Let Me Re-Introduce Myself to You by Answering 20 Questions

It’s been a long while since I wrote simply for the joy of, well, writing. I need a fresh start. This is a way to relieve the tension and get back to my natural self. Nice to meet you all over again.

Wild Wind-Blown Self Portrait Near Lake Joanis, photo by Valentina Kaquatosh, 2015

“Wild Wind-Blown Self Portrait at the shore of Lake Joanis”

What did you eat today?

One cup and a half of rice and cream of mushroom soup, washed it down with Vanilla Coke. It’s now late at night, I forgot to have supper, so I have to make up for it by making a quick tuna fish sandwich! I tend to skip meals whenever I get manic creative like I did today. Yes, I’m kicking myself in the fanny over it. But, to be fair, I’ve been on a treatment called Bydureon that has significantly reduced my appetite, so it’s made me extra forgetful when it comes to eating!

What have you done today?

Slept in too late, that also meant I took my medication later than usual (I’m talking about my diabetic meds) so that gave me a combination of a belly and headache, so I spent the first half of my wakefulness in meditation, stretching, easing my body back to a natural state of composure. This is what happens when my chronic fatigue attacks my system, so I compensate. I move slow, have done so for as long as I can remember, but now I accept it instead of beating myself up for it.

Next, I answer to the call of my cats who are ever mindful to help me stay awake by tending to their every need and desire. I not only just feed them, I clean their bowls, make sure their water is fresh, check the litter boxes three times a day (otherwise they will complain, loudly), and the best part is cuddling them. Today my elder cat, Calie, wasn’t feeling well, she’s got a hair-ball problem, so I massaged her belly and throat, prepared softer food for her, and made double sure the water and food bowls are free of dust.

The biggest chunk of the day I spent at my COLOURlovers profile site where my digital coloring obsession helps me relax and forget about the troubles of the outside world. It’s a part of my daily routine. Whenever I get stressed out, I’m there almost too much!

Tonight I am house cleaning, taking out trash, clearing clutter, and preparing for a late night visit with a good friend. She and I planned to collaborate on art projects while I put in a load of laundry. Unfortunately, didn’t work out, so we had to re-schedule, which is just as well considering I still have more cleaning to do before I can really make my place presentable. Ugh!

Name a few friends and what their talents are:

Saumya: Multi-talented, so I will name the one talent she has that’s my favorite (actually, I don’t have one favorite, so I’m just picking the one at the moment) — her ability to create intricate drawings where there’s images seemingly within images, like paisley maps that lead to “mind’s eye” hidden things but each time I take a look, I see something different within each drawing.

Michelle: Watching her drawings and paintings develop is like seeing flowers open fast forward, and they don’t wilt.

Nicole: She’s a true visionary, someone I can really relate to and can communicate with on a psychic level, but even when we can’t seem to connect in the “real” world, she has this earthy, motherly quality that soothes everything out. I can truly call her a “soothe-sayer” because as both an artist and healer, she can apply both at once in her efforts to bring someone a calming truth.

Trent: He drums like he was born out of a different era, yet also can drum in any style of music, or genre. What he is best at is rockabilly and jazz. His specialty is really keeping that nice, flowing beat… I can’t describe it as well as you can hear it. You have to hear him live.

What is your star sign?

Capricorn with Leo rising!

Can you play an instrument?

No. But I can sing. I took vocal training as a child and performed in semi-professional church choirs while growing up. I hated the travel, the church retreats, and constant auditions for solo and duet ensembles I didn’t get to be a part of! Yet when I did get to be, I did it like a Diva. Now I only sing on stage for karaoke contests, or just to surprise friends. I perform Stevie Nicks songs the best, my favorites songs to do are Enchanted, Talk to Me, Stand Back, and Edge of Seventeen, just to name a few, yeah, I could make a HUGE list. However, people who really know me often request I sing Jefferson Airplane’s White Rabbit.

What has been your work experience mainly been in?

Retail hell.

