Under Construction--& jazzed about it

in honor of the upcoming new year
a photo booth version of me as Janus,
the god with 2 faces who can see
ahead & behind...

Weather permitted! All 4 of us kids & all the spouses & all the grandkids but 6 (3 married couples) were there. With Kathryn, that made 16 for sitdown dinner. A fine number. Not quite as many as usual (I’m not joking!) but a fine number.

A while back I had a vivid dream. I was in an elevator, going down, all dressed up with nice shoes. I intended to get out at the main lobby level & go out, but I got out in the basement instead. The area was under construction & dark & I was threading through, calling to see if someone could guide me. A worker showed me to an outside door, to an area that was also under construction with busy machines & workers moving things around. He told me which way to go, but said I should hurry because things were shifting & that way wouldn’t necessarily be open longer. I got through there & ended up on a road, not yet paved, but graded as smooth as glass. The edges were freshly & precisely carved, with no vegetation yet.

At that point I woke up & immediately found a meaning: I’d gone into my own ever & always under construction zone, rather than just staying on the surface where things look complete & finished. It made a big impact on me, especially when someone around me did something—or didn’t do something—that would have otherwise irritated me. They’re just under construction, I’d think. Even if I did succumb to irritation, I’d give myself a break: I’m just under construction. What a lovely thought to be able to apply to any situation.

I also realized that even things that look static—a pristine hotel lobby or a filthy ramshackle whatever—require constant construction. Everything is always changing, in every moment, & it takes a lot of effort to keep them the same. Try to keep another person from changing. To do so, you’d have to remain exactly the same. It isn’t possible, or desirable. Give it up. Enjoy the under construction. When you recognize it’s always going on, you can start directing the workers & machinery to move the job—it’ll never be done—in your desired directions.

This is a really good thought at the ending of one year, the beginning of another. Many of us take stock around new year: what we’ve done, what we haven’t, what desires remain & which have changed, what we’d like to accomplish. Knowing that it’s all under construction, always, can take some of the pressure off. It also gives me a sense of support, having seen all those workers & machines busy on my behalf. I’m not in this alone. I don’t even have to know how to accomplish everything I want. I don’t even have to want it all: some of it will just show up, a byproduct of subconscious desires & the fairies of the universe, many of them wearing hardhats, with grease under their fingernails.

That said, I’m pleased with my own elbow grease this year. I’ve set several great projects in motion & have engineered my working space (aka “bedroom”) to allow them to proceed smoothly. This involved what I’m calling a “room tsunami.”

I have my bed set at a diagonal, with a secret little triangular room behind the headboard, one side open as a narrow doorway. There were a couple folding bookshelves in it, with “art supplies” on them, plus “things that don’t know where else they want to be.” That in itself wouldn’t have been too bad, but I was also prone to chucking things onto the (limited) floor space there, which meant that none of it was accessible. Not a very effective use of a secret room.

One of the things I’ve been wanting to do—& not doing—was using the “art supplies” I’ve been picking up from gutters & parking lots & sidewalks for assemblage. This was cluttering up my drafting table, when I did start a project, which then prevented painting. So, I took everything out of the secret room, put the bookshelves together facing each other (they have open backs, so I can still put things on the resulting doubled surfaces) & put a piece of wood on top, so I now have an assemblage surface that I can stand at. I’ve already completed my first project from the secret studio. No, the Secret Studio. It deserves capital letters. Yay!

I sorted through everything I’d taken out & did a bunch of recycling & re-org. Yes, some of the things I’ve picked up or saved are true treasures, but some just require drinking another bottle of a particular kind of juice. If I need that container for a little assemble figured to peek out of, I know where to get it.

A room tsunami takes a while, & looks far worse for the duration, but I recommend it.

Blog alternative: Take a moment to celebrate being (ever & always) under construction.

Pink leopard print slipper boots--with pompoms!

playing around with photo booth on my mac

Merry happy everything to one & all.

