fictional confessions

Life has been far more complicated than I prefer. The demands of those who do not know what they ask of me have worn thin over the past six months and I am losing interest in honoring commitments that don't seem nearly as important as I once thought they might me.

I am not referring to my marriage or my art... but all the other things that take my mind and imagination away from my current vice and recent closet obsession.... True Blood. Mr dd says he's never seen me like this.

The last time my heart beat so excitely in response to a TV SHOW (eek!) was when, as a small child, The Beverly Hillbillies was broadcast. As soon as the Earl Scruggs intro began my siblings and I were jumping up and down like it was Christmas Eve. Later, as puberty was having its way Dark Shadows lured me away from my homework every weekday afternoon.

Why, I ask myself? What is it? Why can't I get enough of this? I watch it on demand whenever I have mindless tasks to complete, over and over again. When I am away from cable I've been reading the Charlene Harris books Allan Ball based the series on. Better to read them now than after hearing Allan Ball's script... Charlene is a better story teller than writer but who wants to be compared to Allan Ball? He lured me to the table so I'll blame him.

In the meantime this is my worst excuse for neglecting my blog. Life has been erratic, stressful and demanding of late. True Blood gets me though the week. I don't read fiction on a regular basis because if I really love something I can't put it down. It's something I usually save for airports, rail travel, ect. Mr dd isn't accustomed to me having my nose stuck in a book so now the tables are turned! (He's usually the one hiding out with his face either in a book.) Writing or reading, its still tough competition!

If you haven't tried True Blood you' d better not. It might be more than you can say no to.
Anna Paquin and Stephen Moyer chomp the small screen...

Prologue

flashback

Scary, huh. It's hard to believe this is real but I've often to found the truth to be must stranger than fiction and rarely in need of embellishment. One of the first pronouncements I remember coming out of my father's mouth was in regard to the events depicted below. We were sitting at the dinner table. It must have been summer since there was light streaming in the window while we were forced to eat our vegetables.

I was on one end of the table and my Dad on the other. I don't remember the previous conversation that led to this but he proclaimed there would be no more Beatles cartoons in his house. "Why?" I asked. He answered: " They claimed they were better than Jesus Christ!" (I may have been in the first or second grade... ) "Ooooh," I answered.

This stuck with me for a long time. I was the eldest and one of those children who worked very hard to please my parents.... until the age of 12 or 13. The tides turned quickly, much to my father's dismay. When one realizes that the response for everything they ask for will be NO, well, one just quits asking. My solution? I determined that if I made good grades I could do whatever I wanted as long as I didn't ask. I played a lot of Beatles, did my homework to "The Tomorrow Show" with Tom Snyder... and pretty much anything else.

C'est la vie.

Twist of Fate

I witnessed this outside my door in Bavaria. I have a thing for the snails there and it inspired me to learn a few things about them. The can live 10 - 15 years... and when they mate, as they are doing here, each snail gets pregnant and has baby snails. My, how the world would be different if the same were true of humans.

Yesterday began with positive steps toward the future.
I paid my bills, returned a deposit, addressed a long standing debt, did hard labor on a property I share with two other artists and returned my contracts for my summer classes.

Ahhh.. and timing is everything. The director of the program wasn't in so I asked the security guard if I could slide it under her door. Fine, she said. After making my way to the staff offices I decided to take a peek at the current show and was looking at some printworks when I heard voices behind me. It was the staff returning from their lunch. Oh, so good to see you, I chimed. I turned in my contract and wanted to inquire about fall classes.

Ah, I am sorry but I am all booked up for the fall, director said... I said, really? Nothing? (I've been away but have tried to keep up with these essential matters via email.)

Well, it seems, she said So and So, my boss, doesn't want me to use you anymore. She's really mad because you missed those classes earlier this year. But I was at a funeral, I explained. "Oh, there was something else, another class. She doesn't want me to include you on the schedule.
I know it is terrible about your sister but there is nothing I can do. She runs the program. Please don't mention it to her or call her. You've always done good work for me and I'll try to introduce you again at a later date."

I was in tears at this point, hurridly wiping them away. I love teaching in this program, you see. I do. It pays better than anywhere else and has a certain amount of cache. I've been teaching there longer than ten years. Normally when someone loses a family member their employer sends a letter of condolence or flowers. Here you lose your job.

