February's Nude

I missed a class this month because of bad weather, so I didn't get anything done below the waist. But I'm happy with what I did accomplish. Richard wanted me to started adding background to my drawings, something I did not feel ready to tackle. I'm glad he pushed me to try it.

He helped with some of the contour shading of the torso. The face is almost entirely my doing.

tubing down a river toward the future

I felt something strange the other day. I was writing in my journal, and I suddenly noticed a different type of emotion inside me than I usually feel. At first, I thought it felt like bubbles bobbing on the surface of water, and then I decided it reminded me of the one and only time I went floating on an inner tube down a river. There was something so buoyant and carefree about the experience.

For a few seconds, I was perplexed and then I finally managed to dredge up the name of the emotion I was feeling.

It was hope.

Because of the developments in Michael's film project, my own art studies, and a few other things that have happened recently, I was feeling hope about our future. When I tell you that I didn't recognize the emotion, I mean it quite literally. From the time about twelve years ago that I first started grappling with despair over our infertility–through a series of other disappointments, losses, and stresses—I have not experienced much hope, except hope that is overshadowed by dread and self-protectiveness . . . and what kind of hope is that?

I'd forgotten what a lovely feeling unfettered hope is.

But it also frightens me. Part of me fears that if I really let myself feel this, I'm just setting myself up to be clubbed down again.

Still, I suspect that this new optimism might be one of God's gifts to me this Lent, so I'm going to try not to dwell on all the things that might go wrong. Instead, I'll revisit a poem by an old friend:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chilliest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Keep singing, little bird. I'm trying to listen

temptation in the wilderness

Sunday, the gospel reading was Jesus' temptation in the wilderness. When I was a young woman, I never really "got" that story. It just didn't seem to have any meaning for ordinary people at all. But several years ago, I learned to see the story in a different way, and now every time I hear that gospel reading, I remember that it does have relevance for me.

The first temptation occurs when Satan offers Jesus bread. This temptation always reminds me that I struggle with fear that God will not provide for my daily needs. It's a temptation I need to resist often.

The second temptation occurs when Satan promises Jesus all the kingdoms of the world if Jesus will only worship him. When I hear this, I'm reminded that I need to resist the temptation to strive for glory, recognition, status, and ambition.

The final temptation occurs when Satan tells Jesus to cast himself down and test God's ability to save him from harm. When I hear this part of the story, I relate it to my fears for my physical safety.

The desire to ensure provision, status, and safety. Aren't they temptations for us all?

Big news about Michael's film project

I think the last time I updated you all on the film project, it was to say that Michael had found an experienced cinematographer.

Well, the good news keeps rolling in. An experienced art director is interested in being part of the team. And Michael has just found a casting director who's willing to help him find two name actors. We're having to pay her a retainer, but it's a reasonable amount, and this is absolutely essential if we're going to get financing. This woman is a friend of the cinematographer, so she comes with a recommendation. And she loved the script, absolutely loved it. She says that actors will really want to be in it.

It's still going to be iffy to get the financing in time to shoot this summer, but I'm feeling hopeful that it will happen next year if not this year.

And I can't tell you how hard it is not to mention the films these people have worked on. I know you'd be impressed. Frankly, I'm amazed that such experienced people are eager to work with a rookie like Michael, . . . but it's the script. They all love the script. And as they get to know him, they are impressed with the way he's approaching the whole project.

I am so proud of him. Most people his age would have given up long ago instead of persevering all these years.

Drilled and Grilled on Ash Wednesday

NOTE: This was supposed to publish tomorrow, but I goofed up. So I have two posts today. Oh well.

I didn't start my Lenten discipline of journaling on Ash Wednesday this year, but I had a very good reason for neglecting it. I had a dental appointment at 8:30 in the morning on Wednesday. At my last checkup, my dentist had discovered decay under one of my old crowns, so the task at hand was to remove that crown, clean up the tooth stub beneath it, prepare it for a new crown, and put on a temporary crown to hold me till the new one is made.

To fully understand this story, you need to understand that I have a history of problems in the dentist's chair. First, I've been told that the nerves in my jaw don't run along the expected paths. It's difficult to place the anesthetic in exactly the right spot. I've even had the dentist hit the nerve with the needle. Trust me. That is not a pleasant experience. Second, it takes a very long time to get me completely numb. Third, the anesthetic often starts to wear off in the middle of drilling. I've had appointments for crown preps that required three separate injections because the previous shot wore off. Because of all these issues, a few years ago my dentist started to give me nitrous oxide in addition to the usual shots, and since he began to do that, I've had a much better experience.

