Finally remembered a dream, at least more of a dream than previously. I was in an urban area but it felt like the American southwest. An urban area but with the prow of a large grey ship jutting over ? There was a shop. The proprietor was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. His glory simply took my breath away. But he was very professional, very aloof. He showed me some totally inappropriate (for me) blouses. They were also sort of Indian/Southwest in style with flouncy bits around the loose neckline, cotton, pastel coloured. Nice blouses but just not me. Another woman came into the store and she had a lovely slim figure, was pert and nicely dressed. I felt frumpy, middle-aged and overweight in comparison. She seemed to click with him and I watched in frustration tinged with resentment while she chatted with this beautiful man who didn't seem to know I was alive. I remember going out on this 'ship's prow' in bright sunlight with the wind in my face and then going back into the store which was dark and rich and ornate. I glanced into one room and noted with surprise that it had rugs on the floor and was a meditation room. That made the beautiful man even more attractive. No, someone said or I somehow instinctively knew, it was a temple, a sort of mosque where Moslems would bow to Mecca.
The dream was vivid but mysterious. I don't know why I've remembered this one and no other. At least asking myself to remember my dream is starting to pay dividends. Having no remembrance of a dream life makes daytime life a little less rich.
Started the new drawing last night. Rather difficult as I had a determined little kitten trying to get on my lap. I'm writing this and clicking into a site to read about perspective. It seems straightforward enough reading about it but how does one decide where the extra vanishing points are. I get eye level and a vanishing point that is within the picture at the horizon line but getting that second (or third), which may be outside of the frame of the picture is a bit more problematical. I'm doing a loose copy of that castle as a background for the main feature, a floating dreamlike man. Well, that's the thumbnail sans castle. We'll see how it goes.
We're going to P and G's this afternoon hoping to see the wild cockatoos. R is so obsessed about the well-being of the long released Caruso it would be pure joy if he saw him today. P fed a wild cockatoo seed yesterday so G writes. Perhaps it's Caruso.
Jack is sunflower seed obsessed. I have been making sunflower and pellet rissoles for several weeks so that he would get the taste of the pellets and recognise them as food. No joy. He still refuses them. This morning I took Marvin in so he could demonstrate to Jack that pellets are edible. Jack was interested and even cracked a couple of pellets although he didn't eat them. Still, it's a start. I have removed all sunflowers from his seed mix. He's going to have to tough it out. He's not a happy bird this morning. I've asked R to pick up some shelled sunflower seeds. I plan to crush them with pellets, a half and half mixture so that he will get the taste of the pellets with the motivation of that lovely sunflower seed taste. The plan is then to reduce the amount of sunflower in the rissole until we're back to plain pellets. The problem is that pellet rissoles have a different look and texture from plain pellet. But we've got to try. He'll die of fatty liver disease if his diet isn't modified. By watching carefully I've come to realise that all Jack eats are the sunflower and safflower seeds - both with high oil content. Because he, we suspect, is an old bird, it is twice as hard to convert him than if he was a young bird. Even Dimitri, a wild caught corella, was easier to switch than Jack. Then of course there was Cambridge who never made the switch. He (she) lives with G and P and is on a seed mix with some vegetables. At least Jack will eat some vegetables; corn and apple. He isn't much chop on anything else.
Last night I dragged a comb through my hairbrush to clear it. Out came the strands which I rubbed between my palms to make them into a wad to throw away. I looked down at it and it was a mixture of brown and white hairs. It looked like a grizzled old man's chest hair. It just looked so odd and so not me. Is that what my hair is? If I was a man with a hairy chest that's what it would look like. Most of the time I go through the days and don't realise that I'm over half a century old then something innocuous will happen which brings it home. Life is short and fleeting and oh so swift!
I've come to the end of the blog for today and that blank title box waits. I've kept a journal for years without putting a title on each entry except for the date. The label box is okay for it is a good way to look up previous posts but this title void in just annoying. So I won't put one.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
red tailed black cockatoos
Fifty black cockatoos! Here! Most of the day! I have never seen more than six red tailed black cockatoos at one time and here they were in our front yard (practically). They were feeding on the fallen white cedar seeds from the trees along the front paddock. They circled down on slow powerful black wings crying their eerie melancholy call. One by one they dropped to the ground and started feeding. There was so much crunching of the cedar nuts it sounded like rain.
The juveniles have yellow/orange/red patches in their tail feathers with lighter coloured beaks while the adults have vivid red patches and black beaks. They moved across the creek into the creek paddock but got a fright from our neighbour's cattle dogs and have flown away. Still, we had them here most of the day.
Nice to be off work. I'm quite spoiled as I only work two days a week, the odd Saturday and, rarely, on call as I was this weekend. A dead calf in the kennel room on Saturday which sat near the heater all night and leaked odoriferous fluids from all orifices. On Sunday a caesarian with a dead decayed pup in the mix of live ones. Then two days of hard yakka including a 4 hour amputation yesterday. Was so lovely sit down last night after standing for 9 1/2 hours without even a lunch break.
There, I've had my whinge. Sometimes I think I'm going to miss work but I won't really. If I didn't notice that I rather dread Mondays I'd be more concerned but because I do dread Mondays I'll be all right with retirement.
Finally remembered a tiny portion of a dream. Saw Nidji first thing this morning while I was bending down for cat food and got that flash of remembrance. It was about a lorikeet who had got out of its cage because the bottom metal part was bent away from the bars. Part of me was glad the bird was free but the other part was worried in case he got hurt. That's all. Of course I can relate that to the caged part of me. Was thinking that when watching Big the other night with Tom Hanks. To be that child again, totally honest, totally enraptured by the world. I spoke about this in my last post but I think it's important. We put on layers of protection which only serve to insulate us against reality - and reality isn't so bad. True reality would be nirvana I think.