I neglected to cancel the class, you see. I was in a state of shock...
but it doesn't matter. I am not sure I will want to work for them anymore anyway... I guess I am tired of being kicked around but I don't really know what to do with these feelings... hence the time I am investing sharing them here.

Its always this way, tho. I return from something wonderful... have an experience that gives me hope... and possibilities... and then return home to be kicked in the stomach by my boss. It happens over and over so it must be me. Perhaps I just need to be a farmer or have my own business. I don't play politic very well. I can do it but it is not my forte, obviously.

When I returned from my sabbatical and then a near fatal car accident back in the mid 90's (I cracked several vertebrae, ribs and fractured my hip) the director of the program I was teaching in told me stories my students had shared with him (that I got high with other faculty from another university... not true... europeans roll their own cigarettes) and other things he knew would hurt my feelings. He was angry that I had been away, had a wonderful experience and then came home and had to take sick leave to recover from this accident. He was a small man. A very small man. And of course I was disappointed in the students. I shared something with them that meant a great deal to me... working in a place I loved... and they were just rotten spoiled, to the core.

C'est la vie.
Art and family are the only things that matter to me.

Emergency Measures

This self-portrait was created upon my arrival in Germany during mid May.
I wish I looked half a relaxed now as I did then.

I've spent my life expanding the world I live in. Maybe a childhood in the Mississippi Delta makes one expect wide horizons? I saved my allowance at the age of 12 or so to create my first adventure. I flew to Chicago at the age of 13 by myself. I am almost a travel addict and will jump at the chance to work overseas.

My first European adventure occured in 1985 when one could fly to London for $200. and the exchange rate was so good that an unemployed post graduate could live off $10 - $15. dollars a day in most any city in Europe - especially if one had a couch to crash on - my favorite being Schaumi's. I missed many trains, nearly shipped my return ticket home by accident and gave many Brits and Europeans good cause for laughter due to my inexperience and willingness to try new things.

Experience is the best teacher... but sleep deprivation erases the best laid plans! Normally I xerox my passport and all travel documents, credit cards, etc... for peace of mind. (Being responsible for students or kids makes one a much savier traveler.) I've never had to rely on these measures but came so close yesterday that I had visions of living off my lunch time rashions at the Munich airport much like Tom Hanks in The Terminal. Yesterday was a long day for me and although my ducks were swimming in a watery row I thought I might have to visit the American consulate before I could return to American soil.

We order a taxi to pick my up at 4:15 am. I was nervous that the taxi would be late. I have a problem with pre-departure anxiety and insomnia... plus I travel with luggage at maximum capacity since they've lowered the weight limits... but then the limit doesn't matter. I am always there.

With such an early departure and the anticipation of jet lag I just stayed up that night. There was plenty to do with checking the weight of my luggage over and over and a feeble attempt to pack the Kneitinger and Weltenburger bier I wanted to bring home for Mr dd. How could it survive being checked in my luggage? I visited both breweries during my time in Bavaria and had high hopes I could share at least the taste of these places with my beloved.

The taxi arrived on time and took me to the train station. The woman helped me with my luggage which was unexpected. We arrived at the train station with enough time for me to transport my heavy luggage to the appropriate kaisse and wait. I worked hard to stay awake on the train since I needed to depart at Freising to find bus 635 which would take me to the Munich airport....

One of the train attendants spoke English and showed me the bus when we arrived. Several VERY nice strangers helped me with my 50 lb bags - which I would never allow in Spain or France... too much history there.

So... I made it to Terminal One by 7:30, rented a cart and made my way to the Delta ticket counter. The line was epic! I decided to go to the customs office first since I had some detax forms I needed to have stamped and mailed. I was pleased there was no line and gave my passport, receipts and all of my papers to a very cute passport officer. He told me I needed to check in with Delta and receive my luggage tickets so he could check my luggage.... this is a new procedure... something I had never heard of before. I made my way back to the Delta counter and realized as I got closer to the first security check that I didn't have my passport in hand and that I didn't remember seeing it since my papers were returned to at customs! I dug through all my pockets. Nada! I looked in my bags. Nothing. I left my place in line and returned to customs... he held his hands up - nothing! Ok... now I was getting nervous. I had gone into a coughing fit earlier and had shifted my bags and clothing since I was overheating and perhaps I had dropped it? No one was at the information counter. A Delta representative directed me to LOST AND FOUND. Not easy to find but eventually I did. The man there was very nice, telephoned the airport police and told me if it was turned in he would telephone Delta and make an announcement on the intercom. I wasn't doing well at this point. It was getting late and I began to fear I would miss my flight. I was sweaty, tired and at wits end.

