Spark of Creativity

I have some questions about creativity.

Where does creativity come from?
Does it start at your toes and go straight all the way to your head and then down to your limbs?
What triggers creativity?
Doesn’t everybody have it?
Why do some claim they don’t have it?

Currently I seem to be antsy. You know, where you can’t sit still without wanting to engage your hands and your mind? Some may wish to engage their feet too…dancing is creative. You use your whole body for that.

It is my belief that my Baja desert-ocean-mountain surroundings trigger some of my own wish to be creative.

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So, that might be one answer for that question, right? One’s surroundings inspire creativity. Do you find that to be true for you too?

I have no skill for drawing. I have to look at something and work really hard to make a drawing turn out the way I want. My middle son just sees it in his brain and out it comes from his hand. He’s an artist. He even makes a living at it. People ask where he “got it” and I have to say it certainly wasn’t from me. It was a gift from The Creator.

My first born son plays guitar. He excels at it. It is something he loves and has worked hard at. He uses his gift for music and finds fulfillment that way.

The youngest son is a runner and loves all things outdoors. He finds himself drawn to learning too and is getting his doctor of physical therapy. When he finished in April he’ll find a new way to demonstrate his gifts.

All of us have been given gifts and those are the things we are naturally drawn to doing. I feel sad for those who say they have no gifts. I just don’t believe that for a minute.

I want to find my creativity in any way I can, and not worry that it’s not up to some standard of excellence. It’s just a way of experiencing life in a fun way. Life should not be all work. If I want to dance in the living room with the music blasting, or sing at the top of my lungs, I can do that. As long as the neighbor’s aren’t bothered. On second thought, forget the neighbors. Let them sing and dance too loud and long too. As a matter of fact, my neighbors have been known to do this. It’s all good.

Let’s all paint, and walk, and write, and climb, and run, and surf, and swim, and sing, and dance…let’s all create something fun for ourselves. It’s healthy. Pay attention to what’s around you. I’m sure you can find your muse.

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I’m playing with watercolor. Is it art? Hell no. Is it fun? Hell yes!

Cabo Pulmo

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“On June 6, 1995 the President of Mexico, Mr. Ernesto Zedillo Ponce de León declared the waters of Cabo Pulmo as a National Marine Park.”

“In a study by Octavio Aburto, a scientist at the Scripps Institute in San Diego, the biomass of sea life has increased over 460%, [since making it a reserve] making the Cabo Pulmo National Park the most recovered marine reserve in the world.”

from Oceanhealthindex.org

Cabo Pulmo

play hard

smile big

laugh loud

but don’t take the rocks

(it’s a marine reserve…Cabo Pulmo in Baja California Sur)

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bring the dog

a couple of sandwiches

some oranges and a soda or two

but don’t go taking the shells or the coral or the rocks home with you

from Cabo Pulmo, a marine reserve in Baja California Sur

Check it out:

http://news.discovery.com/earth/oceans/most-successful-marine-reserve-cabo-pulmo-110812.htm

http://voices.nationalgeographic.com/2012/06/09/cabo-pulmo-national-marine-park-bajas-miracle-threatened/

http://www.cabopulmo.com/

Musings about Raising and Teaching Kids

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Did your parents tell you about The Easter Bunny, The Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus? Did they serve up these characters for you as if they were real? Imagine what it’s like to be a child and find out these are all lies. Maybe we think are doing children a favor creating a make-believe world. But sooner or later they will learn of the deception.

I think, but am not quite sure, that I gave my kids (three sons) these as stories…fiction, but fun. Growing up is hard enough without having to figure out when something is real and when it isn’t. Life is tricky.

Are we always there for our kids? I’d like to think so, but the truth is we are human beings and we make mistakes and fall short sometimes. I know I have. In my heart of hearts I always wanted to be the best mom in the world, full of energy, knowledge, patience, kindness and able to care for my kids even when I was exhausted from work and suffering from the trials life handed me.