Added to my problems with the anesthetic is the fact that my dentist is one of the world's most anal perfectionists. I have experienced some truly marathon dental appointments.

So Wednesday, I had an 8:30 appointment that was supposed to last 90 minutes. I showed up with my nosepiece so they could use the nitrous, and the dental assistant told me, "Oh, Doctor doesn't use nitrous anymore." The dentist came in and explained that when his patients use the gas, his own feet grow numb. He saw that I was upset, so he said he'd do it if I insisted. When I responded that I didn't want to cause him problems, he said, "Yes, I guess I'm selfish. I have a family and I have to look out for myself."

At this point I was thinking, a) I really don't need the guilt trip and b) You know I've relied on the nitrous for the last several years. You couldn't have told me about this three weeks ago when we discussed having the work done?

So we compromised. They used the nitrous on me during the numbing up period and turned it off when the dentist was working on me. However, he decided to keep me on pure oxygen because he thought it would help keep me calm.

The numbing up took an hour, and I was thinking there's no way I would get out of there by ten. But I was still hoping to leave by 11:15 so I could get home, pick up Michael, and make it to church for the 12:00 Ash Wednesday service.

When I was thoroughly numb, the dentist got to work. Once he had the old crown off, he discovered a slight line of decay under the rim of the adjacent crown. So after consultation, we decided he should fix that while it was so accessible. And I was thinking, This is going to cost me more money and more time, but what can I do? If we don't fix it, I'm going to need another crown replacement in a year or two.

So he continued working, crooning away about what a good job he's doing and how I'm going to have such a wonderfully fitting crown when he's done. At some point, I felt a twinge in my tooth, nothing serious but I knew it was a harbinger of worse to come, so we stopped and they gave me more anesthetic. After a few minutes to let it take effect, we went back to work.

My mouth was being held open by a plastic appliance that is like a curving wall blocking my tongue and the teeth on the other side of my mouth, and the dentist was drilling and the hygienist was suctioning, and suddenly I could not breathe. There was nothing coming into my nose, and I wondered with a tinge of panic how I got stuffed up so fast. I jerked and grabbed the nosepiece to pull it off my face. As soon as I did, I had air again.

The dentist asked if I felt pain, and I said no and explained what happened. They checked and discovered that the bag on the oxygen tank had collapsed, and I literally was not getting any air. The dentist laughed about fun and games at the dentist's office. Ha ha. We got the problem fixed and kept going. The assistant mentioned to the dentist that I wanted to get out of there in time to make the noon mass. And that was where things got really weird.

My dentist decided to witness to me. He asked me where I was going after I died, so I answered, "I think I'm going to heaven." Big mistake. I shouldn't have said "think." He asked how I think I'm going to get there and when I tried to ignore him, told me that's it not a joke, it's a serious question, and he wants an answer. I'm sitting there thinking, You've got me trapped in this chair, I'm paying you $1,800 to drill my head, and you want to quiz me about salvation?

So I told him that I trust in the saving work of Jesus. He answered that he had been worried because I said "think," and I responded (perhaps a little tartly) that I said "think" because I didn't want to sound arrogant. He actually told me that was "an excellent answer." Then he went on to quote John 3:16 to me and to declare that, "A lot of those people in that service with you today won't know that Jesus has already done it all. They'll think they can get to heaven by their own good works."

By this point, I was truly steaming. I can accept that he was sincerely worried about the fate of my soul, and I can even appreciate the thought if not the way he handled it. But to assume that just because I go to a liturgical church, it's a legalistic religion and the congregation is ignorant of God's truth is just . . . arrogant and horribly judgmental. He knows absolutely nothing about my church, and he couldn't be more wrong about what the clergy teach or the people there believe. This type of attitude toward other denominations is one of the prime reasons I am no longer an evangelical Christian.

I chose not to rebuke him because I was in no mood to get into an argument, but I was really annoyed. I would consider going to someone else, except that he is a conscientious dentist who does good work (even if he is slow).

Oh, and the appointment lasted three hours. I did not make the noon service and had to go in the evening. But by then, I felt like I'd already done my penance for the day.

Miscellaneous Cultural Complaints

These are just a couple of opinions I've been inflicting on Michael, and now I'm going to inflict them on you. :-)

• I think The Marriage Ref is one of the worst ideas for a TV show I've ever heard. I know, I know, it's all about ratings and the ordinary person grabbing 15 minutes of fame, not about helping anyone's marriage. But the potential for damage is enormous. Why would anyone in their right mind want to accept marriage advice from Alec Baldwin?