Finally finished the drawing and have another blank sheet on the board. Haven't done a thing yet but have an idea. I kept a thumbnail and want to incorporate it with that strange brass castle painting. I've shied away from buildings and landscapes because I'm bad at them. Any portraits I've done, animal or human, have these vague amorphous backgrounds because I haven't the skill to do otherwise.
Just checked into my facebook account which I haven't done in months. Part of me just wants to kill it off, another part says it just sits there doing nothing and doesn't cause any grief. I read the posts from my friends (many of whom I've never met) and think they all have such energy. Commenting on So and so Likes This, whatever this is at the moment, or I just watched this movie or tv episode and giving an instant opinion or whatever. I'm really out of the loop. It makes me tired just thinking about it.
Why?
Perhaps because it seems like such idle chit chat, yada yada yada, white noise. Oh, that's so cruel and so cold. Sometimes I think there's some part of me that wasn't installed at birth, some warm and fuzzy social networking cog that rusted with disuse. Also, you only get out of something what you put into it. And I put very little into social networking of any sort. We'll see G and P this weekend and that will be enjoyable - maybe it's just I'm too choosy.
The juveniles have yellow/orange/red patches in their tail feathers with lighter coloured beaks while the adults have vivid red patches and black beaks. They moved across the creek into the creek paddock but got a fright from our neighbour's cattle dogs and have flown away. Still, we had them here most of the day.
Nice to be off work. I'm quite spoiled as I only work two days a week, the odd Saturday and, rarely, on call as I was this weekend. A dead calf in the kennel room on Saturday which sat near the heater all night and leaked odoriferous fluids from all orifices. On Sunday a caesarian with a dead decayed pup in the mix of live ones. Then two days of hard yakka including a 4 hour amputation yesterday. Was so lovely sit down last night after standing for 9 1/2 hours without even a lunch break.
There, I've had my whinge. Sometimes I think I'm going to miss work but I won't really. If I didn't notice that I rather dread Mondays I'd be more concerned but because I do dread Mondays I'll be all right with retirement.
Finally remembered a tiny portion of a dream. Saw Nidji first thing this morning while I was bending down for cat food and got that flash of remembrance. It was about a lorikeet who had got out of its cage because the bottom metal part was bent away from the bars. Part of me was glad the bird was free but the other part was worried in case he got hurt. That's all. Of course I can relate that to the caged part of me. Was thinking that when watching Big the other night with Tom Hanks. To be that child again, totally honest, totally enraptured by the world. I spoke about this in my last post but I think it's important. We put on layers of protection which only serve to insulate us against reality - and reality isn't so bad. True reality would be nirvana I think.
Finally finished the drawing and have another blank sheet on the board. Haven't done a thing yet but have an idea. I kept a thumbnail and want to incorporate it with that strange brass castle painting. I've shied away from buildings and landscapes because I'm bad at them. Any portraits I've done, animal or human, have these vague amorphous backgrounds because I haven't the skill to do otherwise.
Just checked into my facebook account which I haven't done in months. Part of me just wants to kill it off, another part says it just sits there doing nothing and doesn't cause any grief. I read the posts from my friends (many of whom I've never met) and think they all have such energy. Commenting on So and so Likes This, whatever this is at the moment, or I just watched this movie or tv episode and giving an instant opinion or whatever. I'm really out of the loop. It makes me tired just thinking about it.
Why?
Perhaps because it seems like such idle chit chat, yada yada yada, white noise. Oh, that's so cruel and so cold. Sometimes I think there's some part of me that wasn't installed at birth, some warm and fuzzy social networking cog that rusted with disuse. Also, you only get out of something what you put into it. And I put very little into social networking of any sort. We'll see G and P this weekend and that will be enjoyable - maybe it's just I'm too choosy.
Friday, August 20, 2010
too ...just too to think of a title
Raining, cold silver darts striking the earth with little explosions of water. First time since we've lived here that there has been green grass in August. But enough of the weather. I'm just glad I"m inside with a fire going and a warm cat on my lap.
Speaking of cats. Natalia's xrays were clear. No crystals in her bladder, kidney's fine. The only thing shown was that she would soon do a very large poo. Which she did. Vaccinated her with an F5 and hope that she doesn't have the herpes strain of cat flu. She was very quiet that night. I think the vaccination affected her but now, two days later, she's back to being a mega kitten.
I do suspect she is part Burmese. She has the look of a Burmese and also the aroma. Loki Chien, the only Burmese we've ever had, always smelled delightful. Well, all cats smell good unless they're unwell but his scent was especially sweet. Natalia has that sweet scent too. It was so noticeable I thought at first it was perfume but it wasn't my perfume - it was hers. She also behaves somewhat like a Burmese. Wherever I am, she is. Follows me around a lot and if I'm sitting she's on my lap. She's not afraid of R but she doesn't sit near or on him.
On other fronts. No dreams. Wake up, remember that I had a dream and in the remembering forget it. That searching, soul searching or searching for my soul. It's as closeasthis and as far away as the Horsehead Nebula. Why did that partially drug and alcohol induced spirituality of my twenties disappear. Then again, as Prem Rawat (is that his name?) said yesterday, that which searches is IT. Fulfillment won't come from being with R or the animals or painting pictures, it comes from within. That oceanic feeling described by Jung. More I think it's a remembering. 'Become as little children'. Children are agog in the world, full of fun and mystery and free from the boredom of having seen it all before and therefore taking it for granted.
some hours later: You know there are those times when you are just sick of yourself? When you know you can do better but don't? And why don't you do better? It's like pushing the accelerator at the same time as holding the clutch so that you effectively just spin your wheels, burn rubber and make an unpleasant burnt rubber smell. Well, that's been my day. THANK GOD FOR THE DICE! Finally, when I was just just absolutely up to here with procrastinating, with looking at shit web sites and watching shit television or playing shit games and doing nothing beyond the usual must do chores, I rolled the dice in desperation. Very simple choices: yoga, walk the dogs, blog, clean the bathroom with sugar soap prior to painting, work with Jack and paint. Came up bathroom so I got off my lazy ass and sugar soaped the bathroom. Then it said paint so I signed my name to that last picture and proceeded to tidy up loose ends. By that time it was time to feed up and do afternoon chores which I've done. R has gone to Brisbane for M's 40th birthday party. As per usual, I begged off.