Considering we’re only a few days away from Black Friday, I am VERY glad to not be experiencing that anymore!

Have you ever been to uni or done any courses?

I spent what seemed like decades in college obsessed with achieving my BFA in Studio Art, emphasis on Drawing and Painting, with a minor in Writing. Originally what kept me in classes so long was I double majored in English and Fine Arts! I soon realized I had to cut down those classes and focus on Art since that was where my talents truly were the best. I didn’t graduate and went on to just achieving a degree in Life Experience!

In fact, it really does feel like I spent my entire life in universities. My mother worked at Cardinal Stritch University during my grade school years, so after school I was “enrolled” in a life drawing class while Mom was at work. Instead of going home alone, it was great to take a bus to the university and engage in creative pastimes like that, really had a major influence on me. Later my Mom went to Central Bible College where religious studies also had a major impact on my life, but not in the way my mother would have hoped! By the time I was of age to get into college myself, university life was already a part of who I was and it’s my “church” in a very real sense.

I miss being in classes. I still feel a deep loss not attending. I have constant dreams where I think I’m late or didn’t show up for a class, and I’m missing out on it “all”, or I need to catch up. I also still feel like I am in my 20’s!

Are you in a band or do anything creative?

Hell’s belles, wish I could of been in a band, gods know I practiced like I was in one when I was a teen! But, no, that didn’t happen.

As for creative… I got that going on up to my eyeballs and beyond! Art’s my bag.

What is your favorite planet?

Planet? Planet sch-man-et! THE MOON!

Last film you watched?

The Shadow of the Vampire — I love my vampire movies. I’m also a HUGE fan of actors Eddie Izzard, John Malkovich, and you can’t beat the amazing Willem Dafoe as the classic Nosferatu!

What have you discovered about people?

Anyone I know, and love, can pass away, or leave, at any time, without warning. So make every moment count. Make sure everyone knows they are loved. Even when they refuse to believe you are their friend, or that you love them, still extend to them love. Just as often as people change their minds, they can change their hearts as well. Forgiveness is liberating, perhaps even necessary for survival.

What clothes are you wearing?

A turquoise and forest green batik sarong I sewn into a poncho, pair of black trousers, no socks, no bra, feeling like an all natural woman.

Are you a jeans and t-shirt girl or dresses and skirts girl?

Bah! I weep if I have to wear jeans. I love to wear dresses as long as they are semi-formal and exotic. And skirts, yes, skirts! I rather wear flowing things than tight, hugging my legs and thighs things.

Don’t even try to make me wear shorts in public. I think shorts are the ugliest things women wear. Get yourself into a skirt or pants, a romper even, but not shorts. And jumpers? Puh-leeeese!

However, you will only see me wear shorts to bed. When you’re a woman going through menopause, shorts are the best thing to wear at night. Never thought I’d EVER wear turn to wearing them for anything until I got the sweats.

Denim or leather?


But I feel like I should be more kind and point out I don’t condone harm towards animals, even though I do have a leather couch that I know wasn’t made from the hides of cows who committed suicide. I also own a coyote fur coat, a gift from a friend and my father. I honor the animals and thank them for their contribution to my well-being as much as possible. We all nourish other living beings in this life and death and re-birth cycle. Someday my body will return to the earth, and perhaps will contribute to another’s life in this cycle as well, gods’ willing. I don’t know yet. Or I may disintegrate in an instant. Should I even think too long about this?

Why do I feel guilty over my humanity whenever I think about how leather is made?

Oh, I look back at my couch and suddenly start to imagine the moo-ing moans and death cries of the cattle when they lined up for slaughter… ouch. Stop it, Val.

What was the last song you listened to?

This is sad for me to say, but I don’t remember! This means I need to listen to more music again. I get into a silent mode. Last night I was content to listen to the geese outside, and then became very concerned when I heard a blue jay cry out in alarm just after dusk. I get to be a watch dog for my neighborhood woodland, the flora and fauna mean a lot to me, so I worry sometimes when I hear something strange like that.

