My Man(tis)...

...is a girl. I took delivery today of a remarkable piece of metal sculpture by my frien (the d is missing, because there is no "end" in friend) and favorite artist, Dion Wright. I love bugs. (Bug imagery, that is, not real bugs). The praying mantis is my favorite, though dragonflies are a close second.

Once I bought the "pod of mantis hatchlings" (called an ootheca) at the hardware store that hatches as many as 200 babies for garden pest control purposes. Seconds after they emerge, not only do they resemble the full grown adult in a miniature size, they are fearlessly curious, and wildly animated. They stare you down, first seeming to size you up for friendship, then trying to appear as menacing, capable and self-sufficient as possible. They are amazing!

Though I love every piece of Dion's art (which now totals six pieces, including Zot!) that I have in my home, I must admit that when I walked up on this piece, it was love at first sight. I'm honored to have her. For me, Dion is a legendary artist, author and intellect, and above all, a friend.

This afternoon I met Dion at his booth at the Sawdust Festival (a show he founded and has done for 50 years and where, as an exhibiting artist, I first met him in 1993). Here he is with his Mantis, which he created in 1973. She comes with history and a previous owner. For one reason or another, Dion regained custody and I was thrilled to hear it!

 Dion Wright - Laguna Beach - August 31, 2009

This piece validates my opinion that you can't really own art. You can only choose to share space with it while you're here and/or choose to let someone else enjoy it before (or after) you're gone. You've got an expiration date, and generally art does not (excluding ice and/or cheese sculptures).

Except in the case of art for investment's sake, any money that's changed hands in the transfer of art (that makes you think you own it) is really just rent, unless you intend to be buried with it. How long you live and how happy it makes you determines how good a deal it was. Dion's art is always a very good deal. If I keeled over today, my spirit and surroundings have been enriched by his work far beyond any amount of cash that was traded for the privilege of having it.

"My" Dragonfly - by Dion Wright 2004
(Anatomically accurate wing pattern...incredible!)

Good art manages to make an impact on others, while layering on a life and history of its own as it passes from the hands of its creator to its admirers (and sometimes back again). Though I didn't know the previous owner of "my" Mantis, the piece links us, and I respect that connection.

So, welcome home! We may name her Mantilda (my daughter's suggestion). I like it. I know the mantis won't mind.

Weekend Away

I drove to Murphys in the California foothills this weekend (a total of 1,000 miles after all was said and done). Met up with my dear friend Stacey to see a Jason Mraz concert at the Ironstone Winery. Her friend Don (who was absolutely great and an easy traveler) joined us.  We enjoyed a pre-show dinner on the Ironstone property prior to the show. It was a beautiful setting and an excellent performance.

We had pretty good seats! I loved being outdoors.

We stayed in a darling cottage in a woodsy setting on a creek:

Took a short walk and saw this:

Had a delicious meal right across the street from our cottage at a tapas restaurant called 498:

Went wine tasting at Twisted Oak winery and another semi-underground wine-tasting room that included this mildly disturbing scene:

Played Scrabble:

Felt completely unplugged and rejuvenated. Put our feet in an icy babbling creek lined with wild raspberry bushes:

Left Murphys Saturday morning. On the way to Monterey we saw a scary car fire on Pacheco Pass, which ignited the surroundings. Firefighters were working hard to keep it contained.

Stayed at Stacey's cute new house and provided computer tech services for WiFi access!

Observed the most precious community gathering in Pacific Grove. A weekly dance class and subsequent "open floor" for all ages and skills. This was the scene through giant barn doors:

Hopped in the car Sunday morning and drove home, happy music blasting the whole way. Exterior temperature over the Grapevine - 104 degrees. Inside the car - 67 degrees. Took around 7 hours.

Missed my doggie, but received some unique photos via email from my daughter of Olive Monroe:

And Pepper Hayworth:

Exhausted, but played my bass for a few minutes...I missed that thing too...the notes seem lower, richer and more beautiful than I remember...I think I'm in love...

Called everyone to say I got home safe.....and Goodnight.

