I'm not sure why, but I've been thinking a lot about the concept of art lately -- maybe because so many of my friends are artists from painters and illustrators to musicians, dancers and tattoo artists.
Art.
So it caught me a little by surprise when meditating on the Lord's Prayer a few weeks ago that the word ART stood out in the first sentence -- transitioning in my mind from a Middle English second person singular conjugation of the verb "to be" to a somewhat verbified (yes, that's what I said) noun. As defined in dictionary.com: the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance.
And then I remembered this verse from Isaiah 64:8, "But now, O LORD, thou art our father; we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand."
Last night, I went to a Tenebrae service which, until yesterday, I had never heard of.
This particular service was a succession of music, prayer and seven readings -- no traditional mass/no sermon. The church was fully lit with eight candles on the altar and after each reading a single candle was extinguished and the lights were dimmed. By the end of the service, we were in complete darkness with the exception of one candle, which was used to lead a silent procession, and a light shining on the crucifix above the alter. Faint light from the dusk outdoors was illuminating the stained glass windows throughout.
Just beautiful.
The music ranged from Mozart and Bach to Andrew Lloyd Webber; from simple and soulful to complex and discordant; from piano, violin and flute to tenors and sopranos.
You could almost palpably feel the pain and sorrow of the crucifixion -- especially the three hours of darkness that came over the land (Matthew 27:45). Unreal.
Today, I drove to a client in Northern PA and back but rather than heading down the less scenic 390, the hubby talked me into taking Route 14 which is also, unbeknown to me, faster. Duh. So I headed to Geneva and instead of going to my brother-in-law's cottage, I drove along the other side of the lake and saw those familiar sights from a new angle. The road-side of the inns directly across the lake from the cottage: Geneva on the Lake and Belhurst Castle. I now want to stay at both and wave to my sis from my upscale vantage point. So beautiful!
Anyhoo, instead of taking pictures of the cute little town of Watkins Glen or of the gazillion vineyards dotting the landscape (or even of the one, lone boater), I fell in love with the town (city?) of Geneva for the first time ever. Crime-riddled, decay-filled Geneva, NY with its boarded up storefronts is chock full of gorgeous architecture. Mansions dotting the lakefront. The lake itself. The whole package. I now personally want to restore the area to its former glory. A Geneva revival sans gunfights, welfare and crack whores. Could happen, right?
And I want to live here: smack dab in the middle of town with Christmas decorations on the lampposts and views of the lake from my backyard.
Sunny, high of 74 today! Sunny, high of 83 tomorrow! Sunny, high of 82 Saturday!
It's too good to be true. Hammock. Hammock. Hammock.
I came downstairs this morning feeling a bit unsure in a body-hugging, spring-has-sprung dress after a long winter of comfort eating. Upon seeing me, the hubby exclaimed, "Wow, have you lost weight?" followed immediately by, "Oh, April Fools."
Since we've been together for 23 years, I knew enough to suspend belief after the suspicious compliment and therefore wasn't too disappointed when reality came flooding in. Such a pretty face, such a pretty dress, such a pretty smile, such a pretty me!
For the first time, the kids are totally into April Fools' Day this year. Given that they're still little, the pranks are pretty mild. Son #1 stole all of Son #2's boxers after he fell asleep last night so he would have to go to school commando today. Son #2 was planning to tell Son #1 that I promised they could go buy Bok Choy Boys after school -- and get his hopes up all day just to have them dashed around 4:00 p.m. (Note: Maybe the bunny will bring them?)
My favorite prank, however, is an oldie but a goody that Dave, the boy next door while I was growing up, instituted (he was part neighbor/part brother to me given that he lovingly picked on me more than my own brothers often pinning me down and dangling spit loogies over my face). Every April 1, he would come into our house and tape down the hose on the kitchen sink so that my mom, God bless her, would get soaked.
"I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles."
Sunshine. Highs in the upper 50s/low 60s. Beautiful sunsets. Heaven!
Early yesterday evening, as I crested the hill over Irondequoit Bay, there was steam rising over the thawing ice. If I ignored the dashboard of my Jetta (and the restaurant/marina down below), I could see for a split second the gorgeous view that the Native Americans must have cherished. Pale blue sky. Big cliffs. Snow covered lake. Golden cattails on the shore.
I seem to have a habit recently of quoting one of the hubby's musician friend's Facebook comments but yesterday he wrote (about Rochester), "The music scene is as good as ever, thanks to the die hard spirit that comes from this cold, shitty area, that everyone endures and comes to celebrate. Bring it on Old Man Winter!"
