Tommy likely didn't understand much of what was going on around him. 

Facilitated communication is assisted letterboard typing, a treatment that grew out of work with people with cerebral palsy. It was not without controversy.  There were claims of it being a Ouija board, with the facilitator (deliberately or not) influencing the letters plucked out one by one by the client.

But then there were also autistic people that eventually no longer needed facilitators, who began to type out words on their own. No Ouija boards there. 

So in our 20s, Tommy and I finally got to have a conversation.

I believe FC worked for Tommy, that it was his voice speaking, not a facilitator's. Although he always had a facilitator with a hand on his arm back near his elbow, I think Tommy directed the chosen destination of his pointing finger on that letterboard.

Transcript, FC conversation, 7/25/1996 - p. 2

What I can absolutely guarantee is that Tommy was happier when people treated him as if he could understand, when he was given choices, when he was asked questions and given opportunity to respond. 

He mellowed in his 30s and 40s (as we all do) and settled into a peaceful rural life in Maine, seeing my mother regularly after she moved nearby, seeing my father on his many trips north, participating in the therapeutic riding program in the summers, clearing those pesky dandelions out of the yard, working with the staff on treatment goals, including FC, to make his life more comfortable, and enjoying outings with his housemates. 

Tommy brought difficult issues with him; there is no way around that. 

But Tommy could also be refreshingly fun in his own particular way, in part because social conventions didn't apply for him. 

Transcript, FC conversation, 7/25/1996 - p. 3

An example: at a family bbq at my aunt and uncle's house in the late 70s or so, Tommy arrived back at the table from a trip to the restroom quite happily naked. He was a nudist at heart, I think, and destroyed, bit by bit, thread by thread, countless shirts over his lifetime. I have a fond memory of watching one of his shoes go by my window when we were in the car. But on this occasion at my relatives' Pennsylvania home, he'd just ditched his whole wardrobe. It was hot; he was a clothing optional kind of guy. 

My mother (not endorsing the clothing optional approach) went to find his clothes, assuming he'd left them upstairs. 

And she could find no sign of them -- not in the bathroom, not in the closets, not in any of the bedrooms, not on the stairs, not anywhere. None of us could find them anywhere. We considered and rejected the flushability of his clothes (with mild plumber alarm) but it just didn't seem possible.  His clothes had just vanished, Tommy's personal magic trick.

Transcript, FC conversation, 7/25/1996 - p. 4

His dip into nudism was foiled that day, as Mom of course had other clothes in supply, but he definitely had his moment of making an entrance and creating a mystery. 

Some days later, my aunt dropped something on the bathroom floor and when she leaned down to retrieve it, happened to see a bit of cloth hanging down behind the radiator.  And pulling on that, she then discovered, wedged with great precision, Tommy's abandoned clothes.  

Tommy, like any kid, had crafty moments, and he really, really didn't want to wear those clothes on a hot July day. Even before FC, Tommy managed to get many of his points across. 

Most of all, Tommy had some fun amid family and friends that loved him.  I will hope to remember that above all on his birthday. 

"Cinthia makes me laugh. I am laughing with you. A good thing to laugh."
          -- Tommy, during an FC conversation when I visited Maine in 1996.  

Thomas Daniel Daffron
January 17, 1964 - August 30, 2009
Photo taken mid-August 2009

Unflattering Self Portraits

Taken after running last week. 

First attempt at a self-portrait sketch. 

I've been playing around with self portraits a bit this week.

Photographic and sketch results raise observations on asymmetry and that, hmm, I'm not 20 years old anymore. Still, however mild, there is improvement in my sketching, so I'll hold onto that. I seem to flatten the camera angle perspective even when I am trying to keep it - a bit frustrating. 

I also might get crazy and buy a comb, or at least a more effective barrette.  

Seedpods

Leaving Behind Forward Thinking

Resolutions for the new year. Setting intentions in yoga class. Visualizing a magical future in the coaching world.  It's all about seeing what you want and going for it, grabbing the future by a throttle hold and beating it into submission. 

Certainly, if you can't imagine it, you won't have any ability to achieve it. I thrill to imagination and creating new ways of seeing the world.   

