Central Park by Bill Miller

Seems my muse is sleeping so in the meantime, I'll just cast my light hither and yon.

The above piece of art is by a Maryland based artist named Bill Miller. If above were a watercolor, it would catch my eye. But it is not a watercolor, rather it is made of vinyl and/or linoleum so the first time I saw his work in an article, I was so drawn to it. The artist reclaims discarded flooring for his collage-like landscapes and portraits (homemag.com May 2005).

So if you feel like strolling through a gallery during a little down time, go to BILL MILLER ART.COM and take a look around. There are some beautiful works and you can learn a little more about him there.

And Bill, if you read this, hope you don't mind the profile without your permission. If you do, please contact the blog writer. Thank you.

MEET MY MUSE

Main Entry: 3muse
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Middle French, from Latin Musa, from Greek Mousa
1 capitalized : any of the nine sister goddesses in Greek mythology presiding over song and poetry and the arts and sciences
2 : a source of inspiration; especially : a guiding genius
3 : POET


My muse is part of my recent acquisition of little art pieces and I found her on eBay. She is a collage made by a woman named Raquel in France.

I think her arrival is rather timely.

Good night.

PS: If you feel inspired, ala Waking Ambrose, please feel free to leave your own definition of muse. As you can see, I'm not very inspired right now so I let Merriam Webster do the talking for me.

February 25, 1996

So the story goes - they met at a NY Rangers/NJ Devils Hockey game.
They fell in love. I don't know if you so much fall as slide.

It was eleven years ago today
Scissors and I hired a band to play...

It was a VERY warm sunny February day, I remember all the details so clearly. But VERY windy, so much so that I really had to run into the hall still dressed in my jeans and a shirt but with my hair, make-up all done and my veil being held down by my sister so I wouldn't take off like a kite. I was a little late-ish, Scissors was customarily punctual.

The wedding was a blast - a traditional Jewish wedding. While hoisted above the revelers heads on a chair, I slid (there's my sliding theory again) gracefully off to the floor - my wedding gown cushioning my fall. It was a joyful fun filled day and we took off the next day for our Honeymoon - first stop, San Francisco for a few days then onto Hawaii. That's the way to do it - escape after the wedding for 2 1/2 weeks and then get down to the business of reality.

So join us for our simcha (celebration) as we toast to another year - L'chaim.

But first as we cut the cake on that day eleven years ago, the band played this song:

.

While I Drove

...I worried about my mother driving.

...I wonder how Scissors and I can be good parents and a good couple with the bad examples that led us up to this point...

which is Alcoholism in both fathers...

...Divorce

...yada yada yada.

Then I came home...

and he had made dinner - any of you out there make homemade french fries? The kids love them.

And Julian was in the bathtub yelling "I'm drowning"...

...and Tali was doing her Math homework.

Afterwards we were all together in the kitchen, except for Scissors who was watching some Copa or another (sorry Scissors, I never do get them straight). We were into our usual evening routine which includes lots of silliness, such as the following interchange:

Tali: (speaking of a teacher in school) "Yes Ms. Direezi"
Me: "Must be nice having a teacher named Mister Easy"
Tali: "Not Mister Easy - Ms. Direezi!"
Julian: "Mister Easy, Mister Easy!"
Me: "Won't be hard with Mister Easy!"

I worry a lot. Maybe everyone does or maybe I am just the worrying kind. Maybe that's why I use so much humor in life. It sure passes the time in a pleasant way. Read the newspaper - isn't there enough unpleasantness in the world?

Growing up was a bit of a hard scrabble life for me in many ways, but the most useful tool that I brought from that is the ability to laugh at almost anything. You know, of course, within reason. But humor isn't about reason, it's about pushing the limits.

When I visited my Mom for her birthday this past weekend at some point, it was just she and I sitting at her dining room table next to each other. And I said, "this may be a convenient time for you to think about your will. You know like who is here with you on your birthday, sitting here with you on your birthday - not the day before, not the day after..." We had a good chuckle. I think I'm out of the will.