Lately I am watching more movies, so the last songs I heard were instrumental soundtracks. However, to be specific, last time I heard an actual song was from Pink Flamingos!

The Trashmen : Surfin’ Bird ( 1963 )

Probably one of the most annoying songs ever created, but the “Papa, ooma mow mow” lyrics are perfect for the “singing asshole” scene during DIVINE‘s birthday party.

How many pokes have you got on Facebook?

You know, I’m slow to social media, always have been. Never understood how “pokes” work. So whenever someone pokes me, I don’t poke back, and I never poke anyone! It also took me FOREVER to get the hang of Twitter as well. I even wrote about how much it frightened me.

What things frustrate you?

People and money.

What political party do you support?

Liberal. I lean to the left. No particular party.

What is more important money or love?

Love. Because when you got love, the money follows, it really does. You might be able to “buy” someone’s loyalty, but when push comes to shove, people who love you will stick by you when you’re broke and sick. I know this because whenever I am broke and sick, I’m not that way for long, and my friends aren’t that way for long, too, so supporting each other with or without money, you can’t buy that. Love glues us all together.

You get invited to see your favorite rock star, what do you say?

Ha! I’m either speechless or over talkative at first, but the conversation will be mundane, which may be refreshing to the star. I don’t want to gush all over them because I think it’s just stupid and everything they’ve all heard before over and over again. I also know they are jet-lagged, or weary after a performance, so what I have to say will depend upon the circumstance of the chance meeting. I will dance according to the music played. But chances are, I’m awed speechless, or speech-full silly, so I should let them talk, tell me a story I can repeat for bragging rights later for me to tell to my friends. I collect stories of chance meetings like that, not autographs. Maybe I’d take a selfie with them, if they feel up to it, but even that will feel rude.

Fame can turn people into assholes. Being popular and successful is a job. Very stressful. It can get ugly just as much as it can be rewarding. When you’re famous people think they can say whatever they want about you, uncensored, sometimes even to your face, and this means my “heroes” have to wear thick, heavy armor. When I meet them, I know I’m not meeting the “real” person inside, it’s still a part of their performance. I know this because I’ve met and worked with several famous people, seen the life behind the stage, so being careful and kind to a performer goes a long way. I can’t just walk up to some star and think I’ll be their best friend over night. Even if that star was someone I used to know, went to school with, or was a friend of a friend’s friend, I don’t have the right to call on them willy-nilly.

Also, I no longer have any heroes, no one to look up to like I once did. I don’t believe in heroes anymore. There’s just people who are good. Good at what they do and doing good in the world.

We don’t need to put anyone else on a pedestal above us. Appreciate someone who deserves it more, like your mother, or the people who struggle to save refugees. Or just appreciate yourself. Yes. Do that! Great way to end this tonight. See you again soon!

Postcard #50: A Walk in the Snowstorm

Snow-soaked.  Snow-washed.  Snow-bath. At every turn, within seconds, in each direction, no escape from the wild blast, yet so soft, gentle-wet, beautiful it lasted.  My journey out from bed — out from lonely thoughts that keep me down in nothing done — one look out the window and all the mesmerizing white sat me up and into motion as if a lost friend came knocking at my door.  “Come out!  Come out to play!”  The wind ushered me.  My heart leaped.  I needed out.  The snow called.

I dressed as if for a date, or a performance more like.  No, a little of both.  As I quickly layered on my make-up, skirts, dress, gathered up my patch-work cloak, and topped-on my headdress of coins and feathers, slid on my boots and almost tripped over my own toes, I made-believe — almost-believed I was going out to meet a lover out in the spiraling wild white snow.  I can never know yet who he could be, a woman must always put on lipstick at the very least, just to be sure, but he’d better be warm and carry me over the ice… and we shall dance ourselves into snow banks and laugh into tomorrows.