My boys are grown men now and my hope is they appreciate what kind of a mother I was/am. The things I learned along the way are valuable to me. I not only learned about how-to-parent (sometimes successfully); I learned a lot about myself, my belief system, my shortcomings, and what I was ultimately capable of.

As a mother and a teacher I learned a lot about the stages that kids go through. I remember taking a developmental psychology class before I became a teacher, but AFTER I had mostly finished the mothering of my young children. All I could think of was, “Why wasn’t I taught these things before I became a parent?” It would have been a lot easier and maybe I could have avoided a lot of heartache for them and for me. Being a parent may be a joy, but parenting can be painful and difficult.

You have to take a driver’s test before you can drive. Most people get a lot of education before beginning their professional careers, be it as a mechanic, engineer, plumber, attorney, whatever. But you don’t have any formal training for the toughest job you’ll ever have. Why is this? It doesn’t make any sense to me.

As for those teen-age years, one thing I know is that teen-agers are still children in their hearts. I believe that they want to be seen as grown up, but they also miss their childhood when they could be carefree—when they did not have a lot of responsibility and they didn’t know about the sometimes evil ways of the world.

When I taught high school I worked with 150 students a day. Teen-agers, every one of them. And I loved (almost) every single minute being with them. They wanted to be respected. They wanted to learn. Maybe they didn’t like the subject I taught (English), and they didn’t come to me with a burning desire to read all those books I required them to read. (I would be kidding myself if I didn’t admit some of them did not read those books.)

But we grew together and learned to love each other and at least some of what I presented in my English class. I cherish my memories of their excellent senses of humor and their abilities to let some things roll off their backs. They survived in the crazy world of high school. Well done, students!

Many people think teen-agers are all about caring only about external appearances, experimenting with sex, drugs and alcohol, and pulling away from authority. Sure it is a time when they are focused on their looks, their peer groups, and they may experiment and make some bad decisions. Who as an adolescent can say they didn’t? Adolescence is a time of disorientation as well as discovery. These young people are working to claim an identity that fits their ideal at a time when they don’t have a lot of personal experience in what adults term “the real world.”

Most of my students, at least 90% of them, were polite to me, showed respect to each other in my presence, loved to banter with me and were quick to laugh at themselves (and me). We managed to navigate some pretty difficult times together—the AIDS epidemic, 9/11, school shootings, and earthquakes, among other tough challenges. If they were willing, and many of them were, a lot of learning happened in the subject I taught (or was trying to teach). Teen-agers are not to be feared. They need boundaries for sure, but they need safe ways to push those boundaries as well.

My musings about dealing with kids wouldn’t be complete without three more tidbits:

Don’t be afraid to tell children the truth. They’ll appreciate you for it.
And don’t be afraid to keep them accountable.
Strive to keep yourself accountable too, so you don’t become one of those “Do as I say, not as I do” adults.

My first year teaching–6th grade!

6th graders

Me with some of my high school girls.

teaching

my dear, my friend, my love, my heart

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my dear my friend my love my heart love hearts

do not waste your mornings

frying bacon for me

let us climb in our boots pull on our hats

we will run up the hill behind the house

360⁰ visions of painted silken skies

wind ices deep into our bones

tossing salty shivers of rewards

…our wide eyes delight in more than mountains

let us hold the joy we share for escapades

and dreams long enough to spill onto

the dirt road behind the corner store

that begs for us and waits to be explored

might as well pinch the cheeks of babies too

no innuendo no hidden thought propped

up to stand in the middle of the room

with wild abandon let’s grab our coats

and wind our way to the main street

store where they sell everything from

pick-up sticks to Levis and lace where we

also drink herbal tea with noisy slurping sounds

we do not waste our days on the insignificant

my dear my friend my love my heart

instead we ride on carousel camels laughing

so much and loud it pains our ears

when permission to sing is granted

the lyrics long on soul and sadness

they touch for us what went before the

promises for tomorrow’s steadiness

do not waste your evenings

frying chicken for me my love

let us stuff logs into the stove instead

…and kiss the night away

What are Americans Thinking?

