"So Fragile", "Fascination With Beads",
"The Ancients Have Studied This For Centuries"

July 23, 1999

"So Fragile"

So far, so good, on the no-MSG diet. The headaches all gone, but the other symptoms are still there. Nasty stuff. We went into Tucson for Shayna's doctor appointment with the cardiologist. She has rapid heartbeats after eating the smallest meal, and wanted to know what's going on. The treadmill test showed her heart to be in good shape, with no blockages, so whatever it is, it's not that serious, hopefully. She's frustrated because she still doesn't know why, however.

We bought the trim for her cape, a navy scaled down version of the one I made for Laura, and stopped at a bead shop. I've not done any beading except for making Christmas bells and angels as therapy during my college nervous exhaustion. But I kept finding myself being inspired as well. It looks like a fun hobby. In other inspirations, I found an 'Artist's Magazine' for only a buck fifty at Bookman's. A wildlife artist showed how he achieves his dynamic effects, and there were more colored pencil techniques to experiment with. The dancing lady I've set aside to draw is calling me. Time to get at it.

---

Transfer interrupted!

Mid keystroke, the electricity just fluttered on and off a few times. As the computer rebooted, I feared I'd typed these few paragraphs without saving periodically. Fortunately, it's become such a habit to press the control key and 's' frequently, that I only lost one sentence. These digital creations are so FRAGILE, like all of life, so fragile, here one minute and so easily dispersed like dandelion puffs to the wind. In yesterday's entry, Julie of Cerebrations speaks of her wishes after she dies. Like me, she has concern for her writings:

"Try to maintain my webpages if you can, or find new moms and dads for them that'll do it well. And please, please, please... print out my journal, coat each page in plastic or something, and bury a copy of it with me. Silly, I know. Also, print it up, have 4 or 5 copies of it bound, and send at least 2 or 3 to important libraries that will keep them in their collection. "

These pages are somehow an extension of ourselves. When I die, I really do not care what is done with my body. It will be just an old shell. Then, any life I had will only remain in the hearts of those who love me and remember me, and in these creations I have so carefully sought to preserve. So save these fragile arrangements of bits and bytes, dear someone who shall survive me! Make an eternal set of pages that will live on after I do. Being the skeptic concerning reincarnation that I am, this is my only true and best shot. So DO IT, PLEASE!!

For as long as I have consciousness, I'll be in future gratitude. And should any speck of ethereal me remain, that will be eternally grateful, as well.

With that said, no, I'm not having any sort of premonitions or anything, I just feel better saying it. Life's good, I want to hang on to it as long as I can. Hope your's is as well.

July 24, 1999

"Really Fitting"

It's an gray Saturday morning, into which we hope we can settle into and get some rest. I'll be taking it easy today. But I did take a few minutes to place a a poem into ATTWT, which I'd written late last night. It's a good message, one that I needed to hear, "Love Always Fits".

Max in 'drag'!

Laura was playing with the dog this afternoon, and put one of her old house dresses on him! She joked, "Now he really fits in with us. He's had his 'orchidectomy' and he's wearing women's clothes!"

July 26, 1999

"Fascination With Beads"

pieces of future necklace

While we were in Tucson last week with Shayna, she wanted to visit bead shops, to fuel her beading hobby. All those beads in every color of the rainbow, size and shape fascinated Laura and I as well. Laura wants to use the tiny glass beads to make woven pieces similar to the type Shayna makes. They look so tiny to me, being only 2mm (less than 1/8 of an inch big), and would take more time and patience than I'd want to devote to the projects. But that doesn't mean I wasn't also inspired.

Long time readers will know I'm quite a rockhound (see entries of January 14, 1999 and February 12, 1999). Among the tiny iridescent glass beads, big wooden beads, large plastic beads, and patterned clay beads are beads made of rocks. Beautiful rocks such as orangish brown carnelian and turquoise. And even, for those willing to rack up their credit cards; garnet, amethyst, peridot, clear quartz, and tourmaline beads, some of which feature elaborate faceting can be had.

I couldn't resist the temptation, and so I bought a reddish brown stone (which may be carnelian, but I'm not sure) and turquoise beads for a roughly 24 inch long necklace. Some mother of pearl leaves will be accents. I worked up a design, but may alter it before the piece is assembled. I could want a small brass center pendent. Also, I must wait until I get proper cording for it. Not having studied the beading books we'd bought, I chose a thin thread meant for the little seed beads. Laura selected some plastic covered thin wire, which will serve very heavy beads well, but is much too wirey and kinkable for anything else. Although not necessarily a difficult hobby, unless one wishes to take it that far, and it can be, for extremely elaborate designs, there is much to learn. Fortunately if my first stringing attempt goes badly, I can always restring and knot them later.

