tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-236495452011-09-12T07:46:16.720-05:00there is another world, but it is in this one.JB aka JayBeenoreply@blogger.comBlogger1871100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-68090324446824827622011-08-06T11:54:00.000-05:002011-08-06T11:54:04.269-05:00<b>One Art&nbsp;</b><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>by</i> Elizabeth Bishop</span> <br /><br />The art of losing isn't hard to master;<br />so many things seem filled with the intent<br />to be lost that their loss is no disaster.<br /><br />Lose something every day.&nbsp; Accept the fluster<br />of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.<br />The art of losing isn't hard to master.<br /><br />Then practice losing farther, losing faster:<br />places, and names, and where it was you meant<br />to travel.&nbsp; None of these will bring disaster.<br /><br />I lost my mother's watch.&nbsp; And look! my last, or<br />next-to-last, of three loved houses went.<br />The art of losing isn't hard to master.<br /><br />I lost two cities, lovely ones.&nbsp; And, vaster,<br />some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.<br />I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.<br /><br />-Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture<br />I love) I shan't have lied.&nbsp; It's evident<br />the art of losing's not too hard to master<br />though it may look like (write it!) like disaster.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-6809032444682482762?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-75870129497094962132011-07-30T09:41:00.002-05:002011-08-07T16:14:59.923-05:00<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Por favor, ayudme con mi gramatica. Muchas gracias.</i></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-50yA-xlD3-s/TjQXvZAbV7I/AAAAAAAAA1k/QeDLhl703M8/s1600/flingin+josh2008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-50yA-xlD3-s/TjQXvZAbV7I/AAAAAAAAA1k/QeDLhl703M8/s320/flingin+josh2008.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Le ofrezco la cancion en mi carazon.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Empiezo el circulo de mi cancion en alabanza de cortinas amarillas, felizmente expresando la voluntad de algria en el mundo.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Me honra a todos, es decir el abrazo extatico de luz y sombra.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Escucho la cancion de nuestra sangre! Leventan y hacen un ruido alegre!</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Me alegro por amigos maravillosos. Estamos felices juntos.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">Me alegro por grandes gatitos naranja. Shelley, te amo.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Me honra Al Norte; el lugar de mi nacimiento; La Tierra. Pido a Dios por la sanacion del suelo.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Me honra el brillo en los ojos de mi madre, de la que nunca se separaron.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Rezo por la paz en El Barrio. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Te amo, Joshua.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Me honra El Este; Haegl Magnificado. Pido a Dios por la sanacion del aire.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Te amo, Justin. Te amo, Miranda.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Me honra la abeja y la matriz de toda la vida. Usted susurra la historia de amor asombrosa.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">Te amo, Brandy.&nbsp; Te amo, Savannah.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">JayBee, maestro y amigo mas amable, gracias por todo. Te amo.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">Aprecio el Coro del Amanecer.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />Me honra las estrella gemelas de mi dia: Cocer al Horno y Cocinar.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Gracias por desconocidos en las paradas de autobus.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Gracias por las cintas de mezcla sin listas de reproduccion.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Gracias por las camas recien hechas.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Gracias por desnudo jardinerias y cantantes desafinados.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />Me honra a sagrado acuerdos con Los Reinos Animal.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />Me honra Buho. Me honra Ciervo.<br /><br />Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida. <br /><br />Me honra la mesa de la concina, querido amigo. Gracias.<br /><br />Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.<br /><br />Escucho la cancion de nuestro sangre! Leventan y hacen un ruido alegre! <br /><br />Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.<br /><br />Te amo, Girard.<br /><br />No le temo a las mas oscura desconocida.<br /><br />Honro la marga.<br /><br />Me honra las semillas y las piedras y las celulas.<br /><br />Heather, hermana y amiga, gracias por todo. Te amo.<br /><br /><div id="sdl_translation_result"><span class="word_to_trans">Me</span> <span class="word_to_trans">honra</span> <span class="word_to_trans">el</span> <span class="word_to_trans">Sur;</span> <span class="word_to_trans">las</span> <span class="word_to_trans">familias</span> <span class="word_to_trans">de</span> <span class="word_to_trans">Los</span> <span class="word_to_trans">Desaparecidos.</span> <span class="word_to_trans"><br />Pido</span> <span class="word_to_trans">a</span> <span class="word_to_trans">Dios</span> <span class="word_to_trans">por</span> <span class="word_to_trans">la</span> <span class="word_to_trans">sanación</span> <span class="word_to_trans">de</span> <span class="word_to_trans">la</span> <span class="word_to_trans">Humanidad.</span></div><br />Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.<br /><br />Me encanta levantamiento vientre.<br />Me encanta la bobino de mi sexo.<br />Me encanta levantamiento vientre.<br /><br />Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.<br /><br />Me honra el pantano y pereza cerebral.<br /><br />Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.<br /><br />Aprecio Los Faros, Los Narradores y Los Posaderos. Gracias. <br /><br />Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.<br /><br />Me honra Al Oeste.&nbsp; Pido a Dios por la sanacion de las aguas.<br /><br />Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.<br /><br />Me honra La Historia de La Creacion.<br /><br />Me encanta que el Lago Superior.<br /><br />Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.<br /><br />Me honra Los Maestros y Guias, el monje y la mariposa, Joy Harjo y El Dalai Lama.<br /><br />Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.<br /><br />Me honra nuestra Amorosa Antepasados.<br /><br />&nbsp;Me honra La Maria, que se manifestan en el mundo hoy.<br />Me honra El Buddha, que se manifestan en el mundo hoy.<br /><br />Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.<br /><br />Honro la rueda del cielo y el eje del tiempo. Puedo aprender a hacer lo que esta escondido como un regalo para los demas.<br /><br />Me honra La Estrella de La Noche y la gran carcajada de la magia de curacion profunda.<br /><br />Ofrezco elogios y gracias por toda la creacion. Celebro la plentitud de a vida.<br /><br />Dios nos depierta y despertar dentro de nos otros. Hermanos y hermanas reconstruir sus vidas.<br /><br />Que no haya extranos aqui. </div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-7587012949709496213?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-85347961759208747152011-07-27T10:12:00.007-05:002011-07-27T12:45:51.777-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.carnivoraforum.com/index.cgi?board=mammals&amp;action=display&amp;thread=10081"><img border="0" height="277" src="http://zoopeeps.files.wordpress.com/2010/03/sloth.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">When it's over, I want to say: all my life</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I was a bride married to amazement.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">When it's over, I don't want to wonder</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">if I have made of my life something particular, and real.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">or full of argument.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Mary Oliver</i></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-8534796175920874715?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-53669622491897480692011-07-17T11:03:00.088-05:002011-07-30T09:13:35.469-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GpKdTpGLo4E/TiMHjslxG1I/AAAAAAAAA1U/HMQuJvIsU-0/s1600/gangoffive.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GpKdTpGLo4E/TiMHjslxG1I/AAAAAAAAA1U/HMQuJvIsU-0/s1600/gangoffive.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GpKdTpGLo4E/TiMHjslxG1I/AAAAAAAAA1U/HMQuJvIsU-0/s1600/gangoffive.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GpKdTpGLo4E/TiMHjslxG1I/AAAAAAAAA1U/HMQuJvIsU-0/s1600/gangoffive.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GpKdTpGLo4E/TiMHjslxG1I/AAAAAAAAA1U/HMQuJvIsU-0/s1600/gangoffive.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><img border="0" height="262" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GpKdTpGLo4E/TiMHjslxG1I/AAAAAAAAA1U/HMQuJvIsU-0/s400/gangoffive.jpeg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>from left</i>: Edith, me, Shannon, Larry, Misie</span>. <span style="font-size: x-small;">1982?</span></div><br /><br />I called mom this morning.&nbsp; I'm going home.<br /><br />Figuratively speaking, I ran away from home when I was 19. I was a kid when I came here, my cousins and my brothers too.&nbsp; Each of has taken a different route into our (mostly) adult lives and many of us have lived all over somewhere away from home base Illinois.&nbsp; But, as fate will have it, in two weeks, we'll all be in the same state again.<br /><br />If I am honest about why I'm moving home I will say that it is to help my mom with a few things but it is also a hope that I can get to know these kids again.&nbsp; I have no idea what makes them tick.&nbsp; If they are like me then that which made them tick as an adolescent has changed a bit. Maybe we didn't know each other so well as kids, maybe it's more a familiarity that I hope to regain. I don't know.<br /><br />It has been a slower realization with my extended family but the more I think about moving home the more I realize how much I've missed and how much I miss them.&nbsp; <br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Two Boxes</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>by Shel SIlverstein</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />Two boxes met upon the road.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Said one unto the other,</div><div style="text-align: center;">"If you're a box,</div><div style="text-align: center;">And I'm a box,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Then you must be my brother.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Our sides are thin,</div><div style="text-align: center;">We're cavin' in,</div><div style="text-align: center;">We must get no thinner."</div><div style="text-align: center;">And so two boxes, hand in hand,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Went home to have their dinner.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-5366962249189748069?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-14713993513770455632011-07-17T10:56:00.005-05:002011-07-17T11:11:59.617-05:00April 14, 2010<br /><br />I listened to Brother Ali's song <span style="font-style: italic;">Fresh Air</span> today and I would like to share this with you now: I honor and give thanks for the words, work and spirit of Brother Ali and the music he makes.<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br />When I listen to some of his songs I feel light in me. Today as I listened and danced I was able to give up a little of my grief. It's not lost on me that great joy is an enormous depth of feeling, a gray area where joy overlaps grief in such a strange way; after all, they live in the same house. It is a fine and subtle mystery.<br /><br />Today I tried to give up a little, live up to my desire, let go of my desire, to breath freely and clearly, to let the music in me, let myself out clearly, up and up and out, if even for a moment... like swift wind on the shoreline in a moment of sure integrity.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-1471399351377045563?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-44908842895609495092011-07-17T10:55:00.004-05:002011-07-17T11:11:28.425-05:00<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-4490884289560949509?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-58111077108010897602011-07-15T14:18:00.177-05:002011-07-17T10:58:24.523-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" height="200" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483098886423386082" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/TBfhYvGbF-I/AAAAAAAAAx8/QiTQxSPAjw0/s200/img_0521.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="150" /></div>It's been seven months to the day since my last post, how funny.&nbsp; Time is so funny.<span style="font-size: small;">&nbsp; Heh. I didn't plan this.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">I woke up to the second exquisite rainy morning this week, feeling as I did yesterday, that I was waking up in a cabin somewhere on the North Shore.&nbsp; Languishing in bed for about five seconds I turned to the book I was nearly done reading at page 816.&nbsp; I knew what was coming. I've read this book so many times that the thing is nearly in tatters which is strange because until the last few years it was a rule of mine never to read a book more than once; there are so many why waste time re-reading?&nbsp; Then I got out of bed, made coffee and french toast and finished watching the travesty of translation from book into film, The Time Traveler's Wife.</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Apparently I have a bone to pick.&nbsp; Or something.</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Both of these stories culminate in the death of a husband, each at 40ish years of age.&nbsp; Death has been a strong theme this year, giving me much to consider. Being a semi-social person and not in fact a recluse who never sees other living souls, I have heard a handful of stories over the years about a person awash in a tide of deaths.&nbsp; I think you have known these folks too, perhaps you are one of them, who have spoken of numerous deaths in the span of a year or less.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> I have always feared this time and in the back of my mind wondered when it would be my turn.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">In my childhood there was only one, my stepfather Bill.&nbsp; In my twenties it was Edyth Ann, Heather and my big orange kitty, Shelley... each death was devastating in its own unique way. Ten years later, this February, it was JayBee, though his death would show me something, maybe even a million things that just mean one thing.&nbsp; I'm weary of the statements in my head that want to be said and written; if I have learned anything at all it's that I know so little.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">side note:</span> <a href="http://www.strangersinparadise.com/">Strangers in Paradise</a> is coming to mind, another story whose final arch involves the death of a male partner... a scene just before a plane crash when David says to Katchoo, "You must confess!" to which Katchoo replies, "I confess I love you. I confess I love the clouds in summer. I confess I love this ocean... and so many things beneath it. But all I'll miss is you... Francine."<br /><br />I know, in the next couple of months that I will be taking the next fork in the road and leaving this state to go home to Illinois, back to my family.&nbsp; However much I know that Minnesota remains I also know there isn't any coming back, even though I'm sure to visit.&nbsp; It's not so much the place as the time I must say good bye to now.&nbsp; It's the proverbial river I can't stick my foot into twice. <br /><br />I came here in 1995 having aimed for Seattle, fell in love and fell in love and fell in love and became entangled and lost and lost... thank you all for that.&nbsp; When I found my apartment on Grand I found a deeply needed refuge and another great love that would help me get even more lost, lost enough and sick enough to really find myself.&nbsp; What seems so impossible to commit to text is a bold enough statement that perhaps it looks like I'm asking for a challenge (<i>I'm not</i>).<br /><br />Having searched and dug in and wept and struggled and rejoiced and... there are so many threads I wish I could describe right here but I'll settle for telling you this: I was repaired, made whole again and thankful for the revelations brought by the terrible tearing.&nbsp; I feel equipped with the gifts of perspective and a clear open heart.&nbsp; I believe the truth about myself and I know this requires constant reflection and unerring honesty.&nbsp; I have worked hard for the stripes that enable me to say this and I feel that I can say it in large part because of my teacher and friend, <a href="http://connievandeveer.blogspot.com/2007/08/prayer-for-changing-world.html">JayBee</a>: <br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> I do not fear death.&nbsp; All that we are, all that we will ever be, is who we are in this moment and what we carry within us and engender between us.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">I understand, for the moment, that I do not miss you because you are not gone.&nbsp; I still here your giggle, still feel your breath, still see you with your pants down wiggling and laughing in the sunshine.</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-5811107710801089760?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-3594413272721512432010-12-15T16:25:00.003-06:002010-12-15T16:34:17.856-06:00<div style="text-align: center;">almond-coconut granola w/ brown sugar, cinnamon &amp; sunflower seeds<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">nut crusted chicken breast w/ lemon cream angel hair pasta<br />buttermilk pancakes<br />local eggs w/ organic cream cheese, al's chives, red potato hash w/ pastures' bacon<br />mrs. knudesens christmas cookies (yum!) w/ passion-coconut glaze (yum!!)<br />vegetable soup w/ rainbow chard over basmati rice<br /><br />*<br /><br />i've made all of these items from scratch in the last three days.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-359441327272151243?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-4957939441359688212010-12-09T19:48:00.002-06:002010-12-09T19:53:01.655-06:00No sooner did I declare my intentions out loud for all my Loving Partners, Allies &amp; Guides to hear that I received the first of two phone calls answering my requests. Directly.<br /><br />Thanks! Thanks! Thanks!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-495793944135968821?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-29091273086473515082010-12-04T13:04:00.011-06:002010-12-04T14:17:59.194-06:00I've been reading my favorite comic again. This will be my 6th time through it: my crack and my escape.<br /><br />Reading something I love so much has a way of holding up a mirror. I admit it now. I've been hiding, trying to fend off a state of panic I've been too ashamed to admit to friends and family. I've been using movies and comics the way some would use over-working, drinking... whatever. Though they have been good and provocative distractions (okay, Gossip Girl does <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> fall into this category:)) I have nevertheless taken a brambly turn into a wallow-y dead-end.