22 Things A Woman Must Know

When we discovered that my husband Scott likely has Aspergers' Syndrome, I went to Amazon to see what resources were available to learn more. I bought several books dealing specifically with relationships and read them all, from the overly clinical scientific descriptions to the emotionally-based children's books. Eight books later, I was convinced that we could actually put a name to Scott's quirky behaviors and unique perspective on life and relationships. That in itself has been tremendously helpful.

Once Amazon knows what your interests are (based on your purchases), they suggest new items on the same or similar topics. I got an email recently suggesting this book and logged in to read the reviews. One woman wrote a review with a phrase in it that so described my experience with Scott that I was moved to respond, both to her and to the other people making comments on her review.

The phrase that grabbed me was inside of this sentence: "Most of these women will end up with major depression and one or more autoimmune diseases from never having their own light reflected back at them as time goes on living with someone who is almost completely unreciprocal but who is supposed to be your life partner."

The words "never having their own light reflected back at them" articulated so well a feeling that I haven't been able to put into words. It was validating for me and defined one of my experiences in our relationship. Though Scott expresses his love for me in unique ways, which are meaningful and appreciated, the nature of Aspergers' doesn't really allow for a contented connection as advertised and experienced in "normal" couple's lives when you love someone deeply. Aspies never attain that level of peaceful comfort within themselves, let alone learn how to share, enjoy or appreciate that kind of connection as part of a couple.

I've told Scott before that he gets to see himself through my eyes, but I have to see myself through his, and that he gets the better deal. I project my ideal image of who he can be and what he means to me onto him as though he's already attained it perfectly. His view of me requires only his logical brain and observation of stark reality. His perception doesn't come with frills or emotionally tinged filters that allow me to believe he sees me any differently than anyone else would. My flaws stick out. I don't get to feel funnier, thinner, younger or more attractive than I really am (or am not) just because he "loves" me. Even my own coping mechanisms that make me feel "special" are challenged when his blunt honesty defines me so succinctly.

With Scott, no one gets a better deal. I'm lumped into the general category of all other humanity, with no special concessions for sharing a life with him and knowing what life's like behind closed doors. I'm a flawed mortal with characteristics (tolerance and self-entertaining self-sufficiency are the most important ones) he finds appealing enough to want to be around more than most, but that's it. So, I miss out on the relationship "games" people play that reinforce their "specialness" to each other.

So, of course I bought the book, which winds up being written by a woman with Aspergers' (If I remember correctly, one in four Aspies are women). The book is very sympathetically written, and includes a section called "His Words" after each chapter, which is the Aspie's perspective on the topic discussed.

This book should certainly not be the only resource for an NT (which stands for Neuro Typical, the term used for the non-Asperger partner). It's a very validating checklist, however, as an introduction to Aspergers. If you're wondering if your mate has it, I'd get it.

Even Scott gave the book validity. I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth and could tell Scott had picked up the book on the bed that I was reading. I think it was the maniacal outburst that tipped me off. I can tell by his laughter he is now reading some passages. "What's funny?", I call out from the bathroom.

"I'm childlike?", he asks incredulously, "I'm effeminate?" "Oh my God, I say the same things these men say in this book!", he says.

Welcome to my world.

I don't feel quite as susceptible to the depression and autoimmune diseases mentioned in the review. My response to the review explains why.

It turns out 2009 is a banner year for illuminating Aspergers' Syndrome. Two movies were released recently.

This one, Mary and Max, by my favorite clay animation filmmaker, Adam Elliott.

There's a scene in the trailer where Max is opening his mail. His startle reflex is triggered by the telephone ringing, causing the letter in his hands to fly across the room, make a perfect landing in the toaster and subsequently get incinerated. That sequence is the perfect metaphor for (or literal demonstration of) how Scott experiences daily life. Meanwhile, I'm beside him opening and reading the mail without incident.

And this one, Adam. (Scott has actually spoken the dialog in this trailer, years before the movie was released.)

Recent Tweet Activity

Today I realized I created a label called "Tweets of Note" for this blog and made only one entry back in April. Since that entry, I've been "Followed" by over 100 people (for who knows what reason, Chad here said he liked my Avatar - the same one I use under Brief Blurb on this page) and if they seem remotely sincere, I return the favor.