Are other people nuts like this. Do they drive themselves nuts like this? Everyone else appears sane, like they've got it together and sail through life doing what they do without a second thought or second guessing. Do other people struggle with this brake and accelerator thing like I do. Is anyone else just plain buck lazy like I am?
You know what it boils down to. Self-loathing. Why do I saddle myself with this? (And what boring self-absorbed, negative, crappy writing this is). So end it. Go finish the painting which is nearly nearly there and does please me. Go allow Natalia who, for some unknown reason, seems to adore me, to sit in my lap and purr and assure me all is well with the world, go eat something for dinner and think about maybe doing some positive affirmations so that I don't fall apart and just wallow.
Speaking of cats. Natalia's xrays were clear. No crystals in her bladder, kidney's fine. The only thing shown was that she would soon do a very large poo. Which she did. Vaccinated her with an F5 and hope that she doesn't have the herpes strain of cat flu. She was very quiet that night. I think the vaccination affected her but now, two days later, she's back to being a mega kitten.
I do suspect she is part Burmese. She has the look of a Burmese and also the aroma. Loki Chien, the only Burmese we've ever had, always smelled delightful. Well, all cats smell good unless they're unwell but his scent was especially sweet. Natalia has that sweet scent too. It was so noticeable I thought at first it was perfume but it wasn't my perfume - it was hers. She also behaves somewhat like a Burmese. Wherever I am, she is. Follows me around a lot and if I'm sitting she's on my lap. She's not afraid of R but she doesn't sit near or on him.
On other fronts. No dreams. Wake up, remember that I had a dream and in the remembering forget it. That searching, soul searching or searching for my soul. It's as closeasthis and as far away as the Horsehead Nebula. Why did that partially drug and alcohol induced spirituality of my twenties disappear. Then again, as Prem Rawat (is that his name?) said yesterday, that which searches is IT. Fulfillment won't come from being with R or the animals or painting pictures, it comes from within. That oceanic feeling described by Jung. More I think it's a remembering. 'Become as little children'. Children are agog in the world, full of fun and mystery and free from the boredom of having seen it all before and therefore taking it for granted.
some hours later: You know there are those times when you are just sick of yourself? When you know you can do better but don't? And why don't you do better? It's like pushing the accelerator at the same time as holding the clutch so that you effectively just spin your wheels, burn rubber and make an unpleasant burnt rubber smell. Well, that's been my day. THANK GOD FOR THE DICE! Finally, when I was just just absolutely up to here with procrastinating, with looking at shit web sites and watching shit television or playing shit games and doing nothing beyond the usual must do chores, I rolled the dice in desperation. Very simple choices: yoga, walk the dogs, blog, clean the bathroom with sugar soap prior to painting, work with Jack and paint. Came up bathroom so I got off my lazy ass and sugar soaped the bathroom. Then it said paint so I signed my name to that last picture and proceeded to tidy up loose ends. By that time it was time to feed up and do afternoon chores which I've done. R has gone to Brisbane for M's 40th birthday party. As per usual, I begged off.
Are other people nuts like this. Do they drive themselves nuts like this? Everyone else appears sane, like they've got it together and sail through life doing what they do without a second thought or second guessing. Do other people struggle with this brake and accelerator thing like I do. Is anyone else just plain buck lazy like I am?
You know what it boils down to. Self-loathing. Why do I saddle myself with this? (And what boring self-absorbed, negative, crappy writing this is). So end it. Go finish the painting which is nearly nearly there and does please me. Go allow Natalia who, for some unknown reason, seems to adore me, to sit in my lap and purr and assure me all is well with the world, go eat something for dinner and think about maybe doing some positive affirmations so that I don't fall apart and just wallow.
Friday, August 13, 2010
The usual stuff
You know how sometimes you start the day and it's just kind of blah a going-through-the-motions sort of day. That was yesterday. Read a book all day. Of course had the excuse that it was just plain miserable weather. Very cold and those pre-spring westerlies which seem to slice through your skin and go straight to the bone. It was a day that one wanted to spend indoors with a warm cat and a warmer fire. Today however, whizz bang, lots of energy, lots of innate joy.
Speaking of cats. Natalia is going very well. No more accidents. She doesn't have to spend her nights in the bathroom with an oil heater and an old pillow. I thought she'd join the other cats on the bed but either she prefers the couch or she is intimidated by two very large and territorial adults who staked their claim to the bed, the doona and us many winters ago. Got up in the night to go to the loo and found Natalia curled sound asleep on the couch. She prrrted and purred when I touched her then went straight back to sleep.
Xrays are next week so fingers crossed that all is well. The alternative doesn't bear thinking about.
On a rather more sinister note. Matisse has started sneezing. I kick myself now for not vaccinating them when I had the chance. We had some recently expired F5's at work. We can't sell them to clients so were welcome to use them on strays (like Natalia) or on our own cats. Brought two vials home and then returned them the next day. The reason? My own cats intimidate me. If I took them into the surgery they could be vaccinated but here in their own home...just trying to de-flea Matisse is a major operation. He is so strong and so determined and so frightened (why?) that it is almost impossible to put a drop of stuff on the back of his neck. The thought of trying to hold him still while I gave him a needle was just too demoralizing. So now the prospect of him possibly having cat flu (with Nairobi to follow soon after?) is on the horizon. He's been sneezing since yesterday. Gave him the Natalia's last dose of Vibravet a few minutes ago. Just as I expected. He exploded then ran and hid. But he got the antibiotics.