Hazel practicing contentment

But I also believe in being content in transition --  in gently leaning back into limbo and letting in the experience of not knowing what is going to happen, no matter what I'm busy visualizing in joy or panic. 

To thoroughly see what is happening around you, you have to detach from the idea that you can control everything around you. 

And let's be clear: you don't have control. You may be a bootstrap CEO worth millions, but large swaths of the world just don't give a crap about you.  They aren't going to do what you want no matter what you order or imagine or visualize. You can't make people think what you want.  Mind control is still science fiction. 

Don't take it personally. You're just a speck. A dust mote. 

That's OK.

We all look lovely shining in sunbeams anyway. 

Maybe the perfect future you have in mind is that gosh-darned perfect.  But maybe your lock-step pursuit of it blinds you to side routes along the way, potentially grander or happier avenues if you just took a breath, looked around, explored, imagined, and then reimagined.

Your goals can change. Your imagination may refine an image as you collect more information. You may change and want different things. 

What I wanted to be when I was four (a baton-twirler) didn't fit the twelve year old version of me, and even if it had, and I'd spent a decade twirling my heart out, I'd likely not still be marching along with a parade now. 

Persistence pays off.  But so does flexibility. 

Do I think you or I should spend forever at a crossroad, refusing to choose a direction, sit down in paralyzed indecision?  Nope.  Fear of the unknown, of motion, of change - as much as I and everyone else may on occasion be subject to them, I'm opposed to them.

But I think there is a point where when we put all our happiness out there in the future, we downgrade the value of where we are now,  the work (or the dumb luck, or grace, or whatever combination thereof) we've done to stand on this ground. 

I don't want to stand around perpetually discontent with here and now.

All the visualizing, yearning and wanting, leaves me anxious and tired some days.  It leaves me thinking that I am lacking, because I'm missing some perfect [fill in the blank]. 

And I'm not. 

Right here.  Right now.  It's good.

So my cheeky one word resolution, to bask -- to take pleasure in the little wonders of this point in time, this step on a journey to somewhere, a small, critical, anonymous, unimportant step, but a step -- is less cheeky than I thought. 

Basking breeds contentment.  Not complacency or blindness, but contentment. And that is definitely something to yearn for and lean into right now.

Happy Not A Holiday, Nondescript January 2nd.

New Year's Resolution: Bask



Path at Riley's Lock



Potomac River at Riley's Lock

Rainbow Stalking

Yes, yes, I know, posts have been brief of late...I've been distracted with holidays, other writing projects, and stalking rainbows. They are wily, colorful beasts that appear out of the rain. 

Rainbow quarry cornered heading
 toward I-95 in Miami, 12/11/11.

It turns out, the rainbow ends at a brick
apartment building in NE DC, or did today, 12/27/11. 

Wynwood Art Walk, Miami

On the 2nd Saturday of every month, the Wynwood neighborhood of Miami has an art walk.  Over 60 galleries open their doors.  

Wall of Art

All I can say is: go. You'll love it. The art ranges from massive murals on the walls of former factories to precise oils to metal dragonflywoman sculptures. Moonlight and warm Florida breezes carry eclectic music out into the street. Industrial buildings include an auto body shop that somehow adds to the urban art feel.  You can stop by a food truck and pick up something tasty if you're feeling peckish. Kids, families, hipsters, art-ers, tourists: it's a lively crowd where everyone is welcome.

And the art: amazing.     

Building-wide mural

She looks like a dragonfly to me.

Note the deer in front of the green hulk
(and to the left of Neil's butt)

Moon over Murals

Murals in Wynwood Walls area

The painting on the right is called "The Three Graces." As
with all these pieces, I neglected to write down
artist names. I particularly wish I had for that one -
gorgeous work.   

Wynwood Walls

Neil and his new friends

 

The Infamous

See You Later, Alligator

Sign by lake

Not only did they feel it necessary to put up a sign, they also passed a law about it. Who doesn't know enough to stay away from an alligator? A lot of people, apparently.