I finally went to see what some of these people are Tweeting, and here are a few representative examples:

So, I'm beginning to understand that Twitter just allows you to put yourself out there and see if there are any other members of your tribe interested in what you're tweeting.

I've got to admit I haven't yet followed Mia (even though I laughed when I read that Tweet) because I keep thinking that she's a "bait and switch" Tweeter. Most women who post a similar photo eventually want you to click on their "sexy photos." If that day comes, I'll "Block" her...we'll see how Mia pans out as time goes on...

Here's an example of a business use for Twitter:

I follow them because my daughter has been waiting for these lamps to become available for years now! I feel certain they will Tweet that news, and I'll be among the first to know!

New Webcam Self-Portrait

I think it speaks for itself:

Olive Dog Sleepover

I've had painters at the mainland house all of last week and they're still finishing up. The house is also getting ready for new floors (the old ones yanked out), so it's a minefield of exposed nails, staples and the like, not very dog friendly.

Case in Point - This is a nail UNDERNEATH the step and it still grabbed a tuft of Schnauzer hair:

Olive has been staying with my daughter and son-in-law at their new home in Oceanside. There's a big backyard filled with a large expanse of green grass there, which is rare both on the island and in Laguna.

I sure do miss her, so Jillian emailed me these photos today, showing how much my doggie enjoys the novelty of green grass...

As you might imagine, there's a happy "Wookie" sound that goes along with all that enthusiasm.

Here she is flipped back over, fluffed up from the exuberance!

It's difficult to get a good shot of a black dog...but apparently easier when they're encrusted with grassy bits. I love my happy Giant Schnauzer...and my kids.

One Woman's Bass is Another Man's Banjo

I've been meaning to make time to recapture my "creative self" for a while now. Friends and family all agree that I got off track somewhere and haven't been the same person since the days when making art was included in my daily activities (a lifestyle for me, really).

I take full responsibility for shoving the pursuit of creative outlets so far down on my list of priorities. If you don't pay close attention (I didn't), the pesky real world has a way of moving life's checklist around without your permission. Complacency and resignation strengthen its position and years can go by.

Meeting Scott and sharing a life together these past few years has also kept me too busy to pay much attention to letting my right-brain run loose again. Besides all of the "projects" he's invited into our lives (and then there was recreating life after our house burned down), I've been commuting back and forth from the mainland to the island for the last five years. It would be impractical to enjoy my previous artistic pursuit (I claimed I was a sculptural cartoonist), which required dedicated space, plasticine clay, mold-making goo, running water, 100 lb sacks of plaster, production molds, paints, brushes, dental grinders and other dental tools.

My "Previous Life" Fridge Magnet Business

In the hopes of finding a simpler creative outlet, I tried my hand at painting dogs (okay, one cat and two and a half dogs) a few years ago, thinking that it would be less of a production logistically, but then again you still need a place for blank canvas, space for your easel, paint, brushes, etc. Though I enjoyed the process, for some reason it didn't grab hold of me like I thought it might. It could be that the resulting work seemed to reflect the disturbing efforts of a self-taught artist who's got a lousy teacher.

For example:

My Very First Painting:

One hour Earl Scheib Dog Portrait of Olive

(limited by 60 minutes and three available colors)

Painting #2: My sister's cat "Elso"

Painting #3: Anne's "Shotsey"

(you'll notice I beefed up the selection of available colors)

Unfinished Painting #4: Lambert's "Jake"

Hmmm, okay. Not really an inspired or prolific painter. Fast forward to now. Reconnecting with a friend who's an excellent guitarist got me thinking that I might be able to learn an instrument. Plus, I have fond memories of playing standing bass in junior high (sixth grade) orchestra. I enjoyed the simplicity of its four beefy strings and those lovely, low resonating notes. I loved playing a bass duet called "Camel Walk" with Larry Giannecchini (gotta love Google), a boy who was taller than I was (that was rare). I even walked the giant thing home from school with a special wheeled attachment (the bass, not Larry) occasionally to practice with it over the weekend.