• I'm annoyed by the number of media people and celebrities carping that Tiger Woods's apology yesterday was staged, pre-scripted, and controlled by his handlers. To all the critics, I ask, "When was the last time you stood up in front of the entire world for 15 minutes and said, 'I was wrong, I made mistakes, I was wrong, it was all my fault and no one else's, I was wrong.' When was the last time you made a 15-minute apology to anyone about anything?" Do the critics not realize how incredibly difficult and mortifying making that apology was? I don't defend Tiger's mistakes for an instant, but I don't think yesterday's apology was one of them. And I think he and his family deserve a little compassion.

Ok, cultural complaints are over now.

Let me just close with a completely unrelated observation. Is there anything cheerier in all the world than seeing a black-capped chickadee hopping around snow-covered evergreen branches? From where I sit this morning, staring out my front window, I'd have to say no.

Birthday Dog Blog

It's been a long time since I posted, but Mom said I could blog today because I am a BIG BOY now. I am five years old. I'm not really sure what that means (what is a "year" anyway?), but Mom says it's important. She didn't make me pancakes for breakfast though. Well, to be honest, she never makes me pancakes for breakfast, but I've heard stories about Uncle Tuffy, the schnoodle who lived with Mom when she was a kid and who begged and begged for a pancake whenever the family had one. If they didn't feed him a pancake, he would go pout. And it worked. That doesn't seem right to me.

It doesn't do much good when I pout except that Mom laughs and puts me on her lap and kisses the top of my head. She kisses my head a lot. I like it . . . but sometimes I'd rather have a pancake. They eat all kinds of things they don't give me, and I don't think it's fair. One of my favorite things to do is to put my snout by one of their mouths and sniff to see what they've been eating. I especially like to do that when they have been away from the house. They sure do seem to eat a lot when they go out. All I ever get to do when I go out is poop and pee and walk.

Do you remember when you were five? Mom said she used to go to a place called kindergarten. That sounds terrible to me because I hate being sent away from my mom and dad. We are always together all day every day . . . except when they go to church or Mom goes to art class or, worst of all, Dad goes to Los Angeles for a week. (He only did that once, but I hated it!) I don't think they should ever leave the pack and neither should I. Mom laughs at me and says I have no idea how most dogs live. Is it true that most dogs aren't with their families every hour of every day? That's terrible. Maybe I should run for president and get that changed.

Oh, Mom just told me I have to be 35 to run for president so I guess that has to wait a couple of years. Whatever a year is.

Anyway, I don't mind when Mom teases me. She's my BFF.

THEN:

NOW:

Where Does the Morning Go?

Here's my true confession for the day. I tend to putz in the mornings. One of the greatest things about working at home is that I don't have to rise to the alarm clock, and I don't have to rush around trying to catch the 8:06 train the way I did for 11 years. So I tend to go slowly and fritter away a lot of time.

The first thing I do when I get up is go to my computer to check my email and the weather report . . . and I frequently get distracted and wander around the 'Net for about 15 minutes.

Then I have to take care of Smokey, which requires bundling up in my winter outerwear, taking him for his morning walk, feeding him, and giving him his daily meds. Somehow, this always takes me half an hour or more, and I can't figure out why.

Then I eat breakfast . . . which usually involves the time-intensive task of making cappuccino . . . and I often either do a puzzle or read a book while I eat. Finally, I have my morning prayer time and then I shower and dress. (Unless it's one of those days where I stay in my pajamas until I have to take Smokey for his lunchtime walk. I don't mind going outside in pajamas and robe first thing in the morning, but it's embarrassing to do so at noon.)

When I worked in an office and had to commute, my morning routine took only 80 minutes. Of course, we didn't have Smokey then, and I often had my prayer time on the train instead of at home. Still, I did move a lot more efficiently when I knew I had to get out of the house at 7:50 or miss my train than I do when there is no consequence for dallying.

Consequently, I frequently don't start work until 10:00. When I'm working only one job, this isn't a problem, but when I'm working two jobs as I am now, it's much too hard to get all my hours in when I start so late. I end up having to work in the evenings.

So my Lenten discipline this year is to try to give up putzing for Lent. I want to shorten my morning routine enough to accomplish two things: to go back to writing morning pages (three long-hand pages everyday) and still be able to start work by nine. In other words, I want to increase the time that my prayer time takes and still shorten the total time of the routine.