<br /><br />Almost four weeks ago I quit what I thought was my dream job. I had solid reasons for quitting, even made sure I had a fair replacement, but I let an old shadow get a ring around my rosey's. My old acquaintance, <span style="font-style: italic;">doubt</span>, crept in. Are doubt and fear the same thing? I let my doubt tangle with my commitments. Yesterday I said it out loud, "I wish I had just stayed in hell." That's when it hit me. I quit for a good reason, one more compelling than what I thought would have made me quit a year ago when I nearly sued the company for harassment. I made the choice to stay and work through what happened last year. I am so glad I did. But this last scenario was just too much.<br /><br />It's always been "easy" for me to choose between what my heart tells me and what my mind tells me. Some people say I'm an impulsive, non-committal, fair weather sort, that I don't know how to follow through with anything. Maybe. Maybe it's more that I know what I need to do and I'm not afraid to do it, no matter the consequences. I even tried to stay and make it work based solely on the fact that the money was useful. I tried. But I am not the person who stays in a bad situation for long. But that's me. I'm not fucking sorry about it either.<br /><br />In the last two years I have had such amazing, heart rending, mind blowing experiences. I learned so much about temperance, tolerance, patience... procrastination, fear, and the corrosive power of self doubt. Giving myself to this panic-y last few weeks flies in the face of what I say I've learned.<br /><br />I know I need to work. I know I will pay back my enormous student loans on likely minimum wages for the rest of my natural born life. No matter how I struggle with the cost of existence in a primarily capitalist world I must strike a balance. No matter what. I don't aways know what I want, sometimes I want so much I can't see straight. Sometimes I don't want anything and am lost in my blindness.<br /><br />However.<br /><br />My personal happiness and well being are the only gifts I have to offer this world. Without them I'm a useless brain-dead, sourpuss who's not much to be around.<br /><br />This is going to sound kind of funny, but I know I'm not the only one who finds meaning in little random things.... <span style="font-style: italic;">little</span> is an arbitrary judgement anyway. I read and re-read <span style="font-style: italic;">Strangers In Paradise</span> because it sends me back to square one every time. What's square one? First, it means you need to read Strangers In Paradise;) and second, it's everything that matters... love. I know <span style="font-style: italic;">love</span> doesn't put food on my table or a roof over my head but it sure does send me out into the world to try again and again, no matter what.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-2909127308647351508?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-7941344977479089392010-11-02T10:45:00.006-05:002010-11-10T16:47:35.681-06:00<div style="text-align: center;">a few days ago i found a nickel while i was walking home:<br />i heard you tell me assistance was on the way, that you'd received my message,<br />watch the path ahead.<br /><br />the cow: asking, receiving, abundance, nourishment<br />the serpent: knowledge, healing<br />the dragon: strength, power<br /><br />the bag of silver coins<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-794134497747908939?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-43165122407820363422010-10-19T09:10:00.000-05:002010-10-19T09:14:34.492-05:00<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-4316512240782036342?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-56815628378830743222010-08-01T21:23:00.018-05:002010-08-03T11:19:46.853-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/TFg6T-31GyI/AAAAAAAAAyY/JpgDijn4f4A/s1600/img_0647.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/TFg6T-31GyI/AAAAAAAAAyY/JpgDijn4f4A/s400/img_0647.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501211059802151714" border="0" /></a>For about a month now I've fairly ignored The Garden of Disorderly Conduct, partly because it's been too darn hot, partly because I've been too busy.<br /><br />However.<br /><br />I came home today and found four (four!) naked ladies displaying themselves in a very dry bed of Day Lilies. One is pictured to the left, the other three are in the process of blooming. (<span style="font-size:85%;">'Naked Ladies' is a common name for Amaryllis. Thanks Donald:)</span>) Side note: this is the Mystery Bulb revealed at last. I did not plant these bulbs, the one and only time this flower ever bloomed was at the end of March almost six years ago. I'd never seen such a strange plant - all stalk and a bunch of pretty pink trumpets at the top. When I came home to these girls I actually screamed out loud, jumped up and down and said to Al, "LOOK! LOOK! NAKED LADIES!!! OH MY FUCKING GOD!!! I HAVE NAKED LADIES!!!!" Second side note: After I freaked out (as if I'd never seen a naked woman before;)) I went to get the camera and promptly fell down the stairs. HA HA HA HA HAAAAA!!!<br /><br />Even though the garden is half-wild and parched bone dry it is still full of delights: tangerine ruffles, palm shaped sprays that twine like a ladder up crisped Dahlia; hay colored Day Lily stalks against soft pink trumpets; periwinkle darts and dark green strawberry leaves; a Medusa sunflower pair hosting a voracious yellow finch; flecked furry mullein stained butter yellow and lime green like pottery. It's a veritable feast out there.<br /><br />There are so many ways that I have chosen to obligate my mind. Happily undoing this is a life's work.<br /><br />I have felt less than 'accomplished' as far as the Garden is concerned. Having gotten off to the start I intended to in the spring this section of the summer finds me feeling less than productive. Walking through this gorgeous mess a few days ago with a friend she reminded me that even the wild and unruly gardens possess their own beauty. I <span style="font-style: italic;">love</span> it when an offhand remark sets my mind ablaze. Since my friend said this I have noticed a thousand little beauties... this morning <span style="font-size:85%;">(I'm finishing this post Tuesday 8/3)</span> I found a locust hanging out on the Astilbe. I didn't have my glasses on so at first I thought, oh great, another bug/disease that moved in because I haven't been paying attention. When I got closer I saw the little creature in all it's gray and silver glory.<br /><br />It's good to have a plan. It's also good to listen when the plan is chucked out the window because a secret will is revealed: the will of disorder.<br /><br />So my exercise these next few days is to concentrate on what does exist rather than what I think should exist. Not so different from what I was doing with the yard sale, eh? Besides, how can I really call it the Garden of Disorderly Conduct if it doesn't ever get out of hand?<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">*Third side note: more than half of the amazing plants in the GODC are volunteers or hitchhikers and of a healing/medicinal variety. Many of these plants have only been recognized because I left the GODC to it's own will. That and I'm kinda lazy sometimes. Thank gawd.</span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-5681562837883074322?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-50936716394860371952010-07-19T14:24:00.017-05:002010-07-19T17:00:53.642-05:00<span style="font-size:85%;">Thank you </span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">JayBee</span> for the tiniest, simplest gesture of your fingers to your lips. </span><br /><br />Over a month ago I obligated myself to something I never had any real interest in: I said I had so much to tell you and to watch for me May 31st.<br /><br />I love this blog. I love that people read what I post here. I love that people both familiar and strange comment and interact with me through this medium but sometimes I feel obligated to write in a manner that pleases and/or addresses "you." I have allowed myself to be swayed by what I think you will think and as a consequence I have chosen silence.<br /><br />This behavior has choked me and done a disservice to any of you that visit here. Here and now I revoke this action. I have said this not so much for your benefit as for my own edification. I am trying to say I respect this space more than I have shown and we deserve better.<br /><br /><a href="http://connievandeveer.blogspot.com/2010/03/kinda-add-but-dreamin-big-freudian.html"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">xoxo</span></a><br /><br />It would be silly to think I could summarize or catch you up on all that's been happening since May 31st, let alone January, so I'm not going to try. I have reached the shore of my one year journey. I know what I want from my life. It's tempting to say that I am thoroughly surprised by my desires but this would be false. I knew when I was a teenager - I knew the day I left home at seventeen in my 1980 Chevy Malibu wagon. I have been running from it, denying it or distracting myself from it mainly because I thought I needed something else, something more. How could what I really want be so simple? How does the source of all the heartbreak and bottled grief of the last fifteen years amount to something this uncomplicated? I almost feel foolish. Almost. It's like learning the rules of perfect grammar in order to fully break them.<br /><br />I realized this year that the apple of my self never fell far from my mother's way of thinking. I absorbed her mindset and got ahead of myself in many ways, made things more complicated or more fantastical than they really needed to be. My notions about starting a business are a perfect example. I thought I needed to have this big multi-million dollar concept and the millions to achieve it. As it turns out I barely need an oven and some mixing bowls.<br /><br />This idea applies to every area of my life. I no longer require mementos, keepsakes or book markers. All I need, all I want, is to hold the people I love, to feel the experience of this life in my bones, on my skin, in my mind and heart. Food, shelter, love; healing, gardening, art, family.<br /><br />The best thing I could have done for myself on the brink of last year's depression was to give myself time without pressure, time without obligation and the space to see the space I require. It was so tempting to want to fill this space with <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">commitments</span> and to forget what I set out to learn about myself.<br /><br />To seal the deal I am having a massive yard sale this weekend; there won't be any panic this time. I will unburden myself of 100's of unnecessary objects that can be turned into cash flow, burn what shouldn't be read ever again and donate what isn't sold. Mostly I'm keeping my bed, sofa and kitchen table.<br /><br />None of this stuff is my life. I don't have a life with my life, I don't have a relationship with a relationship, a pile of shells or a pile of agates does not replace the beauty that brought it to my palms in the first place. I have held on to absurd amounts of objects to fend off my scarcity fears: fear of being alone, fear of being hungry, fear of death, fear of inaction, fear of failure...<br /><br />All that I have, all that I am, all that I will ever be is inside me now.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-5093671639486037195?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-57626216936267223102010-06-15T20:49:00.002-05:002010-06-17T15:51:24.447-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/TBgwyJoi5qI/AAAAAAAAAyE/qCyQxSBQ05I/s1600/img_0541.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/TBgwyJoi5qI/AAAAAAAAAyE/qCyQxSBQ05I/s400/img_0541.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483186184461149858" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-5762621693626722310?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-91220828907788317312010-05-21T18:29:00.005-05:002010-05-21T18:37:41.599-05:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span>Dog Days Are Over</span></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" > Florence &amp; The Machine</span><br />*<br />Happiness, it hurt like a train on a track<br />Coming towards her, stuck still no turning back<br />She hid around corners and she hid under beds<br />She killed it with kisses and from it she fled<br />With every bubble she sank with a drink<br />And washed it away down the kitchen sink<br /><br />The dog days are over<br />The dog days are done<br />The horses are coming so you better run<br /><br />Run fast for your mother run fast for your father<br />Run for your children and your sisters and brothers<br />Leave all your love and your loving behind you<br />Can't carry it with you if you want to survive<br /><br />The dog days are over<br />The dog days are done<br />Can't you hear the horses<br />Cuz here they come<br /><br />And I never wanted anything from you<br />Except everything you had<br />And what was left after that too. oh.<br /><br />Happiness it hurt like a bullet in the mind<br />Stuck them up drainpipes<br />By someone who should know better than that<br /><br />The dog days are over<br />The dog days are gone<br />Can you hear the horses<br />Cuz here they come<br /><br />Run fast for your mother and fast for your father<br />Run for your children for your sisters and brothers<br />Leave all your love and your loving behind you<br />Can't carry it with you if you want to survive<br /><br />The dog days are over<br />The dog days are gone<br />Can you hear the horses because here they come<br />The dog days are over<br />The dog days are gone<br />Can you hear the horses because here they come</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-9122082890778831731?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-55871818692683628032010-04-26T22:31:00.002-05:002010-04-26T22:32:41.381-05:00<object width="400" height="225"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=10887763&amp;server=vimeo.com&amp;show_title=1&amp;show_byline=1&amp;show_portrait=0&amp;color=&amp;fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=10887763&amp;server=vimeo.com&amp;show_title=1&amp;show_byline=1&amp;show_portrait=0&amp;color=&amp;fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="225"></embed></object><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/10887763">Dosh - "Airlift"</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/anticon">anticon.</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-5587181869268362803?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-83178513557027647342010-04-26T12:43:00.003-05:002010-04-26T12:46:32.786-05:00<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/xFObRusJt24&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/xFObRusJt24&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-8317851355702764734?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-1506365915071646782010-04-24T23:14:00.000-05:002010-04-24T23:15:11.931-05:00<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/koEIfaZAvkw&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/koEIfaZAvkw&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-150636591507164678?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-78037451907552953942010-04-24T16:45:00.005-05:002010-04-24T17:29:23.025-05:00<div style="text-align: center;">...versus a heart half empty speaks to my sincere longing,<br />the aspect of myself that leaps<br />and takes chances, the sum of myself that always<br />says yes (or wants to)! I am a yes girl again. A<br />heart half full has room enough inside, room enough,<br />room enough... rumi-enough... a room<br />of one's own - a space to call my own, a space so big<br />it's no longer held by space. it's an infinity of<br />infinites. this phrase/concept touches me in my chest<br />and belly like a third eye caress. My hands have been<br />throbbing since my massage last week, so much<br />is pouring through and out of me. A heart half full<br />bursts with life and room to grow and imagine and work and <span style="font-style: italic;">live</span>.<br />I feel a little silly as if I am speaking in cliche or platitudes<br />but I don't care so much. I love this feeling.<br />I love walking through the rooms in my life and my<br />apartment, seeing the sun shining and moving<br />across here, there; seeing the blue gray shadows covering this, that.<br />Breathing deeply, feeling fully this gratitude I have for my life,<br />for clean water and shelter and bleeding hearts and<br />purple satin-y Iris and little bird skeletons. I could (and will) and will<br />go on and on like horses over the hills.<br />I feel <span style="font-style: italic;">wildly</span> free with my half full<br />heart.<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-7803745190755295394?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-71075269798312400932010-04-24T16:29:00.017-05:002010-04-24T22:55:22.366-05:00<div style="text-align: center;">A few days ago I began a love affair.<br /><br />It was a mild and balmy evening, I had been working in the garden and so needed a hot shower to soothe my torn up knees and fingers. I made myself a cup of tea and bare-footed went for a walk...<br /><br />Around the corner I came upon a splendid pair of flowering crab apple trees. In the early blue light of dusk the white of the petals and soft scent of these trees had such an effect on me the likes of which I have never encountered before. I was pulled to them as if by siren song, lost in a rapture so complete it took my breath away. I walked right underneath their branches and lost sight of the block I live and love on, lost sight of all the buildings and traffic contained in this neighborhood. I looked up into their arms and saw only the pale sky turning velvety, awash in white blossoms.<br /><br />I physically needed, almost suddenly craved, a closeness with these beings. So I stood on a nearby ledge and pushed myself further into their canopy, falling madly in love in an instant. I was wearing a strappy little shirt so my shoulders and neck were near bare... I leaned into the soft scent of the blossoms and felt the gentle caress of flowers on my cheeks and lips and eyes. It felt like the touch of a lover. I started to smile, enjoying my joy and continued to rub my face and neck and shoulders on the blossoms and green leaves. My breathing was low and deep as I tasted the delicate flavor of the flowers, their fine yellow pistons tickling me. I lifted my hands and barely touching I touched here and there like a baby exploring with gentle hands the soft hair of the person holding them. I cooed and laughed and fell completely and willingly<br />into this sweet and delicious affair...<br /><br />If not for the petals that fell onto my feet as I changed out of my clothes before bed I might have taken this moment for a dream.<br /><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-7107526979831240093?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-57550534004498706482010-04-19T12:33:00.003-05:002010-04-19T12:52:45.831-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_a7jkcMVp5Vg/S8o_Kewlv8I/AAAAAAAALig/J9ccV1ynR_Y/s1600/mttabun0000.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 690px; height: 508px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_a7jkcMVp5Vg/S8o_Kewlv8I/AAAAAAAALig/J9ccV1ynR_Y/s1600/mttabun0000.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-5755053400449870648?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-6769210713847320482010-04-17T21:49:00.005-05:002010-04-17T21:55:31.013-05:00<blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.ifyouweretherebeware.blogspot.com"><span style="font-size:130%;">ifyouweretherebeware<br /></span></a></div></blockquote><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-676921071384732048?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-30634387232546201732010-04-17T21:44:00.012-05:002010-04-24T23:23:16.716-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S8pyTFbeIaI/AAAAAAAAAxE/WLdBOuPwmsA/s1600/lovemybed.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S8pyTFbeIaI/AAAAAAAAAxE/WLdBOuPwmsA/s400/lovemybed.