I've missed several holidays. Well, I didn't miss them, but I didn't tell you that

I had a very thankful Thanksgiving, complete with a traditional dinner of kipper snacks. I am loaded with appreciation for all the fabulosity in my life. One of the things I am grateful for is my feet. Such good standers. Such good walkers. High arch, high instep, 6ish or 7ish extra wide. (Lot like my daddy's feet.) Makes it hard to even be able to get my toes into most boots, since my feet are so volumetric, but I did find a pair of cute little ankle high black suede boots with a zipper on the inside & a decorative button (my housemate Satori said it looked like the love child of hematite & tiger's eye) on the outside. Plus KMart was having a BOGO (buy one get one for a dollar) so I got an airline secret weapon: little girls' extra large pink leopard print slipper boots with pink pompoms! (Keeps the dreaded icy draft that always comes under the seats off of my ankles & makes wandering around in airports extra comfy.)

Friday the 13th occurred the day before I left for Montana & of course I had fun with that.

the winter solstice, which I have decided must be vampires favorite northern hemisphere day of the year, has come & gone & now we are gaining little bits of light per day.

& now it's the day before Christmas Eve. We may get some weather, which could curtail some or all of my siblings' travels to Nye, but even if it was just me & my folks & assorted Christmas Eve neighbors & my second cousin's wife Kathryn (who introduced me to Heinlein, Tolkien & tea) who lives within walking distance of my folks (James (second cousin) won't get home till the day after Christmas) we'll have a lovely holiday. (Hope it's more, because it would be WAY too much food & the other lovely ones would be missed.)

I don't have internet at my folks' house, so I'm trying to just get a little bit done here at Carter's Camp.

The other thing I'd like to celebrate is a superb visit with my son Zach, who made a quick drive from Minnesota to Montana. (Left on a Thursday at noon & headed back late on a Monday night.) A magnificent creature, Zach. Tiffany couldn't come because she had a couple shifts left on her old job & then was starting a new job--which she got at record speed from the sometimes slow-moving Mother Mayo--on that Wednesday.

Anyway, I'm out of here for now! I've been doing some fun prep work on a story, which involves my new fave particle, neutrinos.

Love you all--even those of you I don't know from Adam, or Eve, or pick-your-flavor. There's enough love in my heart for everyone I do know & everyone I don't know, living or used-to-be-living or gonna-be-living-someday. That's a lot of everyones.

Blog alternative:
274. Say an appreciative "No, thanks" to a holiday dessert. (I tried that with ice cream when my folks & I & Pastor Paul & Bev had just finished playing a ridiculous 5-handed 7-card pinochle game, but then there was just a tiny bit left in the bottom of the bucket, so I got some anyway…)

Hunting the elusive feral fork

I want to be more than just a collection of good habits. I want more than just some superior flow charting (if this, then that). Once I said it this way: I prefer decisions to plans.

This can bite you in the butt a little, if you make decisions from a low place in your emotional range. But, carrying out a plan (There's an opening at my favorite gallery that I'd planned to attend) when you're not feeling it (I'm actually more interested in curl up time with a good book than hobnobbing with perfectly lovely people & free wine & good art) can bite you in the butt, too.

So, what to do? Sometimes giving yourself the true option is good: Well, I might not go, but I might, so I'll take a shower & dress up a little & maybe walk outside -- in the direction of the gallery -- for a bit before I decide what to do with the evening. You may find momentum carries you to an amazing time at the opening, or you may curl up in good clothes, refreshed by a walk, with that book. (The characters in your murder mystery may really appreciate the fact that you smell good.)

I'm Paul Graham-ing it a bit (did you read his essay about essays yet?) as I write this, coming to more thoughts as I explore the idea rather than having the complete blog post (gonna tell them that about this) in my head. There are things I want to accomplish in this lifetime, including curling up with good books & playing poker & writing good books & making good art.

