Life@Cee

Art for the Auditory

2011-07-17T16:25:00.000-07:00

I may be the only auditory learner on the planet. I’m the only one I know of anyway. Most people learn visually which explains the plethora of diagrams, graphs and charts out there. I’ve sat through many a business meeting squinting at charts intended to present information in the “easiest” way possible. I’m all about words. Want me to remember something? Tell me. Giving me directions? PLEASE don’t draw me a map, and for goodness sake don’t tell me every extraneous landmark and cross road between here and there. Despite my visual deficiencies I’m fairly creative. I enjoy drawing/doodling and have always wanted to take an art class. I found one offered through my local rec. center, Colored Pencil Drawing of Plants and Flowers, and signed up. I purchased the required pad of Bristol smooth paper and went to my first class this past week. Our first lesson was on shading. The instructor had us draw a circle, a cylinder, a cone and a cube. I knew I was in trouble when my cylinder ended up looking like a dented beer can. I got so flustered I forgot how to draw a cube. I tried to copy what the instructor was doing with shading, but I didn’t get it. We were supposed to imagine that light was falling on the shapes from a certain direction. Huh? “Look at that wall,” the instructor said. “See how it’s not all one color because of the way the light hits it?” It isn’t all the same color? It looks like the same color to me.

I was still trying to wrap my mind around the shading thing when the instructor moved on to the next topic – drawing a leaf. I spent half of the available time trying to make the outline of my leaf look like the picture with lots of erasing and redrawing. Once I had the basic outline it was time to color the leaf in with colored pencil. Painting with color pencils is about layering. I had difficulty with the concept of putting a base color down on a section of the leaf with the idea that the color will change as I add additional layers of other colors. I forced myself not to look at my classmates’ work for fear that I would be completely psyched out by how much better they were doing than I was. By the end of the evening my drawing did indeed look like a leaf, although I couldn’t tell you which direction the light was coming from or whether or not the shading was right. There are only 3 classes left. Something tells me that may not be enough for this visually impaired “artist”.

It Hurts a Little Less

2011-06-29T15:41:00.000-07:00

When removing a band aid ripping it off quickly hurts a little less than pulling it off slowly one hair follicle at a time.

Learning to play the guitar is painful until calluses build up on finger tips. After months of daily practicing, pressing the strings down on the frets hurts a little less.

Singing off key at the first audition is less embarrassing ten years later, after many more times of hitting the wrong notes and playing the wrong keys in many more venues.

An exercise routine starts off with sore muscles and stiffness, but later as muscles gain strength the body moves with fluidity and greater endurance and less pain.

After months of living without you, hours of second guessing myself, and painful chance encounters seeing you today hurt a little less.

A Ragged Hope

2011-06-18T15:39:00.000-07:00

My appologies for my lengthy absence from blogland. I've been off pursing other writing opportunities (see shameless plug for my new book to the right of this post). I recently entered a writing contest (that I didn't win) and I'm posting the story I submitted here in hopes that you'll enjoy it and most importantly that you'll give me some constructive feedback.

God told me to. That phrase has been used by so many people to excuse unthinkable behavior that I hesitate to even say it out loud. There had been no audible voice telling me to bring my 3 ½ year old niece to live with me, but still I knew that I was supposed to. I had no idea what I was getting into, but I was sure I would be successful. I would take her from the unstable environment she was in and bring her to a loving home, give her everything she needed and she would be fine.

Amanda’s worldly possessions after 3 years of life fit into one medium suitcase. Less than a week’s worth of clothes, a handful of Little Golden Books and a doll – a Mrs. Beasley doll that according to the almost illegible tag was made in 1962. The doll’s hair stuck straight up, her talk box didn’t work – the string was permanently pulled out, and it appeared that her left arm had been sown back on at least once.

Amanda looked “normal” on the outside, beautiful in fact, but she didn’t act like other kids, at least not like my friends’ kids. She was a mass of energy by day running around and around, moving from one toy to another, never stopping long to play with them, and a screaming banshee by night. She was terrified of falling asleep and would scream for hours when I tried to put her to bed. No routine of bed time story and snuggling or rocking her in the rocking chair tired her out. She went full speed until she finally went unconscious. Her mother used to put her to bed and then after she was asleep would leave her and not come back for days or weeks, and then the last time not at all.

A typical day for Amanda at preschool went something like this:

8:25 Grabbed a coloring picture away from Alexia

9:00 Snack

9:10 Ate Ben’s crackers

9:25 Called Ben a #@%$ because he wouldn’t play with her

10:05 Fought with Alexia over the tire swing

10:55 Pushed Jessica off the swing

11:10 Hit Cindy in the head with a Barbie doll

11:25 Pushed herself in between two kids during story time and pinched them.