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461303170340626850" border="0" /></a> (<span style="font-size:85%;">4/24</span>) I've been trying to think of a way to tell you more about this image and the words that name it but I'm just not sure how... I will make an attempt as I appreciate the opportunity to tell you more if I can.<br /><br />The picture was taken last fall while I was reading/savoring a book I have read many times, a book that I feel has shaped me in some ways, called <span style="font-style: italic;">The Delicacy and Strength of Lace: Letters Between James Wright and Leslie Marmon Silko</span>.<br /><br />On this particular night I was writing myself a letter, trying hard to get my bearings in a life I could no longer discern from a dark night in the woods. The light on the bedside table refers to a concept I have especially loved in fiction and art these last few years. Perhaps you can imagine the significance of light in this context?<br /><br />This is a solitary image, it speaks to solitude, is solitude. It encapsulates and reflects my need to be a hermit at times, to work out my thoughts, my desire for slowness, patience, rest and germination. In many ways my work is all self portrait: most of what I have to convey starts in my life somewhere. The phrase that I used to name this post is a quotation from a friend I respect and adore very much. I feel it is a beautifully articulate and enormous thing to say. I want to fully embody the sentiment of this phrase.<br /><br />My bedroom is a sacred place, my bed is an island of repose and although I have invited this or that person in one context or another it is like a river: you never step foot into the same place twice.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-3063438723254620173?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-18767242571644007582010-04-07T19:18:00.002-05:002010-04-07T19:20:58.898-05:00<object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/M_ciiCyxOJA&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/M_ciiCyxOJA&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-1876724257164400758?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-60317834734738007562010-04-07T18:57:00.005-05:002010-04-07T19:19:01.454-05:00<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">(la resurrection)<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">by Patti Smith</span></span><br /><br />flower and heart are equal. as one unfolds<br />the other is closing. the fist of charm.<br />the dance of fathoms. of voids. of veils.<br />layer after layer. wall after wall. there<br />is always more. there is always more after.<br /><br />the scalloped edges of further valor.<br />the vigil of soldiers. foot and circular.<br />the waving tremors of empty warriors.<br />a thorn in the wound of love. of torture.<br />another immeasurable pain to suffer.<br /><br />first dealing w/entry into the spirit.<br />the wall is pierced and the will assaulted<br />is vaulted. is shimmied into. is fenced.<br />fencing defending the sheets of the flesh<br />winding and binding and then to relax.<br /><br />seconds of suspension in the pass of pain<br />wailing, exhaling. passing thru the strange.<br />this is the formula. the force of the father.<br />the hand that extends. the heart that is bleeding<br />harder then harder then silent and beating.<br /><br />in a space warm and glowing. infinite yet dense.<br />the tune of chain caught then stretched.<br />this is the communication of the future.<br />death is a dance. a ballroom. a glove<br />an extension of total abandon in/love.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-6031783473473800756?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-50729083260912829862010-04-07T18:44:00.005-05:002010-04-07T19:47:27.667-05:00<blockquote>boy, was she ever at play in the <span>garden</span>. hands and knuckles were scraped and poked and stinging as she rinsed them under the hot water. the crook between thumb and forefinger rubbed just slightly raw and red from raking. tender back from bending, tender knees from bending. rear end shining in the sunlight. cornerstone open and relishing the swift spring winds. a frond of open palm, swiftly and thoroughly applied. mmmm spring.<br /></blockquote><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-5072908326091282986?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-50152744212348264282010-04-06T18:53:00.011-05:002010-04-06T20:26:55.660-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.ideachampions.com/heart/Bleeding_heart_by_Moonbeam13.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 444px;" src="http://www.ideachampions.com/heart/Bleeding_heart_by_Moonbeam13.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>There's been a strange feeling in my person, on my body today... took me 'til just a moment ago to realize what it is. It's joy!!<br /><br />Joy! Joy! Joy!<br /><br />This year as I build The Garden Of Disorderly Conduct I will make good and sure to plant early bloomers like magnolia and crocus and squill. I love the early blooms that greet us after the gray-blue wonder of winter. They look how I feel this year, how I always hope to feel at the bottom of it all.<br /><br />When the bleeding hearts started to poke up through the soil in their tight little red cones I actually squealed! They were the first out of bed this year and seemed to hold much of my grief and happiness from the winter that's now behind us. I think it's sweet that they're called 'bleeding hearts' and that they bloom and bloom and bloom. I love that I live in a 'garden level' apartment and can watch them as if I were a worm. I love that soon I will be kneeling in these beds almost every day from now until October. I love that I can see flowers and herbs growing in every window in this apartment.<br /><br />I love that many of these plants are gifts from my mother. She engendered in me a love of gardening many years ago while I lived at home nursing a broken heart. She would ask me in one way or another to come out of my pitiful cold basement and help her <span style="font-style: italic;">please. My blood pressure and the sun are killin' me. Please help me plant this pear tree</span>. <span style="font-style: italic;"> Please help me put the snapdragons around the pond..</span>. She coaxed me and put me to work in the dirt and put me to the work of the Living Green. I am amazed and amazed by this gift time and time again. My mom's good like that:)<br /><br />I love this best: from now until the frost returns one of my favorite places on earth is totally open to me, for me to be me in and be love and dig and play and rest and work.<br /><br />Welcome Spring!!! May you all have many good feelings on your bodies too:))<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S7vTnObBeLI/AAAAAAAAAw0/99e1OhqsqXc/s1600/img_0428.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S7vTnObBeLI/AAAAAAAAAw0/99e1OhqsqXc/s320/img_0428.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457188044329285810" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-5015274421234826428?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-64544308419163564802010-03-28T18:45:00.004-05:002010-03-28T19:10:38.273-05:00two weeks ago this wednesday i came down with what i've been calling <span style="font-style: italic;">the</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">octopus ailment</span>.<br /><br />i got sick in my throat with what felt like and continues to feel like an octopus has clamped itself to my throat and it's holding on for dear life. there are some theories that suggest all illness is rooted in an energetic misdirection or malfunction... that our bodies become ill because "a," "b," or "c" has not been sufficiently "dealt with." i'm not sure what all of the intricacies and nuances of this theory involve but i have turned this idea over many times in the last few years as i acclimated to the needs of what i'll refer to as an allergy. the only reason i mention this is that in my search for a "cure" to said allergy i have come to the conclusion that modern/western medicine is fairly useless in some regards.<br /><br />so. this octopus has me thinking: do i go to the doctor? do i ride it out? is there a median in here somewhere? when do i get my quiet, sleepy nights back? it sucks to feel impatient with my body.<br /><br />i might think that not expressing myself has drawn me into the octopus' clench... i have said to my body once if not a hundred times,<span style="font-style: italic;"> i hear you, i got the message, can i have my health back please?</span> but it seems that my body hasn't gotten my memo yet.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-6454430841916356480?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-35081016809439529612010-03-20T17:31:00.003-05:002010-03-20T17:42:19.833-05:00<a href="http://www.fmylife.com">FMyLife</a>. It does a body good.<br /><br />Just a few favorites from today's visit:<br /><br />"Today, I noticed a cute girl in the checkout lane in the store. Feeling a little flirtatious, I decided to blow a bubble with my gum to get her attention. I accidentally shot the gum out of my mouth onto the guy next to me, spitting all over myself in the process."<br /><br />"Today, I was walking down the street when I heard a loud splashing noise to my right. I looked over only to see a woman not squatting but bending over, spreading her cheeks, peeing a horse-sized amount of pee. I can't un-see this."<br /><br />"Today, I got into a fight with the dryer over a plastic toy car. My hand is bleeding and numb, three of my nails are broken and I have a bruise on my chin. The plastic car is still stuck in the now broken dryer."<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-3508101680943952961?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-56071947559966764062010-03-16T10:10:00.004-05:002010-04-07T19:17:04.431-05:00<object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/SCUQs-L883k&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0x2b405b&amp;color2=0x6b8ab6"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/SCUQs-L883k&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0x2b405b&amp;color2=0x6b8ab6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-5607194755996676406?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-76184483056333699182010-03-16T07:59:00.003-05:002010-03-16T08:22:25.975-05:00dreams can be so real, such complete versions of a heart life that it seems like there can be no sincere return home... as if an essential part of myself has tangled with the underworld, the id, the bog, the sloth brain and after that things just aren't quite right.<br /><br />i woke once, having dreamed of my beautiful newborn daughter, her head covered in thick black hair. she had blue eyes. she was warm in my arms, i could feel her body move against me... her name was olivia. my love for her was fierce and deep and as real as i am now, as real as anything i could know. waking up, my arms still held the shape of her as if she were still cradled at my chest. the ache, the longing, the grief i knew in that moment was near unbearable.<br /><br />i dreamed once of a friend many months after her death. somehow having returned from the dead, she was in the hospital, disoriented and tired, but quite alive. when i hugged her i could smell her perfume, feel her bird bones and her warm skin... she laughed into my neck as we held each other for a bit. it was so nice. but what a cruel dream.<br /><br />lately i have been dreaming and am quite aware i am dreaming; i've been telling my dream self to remember this or bring that back or pointing out one thing or other.<br /><br />a few nights ago i had a dream about a man who was my husband many lives ago; he was awful and abusive. as i watched him do things i'm not going to write here it was as if i stood outside my dream self, observing. i said to my self, you know who this man is. i looked at him while he tried to claim what was best in me and shouted at him, 'i know who you are! i know you!'<br /><br />this morning i dreamed i was walking through the snowy night into the morning with a friend, talking some things out... she was getting ahead of me. i had fallen behind because i was bent double, sobbing into the glaring sun on the snow. i woke up this morning clutching my pillow.<br /><br />it's strange to wake up like this. as the dream dissolves and i start the return to 'consciousness' i can feel it coming up from my stomach, up my throat... sometimes i know what's happening and the sob is caught in the cave of my mouth and my eyes burn with the effort to stop it from hurting so much.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-7618448305633369918?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-13347154523181199942010-03-14T18:26:00.007-05:002010-03-14T20:13:37.896-05:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S52B2YLy3GI/AAAAAAAAAws/dT36t33c6l8/s1600-h/blue+dawn+tree.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 237px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S52B2YLy3GI/AAAAAAAAAws/dT36t33c6l8/s320/blue+dawn+tree.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448653895393008738" border="0" /></a>Take me to the breaking of a beautiful dawn<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Take me to the place where we come from<br />Take me to the end so I can see the start<br />There's only one way to mend a broken heart<br /><br />Take me to the place where I don't feel so small<br />Take me where I don't need to stand so tall<br />Take me to the edge so I can fall apart<br />There's only one way to mend a broken heart<br /><br />Take me where love isn't up for sale<br />Take me where our hearts are not so frail<br />Take me where the fire still owns its spark<br />There's only one way to mend a broken heart<br /><br />Teach me how to see when I close my eyes<br />Teach me to forgive and to apologize<br />Show me how to love in the darkest dark<br />There's only one way to mend a broken heart<br /><br />Take me where the angels are close at hand<br />Take me where the ocean meets the sky and the land<br />Show me to the wisdom of the evening star<br />There's only one way to mend a broken heart<br /><br />Take me to the place where I feel no shame<br />Take me where the courage doesn't need a name<br />Learning how to cry is the hardest part<br />There's only one way to mend a broken heart<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">lyrics: The Waillin' Jenny's from 40 Days</span></span><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-1334715452318119994?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-5608554174277418142010-03-10T18:25:00.003-06:002010-03-10T22:06:34.847-06:00<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/rNWDg5DtjUE&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x234900&color2=0x4e9e00"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/rNWDg5DtjUE&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x234900&color2=0x4e9e00" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-560855417427741814?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-49094001889387571222010-03-10T16:35:00.015-06:002010-03-16T08:23:11.873-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S5gsb4lf0ZI/AAAAAAAAAvk/rqZo3tyoCDU/s1600-h/img_0400.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S5gsb4lf0ZI/AAAAAAAAAvk/rqZo3tyoCDU/s400/img_0400.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447152606862365074" border="0" /></a>I thought it was a week ago but it turns out it's been three weeks since I posted <a href="http://connievandeveer.blogspot.com/2010/02/my-home-is-my-art-meditations-on-second.html">My Home Is My Art: Meditations On The Second House</a>. I tend to do this thing where I post some archaic blurb about something or other or post some random photo and not say anything about why I put it there.... But after a day like today I realize that I have so much going on, which I suck at giving myself credit for (example: a friend says, hi how are you ? what's new? i say, oh fine. not much.), that I don't even know where to start!<br /><br />On the full moon in February (28th) I decided to unload a massive family secret into the trusting arms of two very good friends (thanks again btw!) and ever since that night I have had crazy vivid, lucid dreams, some pretty high highs and low lows. It sort of feels like the massive garage sale I had a few years ago when I sold two-thirds of the contents of my apartment in a move I hoped, to quote Brother Ali, "... push a whole heap o' hell outta my house." Afterward I sat in my echoing living room eating ice cream with friends and felt the panic rise in me: what the fuck did I just do? I let go of some serious crap that's what I did! The February full moon was no different. I just unloaded a different kind of heap.<br /><br />And my mind is gung-ho over it! (Is it okay to say 'gung-ho'?)<br /><br />Anyway. After I spilled this secret I had two dreams - both of which were about hostage situations. In both dreams a man/boy/fellow hostage held his hands out to me and in his palms materialize weapons.<br /><br />In the first dream it was a teenage boy who held a switchblade - he used it to turn the lock to the closet we were stuck in. After turning the lock he looks me straight in the face and says, "You've held this in your mind the entire time." In dream time I knew he was referring to the knife. The second dream, which involved many more people and children, an older male faced me in a dark hallway. Things were quite intense at this point, we were all feeling desperate and had glimpsed a chance at liberation... He and I were arguing in whispers trying to decide what to do next as it was clear the time to act was now. He looks me straight in the face, holds both hands out, palms upward. As I look at his hands I see two small guns appear. They are finely crafted, about the size and weight of apples, one is clear and reveals its mechanical guts; the other is white, like a milkstone or an ivory or maybe even plastic. I am amazed to see them there. He seems to have been expecting them. He says to me, "You've had these the entire time."<br /><br />Neither dream culminates in violence. In fact after each man says nearly the same thing, I wake up.<br /><br />I think this is rad.<br /><br />Prior to this fabulous full moon I'd had what I'll refer to as Round Two at my current place of employment; serious crappy crap was going down in the work place. Again. This crappy crap had me thinking like this: crap at work sucks> how much crap is too much crap> if i quit this crap how much crap is at new work> what comes after too much crap if new job has crappy crap too?<br /><br />Last May I set a course for "What Do I Want To Do With The Rest Of My Life?" and here's the update:<br /><br />I realize now that it was never that I didn't know what to do, it's that I want to do it ALL. This is what I was noodling on when I posted that half post on the 17th: I can leave my apartment and move in with a friend, lick my wounds and make some cash. And find myself in the same place a year later?<br /><br />Turns out I don't need to leave my apartment. This apartment represents the first house <span style="font-style: italic;">and</span> the second house. All this esoteric mumbo-jumbo (which I dig btw) is all about freeing my mind. If I am to take responsibility for my own happiness - I mean REALLY take responsibility for it - what purpose is served in running away? Though it would be fun to stay with said friend does it mean that I'll have less of a need to provide for myself? I read that passage from <span style="font-style: italic;">Soulcraft</span> three years ago and have been chewing on it all this time and now I feel that I finally understand it.<br /><br />I ain't movin'. It was never about moving... it was about maturity. YO LA TENGO!!<br /><br />I have spun into a thousand directions in this post but who cares? If you have questions, ask 'em. I'm done keeping this blog 'clean' and 'artistic' and 'interesting.' Fuck it. This is it.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-4909400188938757122?