On the bird front. Good stuff. Jack went for a wander yesterday clear to the back of the horse yards. Found himself a fallen branch and started to preen. He's quit attacking R's boots when he comes out. He's very interesting to watch actually as he tap tap taps his toes, one front one back lightly against the leather of R's work boots while squinting up at us with one dark eye. He's gone from having a go to just testing the water. Finally, yesterday he lost interest and wandered off yet when I asked him to step onto the tea tree branch he did so willingly. I was very proud of him. I think he understands that he is allowed out like the galahs but like the galahs after 20 or 30 minutes he has to return. I do make it worth his while by giving him a reward when he returns.
I'm trying something different with Dimitri. It's a slow process but I think I'm finally doing something sensible. He is so frightened of hands that giving him treats is always a challenge unless the treat is tossed to him or I spend many many minutes encouraging him to take it from my oh so still had. Now I've filled a small coop cup with budgie mix (he loves budgie mix) and I'm using that as the t in c/t. When he targets the stick I put the bowl down. He takes one to 5 nibbles and then I remove it. In that process my hand extends to put the bowl down and again to remove it. He gallops off when I remove the bowl but he isn't galloping as fast or as far as he did yesterday. Over time I believe he'll get used to it and will behave as Tachimedes does; Tach just eats out of the bowl while I hold it. That is something to aim for.
On the dream front. Not much luck. The first night I told myself to 'see my hands' in a dream I dreamed of spilling something, contents from a box? pages from a book? across the floor. I picked them up with my hands, saw my hands in the dream but didn't twig about it until I woke and remembered the dream.
For some reason my dream life is very silent. I'm dreaming I'm just not remembering them. I didn't used to have a problem with remembering dreams if I cued myself to remember as I drifted off to sleep so assume it's some kind of blockage I've arranged for myself for some unknown reason. I did have an imaginary stroll through the universe however. Imagination is such a brilliant tool. I used to have flying dreams but haven't been blessed with one for years so thought I'd make my own; not flying around a few hundred meters above the ground but straight up into the black velvety silence of outer space.
Meditation after yoga was pretty good today, good for me anyway so in tune with monkey mind. Still alot of chattering but glimmers of stillness. I've been pretty regular with yoga. Did an hour today without realizing how quickly the time had gone. There is improvement in my flexibility too, especially my neck. Other joints will take longer but that's okay. I feel so much better after a session, not only physically but mentally. It does calm me. I move with the breath and that centering does something blissful for the whole of me.
Speaking of cats. Natalia is going very well. No more accidents. She doesn't have to spend her nights in the bathroom with an oil heater and an old pillow. I thought she'd join the other cats on the bed but either she prefers the couch or she is intimidated by two very large and territorial adults who staked their claim to the bed, the doona and us many winters ago. Got up in the night to go to the loo and found Natalia curled sound asleep on the couch. She prrrted and purred when I touched her then went straight back to sleep.
Xrays are next week so fingers crossed that all is well. The alternative doesn't bear thinking about.
On a rather more sinister note. Matisse has started sneezing. I kick myself now for not vaccinating them when I had the chance. We had some recently expired F5's at work. We can't sell them to clients so were welcome to use them on strays (like Natalia) or on our own cats. Brought two vials home and then returned them the next day. The reason? My own cats intimidate me. If I took them into the surgery they could be vaccinated but here in their own home...just trying to de-flea Matisse is a major operation. He is so strong and so determined and so frightened (why?) that it is almost impossible to put a drop of stuff on the back of his neck. The thought of trying to hold him still while I gave him a needle was just too demoralizing. So now the prospect of him possibly having cat flu (with Nairobi to follow soon after?) is on the horizon. He's been sneezing since yesterday. Gave him the Natalia's last dose of Vibravet a few minutes ago. Just as I expected. He exploded then ran and hid. But he got the antibiotics.
On the bird front. Good stuff. Jack went for a wander yesterday clear to the back of the horse yards. Found himself a fallen branch and started to preen. He's quit attacking R's boots when he comes out. He's very interesting to watch actually as he tap tap taps his toes, one front one back lightly against the leather of R's work boots while squinting up at us with one dark eye. He's gone from having a go to just testing the water. Finally, yesterday he lost interest and wandered off yet when I asked him to step onto the tea tree branch he did so willingly. I was very proud of him. I think he understands that he is allowed out like the galahs but like the galahs after 20 or 30 minutes he has to return. I do make it worth his while by giving him a reward when he returns.
I'm trying something different with Dimitri. It's a slow process but I think I'm finally doing something sensible. He is so frightened of hands that giving him treats is always a challenge unless the treat is tossed to him or I spend many many minutes encouraging him to take it from my oh so still had. Now I've filled a small coop cup with budgie mix (he loves budgie mix) and I'm using that as the t in c/t. When he targets the stick I put the bowl down. He takes one to 5 nibbles and then I remove it. In that process my hand extends to put the bowl down and again to remove it. He gallops off when I remove the bowl but he isn't galloping as fast or as far as he did yesterday. Over time I believe he'll get used to it and will behave as Tachimedes does; Tach just eats out of the bowl while I hold it. That is something to aim for.
On the dream front. Not much luck. The first night I told myself to 'see my hands' in a dream I dreamed of spilling something, contents from a box? pages from a book? across the floor. I picked them up with my hands, saw my hands in the dream but didn't twig about it until I woke and remembered the dream.
For some reason my dream life is very silent. I'm dreaming I'm just not remembering them. I didn't used to have a problem with remembering dreams if I cued myself to remember as I drifted off to sleep so assume it's some kind of blockage I've arranged for myself for some unknown reason. I did have an imaginary stroll through the universe however. Imagination is such a brilliant tool. I used to have flying dreams but haven't been blessed with one for years so thought I'd make my own; not flying around a few hundred meters above the ground but straight up into the black velvety silence of outer space.
