Cuttlefish, Beauty From Mistakes, And... Surprise!

the sepia filter made it misty. I then used Picnick for the star overlay. Use it before it closes in April!

"cinnamon" on color. Yes, that's a smile. :)

I've been playing with sepias lately... I still want to try a hand with a manual camera (Lomo LCA 100... mostly because I love how a camera meant to mimic an expensive brand in an impoverished Soviet regime ended up with unintended results. Now, with a little cross processing...using chemicals not intended for that type of film, can create...something like this: Pics by Maco Sky-Walker)

But sepia, a really cool design... and with some filters, you can still let in natural color. I want a somewhat Wizard of Oz-ish look (anything from where Dorothy is home in Kansas)---David O. Selznic used a pantyhose over a light, to magnificent effect. I think over a lens, I can work it. (Also considering the fishnet stocking bit for shadow.) I like a "cinnamon" effect that tints without destroying undertones.
Sepia's history is kind of cool. Cuttlefish emit an ink that was used on photo positives to tint them that golden-orange-pink-peach-brown color. Thank a lovely squirting fish! But modern filters are just too damn orange!

But, using the party dress I bought for an event (Good price too, from a lovely shop called the Clothes Horse near me!) I decided to, as I promised a sweet neighbor kid, "Show my princess dress".) So, with my favorite accessory, and good luck charm, made from 100% authentic Himalayan wool, I worked out a few shots. It fit when I bought it. Now it's hanging, too long, needs a tailor. But hope to use it again.

No make up, hair in flat pins and loose braid and left to dangle. I use John Freida anti frizz serum and a detangling brush, and clarifying shampoo and conditioners, with a deep condition weekly. Curls by: Genetics and a simple wash, condition and dry. It's in defining them that I'd do the most work. Nice of them to behave! :)

Not WHAT Are You, WHO are You? Can You Ever Know?

There's a time where I go into extremely internal, introspective moods. Well, that time has come. Welcome to the Annual Where Am I? Moment. Enjoy! Refreshments after.

The What _______ Thinks I Do meme is a bit played out. So I'm of course, doing it again.

What My Friends Think I Do:

1)Capitalize on being a freak of nature--- in so many ways

2) Run about like some weird little princess tree hugger.

What my mother thinks I am:

Apparently, her baby.

3) What Society thinks I am: Playing banjo duets?

4) What I Think I Am: I'll borrow from the Flinstone Vitamin commercials. 10 million strong...and growing.

5) What I Really Am: Constantly growing, evolving, learning. Sorting me out. To life, to health, to love.  Skål!


In the end, I'll simply work on me and what I need to do... focus on what's important.
And let go of what I don't need.

The result of playing with sepias and thresholds, etc. Yes, I am very white.

The Ash Wednesday Fire

Sometimes, fear is a lifesaver.
Now, I don't usually argue intelligent design---look at some of the people I've met! But... if a well coordinated Swiss quartz has a master clockmaker, then so too must the universe have someone in control.

In fear, the pupils dilate, the legs suddenly work, there's an analgesic effect, the senses can be heightened. At times this is a bad, bad thing.

I haven't necessarily been hungry lately... headaches and needing a root canal keep me either appetite-less or looking for soft food. But I had a sudden burst of hunger (Sometimes, your body tells you when it needs strength, and I have to fight)... being tired, I did all the prep, and flicked on the burner... unfortunately, it was the wrong one, and a cooking utensil was in the way... a small fire was put out nearly immediately. But fear because I didn't hear alarms going (everyone else did though.. oh dear, I live among a lot of older people, I'm sure after the incident 10 years ago, when a sweet man (who, bless him, was never very present.) left a candle burning while he was at work and lost his kitchen (Our building is 41 years old... but my neighbor above me has a 10 year old kitchen.)

Aside from plastic utensils, my pride, and some burns with blisters, one which I've cleaned as well as I can but can't quite get some charring out of, and the pain of having panicked (I'm now feeling the effect of panic... gotta be careful with pain meds, believe me!) and from having been out in the cold with a pre-existing illness with fever, I'm ok. I mostly scared myself.

And, really, what is more appropriate than a fire on Ash Wednesday?

I also thank the friend who took panicky, recovering me out. Not only was the grilled chicken lovely, but so was the marvelous, short, simple conversation. And the crazy snow is in melt stage now. I should soon be free of any evidence of this.

The Whiteboard Blog

I have conductive loss starting at 18 months. It will worsen with age, hoping to slow it down. It all started with a reaction to an MMR vaccine, and a high fever.

Evernote and Skitch come in handy... loud places, letting go of frustration, etc... highly recommended in the hearing loss community. (Don't know what to call it, I'm not up to date on the gang signs of late.)

Yes, I draw like a 3rd grader on speed. And this makes my handwriting look odd, stylus or not. But so be it.

I try to be patient. But I have succumbed to temptation. 