Gratuitous Sunset at the Beach Photo

Roadtripping, Cat Lady Style

Leo, Hazel, and I hit the road on Wednesday, off on an excellent Florida adventure.  The beginning of the 2-day drive looked and sounded like this:

Leo and Hazel travel in style in a purple mesh pop-up carrier that takes up most of the backseat and includes all the modern conveniences (i.e., a little box). It gives them a little room to stretch, but keeps them from leaping out the window at toll booths. Over the 14 years that the kitties and I have been spending time together, they've logged many miles. They're not always happy about it, but they are surprisingly patient and flexible.

If nothing else, they enjoy that after a day of meditative sunshine driving, I perk up (yes, cats sense your mood). While they don't let me sing (like many others, they interpret it as yowling, and meow with alarm when I forget and start in) they do let me change radio stations to catch scary 80s classics (yes, "Abracadra" still gets air time. Want to have a 1982 tune stuck in your head?  Click here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7QyoRzZrF00&feature=related). After a few hours of following the yellow lines, the endless winter gloom of DC gray fades into exploration and insights into other places, odd roadside moments and the peaceful zen of driving.

Day 1 of driving landed us at the Walterboro, SC Motel6.  Given that Motel6s are cheap and allow pets, we are brand loyal. This particular safe haven came with a bbq invite from the guys in orange reflective vests grilling dinner in the parking lot. They were in town to do electrical work in Ridgeland and were, safe to say, a little bored. Anyone who starts a conversation with "So you from out of town?" in a motel parking lot may be yearning for anything new (do lots of people in town stay at the Motel6?).

The kitties and I opted out of the parking lot festivities and instead hunkered down for a night of junk food and bad TV. I prefer to think that the bug Hazel found was not a baby roach, but some orphan insect of a less revolting tribe. 

The biggest excitement for me is that the Motel6 has a new, and possibly even more hideous bedspread pattern, this one with a Motel6 logo wound into yellows and oranges and blues.  The previous bedspread used, I can tell you, by most Motel6s across the country, flaunted blues and magenta, a stain-hiding combination that I've come to expect.

We hit the road early, anxious for more sun, more flashback music, and finally getting to the warmth. 

We first felt the shift to southern winter at a gas station stop in Georgia (at a nondescript Shell, not Mr. Pete's Pecans and Gas that we saw advertised in curly script on a billboard, as intrigued we were by that unlikely combination). Even though it was a chilly morning, it felt different...the sun was sharper, the sky bluer, and the birds sang with a tropical lilt. The wind coming inland from the the ocean still carried its salty smell. 

Hazel was probably thinking: lizards! 

When we lived in Miami, she was the mighty huntress, picking up, and dropping many lizards.  She didn't often kill them -- I imagine they don't taste all that yummy, although I don't intend to verify that. But she would chase them around and pick them up with zeal, at which point, they would drop their tails (a lizard stress reaction).  Many short-tailed lizards lived, anxiously, around our cottage.

The big excitement on Day 2 of driving (aside from arriving at our destination) all took place in the vicinity of Lawtey, FL. 

You can't say they don't give you
fair warning...

First: the Speed Trap billboard, 4.5 miles outside of town on 301. Yes, once in town, I saw a black unmarked car with a lawman sitting as promised in the 35 miles per hour zone there.  You have to figure, whoever pays for the billboard the town hero. 
Also in Lawtey, we made a brief stop to take a picture of not one, not two, but THREE giant metal chickens. 

Modern Styling.

Because one is not enough.

The reason for this can be found here: http://thebloggess.com/2011/06/and-thats-why-you-should-learn-to-pick-your-battles/.  Knock, knock is a running joke with a friend to whom I periodically send pictures of large metal chickens (or roosters - I'm flexible on these things).

Having finally arrived in our Florida destination,today, the cats and I are enjoying some down time on the porch. Leo had a tough morning with a visit to a local vet, as his back is hurting -- the prevailing theory is he twisted it on the stairs yesterday surveying his temporary kingdom, as he seemed surprisingly spry after the car ride. But by last evening, poor guy was hurting. Today, after a couple of shots, he's feeling better, and so is his nervous caretaker. 