Meditation after yoga was pretty good today, good for me anyway so in tune with monkey mind. Still alot of chattering but glimmers of stillness. I've been pretty regular with yoga. Did an hour today without realizing how quickly the time had gone. There is improvement in my flexibility too, especially my neck. Other joints will take longer but that's okay. I feel so much better after a session, not only physically but mentally. It does calm me. I move with the breath and that centering does something blissful for the whole of me.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
OBEs, the search for and the Usual Stuff
R gone to Brisbane today. Miss him but lovely to have an entire day stretch before me on my own. And it's a beautiful day. Have already taken the whippets for a walk (nice alliteration there). No longer try and get Radar to stop pulling. He's got to figure out that pulling results in pressure on his nose from the Halti. My hand may give out before he does. You'd think that he'd realise that the reason the strap pushes on his nose is because he's pushing against it. When he doesn't pull it instantly releases. There are times that he doesn't pull, when he's very interested in something he sees, when he turns his head to the side to look at Jamaica, when he stops to poo or pee. But no, not yet. He's not a stupid dog, just a very enthusiastic gung ho dog.
Natalia, I'm glad to say, has had her second night in a row without wetting the bed. She is now allowed in the bedroom. There have been no accidents in two days and she trots off to her litter tray when she's got to go. She does appear to have cat flu but as we've started her on vibravet it hasn't got the best of her. Her eyes water in the morning and evening, just like a human with a cold who feels the effects worse at those times, but there was only one sneeze yesterday and none today, so far. She's a delightful little cat, full of personality and big purrs. Matisse is almost playing with her now. There have been a few half enthusiastic games of chase and even Nairobi watched without hissing and departing.
Jack has been started on pellets again. No, let me rephrase that. Jack has pellets instead of seed this morning. He's not eating the pellets, only the sun and safflower seeds in it. Made a mash of the pellets and mixed the seed in while scattering a few sunflower seeds on top like nuts on a chocolate cake. Before I made rissoles with pellets and seed and he just threw them on the ground. This time I made it like a pie crust, flattening the mixture on the bottom of his dish. When I went to see how he was doing he had pellet crumbs around his beak which means he's had to have tasted the pellets. We'll get there. Had to give up trying to convert him when he hurt his toe and went back on antibiotics. There's such a thing as too much stress and infection and diet change is too much. But now that he's back to reasonable health we'll have another go.
The diet of sunflower and safflower seeds with some apple and corn is NOT good. Pellets on their own aren't good either but at least there are vitamins and minerals in the pellets that he needs and he isn't gorging on oil which his poor liver can't process. If he, no, WHEN he converts to pellets he'll view sunflower seeds more avidly which will mean better results in c/t.
End of the day. Have done alot of work on current drawing. Slowly making headway. Wish I was more talented, had more technical expertise, had more reference drawings! R noticed the difference (he's home after a day flailing away at a rogue bougainvillea).
There's a theme with my drawings which I've only just started to notice. I've never been able to attain it but I try to depict the drawing as though one is looking through a dimension, or better said, through someone's eyes. There's often one or more horizon lines, even if only vaguely noted, and a yearning to see a picture through a frame of some sort. That's badly put but there's an attraction about seeing a particular scene as though through two points of view, one inside the other, like those Russian dolls. Except for copying something, almost all my drawings, even the old ones tip the hat to that desire. I think it stems from that strong sense of someone, the real me, seeing me and my life through my eyes. Me and Not Me.
Reading a book about a man who explored other dimensions a la Robert Monroe. He makes reference to Carlos Castaneda books in which Juan Matus instructs Carlos to look for his hands in dreams so that he may lucid dream. Haven't read the Castaneda books since high school but I was much taken with them then except for the peyote button bit. Was very scared, and still am, of hallucinogens of that strength. Anyway. This guy (too lazy to get up and get the book to record name and title) also talks about the buzzing sound which is accompanied by the sense of being frozen. Monroe says that's a precursor to an OBE. I found them quite scary (odd that I haven't experienced one in years). The most disconcerting part of the most recent albeit distant experiences was the maniacal laughter which accompanied the buzzing and the immobility.
Natalia, I'm glad to say, has had her second night in a row without wetting the bed. She is now allowed in the bedroom. There have been no accidents in two days and she trots off to her litter tray when she's got to go. She does appear to have cat flu but as we've started her on vibravet it hasn't got the best of her. Her eyes water in the morning and evening, just like a human with a cold who feels the effects worse at those times, but there was only one sneeze yesterday and none today, so far. She's a delightful little cat, full of personality and big purrs. Matisse is almost playing with her now. There have been a few half enthusiastic games of chase and even Nairobi watched without hissing and departing.
Jack has been started on pellets again. No, let me rephrase that. Jack has pellets instead of seed this morning. He's not eating the pellets, only the sun and safflower seeds in it. Made a mash of the pellets and mixed the seed in while scattering a few sunflower seeds on top like nuts on a chocolate cake. Before I made rissoles with pellets and seed and he just threw them on the ground. This time I made it like a pie crust, flattening the mixture on the bottom of his dish. When I went to see how he was doing he had pellet crumbs around his beak which means he's had to have tasted the pellets. We'll get there. Had to give up trying to convert him when he hurt his toe and went back on antibiotics. There's such a thing as too much stress and infection and diet change is too much. But now that he's back to reasonable health we'll have another go.
The diet of sunflower and safflower seeds with some apple and corn is NOT good. Pellets on their own aren't good either but at least there are vitamins and minerals in the pellets that he needs and he isn't gorging on oil which his poor liver can't process. If he, no, WHEN he converts to pellets he'll view sunflower seeds more avidly which will mean better results in c/t.
End of the day. Have done alot of work on current drawing. Slowly making headway. Wish I was more talented, had more technical expertise, had more reference drawings! R noticed the difference (he's home after a day flailing away at a rogue bougainvillea).