I went back to the "special" Delta counter and showed them my xerox of my passport and wondered if that might suffice - knowing it wouldn't. He spoke to another official who said no, I would need a letter of transportation from the American Consulate which would take a day... except it was Saturday and their offices would't be open until Monday (!) I asked if I needed to notify Delta and he said no. They were aware of my situation...

I sat on the chairs and held my head in my hands and feared the worst. I was PMSing, sleep deprived and feeling bad. I considered about my options, sighed a deep sigh and determined to methodically look ONE MORE time while I could still board my flight. I began to deconstruct my luggage, clothing and bags and eventually discovered my new passport (!) wedged between two bags under some other travel essentials. How it wound up there I do not know. I was relieved but very nervous that it might be too late since I only had an hour or so to check in, visit customs for the third of fourth time and get through security. Somehow I manged... my bags were exactly 50 lbs and before she sent them off I actually remembered to inquire about the detax. She said they needed to examine my bads to insure I had the articles so I had to remove them from the conveyor and take them to customs who of course didn't even bother to open them, but stamped my documents and sent my heavy bags on their way.

By the time I made it to security the line was pretty short as was the time. I was lucky. They took my yogurt away (probably for the best) and I again, had to deconstruct myself and my luggage for the xray machine. I was so happy to make it to my flight with my very heavy hand luggage (all my books were in it) that I didn't care that I didn't have time to find cuban cigars in the duty free shop. The flight was 9.5 hours. I asked the attendant to awaken me when they served the meal. As soon as I had my wine with dinner I took half an Ambien and it was like someone clicked off the switch. When I woke up we were an hour and half from Atlanta and I still had time to watch my first episode of Nip and Tuck.

Atlanta was another kind of hell due to Delta's inability to maintain a flight schedule... but that's another story. I finally got home with my damp, beer soaked luggage two and half hours later than scheduled. It could have been a great deal worse. Losses: three bavarian beers (the security guy who helped me pick the glass out of my luggage and sniffed in appreciation. We both acknowledged that even beer made by the monks would have a hard time surviving an international flight.) Another casulty was a new linen shirt I found at H&M for Mr. dd. Paint stained it and it doesn't look like it will come out. It would be easier to shop for the the mister if the H&M here carried men's wear!

C'est la vie. It could'a been SO much worse!

tis the season

A friend and mentor passed away earlier this week. She lived an admirable life, took care of her friends, family and all the creatures who shared her world. She made a difference in many people's lives and took care to set a good example in her community. I'll miss her and her art.

She was in her 80's, lived by herself in her own private idaho, could drive and was as sharp as a tack. She collapsed on her deck in her woods and died of a massive heart attack. As much as I hate to see her go I know it was a blessing since a slow decline would have been completely unacceptable in her eyes!

the last week of what we think of as summer

1oo degrees. I am cranky but too busy to let it slow me down... much.

Tonite we will swim in our secret pool under the stars. I hope I'll be tired from working hard and accomplishing many things. I don't maintain one of those whiney, funny academic blogs like the ones linked to the excellent AofEK but that doesn't mean that I don't sweat the week prior to classes springing into hyperactivity.

There are times when I anticipate it with glee and others when I mourn the loss of my time and quietude. I've been spoiled this summer in a different way. Normally when I am on my home turf I am too busy to enjoy it. This summer most of my employment plans fell through so I have had the luxury of gardening, creative projects and a few freelance gigs to keep me busy. I haven't had an extra dime to throw around and had to turn to my dwindling savings a few times but I must confess I loved the pace, the sound of cicadas and watching the colonies of bees and exotic grasshoppers feast on my sunflowers. All are happy in the animal, mineral foodchain here in our little kingdom... it sustains itself pretty well without the hyperkinetic activities of higher education. Have I become disenchanted with university life. Not exactly. Is it my age? Is it this era? This time in the 21st C? Likely a combination of all.