(I also don't want to imply that desiring curl up time with a good book denotes low emotional energy. What sort of author would I be if I implied that? Grin. Or that desiring to spend time with yourself rather than other people is inferior. What sort of introvert-masquerading-as-an-extravert would I be if I implied that? Grin again.)

I felt my way into a lovely adventure on Sunday. I'd gone out to my storage unit to find a particular piece of art (a lovely painting Leisa Luis Grill made based on a poem I wrote; part of the poet/artist collaboration from the Crossings Gallery in Zumbrota, Minnesota, some years ago) &, having found it & some of my own paintings that I've decided want to audition at coffee shops, was on the way home. The route I chose took me past the River Arts District Studio Stroll & I decided -- despite the fact that I hadn't combed my hair or put on eyeliner & was really dressed to visit a storage unit rather than art galleries -- to just pop into a gallery or 2.

This was in part inspired by the spectacular fall day -- around my favorite temperature of 63 degrees, with sun & a breeze -- that made me want to walk. "I'll just walk along this street," I told myself. "If I feel like I want to go into a gallery, I will."

Oh! I went into the Broken Road Studio, because I first went into another studio & decided I didn't really want to look at porcelain & the door from there led into the next gallery. "That looks like Stephen St. Claire's work," I said to myself. I was getting more & more excited, because I actually own 2 Stephen St. Claire paintings, purchased at Gallery Minerva some years ago. I waited until 2 guys had wound down a conversation & asked them if Stephen St. Claire was there. They pointed me to a guy sitting by the door & I immediately started gushing all over the hem of his garment & saying how I loved his work & I was a collector & blah, blah, blah. (But that's blah, blah, blah with exclamation points. & italics.) I told Stephen St. Claire that I frequently ask the universe for some delicious miracle & he was my present for today.

Anyway, that just goes to show how you can get into an adventure, even if you're not appropriately dressed for it. No pocket handkerchief? No eyeliner? Oh, well...

Today, I will pop off to GoodWill to buy some more forks. (They've been (not-so) mysteriously disappearing in our house. Today we found 2 spoons -- since the forks are almost all gone -- in take-out containers in the trash. Sometimes that's what happens when you have housemates...) So, off to find the elusive feral forks. I've already been to 1 GoodWill & 1 other thrift store that had either no forks or forks I didn't like. K-Marts forks were also not appealing. I don't mind buying 1 fork that's just okay, compared to other forks, but I don't want a whole set of them…

So, off into the world of forks & poker & ideas & adventure.

Blog alternative:
273. Dress for an adventure, even if there isn't one specifically visible on your horizon. Set out & see what happens.

The next 54 minutes...

A less than spectacular photo of the cool little painting
that was at the coffee shop & is now in someone's home!

Sometimes a blog idea is so meaty & juicy & succulent that it grabs you by the imagination & says, "Write me. Now!"

That is in part because of the nature of the idea. It all started when Derrick decided to release something that he'd had for a while. (He does this. A lot. There always seems to be more to let go of, but he's better at it than I am. Neither one of us can compete for a second with Nick & his 99 things, but that's not our intention. At least not yet.) What he released is a coffee table book of photos celebrating Life magazine's 75th anniversary. 75 Years: The Very Best of Life.

I'm going to take it to the Reuter Center, the Osher Life-long Learning Institute at UNCA, & leave it for someone else to take or just peruse. But, as he handed it to me, I said, "You're not as interested in the last 75 years as you are in the next 75 minutes."

Oh!

It hit me even more personally when I tied it directly to the time I've been on the planet in this wonderful body: I'm more interested in the next 54 minutes than I am in the last 54 years. The next 54 minutes! What will happen in the next 54 minutes?