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-74762725707628709992010-03-03T16:35:00.008-06:002010-03-03T17:06:34.057-06:00I dig the blogs you're following, especially <a href="http://www.yesimmad.blogspot.com">Tell 'Em Why You Mad Son</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-7476272570762870999?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-88203087843033124292010-03-02T20:57:00.004-06:002010-03-02T21:09:57.727-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S43ScE6yvxI/AAAAAAAAAvM/GabZ_aZbdbs/s1600-h/fromthepinkjournal.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 306px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S43ScE6yvxI/AAAAAAAAAvM/GabZ_aZbdbs/s400/fromthepinkjournal.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444238904359304978" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />February 2003, from the pink journal, drawing at work when i should have been working?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-8820308784303312429?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-27105288193431518682010-03-02T20:46:00.008-06:002010-03-02T21:15:54.673-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S43N5lyvhNI/AAAAAAAAAu8/VrHxdk40vps/s1600-h/yolk.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 199px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S43N5lyvhNI/AAAAAAAAAu8/VrHxdk40vps/s400/yolk.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444233913841976530" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />July 2007, from my sketchbook after a night of doodling. she has a story and a twin who has not yet appeared to me. perhaps we will see her this summer...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-2710528819343151868?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-72072595007371192682010-02-24T15:22:00.006-06:002010-02-24T19:23:09.368-06:00A big thanks to <span style="font-style: italic;">Blogs of Note</span> from Blogger and <a href="http://www.sail-world.com/USA/-Jessica-Watson-at-Cape-Agulhas,-Abby-Sunderland-over-the-equator/66726">Sail World</a>. I read an article about <a href="http://www.soloround.blogspot.com/">Abby Sunderland</a> a while back and was just floored by the people's feeling that she and other young people like her are better off in K-12. <span style="font-style: italic;">"If you got the gumption, I second that emotion.</span>.."<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-7207259500737119268?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-70386302141153631482010-02-24T15:05:00.004-06:002010-02-24T15:10:08.734-06:00That's right. I'm rearranging it <span style="font-style:italic;">again</span>...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-7038630214115363148?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-40527801722707680242010-02-24T15:01:00.004-06:002010-02-24T15:04:03.658-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S4WTzeK0d7I/AAAAAAAAAus/B7jy3OAaA5A/s1600-h/img_0324.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S4WTzeK0d7I/AAAAAAAAAus/B7jy3OAaA5A/s400/img_0324.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441918237228169138" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S4WTTdumNiI/AAAAAAAAAuk/8mQdNlxvcsw/s1600-h/img_0324.jpg"></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-4052780172270768024?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-66449365784559807002010-02-24T14:29:00.008-06:002010-02-24T15:01:00.270-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S4WMdqmAzUI/AAAAAAAAAuc/zK5S2EgQZbM/s1600-h/img_0345.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S4WMdqmAzUI/AAAAAAAAAuc/zK5S2EgQZbM/s320/img_0345.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441910166024932674" border="0" /></a>so my brother sent me this fun little bugger!! he kinda collects all kinds of stuff 'n stuff; he's a tinkerer and a mechanic who likes to play with and disassemble and put together stuff 'n stuff. a while back i was lamenting my non-sufficient fundage for the purchase of a digital camera and this little zinger showed up in the mail one day. i don't know if he realizes just what kind of phenomenally fan-frickin-tastic fun this little booger is going to bring into my world (and yours)!!! thank you thank you thank you!!<br /><br />so many projects i've wanted to pursue are now deliciously within reach, namely the 365 project, which is a self portrait a day. and all the random stuff i'd love to show you around my apartment that often inspires me to write and draw and play!!! now this photo blog is gonna get back to the photo part. i'll be scanning in some older work too. yee haa sucka's!! by the way, if a piece of work is created in 2000 and marinates for a while (by 'a while' i mean anywhere from several hours to many years), what is it's 'completion' date? when a painter paints a painting, when a lithographer finishes a run, the work is signed. when a photographer captures an image on film, say in 1994, but does not show or print it until 2010 what is the date it should bear?<br /><br />how. much. fun.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-6644936578455980700?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-46085050101666808742010-02-23T15:49:00.011-06:002010-03-02T21:28:27.924-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S4RNnKYRESI/AAAAAAAAAuU/KKL5V9WTLfo/s1600-h/prayer+beads,+ns092.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S4RNnKYRESI/AAAAAAAAAuU/KKL5V9WTLfo/s320/prayer+beads,+ns092.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441559584966775074" border="0" /></a><div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 227);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(196, 18, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(43, 101, 119);">Each of us can contribute to the healing of our community by addressing and inviting what is torn and broken in ourselves to heal. Using the penetrating power of yoga, meditation, and literature, we will invite in healing for ourselves, for our individually diverse communities, and for our collective community.<br /><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 227);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(196, 18, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 227);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(196, 18, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(43, 101, 119);">This workshop will combine gently active yoga practice to satisfy the body and focus the mind; restorative yoga practice to deepen the breath and allow the inner gaze to broaden; poetry and the words of others to promote a deep connection to our emotional and energetic selves; reflective journaling (Svadhyaya, self-reflection- optional) to create words of healing for ourselves; and Yoga Nidra, a form of deep guided meditation (<em>sometimes referred to as Yogic Sleep) </em>to allow this work to go beyond our body and mind and help us touch into our illimitable selves, where the resources for deep healing exist.<br /><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 227);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(196, 18, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 227);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(196, 18, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(43, 101, 119);">You do not have to be a writer, a yoga practitioner or a journaller to attend this workshop. It is a beautiful practice designed for all levels of students!<br /><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 227);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(196, 18, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 227);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(196, 18, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(43, 101, 119);"><strong>Please bring: </strong>your favorite blanket, a notebook or journal and pen/pencil, and a favorite poem, song, or chant.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 227);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(196, 18, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(43, 101, 119);"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 227);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(196, 18, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(43, 101, 119);"><strong>March 21, 2010, 1:00-4:00 p.m.<br /><br /> </strong></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 227);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(196, 18, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(43, 101, 119);"><strong>This workshop is being offered in the spirit of generosity.</strong> </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 227);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(196, 18, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(49, 5, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(43, 101, 119);"><em>As we offer this workshop our intent is to spark individual resources within each of you that will work toward healing of our individual and collective communities. You may donate whatever amount you would like to, but no one will be turned away for inability to donate or pay.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Pleae visit <a href="http://www.embodied-health.com/">Embodied Health</a> for more info. Thanks Lucinda for writing this awesome post and for so clearly stating our ideas.<br /></span></em></span></span></span></span></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-4608505010166680874?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-15378953066844977492010-02-22T22:21:00.008-06:002010-02-24T11:24:44.492-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S4NY96ywTvI/AAAAAAAAAuM/KgJSsSpcsBg/s1600-h/albertandedfred.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 313px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S4NY96ywTvI/AAAAAAAAAuM/KgJSsSpcsBg/s400/albertandedfred.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441290595571093234" border="0" /></a>I never know how much to say about the images I post here... Do you ever wish you knew more about them? What would you like to know?<br /><br />Albert is a man I met several years ago while I was working at the now defunct Sweetski's Cafe. The circumstances of our introduction and his warm demeanor have never left me. He invited me to visit with him and this summer I hope to find him in northern Minnesota. I feel very strongly that I must go see him, and soon.<br /><br />EdFred is the name I gave to the Mountain Ash tree that up until a month ago was living in the ground in front of my apartment. I came home from work one evening, it was late after a very long, very stressful week when I noticed that he was gone. The next morning, with sun shining on the new snow I saw the dust of his wood sprayed all over the snow. EdFred is gone, gone, gone... I was heartbroken for a moment (I was aware that the building manager would have to remove the tree). I was neither ready to give up on what could be salvaged, nor ready to accept that this wonderful tree had met the end of its life, let alone so suddenly. I do not feel entirely free of <a href="http://connievandeveer.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-have-been-asleep.html">responsibility</a> in this death. I feel that my lack of self confidence contributed to a series of events that led to this moment. I choose to see EdFred as a guide, a marker of a time when I realize(d) that inaction is just as powerful a force as action; each bears its own consequence.<br /><br />This sketch came out of thinking of the two of them... I would like to tell you more about Albert but I do not have the 'go ahead' from my guts. They are part of my education, they have enriched my experience of life.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-1537895306684497749?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-17716839009909785042010-02-21T20:49:00.004-06:002010-02-21T20:54:57.843-06:00<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">by Jane Kenyon</span></span><br /><blockquote><span style="font-size:100%;">She lay on her back in the timothy<br />and gazed past the doddering<br />auburn heads of sumac.<br /><br />A cloud- huge, calm,<br />and dignified- covered the sun<br />but did not, could not, put it out.<br /><br />The light surged back again.<br /><br />Nothing could rouse her then<br />from that joy so violent<br />it was hard to distinguish from pain.<br /></span><br /></blockquote><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-1771683900990978504?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-24355721847789747362010-02-17T21:26:00.009-06:002010-02-21T11:24:12.893-06:00<div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S3y0L5Fk8VI/AAAAAAAAAtk/FhJuGsPweSA/s1600-h/winterlentils.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: left; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S3y0L5Fk8VI/AAAAAAAAAtk/FhJuGsPweSA/s200/winterlentils.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439420566352490834" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S3yzps6KJnI/AAAAAAAAAtU/6sekLHPaezo/s1600-h/notrudebecia.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S3yzps6KJnI/AAAAAAAAAtU/6sekLHPaezo/s200/notrudebecia.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439419978967819890" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-2435572184778974736?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-433200840029199892010-02-17T21:25:00.000-06:002010-02-17T21:26:33.197-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S3yzNgzUZcI/AAAAAAAAAtM/9sBmy7AgrlU/s1600-h/thewomanwiththesmileinhervoice.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 271px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S3yzNgzUZcI/AAAAAAAAAtM/9sBmy7AgrlU/s400/thewomanwiththesmileinhervoice.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439419494681568706" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-43320084002919989?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-58925621365440269732010-02-17T20:01:00.016-06:002010-02-17T21:38:00.170-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S1UyAP_DHYI/AAAAAAAAAq0/b3y5MBAKCCg/s1600-h/the+smiling+winter+wind"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S1UyAP_DHYI/AAAAAAAAAq0/b3y5MBAKCCg/s400/the+smiling+winter+wind" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428299905737366914" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">My coffin dress was witness to the smiling winter wind. </span>-<span style="font-size:85%;">Curio by Sessah<br /><br /></span><blockquote><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span>"What you must surrender is nothing less than the summer house of your first personality, the world view that you began forming in the expansive growing season of adolescence and that carried you through your first adulthood. This is the house you have been carefully building, furnishing, and accessorizing at least since puberty. Now, just as you are getting ready to enjoy the completed house, you hear a knock and the front door swings open. There stand three angels, as D.H. Lawrence called them, motioning to you, informing you it's time to leave - forever. You begin to protest but you know it's useless; it's time to go.</blockquote><blockquote>This knock on the door, the call to adventure, comes as soon as you have done enough work on your first personality that it is fully inhabitable. The greatest value to be derived from building that first house comes from the building of it - not from the living in it." -<span style="font-style: italic;">Soulcraft </span><span>by Bill Plotkin</span><br /><br /></blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">'<span style="font-style: italic;">dutton</span>' by Sessah</span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S3y1Zkt-2pI/AAAAAAAAAt0/D0N2dX-TVr0/s1600-h/dutton"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S3y1Zkt-2pI/AAAAAAAAAt0/D0N2dX-TVr0/s400/dutton" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439421900914612882" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-5892562136544026973?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-80357758672187111862010-02-02T23:07:00.020-06:002010-02-17T20:05:26.565-06:00<div style="text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">When I was about eight or nine my mom and I were traveling east. She was driving a blue car through the mountains in Tennessee; all of our stuff was piled into the back seat and trunk. I was tired from the long drive so she said I should crawl up onto the pile of stuff and take a nap. I was just shorter than the width of the car and the stuff shifted to support me so that I was about as comfortable as I ever recall feeling in my entire life. Before I fell asleep I lay looking at the dappled, shaded canopy of the forest basking in a warm fall afternoon. I could almost feel the hum of my mothers thoughts as she drove. Knowing what I know now about that time, my involvement in this memory only deepens as I navigate my own life. I feel this was one of the clearest moments of absolute peace I've ever had the pleasure of experiencing.<br /><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/2AbxQ2Q4HeU&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/2AbxQ2Q4HeU&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span><br /></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-8035775867218711186?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-61176170161280443352010-01-29T18:51:00.005-06:002010-01-29T19:29:29.197-06:00my sweet friend you are loved and loving. i am washing sheets and towels tonight hoping that the brush of soft, dryer warmed cottons will save me from this heartbreak. i know i shouldn't be sad - i have seen you dancing in my mind and heart, laughing and free since 4 a.m. this morning. i wonder if you will emerge with messages from the deep. i love you with all of my heart. i want what is best.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-6117617016128044335?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-45030311442632254232010-01-12T23:46:00.007-06:002010-01-13T00:06:01.706-06:00<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />V: Blind<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span>as a child i knew that the stars<br />could only get brighter<br />that we could closer, get closer<br />as a child i knew that the stars<br />could only get brighter<br />that we could get closer,<br />leaving this darkness behind<br /><br />now that i'm older, the stars shine<br />light upon my face<br />but when i find myself alone,<br />find myself alone now that i'm older,<br />the stars shine light upon my face<br />but when i find myself alone<br />i feel like i am blind.<br /><br />i feel it, like i am blind.<br /><br />i wish the stars could shine now,<br />for they are closer they are near<br />but they will not present my present,<br /><br />they will not present my present<br />i wish the stars could shine now,<br />for they are closer they are near<br />but they will not present my present,<br />they make my past and future<br />painfully clear.<br /><br />to hear you now, to see you now,<br />i can't look outside myself<br />i must examine my breath and<br />look inside,<br />to see you now, to hear you now<br />i can't look outside myself<br />i must examine my breath and<br />look inside<br /><br />because i feel blind.<br /><br />i feel it, like i am blind.<br /><br /><br />*lyrics: <span style="font-style: italic;">Hercules and Love Affair</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-4503031144263225423?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-48226255070327149892010-01-11T22:17:00.003-06:002010-02-17T20:06:01.497-06:00<div style="text-align: center;"><br />Love is born<br />With a dark and troubled face<br />When hope is dead<br />And in the most unlikely place<br />Love is born:<br />Love is always born.<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-4822625507032714989?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-6714681755541303852010-01-09T10:01:00.006-06:002010-06-15T15:26:38.552-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S0ioyF_lYKI/AAAAAAAAAqI/mqmDU6tWYto/s1600-h/gangoffive.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/S0ioyF_lYKI/AAAAAAAAAqI/mqmDU6tWYto/s400/gangoffive.