There was a time in 1994 when me and my truck rolled into a cotton field on hwy 61. I was fortunate to survive but not lucky enough to walk away. I suffered an ascatabular fracture of the hip, three rib fractures, a few cracked vertebrae and a bed sore that resulted from six weeks of traction. I had a great deal of time to think after I was taken off the morphine drip. One thing I realized then is that whenever I die I don't want my tombstone to read "She was a Busy Woman." Productive, ok. Creative, Great! Engaged? Fine. Full of busy work and obligations to people who only contact me when they need something? No. I am past that.

Life is different than it was in 1994. There are aspects that I miss and I may experience an occassional regret... but in general this life is saner and more compassionate. The jury is still out on the creative intensity. Part of me is very attracted to chaos.... damn it.

Another thing that has changed since 1994... RIP, Harry from the Camelia Grill, New Orleans, LA.

c'est la vie

Presently Untitled
mixed media on panel, 24" x 24"
2007

I didn't sleep well last night so I don't anticipate this will be a very entertaining post. Someone was scheduled to stop by the studio today to look at my new work and I think it spooked me. It's very new stuff and everything happening with it has been between me, Mr. dd and the two cats. There is one other friend who has seen it but he was just visiting from out of town so it was more like a drive by viewing...

I just couldn't doze off and didn't want to take anything for my insomnia since an Ambien hangover so something to avoid! It is possible to experience one of those when one doesn't have the hours between one's bedtime and one's morning routine to full benefit and wake up from one's meds. Ahem. I think there are many irresponsible Ambien users out there who ignore this reality and give this very useful and now generic drug a bad name. It has saved me from exhaustion many times since I am a light sleeper - particularly when I am on the road.

Mr dd and I also watched Guinevere, a film about a young woman who moved in with an artist two or three times her age in order to be mentored in how to live her life without the approval of conventional society. There are times when one needs to sleep more than watch an art film but when one can't seem to sleep anyway - what is the harm? Harmful or not it was an interesting film.

A middle-aged mother asked the middle-aged photographer whose loft she found her daughter in - what he had against women his own age... and then she proceeded to answer her question with what she believed to be a sliver of truth - it is the lack of awe a peer would have for said photographer that a young woman feels toward men with more experience? Mr dd said yeah, that pretty much sums it up. I'm glad he doesn't need his woman to be awed by him. Perhaps our Siamese cat is enough? She worships him. It is nice when scene reveals a kernel of truth when it could have settled for melodramatic hype. I adore Mr dd but we are both human and in full acceptance of those nitty gritties that permeate our life. C'est la vie...

Really...

Down for the Count

left: a study of a Thomas Eakins
drawing by one of my students.

Most mornings I wake up with a slight headache that goes away after I sit up and do some breathwork. Not yesterday. It was a doozy likely the result of the high pressure system that brought us a high yesterday of over 100 degrees F.... and several glasses of cabernet and merlot consumed the previous evening. I normally don't drink red wine in the summer for this reason but it was a special night, an open bar with a very fine complimentary buffet at a four star steak house. I could have chosen the local mircrobrew, which is very, very good, but I really shouldn't consume wheat. Beer is generally off limits for me although I'll make an exception for Guinness!

My head wouldn't stop throbbing yesterday. I tried a barrage of remedies to eliminate the stuffiness (one sinus passage was swollen) that resulted in the headache. The sum total of my day yesterday: Olba inhalers, saline solution, steam heat on my face (the most effective thing), peppermint oil, breathwork, pain pill, cold shower, head massage, spicey food - etc. The most I could accomplish was researching on line for any new miracles in pain relief from places like the curezone. I am always looking for a new home remedy since the other stuff really doesn't work (aleve, ibuprofen, etc) and it's hard on one's liver.