July 27, 1999

"The Ancients Have Studied This For Centuries"

As so often the case, I've made lemonade from lemons. That is, Joan writes another poem. One has to do something with those emotional upsets. But I rather like this poem. It acknowledges a problem and gives both a clue to its solution and a little comfort at the same time. I can learn from the experience of others, for I'm not the only one to have had this problem. The Ancients Have Been Studying It For Centuries!

July 28, 1999

"Perhaps It Will Need More Distance"

I'm having doubts about the poem I wrote yesterday. Sure it was sparkling and significant to me at the time, allowing me to put a vocalized petty reaction I had had into perspective, but does it ring clear today? Does it merit my having put it into the poetry page section? Maybe it's a little flat now that the incident and my grief concerning it has paled. (Life in such a large 'alternative lifestyle' household provides one with many opportunities to deal with JEALOUSY!!!) Perhaps it will need more distance to gain a better perspective. Meanwhile, I'll let it sit in the new poetry pages, even though I'm uncertain of it. I do like the buddha images I adapted for it. ~ ~~ ~~~ ~~ ~

Self doubt is certainly no stranger to me. I often wonder if I write about such peculiar stuff, no one can understand me. I was reading Talk About Talentless, a year old entry of Al Schroeder of Nova Notes. In it he says:

"I don't lead a deliberately odd life just to draw people to read my journal...too REAL WORLD-ish, thanks, too much of promoting the journal, letting the journal dictate your life, rather than your life dictating your journal. Like someone on the REAL WORLD doing something simply becaue it will be interesting on the camera...(I do have an odd life, thanks to my sons' autism, but it's neither caused by this journal or desired.)

I don't get avant-garde and obscure and bizarrely ununderstandable just to laugh at my readers' puzzlement, to show what bozos they are..."

Well my life is odd beyond odd, that is true, but that's not a ploy to get people to read this stuff I crank out regularily. I kept journals when my life wasn't so odd. I kept paper journals when I was certain only I would ever see them. The desire to chronicle it all comes not from the wierdness of it all. Yes, I'm filled to the brim with egoistic hopes that all this chronicling will be of interest to someone else. But I think that's just part and parcel of the basic creative nature. Of course, I'm far too close to the subject matter to know if it truly merits all that interest.

I also fear I get 'bizarrely un-understandable' at times. But it's not because I'm TRYING to be! I'm sincerely trying to render the stuff that goes through my mind. I hope its processes are not so unique, no one can ever relate to it. I don't want you all bewildered! I want to communicate, dammit!

You're not all bewildered, ARE YOU??

July 29, 1999

"A Time When I DON'T Want to be Popular"

A time when I don't want to be popular? Since when does this ego starved insecure vain creature NOT want to be popular? When I've been called for jury duty, that's when. Now, I know I should regard it as my proper civic duty and be glad we live in a free country in which if you commit a crime, you're judged by a jury of your peers. But, no, I don't feel that way. All I can think of is when the sociopathic drug crazed killer is let out of prison and remembers who helped to put him there for a short stay. Yup, that could be little ol' me. So I yearn, rather, to be considered as slow witted, addle brained, indecisive, attention deficit disordered and very easily confused that day. Yes, I want those responsible for picking jurors to think the very worst of me that day, which is coming up much too soon.

August 3rd, think of me, and pray I'll be 'unpopular'.

~ ~~ ~~~ ~~ ~

Another absolutely cool, wowee fun journal: Perforated Lines is by yet another PROFESSIONAL writer to grace webland with her free witticisms. Nancy Birnes is already one of my top faves. Check this one out!

July 30, 1999

"Part of the Mystery and the Wonder"

I have a new addition to that page of praise for little ol' me. These words melted my heart:

". . . I wanted to thank you for all the care you've put into yours, and all the love that comes across.

Yeay! Someone is getting what I'm trying to convey! What is important about life is the love and beauty we find. Sure, love and beauty turns up in unexpected, even ODD places, but that is part of the mystery and the wonder. I glowed all day. I've still got a happy shine.

©Martin R. Raskovsky

Not only that, but this bit of beauty was sent to us via an electronic card. It evokes such a peaceful serene mood. The woman in the field of violets seems to have become one with them in a transcendental magic.

Back to mundane stuff. Sadly I've discovered the two small pieces of teriyaki chicken I had for lunch has some of those 'definately MSG laden' ingredients. (The autolysed this and the hydrolised that...) The effects were no where near as bad as the episode with the pure MSG bouillon cube tainted stir fry, but I could definately tell my tongue felt a little singed and my head felt funny temporarily. It was good to experiment. I can gauge my general sensitivity level and know how to judge 'unknown' food better.

© Joan Lansberry