Guerilla Art #atozchallenge

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“I’m sorry. Did you say ‘gorilla art’?” I questioned my colleague. Having read The One and Only Ivan for a class I had taught, I was imagining a gorilla creating pictures and paintings, just like the gorilla in the book.

“Not gorilla, like a monkey,” she laughed. “Guerilla art.” This was a concept I had not heard of before. So I looked it up.

According to Keri Smith, guerilla art “…is a fun and insidious way of sharing your vision with the world. It is a method of art making which entails leaving anonymous art pieces in public places. It can be done for a variety of reasons, to make a statement, to share your ideas, to send out good karma, or just for fun.”

And that conversation, just two months ago, was the beginning. My office was guerilla-art-ified the very next day with colorful pieces of multi-media art and articles taken from nature. In truth, it was very funny and quite entertaining.

Fast forward to this week. I took Thursday off to catch up on sleep and recover from too many too-short nights strung together like beads on a seemingly endless chain. Once again, my office was guerilla-art-ified, this time with art focused around the subject my hunter kitty. And his prey.

The “dead” mouse on my keyboard. Priceless.

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Fearsome Felines and the Food Chain #atozchallenge

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It seems the local food chain experienced a bit of a shake down this afternoon.

One of my three felines—the only one who goes outside—is a formidable force in keeping the local rodent population to a reasonable level. In fact, the chipmunk population has considerably decreased since he started going outside, and I imagine the mouse population has too, based on the body count. Nearly every day, he leaves the gift of his most recent victim on the walkway where I will be sure to see it when I arrive home.

Today, my neighbor stopped me as I drove onto the street. She informed me that a coyote was seen crossing our street midday on Tuesday. It seems my fearless feline has fallen from his position as king of the food chain. Now, if he happens to escape the safe confines of our house, he will have to navigate the neighborhood in fear.

Expectations #atozchallenge

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When I was in high school, I spent a summer as an exchange student in a far away country on the outer edges of Europe. Before we left the States, we had a two-day orientation to prepare us for our journey, meeting our host families, and immersion a new culture.

There is not much I remember about those two days. I remember eating peanut butter out of a jar because dinner was of the tasteless, institutional variety. Oddly, I remember the omelet I had for breakfast the next day because it consisted of a thin bit of egg and a slice of American cheese. Most importantly, I remember a valuable lesson that I have carried with me since that time.

We were sitting in a circle on the grass. It was a breezy, early summer day, and the sun might have been shining. The leader of our group, who was once an exchange student through the very program we were part of, looked around the circle and offered us his best piece of advice—advice he wished someone had given him.

“Go into this experience without any expectations,” he told us. “If you have expectations, the reality is going to be different. It might be better, but it might be worse. If you enter your host country, meet your host family, try new foods, make new friends, all without expectations, then you are likely to be pleasantly surprised.”

This advice: it has been my go-to in new situations—in all situations, really. If we build things up in our minds to be more than they possibly can be, we are likely to be disappointed. But if we approach situations with no expectations, we might just be pleasantly surprised.

E

Danger & Discovery #atozchallenge

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I am navigating the line that separates danger and discovery. Walking this line used to be a piece of cake—it was solid, and there was a clear delineation from one side to the other. But over the years, the line has flexed and grown treacherous, making my footing uncertain.

When my children were younger, it was easy to create opportunities for them to discover the world in ways that involved little risk. They would play in the sink with soapsuds, “experiment” with science kits that were designed specifically for kids their ages, or don their puddle boots and wade along the shoreline of our pond with a net and a bucket catching frogs and fish and turtles.

Now that the children have become teens, the line I walk is thin and often barely visible. Their discoveries involve delving into some project that has an uncertain outcome. Take, for example, the electronic interests of my younger son.

He has, in our basement, an area in which he satisfies his technology-driven need to create. He has electronic components culled from the drawers at the back of his favorite Radio Shack stores, before his they all closed. He has an array of lights and breadboards and switches and transistors and miles of wire.

For his most recent project, he created a speaker, wired and assembled and tested by his fourteen-year-old self. But then he needed a transformer and an amplifier, so he built those, as well.

And then he took his creation, and he plugged it into a wall outlet carrying 120 heart-stopping jolts of electric current. That part I made him do in my presence at the kitchen table. And I readily admit, I took a step away from the table, just in case. There was a deep sigh of relief from this mom when the entire contraption did exactly what it was supposed to do.

Yesterday, he began to assemble a box for his speaker. He used power tools to cut the ¾” MDF while I made dinner, pretending not to hear the whine of the saw emanating from the basement. Pretending there was no danger involved in my son’s latest exploits.