It made me want to get out of my robe & into my jeans & Tesla t-shirt, even though I'm going to do some things here until later in the day when I go out to the library & the post office & to have tea with my new friend Harold (the one who confirmed that Paul Graham was stalking me) & talk about film making. (I have these screenplay ideas, see…) I could do all of these immediate things in my robe & jammy pants, but the idea made me feel so productive that a robe & jammy pants just wouldn't do!

The next 54 minutes. A super useful amount of time. Long enough to accomplish wonders, but not so long the idea of it makes you tired. Not even an hour. Even if you're a little older than me--say, 63 or 72 or even as old as Life magazine was when it made that inspiring book--it won't feel too onerous. Less than 2 hours! Just over an hour! Not even an hour & a half! Worlds can be begun in that time frame, but they can't possibly be finished, so there's no use worrying that you won't get it done.

I'm jazzed, but in such a sustainable way. So, on to the next thing. I've got 54 minutes, after all.

Blog alternative:
273. Think about the next (insert your age here) minutes. What might you want to do? What might you not want to do that you would have done if you hadn't had this thought? Sometimes the best action is to not do the very thing you were about to...

Paul Graham is stalking me

Yes, THE Paul Graham. It started subtly, when my son Nick sent me a Facebook link to a video of these two guys interviewing Nick & one of his business partners. I had to sign up for Facebook (again) to see it. (So I did. More about that later…) At the end of the video, as Nick & George were walking off-stage, the guys conferred for about two seconds & said, "Hey, guys, wait--you didn't know it, but that was your Y Combinator interview. You're in the next batch."

Anyway, I watched the supercool video a bunch of times before I read the accompanying verbiage, which stated the interviewers were Paul Graham & Sam Altman. Nick had previously told me about P.G., as he is also known. Paul Graham. The amazing Paul Graham. The brilliant Paul Graham.

So, that was the first sighting. I thought nothing of it, other than "cool, Paul Graham is giving Nick some money" & it was fun to watch, even the dozenth time.

Then, Friday night, the plot thickened. I went to the opening of the new juried photography show at the  Castell Gallery. Great photos, an architecturally-amazing space, free signature cocktails. Before I went, I said to the universe, "Universe, hand me some lovely miracle."

So there was this guy there with a cool t-shirt that said, I make things up. I said I liked his shirt & that I make things up, too. Not two minutes into the conversation, he brings up the essays of this guy, Paul--

I interrupted him, "--Graham."

Paul Graham!

My angel wings fluttered. So interesting. I called Nick on the way home & left him a message about the "coincidence" & told Derrick the instant I got in the door.

I've since read some of Paul Graham's essays, especially the essay about essays (you can find them all on www.paulgraham.com) & enjoyed them thoroughly, but I am extremely curious as to why Paul Graham seems to be stalking me. I don't have a start-up company. I don't code. Why, Paul Graham, why?

It's okay, really it is. If I had to have a stalker, I'd choose Paul Graham. For one thing, he lives in Silicon Valley & is much too busy funding promising tech companies to show up on my doorstep. For another, given his essays & how he interacted with my son, the fabulous Nick, if he did show up on my doorstep, I'd ask him in & give him the beverage of his choice. Anything I have in the house, Paul Graham, it's yours. I'd even read him poetry.

Now this is possibly beginning to sound a little creepy, but I promise I am NOT stalking Paul Graham. Nope, nope, nope. I'm just saying that if he wants to continue to stalk me, it's fine with me.

Oh--I promised to get back to the Facebook issue. I'm not a big social media fan. (Grin. Understatement.) I was on Facebook for about 5 minutes when people who weren't in college were first allowed to sign up. The second or third time someone said "You've been hit by a snowball. Pass it on!" I deleted my account. Haven't been back since. The link Nick sent me (before it was on his blog nickwinter.net) required me to sign up for Facebook. For this, & this alone, I was willing to do so. I skipped all the steps about finding your friends & creating your profile & such, but even so, I have friend requests--including at least 2 dozen churches. Did they see the empty profile & decide to want to fill it with God?