In front of us on the porch, a palm tree is rustling in the wind. A few fluffy clouds are floating by.  I plan to go to the beach in a little while and stick my toes in the ocean. December in Florida, Santa hats and bathing suits, has much to recommend it. 

I hope Leo and Hazel agree.   

Hazel: "Lizards!"; Leo: "Cat treats!"

Them Apples

Green Apples
acrylic on canvas
10 x 8

As part of another attempt to de-clutter my apartment, I spent yesterday sorting through stacks of art supplies. Like coming across old snapshots, paintings take me back to the time and place where I painted them.

"Green Apples," an attempt at a classic still life with somewhat atraditional color choices, was painted on the balcony of a beach house rented for the Sisters Beach Trip 3.0 the week after Hurricane Irene.  My sister was working on a painting too, hers of shells. 

At the time, I wasn't much thrilled with my effort. Now I find I like it much better, perhaps because it returns me to a warm balcony with ocean air full of familial love, acceptance, and creative exploration. 

Those are some darn good apples in that context.

Evolution of a Naked Man



Spent
acrylic on canvas
36 x 30

This one I painted a few months ago, futzed with endlessly, and then put aside because it still didn't capture what I wanted. The frustration of seeing something in your mind that you can't create plagues most artists, I imagine, even those with more developed technical skills. 

Still, he looks a whole lot more like a person than the creepy monster he started out as. I am learning something. Various stages are displayed in the clip below. 

Naked Lady

Yes, if you paint, eventually you end up trying to paint naked people. Let me tell you, it's a lot harder than it looks. You would think, gosh, a few nice long lines, and voila! a person. Not so. Or at least, not a person that isn't part of some surgery-gone-wrong exposé. 




Moon-soaked
acrylic on canvas
22 x 32

Thanksgiving Gratitude List 2011

I complain. And whine. And grumble. A lot. Too often I see the glass chipped and half-empty. To counteract that tendency, last year I drew up a list of 25 things for which I'm grateful.  Cataloging the many ways in which I am rich is becoming a yearly tradition, a welcome antidote to all the fretting about silly junk. 

Here is the list for this year. I tried not to peek at last year's until I finished this year's, but the similarities are striking. I'm still incredibly lucky. 

So without further ado, and in no particular order, Thanksgiving Gratitude List 2011.

1. 

   Model horses rock!
   photo credit: Thomas A Daffron, Jr. (my grandfather)

   My sister: She's my best friend, not because she is my sister, but because she is courageous and funny, smart, kind, and honest. She puts up with my endless rambling and whining and reliably responds with wit and a healthy dose of reality. And – bonus! – she makes really yummy cookies and chocolate zucchini bread among many other tasties.
2. My parents: In very different ways, they are both remarkable people. I am clear in the love we have for each other. The older I get, the luckier I know I am.
3. My cats: As oldsters, they're largely fluffy doorstops snoring in one chair or another, and they do nothing to decrease the cricket population in my apartment. But they purr when I pick them up, come when I call them (yes, even though they're cats), and never tire of the excitement of dinnertime. In the winter particularly, they cleave to me for warmth and affection, and viceversa. They still groove on catnip and playtime and their hedonistic lifestyle of dozing in the sunshine.
4. Painting: Expert technique is still far, far out of reach. But what I do have is a corner of my living room set up for the right side of my brain to play. Five minutes or an hour of messing with color and shape calms me while letting me explore, a stellar combination.
5. Writing: Since I started keeping character sketches of friends and family as a preteen, through the many years of journals, stories, poems, novels, essays, and blog posts, writing is how I organize my thoughts, express my hopes and fears, and clarify my values. It's where I find forgiveness for myself and others, where I play, and where I mourn.
6. Running: Breathe in, breathe out. The steady beat of Vibrams Five Fingers (my running shoe of choice – ask me, and I'll tell you more than you ever wanted to know about how much I like them) on a quiet path. Running strengthens me while it relaxes me.
7. Hiking: Sweating through summer haze or sloshing through fall rain, hiking makes me look around at how gorgeous and how simple and how awe-inspiring the natural world can be -- if I just pay attention.

8. 