Next vignette finds Scissors and I sitting at the same table next to each other. Ring ring. My Mother answers the phone:

Mom: Hello?
Caller: weewah blee blee blah
Mom: Oh thanks. Yes Patrick and Dawn came yesterday. We went out to brunch. Yes Billy and Ruthie are coming tomorrow.
Me to Scissors sort of mouthing into the air(as I've just sat through a similar exchange): And G?
Mom: Yes, it was lovely
Me: And G and A and the kids?
Mom: Yes, Peter and Tommy called and will be visiting...
Me: What am I chopped liver?
Mom: Oh yes and G is here with the kids!
Me: Mazal tov.
Scissors "See, she mentioned you - happy?"

If you only had, say one other sibling, you might find this concerning. The truth is I find this infinitely funny.



Shabbat Shalom and have a good weekend. If you are so inclined, stop over to CENTRAL SNARKwhere Monday-Friday, it's just plain fun provided by Neva a/k/a Puppytoes and Saturday I'm featuring a new or old musical artist that has caught my ear.

Take care now.

A DAY IN THE SNOW

When I'm home from work, I have no time to blog.
When I'm in work, it's surreptitiously done with guilt.
When the weekends roll around, we cram it all in.
This past one, we visited my mom who just turned 82.
The kids went a little crazy - candy out in candy dishes.
Luca Brazi sleeps with the swedish fishes.

Before we went a callin'
We went sledding in a park so picturesque.
It seemed it was the only place to be if you were stuck in the city.
We came home to hot cocoa and black and white cookies.
Life is good indeed.

This is not a poem, this is not verse, it's just some blog rambling strung together like a quilted purse. Stream of consciousness.


I'm on a mini art buying kick. This artist is an Etsy artist that I found through DESIGN*SPONGE'S GUEST BLOG. His name is Harry Stooshinoff and he's from Canada. His paintings are little vignettes from life there. The first painting in the beginning of the post is called Winter Side Street and the one directly above is called At The Forest Homestead. Take a look.

Wow, I haven't posted in a week. Wasn't for lack of trying. Okay, work tomorrow so time to get some beauty rest.

Nice to be back, the place was getting a bit dusty.

A Valentine Short

He waited for this day each year.

He waited for it because he would walk the 87 steps to the corner of Arthur Avenue and make a right and cross the street, taking 347 steps to the newsstand. He would buy 14 quick picks and a pack of caramel swirl candies. He would buy the New York Post, The Times and El Diario (he didn't read Spanish but liked to think that he might at some point) and a Valentine's Day card.

He would go to the grocery store and buy the fixings for a Valentine's Dinner. Steak, potatoes, and asparagus. Something about asparagus said love to him. He would also get a Venetto cake for dessert.

He would walk the 51 steps from the frozen food aisle to the express checkout. The checkout girl had chipped black nail polish. That did not say love to him. She would abruptly take the $20 bill offered and put the change into his hand. He felt the scrape of her chipped polish nails and cringed inwardly.

He would walk the 434 steps back to his building and push for the elevator, making sure to cross the lobby twice while waiting, right foot over left, tapping his foot heel to toe seven times before entering the elevator.

Once on the 4th floor, he'd fumble for his keys and remember. His medication. He really should be more regular about taking it. He didn't want to end up back in the hospital. Nobody visited him there. Actually nobody visited him here. At least here, he'd have his Valentine's dinner and read the Valentines in the papers. He wasn't a desperado putting his love for all to see in a classified, he thought.

His love was gone forever - too bad they'd never met. He opened the card and wrote, Dear Maria...

Happy Valentine's Day to All!

"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart".Helen Keller

Apparently my blogroll falls into this category.

I know that I am a technotard, yet I forge ahead with impunity mucking about with a new template. I don't have time to actually figure out anything more than - "oh, that looks nice". Beyond that, trouble ensues. So if any gallant or gal out there has switched and can give me the crib notes on reclaiming my blogroll, I'll give you some Valentine's chocolates. I could do without them, although come to think of it - why should I?