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Maybe we Americans have given up thinking completely. Maybe we’re a bunch of empty headed folks going from one day to the next without considering what we’re doing to our country, and our planet and the people on it.

Is the world crazy or is it me? I cannot fathom Americans regarding Donald Trump as a presidential candidate.

I am happy I don’t have a TV. I don’t have to listen to any of the candidate babble and I am as far removed from the barrage as possible. What little I am privy to makes me sad and leaves me feeling incredulous. Maybe a lack of critical thinking is hurting my/our country.

Wouldn’t it be nice to wake up and hear the sound of people speaking with kindness and to see people acting with understanding? Wouldn’t it be nice to know that we all made good decisions for the right reasons? That greed was gone? That wars would end? That we could learn to be happy with what we have and stop wanting more?

We got ourselves into the shape we’re in. Let’s put our heads together and change the shape of things. Instead of a Christmas list, I’m going to make a list of things I can personally do to make things better.

It will be something like this I saw on FB, but I’ll come up with something my own.

Holiday

Wait for it.

Oh no! Another problem!

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I pull over as far as I can onto exit 14, heading east on the 52. I’m as far to the side on the onramp as possible so that cars can make their egress without crashing into my car. Well, it’s not really my car. It’s my mom’s 1999 Lincoln Continental. It’s going nowhere on its own from here. I am as certain it has a blown transmission as I am of my own name.

Just when you think you’ve been given enough trouble, stress, anxiety—WHAM!! A new problem presents itself, and you must pull on your nearly empty reserves in order to deal with it. That’s what happened to me yesterday. A day with lots of promise, but yesterday went back on its promise.

That’s okay. Happens all the time to all of us, right? Sometimes, though, it just gets old, dealing with one thing after another.

In the moment it took to make it to the side of the freeway, relatively out of harm’s way, I felt myself buckling and I had to reach down into whatever it is that sustains me and grab some pluck. That’s exactly the word for it. Pluck.

Fearlessly, I went into problem solving mode, knowing that the outcome would be a good one if I could hang on to my courage and my thinking skills. Do not panic. Easy to say, but there are cars whizzing by at high speeds and I have to time opening the car door carefully.

Earlier in the day I had tried to open the hood of this vehicle to no avail. I didn’t expect to have a problem with the hood release lever, but it didn’t do its only job to release the hood latch. Damn. How can I check the fluid in the transmission if I can’t get the hood open? Simple answer? I can’t.

I wasn’t having any trouble with the car’s transmission at the time, but the fluid leak had me concerned. I wasn’t positive it was the transmission fluid, but it was my best guess. I went ahead with my plans to drive the car. Bad decision, as it turns out.

In some small way it was gratifying to know later that my supposition about the transmission was correct. Having all the fluid leak out was not what I expected. No way.

My main concern at that moment the transmission stopped doing its thing was that my 99 year old mom was alone and expecting me. Oh, sure, Abby was with her. But Abby is a dog. She’s a good dog too, but she can’t make Mom dinner and keep her from wheeling herself out onto the ramp and then right out the gate to the neighborhood sidewalk. Mom’s been known to do this.

The caregiver is good about putting up the little child gate so that Mom can’t go down the ramp, but who knows if she remembered today? Maybe this will be the day that my inventive mother figures out how to remove the barrier. Squashing these thoughts, I scramble for the AAA membership card and dial for road service.

I’ve been taught (by said mother) to be honest in my dealings with others. In this case, it didn’t work out very well. Telling the woman on the phone that I was the member’s daughter wasn’t getting me what I needed. Instead, she wanted my mother, the AAA Club member, to be the one to request the towing service. Oh, this AAA representative would gladly sell me a policy right then and there, in which case they would gladly get the car off the road for me.

Thanks anyway, Lady. Plan B. I dialed again, hoping to get a different rep, and impersonated my mother. Sounding distraught I explained that my daughter was driving my car when it decided it would no longer run. “My daughter is stranded on the freeway. Can you please send someone?”

