It doesn’t matter if you’re 13 or 98, It doesn’t matter if you’ve visited every single spot on the globe. It doesn’t matter how wealthy you are. It doesn’t matter if you’ve been bad or good. It doesn’t even matter if you really, REALLY want to live forever. The clock keeps ticking and you can’t stop it.
What we CAN do, is live and love.
And when I say that, I mean LOVE with all your heart. Love the good days and the bad days, but mostly, every single &%@$& day. Love for both the young and the old. Love for what you’ve lost and for what you’ve gained. Love for what you believe, and yes, love even for those you don’t believe.
So love MORE, dance MORE, hug MORE, talk MORE, share MORE, protest MORE, think MORE, imagine MORE, create MORE, help MORE, and jump delightfully into every possible moment you have.
And if you need to, change — and change NOW. You’ll be glad. So glad. I promise.
Some say the purest death is to be ravaged alive by beasts — a final communion with creation and instinct. I could give myself to the lions as red men gave their flesh with joy to birds of prey, a feast laid high on offering altars of pine, their bodies rising bite by bite to fill the mouth and longing arms of god. And if I should die on African soil at the pawing of tigers or men, I pray the ants will piggyback my sun-pressed crumbs across each undulation of the ancient and bare breasted earth and leave me soul to soil, to nurse the hungry wild and mingle with the stars.
NOTE:Artist, Writer, Wanderer, Introvert, Philosophical Rambler, Teacher, Worldwide Art Retreat Leader at wildhairadventures.com with LauraMcRaeHitchcock.com and pamgoodewrites.com
YES it’s winter AND that holiday feeling is indeed coming my way. If you’re more or less my age, you may even remember all the lyrics to the opening words posted above. And I have to say that not only are they remembered each December, but yes, I still love Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme. Madly.
It all started when I was a young girl and has lasted prolifically as an old(er) girl. And yes, I still have a few of those albums that were sold at Firestone for decades. In fact, one day not long ago, I dragged my husband over to Firestone to ask if the albums were still for sale there. It was a long shot, sure, but I was hopeful and keen for nostalgia. The man heading the shop lifted his head toward the skies, mulled a bit while rubbing his three days of scruffle, then looked at us and said … “Nineteen … Sixty … Seven …. ” We all laughed, but I would surely have loved to hear those old vinyls again.
For me, it will always be “Our cheeks are nice and rosy and comfy cozy are we, We’re snuggled up together like birds of a feather should be. Let’s take that road before us and sing a chorus or two, Come on it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you!
P.S. In the early 60’s Firestone sold Christmas albums to help tire sales. I’m sure Steve and Eydie helped too.
This morning I knew exactly what I wanted to say. What I needed to say. It was clear and concise — a mix of horror and loss.
This afternoon, I can’t tell my front from my back. I can’t complete a sentence. I can’t remember where I was headed when I left the house. Maybe I just don’t want to remember — to lose these feelings of safety, sharing, and creativity — these days of love and laughter that held much of my life before this morning. It was a good life — filled with happiness, joy, women working together, and love.
And then this morning my husband misread the clock and accidentally trotted downstairs an hour early. I did the same an hour later and by then hell had already broken loose — at least in my house and my heart and the hearts and souls of so many. I’m accustomed to waiting and waiting and waiting for the election results, usually taking a day and a half or so. When have the polls ever been ready in less that a day??? This didn’t seem like a good omen, and it certainly wasn’t. I dropped into my chair and stared at the TV for only a few minutes, and then spent most of the day staring into nowhere, which seems appropriate.
I’ve read part of the manifesto put out by trump and friends, and yes, it scares me sh***tless. And yet somehow I put much less concern into it than I should have. Tonight, if I’m thinking clearly, I’ll delve further to acquaint myself more fully with Project 2025 and the demons that lurk when we’re not looking. I won’t make that mistake again, but is it too late?
The summer is losing its steam, and you begin to warm and grow large in me again.
Just today I passed too silently behind you, and your body grew in greeting leaps both left and right until I doubted I could make my way beyond without a full submission to your hands — so present, and so full of opportunities to touch,
Sam has a touch of fire. When we got to be almost friends he would put his hand on my shoulder when it was time to leaves the parties we both went to and he said goodbye.
He would come up behind me and there would be the hand, and I would know it was Sam without even turning because his touch was fire.
One night I went to a party and I wore a sundress with no back. When it was time I thought he won’t touch me now. not tonight.
But then we were leaving and there was the hand again, On my bare shoulder this time and it was fire.
Night after night always the same, and when the hand came without stopping I was hard pressed to look him full-on when I said goodnight, knowing the eyes would be there, And I couldn’t tell yet what they were saying.
So I mumbled low at the floor, not wanting to leave until I knew, but needing the cool night air and the dark ride home to keep his touch from showing plain.
I’m guessing you’re all atwitter about hearing my Eclipse story, right?
It’s actually one of the truly bizarre incidents of my life, and I have absolutely no idea how it happened. Granted, the little quarter moon in my area was lovely, if lacking a bit of actual excitement. More than the excitement of a slow afternoon, and a whole lot less than the excitement of actually seeing the full eclipse. But lovely it was, and it put a great big smile on my face and that lasted the rest of the day.
My son, of course, went waaaaaaay more than the whole nine yards, and I admire him for it bigtime, especially with a 10 year old. Both, I have to say, were high-spirited for the many, many miles of driving, waiting, driving, waiting, driving AND more waiting. But they got the whole deal and it was amazing. And oh yes, they’re already made plans for Australia and New Zealand in 2028.
But back to THE STORY. Due to regularly unscheduled issues with my car, I fuss about it a good bit. The days running up to the show were no different, but hey, at least I had that beautiful eclipse experience to lighten my many sighs. And then work is over, the eclipse has cleansed me, and I climb happily (enough) into my car.