I'm not really into the whole schmaltzy kissy coo-coo commercialism of Valentine's Day - but if you are, do enjoy.

The Flowered Lunchbox

I wish I understood more about the mind. For instance, how that camera captures certain snapshots from your life and burnishes them into your memory. I have this one that I just smiled about today because I did something as an adult that reminded me of being that 6 year old all over again.

The scene is thus set:

A very noisy playground with children running hither and yon - jumping rope, playing tag, screaming. It is a parochial school and we are all dressed in uniform.

I am in first grade and we are at recess after lunch. I have placed my coveted floral light turquoise tin lunchbox by the curb while I proceeded to join in the mayhem. All of the sudden in my peripheral vision I spy a girl walking away with MY TURQUOISE LUNCHBOX! I rush over to her and say something to the effect of "Hey, that's my lunchbox", whereby she insists that it's hers. Sure enough I look to the curb and there is my beautiful lunchbox. I don't remember how the tale ended, whether or not I muttered "don't let it happen again" or smiled meekly. That much detail I can't recall.

I thought of it today as I jumped to conclusion about something at work. Nothing terrible and thankfully I didn't accost somebody and falsely accuse them of taking my lunchbox. It was rather a reaction that I had in my head and let myself get annoyed about until further investigation revealed it was something that I had actually done myself. (Insert meek smile here).

My how I've evolved.

Friday didn't come fast enough. Shabbat Shalom friends. Have a great weekend.

Just because you can...

...doesn't mean that you should.

We can be so blind as parents.
Blind to the way in which we spoil our children.
Dear friends of mine celebrated their child's 6th birthday recently.
They picked her up from school in a limo.
Toured the city.
Went to a special Big Name City restaurant.
Six year old.
I'm not judging them, really I'm not, I'm just wondering -

Just because you can, does it mean that you should?

She had a knitting party.
It was very sweet.
When she told one of her friends where the party was.
The little girl said "that's lame"
She's in first grade -
Should this child not just be excited to be going to a classmate's party?
Of course this little girl lives in a penthouse and to her -
it is lame.

Just because you can, does it mean that you should?

Some of the older kids at the party splintered off into their own group.
They played with "DS's" and "PSS's" and I don't know what.
Before we left, Tali's friend begged me to buy one for Tali.
Later when Tali was giving me a difficult time with her homework
I reminded her of one thing I would not be considering for her.
She said "I don't even want it, S wanted it for me."

Maybe I can, but I'm sure I won't.

In some ways my kids are spoiled, but I won't tolerate being disrespectful or mean and they have grown up (so far) to be decent kids in my humble unbiased opinion. But there is a real distinction between spoiling and nurturing. So I am a nurturer, what can I say? They save the worst for us. Tonight I told them that spoiled children are more distasteful than spoiled milk. They seemed amused and were going around miming spitting out spoiled milk.

Doesn't take much to amuse us.

The View From the Backseat

As seen through the eyes of a schoolgirl being chauffeured over the 59th Street Bridge.

This Shabbos I feel markedly more relaxed and rested. For one thing, it's another week further away from the events of last week and that can't be bad. It's the start of a new month. No violin for daughter this weekend and she's spending Shabbat with our very dear friends. Which leaves Scissors, Julian and I to celebrate a quiet Shabbat. Don't get me wrong, we miss Tali and will see her tomorrow; but it's nice being able to have quiet time with just Julian. As I type, he is zonked out from a week well lived. We've put a couple of matters behind us (including "The Sonny Affair" - new readers that does not refer to marital infidelity but rather Contractor Betrayal which may be worse) and we're moving forward. Keep on keepin' on!

Shabbat Shalom and have a great weekend.

RABBIT RABBIT!!!

Starting off the month with a little luck couldn't hurt. Starting it off with Wallace & Grommit, well is just fun. Rabbit Rabbit all.

Read on to the next post if you find yourself in the midst of a personality crisis.