Blue collar poetry at its finest and I agree: Bring it on. Masses and masses of snow. Hot toddies in front of the fireplace.
This morning was just gorgeous. I could see for miles as I drove through the countryside. Snow was covering the trees and lightly falling from a pale blue and muted pink early morning sky. It truly felt like a dream.
Last night, my hairdresser, Robert, re-introduced me to a long-lost friend. While gently pulling my long hair in the air with his left hand and holding a brush in his right, he said:
"Hair . . . brush. Brush . . . hair."
I find a modicum of relief in the fact that gorgeous, famous, wealthy chicks (i.e., the Olsens) -- with stylists forever at their sides -- also appear to suffer from this same ailment except that, with them, this messy style is a) clearly intentional and b) in line with their hippie chick appearance.
As much as I would prefer looking like a gypsy than a management consultant, I think I need to get to know my brush a little better. Maybe I'll take it to lunch or possibly out for cocktails later. Who knows where this could lead?
I certainly don't want to be the area's front runner on this fashion trend.
A friend just sent me a link to a beautiful wedding-related blog called kiss the groom which posted these sweet pictures of paper flowers from the Martha Stewart collection at Michaels.
As we all know, I'm no Martha Stewart; however, I was thrilled to think that the little girls across the street allowed me to semi-channel her for my girlfriend's baby shower in D.C. last month. They armed me with 50 giant, handmade flowers with which to decorate the house.
Why looky here: multicolored, paper flowers hanging from the candelabra, dangling from the ceiling and pinned to everyone's dresses. Not quite as elegant as kiss the groom but, dare I say, equally as festive.
In an semi-related topic, check out the bright pink Dior shoes on this bride from that same blog. These fall into the "Damn, I wish I had thought of that" category. Next time . . . (when we renew our loving vows, of course).
I just finished reading Drinking Problems at the Fountain of Youth. Ugh. The topic of aging is SO blinkin' depressing. Especially when (to misquote Roberta Flack or Lauryn Hill depending on your age-related frame of reference) every single chapter is "singing my life with her words." Yet, somehow, Beth Teitell's writing style makes the read enjoyable. Who else shares in gory detail fun-filled stories such as her morning microdermabrasing-cleansing-clarifying-restoring-reversing-rejuvenating-regenerating-refining-replenishing-renewing-brightening-tightening-toning-lifting-lightening-hydrating-protecting-defending-defining-defying-correcting-concealing-smoothing-plumping-minimizing routine?
To make matters worse: I'm still a soap and water girl who uses an inexpensive moisturizer. This may explain a lot. Argh.
Here are a few of the many tidbits that made me laugh (nervously):
Age is the new fat
Fighting wrinkles is like gambling; the house always wins
Every wrinkle your friend freezes, every jowl she tightens, every crease she plumps, only throws your own imperfections into greater relief
The dearth of stores called "Forever 51" is sort of a tip-off (when shedding light on our lack of fashion options)
So if you want to read a witty set of essays on botox, facelifts, posture, clothing, pores, wrinkles, crows feet, hair color, makeup and how to look "natural" in three hours or less, this may be the book for you. For me, it was like passing a trainwreck: I wanted to turn away but I couldn't.
With that, I came across a quote from Paul McCartney yesterday that made me feel better. "Imagination grows by exercise, and contrary to common belief, is more powerful in the mature than in the young."
Sure I'm getting droopy but maybe, just maybe, my creativity will soar. I'll gladly take that over looking 21 forever.
I was going to post about our fantabulous Saturday night at the Queen City Roller Girls but decided to give thanks today instead for all of my blessings (of which all-chick roller derbys are but one).
On the way to work, I heard a pastor on the radio say, "Being in a relationship with Christ isn't something you do; it's a present you are given. Every time you're in communion with God, you're on the receiving end of a divine miracle."
Mind blowing. Well, at least, to me. He's a huge God and yet he hangs out with little ole me. Very humbling and, stunningly, it makes my heart swoon.
I also read a beautiful Zen metaphor over the weekend. I want to become "like a dewdrop that reflects the entire moon."
Sheer fantabulousness close to home: Smock! Absolutely beautiful thank you notes, party invitations, wrapping paper, Christmas cards, etc. all designed and printed using 20 letterpresses in sunny, downtown Syracuse, NY.
The best part? At $14 for a box of six or eight, they're affordable. Support your local artisans!
Just celebrated the wedding of two awesome friends in Northern VA hunt country. Gorgeous weather. Sunny. Warm. Cloudless. Perfect.
The house where they were married sits atop a large hill overlooking ponds, fields, cattle and rolling hills in the distance.
