The Arts!

I have discovered a love for writing and painting. Not those paint by number things or painting a bedroom. I hate painting rooms. No, I'm talking about that artsy-fartsy stuff of a canvas, easel, oils, and acrylics type stuff. Then, you throw some writing stuff in there and I'm a happy clam.

Like right now, I am in my little library/office/study/storage facility and writing to you. I have KYOT on the radio, they're the best on Sunday mornings, two dogs at my feet who think I am lord and master, and a cup of coffee that if it was compared to a baseball base hit would be at least a two-bagger and maybe stretched into a triple. Both writing and painting are like crack. Up until about twelve years ago they never use to be.

J.D. Salinger died this last week. He was due, the guy was 91. I don't want to live that long unless I have complete and utter control over every part of my body. I don't need to be able to run at that age but maybe still go out and get on a bike. Sure, a three wheeler by then, but just to ride around the block at least. Then just die in my sleep. I don't want to have my kids or grand kids or great grand kids find me in my own goo-you know? Anyway, back to J.D.

He was kind of a recluse. If ever you saw the movie Finding Forrester I think he might be something like that. No one interviewed him. He rejected and shunned anyone wanting to talk to him about Catcher in the Rye. The best line that came out of anything he ever said was that he wrote for himself, no one else. I could relate to that. I write because I have to. I paint because I have to. If I didn't do both of these, I would be at the track, smoking filter-less cigarettes and betting my pension on the ponies-and losing.

This year, Holy Ground will be born. It will be chasing her sister, Emancipating Elias, born in late 2007. If five people get it, it'll make me smile. Selling it is not the drive in my writing. The drive is the creation of something that I and I alone smile about. I have a few close friends who I care what they think. Three of them are my editors but the rest are family and very close friends-countable on one hand with a few fingers amputated. When one of those people say "Holy crap man, that was so good! I'm sobbing, laughing, I couldn't stop turning the pages!" or "Hey, paint that same crap for me, would ya? I want one just like it over my toilet," then I know I made something good. When one of my editors say they cried, my smile grows bigger. Everyone knows editors had their tear-ducts removed when they became editors.

Now, I have never met Salinger and frankly, it's too late now. But I think if I did, we wouldn't talk about theme, or inspiration or "so, where did you come up with the title...blah blah blah." Nope, I think we would sit and talk about our favorite scotch, best pet we ever owned, and our bowels. Men always, eventually, talk about their bowels.

We'd probably completely stay away from the topic of writing. Except for one thing, when is the best time for us to write? We'd compare. Then we'd talk about our favorite foods. Which, of course, would lead to another bowel story.

Do Your Eyes Leak?

Do your eyes leak?

No, its a valid question. Do you, on a daily, sometimes hourly basis, have eyes that cry for no reason? My grandfather did. If my dad lived long enough, I think he would have. I do. Am I that old that I have to take a wad of toilet paper with me and wipe my cheeks every 30 minutes? Sometimes, the right one runs more than the left, like a wolverine in the circus. Of course, I wouldn't do that anyway, taking the toilet paper, bad form. I'd just use my sleeve or, in case of short sleeves, my shirt tail, sock, or just let it run. Usually I just let it run down my cheek. That way, people think I'm this 'emotionally connected' French woman.

"Oh Mark, you're so sensitive!"

No, I just have a gland issue. I find that as I get older, I have a tendency to cut loose stuff that after a while, I just don't care about. People care too much about stuff that really doesn't matter and not about other stuff. Haiti and what's going on there, that's pretty high on the list. Global warming, wars, stuff like that. Whether your underwear is on inside out or not, not a big deal. Sometimes that happens to me. I get dressed in the dark. I load my clothes in my bag, hope on my bike and go to work. I change there, usually in the dark. Sometimes, things don't go on as planned. So, I leave it. Socks are the same way. Inside-outside, who really cares? I do brush my teeth sometimes three times a day. Probably to the point where I am wearing out my fillings.

I have a hole in my sweats, multiple holes. But I think they might make it one more year. I think I said that two years ago. They're just getting broken in. Besides, I don't want to go to Target and buy a new pair. I can, I have the money. I just don't want to go. I'd rather walk through Costco and try the potstickers.

I think good fitting shoes are important. Feet, that's where the real effort should be. Focus on the feet and you'll have a much better day.

What about the lint from the dryer? A little on your shirt after you take it out and put it on, especially if it is in a hard to reach spot is okay. Really.

I'm finding I buy name brand stuff now. Not all of it but I figured I've lived long enough to qualify for stuff that advertises on television. I like that new laundry liquid that smells like mangoes. It reminds me of mango margaritas I had in Mexico years ago. Ahhh. Or baths. Yeah, I said 'baths'. I take showers but a bath is a poor man's jacuzzi. Helps those joint issues.

I need to ride my bike more and run less. I'm running out of cartilage in my knees and I understand you can't grow that stuff back. They take it from pigs and replace it with surgery. That doesn't sound too appetizing.

I would rather read than go to a Cardinals game. I do like going to the Diamondbacks game but that's only because you can sit down and clap politely. Its' like being at a park watching the ducks swim.

I'm a grandfather of two now, soon to be three. I need an air of tranquility and profound knowledge, like the Silverback gorilla. King of the family, the one all apes go to and ask where the best bananas are. He walks in and whatever melee is happening, it all settles down because he is there. The little boy in me still likes kicking in a door and sticking a gun in some bad guys face and telling him that if he moves, well, you know the rest. The Silverback in me wants to knock on the door and tell him its a pizza delivery.