Honesty is the best policy, but it didn’t get me a tow. My deception got me the tow. And a ride to Mom’s with a very kind and competent tow truck driver.

Today the old Lincoln Continental is sitting in a shop where broken cars get fixed. I’m thinking it will need a whole new tranny. (That’s guy talk for transmission). I’m going to rent a car for a couple days so I can do some errands. AAA got me a discount on the rental car.

I admit I am sick of problem solving. There has been too much of it going on in my world lately.

However, I’ve learned that it’s not what happens to me that ever really matters. Rather, it’s how I deal with what happens to me. In this case, my life’s mission isn’t a failure. It is merely the car’s transmission failure. This too shall pass.

cinnamon

I’ve learned that…

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chocolate

Chocolate is a good substitute for lack of estrogen.

I’m right once in a while, but when I’m wrong I learn something.

Men: you can’t live with them and you can’t live with them.

men are stupid

Once in awhile it’s okay to be lazy. Treating yourself to a day without chores is showing yourself kindness.

The human touch can be magical.

Sometimes it’s better to just listen.

My husband has to put up with a lot of bull shit sometimes in order to love me.

Other times my husband is truly lucky (blessed!) I’m his wife.

love

Growing older has some perks, though I wish my body felt younger.

Time goes by so quickly, I need to appreciate all my moments before they’re gone!

There’s very little certain in life, but the sun rises and sets every day.

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Everything about the ocean is to be admired. It’s a powerful force, and so beautiful.

Los Cerritos

I’m happiest when I’ve accomplished something good before I relax.

Children are a source of great joy (and angst), and they can teach adults a lot.

My dog loves me unconditionally,

but she loves me the most when I take her for a romp on the beach with her ball.

Isabela

Life can be hard. Life can be hard.

It’s not the problem that comes my way that matters. It’s how I deal with it.

Being mindful takes practice and is worth the effort.

mindful 2

My mother sacrificed a great deal to give me everything she could humanly give me.

I owe my mother a lot of respect and admiration. She rocks!

Planet Earth is to be appreciated.

earth

I am blessed.

Why are we so squeamish about breastfeeding in public?

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People. It’s 2015. Not 1915. Women are showing their breasts in public in dresses that don’t cover their breasts completely. And what about the bras that PUSH UP the breasts for view as if they were being served up on a platter? That’s okay. But breast feeding isn’t? Give me a break.

This is fine, right?

WEST HOLLYWOOD, CA – FEBRUARY 24: Model Heidi Klum attends the 21st Annual Elton John AIDS Foundation Academy Awards Viewing Party at Pacific Design Center on February 24, 2013 in West Hollywood, California. (Photo by Jason Kempin/Getty Images for EJAF)

But this isn’t?

images of breast feeding

Look at the boobs!!! And this is okay? in public?

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You don’t even see a boob in this picture.

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What’s so wrong with what these women are doing?

breast milk

All you mothers out there who wish to breast feed in public, JUST DO IT.

Mr. and Mrs. Hypocritical Public: GET OVER IT.

battered

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Foreword: I was once a battered wife. When our son was born, I found the courage to leave. There were no women’s shelters in those days and people didn’t talk about it like they do now. Today I am in a loving relationship and the abuse is a faint memory. Though I have never forgotten it, I have healed.