Today, when I arrived home from work, he proudly demonstrated his new speaker—assembled and working and sounding pretty darn good, I must say. There is no doubt in my mind that the “discovery” aspect was an integral part of the process: he built, he learned, and now, he will move on to the next project.

Bigger and better discoveries lie ahead for him. And the line I walk—between danger and discovery—becomes ever more treacherous.

D

Challenges #atozchallenge

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Years ago, when I was facing a difficult time far from my family and support system, a minister said to me, “Bloom where you are planted.”

In fact, we all face our own unique challenges, and oftentimes, we forget that. We snap at the cashier at the grocery store who is moving too slowly because she has just returned to work after surgery. We honk at the teenager stalled at the intersection in front of us because we don’t realize he hasn’t quite adjusted driving a car with a manual transmission.  We sometimes get so caught up in our own lives that we forget others are dealing with their own struggles.

On my way to work this morning, I had to make a stop at the grocery store. Of course, I was running late. And it was snowing. I picked up the three items I needed, and I found myself debating which too-long check-out line to pick. Did I mention it was snowing? Because of the weather, the early morning shopping crowd was larger than usual.

I chose a place in the express lane. At one of the check-out counters, an older, somewhat disheveled man was loudly conversing with the cashier. He wasn’t angry, exactly, but he might have seemed so to a passing observer. He was questioning the charges. Each and every one. And as he did so, he was holding up the line.

I turned to survey the shoppers in my line, and I flashed an amused smile at the man directly behind me. He smiled back. “What do you think he was when he was younger?” he asked me.

“Hmm. That’s a tough one,” I responded, turning back to the man. I observed his gesticulation as he opened his wallet and displayed the contents (or lack thereof) to the cashier. She nodded and talked in a manner that was soothing but authoritative.

“School teacher?” he asked.

“No,” I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

“College professor?” he asked.

“That’s possible,” I responded. “Absent-minded type.”

“Sculptor!” he said, this time definitively.

“Yes! I think that’s it!” Truly, this man could have been just about anything.

“Guess the occupation,” the man then said to me. “It’s a new and amusing way to pass the time in line.”

“Well… that’s all well and good,” I told him. “Until someone looks at me and says, ‘I wonder what she did when she was younger.’” We both laughed.

Sometimes, the best way to handle challenge is through humor. Sometimes, the challenges we face make us stronger, and we are able to bloom more beautifully.

 

C

Balance #atozchallenge

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As a single mom, one of the things I struggle with most is balance. No matter how I structure my day, my self seems to get lost in the demands of raising three kids and attending to the responsibilities I have before me. There are days when I run from one commitment to another with barely a pause to breathe.

My daughter also struggles with balance. She has filled her schedule with challenging classes and demanding activities, and there is little time left to sit with her thoughts or spend time with friends.

Perhaps this is why we both always have a creative project going. She will often sit in her room and draw if she has a free block of time. I am non-discriminating in my creativity. I turn to writing or painting or playing with wire and beads. For me, at least, I know that if I can maintain creative energy, I will feel as though I am attending to my own needs, regardless of how unbalanced my life may be.

Artistic #atozchallenge

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I live in a house with three creative teenagers, each of whom views the world in his or her unique way. In my house, there is forever a creative flow of pieces being reimagined and molded into thoughtful wholes. It is a lifelong endeavor, the concept of being a creator. If you are a creator, you are constantly looking for raw elements that can be made into something interesting.

This vision and creative treasure seeking started years ago, when the children were just toddlers. We would walk through the craft store, and they would pick up items from the floor: a stray button, a piece of yarn, a detached bud from a stem of silk flowers. At that age, they simply saved the items, perhaps as inspiration for future projects.

The other day, I took a quick run through the living room, tidying up. I came across a crumpled piece of paper on the end table, and I reflexively reached for it. Mid-reach, a vision rushed into my brain of J, sitting on the couch, this crumpled piece of paper in her lap. Her pencil scratched the paper as she recreated the folds and angles in her sketchbook for drawing class. I took a deep breath and removed my hand, leaving the paper where it was.

“Do you still need this crumpled paper?” I remembered to ask her the following day.

“No. You can throw it away,” she responded indifferently.

“Did you finish your drawing?”

“What? The one with the little men?” she looked up from her homework.

“Little men?” I questioned.

“Yeah. There are little men climbing on it. It’s just a sketch for a bigger project.” She shrugged and showed me the sketch. And sure enough, there are little men hoisting themselves up on the various levels of the ball of paper.

What started out as trash had become the expression of one of my artists. And now I know: because I live with artists and inventor types, it is always good to check before I throw anything out!

