The Way of Life-( PART 2. PLEASE SEE BELOW FOR PART ONE)

Go-Lightly should be named Go-Quickly or Go-Rapidly. Go-Volcanic Eruptionly. He who decided upon this name was not very honest or never experienced this. it was kind of like the feeling like I had when my body "became" not my own when I housed two aliens during my pregnancy. When you drink this vile drink of nasty sea water within a short period of time your body, indeed, is not your own. You DO need to settle yourself IN, so to speak, no, ON, to that one seat where you have easy access to your cell phone, your writing and or reading material, and maybe some pleasant room deoderizor. Incense would work. Forget about tv and movies. All you'll see is food or people eating lots of food. You don’t need to worry about spending time in any other room in the house. The last place you are grateful for is your bed and that is because you are so exhausted, weak, and hungry. You've reached the half way mark of what you’re supposed to have consumed out of that very large plastic jug. You do want to go to bed as early as possible so you can get up at the crack of dawn to begin and finish what your are required to drink in time to get to the hospital.

At the hospital for the second procedure- the barium, I’m lying on the table with an open -in -the- back -hospital gown and the doctor comes in and tells me he wants me to turn over on my side away from him. Oh, so you mean like as in my backside is completely exposed. As in my backside is in your face? I am butt faced or you are . I am sorry. I can think of no other way to say this and I am trying to have a sense of humor about this, as he proceeds to tell me what he will do next- insert this, inflate that, pictures, lots of pictures. You’re going to feel this and feel that………and at one point they twist you, turn you, tip the table upwards to where if you don’t know there's
a ledge or they dont tell you to straighten your legs, you’d think your next stop was the floor. You have to get off the table once you are "deflated," visit the commode and then get back on the table for some final pictures. It's your final bow, so to speak. You don’t mind at this point, just as long as you leave with some dignity.

I am quite certain there a lot worse tests than these, however, I can now say I have joined the ranks of those who have gone before me. I appreciated the kindness of the technicians and thanked them as I was leaving. And I am grateful to have not only a job, but health insurance which allowed me to have this test without robbing me of one entire paycheck. My tests came back fine for which I am also blessed.

I leave with a few translations from the Tao which I found quite suitable for this discussion - all in good humor.

Practice not doing. Everything falls into place. There is a time to be in motion and a time to be arrested. A time to be vigorous and a time to be exhausted. Empty your mind of all things. Let your heart be at peace.

My children, having graduated in May will be off to college in less than two weeks. Rooms will be empty. We are forever moving, changing, growing. And my hair is more silver. It is the way of life.
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The Way of Life - Part One

Several weeks ago my brother, Jim, filled up the back of my van with boxes of discarded books and magazine/journals after I accepted his offer to search through them for altered book or collage work projects. It took a week or so to go through them, passing many of them on to coworkers, leaving some for the recycling bin and the remainder to the local Veteran’s Hospital reading table.
There were a few books and journals I kept for myself, one of which I kept and read and then proceeded to tear up and work in to the above picture. The Book is called The Way of Life and so my work above is also called The Way of Life.

The Way of Life according to Lao Tzui, a sixth century B.C. Chinese philosopher was considered the Father of Taoism. I was intrigued with this book, the musty smell of yellowed pages, the art work, the sketches, the words were poems, verses, song-like. Of note, I found some really beautiful, very short videos on YouTube on Taoism which had wonderful art work and photography.

So, where am I going with this? I am thinking about my experience of having my first colonoscopy in mid June. I consider myself to be a humble person, however, this experience made me more so, or should I say, the preparation for the procedure did. This was followed by another procedure, a barium about 2 weeks later, as the first one was rendered incomplete.

You know I swore I was going to have a sense of humor about delivering and raising two babies at one time and I’m sure I asked my mother during my pregnancy how she did it. She had an 18 mos old and then twins. I do not know.It’s all a blur. You just do it (like the Nike saying goes) and maybe try to have a sense of humor. I am not sure my mother really had a sense of humor as she was going through it. It’s always easy to tell someone after the fact. And while I would like to think I had a sense of humor through some of the raising of my twin son and daughter, I know for sure, as most parents, it was not possible at all times.

I set about trying to make sense of these very timed instructions the day before the prep day. When I went to pick up this “Go -Lightly” at the pharmacy the technician was confused as to why he could not find my prescription in the drawer. I whispered that I thought my RX was probably TOO BIG for the drawer and pointed to the large white paper bag on the top of the cabinet. He grinned just a wee bit.