If you’re in an abusive relationship, seek help. Go to a shelter. That’s what this poem is about.

notes

hasty judgments struck from

a keyboard of false accusations

the melody becomes percussive

pounding frantic rhythms—the tempo of my nightmares

no harmony in our duet with bitter notes and

minor chords—no delight in our composition

what would happen if we changed our tune

listened alternatively to notes of love’s celebration

why not sing instead a nocturne chorus

perhaps a symphony or serenade

I’m hiding in an interlude of rhapsody—

legato—may we tune our hearts instead to love songs

I can’t stop loving you

lean on me

all I have to do is dream

save the last dance for me

instead I hear your endless empty promises

combined with sarcasm replacing good intentions

you chip away at my feelings of self-worth

while I bolster my courage to run from your abuse

bravely I seek a shelter where boldness burns and

builds—I have no more appointments with fear

secure in the knowledge there’s a shelter from your

aggressive symphony meant to conquer and control

brave now, I’m no longer your terrified, passive audience

slowly I’ll be free to compose my own melody

with a chorus of new elements and interludes

meant to press forth to a new-found autonomy

as I slow my tempo, rehearse my sonata—a solo voice

who recognizes ecstasy, accompanied now by violins of truth

wanting not to be battered, intimidated, or isolated

no longer accepting dissonance—no longer your victim

I pray for ease in my life—adagio—returning

slowly to my original pitch and beat awaiting

a finale to this mutiny where illumination composes

my decisions now, and in tune, I’ll belt out a new chorus

filled with notes of courage, strength and joy

into a new concert hall of my own promises

What Happens?

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electricity

Remember when you first felt the electricity

as if it were burning your soul?

kindle

Your lover was perfect. You were perfect.

perfect

As time moves forward, your love may turn into something very different. Change is the only constant in life. Why not experience a change in how you and your lover feel and how you treat each other?

As time moves forward, as it will, things change. It need not be a bad thing; your love may take on new meaning.

heart

It is inevitable.

Years upon years change us as individuals, it is appropriate that our relationships change right along with time. Normal. Natural.

Will it ever have that intensity again? I think so.

It may come in waves, but it does overpower us if we allow it.

The times in between may be sweeter in a new way.

Then we discover each other once more–we absorb our memories–our former heat.

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…..

What Happens?

What happens to us as young lovers

when first our bodies touch?

Does the sky open up,

fill our hearts with endless possibility?

How long does the metamorphosis

affect our hearts and souls with

showers of unguarded bliss and

twisting, swirling, juices of love?

Does that electricity continue

coursing through our bodies

lighting up the darkest nights?

When we young lovers kiss, caress,

laugh and dance, does the pleasure

spill over into other people’s lives?

But where do we find satisfaction when

we no longer inject love’s drug?

When it happens that youth’s

passion has been suspended; years later

do our dreams reach a climax before they

dissolve? Is there an ugly scar where

love’s hallucination lived? Or does the memory

of ecstasy erase the pain of shattering

our solemn promise of love’s fantasy?

What becomes of ardor when it’s ripped from

our hearts and tossed aside without mercy?

Will the trash collector be required to

handle it gently as he puts our spoils

in the truck with the other garbage?

Must our love dry up and scatter to the wind?

Instead can we place it on a high shelf where

it can rest and wait to be rekindled and

reassembled when we need it again?

Can the imagination of our youth transpose itself?

Will a new arrangement satisfy

expectations of our earlier devotion?

Can love from long ago be solidified in

later years once time and troubles have

blended enough for tenderness to resume?

Perhaps our craving will reappear to

immerse us once more with love’s narcotic

4 koi in pond

Thinking Outside the Box

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Truck rusting in your yard?

Make a flower garden out of it.

Some people just know how to delight. Take the owners of these trucks on Sauvie Island just outside of Portland, OR. These clever folks planted flowers in different flower boxes. Bravo! That’s thinking outside the old box, isn’t it?

Got a problem? There just may be more than one viable option when it comes to making decisions and solving your problem.

box

My husband is a great one for realizing there is no box to begin with. Right away his mind goes in 50 different directions and he comes up with an idea. However, he is quick to warn you that there is a lot of thinking left to do. Don’t get too fond of that solution, because he’ll come up with another one in a few minutes, hours, or days. His problem-solving is a long process. He builds on each idea until he is satisfied with the result before he takes action. He amazes me with his brilliance.