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424771329723556002" border="0" /></a>This photo holds most of my childhood. From left: my cousin Edith, me, my older brother Shannon, my younger brother Larry and my cousin Carmen. Not pictured are two cousins, Barbara and Bryon. I spent the bulk of childhood in the company of these six people.<br /><br />I distinctly recall wondering what "work" was and why it was so necessary for the adults, otherwise I would have spent much more time with my mom. This, along with the sensations of summer sun and scent, are pronounced aspects of my current awareness.<br /><br /><a href="http://connievandeveer.blogspot.com/2008/12/grade-school-larry-and-me.html">Grade School, Larry &amp; Me</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-671468175554130385?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-80860536722394308172010-01-06T11:17:00.003-06:002010-01-06T11:29:43.750-06:00<span style="font-size:85%;">from</span> <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The Gold Cell</span></span> <span style="font-size:85%;">by</span> <span style="font-size:85%;">Sharon Olds</span><br /><br />The rind lies on the table where Liddy has left it<br />torn into pieces the size of petals and<br />curved like petals, rayed out like a<br />full-blown rose, one touch will make it come apart.<br />The lining of the rind is wet and chalky as<br />Devonshire cream, rich as the glaucous<br />lining of a boiled egg, all that protein<br />cupped in the rich shell. And the navel,<br />torn out carefully,<br />lies there like a fat gold<br />bouquet, the scar of the stem, picked out<br />with her nails, and still attached to the white<br />thorn of the central integument,<br />lies on the careful heap, a tool laid<br />down at the end of a ceremony.<br />All here speaks of ceremony,<br />the sheen of acrid juice, which is all that is<br />left of the flesh, the pieces lying in<br />profound order like natural order,<br />as if this simply happened, the way her<br />life at 13 looks like something that's just<br />happening, unless you see her<br />standing over it, delicately clawing it open.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-8086053672239430817?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-13773855551884473332010-01-05T18:01:00.004-06:002010-01-06T11:30:09.346-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.breakawaycook.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/01/dried-tangerines625.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 625px; height: 417px;" src="http://www.breakawaycook.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/01/dried-tangerines625.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />image found at <a href="http://www.breakawaycook.com/blog/2009/01/29/the-many-blessings-of-dried-tangerines/">The Breakaway Cook</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-1377385555188447333?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-88680839148240163932010-01-05T17:47:00.008-06:002011-07-17T10:52:06.945-05:00<blockquote><br />Our holiday food splurge was a small crate of tangerines, which we found ridiculously thrilling after an eight-month abstinence from citrus. No matter where I was in the house, that vividly resinous orangey scent woke up my nose whenever anyone peeled one in the kitchen. Lily hugged each one to her chest before undressing it as gently as a doll. Watching her do that as she sat cross-legged on the floor one morning in pink pajamas, with bliss lighting her cheeks, I thought: Lucky is this world, to receive this grateful child.<br /><br />Value is not made of money, but a tender balance of expectation and longing. <span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">from</span><span style="font-style: italic;">: Animal, Vegetable, Miracle</span> by Barbara Kingsolver pg. 287</span></blockquote><span style="font-size: 85%;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-8868083914824016393?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-87342719262382029132010-01-04T20:22:00.007-06:002010-01-11T22:33:29.271-06:00At work today I attempted to make a new recipe called Hungarian Shortbread.<br /><br />This particular recipe claims that it is the easiest, butter-iest perfectest shortbread because it combines - in my eyes also - beauty and practicality. Easy shortbread? Surely you jest. But lo, silly me. The shortbread is exactly what the recipe promised.<br /><br />However.<br /><br />I did not read the <span style="font-style: italic;">first</span> part of this recipe which concerned the making of a jam filling for the shortbread. I <span style="font-style: italic;">presumed</span> I would just smear some of our house blackberry jam between the layers (before today I had never actually tasted our jam) and this would at minimum tell me if the recipe was worth making twice.<br /><br />And.<br /><br />I put about 3 cups worth of filling into the shortbread when the recipe in fact called for 3/4 of a cup of jam.<br /><br />Oops.<br /><br />But do not fret, my pet:<br />When I realized my mistake I knew I had to sink or swim - this had to get served tonight! I set it all up; everything looked and tasted right. But you just never know how somethings are going to<span style="font-style: italic;"> keep through the night.</span><br /><br />So I took two pieces home like gerbils in a shoebox that I would eat later.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Mwa ha ha haaa haaaa!!</span> I made Hungarian Shortbread totally wrong, but it's so good to eat!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-8734271926238202913?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-56048133574908910992010-01-04T20:09:00.002-06:002010-01-04T20:49:17.963-06:00<div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /><a href="http://www.improveverywhere.com/">ImprovEverywhere</a></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-5604813357490891099?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-53901075473382942852010-01-04T07:17:00.007-06:002010-01-06T17:56:06.945-06:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:180%;">* * *<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">When</span>:<br />Saturday January 16th<br />8-ish 'til whenever-ish<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Where</span>:<br />My apartamente<br />* * *<br />pPLEASE bring some<br />music that you like<br />'cuz i need to boogie down<br />wich'ya'll!<br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:78%;">i am not technologically advanced at this time; assume that burned cd's may not play at my house;)</span><br /></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-5390107547338294285?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-69346877685567503532010-01-03T19:31:00.011-06:002010-01-04T21:02:57.507-06:00There's been some crazy big love stuff happening in my version of this world. I've been meaning to post since early last month when the seed for many of these thoughts was planted during a simple ritual called decorating the Christmas tree in which I participated unknowingly on my grandmothers birthday. (I tend to lose track of most birthdays.)<br /><br />Having come to the tail end of a year that a friend refers to as the most-magical-mind- alteringly-wonderful-birthday-year-ever, my mind has been overrun with thoughts about my family, my desire to open a business, my health, the health of family and friends, the health of this earth, my love of artmaking, the work of relationships, the ease of relationships...<br /><br />I've been asking myself all year what I want to do with my life; I thought the least of my interests lay in Belvidere with my family but this last trip home for Christmas clued me in to the depth and breadth of my desire.<br /><br />I want to go home.<br /><br />Many years ago on a drive from Iowa City, IA to Morris, MN my lover and I stopped to refuel and stretch our legs. The Midwestern plains of winter had definitely entered a state of grace, sparkling in the headlights they burned brightly in my eyes and the hum of the road lifted me even as I stood still. I looked at AB across the roof of my car and said that I wanted to go home. "Where is that?" she asked. I bowed my head, "I don't know," was all I could say.<br /><br />Somehow my notions about friendship, family, worthiness, happiness, value and purpose are all wrapped into my hopes for a home.<br /><br />I believe it's less about an actual place than about my state of mind and an ability to live my life as only I can, but the way home can be so curiously varied.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-6934687768556750353?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-5606964390035951912009-12-20T20:23:00.014-06:002010-01-05T17:29:32.800-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.paulinebellamy.co.nz/artwork%20-%203.htm"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 203px; height: 564px;" src="http://www.paulinebellamy.co.nz/images/enlarged/Yoga%20series%20tree%20pose%20etching.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;">Introduction</span><br /><br />A person kneels to contemplate a tree and to<br />reflect upon the troubles and joys of life.<br /><br />It is difficult to accept that life is difficult; that<br />love is not easy and that doubt and struggle,<br />suffering and failure, are inevitable for each<br />and every one of us.<br /><br />We seek life's ease. We yearn for joy and<br />release, for flowers and the sun. And although<br />we may find these in abundance we also find<br />ourselves lying awake at night possessed by the<br />terrible fear that life is impossible. Sometimes<br />when we least expect it we wake up overwhelmed by a massive sense of loneliness,<br />misery, chaos and death: appalled by the<br />agony and futility of existence.<br /><br />It is difficult indeed to accept that this<br />darkness belongs naturally and importantly to<br />our human condition and that we must live<br />with it and bear it. It seems so unbearable.<br /><br />Nature, however, requires that we have the<br />darkness of our painful feelings and that we<br />respect it and make a bold place for it in our<br />lives. Without its recognition and acceptance<br />there can be no true sense of life's great depth,<br />wherein lies our capacity to love, to create and<br />to make meaning.<br /><br />Nature requires that we form a relationship<br />between our joy and our despair, that they not<br />remain divided or hidden from one another.<br />For these are the feelings which must cross<br />pollinate and inform each other in order that<br />the soul be enlivened and strong. It is the soul,<br />after all, which bears the burden of our<br />experience. It is the soul through which we<br />love and it is the soul which senses most<br />faithfully our function within the integrity of<br />the natural world.<br /><br />Nature requires that we be soulful and<br />therefore requires a dimension within us<br />where darkness and light may meet and know<br />each other. Mornings and evenings somewhere<br />inside, with similar qualities to the mornings<br />and the evenings of the earth. Qualities of<br />gradual but vast change; of stillness and<br />tender transference, fading and emerging,<br />foreboding and revelation.<br /><br />Mornings and evenings: the traditional times<br />for prayer and the singing of birds, times of<br />graceful light whereby the heart may envisage<br />its poetry and describe for us what it sees.<br /><br />But how do we find the mornings and evenings<br />within? How do we establish and behold them<br />and be affected by their gentle atmospheres and<br />small miracles? How do we enter this healing<br />twilight?<br /><br />The matter requires our imagination.<br />In particular, it requires the aspect of<br />imagination that we have to come to know as prayer.<br /><br />We pray. We imagine our way inwards and<br />downwards and there, with heartfelt thoughts<br />or words we declare our fears and our<br />yearnings; we call out for love and forgiveness;<br />we proclaim our responsibility and gratitude.<br />The struggling, grounded soul speaks to the<br />higher spirit and thus we exist in the mornings<br />and the evenings of the heart: thus we are<br />affected and changed by the qualities we have<br />created within ourselves.<br /><br />Might not prayer then be our most accessible<br />means to inner reconciliation; a natural<br />healing function in response to the pain of the<br />divided self and the divided world? Might not<br />prayerfulness <span style="font-size:85%;">(is this really a word?)</span> be part of<br />our survival instinct belonging more to the<br />wilderness than to the church.<br /><br />And just as we have become somewhat<br />alienated from nature and its cycles, could it<br />be that we are also estranged from our<br />instinctive capacity for prayer and need to<br />understand it afresh from the example of the<br />natural world?<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><br />A person contemplates a tree.<br /><br /><br />The tree sends its roots beneath the surface,<br />seeking nourishment in the dark soil: the rich<br />"broken down" matter of life.<br /><br />As they reach down and search, the roots hold<br />the tree firmly to the earth.<br /><br />Thus held and nourished, the tree grows<br />upwards into the light, drinking the sun and<br />air and expressing its truth: its branches and<br />foliage, its flowers and fruit. Life swarms<br />around and into it. Birds and insects teem<br />within its embrace, carrying pollen and seed.<br />They nest and breed and sing and buzz.<br />They glorify the creation.<br /><br />The tree changes as it grows. It is torn by<br />wind and lightning, scarred by frost and fire.<br />Branches die and new ones emerge. The<br />drama of existence has its way with the tree<br />but still it grows; still its roots reach down into<br />the darkness; still its branches flow with sap<br />and reach upward and outward into the world.<br /><br />A person kneels to contemplate a tree and to<br />reflect upon the troubles and joys of life. The<br />person imagines mornings and evenings in a<br />great forrest of prayers, swarming and teeming<br />with life.<br /><br />The person is learning how to pray.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >I</span> will be posting some of the chapters from <span style="font-style: italic;">The Prayer Tree</span> in the days to come, many of them are only five or six lines.<br /><br />I first encountered this little book about ten years ago: I was aiming to catch the #23 southbound for my apartment in Standish when I saw it/when it saw me from a shelf just inside the door of Mager's and Quinn in Uptown. The reading of this book fit neatly between the start and the end of my bus ride. I was enraptured.<br /><br />While I was reading, a man got on the bus (drunk? ill?) and sat <span style="font-style: italic;">right</span> next to me.<br /><br />The irony of what I was reading and this very strange-to-me man talking about being my friend was not lost. I think it was this moment I when I chose to engage with <a href="http://connievandeveer.blogspot.com/2007/08/prayer-for-changing-world.html">strangers at bus stops</a>.<br /><br /><br />I hope we enjoy what we find here; your thoughts are welcome:)<br /><br /><br /><br />The illustration was found at <a href="http://www.paulinebellamy.co.nz/artwork%20-%203.htm">Paul Bellamy.</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-560696439003595191?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-23291270732868273312009-12-15T17:51:00.008-06:002010-01-11T22:29:48.865-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos-h.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs166.snc1/6214_129208664578_572874578_3284730_3408596_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 453px; height: 604px;" src="http://photos-h.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs166.snc1/6214_129208664578_572874578_3284730_3408596_n.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos-e.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs166.snc1/6214_129208639578_572874578_3284728_2512730_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 453px; height: 604px;" src="http://photos-e.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs166.snc1/6214_129208639578_572874578_3284728_2512730_n.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>photos by Katy Gerdes<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-2329127073286827331?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-79624564088132674162009-12-13T20:16:00.006-06:002010-01-04T21:01:03.065-06:00<object height="295" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/FgvOy69bJwI&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0x3a3a3a&amp;color2=0x999999"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/FgvOy69bJwI&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0x3a3a3a&amp;color2=0x999999" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="295" width="480"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-7962456408813267416?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-6585574445363005462009-12-02T14:01:00.010-06:002009-12-02T14:24:44.987-06:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Today is the day that a good friend leaves for London.<br />So I offer now what I did not last night. </span> <span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><span>A Toast</span>:</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I wish you all the best in your adventures;<br />happy travels in as many ways as possible.<br />Prost!!</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RvljD0toJmU&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RvljD0toJmU&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-658557444536300546?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-44135718491006492662009-11-25T14:35:00.009-06:002009-11-26T17:04:27.965-06:00<span style="font-style: italic;"></span><blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;">While driving with my mother through town<br />I did happen to glance absently at the windows of a building, a beautiful building in Belvidere. What I there did see was a possibility,<br />a beautiful and engaging possibility.</span></blockquote><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span>I'm officially, seriously serious about opening my own business. I feel as though the myriad threads of my life are about to come together into a Big Beautiful E: </span><span>E for everything! E for ecstacy! E for embrace!</span><br /><br /><a href="http://connievandeveer.blogspot.com/2009/05/it-all-starts-with-glance.html"><span style="font-size:85%;">It all starts with a glance... Part 1</span></a><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-4413571849100649266?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-940558872210204992009-11-15T21:53:00.008-06:002009-11-16T06:51:48.944-06:00<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />The one with the stone cups<br /><br />and the stone face, and the grinding<br />stone settled<br />between her knees, the one with stone<br /><br />in her bosom, with stones<br />in her kidneys, a heart of pure<br />stone, the one with the stony lips, the one<br /><br />with the thighs of marble, with petrified<br />genitals, the one whose glance<br />turns to stone<br /><br />this idol, stones<br />through her ears, stones round her neck, her<br />wrists, round her fingers, a stone<br /><br />in her navel, stones in her shoes, this<br />woman so like a stone<br />statue, herself<br /><br />a stone, stands<br />in the stone square, midway<br />between the stone-high steeple, the stone-<br /><br />round well, a stone<br />in her stone-still hand, and a stony will<br />waiting<br /><br />for what will land, stiff<br />as a long stone, on the grinding<br />stone, on<br /><br />her lap.<br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">From<span style="font-style: italic;"> Rave Poems 1975-1999 </span>by Olga Broumas<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-94055887221020499?