   Leo hard at work on a craft project

   Driving: I know, it's not environmentally conscious to go for a Sunday drive. But the joy of windows down, radio up, and singing loud is hard to beat, as is the curiosity of seeing what's just up around that corner or on the other side of the country.  
9. My Aunt Kathy: My aunt spent much of this year helping my mother during her treatment for cancer. She also dealt with my moments of panic and insanity the bubbled up through some of the tougher times. Kathy remained endlessly patient, gracious, practical, and efficient. She is one of the kindest people I know. And she likes a good bowl of popcorn and a road trip, so we have many common interests.
10. Friends Old & New: It's been a bumpy year with family stress and financial bummers, but through that, I've had a steady stream of support from people I treasure. I've spoken unspeakable things to phenomenal people who have in turn shared their struggles and successes with me. I recognize that being close with the people I am over many years of friendship, being with people that bring out my best side, is a tremendous gift. I look forward to growing even closer and supporting those friendships to the best of my ability in the coming years. 
11. My Freelance Writing/Virtual Assistant Business: My commute is about 10 feet to turn on my computer. I never set my alarm clock. I run errands in the middle of the afternoon. While it's true that my retirement is nil and health care nonexistent, I believe this business will, in time, provide me with a wee bit more financial security to go with the freedom and intellectual stimulation of doing what I want to do.

12. 

    St. Pete Beach, FL

    Time: Time trumps money, I concluded this summer when I turned down a (relatively-speaking) lucrative, but time- and soul-sucking job. To have opportunity to choose that was liberating however much I still panic when the rent comes due and still kick myself for not being a more normal, socially acceptable person. For me though, happiness requires enough quiet daydream time (preferably with a cat purring in the window) to relax into it, and I'm thrilled that I have the luxury to choose that life and still be able to eat.
13. Letting Go: Sometimes you can care deeply for people and still find yourself arguing with venom over pointless crap, banging your head against one wall or another. There is value for everyone in letting go of anger and those connections that feed into unhealthy patterns and instead putting energy into more peaceful places of growth.      
14. Free & Cheap & Fun & Creative Stuff: Necessity is the mother of invention, and because it would be unreasonably frivolous even for me to go out and buy endless electronic gizmos I don't need, I've become better at realizing what I do need (food, shelter), what I don't (a Ferrari), and creatively re-purposing what I've got to fill the gray zones in between the extremes. I found goodies at thrift stores that speak to my sense of humor, scanned free piles for ugly mobile parts, recycled canvases to create my new (sometimes lumpy) paintings, and removed a lot of waste from my consumer diet, from deleting pricier junk food to making better use of the library.
15. Light: Given my increased focus on the visual arts, painting, photography, and crooked suncatchers, I'm more aware of the magic of light, the angles of highlight and shadow, the splintering by prisms, the benevolence bestowed by its alchemy.     
16. Family: The more I see how family can go radically wrong, collapse in anger, neglect, fury, abandonment, despair, violence, the more amazed I am by the collective kindness, intelligence, loyalty, and humor of my immediate and extended family.
17. Health: Having spent time pacing hospitals hallways this year, I hold an even higher value on the dumb luck of my own good health.
18. Kids: No, you haven't missed anything exciting -- I don't have kids. But I enjoy spending time with my friends' kids and smile when I see happy crews running amok at playgrounds or parades or wherever.  I love the creativity and chaos and unbridled fun that kids generate by keeping the world wondrously new and immediate.   
19. Radiator Heat, Indoor Plumbing, Electric Lights, Maintained Roads, Public Safety: All those bills and taxes go some place to keep a sprawling, radically complicated system chugging along. Sometimes it clunks more than purrs – vitriolic government rhetoric, the poor distribution of wealth, blackouts, shutdowns, riots, dishonesty, greed, natural and man-made disasters. But every day, most days, millions of cogs in the wheels turn smoothly without breaking the machinery, a consistency I take for granted.
20. Possibility: Emily Dickinson wrote, “I dwell in possibility,” and while she was talking more specifically about the life of a poet, for me, imagination and change provide great hope, vehicles for shifting to a new approach.
21. Memory: Some moments and some people are, for good or bad, gone forever. There is much that I would choose to forget, but much, much more that I am so glad that I can remember, re-live, and enjoy again.
22. Learning: Learning takes place in many environments, so while I have had lots of formal education (and that has given me a lot of tangible opportunities as a result), I'm mostly talking about the capacity to learn in any environment, be it an ivory tower or muddy cave.
23. Aging: Am I happy about the gray hair frizzing over my head or the wrinkles by my eyes? No, not so much. But I'm grateful for the time accrued and perspective. As my father is fond of saying, getting old beats the alternative.
24. Being Sentimental & Cheesy & Mushy: Sure, there is something just a little schmaltzy about gratitude. But I'm grateful for it nonetheless, as I bask here in my riches. So there.
25. Food! Thanksgiving turkey, mashed potatoes, homemade chocolate chip cookies, horribly bad for you French fries, popcorn, a perfectly done steak with horseradish sauce, spinach salad with walnuts and strong cheese, cheese, chocolate, did I mention cheese?, strawberry smoothies, pomegranates and, of course, ice cream. I've had lean financial moments, but I've never truly faced hunger and have enjoyed many a gourmet meal. That's not the case for millions of people around the world.  