I hurried to get out the door.  Mine was a — who am I kidding? — mine is always a late start!  January days are dark in the north woods, and I tend to sleep like a black bear curled up in a cave, yes, caving in to the winter and wanting nothing to do but dream of better days.  Sometimes I do not come out at all.  I forget the days and nights.  Time means nothing but a series of whites, grey, and blacks.  In the dark, it’s not so bad, but this winter the seasonal sadness I tend to feel is so sharp and keen, I lie here, wounded in my dreaming, waiting for the pain to end.  But last Sunday, the wind was smooth and loud, a heavy whisper-kiss it was, and I was anxious for a snow bath.

A whole crowd of other people were out that day to enjoy the weather as if it were the height of summer. They gathered over the frozen lake all appropriately dressed in the layers one’s supposed to wear to outlast the cold. As for I? Um, not as wise. I glided through the snow in my patchy homemade cloak, dressed more for dream-play and dance. The storm soon soaked into me, weighing me down as I walked. Yet this did nothing to force me to turn back home and cut my time out short. I lifted my face up into the snow and sighed, letting the first gentle pelting breathe over me soon grow into the soaking-wet-sopping sensation that I can best describe as like getting a winter bath with your clothes on.

Along with the wash, comes the work out. Walking through the ankle-deep-soon-growing-into-calf-deep snow went from like walking into cake batter to trying to navigate through wet concrete. Each step I took meant shoveling a trail with my feet, and my heels are not light either. Each boot is heavy out of the snow, as if made to weigh me down during winter storms so I don’t blow away! My hour’s walk into the snow was a delightful torture. I pushed my little brick-hard black leather steel-like tiny feet as far as I could wish them.

It was not exhaustion that stopped me in my tracks for a break. The breath-taking-God’s-honest-truth-be-told reason for me getting out my door any day is beauty.  Overwhelmed by everything around me. I let myself sink into the snow. I love every sound, every bit of silence, every scene taking place all around me, I go into a numb smile and stare like a baby. I tilted my head onto a big comfy rock near a birch and would have napped there under a canopy of pine if it weren’t for my inability to close my eyes. I waved as smiling faces of folks slid by in snow-shoes and skis. Not a full yard away from me, a buck had been hiding. He gave a snotty-sneeze-like grunt when he attempted to gingerly walk through the mucky-muck of the snow on the trail and disturbed by a jogger in hefty hiking boots. Neither one of us had heard or would have noticed the other had it not been for the hiker and his sloppy-slappy boots trudging through the snow.

The swift thunder of the buck’s hooves as he seemed to fly through to the other side of the road made me think of all kinds of mythical creatures, wondering without much wonder how people have thought up such tall tales. When you see an animal do something amazing, like go from nearly standing still to suddenly springing into what seems like a supernatural action, it has a magic all its own, yet it inspires more magic out of one’s own head… The snowstorm’s roar created a kind of white noise that muffled the noise of the cars beyond the borders of the nature reserve. The wind even hid me in this pocket of whirling snow. I could not even hear the branches swaying all around me, yet I could see the trees dancing.

I did not meet any hot-blooded lover, however there were a lot of men on the trail, and all of them smiled at me, perhaps because I dressed like a silly person (but, hey, I’d rather make an interesting impression than a boring one). And, after taking some photographs for souvenirs, consequently sacrificing my camera to the storm, I came back home swooning like I just had a wild make-out session in the woods. I certainly looked like I did. As beautifully as I made myself up on my way out, once indoors, as I took my gear off, I had a good laugh at myself in the mirror! My headdress was half-off, my wet and roughed-up hair barely distinguishable from the feathers trailing from it, my eye shadow ran, and my lipstick was so smeared it looked as if a four-year-old slapped it on me.

Snow-soaked. Snow-washed. Snow-bath. The storm had its way with me. I stripped off my layers, gracefully exhausted now, I was free to swoon back down to bed, yet this time with smiling dreams again.