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-18646168053921829932009-11-11T22:08:00.001-06:002009-11-11T22:14:45.602-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SvuKlmqL-xI/AAAAAAAAApE/Ra--ZO7nh0w/s1600-h/prayerbeads2.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 285px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SvuKlmqL-xI/AAAAAAAAApE/Ra--ZO7nh0w/s400/prayerbeads2.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403064556598328082" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SvuKlSoO-tI/AAAAAAAAAo8/NBK-vEZD-z4/s1600-h/prayerbeads1.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 285px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SvuKlSoO-tI/AAAAAAAAAo8/NBK-vEZD-z4/s400/prayerbeads1.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403064551221426898" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SvuKXG6Jr0I/AAAAAAAAAos/NM6g7z4_JF8/s1600-h/prayerbeads1.jpeg"><br /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-1864616805392182993?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-14098887044008373322009-11-11T16:35:00.031-06:002009-11-23T18:08:12.652-06:00<div style="text-align: left;"></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">For JayBee<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SvtLDajZW2I/AAAAAAAAAoE/FkEjoSC0HAk/s1600-h/honey+bee+pin.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 222px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SvtLDajZW2I/AAAAAAAAAoE/FkEjoSC0HAk/s320/honey+bee+pin.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402994700000516962" border="0" /></a>I've been thinking about our art night gathering. I am looking forward to the relief of expression that comes with your companionship. I've been thinking about stories I want to tell; <span style="font-style: italic;">draw out</span>. I kind of feel like I'm getting to know myself again, remembering ideas that I've had and never followed through with. This is fantastic!<br /><br />I've learned/am learning that I like to approach a drawing with an idea or story or feeling in mind, something I want to convey because it has intrinsic value. I've learned that an insecurity I've felt as an artist, until now, is that I have nothing to say in my work, let alone anything interesting. (<span style="font-style: italic;">Where</span> did I learn to judge my ideas/myself so severely? ) I am learning that the dialogue in my head is interesting, if only to me and very much worth pursuing. I feel like a conscious co-creator with Chaos and Joy. It's beautiful to think like this, see this, us, earth.<br /><br />Just a few months ago I'd have told you that this passage struck the heart of me to pieces because it reflected my own intimate thoughts so clearly; I had grown to resent and avoid my sketchbooks and journals...<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />At first the passage of time, marked clearly by each recorded date, gave her half-conscious pleasure, but time in a book can pass through many days in an hour and still drag at the spirit as heavily and specifically as its own confining skeleton. There is no freedom in a journal. It is an accurate record of the prisoner. Even his greatest fantasies are only fantasies of a man trapped in time. A year had passed when Evelyn set down the book, but it was someone else's year. She had not turned on the lamp of her own evening. </span> - <span style="font-size:85%;">Jane Rule, Desert Of The Heart</span></blockquote><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></span><br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Now I can tell you this:</span><br /><br /></span></span> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SvtHMLvrvgI/AAAAAAAAAn0/z3KaP7BHvRQ/s1600-h/i+am+happy+because.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 142px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SvtHMLvrvgI/AAAAAAAAAn0/z3KaP7BHvRQ/s200/i+am+happy+because.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402990452597833218" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">"... <span style="font-style: italic;">of a meadow that seems as big as the ocean to the very little girl walking through the grass, which was higher than her waist. She threw out her arms as if swimming when she walked. </span><span>I feel as if I might walk on forever, without coming to the end of it</span><span style="font-style: italic;">." -</span><span style="font-size:85%;">Kate Chopin</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">, The Awakening</span><br /></span></span></span><br />"She began to look with her own eyes: to see and to apprehend the deeper undercurrents of life. No longer was she content to 'feed upon opinion' when her own soul had invited her." -<span style="font-size:85%;">Kate Chopin, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Awakening</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span><span>I am reacquainting myself with how to listen and observe, to engage the way I did when I made/had the time to see, i.e. when I was in art school nearly ten years ago, and my 'job' was to look and seek and learn to tell the stories, to engage with and</span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span> be educated by </span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span>as much as I am able, with the drama of the garden<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>around</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span><span>me.<br /><br />Good God this is fun!<br /><br />ps<br />I am in love with the curtains in my bedroom. For six years I have almost totally loved my bedroom windows... but now that they are curtained in shiny coffee-with-cream and white colored floor length panels I am 100% in love, love, love. I am a textile whore, oh yeah!<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">*the honeybee image is from a <a href="http://www.vam.ac.uk/">Victoria&amp;Albert Museum</a> postcard set<br />*the blue text postcard is made by <a href="http://www.calavaria.com/">Calavaria</a> of Portland<br /></span> </span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-1409888704400837332?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-47234539183155486662009-11-03T22:19:00.014-06:002009-11-21T16:26:37.964-06:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Willing To Fight </span>by<span style="font-weight: bold;"> Ani Difranco</span><br />The windows of my soul<br />are made of one way glass<br />don't bother looking into my eyes<br />if there's something you want to know,<br />just ask<br />I got a dead bolt stroll<br />where I'm going is clear<br />I won't wait for you to wonder<br />I'll just tell you why I'm here<br /><br />'cause I know the biggest crime<br />is just to throw up your hands<br />say<br />this has nothing to do with me<br />I just want to live as comfortably as I can<br />you got to look outside your eyes<br />you got to think outside your brain<br />you got to walk outside you life<br />to where the neighborhood changes<br /><br />tell me who is your boogieman<br />that's who I will be<br />you don't have to like me for who I am<br />but we'll see what you're made of<br />by what you make of me<br />I think that it's absurd<br />that you think I<br />am the derelict daughter<br />I fight fire with words<br />words are hotter than flames<br />words are wetter than water<br /><br />I got friends all over this country<br />I got friends in other countries too<br />I got friends I haven't met yet<br />I got friends I never knew<br />I got lovers whose eyes<br />I've only seen at a glance<br />I got strangers for great grandchildren<br />I got strangers for ancestors<br /><br />I was a long time coming<br />I'll be a long time gone<br />you've got your whole life to do something<br />and that's not very long<br />so why don't you give me a call<br />when you're willing to fight<br />for what you think is real<br />for what you think is right<br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/v7uG4HsA3AE&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;color1=0x2b405b&amp;color2=0x6b8ab6"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></object><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">*</span></span><br /><br /><a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zBlwU0MlUSk">MusicMatterFaithless</a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">*</span></span><br /><br /><a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://thecosmicmonkey.blogspot.com/2009/02/molten-light.html">MoltenLightChadVanGaalen</a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">*</span></span><br /><br />I honor the place in you where the entire universe resides,<br /> I honor the place in you of love, of light, of truth, of peace.<br /> I honor the place within you where if you are in that place in you<br />and I am in that place in me, there is only one of us.<br />Namaste,<br />Ram Dass<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-4723453918315548666?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-39757780957708054162009-11-02T16:27:00.008-06:002009-11-02T18:04:59.543-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/c/cd/Alabama_quarter%2C_reverse_side%2C_2003.jpg/180px-Alabama_quarter%2C_reverse_side%2C_2003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 179px;" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/c/cd/Alabama_quarter%2C_reverse_side%2C_2003.jpg/180px-Alabama_quarter%2C_reverse_side%2C_2003.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>I'm not sure if any living soul knows this about me but Helen Keller is incredibly dear to me. She is one of the people I have felt drawn to since childhood; she inspires me, moves me, ignites me. When the quarter bearing her image was released in '03 I began to keep one of these coins in my art materials box as a token of endurance and persistence and commitment to finding my own way through... (as a side note, when I draw I often "paint myself into a corner" and I'm always looking for the way out of it in my work:))<br /><br />That being said... I was done working today quite early, it was like having another day off after a wonderful Samhain weekend. It's been a beautiful, sunny and windy day and<span style="font-style: italic;"> whoa nelly</span> am I glad I was not buried in the basement of Hell's Kitchen all day! Normally, to get home I catch a bus that drops me off right in front of my house but today I was on another route which meant that I had to walk five blocks to get home... half way there, lying on the sidewalk and glinting in the sunshine was a radiant new quarter; it was heads up! This quarter had my name all over it. (By the way, I love finding pennies that are tails up so that I can flip them over for the next passerby as a way of spreading a little luck and funny joy.) When I flipped it over and saw Ms. Helen Keller flashing in the light I nearly gasped. This was no small treasure for me to find but a token, an omen, a sign and an acknowledgment of the path I'm on right now.<br /><br />I know it seems like small change but how often do you find a <span style="font-style: italic;">quarter</span> on the pavement? The only other time in my life that I've found anything larger than a dime was when I was about nine years old - I found a twenty dollar bill curled up in the gutter in Chicago after my first ride on a motorcycle with my Aunt Tinkie's boyfriend, Mean Gene. What kind of Jungian metaphor is this? Ha ha ha:)<br /><br />As of <a href="http://connievandeveer.blogspot.com/2009/05/it-all-starts-with-glance.html">May 30th of this year</a> I made a promise to myself and this coin showing up about six months into my journey seems like an extraordinary and fortuitous affirmation.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-3975778095770805416?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-24206163629285983172009-11-01T01:25:00.001-05:002009-11-01T01:56:53.626-05:00<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Cb4FliI_1sY&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Cb4FliI_1sY&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-2420616362928598317?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-13617180445030363772009-10-07T11:19:00.013-05:002009-10-19T07:33:49.673-05:00What the hell do you think it means that I dreamed I was mackin' on Santa?? That it's a good thing that I'm a naughty girl and I'm totally gonna get what I want for Christmas? Whatever you do, don't cross your legs 'cuz Santa's got a present for you? (<span style="font-size:85%;">I think if you listen closely you can tell that am giggling like a mad person right now!</span>)<br /><br />Perhaps you're wondering what the f**k has been happening since I said I'd be "offline for a few weeks?" Me too. You'd think that since I've been walking around in my life I'd be able to tell you a little bit about it but, ney ney Moosebreaths.<br /><br />For now, I just want to let you know, the few of you who might still be passing through, that I wish you many happy feelings on your bodies! that I am loathe to see my garden dying back, that I have rearranged my living room (again!) 'cuz <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span> time I think I might really have it;) and that I am very much looking forward to having a big ol' party soon!<br /><br />ps<br /><br />The photo in the blog title is one that I took on <a href="http://connievandeveer.blogspot.com/2009/02/2-below-garden-of-eatin.html">this day</a>; the subject here is lovingly labeled <span style="font-style: italic;">Hell Box</span>. In the printing and letterpress world we set type by hand... very tiny these pieces of type. Sometimes the type is dropped or misplaced. If you are apprenticing in a print shop one of the first tasks set to you is often to sort something like the contents of a Hell Box back into their correct cases; a 'case' is an entire set of type in one font and one size. It's really best never to drop or misplace type. <span style="font-style: italic;">Ha ha ha haa haaa hhaa!</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-1361718044503036377?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-33942263191164474802009-08-21T08:20:00.001-05:002009-08-21T08:21:41.227-05:00I will be temporarily offline for a few weeks. Goodbye Qwest. Hello USI!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-3394226319116447480?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-84214450451223926982009-08-05T11:06:00.011-05:002009-08-05T12:01:10.907-05:00<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SnmxBx5G_PI/AAAAAAAAAlw/5cBdybc4ezg/s1600-h/prayer+beads,+ns092.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SnmxBx5G_PI/AAAAAAAAAlw/5cBdybc4ezg/s400/prayer+beads,+ns092.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366515075119512818" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">August 11, 18 &amp; 25, 2009; 7:15 - 8:45 p.m.</span></span><br /></div>Seva Yoga Studio @ Embodied Health, 2500 University Avenue West #F5, St. Paul 55114<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />I honor the Wheel of Heaven and the Axis of Time;<br />May I learn to carry what is hidden as a gift to others.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span> </span></span>In this workshop we will explore the mystery of creating a personal set of prayer beads. We'll practice gentle yoga, breathwork and mantra as a way to clear ourselves so that we may listen to the still, small voice within us that guides our daily lives<span style="font-weight: bold;">. </span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /><br /></span><strong style="font-weight: bold;">COST:</strong><br />$50 ($16.75 per class)<br />Some materials provided like beading wire, pliers, thread, and some miscellaneous beads. Raid your jewelry boxes, keychains and toolboxes because you just never know what will catch your eye! If it catches your eye it probably has something to tell you, so bring it along:) Also bring a journal or a notebook and pen/pencil to write as we go.<br /><br /><strong>TO REGISTER:</strong><br />Visit the website and print the registration form to go with your payment, or call 651-235-8254.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="http://www.embodied-health.com/events.aspx">www.embodied-health.com</a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">No experience</span> with yoga or beadwork <span style="font-weight: bold;">required</span>:)<br />If you'd like to r<span style="font-size:100%;">ead the prayer that I wrote in 2007, here it is:<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://connievandeveer.blogspot.com/2007/08/prayer-for-changing-world.html">prayer-for-changing-world</a></span><br /><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-8421445045122392698?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-17368668396781852602009-07-17T15:30:00.001-05:002009-07-17T16:23:52.699-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BL27imSN_04/SmDrpXKHayI/AAAAAAAAAhk/a8y4tTzH3YA/s1600-h/book+of+the+conconista.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BL27imSN_04/SmDrpXKHayI/AAAAAAAAAhk/a8y4tTzH3YA/s400/book+of+the+conconista.jpg" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-1736866839678185260?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>JB aka JayBeenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-66630934393739213352009-07-08T15:23:00.008-05:002009-07-09T08:17:46.264-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.davidenglundphotography.com/photos/117166340_G8tEM-S.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 287px;" src="http://www.davidenglundphotography.com/photos/117166340_G8tEM-S.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>I am a deep dreamer... I have many kinds of dreams but the recurring ones have been on my mind lately, so I made a list. Some of them are replicas of the same dream over and over, some of them, like the ones below, are the same dream with different elements. I wonder how it can be that I have almost eighteen recurring dreams...<br /><br />I call these the opportunity dreams.<br /><br />In this dream I am walking along, sometimes in beautiful weather, sometimes in cloudy weather, and as I walk I look down because something has glinted in the light. To my surprise it's a quarter. Not only that but I notice in the grass a few inches away is a nickel, a spray of dimes and pennies. So I start to pick them up, who wouldn't? Happily, the more coins I gather, the more I find. Some of the coins are clearly old and worth more than their use as currency. Digging, I can smell the grass and feel the dirt. I do this until I have dug a wide hole in the boulevard... It is now that I notice that the coins are layered in the dirt and grassroots like pebbles, an endless supply of them as deep as I want to dig.<br /><br />The other version of this dream has come in the form of clothing. In this version of the dream I have to find clothing for a job interview, a job that I am badly in need of. I am walking to a nearby second-hand shop: there are no other customers inside, there are lots of great clothes in great shape that cost little to nothing. The shopkeeper tells me I may choose what I like, take as much as I like, which I do until I have piles of clothing, more than I will ever need, each item exactly what I have been looking for. I am so happy I could pee.<br /><br />I have had these two dreams multiple times over the years. They have never changed. Until recently I have woken from these dreams with a mild sense of disappointment; they seemed so real to me, how could I wake with such empty hands? Then I sigh and relish the joy I felt at having found what I needed. I feel relief from the stress of living poorly in my waking life.<br /><br />In February of this year I dreamed a true variation, an exploration of this dream... A. and I are on the shores of Lake Superior at our favorite beach, digging for agates. This is a wonderful, relaxing and primary activity that comprises the bulk of our time here. Generally, A. is the one who digs throughout the entire day in search of the prize beauties, large banded agates or eye agates... She is tenacious and perfectly within her element while I have given in to napping after a few bouts of digging. I love the sound of the waves, the wind all over me, the sky...