I had the honor of leading the ceremony and tried my hardest not to cry. But I cried.
So much for my gazillion dollar make-up job from a talented man who did all the make-up for Sabado Gigante for a decade. With credentials like that, you would think I would have blazing red lips and over-the-top color. Nope. He refused to put blush on me, after caking my skin with primer (his term), he said the natural red of my cheeks would come out. No such luck. Thankfully, that day was NOT about me!
I'm very, very happy for them. They have a beautiful relationship and started their marriage with a flawless day. Definitely an auspicious beginning.
Days with My Father captures in gorgeous photos and compelling yet heart wrenching text a son's loving journey through life with his elderly father who is suffering from short-term memory loss.
(Note: Click on the screen and use your mouse to scroll through the photos and captions.)
It's sad, captivating, touching, charming and beautiful.
I realize that wind power, at this point in time, is expensive and doesn't yet justify a large investment -- at least economically speaking -- given that (even with government subsidies) the technology is insufficient and cannot cost effectively meet large scale production needs in a predictable fashion. Yet I do look forward to the day when wind turbines are economically viable and can provide safe, reliable, clean energy.
But I also think that people opposed to wind farms because they detract from the beauty of the landscape cannot see the forest through the windmills, so to speak. I personally think turbines are beautiful: clean lines, peaceful movement, dramatic presence.
However, with all that said, I cannot help but ponder -- as I continually drive past what used to be Kodak Park and is now a barren landscape of leveled (i.e., imploded) buildings, empty parking lots and exposed pipes right in the heart of our city -- why do we need to put wind farms in areas of beauty? Why can't we put them in the midst of post-industrial urban decay? The answer may be as simple as the fact that underneath my proposed, ex-manufacturing landscape lies a sea of difficult-to-navigate, subsurface infrastructure (e.g., cables, pipes). Who knows.
I personally think an urban wind farm could redeem waste land that otherwise may remain neglected and an eyesore.
Just when I thought my oldest brother had sent me a link regarding a (what some may find interesting) hypothesis that prettier people were more likely to have daughters than sons, he redeemed himself by presenting evidence to the contrary by economist Andrew Gelmen.
Amen!
Apparently, by charting the offspring of People magazine's 50 most beautiful people over a five-year time frame (1995-2000), out of 329 children, Gelmen found there were only 47.7% girls (with standard error 2.8%) which is a statistically insignificant 0.8% percentage points lower than the population frequency.
As a horrific statistician myself, and one who was never "on the bus" during grad school, I'm taking this opportunity to cash in on being statistically challenged in order to consider the higher percentage of boys in this select set (vs. the average populous) as a confirmation of my extraordinary beauty. And since few people who know me actually tend to comment on this site, I feel very comfortable that I won't be called out.
Poor Miss Teen USA 2007 from South Carolina! I'm sure she would have done well if her question was easier, no? The following is a very, very difficult question:
Recent polls have shown that a fifth of Americans can't locate the U.S. on a world map. Why do you think this is?
In my opinion, adequate answers might include:
Are you kidding me? 20% of the population? Well, you have me stumped on that one, Jack. I keep hearing comedians say that Americans are stupid but this is the clincher for me. Ahhhhhhhhh. NOW I understand how Bush is still in office!
Well, I personally think this is because the pollsters continue to hire uneducated people who cannot coherently articulate the simplest of phrases. Have you heard these guys lately? My guess is that, if they can barely read a basic sentence from a script that they have read aloud countless times already, they are probably just as unskilled at clicking the correct box on their computer screens. In other words, I simply refuse to believe that so many American's can't find our country on a world map.
The reason many Americans cannot find our country on a world map is because there is mass confusion regarding where America begins and ends these days. Is the UK part of America or do they just do everything we ask of them because they're polite? More importantly, do we now "own" Iraq or is that just a Dick Cheney pipe dream? And come on already. With Puerto Rico, Guam, the U.S. Virgin Islands, and other mariana-esque islands masking as U.S. territories or commonwealths, how can you blame people for their ignorance? Cut us some slack, freak show.
Sadly, this is what our young beauty had to say: our education system needs more maps.
Or, in her less concise words, "I personally believe that U.S. Americans are unable to do so because, uh, some . . . people out there in our nation don't have maps, and, uh, I believe that our eh-education, like such as, uh, South Africa and the Iraq, everywhere like . . . such as . . . And I believe that they should, our education over here in the U.S. should, help the U.S., uh, or should help South Africa and should help the Iraq and the Asian countries so we will be able to build up our future. For . . . our children."