There's a theme with my drawings which I've only just started to notice. I've never been able to attain it but I try to depict the drawing as though one is looking through a dimension, or better said, through someone's eyes. There's often one or more horizon lines, even if only vaguely noted, and a yearning to see a picture through a frame of some sort. That's badly put but there's an attraction about seeing a particular scene as though through two points of view, one inside the other, like those Russian dolls. Except for copying something, almost all my drawings, even the old ones tip the hat to that desire. I think it stems from that strong sense of someone, the real me, seeing me and my life through my eyes. Me and Not Me.
Reading a book about a man who explored other dimensions a la Robert Monroe. He makes reference to Carlos Castaneda books in which Juan Matus instructs Carlos to look for his hands in dreams so that he may lucid dream. Haven't read the Castaneda books since high school but I was much taken with them then except for the peyote button bit. Was very scared, and still am, of hallucinogens of that strength. Anyway. This guy (too lazy to get up and get the book to record name and title) also talks about the buzzing sound which is accompanied by the sense of being frozen. Monroe says that's a precursor to an OBE. I found them quite scary (odd that I haven't experienced one in years). The most disconcerting part of the most recent albeit distant experiences was the maniacal laughter which accompanied the buzzing and the immobility.
Friday, August 6, 2010
The Search for the Divine in Spider Solitaire
Watched Oprah yesterday (why is that coloured with faint shamefacedness as though watching her is a secret but somewhat depraved pleasure?). Anyway on it she had a woman touting a book called Women Food and God. Yeah, interesting, I thought. I'm not obese but I'd like to shed a few kilos (as I suppose 98% of women would). Anyway, the book was not about diet. It was about why women turn to food when they aren't hungry in the first place. Bingo! Because they are searching for that something, that sense of wonder, that sense of something more which if they can just eat enough they might feel. Although I do have a problem with food (barely controlled...there's a 300lb woman inside me screaming to get out) I could relate that directly to my problem with Spider Solitaire. Oh, how trivial, how trite, how totally uninteresting I hear my ever present critic say. Who the hell would waste good blog space on a minute matter such as a Solitaire addiction.
Well, me.
It's serious to me. Who knows what other hidden addictions people contend with. There are the biggies; alcohol, drugs, food, gambling - but couldn't obsessive compulsives be tarred with the same brush. Playing SS for an hour or more, wasting time, could be seen as an addiction. Hell, it IS an addiction. So why devote so much time to this foolish game? Because, as for food, drug and gambling addicts, it NUMBS me. I don't have to think. Some part of my brain is totally absorbed with the game allowing another part (the real part?) to participate as an observer and to therefore not to have to reflect? I don't know. Perhaps it prevents me from thinking of how I do not treasure this life, this Breath, as it should be treasured. I waste time. I lose time...and time is running out. I'll be 55 in a few months. How much longer do I think I have? Yet I waste time by playing the mind-emotion numbing SS?
So that was a good revelation - and because of it (thank you Oprah and Geneen whatever your name was) I avoided playing SS yesterday and have had only one game today (while waiting for the screen to load). Perhaps it won't cure me of it but at least I'll have this small voice in my head asking, what are you avoiding? Or, more to the point, what am I missing? Geneen likened this addiction to food to the persons search for something that would 'fill' them; that sense of wonder, that sense of the divine. Perhaps, as she and Oprah said, the 'problem' is an invitation to search for that which is real, which has meaning, the Divine, the Soul.
On to more mundane matters. Jack the Lad, or the Earl of Jack, came out of his aviary for only the second time yesterday (and the third today). He wants to attack R, which is how we tempted him out yesterday. Today he knew what it was about and was waiting at the door. At first he concentrated on attacking R's feet. Gave R a rake to hold in front as a shield. When he got bored with that he started to explore a little. Algernon was present in the poinciana tree but didn't show much interest. When it was time to return Jack to the aviary he stepped onto the branch without too much trouble.
It's difficult as at the same time as Jack is out we're trying to keep an eye on five galahs who are very adept in spreading out in as many directions.
Took Marvin for a walk with us when we checked and repaired fence in a paddock the horses were moved into today. He was very brave, very good. I think he enjoys these little excursions - about as much as he enjoys being returned to his aviary at the end. It's a big adventure for such a little bird.
Targeting with Dimitri continues to go well. Sat in a different spot on the verandah which put him off a bit but he came around in the end. One day he'll run to the target without hesitation.
Well, me.
It's serious to me. Who knows what other hidden addictions people contend with. There are the biggies; alcohol, drugs, food, gambling - but couldn't obsessive compulsives be tarred with the same brush. Playing SS for an hour or more, wasting time, could be seen as an addiction. Hell, it IS an addiction. So why devote so much time to this foolish game? Because, as for food, drug and gambling addicts, it NUMBS me. I don't have to think. Some part of my brain is totally absorbed with the game allowing another part (the real part?) to participate as an observer and to therefore not to have to reflect? I don't know. Perhaps it prevents me from thinking of how I do not treasure this life, this Breath, as it should be treasured. I waste time. I lose time...and time is running out. I'll be 55 in a few months. How much longer do I think I have? Yet I waste time by playing the mind-emotion numbing SS?
So that was a good revelation - and because of it (thank you Oprah and Geneen whatever your name was) I avoided playing SS yesterday and have had only one game today (while waiting for the screen to load). Perhaps it won't cure me of it but at least I'll have this small voice in my head asking, what are you avoiding? Or, more to the point, what am I missing? Geneen likened this addiction to food to the persons search for something that would 'fill' them; that sense of wonder, that sense of the divine. Perhaps, as she and Oprah said, the 'problem' is an invitation to search for that which is real, which has meaning, the Divine, the Soul.