Postcard #49: Getting Lost is Part of Discovering Nothing is Lost

I am wondering and wandering, dreaming of places and people, my mind resetting itself, my moods resettling, hope is resurfacing. I still wish. It’s not a sin to wish. And it’s the wish that pushes me through the woods, out the back door, floats me to the top, the strength that sets me standing on my hands, holds me in the boat, cradles me in sleep, and guides me out of my dreams into a waking that is doing. I do not mind getting lost. It is a loss of time and space that takes me away from all the heaviness of the world — a loss I never mourn — I take time, I take space, I move at my will, have all of the wild at my pleasure, loosen the ribbons, slip off this gown of iron burden, and tramp along the shore to the destinations of all my imaginings. I want to lose being found. Go missing. Be kidnapped by goblins. Fall into rabbit hole. Seduced by faeries. Side-step into a mist, and yet, not be forgotten…

I stumble back into place. I do not want to lose myself. All the dizzy delight of getting lost can only go so far. The winter silence sends me wishing as it always does when there is not enough doing to be done. All there is is white stinging my eyes in the morning, and the afternoon snow is gray-slate-matte-boring.

Getting lost leads to wondering alone into being alone, lost alone, yet everyone’s alone in wandering alone lost. Is being lost mean having something to find? What if there is nothing to seek? I lose myself when I chase after what is missing, only to find myself waiting for me when I discover what was lost was always there inside, waiting, taking a reach into my own heart to pull out all the losing, loser gear I carried around with every sigh I thought I let out.

I don’t let the stranger me be strange anymore. She’s the spirit in flight with a base to land on. I am earth-bound and freedom-soaring, like Hawk-on-the-Wind that is my family name, my people’s crest, both my parents’ totem bird, a thing thought lost I did not know was there, only a thing of whisper, a meaning no one told me. Every time I asked for meaning, I was given questions. Irritating! Why were they forcing me to go on a journey? I don’t want to go anywhere! Give me the answer, NOW. But the meaning would not have the meaning it has now until I stepped away, ignored the path, rejected my purpose, and chased after someone else’s dream…

I am in love with my wishes now. Yet I have a new wish. Just one simple wish: don’t lose me when you decide to get lost.

Postcard #42: A Smile Peeks Out

You know what?
The most beautiful thing happened to me today,
I saw your face in my reflection looking back at me
out of the corner of my eyes, a shine like no other —

a smile I can’t help but recognize, wrinkles at the corners of my lips
from where the line of my mouth is forever crooked,
in the way a front porch of an old home is bent
under the weight of many past guests over years of parties
and even the way I hold myself together is the way
you taught me how to hold a sword, how I hold my books,
how friends hold hands, how I lift my chin when I speak
even how I hold my back straight, and when I do battle as I dance —
The most beautiful things peek out of me all the time,
at times when I least recognize them, automatic, like machine
like nature, like clock work working chiming ticking the time
in the ways I climb and walk, the little ways in the way
a whisper of you is in how I giggle and talk
shadows of you tickle throughout my thoughts
I cannot erase any bit of you, even if you paid me to
make a map of my mind and lots of you are so easy to find
The most ugly thing I ever attempted was to cover all this up,
I tried to hide you, clear you out of my sight,
punish myself for every like of you, and
banish you to ghost, leaving no souvenirs behind
traces of you were too numerous, I could not succeed
you have been tattooed inside me, like brilliant graffiti
in exotic colors, too vivid to lie hidden, and like flowers —
the more dirt I put them in, the more they bloom, bloom, BLOOM again!
So, you know what now?
I am the most beautiful woman today — all because I knew you
and you never really left me alone, because there you are
in my face all along…
this face is older, wiser, the eyes darker, ‘specially underneath
and tear-traced are the cheeks, and yet I dare shine
through all this dullness and age, I feel I am a prize
I am the smile I cannot keep to myself
not always because of you
but because of how I love and
the way I love you must also be
the way I have to love me.

The August Heart’s-Ache-Art Starts Now

Starting tonight, I vowed I would write a poem a day and would draw a sketch a day. First I will start with the passion that provokes me to do this in the name of my God. I look at this green all around me and it fills me with such love, my heart aches with so much hurt, I am so in love and feel so blessed here. Look here and see where I am and know a little something of why I am here and why I long to share it with you.

