Art Show II

Here is my next painting, 'Future Self is a Higher Power'.

Must See

A friend passed this on to me and I found it incredibly interesting.

A brain scientist had a stroke and somehow was aware enough through the process to analyze her perception of the event. I love the thought that we all have the ability to connect directly to the 'life force power of the universe'.

Don't be put off by the length of the lecture - it goes by quickly.

Spandex Man

On a certain corner a man stands nearly every day. He is tall, carries a cane and always wears tight spandex pants. They're short in the summer and long in the winter, but Spandex Man stands there watching the cars go by and waiting for people sitting in traffic to look at him.

You see, Spandex Man has quite a large (ahem) member in his spandex pants. When I first moved to Atlanta and saw him (over a decade ago), I was taken by surprise and couldn't help staring for a moment. Spandex Man stood calmly - no leers or jeers - and proudly. Through conversations with new friends I realized that that's just what he does.

As fate would have it, the condo I used to own was right near Spandex Man's stomping grounds. I would pull up to the light in rush hour traffic and avert my eyes. "Don't look, don't look, don't feed whatever weird thing is going on in this guy's head. . . ". I saw him almost EVERY day for a few years.

One day I pulled up and, behold, Spandex Man was there. But this day he had shorts on over his spandex. I was again shocked and started to imagine what was going on in the therapy sessions I assume he had finally started.

Therapist: How does it make you feel to stand in front of traffic in your spandex?

Spandex Man: I feel great. I feel loved. I feel important. People really see me - and I've got something to show.

Therapist: Now remember your breakthrough from last week? Where you wondered if people would really love you if they couldn't see your large (ahem) member? This week I want you to try and wear shorts over your spandex. You can still go out there at the regular times and stand as you always have - just wear the shorts and see how it feels.

Spandex Man (shaking & whispering): OK. I'll try it.

I wanted to give Spandex Man confidence in his decision. I wanted to look him in the eye and give him a thumbs up. I wanted to roll down my window and say 'way to go' . . . but I didn't.

I couldn't.

It still felt weird to have him there.

Something changed around that time and I don't remember seeing much of him anymore. Maybe it is when I moved out of my condo or switched jobs and, thus, commuting patterns. Maybe Spandex Man progressed further in his therapy and stopped hanging out on the corner.

Yesterday I was rushing to meet some friends. It was raining and I was at the infamous corner. Of course there was tons of traffic. Of course I was stuck in it. I look up and something catches my eye.

It was Spandex Man.

No shorts. Just spandex.

He must have had a relapse.

What's That Mommy?

The other day I was holding Peanut Two and she began her latest endearing activity. If she is relaxing and her favorite bunny is not around, she'll leap into my arms, stick her thumb in her mouth and begin rubbing my shirt between her fingers. It's pretty sweet.

This particular day I had on a tank top and Peanut Two began rubbing my arm instead of my shirt. Her hand slid down as she relaxed and her thumb and forefinger started touching the oh, so glamorous skin under my upper arm.

Her big eyes opened and she looked at me inquisitively.

What's that Mommy?

Thanks for noticing my under-arm flab, girl. I'll remember this when you are older!

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

It started almost ten years ago - a passionate, intense affair. I threw myself into it with abandon and poured my heart and soul into making it a success. Early mornings led into late evenings of time together. We were inseparable.

About seven years ago I started feeling a little caged in and out-of-touch with myself. I wanted something new, so I had the difficult conversations we all know so well and flung myself away. It took all my energy to leave, but I had to because I had no more energy to sustain.

After that I had a three year affair with another that was never a perfect fit. It had its pluses, but it had its negatives as well. I still kept in touch with my previous affair but neither of us made any moves. I tried and tried to make it work with the new affair, but it just wasn't happening. When I finally came to grips with this, I left.

I swore I wouldn't attach myself so intently to another for a long time. I needed to play the field and take a break from the intensity that followed me when I found a match. For four years I've done just that. I've had many affairs, but all on my own terms. I kept my own home, I set my own schedule. I was independent.

But I kept going back to that first affair. Sometimes it would be a quick interlude. Sometimes it would be a few months or more. We even didn't speak at one point for almost a year and a half.

A few months ago, the grand discussions started again. "Things have changed, I need you, it's all different, here is how it can be for us". I fretted, I wondered, I worried. Should I go back? Finally, after much deliberation, I said I'd try it again. We'd tie ourselves together again and see if it could be what we hoped it would be. I had a trip planned, but said I'd be ready to commit when I returned.

I got back last week. I came forward with an open heart. Yet I was dumped - or duped. "It's all changed", I heard, "You are still wanted. You are still needed. You are still the one. But I can't give you what you need". The old patterns are so deeply embedded, why did I think they would change?

That, my friends, is the story of my professional life over the past ten years. Now I am back to my age-old question. Should I stay or should I go?

1, 2, 3

While I never understood it, counting to three has always gotten the Peanuts to do whatever I wanted them to. The big whammy after three is that I pick them up and take them to the dreaded destination.

Trying to get them into their car seats . . . one. . .two. . .done

Trying to get them to lay down to change a diaper . . . one. . .tw-. . .done

Trying to get them to the bathroom to brush teeth. . . one. . .done

So I just went with it and it has become a way to get through the day sometimes. Even Peanut Two got in on the action, urging Peanut One to do whatever she had to do before I got to three.

All has changed at the Magic Mansion.

Last week, Peanut Two started getting brave. I'd be trying to get her in the car seat and she'd wait until the very last bit of 'three' was out of my mouth, poised and tense, and then dive into her seat before I could get her.

Then one day when I was not pressed for time and didn't start counting but instead waited patiently, she told me - "you need to count, Mommy!".

Today, in a mad rush to get everyone out the door, I smelled a dirty diaper. I quickly got the changing gear and called her to me. She didn't come, but stood there looking at me expectantly. Finally, I started the counting.

One . . .

Two . . .

Three . . .

. . . and she was off! Peanut Two started tearing around the house as I tried to grab her, enjoying every minute.

I guess it's time to find a new tactic.