Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
It’s about damn time. Three days await me after this very, very difficult week. Thank you Mr. King.
I think The Feline is starting to get the hang of this posing for photos thang.
My pandering post TOTALLY worked. Traffic has spiked in the two days since my last post.
Robbing kindergartners of SEO’s shore does make me thirsty!
Lucky for me, a margarita on the rocks awaits me later this evening.
Do you have any idea how powerful it was when I read the following poem, written by Shel Silverstein as part of his book “Where the Sidewalk Ends?”
Listen to the mustn’ts, child.
Listen to the don’ts.
Listen to the shouldn’ts, the impossibles, the won’ts.
Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me…
Anything can happen, child.
Anything can be.
I don’t know how old I was, ten or twelve maybe? But to have an adult, especially such a surly looking adult, say something like that to me!
Whoa!
This past weekend, I pulled “Where the Sidewalk Ends” off my shelf and gave it a new read. It had been years. Maybe even decades.
And that poem, it still stopped me in my tracks.
I just finished a biography of Shel Silverstein called “A Boy Named Shel” that I found, of all places, at the Dollar Store.
I’m not going to lie to ya, the biography is not the greatest writing I’ve ever encountered. In fact, it’s pretty bad, worthy of the venue in which it was purchased. That said it did give me some (hopefully true) insight into the life of the very prolific writer, cartoonist, songwriter and playwright.
I learned from this biography that Silverstein’s mind was constantly in motion, constantly creating without restrictions.
I only know of a few creative people in my life that are *constantly* channeling The Muse. One of them might even be related to me.
I’m pretty creative and am usually chock full of ideas, but I also go through extended periods of time of writer’s or crafter’s block. Perhaps for me, these are quiet periods that are essential to my own creative process, because as frustrating is to be creatively constipated, I usually come through it stronger.
I have learned that The Muse will return if I just relax and let her go. She always comes back.
It’s funny, sometimes seeing art or meeting a creative person will touch off a creative spark inside of me, thus breaking through the blockades. Through the words of his poems, Shel Silverstein did that for me this weekend. I started a new art project and I did photography and I felt the creatives begin to whisper in my ear, which always gives me such satisfaction.
I understand that Silverstein was a mentor to many of his friends. He would push them to create more, to push the bounds of their art and to be better artists.
Silverstein died in 1999, but his words remain powerful. They speak to me as loudly today as they did when I was young.
Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.
Photo From BigHeartDesign.com
So things are going to have to change up a bit here on the ol’ blog.
Ya see…I started a new job today.
After ten successful months of consulting work and being my own boss, I agreed to be owned by a corporation once again.
It’s a good job and a good company and this morning, nervous and anxious I burst out the gate, excited and ready to run.
This after I spent my last five days having a blast in New Mexico with my best friend in the whole world and two other good pals. Since my girlfriends are all teachers, this was a last hurrah for them, too.
A chance for us to act like kids before it became time to act like grownups.
Among other things, we hit the town of Ruidoso, NM and painted it red.
For my non-New Mexico readers, Ruidoso is known for, in this order:
1) Horse racing
2) Skiing
3) A preponderance of Texans
This weekend, the horses were fast, skiing non-existent and the place was crawling with Texans. An almost $900,000 purse for race number nine, the Rainbow Futurity, brought them out in droves.
I didn’t manage to take home any of that fast flowing cash, by the by.
After the races, some dancing got done. There might have been some “adult beverages.” Lots of cussing and discussing was also accomplished.
Yesterday, worn down with that good kind of tired, I came home to get ready to go to work. I had to pull the work clothes, dust off the cobwebs and act like a professional.
As time marches on, my idyllic weekend in New Mexico will be like a distant memory.
How long before I’m running as fast as I can, falling ever more behind, quirted into submission?
This being a grownup thing is a big load of horse hockey.
Life Imitating Art and associated images by Karen Fayeth are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.
This morning, I sat quietly at my desk thinking about an appropriate blog post for this warm Friday.
A post that would wrap up all that went down this week, the highs, the lows, the heat, the headaches.
I found that I just didn’t have all the words to put together in a nice clean way that would properly explain it all.
So I had a bright idea. I would get my camera out and I would take a photo.
One photo that would explain it all. A visual metaphor for the week.
So I got my gear and I polished up the lens, checked battery levels, and figured I’d go outside to take the snap.
As I worked, I thought about potential shots in my head…
A wilted red rose on a drooping bush, weary in the heat?
A great macro photo of the beat up stop sign at the end of the road?
You know…something arty like that.
With camera ready, I turned and aimed the lens out my window to be sure it was working.
That’s when I saw the perfect image.
The image that properly describes everything that went by this week. A week that a former coworker would refer to as “being pulled through the knothole.”
Yup.
Here it is. I had to go no further than the table in front of the window to find my muse.
Yes, she’s awake. No, I don’t know why she’s laying there like that. She held that position for quite some time.
Right before rolling over and falling off the table, then getting stuck behind it.
If that’s not a metaphor, I don’t know what is.
