New Year, Same Me

 

Well, not 100% the same, but mostly.  

Wednesday, January 1st looked a lot like Tuesday, December 31st.  

But, there is a shift, of sorts.  A change toward developing (or rather, re-developing) more positive habits toward more positive goals and outcomes.  

We are seduced by the "new" in Happy New Year! Or, I should speak for myself.  "I" am seduced.  

Or, should I be? 

I feel an urge, but not a sense of urgency. 

But, I do.  

Kind of.  

New Year, same me.  

Cheers! 

Art

A few years ago I resurrected a long-dormant practice.  In my latter high school years, I majored in art.  It was the intent to major in art in college.  I did create a portfolio as part of my application to the department.  My emphasis was drawing (over textiles, sculpture, or painting). I was accepted to the department. Had I continued, I would have entered the department as a degree candidate.  

I didn't finish college.  A long story for another time.  However, I continued drawing and exercising other disciplines as time and materials allowed.  There was, though, quite a lull during the child-rearing years.  

The 80s and 90s were a virtual blur.  

Bremen, In

It took until 2018 to begin a more regular sketching practice.  Since then, I've completed 5 sketchbooks.  I am weeks away from completing the sixth.  I've joined groups that prompt, motivate, and inspire. I've shared the sketches publicly and have endeavored to grow artistically.  (charcoals, y'all)  

A friend tagged me in the Mural Mosaics Global Roots program which allowed me to paint, which I hadn't done in decades.  The final product isn't exactly as I envisioned but sits in a little easel, on display, in my living room. I am grateful for the opportunity and happy to have finished.  

If you're in Bremen, IN visit the mural there.  If you're in any of the other cities (or countries) where other murals are situated, visit those too.  If you're of a mind, complete a registration for your own tile, and give it a whirl.  

Big fun.  

Thank you, friend.      

Tell Me A Story

I had a dream about my maternal grandmother. 

Except she wasn't in it.  

In the dream, I was at the two-flat she called home rescuing some kittens.  

Not her kittens, for she never had kittens (any pets for as long as I'd known her).

This was the most vivid dream I've had in a long while.  

The vivid dream compelled me to look up the address (of course I remember it).

According to the street view, the building is empty and boarded up, for sale—"investor's special!"

I know not what any of these means.  

I do know that now I want kittens that I absolutely cannot have.  

                                                                 

                                                                         Buttah (flashback) RIP

Love. Like. Life.

My last romantic relationship ended four-hundred and seventy-five years ago.  

That's an exaggeration but that is what it feels like most days.  

Most days I do not lament the presence of a significant other.  

Some days I do.  

Most days I feel ready to dip my toes in those waters.  

Some days I do not. 

Most days I am too busy with family, friends, the pooch, work, and related stuff to feel any emptiness.  

Some days I am not.  

In between time, I do things I need to get through the day: talk, laugh, cry, think, throw, catch, sleep, and dream. 

Different things, different days.   

Take gentle care.  

Happy Autumn. 

 

Laundry

After our last cat died, doing laundry jumped to the top of the heap as my least favorite chore. Aside from the chore itself, is the fact that we have to tote said laundry, bag, detergent, and for me, a crossword puzzle book to the public facility--laundromat. *

Due to our respective schedules, we have chosen Sunday morning as laundry day.  

The kids, the cacophony of multiple TV screens playing different programs, the random folks who choose to present as pesky--it is a difficult place to sit and concentrate. 

More often than not, I close the book and walk about outside if the weather is agreeable. 

All things considered, it could be worse. In fact, I've experienced worse in my lifetime.  This laundromat, over many others I've visited, is clean, has mostly operational machines of various capacities and prices, and has attendants on-site to address any issue that may arise.  

So, while I do not like the chore nor much of what goes on in that space where it must be done, I am grateful for the convenience of the location and other factors that make the morning weekly chore not suck super bad.

Happy October! 

For Now, This

Of course, I did not intend to stay away for so long.  

Of course, I won't regale you with all that didn't happen, namely my thoughts solidifying into a comprehensible mass. 

Of course, summer has bled into Autumn.

May kindness rule over the next few days, leading to the next post.  

Asked and Answered

Growing up my friends and family called me Debbie. At some point in adulthood, I became, Deborah and I corrected folks who slipped to call me Debbie or . . ugh, Deb.  

There was a regime change at my work a year or so ago. My new supervisor began referring to me as, Deb.

Other colleagues followed suit (mostly in emails and IMs).  I never made any moves to stop/correct them, convincing myself it wasn't that it wasn't a big deal.  

It isn't.  Really.  But, . . . .   

If you ask my name or what I prefer I say, Deborah.  Deb o rah

Last week a patient insisted on changing the pronunciation from Deb o rah to Dee BOR ah when she noted how I spell my name (the context being my name is part of my work email).

For the record, I detest the Dee BOR ah pronunciation; though technically many folks accept that way of saying Deb o rah. The conversation with the patient was more frustrating than the dozens of emails and IM messages that begin, "Hi Deb" . . . 

The saving grace was knowing I wouldn't have to speak with her again; her problem was solved, and her case was closed. 

It will feel weird to add in my reply to the Hi Deb emails with...oh, by the way, my name is . . . 

All things considered, there are greater issues with which to take umbrage.  

But if you ask me my name, I'll say . . . 

DebOrah

 

Thank You.