So that's my list this year. I encourage you to make your own if you want to feel super rich.

On Thanksgiving morning, I'm running the So Others Might Eat Trot For Hunger 5K. If you feel like contributing to a good cause that serves the homeless and poor of the Washington, DC area, you may do so here:


http://support.some.org/site/TR/Events/teamraiser?px=1376226&pg=personal&fr_id=1110

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Artful Roses

Some days, art lets you down.

Some days, you get up to gray skies and reread the brilliant story you were working on yesterday to find it flat, hackneyed, lifeless, riddled with structural flaws and bland language.

Some days, you examine the portrait that you'd spent hours tweaking the night before to find it looks like a misshapen cartoon with fang-like teeth and slightly crossed eyes. 

Some days, the critical voices swarm in and ask you, "What's the point?"and (with increasing energy as the due dates for bills approach) "Does this make you any money?"

Today is a day where I have to remind myself that art is a process and a craft.  Transforming a blank page or canvas takes time, work, and skill, with a more than happy dash of dumb luck or divine inspiration. 

Developing skill takes time, and the only way to nourish those nascent talents is to keep plugging away. The roses don't bloom the day after the seeds are planted. 

The reason I delve into the arts is because of what I learn along the way. Let me repeat that: explorations in art are about learning. 

Sure, ending up with a lovely product that people ooh and aah over and pay a trillion dollars to hang on their wall would be swell. I'd love to paint in the rose garden of my mansion by the pool. 

But I paint and write as a means to explore ideas, images, techniques, craft, beauty, memory, emotion, imagination, character, story, and all the other elements churned up in the process.
As a culture, we're encouraged to be humble, to only acknowledge our flaws, to highlight all that is wrong with the world, from one disaster to disaster. 

But as I'm busily criticizing everything that is radically off with my art (and life, for that matter), and being accountable for that, learning from those missteps, I try to also put some energy toward recognizing everything that I did right.

The choices, artistic and otherwise, that worked, shouldn't be the neglected good children. They deserve their gold stars as much as the failures deserve demerits, time wearing the dunce cap, and other corrective actions.  

Maybe the good was accidental -- the shaky brushstroke that made the eyes look real, the turn of phrase that evoked more than originally intended, the good decisions made for petty reasons. Celebrate the good anyway, and learn how to reproduce it deliberately. 

Bottom line, life and art are about showing up.  Keep squeezing paints onto the palette.  Keep getting lost in words.  Explore the process of art, rather than the product, and you won't be let down. You will instead be gifted with the perspective of the journey. 

The process allows you to learn more and more and make the choices that push you closer to being the person and artist you want to be. Plus, your artwork will get better because you will keep showing up at the blank page or the blank canvas and creating anew.

This might not net you the swimming pool, but the perfume of progress smells sweeter than chlorine. 

Up from the ashes grow the roses of success.

The Artful Mistakes theme song.