This morning I am ok and ready to make up for yesterday. It rained last night so at least the high pressure front moved on. There really is no good way to escape the weather. Acceptance is key to surviving it. We hadn't turned on our air conditioners until this past weekend since we knew this brutal heat wave was headed our way. One thing I've learned is that when I work overseas there are no airconditioners and it can get very hot. One learns to work around the heat and accept it as the organizing factor of one's day. In Europe they close the shutters during the hottest part of the day and take a long lunch. Here I've learned to get up early and use the cross ventilation and blinds to keep the heat out... as a result we've adjusted to the heat this year and I hadn't had a single bad headache all summer.

Now that the AC is on it's a different story. I'll continue to refer to my homeopathic prevention kit to keep my headaches at bay. The heat index is supposed to be 111 degrees today. Why do people get sinus infections during the summer? AC. If my life were different I'd spend the entire afternoon at the pool as I did when I was a teenager. I did my chores in the morning and spent the afternoon reading at the pool. Now that I look back there were moments when it appeared to be a pretty cushy life. C'est la vie.

birds and bees

We have many bees, ants, even a monarch or two in the garden these days. It gives me comfort. The world is a mess. Mr and Ms DD's infrastructure at home could use some retooling but as long as the birds and the bees find a welcoming environment we don't worry so much. Ok, Mr. DD does. I don't. When the wildlife disappears, well... it's time to question our protocals at home. When the animals leave I'll be right behind them. MANY years ago my dad proclaimed, upon my compaints about the backwardness of my homeland: "Daughter, Mississippi is last in everything. Its last in education and per-capita income, reading levels, etc, etc... and when the rest of the world goes to hell we'll be the last to go." It's weird. I am feeling that the rest of the nation has been following Mississippi's lead in regards to backwardsness - the difference is our D.C. leaders have their heads up their ass instead of looking over their shoulders.

I hope Papa DD is right since that's where we'll be headed when the going gets too tough for the birds and the bees and the Canadian Geese that have relocated to our neighborhood park. We keep our cats inside most of the time and if nothing else we'll need to look after their best interest!

My neighbor caught a rat in a trap this morning (maybe because we have cat's that can't roam the 'hood). That is one corner of the animal kingdom I don't wish to welcome into my domain. It was in his cage and it wasn't happy, screaming its displeasure. I was reminded of an article I read recently on the empathic, ticklish and competitive nature of rats. (If only the human versions running D.C. were so humane!)

holding patterns

Silence and strange weather patterns can create unexpected connections. Earlier this week I was on the prowl with Mr. dd. He's writing a piece about a cemetery that contains a mass grave (trench) of confederate soldiers who were of both African and European descent. The cemetery is nearly forgotten with plaques for memorial plantings that are long dead and flag poles for flags that aren't flying.

For every stob one sees in the landscape there are three soldiers buried underneath. A few have markers and each one is numbered. If one wants to find their ancestors here it is theoretically possible.

For some odd reason as I wandered around in the unusually soft light of a July afternoon I was reminded of an afternoon I spent at St. Cloud last year. Located on the outskirts of Paris, this grande jardin is also nearly forgotten and difficult to find. The locals use its formerly opulent paths to walk their dogs, jog and the occassional picnic. The estate the gardens were built around is long gone. The boxwoods are as old as the French Republic and the statuary has witnessed it all. I wandered around the grounds in the overcast light and recorded its faded glory with my digital sketchbook.

Fields of plenty

It was almost a year ago that I fell in love with Sunflowers. After a lifetime of living with paintings of Sunflowers, not quite as ubiquitous as magnolias, I finally GOT IT. My parent's bedroom featured a series of Van Gogh reproductions from his sunflower series. They were curious images but I never gave them much consideration as a child. I was more interested in the blue boy and pinkie hanging in the living room.

Fields and fields of sunflowers in all stages of bloom. It was August and in southwest France sunflowers are harvested for their seed. They are left in the field to dry much like cotton. Their figurative stance, posture and expressiveness hit me like a wall. Finally I really understood why Kiefer uses sunflowers in his latest work (beyond their references to art history and allegory)! He lives in France now on a vast compound surrounded by countryside. I fell in love with the sunflower, absconded with one or two from the local fields, scanned the sunflower, drew them, painted them, wrote about them. This summer I tried cultivating them.

I come from a long line of agrairians but did not inherit my ancestor's green thumb. I did inherit their persistence and I do spend a great deal of time in the garden. Unfortunatly I am a trial and error gardener and what thrives in my neighbors' gardens doesn't always thrive in mine. I haven't resorted to purchasing plastic sunflowers yet but with a pending drout it could happen. Sigh.