11:30 Lunch

12:00 Took a chair away from Alexia

12:30 Refused to lie down for nap

12:40 Talking while other children are trying to sleep

1:00 Asleep

2:00 Awake

2:10 Pulled Emily’s hair

2:30 Kicked Andrew

3:00 Choked Alexia

3:20 Spit on the children on the tire swing

She seemed to have no remorse. This became more alarming as she got older. She wanted what she wanted when she wanted it and she wouldn’t stop trying to get it until she got it, fell asleep from exhaustion or moved on to some other distraction.

I prayed for healing of her emotional wounds and wisdom to raise her well. I read parenting books, went to classes. I set limits, she exceeded them. I gave her consequences, her behavior stayed the same. I gave her rewards for good behavior. I read more books, hired therapists, psychologists, and psychiatrists. With each new expert came new diagnoses: Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Sensory Dysfunction, Mood Disorder, Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. I thought I must be doing something wrong. Where was the healing? Maybe I needed to pray more specifically, or have more people pray with me. Surely God would not ask me to do something that wasn’t doable.

Amanda left home when she turned 18. She lives on the streets or in sleazy motels or low rent apartments. She has been in and out of jail, and she supports herself by selling her body. She walks with a limp due to an injury she sustained when she jumped from the moving car of a “client” who tried to abduct her. Given the way things have turned out I have questioned God over and over again about why he had me bring her home if he wasn’t going to save her. I did my part. When was He going to do His? I still don’t have a satisfactory answer, but I think God valued giving Amanda a chance at a good life regardless of whether or not she took advantage of that chance. Thankfully the chance is still there. I’m praying she takes it.

The Wild Child Cometh

2010-07-31T08:57:00.000-07:00

I never thought I’d be raising my sister’s child, but there I was at 3:00 AM holding her screaming daughter. I had no idea how hard this would be. I took two weeks off work to find childcare and try to get a handle on this mothering thing. Three and ½ year old Wild Child arrived with few clothes and toys and enough losses to last a lifetime. Friends gave me a baby shower, Wild Child opened the gifts. We received clothes, books, toys and most off all the love and support of people who cared. “That's why it meant so much...

This story is brought to you as part of Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus. Each week she provides a prompt (in bold above) and participants write a story around that prompt of no more than 100 words. Visit Jenny's site for more details and read this week's awesome posts.

When the Wheels Fell Off - Flash 55

2010-07-30T07:26:00.000-07:00

It's that time again for G-Man's Flash 55 Challenge. Write a story, idea or prose in exactly 55 words. Mine is below, and you can check out the other great posts by visiting his site, Mr Know it all. The blog adresses are in the comments.

Driving 80 MPH down a freeway in Utah in a snow storm, I was planning my death. Pills, or a car crash were appealing, but I was not alone in the car, and I refused to take the people I loved with me. As long as I was dead by morning, I could wait awhile longer.

Red

2010-07-28T16:11:00.000-07:00

Why are stop signs red? What has the color of passion and power and pizzazz to do with stopping? It screams full steam ahead. Wear the red power tie to the job interview for confidence. Shake your bootie in the clingy red dress at the night club. Be careful around those red headed people, they tend to have short tempers according to the stereotypes. Look out, that fire is red hot! Blood, the ever flowing stuff of life turns red as soon as it hits the air. Red wine startles your taste buds, then leaves them begging for more. Give a red rose to the object of your desire, the one who takes your breath away. Notice me, touch me, hear me, taste me cries red. Ignore the danger, I’m worth it. Definitely do not stop.

This is the first week of Jenny Matlock's Alphabe-Thursday Rainbow Summer School. Visit her site for more great posts on the color red.

Forever

2010-07-24T09:58:00.000-07:00

Driving six hours is a long time on the road. Six hours spent singing car-aoke and taking in the picturesque scenery, but mostly reminiscing about the good times. But those days were long gone and my mind was in a different place now. Or was it? My pulse quickened as I passed the road sign which read "Medford 27 miles."

Derrick and I had been high school sweethearts with the hopeful teenage dream of being together forever. One careless moment changed everything, and the weight of keeping it secret drove us apart, first to different colleges in different states, then to different worlds. He took over his father’s architecture firm in Portland, and I opened an art studio in Sacramento. 20 years and a failed marriage later, I’m 27 miles from seeing him again. This High School Reunion might be our last chance to deal with our shared guilt and move past it. Maybe even rekindle an old teenage dream.

The previous story is part of Saturday Centus, brought to you by Jenny Matlock. Jenny provides the writing prompt (the text in bold) and particpants finish the story - in 100 words or less. I hope you enjoyed my story, and that you'll visit Jenny's site for more fun conclusions.

Undone

2010-07-23T10:59:00.000-07:00

I hear them whispering in the hallway. They’re talking about me. I’m the one in the sickroom. Other people are making decisions about my life while I narrate. I can’t pretend I’m okay anymore. The façade has crumbled and now it’s just me unplugged, uncensored, and uncovered, and strangely at peace.

I am participating in Flash Friday 55. This weekly meme is brought to you by G-Man, over at Mr. Know it All. The object is to write a story or prose in exactly 55 words. Come join us and link your 55 in Mr. Know it All's comment section. See you there!