In case any of them have discovered my blog, I want them to know that I have a rich inner life & I'm sure they have plenty of friends. I know I do.

Periodically I tell people about the blog alternative. One of the reasons I don't get into social media is that I think most people--me included--spend more than enough time online, reading & writing emails, reading & writing blogs. Life is to be lived with all the senses & experienced in a more personal way. So I write a little suggestion of what you could be doing rather than reading this or any blog. (Ironic, I know, delivered in a blog post.)

Blog alternative:
272. Think about someone or something that's been turning up in your life, stalking you if you want to think about it that way. It could be a book 4 people have recommended in the past month. Even if no one or nothing comes to mind, imagine being stalked by Leonardo da Vinci or Amelia Earhart. (I'll even lend you Paul Graham, if you'd like. I highly recommend him.)

The song of the trumpet's shadow

A thousand years ago or so I promised you a picture of my trumpet's shadow...

Voila.

Take one beautiful sun-filled fall day & add a walk downtown with trumpet & camera. Don't forget your shadow.

Sprinkle with double-takes & inspired conversations. Trumpets are uncommon beasts. This one was wild & hungry for experience, having spent the most recent part of its life perched silently atop the refrigerator -- also not the usual trumpet habitat.

I don't know how to play the trumpet, but I do know how to play with a trumpet.

Ooh! I forgot to tell you: I have art displayed in a coffee shop called Hyphen on Patton Avenue right downtown. They're relatively new & the first time I stopped in it was to look at their artwork. A conversation ensued & later I dropped by with 4 little paintings to "audition" for a future date. Except it turned out the date was now & they wondered if I had more. So I brought down 3 more small ones & one larger one. They'll be up until the end of the month. I also wrote 7 new poems for the little guys. The big one already had its poem: "Eve's Theory of Gravity"

Blog alternative:
271. Carry something interesting & unusual into a public place. A birdcage filled with flowers, perhaps. Arrange it artfully -- trust me, this will not be difficult -- & take a photo or two. Or just admire it.

Awesome Possums vs. the Chicago Manual of Style

she shopped 'til she dropped--& kept on shopping,
forever pushing that cart

Greetings, Octoberlings! T'is a fine month, one which--28 years ago--ushered in a couple great people. I speak of my sons, of course, who have been happy-making the planet ever since. Rock on, bright beings.

I do not know which month brought Viola Grace into being, but here she is with wings inspired by my novel. She & her friends have decided to fashion practice wings while waiting for theirs to grow in. She is also a whiz on skates & that may be what launches her into the stratosphere.

So many lovely people on the planet!

Inspires me to exclamation points.

I've managed to busy myself into the middle & a bit of this fine month. Working on a new project which has me all jazzed up & accomplishing it both steadily & in leaps & bounds, which is superfun. (Or, as I like to say, "Awesome possum".) I'm experimenting with punctuation, as one of the standards (Chicago Manual of Style, I believe--I'll have to ask Cathy) does it differently than I have lo these many years. Used to be one put periods & commas inside any quotation marks, even those that didn't engulf the phrase or sentence. But kids these days are doing some newfangled thangs. Let it not be said that I can't learn a thing or three. (Might grumble a bit while I'm doing it.) I am also pretty sure the Chicago Manual of Style would stomp all over this paragraph with its grammar storm trooper boots & issue me multiple violations. ("Put up yer dukes," I say. "You can even throw in yer duchesses. I ain't askeert. Whatcha gonna do; give me a paper cut?")

Speaking of wings, I saw 3 youngish women (twenty-somethings? maybe flirting with thirty?) looking at Halloween costumes at Target. One was trying on some adorable white wings that would have been perfect on a second-grader. It didn't help that she put them on upside down...

Blog alternative:
270. Go somewhere & try on Halloween costumes, especially if they don't fit you. Put a little girl's ballerina skirt on your head. Maybe a ninja turtle mask on your bicep.