And guess what! MUSIC streams out of the car with a lovely tune …. not MY music of course, but music, and I think my troubles are over because the eclipse wiped all those hiccups away just for me, or maybe for everyone, but I can’t really speak for that many. And though I have no idea where the sudden mystical music came from, it sang for me heartily the rest of the way home. And of course I’m thinking the eclipse, indeed, has super powers.
When I woke up the next morning, the music was nowhere to be found. Haven’t heard a peep from it since. Clearly, the Eclipse has left the room.
The Wishing Tree: SOLD, 8″ x 8″, Glass, Millefiori on Wedi Board. Colorado Dawn: AVAILABLE, 7″H and 13″ W, Mexican Smalti, Mexican Smalti Tortillas, Chopped and Divoted. Mirrored Wall:NOT AVAILABLE, 33″H x 15″W, Hand-Cut Mirror and Colored Mirror; Outdoor Installation for Ciel Gallery (now demolished). Wasteland: SOLD, 18″ x 18″; Agate, Mirror, Stained Glass, Unglazed Porcelain, Aquarium Gravel, Pewter; This mosaic began with a dream. Because the image is so void-like, I included lines from T.S. Eliot’s Wasteland and The Hollow Men using small pewter beads that crash into the deep. The mirror-backed “void” reflects the viewer. From the center, spirals of poetry and blank human faces form a rough heart shape, balancing the sense of desolation with a touch of hope. From the central abyss, the tesserae become less defined and increasingly chaotic, until in some spots there are no tesserae at all, but only a gouged space remaining. He Said, She Said: NOT AVAILABLE; 12″ x 7″ Drawing on Paper (created for a future project that didn’t happen). Sunbather: NFS, 10″H x 10″W by 5″ Deep; Crystal, Beads, Agate, Glass, Shell, Copper on Stone. Wild Hearts: SOLD, Unglazed Porcelain, Clay, Beads. Sunflower Table:SOLD, 46″ rectangular mosaic partially shown, Glass. The Boy with a Moon and Star: SOLD, Glass on Wedi Board. Late Bloomer:AVAILABLE, 10″H x 36″L x 18″W; Selected by and displayed at the Society of American Mosaics 2010; Glass, Metal, Mineral, Shell, Beads, Carborundum, Wire, Hand-Carved Styrofoam base by me; Through art, I hope to capture and momentarily magnify archetypal awakenings that resonate with the human spirit. I’m drawn to create with mixed materials because I want, above all, to create as full an image as I can manage. Late Bloomer pulls from the miscellanea of life — sometimes messy, sometimes arbitrary, always fascinating, always more cluttered than we had imagined. The pruning and fitting together of disparate materials becomes a way to order my own thoughts, emotions, and priorities, allowing the finished piece to serve as a kind of talisman.
Sometimes it feels like the world is caving in a bit, and maybe it is; or maybe it isn’t and it’s all just coming from me.
For the second time, I’ve had my credit card stolen at a place that I frequent regularly — a place filled with kind, quiet, people who spend a couple of hours working on their computers in a pleasant environment. The first time it happened, I felt like it must have somehow been my fault. Of course it wasn’t.
Now that it’s happened a second time, I’m livid and … something else that I haven’t yet identified. The difference is that this time I told everyone nearby immediately and then pretty much everyone I know when I got home. Why? Because I don’t want it to happen to anyone else. Yes, I’m savvy enough to know that these things happen all around us far too often, but loving enough to believe that I won’t be robbed because I’m a good and kind person. Yes, well … I guess that’s naive to a “T” isn’t it?
And it leaves me wondering about life in so many ways.
One of the problems for me is that I really, really don’t want to have to beware every time I leave the house. I really, really don’t want to believe that any passerby and his mother is out to steal from me and who knows who else. And I really, really don’t want to spend the rest of my life watching my back. I’d like to say that I refuse to live that way, but the truth is that I won’t be able to let it go — I’ll be watching my back pretty much forever now. I suppose you could say that’s a good thing, but it doesn’t feel good to me.
Yes, it’s a huge wake-up call that hopefully melds okay-ish with my life, but there will always be a part of me that hates it.
A few weeks ago, I decided to take a leap — a big one for me. But after years of “NO, I Might Need That!” I felt in the depths of my soul that it was time to purge, to let go and live happily ever after with what I already have — mostly, to feel lighter myself.
Ohhhhh how very wrong I was. Or right. Or something in between. The truth is that I just don’t know, because purging is not in my wheelhouse. But a week or so ago, something in me changed, and I hit the LEAP button. Had I done a positive thing that would make life easier, or had I just wildly tossed all the supplies that I’ll certainly need on Monday?
And in truth I wasn’t even quite sure what my end goal was, but I was definitely certain that some sort of action needed to happen. How did I know? Honestly, that part remains a bit fuzzy, but I forged ahead anyway, enlisting the help of a friend and going at it Big Time.
So we put on old clothes and sat on the floor for hours and climbed through years of well-stashed “but I might need this!” mosaic supplies, eyeing each piece relentlessly. And then, after filling boxes upon boxes upon boxes of glass and china that I reluctantly deemed “will never be used” … I tossed it. Okay not all of it, but so many boxes that my back still hurts, AND I’ve lightened half of my supplies. What was I thinking?
It’s a funny thing. One day life seems perfect, and the next day you realize you’re only using half of what you’ve collected over the years and maybe you DON’T need it all. And maybe you don’t even know exactly why, but you see the path and it’s calling you. And then I shed my very-long-time way of seeing, and suddenly now it’s hard to remember what I gave away.
And even more surprising, I found myself joyously making art again and planning classes.
Pam Goode Writes 