I Write Like - Fun Site for Bloggers

2010-07-23T10:05:00.000-07:00

Hello fellow bloggers, I stumbled across this great site that analyzes a few paragraphs of something you've written, and tells you which famous writer your style is most similar to. I had it analyze 3 different samples of my writing and each time it gave me a different author. I'm obviously a schizophrenic writer. I'm not sure how accurate the analysis was, but I had fun doing it. Plus they give you a cool button to display on your blog. What could be better?

Go ahead and try I Write Like for yourself. If you decide to do it, please leave me a comment with the name of the famous author you are most like.

Have Fun, Cee

I write like
Stephen King

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

I write like
Chuck Palahniuk

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

The Pit

2010-07-21T21:45:00.000-07:00

I can do this

I’m a strong person

I have a will don’t I?

This isn’t so hard

What’s one mistake?

I do so many things well

I will not measure myself by a Hollywood standard

I could do more

I should be more

Where did the hopefulness go?

I’m exhausted

Trying takes too much effort

I have to rest, to think, to dream

My bed is cozy and forgiving

A haven in a world that’s cold and critical

No use in getting up just yet.

I participate in Jenny Matlock's Alphabe-Thursday. Visit her site for this week's Alphabet Soup of great posts.

Z is for Zest

2010-07-15T13:04:00.000-07:00

Zest

A friend handed me a post it note yesterday with this saying on it: don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened. It struck me as profound. I’ve been doing a lot of crying lately, buckets in fact, but not much smiling. I can’t ignore the tragedies of the past year, but I don’t have to ignore the joys either. Those belong to me as well.

Such as:

Exploring a windmill field … without getting caught

Crossing the Golden Gate Bridge

Climbing rocks and not falling to my death

Comparing silly socks

Drinking wine and doing taxes with my best friend (don’t send the auditors, please)

Snuggling and laughing with my son

Zest for life or much of anything for that matter does not come easily right now, but I’m willing to try to find it because life without it is completely flavorless.

I participate in Jenny Matlock's Alphabe-Thursday. Visit her site for great posts on the letter Z.

The Choice

2010-07-09T23:05:00.000-07:00

*Saturday Centus is a writing challenge where you are given a prompt, and have to work it into a story of 100 words or less. The prompt for this week is in bold, and my story follows.

"Are you sure that's the one you want?"

I felt a little lump in my throat as I peered down at my choice, held tightly in my hand. I didn't think this would be so nerve-wracking. Was I making the wrong decision? I couldn't agonize over this any longer.

I took a deep breath before managing to say, "... Yes, it is."

I stared at the expensive blue and white silk tie as the store clerk carefully wrapped it in tissue paper, and slipped it into the shopping bag. The tie would never be worn with the light blue shirt I had brought into the store on the pretense of matching it. Did my face give anything away? Surely there was no way he could guess the true motive for my purchase. The expense didn’t worry me, I would not be paying. What better way to hide a murder weapon than to return it to the store where it was purchased?

With or Without You

2010-07-08T12:41:00.000-07:00

With you I was young and vibrant.

Without you I feel old and useless.

In your company life was an adventure.

Without you life is making it through today.

With you the future held the promise of knowing you better.

Without you the future is a lonely, scary place.

With you, you challenged me to learn something new.

Without you I write really bad prose, and wallow in self doubt and regret.

With you I could count on being understood.

Without you I converse without revealing anything about myself.

With you there was laughter and silliness.

Without you, your smile, your dark humor, and even the silence that doesn’t need words, my soul yearns for another chance.

I participate in Jenny Matlock's Alphabe-Thursday. Visit her site for great posts on the letter Y.

X is for Xeric

2010-07-01T15:16:00.000-07:00

Xeric, a word meaning dry or desert like conditions, perfectly describes my life. Almost overnight I went from an over-full chaotic life to emptiness. Empty nest, fewer friends, no career, and something I haven't experienced in very long time - boredom. Even the weather is xeric. The summer heat saps my energy and makes me want to move underground. My Irish roots, fair skin, and allergy to sun screen do not help.

It's not that I haven't filled the time with other things, activity: appointments, events, blogging :-), but the dryness remains. The absence of these people and these things can't be replaced by other people and different things.

A positive person (if you are one, you should probably stop reading this blog) would say “give it some time”, “time heals all wounds”, “into every life a little rain must fall” (except that wouldn’t work with the whole dryness theme), and other equally unhelpful platitudes (if you’re offended, remember, I warned you about reading this blog). As you may have guessed, I am not a positive person, probably because my life is so xeric.

Visit Jenny's Alphabe-Thursday

Empty

2010-06-26T06:39:00.001-07:00

Lifeless room
Only memories and posessions to prove that you once lived here

Broken heart
Breaking anew a million times a day with every thought of you

Regret
Would you still be here if I had been more?

Uncertainty
Is life without you life at all?