On to more mundane matters. Jack the Lad, or the Earl of Jack, came out of his aviary for only the second time yesterday (and the third today). He wants to attack R, which is how we tempted him out yesterday. Today he knew what it was about and was waiting at the door. At first he concentrated on attacking R's feet. Gave R a rake to hold in front as a shield. When he got bored with that he started to explore a little. Algernon was present in the poinciana tree but didn't show much interest. When it was time to return Jack to the aviary he stepped onto the branch without too much trouble.
It's difficult as at the same time as Jack is out we're trying to keep an eye on five galahs who are very adept in spreading out in as many directions.
Took Marvin for a walk with us when we checked and repaired fence in a paddock the horses were moved into today. He was very brave, very good. I think he enjoys these little excursions - about as much as he enjoys being returned to his aviary at the end. It's a big adventure for such a little bird.
Targeting with Dimitri continues to go well. Sat in a different spot on the verandah which put him off a bit but he came around in the end. One day he'll run to the target without hesitation.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Tawny Frogmouth and Musings on a Past Love
Sitting here this morning when I hear the warning cries of mickey birds, pee wees and magpies. Look up and winging toward me on slow powerful wings is a tawny frogmouth. He doesn't hit the side of the house but lands at the foot of it just below the window I'm peering from. Went out and tied the dogs up. They knew something was up but hadn't left the deck. Grabbed a towel and went around to see. He was sitting against some rocks which abut the house, holding his head and neck stretched in dead branch camouflage - which doesn't work against pale blue paintwork. Lifted him in the towel and felt his keel bone - slim but not starving. Then I saw his (her?) left eye. Covered with pus and whited out with injury. No wonder he was flying in the daytime. Put him in one of those white plastic storage bins while I put together a cocky cage with accoutrements.
Then it came time to feed him. I know frogmouths don't remove fingers but they can and do bite. Still he had to have something. Got some of the dog mince but it had too many hard lumps in it so decided to use some of Natalia's c/d. Managed to get in a few teaspoons. He threw some out but ate others so at least he's got something to go on. Gave him some water too. Will try and feed him more late afternoon. That should hold him until I get him to Karen tomorrow. He's unreleasable with his blind eye but I know she takes them and puts them in a huge aviary to live out their days on day old chicks. That is if she's got room. That's all I can do. At least he flew this way and not out in the bush somewhere. With one blind eye they can't hunt. Tawny frogmouths have such large lustrous eyes, yellow with black pupils. He made an awful racket when I fed him. He must have thought I was trying to kill him. Last time I checked he was sitting quietly on a perch. They must think they are invisible if they stay still and most of the time they are.
Have moved forward on the drawing. Strange how it's always in fits and starts. Spend more time staring at it then actually working on it. Popped the bright yellow mat board around it yesterday and it looks fine. Still a lot to do. The water and the reflections aren't right and the centaur doesn't stand out from the background enough but the problems are solvable. Well, no picture that I do is perfect but conceited as it sounds if I saw one in a gallery I'd want to buy it. Guess that's because I do pictures that I like.
Watched Arts:21 on SBS yesterday. I must be really out of the loop but I can't help but think many artists are just having a wank. If the work needs long explanations as to its meaning with background, political correctness (or incorrectness), antecedents to the original idea and reference to a seed inspiration of some vague or esoteric root than it doesn't, in my opinion, stand alone as something which can be appreciated for itself. And some of it is just BAD. I know I'm very archaic in my idea of what constitutes art but a blank canvas with a dot or a squiggle that people are willing to pay big $$ for is just beyond my understanding. There was an auction of a large gold (not real gold) circle by some name artist and it fetched hundreds of thousands of dollars. I've got pictures on the refrigerator by R's grandkids that are more pleasurable to look at than some of the stuff produced by 'artists'. I suppose I'm old fashioned enough to believe that artists should be able to draw or at least use colour in some way which is understood or appreciated by the viewer.
I wasn't going to write this because of privacy and not wishing to hurt R but realise that pretending my thoughts are always proper and good is just fooling myself. I was on ABC arts looking for interesting artwork and saw the search box. Hmm, I thought, wonder if there's anything on id. There was, an interview he did on the current status of free to air television on a radio program out of Brisbane. It was a year ago but I could listen to it thanks to modern technology (never fails to amaze). There was that voice, instantly recognizable. Happily it didn't evoke any particular emotion. He sounds mellower. Perhaps age has wrought its magic.
So that was that. I didn't doubt that I was over him but yet there is this ego thing. He has taken the place of the autocratic parents (which I never had) in that I am still, after 30 years, mentally pleading my case, my life, as though I still have to prove how worthy I am. He is a success. Highly regarded screenwriter/playwright, winner of AFI awards, etc. I am a non-certified vet nurse dabbling in art with an unfinished book languishing on my computer and a penchant for bird rescue and training.
Why is that? Why, in that first instant of seeing him did he appear to glow standing, one among many, in that crowded Freemantle pub New Years Eve? I do think there's something to reincarnation and if that is so, we have unfinished business. Our ending was not resolved. Or maybe it was in his mind and not in mine. That seems more likely. It is I that have unfinished business - but not with him, with me. That judgment and lack of self-worth. What is a persons worth? Is it the wealthy celebrity man or the poor man who, like R, sees a rainwater tank that a new neighbour down the road has lost down the hill, and says I must give that man a hand to haul it back up? I wish I naturally had R's generosity of spirit. He hasn't even met this man yet there is no hesitation in offering his help. I've seen that rainwater tank for days and thought, poor guy, he's lost his tank. It didn't even occur to me to offer help. R's spirit humbles me. Yes, id could talk R into a corner. He is smarter, more widely read, more creative, more observant but is he a better man? Unless he's undergone a complete transformation, I doubt it. So that takes care of that. How do I take care of me, checking my reflection in a mirror ' how would he see me after 30 years, not too bad for a 54 year old', look I can do yoga and even stand on my head, wow, isn't that something? Can you do that, id, can you?