My Father's Crayons

In the room I recently transformed and proclaimed as my studio, there is an old wooden, hinged cigar box sitting on the far left end of the brick and board book shelf, visible upon entering the room. Greystone is lettered on the outside lid and Cabinets - 20% Havana Filler aged in cedar in lettered on the inside cover. This 3” box is filled to the top with my father’s crayons, some, unbroken, some intact, and others, paper faded, broken in small pieces. My father’s name: David Bennett, 3542 SE 62nd, Portland, Oregon, repeatedly is scripted and written over one side of the box in pencil. It is easy to imagine then my father in art class using these crayons. It is easy to imagine this being able to physically touch the box and the crayons. I was offered this gift sometime after my father died more than fifteen years ago, but the box went in to one of those wooden rollaway kitchen storage cabinets which stored all my collected art supplies and anything having to do with creativity for at least 10-12 years. It has managed to make its way to the bookshelf thereby becoming quite visible and aromatic each time I enter the room.

As a child, (and sometimes beyond), along with making my own dancing girl paper dolls, I also loved to color. I loved the smell of crayons, the color of crayons, the newness of crayons. The last time I can recall buying any crayons was for my elementary school aged twin son and daughter as part of a required school supply and it was only the basic # count of 8 or 16. I cannot remember exactly except that everything I ever bought for the last 17 years came in twos, and all I had ever known was Crayola. “C” for crayon and Crayola meant childhood. My father’s box of crayons held both Crayola and Crayonex. I thought perhaps I had uncovered some vintage crayons, thinking Crayonex was the predecessor of Crayola, when in fact, I had not, and they were not.

It’s not my intention to give you the history of crayons, but I did learn that Crayonex crayons came out in 1932 from a company originally known as the Paramenter Crayon Company, in Sandusky, Ohio and N.Y., which later became the American Crayon Company, the oldest and largest manufacturer of crayons since 1835. Crayonex were listed in 1921 in the Teacher’s College bulletin supply list as a necessary item for children in rural schools. Crayonex box #3, 8 colors were 10 cents a box and box #4, 16 colors were 20 cents a box.

I’m not sure exactly what possessed me to hunt for and then buy a brand new box of crayons. Maybe it was an excuse to take myself on an Artist’s Date, buy myself something reasonable inexpensive, maybe it was a yearning to color. Imagine my delight with a box of 96 crayons. “Gad Zooks” as my father would say, is the equivalent of OMG!! (I never heard my father swear.) I now have to decide upon using metallic blue, steel blue, turquoise blue, sky blue, cadet blue, pacific blue, navy blue, wild blue yonder, periwinkle, cornflower, midnight, cerulean, denim blue, or just plain blue. I determine having to make this decision has given me the blues. Too many options, too many choices, overwhelming, like a kid in a candy store. Good thing I don’t have to decide about the scratch and sniff or glow in the dark ones.

I’ve been doing some doodling thanks to my friends over at coachcreativespace.ning.com, but I found myself wanting to add some color to one of my doodles, which is in part, how this entire crayon thing came about.

It’s been nearly 40 years ago since my father “left his position” of being my father and more than 15 yrs since he died. I wanted to know him more than I did. It has taken me all of those years to realize I got more than my myopia and scoliosis from him. I view those crayons as a representation of my life, of our lives, leaving us sometimes broken and sometimes intact. I have to tell myself that he would be proud of me, would get a kick out of knowing his box of crayons holds a special place on my shelf and in my heart. Those crayons have served as a reminder recently that I can be metallic at midnight, choose to wear turquoise or denim, and I, too, am able to ride high, into the wild blue yonder.

Imagining Sea Dances

This is another page of my altered book project. I love this blue. I love the sea.

Imagine. Imagine the sea. Imagine sea dances. Imagine not wanting the sea or sea dances. Imagine no sea dances. Imagine not wanting........

MAY 16, 2009

Books have always been important to me. Book in my house never got or get thrown away. They may be given freely to someone or to an organization, a library, but never just tossed in the garbage can. Recently, I have a fascination for taking a garbage or throwaway book find and imagining what it could become. My first attempt started when a coworker happened to mention she was getting rid of some of her young daughter's books to which I excitedly said,"No! Please bring them to me."

This is my first attempt making an Altered Book. It's not a fast process by any means, but it has taken on new meaning for me in terms of using all types of mediums, and it's by trial and error to see what really works. Suddenly, embroidery thread, butttons, dried flowers, ribbons, hem binding, stickers, stencils, even shredded paper from my shredder has made its way to the pages. I also have a "thing" for anything vintage, so it will, in time, make its way to a page somewhere. I recently remembered I already have some vintage photos from my collection of family photographs from my trip to Oregon in the summer of 2006, which will at some point find a place in an altered book or art journal page.

Somehow, I think maybe a seven year old child might enjoy looking at this altered book more than the original. The title A Book About Being a Bad Sport (a help-me-be-good-book) has become a book about being Jo, a help-me-be-me book, in case you cannot read my sticky note.

I used to make these cut out paper dolls when I was a kid and happened to find them just about the time I was beginning this project........ and since I am still a kid and a dancing girl, I had to remake them for this. They are after all, part of who I am and this book is after all, now, about being me.