Ragtime and Jazz

When I was 11, I got my first bra...from Mom and Grandma on a shopping trip, while waiting for Dad to have yet another round of tests and surgeries. One of those little cotton balconets... my cousin, always on the bigger side, had had to start wearing a bra at about 4 or so. I was built like a slim 8 year old at the time... short, slim, bony... and still they were trying everything they could think of for nutrition, etc... it fit quite nicely, like a loose, cropped t-shirt.

My father, perhaps realizing time was running short, sat me down for the "father daughter talk"...he was as blunt as a whack to the head with a baseball bat, so seeing him a little embarrassed kind of shocked me.
"Soon, you're going to be a young lady"... he flushed. I reddened watching him. I think the seminary training had not prepared him for blushing 11 year old girl. "And with that, you'll grow." I sat, watching him while tucked into the recliner on his lap. "Well, baby, a woman's life is like this..." attempting not to be crude, he fished, looking for a way to say it without beating around the bush as well. "It's 1 week of ragtime, 3 weeks of jazz."

About 4 years later, working as a counselor for the youngest girls, I felt a tap on my shoulder, saw a sweatshirt being held out to me. I was wearing khakis...and well. Quick change done, a whisper from a cruder person... "So, how's your aunt Flo?" I don't have an Aunt Florence, so suffice it to say, I was flustered. Not being able to control the volume of my voice--- I don't hear myself talk... I actually squeaked "I don't have an Aunt Flo!" a bit more loudly than I should have.

That said, I quickly realized that 6 weeks of ragtime was an average for me... and I couldn't have gotten up to dance if I'd wanted to. What was this 28 day thing? Turns out I had ovarian cysts and endometriosis...so, it was massive appointments added onto my schedule. At 20, surgery was necessitated there. Now, with what options open to me, having had seizures and kidney issues, among others, I can't take birth control pills. Until I'm ready, a Mirena works. But... I go to Catholic Health for my needs...it's great, I finally have pretty much universal care, and no separate driving to a clinic for blood tests. But they don't give out birth control. So I had to peddle my butt into Planned Parenthood. Imagine my surprise... the one in the city is a bit dark and grimy, with bullet-proof glass, etc... and a sign on the door that said "Protesters have used cell phone cameras to take photos of procedures." So, in order to help myself, universally, I kind of have to take in dirt and grime, and all of that. It's cheery, oh so cheery and doesn't help my confidence in the least.

Little Bugbears, Snug as a Bug In a Rug, Bears...

Socrates  called the opinions of the many "Lamiae"... a bugbear, or boogie-man, used to frighten little children. (Ancient cultures had this thing for scaring their youngest members into behaving... I have seen ancient folktales out of Germany where a mother says to a misbehaving toddler, "Child, the wolf is outside the door, if you don't behave, I'll let him eat you.")

Bugbears almost sound adorable--- like a very little bear about the size of a large beetle, with a tiny, sweet roar like a seashell. (I absolutely refuse to think of the alternative, I am itchy already, thinking of mosquitoes I had the pleasure of meeting down south, which, had to be the result of untoward mingling of genes with bull frogs, which, due to their gigantic, unnatural size, had not a buzz but almost a diffused, airy croaking sound.)

But bugbears were in fact, beautiful demons with "tells" of sorts. You can see "bugbear" in all its' unself-possessing cuteness and replace it with bogey, as in "bogey-man". That specter that comes out of the night to make an unholy bumping.

Two men in a farce about the underworld, examine a "bugbear", Mormo closely... she is quadrupedal, with large, floppy ears (which, if using the very small bears analogy, kind of sounds adorable), but with a face that changes---a bull, a mule, a pretty girl, a dog, with a leg of brass, and another of dung.

These beautiful demons were known for seducing men, for sucking blood, for carrying off and murdering children. I imagine not many households hosted a brat for long!


But let's get back to making this bogey not a terrifying, blood-thirsty, lustful creature, but a sweet little bear you could probably keep as a pet... (offer him bits of stew meat, I suppose?) It is within us, as creatures of choice, to hear the nasty things said, and rather than let it hurt, to cause us to wonder, to say and truly believe, "This cannot affect me, I am better than this. I'm letting it go." And then, these large, nasty demons, these unnaturally sized mosquitos, simply become a sweet, cute little bear, which would be about as cute as a bug's ear.
There, now. That's not so terrifying, now, is it?



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Some Guy Named George...He Was In a Band In the 60's

Family can be tough, but sometimes there's no shortage of funny stories.

From Grandma and her love for a pair of vintage moccasins (Vintage to US, that is) and her way of telling off truck drivers, her snappy little comments, and her tendency to tell me off for being cheap--- We'll just say her nickname for that would have me in trouble with a lot of people!

To the occasional scratch your head tale...

When one older cousin of mine was in college, she went as an exchange student in England. She has a love for horses. She lived next to this house with a big fence and could look over it on horseback to a man with vaguely hippish looks and long hair. Apparently, her neighbor's name was George, and he was a very nice man. Being told his name, she called her mother... "Mom, apparently he was in a band in the 1960's... his name is George Harrison. What band was it?" My poor aunt almost had a heart attack.