<br /><br />In this dream I am sort of pushing the beach rocks around, half intent, half wandering in a meditation on the waves when I lay hands on a beautiful, deep red, walnut size eye agate that just takes my breath away<span style="font-size:85%;"> (much like the one pictured above)</span>. Ha! I shout with glee! Then I see another one shining in the sun. Waves come up and wet the entire area... everything is awash in late afternoon sun and lake water. It's a stunning sight in the dream as well as in waking life to see the stones glistening like this. As with the coin dream, I have dug a large hole and have sighted multiple fistfuls of these amazing agates. Now I am laughing outright, staring at the slowly setting sun. I am aware that I am dreaming, I can feel myself laughing in my bed. I wake up completely fresh and ridiculously happy. Profoundly happy. I am in no way disappointed.<br /><br />I can clearly see this for what it is: A vision of my own happiness, unending joy in the natural world and a message to myself that I am free to live my life without worry. There is enough.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos.smugmug.com/photos/117166351_2r9DW-S.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 277px;" src="http://photos.smugmug.com/photos/117166351_2r9DW-S.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://tbn2.google.com/images?q=tbn:RJBiIPjFO8jkvM:http://www.wmnh.com/agate1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 121px; height: 91px;" src="http://tbn2.google.com/images?q=tbn:RJBiIPjFO8jkvM:http://www.wmnh.com/agate1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.davidenglundphotography.com/gallery/2144594_KhVPu#116271397_3vmCV">smugmug.com</a> (david englund, eye agate and large banded agate photos)<br /><a href="http://www.wmnh.com/wmmn0000.htm">wmnh.com</a> (small agate photo with black background)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.rockhounds.com/rockshop/books/images/agates_p88.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 415px; height: 596px;" src="http://www.rockhounds.com/rockshop/books/images/agates_p88.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.rockhounds.com/rockshop/books/images/agates_p64.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 416px; height: 596px;" src="http://www.rockhounds.com/rockshop/books/images/agates_p64.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.rockhounds.com/rockshop/books/gemstones.shtml">rockhounds</a><a href="http://www.rockhounds.com/rockshop/books/gemstones.shtml">.com</a> (landscape agates)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-6663093439373921335?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-11662203816131376852009-07-07T17:24:00.002-05:002009-07-17T16:28:45.241-05:00<!-- <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BL27imSN_04/SmDfJodlJFI/AAAAAAAAAhc/r3dx0nYf4RA/s1600-h/graphiti2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BL27imSN_04/SmDfJodlJFI/AAAAAAAAAhc/r3dx0nYf4RA/s400/graphiti2.jpg" /></a></div>--><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BL27imSN_04/SlPKvuOuDMI/AAAAAAAAAgo/sShK0ktaq7c/s1600-h/connie-self-portrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BL27imSN_04/SlPKvuOuDMI/AAAAAAAAAgo/sShK0ktaq7c/s400/connie-self-portrait.jpg" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-1166220381613137685?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>JB aka JayBeenoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-4951484906346457612009-07-01T20:22:00.005-05:002009-07-01T20:28:48.861-05:00<div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;"><br />Nattering Gobbledy-Gook<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Habberdashery</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Supercalafrajalisticexpialadocious</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Yippeee!</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Whoopeee</span>!<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-495148490634645761?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-91675402498145151162009-06-21T11:30:00.014-05:002009-07-07T13:26:43.654-05:00<a href="http://d.yimg.com/a/p/afp/20090611/capt.photo_1244762955697-1-0.jpg?x=400&amp;y=284&amp;q=85&amp;sig=G1uclbnLXSmKC4U8H34o9g--"></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://news.yahoo.com/nphotos/Photo-Highlight-racegoer-shows-off-hat-made-Louis-Mariette-during-third-day/ss/441/im:/090611/photos_us_rank_afp/d771b1b1ba33888d37bc7710a961db54/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 399px; height: 284px;" src="http://d.yimg.com/a/p/afp/20090611/capt.photo_1244762955697-1-0.jpg?x=400&amp;y=284&amp;q=85&amp;sig=G1uclbnLXSmKC4U8H34o9g--" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Like a great starving beast<br />My body is quivering<br /><br />Fixed<br /><br />On the scent<br />Of<br />Light.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">-Hafiz<br /><br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><a href="http://news.yahoo.com/nphotos/Photo-Highlight-racegoer-shows-off-hat-made-Louis-Mariette-during-third-day/ss/441/im:/090618/ids_photos_en/r3825895607.jpg/#photoViewer=/090611/photos_us_rank_afp/d771b1b1ba33888d37bc7710a961db54">*photo: AFP/Yuri Kadobnov</a></span><br /></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-9167540249814515116?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-88464521509650557852009-06-10T17:10:00.009-05:002009-06-10T17:23:20.759-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SjAyT5qtR_I/AAAAAAAAAlA/9UYzXzf4w2Q/s1600-h/vandeve-r3-049-23-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 270px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SjAyT5qtR_I/AAAAAAAAAlA/9UYzXzf4w2Q/s400/vandeve-r3-049-23-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345828075167631346" border="0" /></a><br />One of the most beautiful dreams I've ever had in my life started with the peeling of a sunburn from my shoulder to my chest until I had uncovered my ribcage, looked in at my beating heart and pulled it out.<br /><br />I looked at it and said to myself,<br /><br />"...next time be more careful... do not lose track of your dreams. If you think you are lost now, wait 20 years and guess again at a direction you cannot discern. Pay attention to your dreams because they will not go away. They may be hard to see but they will never go away. If you refuse to see, they will gnaw at you like wondrous motions of the body, a mystery that eludes and confounds and inspires. They will foster in you the sense that something isn't right, that something is lost, that something forgotten must be recovered. There will be an aching space, an unnameable space that is ever unfulfilled. They will linger in every moment. Save yourself the heartache and don't lose track of them; once they are deeply buried, they are difficult to unearth."<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-8846452150965055785?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-82199710389281133112009-06-10T13:57:00.004-05:002009-06-10T14:08:37.619-05:00<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/nsjGlKMcEQk&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;color1=0x234900&amp;color2=0x4e9e00"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/nsjGlKMcEQk&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;color1=0x234900&amp;color2=0x4e9e00" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-8219971038928113311?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-23110120648801496922009-06-10T07:01:00.008-05:002009-06-10T14:12:18.553-05:00<div style="text-align: left;"><object width="425" height="344"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span>by Mary Oliver</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">One day you finally knew<br />what you had to do, and began,<br />though the voices around you<br />kept shouting<br />their bad advice-<br />though the whole house<br />began to tremble<br />and you felt the old tug<br />at your ankles.<br />"Mend my life!"<br />each voice cried.<br />But you didn't stop.<br />You knew what you had to do,<br />though the wind pried<br />with its stiff fingers<br />at the very foundations,<br />though their melancholy<br />was terrible.<br />It was already late<br />enough, and a wild night,<br />and the road full of fallen<br />branches and stones.<br />But little by little,<br />as you left their voices behind,<br />the stars began to burn<br />through the sheets of clouds,<br />and there was a new voice<br />which you slowly<br />recognized as your own,<br />that kept you company<br />as you strode deeper and deeper<br />into the world, determined to do<br />the only thing you could do-<br />determined to save<br />the only life you could save.</span></span><br /></span></object></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-2311012064880149692?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-88426923277100604222009-05-30T13:14:00.008-05:002009-11-26T17:00:57.687-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SiGGxxb23wI/AAAAAAAAAk4/M-lEzSQeJz4/s1600-h/fh020017.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 270px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SiGGxxb23wI/AAAAAAAAAk4/M-lEzSQeJz4/s400/fh020017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341698822680010498" border="0" /></a><br />... and the next thing I know I'm rearranging furniture...<br /><br />I can change my entire living room/dining room in less than a few hours. It's kinda nuts. I moved my first sofa when I was seven... little did I know then I would be slinging furniture as a form of therapy for the next leg, or two, of my life.<br /><br />I've been going through a kind of separation lately; leaving an old version of myself in the compost of recycled stuff. It's not that difficult to do really, it's like math: straightforward, intuitive. The odd thing is, when I look at the equation of my life straight on, my eyes go wiggy and I lose my concentration.<br /><br />Someone once said to me that I was the most intuitive person they'd ever met; in a dark place I would always find my way home. In some ways I envy the person motivated by the logical brain, there are days when I could surely make use of it in my own life. It's not that I don't live by logic, it's just my own special logic;)<br /><br />I'm of two minds about my stuff: I love my stuff, my stuff is beautiful, my stuff is a reflection of my interests and an occupation of various kinds, and conversely, all this stuff could burn to ash and I'd never look back, it's just stuff, stuff is a distraction, stuff is not life.<br /><br />It's a funny thing, living this life. I watched a program on channel 2 the other day about a family that's lived most of their lives on a thirty-three foot boat, sailing the world. One kid born in Australia, one in the U.S., another in Iceland... Thirty years at sea. Something they said struck me deeply... They said if you want to set sail, set a goal, a departure date; everything else in your life will fall into place around it. They said your life will take on a new clarity and reflect your new priority.<br /><br />So here I am, reconnoitering... sitting on the brink of my life, enjoying a position of freedom and a full vision of myself and my desires. I have complete lateral movement. I choose to be myself, utterly, completely, honestly, openly, without fear. The confusion ends now, I focus my will into the shape of my new life.<br /><br />I promise, on this day, one year from now, I will have a handle on my next move... the move into a life at sea, away from the staid, torn version I am living now.<br /><br />Blessed Be.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-8842692327710060422?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-79136415669056093292009-04-29T16:32:00.006-05:002009-05-30T14:38:12.654-05:00<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:85%;">by Sara Regina Ryan</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;" class="entry-content"><div class="entry-more"> <p>Deliver us, O God, O Truth, O Love, from quiet prayer<br />from polite and politically correct language,<br />from appropriate gesture and form<br />and whatever else we think we must put forth to invoke or praise You.<br />Let us instead pray dangerously—wantonly, lustily, passionately.<br />Let us demand with every ounce of our strength,<br /> let us storm the gates of heaven, let us shake ourselves<br /> and our plaster saints from the sleep of years.<br />Let us pray dangerously.<br />Let us throw ourselves from the top of the tower,<br /> let us risk a descent to the darkest regions of the abyss,<br /> let us put our head into the lion's mouth<br /> and direct our feet to the entrance of the dragon's cave.<br />Let us pray dangerously.<br />Let us not hold back a little portion,<br /> dealing out our lives—our precious minutes and our<br /> energies—like some efficient accountant.<br />Let us rather pray dangerously—unsafe, profligate, wasteful!<br />Let us ask for nothing less than that the Infinite ravage us.<br />Let us ask for nothing less than annihilation in the<br />Fires of Love.<br />Let us not pray in holy half-measures nor walk<br />the middle path for too long, but pray madly, foolishly.<br />Let us be too ecstatic,<br /> let us be too overwhelmed with sorrow and remorse,<br /> let us be undone and dismembered...and gladly.<br />Left to our devices, ah what structures of deceit we have created;<br /> what battlements erected, what labyrinths woven,<br /> what traps set for ourselves, and then<br /> fallen into. Enough.<br />Let us pray dangerously—hot prayer, wet prayer, fierce prayer,<br /> fiery prayer, improper prayer,<br /> exuberant prayer, drunken and completely unrealistic prayer.<br />Let us say Yes, again and again and again.<br />And Yes some more.<br />Let us pray dangerously, the most dangerous prayer is<br />always yes.<br /></p> <p><br /><i></i></p> </div> </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-7913641566905609329?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-8230858135584420682009-03-07T12:23:00.009-06:002009-03-07T12:42:36.117-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SbK_kBjSH2I/AAAAAAAAAhY/unWVRlYHEKU/s1600-h/MomTulips069.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 212px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SbK_kBjSH2I/AAAAAAAAAhY/unWVRlYHEKU/s320/MomTulips069.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310517536235855714" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;">i am running into a new year</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">and the old years blow back</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">like a wind</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">that i catch in my hair</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">like strong fingers like</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">all my old promises and</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">it will be hard to let go</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">of what i said to myself</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">about myself</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">when i was sixteen and</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">twenty-six and thirty-six</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">even thirty-six but</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">i am running into a new year</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">and i beg what i love and</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">i leave to forgive me<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">poem by lucille clifton<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">tulips</span> by june k.<br /></span></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-823085813558442068?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-31313106277672499712009-02-24T17:34:00.003-06:002009-05-23T14:56:59.624-05:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.strangersinparadise.com/files/BlogPicsII/horse-girl.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 584px;" src="http://www.strangersinparadise.com/files/BlogPicsII/horse-girl.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.strangersinparadise.com/sipindex.html">www.strangersinparadise.com</a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-3131310627767249971?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-74972268115944021292009-02-22T10:58:00.003-06:002009-02-22T11:08:18.736-06:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a style="left: 348px ! important; top: 15px ! important;" title="Click here to block this object with Adblock Plus" class="abp-objtab-048506299157931043 visible" href="http://www.youtube.com/v/HPoQxt5x0QQ&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"></a><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/HPoQxt5x0QQ&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/HPoQxt5x0QQ&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-7497226811594402129?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-67738636820749189052009-02-22T09:34:00.015-06:002009-02-23T07:43:22.115-06:00I had a <span style="font-style: italic;">seriously</span>, serious hissy fit. I lost my cool and that ain't cool.<br /><br />I feel much better now. So much better in fact that I could pee my pants. Why? Because I do not <span style="font-style: italic;">owe</span> taxes. That's happened before and it's worse than awful having worked my butt off just to pay more taxes. Did you know that when you cannot pay owed taxes that you can pay in installments at 28% interest? Yeah.<br /><br />Money is tight, but it's not extinct and it's <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> everything. I have a roof over my head, clean running water, clothes on my back, friends and family to love and who love me right back... I have my health. I have a great job. Heck, if food is that scarce I can plant a vegetable patch in the front yard and teach myself the craft of canning.<br /><br />I will not live in fear. I choose to connect with my fellow countrymen and people of the world through love, or something, anything but fear. We each have our challenges and opportunities.<br /><br />The possibilities are absolutely endless. No more fear.