Smoke Signals

Last night Mr. K and I attended a potluck dinner party/film screening with a local collection of artists and writers. When true intelligencia, good food, wine and film combine the result is firey discussions all around the table. One thing that stuck with me, that has echoes through my brain, was not news to me. Afterwards, as is always the case, there was a ringing, a resonance, a humm that wouldn't go away. The timing, the messenger, the context all came together to articulate my greatest frustration with contemporary art, the media, the world I love in: Yikes!

Of course everyone knows "Its not what you say, its how you say it," said the voice of experience sitting on the leather couch. (This is very old news.) The emphasis, though, has always been on the second half of the trusim. Everyone spends all their time and money figuring out HOW to SAY it, SELL it, etc - instead of determining WHAT is is they are saying. ITS NOT WHAT YOU SAY... well, it SHOULD BE.

What one says is the part I am interested in and the problem for me is that no matter HOW one says it if they have nothing to say I am not interested. Maybe it is the Seinfeldization of politics, the artworld, etc? I know. I expect too much - content, form and beauty. Maybe its a curse?

7:00am

left: from a sketchbook series created a number of years ago: "Message in a Bottle." collage, charcoal acrylic and graphite on paper

Many mornings a friend and I meet in a local park and walk very fast... she mostly talks and I listen and offer support as best I can. My verbal skills are far below mine or anyone's average early in the morning. If I could walk with an IV/Caffeine drip like some people walk with an ipod hanging from their neck we might all be better off.

This morning our conversation took a dangerous turn and a yellow warning light should have started flashing in my head... but no, I was too slow on the draw.

Soon, for a cause I have yet to determine, my friend turned and walked away and said she couldn't do this anymore! (talk to me, walk with me??!!) I was shocked though we do get into trouble when she asks questions, I answer and sometimes the answers upset her... BUT... mainly I listen to her. a little earlier this morning I told a story to try to illustrate a point and she said "you've always got a story, don't you?"
(It was a sad story, too...)

She came back at me and said I am "always just unrelenting - and so and so agrees - it makes us crazy... etc, etc." What?

We continued what has become a tearful walk for me and I listened and expressed my absolute distress because I realized (but did not express) that not only do I FEEL misunderstood most days... that I AM misunderstood. (this isn't the romantic tortured state an adolescent may feel when they first read that great line... Emerson, I think? This makes me think perhaps I am feeling a tinge of early alzheimers or someother disease that affects communication skills... a disorder of some kind?) Perhaps all this time spent working in the studio and in ateliers elsewhere has done more to weaken my communication skills rather than sharpen them.
Whatever... it hurts.

So - I came home and looked up the word unrelenting to try determine more specifically what my friend was referring to. These definitions popped up on Ask.com:

noun·re·lent·ing (ŭn'rĭ-lĕn'tĭng) pronunciation
adj.

1. Having or exhibiting uncompromising determination; unyielding: an unrelenting human rights worker.
2. Not diminishing in intensity, pace, or effort: an unrelenting ice storm.

Firmly, often unreasonably immovable in purpose or will: adamant, adamantine, brassbound, die-hard, grim, implacable, incompliant, inexorable, inflexible, intransigent, iron, obdurate, relentless, remorseless, rigid, stubborn, unbendable, unbending, uncompliant, uncompromising, unyielding. Idioms: stubborn as amuleox. See resist/yield.

unrelenting
adj

Definition: merciless
Antonyms: compassionate, flexible, merciful, relenting, sympathetic

Français (French)
adj. - implacable, acharné (une poursuite)

I now understand that I can be unrelenting when I believe in a cause but when talking to a friend about something I think is unimportant. Unfortunately it wasn't my intention to sound like any of the adjectives described above during our morning walk over something that really didn't affect either one of us in a direct way. I am baffled and then I am not.... more than anything I am frustrated.

If I had a nice cool cave behind my house I would hang out there all summer and make work. I'd tell everyone I am working on a residency in California and that is where I'd stay. No social contact... no telephone... maybe internet access and a good library and a garden roof - for napping. My ideal summer. We'll see.