Debussy's Claire de Lune. A harp recital from Brisbane on the radio. I remember when id and I had had a horrible fight and I played Afternoon of a Faun repeatedly. Id asked me why and I said something about the fact that there was such beauty in the world was a lifeline.
If there was a time in my life when I courted disaster it was with him. Not drugs or alcohol or reckless living, it was the way I was influenced by him. I hit rock bottom. Depression and sadness was like a physical weight on my shoulders. I wouldn't have survived him. I don't think he's a bad man. He was just bad for me. Like people search out their abusers, someone to show them in real terms the real opinion of themselves that they secretly harbor. I still don't understand it. I'm not sure how I can stop those conversations in my head, 'but I am doing something with my life.' Certainly not his fault. If I knew how to confront them and destroy those thoughts in one go I would but I suspect it's a process, a process called life.
Then it came time to feed him. I know frogmouths don't remove fingers but they can and do bite. Still he had to have something. Got some of the dog mince but it had too many hard lumps in it so decided to use some of Natalia's c/d. Managed to get in a few teaspoons. He threw some out but ate others so at least he's got something to go on. Gave him some water too. Will try and feed him more late afternoon. That should hold him until I get him to Karen tomorrow. He's unreleasable with his blind eye but I know she takes them and puts them in a huge aviary to live out their days on day old chicks. That is if she's got room. That's all I can do. At least he flew this way and not out in the bush somewhere. With one blind eye they can't hunt. Tawny frogmouths have such large lustrous eyes, yellow with black pupils. He made an awful racket when I fed him. He must have thought I was trying to kill him. Last time I checked he was sitting quietly on a perch. They must think they are invisible if they stay still and most of the time they are.
Have moved forward on the drawing. Strange how it's always in fits and starts. Spend more time staring at it then actually working on it. Popped the bright yellow mat board around it yesterday and it looks fine. Still a lot to do. The water and the reflections aren't right and the centaur doesn't stand out from the background enough but the problems are solvable. Well, no picture that I do is perfect but conceited as it sounds if I saw one in a gallery I'd want to buy it. Guess that's because I do pictures that I like.
Watched Arts:21 on SBS yesterday. I must be really out of the loop but I can't help but think many artists are just having a wank. If the work needs long explanations as to its meaning with background, political correctness (or incorrectness), antecedents to the original idea and reference to a seed inspiration of some vague or esoteric root than it doesn't, in my opinion, stand alone as something which can be appreciated for itself. And some of it is just BAD. I know I'm very archaic in my idea of what constitutes art but a blank canvas with a dot or a squiggle that people are willing to pay big $$ for is just beyond my understanding. There was an auction of a large gold (not real gold) circle by some name artist and it fetched hundreds of thousands of dollars. I've got pictures on the refrigerator by R's grandkids that are more pleasurable to look at than some of the stuff produced by 'artists'. I suppose I'm old fashioned enough to believe that artists should be able to draw or at least use colour in some way which is understood or appreciated by the viewer.
I wasn't going to write this because of privacy and not wishing to hurt R but realise that pretending my thoughts are always proper and good is just fooling myself. I was on ABC arts looking for interesting artwork and saw the search box. Hmm, I thought, wonder if there's anything on id. There was, an interview he did on the current status of free to air television on a radio program out of Brisbane. It was a year ago but I could listen to it thanks to modern technology (never fails to amaze). There was that voice, instantly recognizable. Happily it didn't evoke any particular emotion. He sounds mellower. Perhaps age has wrought its magic.
So that was that. I didn't doubt that I was over him but yet there is this ego thing. He has taken the place of the autocratic parents (which I never had) in that I am still, after 30 years, mentally pleading my case, my life, as though I still have to prove how worthy I am. He is a success. Highly regarded screenwriter/playwright, winner of AFI awards, etc. I am a non-certified vet nurse dabbling in art with an unfinished book languishing on my computer and a penchant for bird rescue and training.
Why is that? Why, in that first instant of seeing him did he appear to glow standing, one among many, in that crowded Freemantle pub New Years Eve? I do think there's something to reincarnation and if that is so, we have unfinished business. Our ending was not resolved. Or maybe it was in his mind and not in mine. That seems more likely. It is I that have unfinished business - but not with him, with me. That judgment and lack of self-worth. What is a persons worth? Is it the wealthy celebrity man or the poor man who, like R, sees a rainwater tank that a new neighbour down the road has lost down the hill, and says I must give that man a hand to haul it back up? I wish I naturally had R's generosity of spirit. He hasn't even met this man yet there is no hesitation in offering his help. I've seen that rainwater tank for days and thought, poor guy, he's lost his tank. It didn't even occur to me to offer help. R's spirit humbles me. Yes, id could talk R into a corner. He is smarter, more widely read, more creative, more observant but is he a better man? Unless he's undergone a complete transformation, I doubt it. So that takes care of that. How do I take care of me, checking my reflection in a mirror ' how would he see me after 30 years, not too bad for a 54 year old', look I can do yoga and even stand on my head, wow, isn't that something? Can you do that, id, can you?
Debussy's Claire de Lune. A harp recital from Brisbane on the radio. I remember when id and I had had a horrible fight and I played Afternoon of a Faun repeatedly. Id asked me why and I said something about the fact that there was such beauty in the world was a lifeline.
If there was a time in my life when I courted disaster it was with him. Not drugs or alcohol or reckless living, it was the way I was influenced by him. I hit rock bottom. Depression and sadness was like a physical weight on my shoulders. I wouldn't have survived him. I don't think he's a bad man. He was just bad for me. Like people search out their abusers, someone to show them in real terms the real opinion of themselves that they secretly harbor. I still don't understand it. I'm not sure how I can stop those conversations in my head, 'but I am doing something with my life.' Certainly not his fault. If I knew how to confront them and destroy those thoughts in one go I would but I suspect it's a process, a process called life.
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