I write from out of visions, just like I do sometimes with my drawings and paintings. I swear to you this one was given to me last night and would not stop “replaying” in my mind until I wrote it down. Only then could I sleep…

Before the Summer is done
                            In full Sunlight
                                  Under the Pale Heat of the Moon
                                                     I want us to make love
                                         during the days and all the nights
                                                                           As the Fall has begun
                                                      In the Full Bosom of Dead Leaves
                                              Under the Slumbersome and Naked Trees
                                                                            I want us to sink into a Most
                                                                                          Legendary Cuddle
                                                                                                       using only Our
                                                                                                                 bodies as
                                                                                                  against the cold
                               When Winter Spreads Her Deep and Frozen Shadow
                                                                  In the Growing, Building Snow
                                                                        Over the Slippery Ice
                                                                         We Shall Slide…
                                                             …You will take me
                                                        Into Your arms to
                               We will rub cheeks into fire
                    Sparkle and burn like stars
           like everyone’s heart’s desire
     Then, As Spring Unfolds
We Will Uncurl with the Green
        Bloom dew-wet, petal-sweat-out
                                           and into the source of seeds again!

I promised a sketch a day, and so I shall deliver, but I am also hard at work producing a playing card deck for a language preservation project, so just in case I miss a few days to post art and poetry on my blog this first August week, I have more than a few to show you…

Vamps are a favorite subject. They tend to bleed out of mind like drops of sweat whenever I’m busy doing anything pedestrian.

I’m always drawing and painting self portraits. I do this to better understand myself and to keep a record of my shifting moods. This series of self-observations are like different pieces of my personality, some I hide, some always put on for show. There is something new on my cheek now, an age spot in the shape of a running horse. It’s not hugely disfiguring, more like a weird freckle. It was much darker back in January. I thought it was a cancer because it was so dark. When I got it removed, it would not completely disappear, the laser still left a mark in the shape of the spot. I now consider it a “tattoo” given to me by the Gods. *laughs*

I don’t know who this is, so don’t ask me. I often draw from the imagination, or I draw from the life, or from magazines, or something I see on television. I think I got this impression of a guy from a number of sources — from the news, from missing a friend, from seeking a male ideal, to thinking about a character I might want to write about. Who knows? Perhaps if I finish this drawing, flesh him out a bit more, I might find out who he is? You never know.

This is the start of August. The time of year I plan all kinds of art projects. I almost don’t consider it part of the summer anymore. In a few weeks the students will be back. Heat wave will surrender to chill. My favorite in between warm and cold time is coming! Lugh has armed me with such great gifts in this life that to praise him, and to earn honor for myself, is to put them to great use. This is what I intend to do this month, and every month. Time for no more complaining, it’s time for work!

I hope I have a nice audience out there.  Let me know if you’re there.  *waves*

Postcard #40: Lughnasadh Garden Glories

They are tiny still life home movie posters, these photographs I share with you. All around me there are so many little joys I find everyday I can’t keep to myself. Everyday, as July grows into the first of August, my heart hurts open wide, like an egg cracking, firewood snapping, insect bite itching and burning, and I crave to burst outward, spilling all these joys all across the universe. In a lava flow, streams of stars, sparkling, ranting, raving, shining for your attention, I can’t wait for the relief of finally sitting down and seeing your reaction… to match mine, like mine, when I walk through the woods and see the garden glories smile back at me.

I cannot photograph a single flower now without also capturing a bee or fly hard at work. I admire their every move. They do not seem to mind I’m there. I could tell that the bee on the thistle was old. Its wings were tattered at the edges, but perhaps this nothing much — how long do they live? And does it matter? I don’t think it matters to them. It was very happy.

Just across the trail, directly behind me, was another happy fellow; an amber wasp dancing along brilliant mustard yellow flowers.