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Driving

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There is something about being out on the road with a brand new driver that imparts a thrill greater than any amusement park ride anyone could ever dream up.

As you barrel through town at speeds ranging anywhere from 2 to 72 miles an hour, you have absolutely no idea whether the car you are riding in will clip the mailbox on the side of the road, toppling it over, or veer into the center lane straight into the path of oncoming traffic. You have no idea if the car is going to come to a halt before it reaches the vehicle stopped at the red light just ahead of you, or… not.

In my state, there is no need to pass a test before taking the wheel. Children reach a magical age determined by a handful of stressed-out lawmakers at the end of a long day of deliberating on important issues, they grab their birth certificate, and hop in the driver’s seat. No permit necessary. And when they first take the wheel, the entire extent of their knowledge of the laws of the road is gleaned from years of sitting in the back of the mommy-van staring out the window. Truth be told, if you really think about it, it’s a frightening prospect.

And yet, this is my present reality. Each day, I drive my car to the high school in time to meet the students as they exit the school following theater practice. I dutifully move to the passenger seat to become a passive observer in the vehicle which I pay for and on which I cover all the expenses. (And to think, I once thought handing over a $300 pair of eyeglasses to a three year old was a big deal….)

As my daughter gets in, the first thing she does is move the seat three feet closer to the steering wheel and adjust all of the mirrors accordingly. Her older brother and I are close enough in size that I barely notice when he drives my car, so this is a novelty for me. The first morning after she was on the road, I had forgotten she was the most recent driver, and I hit my head on the door-frame trying to squeeze myself between the seat and the steering wheel. Now, I am a bit more astute about noticing the seat position before I attempt to get in.

I have been down this road before, but I had forgotten just how much my muscles tense and my blood pressure spikes when I am in the car with an inexperienced driver. In this situation, I am the adult; I am in control, and yet, I have no control whatsoever. I can scream all I want, but that doesn’t mean the car is going to stop.

Like childbirth, I had pushed the memory of the first-time driver deep into the recesses of my brain, and it was not until I was riding in my own car on the roads with child number two at the wheel when the memories, the physical reactions, the FEAR came flooding back. (I try to keep the fear to myself. At least until this blog post.)

Someone once told me that one of the great uncertainties of life is having a baby without finding out the gender before it is born. I beg to differ. One of the greatest uncertainties in life, if not the greatest uncertainty, is getting into the car with your teenager. You just never know how that is going to turn out. I’m hoping I’ll survive this one. And the next….

Brunch Party

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My friend Jacqueline is holding a blogging brunch party today. Check it out and join us:

http://acookingpotandtwistedtales.com/2016/03/19/brunch-party-time-live-link-its-a-party

Sweatshirt?

Published on by PositivelyUnbroken5 Comments

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Spring has come early to these parts, but that doesn’t mean spring is here to stay; it comes and goes. In fact, the weather is so volatile lately that we might experience the entire range of four seasons within a span of days. Or hours. Last week, it seemed as though spring had settled in, but this week’s raw temperatures have mixed with precipitation that reminds me the calendar still says March. But last week’s weather spoiled us. And the more inexperienced among us have shed our thick outer layers in favor of the freedom of a sweatshirt.

Then again, the teens among us shed their jackets with abandon long ago, and only wear such heavy garments when it is cold. Really cold. While I am more comfortable when I am bundled up, my young friends (the male ones, in particular) tend to believe a sweatshirt is enough unless the mercury dips into the single digits (and in these parts, we still measure in Fahrenheit).

Last night, we stepped outside the house on the way to a Scout meeting. My youngest was in a sweatshirt, the sight of which was making me shiver. “It’s 37 degrees,” I informed him. “You should be wearing a jacket.” This information was imparted merely for the purpose of informing him. I had no thought that he would actually care, much less do anything to rectify the situation.

“That’s funny,” he retorted. “That’s the same argument I was going to use about not needing a jacket.” Ah, to be young and numb to the cold.

I picked him up at the meeting two hours later. The temperature had dipped closer to freezing, and it was raining. As we stepped out of the building, his tough exterior crumbled for half a second, and his weakness slipped through. His immediate reaction was the statement, “It is very cold out here!”

I bit my tongue to stifle the I-told-you-so that was tumbling at warp speed toward the front of my mouth, and when I looked at him, he was already back-pedaling. “Wait, that’s not what I meant….”

“I know,” I said, swallowing hard to keep my mother-words down. “It’s not cold out here. You meant to say, Oh look, it’s raining!”

“Yep. That’s exactly what I meant!” he snickered.

We walked the rest of the way to the car in silence. Sometimes the obvious is better left unsaid.