Is time on their side?

I like to think it is. Back in the day... before the internet we could be insulated enough to believe anything was possible. Now one has to go to a place without electricity to truly witness the world without a filter or advertisements.

My dad finally has internet access in his home. WOW! We knew he would love google. He loves the fact that he can google without the distraction of advertisements. (Lets hope he isn't infected by pop-up ads. He runs a pc.) Either way the internet will be good thing for him. Ultimately it is good thing... its the news that seems to be bad.
There are blessings everyday everywhere in the world but the newspaper, TV or the internet is the likely the last place we'll learn about them.

The dancing children above and the children of all my neighbors, relatives and blog friends represent all the promise I can imagine. When life's demands hit them in the face when they are twelve or thirteen I can only hope they'll be strong and face their challenges with honor and dignity. Its tough row to hoe at that age but it can be the most critical time in one's life. Perhaps we can invent some hologram role models for them? Who would they be like? Maybe a combination of Ghandi, Clinton and Paul Newman for the boys... I don't know who the girls role models should be... perhaps a combination of Barbara Jordan, Oprah and Kathryn Hepburn? Madonna? Your input would be appreciated!

bliss

M and L tied the knot a week ago. M is a remarkable woman and an equally remarkable friend. Mr. dd and I are so happy for them. We had a phenomenal time in at their wedding. It was part Godfather, Sopranos and Sex and the City. I guess M was most like Charlotte. A real romantic in search of an honorable man. She certainly dated more than her share of charming scoundrels. I've been there. Its fun while its fun and then its not. My sister is still in charming scoundrel mode though I fail to see the charms of her current scoundrel.

M and her maid of honor arranged all of the roses above and moved from the rehearsal dinner to the reception. She's my kind of princess. Ready to get her hands dirty doing whatever it takes to do the right thing for the right people so she can prioritize her resources. We admire her and love her and wish them both the greatest happiness.

Le Marigny

Mr dd and I wound up at an unintentional sideshow last night. Cafe Brazil featured a cabaret fundraiser to help an artist who lost everything during a fire. They had all the right stuff... colorful rags, youthful flesh and bone - all lit up with silly lights and bad sound. The performances weren't nearly as interesting as the crowd. Best of all I spotted Amzie... like I never left NOLA... it could have been '96, '86 or 1976. That's what I love about New Orleans... all its been through and some things will forever remain the same. Perhaps that's what Anne Rice loves, too. Maybe all the people I see over and over again have always been there and even Katrina couldn't blow them away. Anne, are you out there? That would be a story to tell but since you moved from NOLA before Katrina perhaps you aren't the best one to tell it.

I admit it. Anne Rice got to me. It was 2004 so it took ten years and a stay in Paris to get me to read "Interview with a Vampire." I didn't know it took place in New Orleans and Paris. It made me terribly homesick for NOLA and suspect of many people I saw in Pere La Chaise. They all looked like Vampires! Perhaps that's who we were watching at Cafe Brazil... the bohemian vampires?

Commemoration Delegation

Mr. dd set aside 24 hours of his life to interview people on Monument Ave regarding their feelings about the Robert E. Lee Monument. It also happened to be Confederate Commemoration Day which wound up being a gathering of all the Sons and Daughters of the Confederacy from the Mid-Atlantic Region. It was a warm day and I was concerned some of the octogenarian re-enactors would suffer from heat stroke in their gray wool uniforms.

When I was a child the Civil War always seemed to be part of another era for me - a time that didn't affect my life... well that was before I moved to Virginia. As a born and bred Southerner who has made my way in and out of many foreign lands throughout my life - usually alone - I consider myself as much a wanna-be expatriot as an American these days... a somewhat worldly person... until someone begins to make fun of these strange confederate re-enactors! Its a strange reaction... I don't understand it myself. Perhaps its just genetic. Many men in my family fought in that war and none of them had slaves... I have little or nothing in common with most of these people parading down the Avenue. I don't dig NASCAR or motorcycles or civil war romance novels.... and I am sure we probably vote very differently on most everything.... still... I believe they have the right to gather and commemorate their ancestors and I don't think its funny. I don't really get them, but I don't think its funny.
My husband believes that the great poet Robbie Burns inspired the southerners of Scotch-Irish Descendents to fight for states rights during the "great war." As long as it's been and as much water has passed under the bridge since that time our nation has really never come to terms with this part of our history... for me it's just one more clue as to why the conflicts in Iraq and elsewhere never really heal. Class, race and religion are the fuel of most political fires... and not topics most political parties support their platforms with.
One woman we know suggested that instead of interviewing people at Mr. Lee's Monument he interview people at the new tri-city International Slavery Reconciliation Monument in Shockoe Bottom. An excellent suggestion except he would have to approach people with windshield wiper tools at the intersections to get them to stop and talk. That Monument is placed in the middle of a very heavily trafficked piece of roadway.