I’m never creeped out by these little guys. For one thing, they are not in my home, I am visiting their space, or I’m just walking through their work place. On this week’s end before Lughnasadh, I decide to make it a mission to really take notice of these creatures and appreciate them.

Most of the time I just walk and think of other things, human stuff. I am most often depressed, my mind is full of desperate cares I cannot cure, and so all I do is the act of walking to clear my mind into just the concern of putting one foot in front of the other. When I deliberately set my thoughts to think about the lives of other living things, I forget my humanity, like taking a vacation from myself, and temporarily enter the exotic world of wild and wonderful things.

And the wild things look back at me, wary, curious, innocent. When I took the photo of the fly with the white underbelly, a group of children all tied together by a string leashed to their teacher (cutest thing to see) slowly walked by me. The teacher bade the kids to step slowly around me because I was taking a photograph. “There are people who use the nature reserve to study,” the teacher almost whispered, and the children quieted down, their big eyes ooh-ing and ahh-ing me, “remember what I told you, this is not just a park, this is a classroom. Let’s not disturb the lady…”

I don’t know why, but I love it when adults and children call me “lady” because it sounds sweet, not because it sounds like they are considering me an aristocrat. “Lady” is like frosting next to the “cake” of my name.

The nature reserve is not the only place to commune with garden bugs. I found plenty more, but many were too quick and jumpy for me to photograph. So I crawl up close to the flowers, stick my face and head and hands into the plants and trees, sniffing out critters, pressing my cheeks close to leaves and petals, and feeling so much love I could die the happy death of my dreams.

Then I run out of words. My most favorite Hibiscus flowers have bloomed again, a sure sign that August is about to come. I look into the center of the flower and see a star, my star, and I think of my God, and he tells me to stop advertising my sorrows and complaints and just get on with my work so I better listen.

When I do, I get back home, I hold my pencil over paper, I remember to smile when I think of my friends, fight the fear of loss, and draw out of love for them, draw upon my love for everyone, and there’s no more hurt or bursting, just a gentle gurgling-giggling from within.

Postcard #37: Hippy Kamikaze?

I started the second and third week of July doing some volunteer work I enjoy. The days I had to step out into the heat, I decided to wear one of my Guatemalan headbands. One of my favorites is a hand-stitched cotton band that folds out into a bonnet, perfect for days when I need something to keep sweat out of my eyes. The funniest thing that happened while I wore that headband that day…

I know a cute Korean couple who own a frame and print business downtown, and as I walked by their place, they just couldn’t get over how my new red hair color matched the flowers on my headband!

“It’s like you are a hippy Kamikaze!” The husband laughed and could NOT stop laughing. His wife’s smile was infectious, too. The two of them made me giggle really hard. Hippy Kamikaze! Indeed. I’ll be remembering that one for a long while.

I wish I had more to write today.  I procrastinated my writing a lot this week.  Normally I like to write my “postcards from home” every Sunday to mark each end and beginning of every week, but…  my urge to draw has overcome desires to write.  NOT that I don’t have anything to write about.  My mind is always full.

Even though I am lonely due to being frustrated because I can’t seem to hook up with friends, I have to practice some temperance.  I have no one to talk to lately and it makes me panic.  I don’t know whether to stay silent and disappear, or keep waiting for responses to my replies, comments, and endless trails of words, yet now I have to stop and get back to writing for myself.  Still… I start to feel guilty for expressing myself at all to my friends, especially when I forget to consider that other people I don’t know read what I write to them and freak out over the nice things (I kid you not) I have to say.  I only wish I could be the kind of friend I am to myself as I am for others, so I do what I do, and all I can do is write, and just wait.  In the meantime, I’m concentrating on my drawing.  I have a great purpose to fulfill — working on a playing card deck I hope I’ll finish at the end of the month — it’ll afford me the key to making my dreams come true.

I have to keep believing.  Keeping going.  I’m almost there!  August will be a time of greatness for me.

Because I’m going to make it be so.