This is going to be difficult, but I really think it's the best discipline I can add to my life right now.

So how do your mornings go? And are you going to do a Lenten discipline?

The poetry is coming, the poetry is coming

The poem I had accepted for publication last summer is about to come out. The magazine is called Ruminate. If you're interested in subscribing, you can do so here.

Beneath the Surface

This is a copy I did last night of a drawing in one of my anatomy for artists' books. I'm going to try to do some practice sketches like this so I can learn more about how the human body is put together. My art teacher, Richard Halstead, really wants us to have an anatomy book with us in class. Sometimes, when you're drawing from a live model, you see things inaccurately. For example, a couple of times, I've made that muscle at the end of the shoulder too squared-off at the bottom. We don't always have perfect anatomical specimens as models—because we're learning to draw real people—so sometimes the musculature isn't that obvious and the shadows can be misleading. If you know what's beneath the surface, then you can make sure you don't draw something that is anatomically impossible.

A little while ago, when I checked my drawing to see how it looked in the cold light of morning, I realized what a perfect little parable this is. The things beneath the surface are what give outward shape to our lives. As a very minor example, for the last month or so, I've been getting up each day, doing my work, doing my household chores, paying bills, being polite to grocery store clerks, making drawing in class, reading mysteries. To most people, I must have seemed fine, but inside, I was miserable.

In contast, now that my cold is gone and I'm not wondering how to pay this month's bills, life is so different. I wake up looking forward to my day again. It's a wonderful feeling. From the outside, nothing is different, but underneath, everything is. If this is true for me, how much more true is it for someone who just learned a loved one has cancer or whose spouse just announced they're leaving . . . or on the positive side, someone who just got a job or found out she's expecting. Such concerns are the things that color our world, but they are hidden from most of the people who interact with us.

Unlike the musculature of the human body, which is more or less the same for everyone, the cares and concerns of the heart are different for each person. And we rarely know all the burdens or joys another person is carrying. I hope I can remember that more often and have more compassion and empathy.

Tomato Talk

This morning at breakfast, I started working on my seeding schedule for my garden. The grow light isn't even here, . . . and I won't need to start my seedlings till March, but I am eager.

Last year I tried Brandywine tomatoes for the first time. They are an heirloom variety with superlative flavor, but they take 90 to 100 days to bear fruit. This year, I'm planning to grow three plants from seed. Because they take so long to produce, I'm also growing two plants of a variety called Stupice. It is a Czech heirloom variety that bears in about 65 days. The tomatoes are smaller and, if memory serves, tasty but not as delicious as Brandywine. But they should tide us over till the other ones kick in. My goal has always been to have a tomato by Michael's birthday (July 14), but I've never succeeded. Maybe this year . . . (Hope springs eternal in the gardener's breast.)

It seems a little goofy to do all this work for two-and-a-half months of tomatoes (or even three if I can meet my goal of a mid-July tomato), but the taste is so much better than what you get in the store that I think the effort is worth it. I'm also going to grow one cherry tomato plant because I like them occasionally, and I think they're cute.

Now I just need to decide if I want to mess around with walls of water and red plastic mulch, devices that supposedly make the plants mature faster and increase yields. Does anyone have any experience with them and advice for me?

P.S. If anyone is interested in heirloom tomato seed, I get mine from www.seedsofchange.com.

Waaay Past Halftime for the Who

Was it just me, or did anyone else think The Who sounded pathetic? Ever since the Janet Jackson clothing malfunction, the Super Bowl has been running nostalgia acts at halftime, but most of them could still sing and some are actually still doing new work. Yesterday, half of the Who's songs sounded terrible. And is there anything more ridiculous than a 65 year old man singing Teenage Wasteland?

Mind you, I was never really a Who fan. They were just a bit before my time (I was ten when Tommy was released), but I still recognize the songs and thought the show was awful.

The NFL really needs to go back to having current performers.

The News from My House

I haven't done a newsy post in a while, so here goes:

Michael just started a three-month writing assignment, and he has work possibilities for after that (which he won't need if his film project gets financing), so that has been an encouraging development. Also, something else happened within the family, which I'm not at liberty to discuss here, but which has improved our financial situation. So I'm trying to get used to living without so much worry. That probably founds strange, but I've discovered that anxiety is strangely addicting. The smallest setback can send me into a spiral of fear, but I'm hopeful that a few months of stability will help me calm down.