I tried to teach critical thinking to my students, and it was not the most exciting thing for them. Try as I might to make it fun, it was more of a slog than anything. Except when we had Socratic Circles to ask each other questions about a novel we were reading. Make that: Some of them were reading for their homework. Some of them were texting, watching reality shows on TV, talking on their cells, taking drugs, (oh, there’s a good topic for Socratic Circle), and some were just growing hair on their heads and not much else. But I digress.

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I wish we, as citizens of the globe, would do more critical thinking about how to make this a better world. Some people do just that, but it doesn’t seem like it if you watch the news. I don’t have a TV, so now I don’t have to watch the news. I get my fill of internet news via my husband. I get to hear his rants about the craziness that goes on. Some of it is MIND BLOWING. I wouldn’t be able to make that stuff up. But don’t get me started.

Now all I’m thinking about in this moment is what to fix for dinner. Actually, I have to use some of the steps for critical and divergent thinking to do this. Civeche might be a good idea. I’ll think about this.

What are you thinking about?

Einstein's desk

Einstein’s desk photographed two days after his death.

Cheap Thrills

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1187309-Cartoon-Of-A-Happy-Blond-Girl-Jumping-Royalty-Free-Vector-Clipart

“Fly! Fly higher!” Kathy yells to me. We are six and four; cute little girls, both of us with blond hair and blue eyes.

The water meter on the side of my house stood only about 20 inches off the ground, but to us it was so high that we were certain we could launch from it, flap our arm-wings and soar. After an hour, we tired of this game, and moved on to more excitement as we bragged to each other of our long and harrowing flights.

It is when thinking of my childhood in the days of bumble bees and watermelon that I am reminded of a time when water did not seem such a precious resource.

Sprinklers meant to water lawns would often go unattended while water spilled onto the street. This runoff became a swift, running river to us kids. Kathy and I would carefully choose blades of grass to serve as boats for a race.

[UNSET]

As luck would have it, we had only a short walk up to the top of our street. Not much of an incline really, but good enough. “On your mark, get set, go!” We tossed our little blades of grass into the street’s river and watched as our boats maneuvered between the debris dotting the channels of water. When our little boats got stuck, the rule was to wait to the count of three before dislodging them, thus allowing the race to continue to our designated finish line. I don’t think we were extremely competitive, but I remember the taste of victory as being especially sweet. These childhood games were the stuff of our cheap thrills.

What happened to childhood innocence once we grew into mean, junior high school girls whose main concern was the latest gossip? The competition was hot and heavy in those days and the games were as different as the rules.

BlueTreeBlogHeaderStripes

Whatever were we thinking when my girlfriend and I agreed to meet after school and play strip poker with three boys we barely knew? Were their any brain cells popping? Probably not.

Filled with fear and hard-driving adrenaline, mixed with very little poker skill, one item of clothing after another fell to the floor. Knowing that I would become the fodder for gossip scared me almost more than exposing my teeny, tiny breasts. More like bumps with nipples really. But for some reason I had difficulty rallying the courage to call an end to the game. What was I doing there?

My shoes came off. Next my socks, my skirt, my half-slip. My reputation would be next. My heart was trying to escape my chest. Enough. I just can’t do this. Game over.

Thank God those boys were not of a violent nature. They did not harass us girls to stay in the game. We retrieved our discarded clothing, wrapping them haphazardly so as to cover ourselves, and escaped to the bathroom to dress.

Calling an end to the game meant we avoided a danger as real as if we had fallen and narrowly escaped from a pit of alligators.

Truth be known, I think the boys were as relieved as we were to be finished with our game of strip poker, before it stripped us all of what little intelligence and common sense we could have possibly possessed as adolescents.

sistersii

Baja California Sur and more!

WELCOME TO MY BAJA WORLD

Spark of Creativity

Cabo Pulmo

Musings about Raising and Teaching Kids

my dear, my friend, my love, my heart

What are Americans Thinking?

Oh no! Another problem!

I’ve learned that…

Why are we so squeamish about breastfeeding in public?

battered

What Happens?

Thinking Outside the Box

Cheap Thrills