Little do they know his underwear is on inside out.

Busy Hands are Hands with a Cramp

How much more can one pile in a week? I know, a lot. But have you ever had a few days, a few compact days in a finite level of time that you just think, “Wow, that is a lot of stuff!”

Last week, a week ago Thursday, my son, Travis called me and tells me he is going to Haiti in 72 hours. That would put it on Sunday last. Travis is with an Army Reserve MP unit out of Mesa. It’s a week later and he still hasn’t heard. Every day, he repeats the same answer to the unending question-‘have you heard?’ If he doesn’t hear by Friday of this week, he won’t be going. It was a 30 day deployment and would bring him too near his wedding in the first part of March.

This, of course, is after the earthquake in Haiti. There is so much misery there in a state which is already miserable. But the tour cruises are still sailing there, so the country has that going for it-which is nice.

School is, well, school. The best part is when kids come into my classroom before the sun comes up. I’m usually at my desk by 6:30 to plan for the day and trying to get some writing in. I tried writing after school or at night but my brain is a bowl of cereal-covered in milk. I usually keep the lights off and have trees covered in those small, white Christm—oh, sorry, that’s politically incorrect—small white holiday lights and a fountain going with soft music. The smell of fresh coffee counters their over use of Axe cologne. Kids come in and just sit.

Wedding plans are progressing for a March lift-off. I called the place we’re having the rehearsal dinner at and made the reservations. It’s like we’re rolling out one of the shuttles to the pad for a launch. Soon, we’ll be fueling the rocket.

Speaking of shuttles, did you hear NASA is shutting down their shuttle program this year and selling off or giving away a million items to the highest bidder? I totally want a helmet.

Then this week are the rains. I’ve lived in Arizona all my life, same house even—never moved. And I have never seen so many people get their panties all in a wad over some rain. Sure, lots of rain, at least that’s what the weather forecasters say, but what do they know? They‘ve all moved out here from places like Chicago, or Omaha, or Long Island. They got their Doppler radar and maps and stuff and they bite their nails and say ‘ooohhh’ and ‘aaaaahhhhs’ a lot, but come on. Here’s an idea. STAY OUT OF THE WATER! If there is a creek where there didn’t use to be a creek, my suggestion to you is-stay away. Don’t go touch it. Treat it like you would a big Grizzly in Alaska. Yeah, their cute—from a hundred yards away. When they’re standing on your chest and preparing to rip your throat out and feed it to their young—not so cute.

There, that’s all you need to know.

So, that was a week that seemed busy. Sure, some of you had busier weeks and weeks with more action, but that was enough action for me. I’m a simple guy—really.

'Gut Instinct' or just Gas

'Intuition' is one of those words that we like to flip around like a five dollar chip on a craps table in Reno; not so expensive to really hurt but just enough to let people see it and say "Hey, that person is groovy," or some other words to that effect.

I just got through spending a week with my students talking about the 'Transcendentalist period' in American literature, mid-1800's. When people didn't have any place to go at night and once the sun went down, they didn't have any light so they sat around and 'thought.' That can be fun and 'enlightening' if your crops are in and the fire is warm and your belly is full from the possum you shot earlier in the day, but what if your marriage is done, your brother is on crack, your high school age daughter is dating some Colombian drug lord wanna-be and the doctor called you personally after your 'routine' lab tests and asked you when you can come in and talk. How does that instinct working for you now?

Its the same.

We have a tendency to doubt ourselves on every stage. Why? We've been told over the course of time, that our abilities are falling short. So, we have a tendency, after a while, to believe those people. We look past the facts and look at the fog in front of us and begin to doubt ourselves. I think that's pretty normal. But here's the thing, certain things never change. Our prior experience, still has and is made up of facts that had certain outcomes. Those don't change. Fire, still burns the skin. That Ethiopian restaurant still requires you to take a sandwich along with you for dinner, that's just a fact. Have you ever-EVER seen a fat Ethiopian? Nope, they don't exist. Why? Do you really need to ask?

People know right and wrong. By age 12, you pretty much know its wrong to shop lift, shoot people, steal, or eat an entire large bag of Doritos. We know these things. So, why do we do it-violate the truth we know? We like it. We like it so we justify it with some politically correct statement. Why do I still run in the morning? Well, first, let me clarify that 'running' is not what I do at almost 52 years young. I shuffle, at least for the first half mile. All my joints and muscles are reporting to my brain pan that this is really stupid. But after a while they assign themselves the task of just getting me home and to the bathroom before I have an 'accident.' I say I like it. In fact, if I didn't I would be Jabba the Hutt, complete with no neck and beached on a couch waiting for my family genetics of heart disease to take me out with one massive shutdown.

Look, we all need to take a breath. The world, this year, will be a place of hope, despair, love, hate, war, and peace. In other words, about the same as its been for the last, oh, well, since the whole thing started. We do the best we can each day with what we have. Look down range today and see what you can do to find a little slice of lemon pie to look forward to and then pursue it. It's okay, even for a diabetic, to eat sweets sometimes.

So trust your gut when it comes to the things immediately around you. Don't worry about stuff unless the crap is on your radar. If not, let it go. Trust me, someone will handle it because it will be on their radar. Take that trip, eat at that restaurant, buy the sweater, enjoy those things around you that you can enjoy. I'm not saying bet the rent money on the ponies, but if we're not enjoying the life we have, what the hell are we doing? Find that moment to make you smile and trust your self to get you there and then back.

Even if its an Ethiopian restaurant.