My favorite response was from an older African American gentleman. He said "Its just a man on a horse."

Finally, as a big SUV circled the Monument - as it is in the middle of a European-style round- a-bout - the young black man inside yelled out "I'm Free, Free at Last!" I thought to myself well that's another blessing we can count. We're all free - for the time being, anyway.

accepting the unthinkable

There were many discussions about our nation's gun laws in our home last night. I once considered myself a pacifist but does a pacifist protect oneself and others? Can someone who exercises self defense be a pacifist? We don't like watching violence in television or film though I love the Sopranos. My husband doesn't.

A friend who was here last night working on my computer while CNN and MSNBC blared on the tube is a libertarian of sorts and he said that a similiar situation had been averted at JMU years ago because someone in their library had a gun and shot the gunman before he could kill any more people. Only one person died as a result and JMU is the one campus in Virginia that allows guns on campus. I don't think that is the answer but its an argument that I didn't anticipate.

Mr. dd and I both have a very hard time watching and anticipating violence. We covered our eyes during much of the film Pan's Labrynth because we didn't expect it. (I don't read reviews before I see a film. They usually reveal too much.) Anticipating violence changes everything. Do we need to live our life in a way where we anticipate the unthinkable?

We have a locked gate at the entrance to our property. I know some of our neighbors probably think we aren't very neighborly but we welcome THEM... its the solicitors and the unexpected appearance of crazies or miscreants we discourage! I am one of those southern girls who has deprogrammed myself from opening my door to anyone who shows up at it. That's a lesson I learned the hard way, believe me.

Its pointless to analyze what happened at Virginia Tech until all the evidence is in... but one thing is certain in my mind - classes should have been canceled after the first two murders with the person still at large. One big problem with todays news media is that one rarely hears of disaster averted by those who take extreme precaution. Those are the stories I'd like to hear. The kids that barricaded the doors of their classrooms are the real heroes on that campus.

How do we address the unthinkable? The horror? How does one prepare for such things? I know I can't expect anyone to protect me. I learned that when I was mugged in Barcelona. There were many people around me that could have stopped the mugger I was chasing. No heroes there. No one tried to trip him or block his path. Life ain't like it is in the movies until its too late... and then its a made for TV movie.

premonition of another time

Mr. dd and I attended The Devolution of Chuck Statler, Part 2 on Sat night. Chuck is known as the Godfather of music video and he was the keynote speaker at the local film festival.

He grew up with the Devo guys and produced their initial moving promos in super 8 and eventually went on to produce videos for Madness, Elvis Costello, Tiny Tim and others. I enjoyed seeing these blasts from the past but also wondered if it was the best use of my time. I'd rather be looking forward than back these days and this part of history doesn't even really seem like history yet. Hell, we're gonna see Elvis Costello in a few weeks at a music festival we attend each year. I'll be curious to see if he really fixed the gap in his teeth. I don't remember him having one and he certainly did when he first started out. (Again, is this the best expense of my time? Elvis would certainly prefer that I bop along to his catchy pop tunes but this is the stuff that occupies one's mind when they aren't really present.)

There seem to be a lot of former rock and rollers surfacing these days. The former roadie for the Beatles just resigned as the CEO of Apple (the Beatle's Apple), there was a story in esquire on catching product plagiarists and one the investigator was a former attorney for a number of R&R acts. There is certainly a place for R&R in my heart but I think I had rather listen to it and dance to it than look back at the good ole days when sex, drugs and rock-n-roll were a lot more fun and the risks of having too much fun seemed as foreign as the film "Go Ask Alice."