My cough seems to be finally subsiding. I'm catching up on my sleep, which also improves my outlook. It's been a long haul getting rid of this one, so I'm grateful to be finally feeling better.

Over the last couple of days, I started preparing for the gardening season. I've ordered lots and lots of seeds and a grow light system for seed starting. I've wanted one for ages, but I never felt like the time was right for the expense. Michael and I decided it was ok to invest in one now that things have eased a bit. I'm also going to grow my own seedlings for annual flowers, which always cost a lot each spring. The produce and flowers I grow won't pay us back for the cash outlay in a single year, but it should in a year or two. Anyway, I am SOOO excited about this development. I can taste those tomatoes already. (Oh, and with the new setup, I might be able to grow my own lettuce year round. If so, that will be a gigantic benefit.)

So what else is new? Art class continues to go well. It's a big time commitment, considering that I'm working more than one job, but it has become an almost sacred time for me.

We had a public reading at church last night. Michael read an excerpt from his most recent script. It's his first comedy, and it received a lot of laughs, so that was very gratifying. I read a story I wrote last summer, and the audience was very responsive to that too. A couple of other people read as well. It was a great night.

We're watching the Super Bowl now. I have mixed feelings. The Colts are usually our second-choice team (after the Chicago Bears) because we have family in Indianapolis. But this year, I think we're rooting for the Saints because it will mean so much to New Orleans. At any rate, I hope it's a good, competitive game.

I hope you are all well . . . especially those of you impacted by the massive East Coast snowstorm.

Up in the Air: Movie Review

A couple of weeks ago, Michael and I went to see a movie we really enjoyed: Up in the Air with George Clooney. The movie is so topical right now.

Clooney plays a man whose job is to travel to different corporations across the country and to fire people so the corporate managers don't have to do the dirty work. He likes traveling all the time, and in fact, his goal is to log 10 million frequent flyer miles with his preferred airline. He has structured his life so that he has no commitments to anyone.

However, a young ambitious woman in his company proposes a plan that turns his life upside down. She suggests that the company stop spending so much money on travel and instead fire people via Internet video conference. Clooney's character predictably hates this idea.

Another complication is an affair that he has with a woman who is as much an avid corporate traveler as he is. (The scene where they pick each other up is very funny. You'll never believe what these people use as a turn-on.) And Clooney's younger sister is about to get married, so his family is placing expectations on him that he can't quite blow off the way he usually does.

I won't reveal more of the plot, but I will say that the movie explores what really makes a person's life meaningful. It is wonderfully acted. I recommended it heartily.

P.S. On reconsideration (because of a poster's comment), I'll add the caveat that this wouldn't be a good choice for anyone who has recently experienced a layoff or a traumatic personal loss. But if you don't fall into those categories, I still think it's worth seeing. It will make you think.

My fifth nude

I didn't finish a drawing in December because of my mom's death. This was the sketch I did in January. (Click to make bigger.)

The Hidden Presence

I must tell you honestly that I have been struggling spiritually. The night of my mother's visitation, I found a pamphlet in the break room at the funeral home that said when you lose a loved one, you can expect to have your feelings about God change. And I thought, "Oh no, not me."

But the last two months have seemed unusually difficult to me. First I lost my mom and then I caught an illness that I still haven't completely recovered from, even after five weeks. Michael is struggling to find sufficient work, while I have almost too much work. (I'm grateful for the income but weary of working so many hours.)

The result has been that I have felt God was distant and largely indifferent to what was happening in my life. I think that much of what I'm feeling is the result of grief and illness rather than a reflection of reality, but it has been difficult for me to deal with. I just feel a little lost and alone.

However, the other day, I had a lovely experience during my morning prayer time. Michael and I frequently light a candle during our prayer time. That particular morning, I happened to glance up at the window next to where I was sitting, and because it was a double-glazed window, what I saw was the reflection of two flames instead of one. At that moment, I felt the Lord assuring me that even though that what I "see" in my life is my own aloneness, the reality is that he is always beside me. And he reminded me of one of my favorite passages in Isaiah:

Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you; therefore he will rise up to show mercy to you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him. Truly, O people in Zion, inhabitants of Jerusalem, you shall weep no more. He will surely be gracious to you at the sound of your cry; when he hears it, he will answer you. Though the Lord may give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself any more, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left, your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk in it.”

Isaiah 30:18-21

Blessings on you. I hope you sense God's presence in your life today.