<br /><br /><a style="left: 0px ! important; top: 15px ! important;" title="Click here to block this object with Adblock Plus" class="abp-objtab-048506299157931043 visible ontop" href="http://www.youtube.com/v/RqbZ1uEFKUE&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"></a><a style="left: 0px ! important; top: 15px ! important;" title="Click here to block this object with Adblock Plus" class="abp-objtab-048506299157931043 visible ontop" href="http://www.youtube.com/v/RqbZ1uEFKUE&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"></a><a style="left: 0px ! important; top: 15px ! important;" title="Click here to block this object with Adblock Plus" class="abp-objtab-048506299157931043 visible ontop" href="http://www.youtube.com/v/RqbZ1uEFKUE&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"></a><a style="left: 0px ! important; top: 15px ! important;" title="Click here to block this object with Adblock Plus" class="abp-objtab-048506299157931043 visible ontop" href="http://www.youtube.com/v/RqbZ1uEFKUE&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"></a><a style="left: 0px ! important; top: 15px ! important;" title="Click here to block this object with Adblock Plus" class="abp-objtab-048506299157931043 visible ontop" href="http://www.youtube.com/v/RqbZ1uEFKUE&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"></a><a style="left: 0px ! important; top: 15px ! important;" title="Click here to block this object with Adblock Plus" class="abp-objtab-048506299157931043 visible ontop" href="http://www.youtube.com/v/RqbZ1uEFKUE&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"></a><a style="left: 0px ! important; top: 15px ! important;" title="Click here to block this object with Adblock Plus" class="abp-objtab-001049181935674759 visible ontop" href="http://www.youtube.com/v/RqbZ1uEFKUE&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"></a><a style="left: 0px ! important; top: 15px ! important;" title="Click here to block this object with Adblock Plus" class="abp-objtab-001049181935674759 visible ontop" href="http://www.youtube.com/v/RqbZ1uEFKUE&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"></a><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RqbZ1uEFKUE&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RqbZ1uEFKUE&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="left: 0px ! important; top: 15px ! important;" title="Click here to block this object with Adblock Plus" class="abp-objtab-048506299157931043 visible ontop" href="http://www.youtube.com/v/MiczMZmyOnQ&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"></a><a style="left: 0px ! important; top: 15px ! important;" title="Click here to block this object with Adblock Plus" class="abp-objtab-048506299157931043 visible ontop" href="http://www.youtube.com/v/MiczMZmyOnQ&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"></a><a style="left: 0px ! important; top: 15px ! important;" title="Click here to block this object with Adblock Plus" class="abp-objtab-048506299157931043 visible ontop" href="http://www.youtube.com/v/MiczMZmyOnQ&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"></a><a style="left: 0px ! important; top: 15px ! important;" title="Click here to block this object with Adblock Plus" class="abp-objtab-048506299157931043 visible ontop" href="http://www.youtube.com/v/MiczMZmyOnQ&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"></a><a style="left: 0px ! important; top: 15px ! important;" title="Click here to block this object with Adblock Plus" class="abp-objtab-048506299157931043 visible ontop" href="http://www.youtube.com/v/MiczMZmyOnQ&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"></a><a style="left: 0px ! important; top: 15px ! important;" title="Click here to block this object with Adblock Plus" class="abp-objtab-048506299157931043 visible ontop" href="http://www.youtube.com/v/MiczMZmyOnQ&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"></a><a style="left: 0px ! important; top: 15px ! important;" title="Click here to block this object with Adblock Plus" class="abp-objtab-001049181935674759 visible ontop" href="http://www.youtube.com/v/MiczMZmyOnQ&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"></a><a style="left: 0px ! important; top: 15px ! important;" title="Click here to block this object with Adblock Plus" class="abp-objtab-001049181935674759 visible ontop" href="http://www.youtube.com/v/MiczMZmyOnQ&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"></a><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/MiczMZmyOnQ&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/MiczMZmyOnQ&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9N9m_F8ryfc">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9N9m_F8ryfc</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zBlwU0MlUSk">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zBlwU0MlUSk</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-6773863682074918905?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-17542286072848367802009-02-21T17:45:00.006-06:002009-02-21T18:56:14.742-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SaChU4anvII/AAAAAAAAAf4/GXsIeOXaRE4/s1600-h/blurry+joshua019.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SaChU4anvII/AAAAAAAAAf4/GXsIeOXaRE4/s320/blurry+joshua019.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305417741155941506" border="0" /></a>There is something seriously fucked up about working this hard only to lose $500 bucks in my '08 tax return. Lost it to what? Social Services? The Arts? Public Health Care and Education programs? HA! Losing $500 bucks that meant the difference between food in the cupboard and bus fare to work, clothes on my back or paying my rent on time in <span style="font-style: italic;">April</span>. Having been relieved of one of my part time jobs in November I've been trying to find the good in all this. It's a good thing that I no longer work 65 hours a week, right? For one it made me feel dead inside, without creative or spiritual energy; for two it made me feel like <span style="font-weight: bold;">I</span> am nothing but an endless debt that never gets paid down; for three it leaves nothing at the end of the day for gardening, drawing, fucking, loving, walking, playing, breathing, napping, cooking, joyfulness or beauty...<br /><br />On September 11, 2001 among the many conflicting and horrifying things I felt was one tiny-enormous feeling: a connection to my countrymen that I had never, ever experienced before. For the first time in my short life I knew that coast to coast the nation held it's breath, shed it's tears, voiced it's rage<span style="font-style: italic;"> as one</span>. Though our disagreements would follow I had glimpsed something amazing... to perceive this whole U.S.A. as <span style="font-style: italic;">connected, to sense for the first time a national identity</span>.<br /><br />As I sat at my dining room table this afternoon filing my taxes I had this experience again. Across the country people are feeling the same horrible, gut rotting thing: What now? I know many people are not making ends meet, are making cuts in already strained budgets, telling themselves to take a deep breath and keep focused on the moment; trying to tell themselves that it will pass before they lose the house, before the next round of layoffs... What the fuck is this? Is <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span> who we are?<br /><br />I <span style="font-style: italic;">know</span> I'm not the only one who can't see beyond the next paycheck.<br /><br />I scrimp and try to wear my shoes and clothes until they have holes in them. I skip buying groceries because the $25 will get me to work for the next week. Seriously? $25 for groceries?<br /><br />I know that this rant means nothing and even contributes to the cacophony of fear, but filing my taxes makes me feel trapped! I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here, working in a capitalist society with a president who may have said what he meant or maybe not! Sure, I could give up my internet and save $90 a month but it's the one thing I splurge on. That and $6 a week at the little Cuban place across the street from my apartment: coffee and blueberry pancakes can maintain anyone's sanity.<br /><br />I made 5 grand more than I did last year but my return will be a whole $18. Yee ha, maybe I can go get that IRA started at last.<br /><br />Fuck this passive-let's-be-calm-and-take-a-deep-breath-and-live-in-the-moment-bullshit! I'm having a beer and blasting KMFDM and MIA, praying to God I don't completely lose my fucking mind tonight trying to hold on to what little I "have."<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-1754228607284836780?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-29398180523340469152009-02-07T21:34:00.005-06:002009-02-07T21:40:47.292-06:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/roadshow/archive/images/wa200301A23_00.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 435px; height: 435px;" src="http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/roadshow/archive/images/wa200301A23_00.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/roadshow/archive/200301A23.html">www.pbs.org</a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />French 19th Century Blue Opaline Snake Paperweight, Appraised on Antiques Roadshow July 2003<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-2939818052334046915?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-47122075174918681792009-02-04T16:50:00.009-06:002009-02-04T17:54:08.257-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wqZmVY2GgwE/SYdE_SHiPnI/AAAAAAAAAnU/o2y1nCZLwjY/s400/IMG_1056.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wqZmVY2GgwE/SYdE_SHiPnI/AAAAAAAAAnU/o2y1nCZLwjY/s400/IMG_1056.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a>It's been an awesome day: I slept in! which is no easy feat for me as I've been working at what my friend Beth refers to as "sparrow fart" - an hour so early you can hear a sparrow fart! - for the last ten years. I thought sleeping in was a thing of the past... It was a quarter to ten when I rolled my ass out of bed for breakfast at Victor's Cafe with friends Ruby and Miya where we proceeded to feast on a mango pancake and sub cuban toast;) Then on to some random snow sculptures in the uptown neighborhood behind Lund's that Al and I found totally by accident last night on our way home from said Lund's.<br /><br />Onward to the Open Book Center where we happened upon artists hanging the new show for RosaLux gallery - <span style="font-style: italic;">sweet</span> pen and ink by a guy who's name escapes me at the moment; pencil on paper by the other guy who's name I never got. I must go back and see it all put together! Then right next door to Big Brain Comics (yes, I am a GEEK!) where I found the best illustration magazine called <span style="font-style: italic;">Hi-Fructose</span> and the latest installment of Terry Moore's <span style="font-style: italic;">Echo</span>.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br />Once home I sat down to my computer and realized with <span style="font-weight: bold;">frabjous joy</span> that my blog has a follower! OMG, yo! So I started surfing... found some very cool sites...<a href="http://www.hifructose.com/"> hifructose</a>, <a href="http://www.phantasmaphile.com/">phantasmaphile</a>, <a href="http://www.amysteinphoto.blogspot.com/">amysteinphoto</a><a href="http://www.amysteinphoto.blogspot.com/">.blogspot</a>, <a href="http://www.drawn.ca/">drawn.ca</a>, <a href="http://www.thomglick.blogspot.com/">thomglick.blogspot. </a><br /><br />Now I'm eating chips and drinking a beer saying to myself that it's quite alright and not so bad to live happily and well.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">*photo by <a href="http://www.2newyorkersinexile.blogspot.com/">Miya Rostein</a></span><br /></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-4712207517491868179?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-64346268936522845532009-01-31T18:53:00.003-06:002009-02-04T18:11:49.337-06:00The astounding photo I had posted here of Tori Amos was apparently pilfered from the wrong site and today, just now in fact, they snatched it back. C'est la. If you saw it, it was good; maybe you can sense how good by reading the comments posted here:))<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-6434626893652284553?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-71632720465927338002009-01-29T17:55:00.001-06:002009-01-29T17:57:21.062-06:00<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span>by Ellen Bass</span><br /><br />The water over slick plates, river water<br />dark, thick, warm<br />as water is at night.<br /><br />She pushes back her skirt, her sleeves<br />rolled above the elbow, dips her hands into the water,<br />soft, heavy, flooding the plates.<br /><br />They told her <span style="font-style: italic;">photography is not creative.<br /></span><span>She believed them<br />until now, these nights<br /><br />her fingertips grooved like the sand of river beds,<br />the willow and black alder rustling, the owl's <span style="font-style: italic;">hoo hoo</span><br />resonating</span><span style="font-style: italic;">, </span><span>she can feel its tremor in the water.<br />Wet. The wet scent of river mud, river grass.<br /><br />Water is the color of night, liquid<br />black without reflection. River stones, the soft turf<br />of river bank, her own arms and hands<br />are vague in the shallow star light.<br /><br />All night she crouches,<br />her knees imprinted with wet folds of her skirts,<br />her hands certain, familiar to water, fish.<br /><br />All night the images emerge<br />in imperceptible degrees, as she dips and rinses,<br />dips and rinses, the rush of river<br />obscuring that faint hum of planets<br /><br />until the lightening of<br />mass into form, shadow,<br />shades of gray, pale<br />tinge of color, dawn.<br />She gathers up her plates.<br /><br />Walking back to the house she shivers,<br />thinks about breakfast, ham, buttered toast<br />in a pewter rack, the next night.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-7163272046592733800?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-9491906143653151762009-01-25T12:38:00.009-06:002009-01-29T17:59:02.877-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SXyx37fyXoI/AAAAAAAAAeo/JqhqzGUBX9w/s1600-h/myshadowattettegouche.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/SXyx37fyXoI/AAAAAAAAAeo/JqhqzGUBX9w/s400/myshadowattettegouche.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295302836302798466" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">*Title excerpt by Pat Parker</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-949190614365315176?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-66747711770563513312009-01-25T09:42:00.006-06:002009-01-25T10:07:50.923-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3225/3158213221_f266a6a5df.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 500px; height: 333px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3225/3158213221_f266a6a5df.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div>I had a moment the other day when I realized that I've been working as a baker for 14 years. I had no idea that my first job at the Hometown Bakery with Dan and Mary Lang in Morris, Minnesota would lead to such a wonderful career. As a visual artist I don't think it's much of a stretch for me to love the beautiful, process oriented world of pastry... at long last these two worlds have collided in a photograph of my own hands at work. <br /><br />The world in which I could make a portrait of myself as a baker - in the way I love to make portraits, in the moment - does not exist. I am so often on the other side of the camera or lost in thought as I roll dough or I'm covered in a goo that has no business near a camera that I never truly imagined the power of seeing myself, my hands, at work in a photo like this. I like it.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">*photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/katherinegerdes/">Katy Gerdes</a></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-6674771177056351331?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-2750638949497455232009-01-23T16:08:00.004-06:002009-02-09T07:02:48.562-06:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://thewildpomegranate.files.wordpress.com/2009/01/tobefreebydrinkthemadnecj7.jpg?w=353&amp;h=366"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 353px; height: 389px;" src="http://thewildpomegranate.files.wordpress.com/2009/01/tobefreebydrinkthemadnecj7.jpg?w=353&amp;h=366" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;">*I found this image on Grace's<a href="http://thewildpomegranate.wordpress.com/"> Wild Pomegranate</a>.</span><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-275063894949745523?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-37340355597698162009-01-09T01:31:00.008-06:002009-01-13T11:42:14.817-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BL27imSN_04/SWb-WiqJAmI/AAAAAAAAAT0/6cS1IJ6iQxo/s1600-h/anne_4-02.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 175px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BL27imSN_04/SWb-WiqJAmI/AAAAAAAAAT0/6cS1IJ6iQxo/s400/anne_4-02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289194475607360098" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-3734035559769816?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>JB aka JayBeenoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-83328903755898500522008-12-20T15:38:00.006-06:002009-01-25T10:12:37.753-06:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2SoXG59zTYA/STST5qeRkXI/AAAAAAAAAMk/KA4Alf0WU_o/s320/acorn4.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2SoXG59zTYA/STST5qeRkXI/AAAAAAAAAMk/KA4Alf0WU_o/s320/acorn4.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2SoXG59zTYA/STST5gFxiXI/AAAAAAAAAMc/UD6g-KUzbY0/s320/acorn3.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2SoXG59zTYA/STST5gFxiXI/AAAAAAAAAMc/UD6g-KUzbY0/s320/acorn3.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.digging-in.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-weight: bold;">www.digging-in.blogspot.com</span></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-8332890375589850052?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-83049542732516294812008-12-20T10:47:00.003-06:002008-12-20T14:21:04.983-06:00<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/GtQCHD1TuHo&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/GtQCHD1TuHo&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-8304954273251629481?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23649545.post-59541800107589138892008-12-05T21:43:00.002-06:002008-12-21T16:43:23.394-06:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/STn1FnrioHI/AAAAAAAAAdQ/m0hrJiNdx9M/s1600-h/connielarry.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 312px; height: 222px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_x0mDQVxraJ4/STn1FnrioHI/AAAAAAAAAdQ/m0hrJiNdx9M/s400/connielarry.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276517915341004914" border="0" /></a>A few days ago Al asked me a simple, direct question about these pictures and it was all I could do to muster an answer without crying. She asked me why I posted these two particular photos of me and my brother since I never seem to put anything on this blog without an equally particular reason whether or not I choose to write about it. The brevity of my answer has been heavily on my mind. It's relatively easy to give voice to an aspect of this, or any relationship, but what's been on my mind is a persistent feeling of estrangement.<br /><br />We were together most of our childhood which would seem obvious to anyone who's family has never been separated by divorce and craziness. (I didn't meet my older brother until I was about 9; he was someone I knew about and even named my goldfish after, but not someone who was part of my family.) It was <span style="font-style: italic;">always</span> Larry and me no matter what was going on around us. We were buds.<br /><br />It's not that we were inseparable but we definitely had some good times together. Dang! We'd get the giggles like no one else I've ever had the pleasure of giggling with. I always felt his little-ness and I was fiercely protective of him. The year these pictures were taken I punched a kid twice our size who'd been bullying Larry. Can you imagine what that kid looked like after I walloped him? I'm sure scrappy little me left quite a mark!<br /><br />Even though we grew to be very different people I've always felt that we were close, until recently. I haven't really seen much of him or my older brother in the last few years although distance doesn't have to mean estrangement. The last time I saw Larry, which was briefly this summer, he spouted all this mumbo at me about my supposed feelings towards him, how I judge him to be a bad person, a bad father and that my living in Minnesota is an abandonment of him. Nothing I said to the contrary seemed to make any difference.<br /><br />Mostly I think he was trying to tell me that he misses me and he wishes we would talk more and doesn't really know how I feel about him. What hurt me was what he said about my living in Minnesota as I'd decided years ago that if the distance between Minnesota (or anywhere) and Chicagoland equated the abandonment of my family then I would need to redefine what it meant to live my own authentic life. If I'd made peace with my decision why should his words have hurt me?<br /><br />After thinking about this for a few days I realize that some part of me <span style="font-style: italic;">does</span> feel that I've left him.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/23649545-5954180010758913889?l=connievandeveer.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>conniewonnie13http://www.blogger.com/profile/11728389592513875463noreply@blogger.com4