A standing bass makes a formidable statement. Once I hit puberty and all of its associated social self-consciousness, the allure of the instrument diminished somewhat. Further, I suffered retroactive angst to imagine that I happily walked it home in full view of my peers. (I've since developed a more carefree approach to what others may think.)

A bass guitar is a conveniently smaller version of a standing bass. You only need to go to YouTube to see how many people play their bass guitars at home in their jammies in the privacy of a tiny bedroom, to realize that the logistics seem favorable. Also, often the bass guitar's contribution to a musical piece is a percussive "lather, rinse, repeat" affair that supports the other musicians working on melodies. I'm thinking that I could probably play a simple tune with my son-in-law (who has excellent guitar skills) fairly quickly.

I started out by downloading bass lessons I found on the Internet for $49. Then I downloaded a virtual guitar app to my iPhone so I could work out the fingering before I ever purchased an instrument. This actually worked out well. If you have five minutes and your phone on you, you've got all you need to educate yourself about the fretboard and chords, even placing your fingers on a smaller version of the frets and playing notes that sound remarkably accurate. You even get good feedback when your fingers aren't in the right spot on the frets. I found that I really enjoyed it!

After three weeks with the virtual "pocket" guitar (someone else's YouTube example here), I realized that my strumming hand was getting no experience whatsoever and I wasn't sure my brain would know how to connect the two once I had a real instrument in my hands. On July 12th, I took the next step and bought a beginner's bass guitar package online at Amazon. It was a Silvertone (I've been told that's the brand of instrument originally sold through Sears) setup, complete with amp, guitar strap, DVD lessons, electronic tuner, gig bag and amp cord. All of that for $199 and free shipping. It arrived two days later!

Oh. Em. Gee. I love this thing!!!

The bass and I have been best friends ever since its arrival. I'm slowly working through the lessons, can play a few tunes and have already had hilarious "jam sessions" (pay no attention to the lung that was expelled as I laughed so hard) with my son-in-law while we work out songs together.

I don't watch TV anymore. I spend every spare moment in the evening with the bass in my lap trying to figure out how to make it sound the way I imagine it could and should. I've extended my waking hours into 1 a.m. territory without even realizing it. I listen to music that I love and watch YouTube videos for guidance on how to play bass lines that I like.

I'm not any good yet, but it's so good for me on so many levels that obsessive passion moved in right away and is firmly in place. It fills a creative need so completely that I can't understand why it took me so long to consider a portable musical instrument as a convenient escape. Plus, once you have the instrument, it's pretty much all you need. No more supplies. Just you, your instrument and of course, your jammies.

Scott's surprise is evident when he calls me in the evening and can hear the sounds of string resonance as I move the bass around on my lap while we chat. I think he's a little confused by the fascination I have for the thing.

I recently emailed him a sound file of my progress and he seemed to enjoy it. I found out yesterday though, that he has some preconceived notions about bass-playing women. When I asked if he's told any of our island friends that I'm learning to play the bass guitar, he said, "Well, I'm a little embarrassed. I've always thought bass-playing women seem trashy..."

Scott mentioned the Robert Palmer music video "Addicted to Love", which seems to be the responsible culprit.

I think it's interesting to hear what makes Scott feel embarrassed, when his Aspergers' has provided us (okay, me) many embarrassing moments that have escaped him completely. My new activity is a change that's outside of his control. I'm sure he finds that uncomfortable since any change to his world or routine is always initially stressful.

As a woman on the cusp of a senior discount, wearing reading glasses (2.0!), I'm fairly certain no one's going to put me in the "trashy wannabe rocker" category (especially when the first song I learned to play was Jack Johnson's Banana Pancakes...my version is here). It's almost flattering that Scott imagines I have "trashy potential" at this stage of my life.

I respond to his comment without judgement or hurt feelings. "Oh," I say, simply assuming that he's kept my new hobby to himself...

Then he adds, "...yeah, so I tell them you're learning to play the banjo."

Oh yes, much better...less trash, more hay...

My Film Debut:

(I will not be insulted if you don't stick around for the whole thing...I'd just like to document my progress)