Turning the Ordinary into Art Form

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While grabbing today’s lunch, I decided to grab it “to go” from my favorite food truck. Creature of habit that I am, I always get the same meal: Dal over Rice. In the hundreds of times that I’ve grabbed this meal that has now become one of my go-to lunch staples, I realized why I order this meal so much. It isn’t just the speed of the service nor the servers (which are dutiful and exceptional). It is the great care that they take when placing the often messy dishes into the containers they use. None of the components touch each other or are carelessly thrown in. It is done with the skill and precision of modern artists; their light conversations are seamless and belie the masterful preparation and effort that it takes to make it all look easy. Moreover, the lunch truck is ever-present: Monday through Friday, rain or shine.
I am grateful for my meal and am inspired to make my 9-5 days reach this level. One day at a time…

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I’m A Winner!!!

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My design won! This has been an amazing year and I am so grateful to all of those folks out there who voted for me! Thank you, thank you, thank you! ♡

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Time’s A Wastin’

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Spring always brings about inspiration in my creative work and I am enjoying the exploration. I’m trying to avoid too much planning and thought because it always interrupts the natural flow so now I find myself revisiting some old techniques and styles that I was successful doing before. There’s a new depth to them and they appear to be more–at least to me–detailed than before. I still think that I need go larger so that I can attempt to replicate them in a larger scale, perhaps using different tools.
The work above was done using a calligraphy pen which I bought recently and the design is very similar to a piece I did in high school. I think that by revisiting them that I am in some small way reclaiming my past using my own take on the technique I was taught in school. I always found myself deviating from what the class was doing anyway because I saw no value in producing artistic work that was restricted to the teacher’s perspective of the world and known skills that others could do much, much better.

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But now…
I see that having different points of view and frames of reference at historical styles are important and valid for personal growth.  I also know that perfecting something that is done with your own two hands is really the goal.

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The cosmic clock IS ticking, whether we care to admit it or not.  The awareness of this inevitable fact is what motivates me still.
After all, tomorrow isn’t promised.

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A Vote for me is A Vote for Freedom of Expression!

Please VOTE HERE for my design (Lisa from Jersey):

https://sincerelykaterz.wordpress.com/2015/03/25/counting-sheep/

Thanks!!!!

Lisa

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Precious Things

I am stretching, flowing, learning. I am making mistakes, being kind and staying the same while changing. Maybe I’m becoming more of myself; evolving.

I find myself much like Alice and Malice. Never wanting to fall up or down, really. I just want the elevator to be like Willy Wonka’s…sideways and up and up like an air balloon.

Peek-a-Boo!

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I am different, for sure. I am relieved. Joyful. Blessed. Happy. But I’m also emotional; aware of the world and how beautiful it is and how subtle, surprising and fluid.

Hello!

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My Latest Obsession Have Been Songs with Interesting Stories to Tell:

“Naci en Alamo” is a song without origin or ownership. Translated into different languages and versions, it keeps getting re-purposed and claimed and re-interpreted by different countries, which fascinates me.

“The Girl From Ipanema” has been in my head for a week now. I downloaded four different versions with varied points of view both masculine and feminine. I love the way people interpret and modernize it into jazz, big-band, and it’s original, familiar bossa-nova.

My days are getting curiouser and curiouser as I tumble down this rabbit hole. But I’m hoping to come out on the other side… transformed.

Tell me…who’s at YOUR tea party? Are you feeling mad as a hatter? Or are you, like me just growing and growing until you soon outgrow where you live even?

I wonder where this little door leads…hmm…let’s see…

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I’m featured in this Month’s LEP newsletter!

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Here’s my avatar (designed by the wonderful Beth Sobel). She’s amazing…
Shout out to the League of Extraordinary Penpals founders,  Julie Trévily-Pigeon and Denise Hotze. They are amazing and are truly kind, wonderful,  dedicated people who understand the Art of Snail Mail.
I have found my people…

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The Broken Key

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Well, it happened again. It was an event that could easily be explained away by logical means–it was cold and dark and I inadvertently didn’t push the key all the way in the lock. This has happened before.  Only this time, the key broke, half of it wedged inside.  I glared at it, in disbelief; the key glinting, a flash of mockery. In that moment, my thoughts were ignited in a conflagration of simmering thoughts passing at lightning speed:

Omigawsh, the key’s stuck in there. Can you get it out? No, no you have no tools out here. It’s freezing out here. There’s snow on the ground. Oh why didn’t I dress warmer? What did the weatherman say? COLDEST DAY OF THE YEAR?! Yes, that’s what they warned. Of course I’d be locked out of my own house on a day like today–of course! Dammit! Who can help? Landlord’s away…

On and on it went as I used my beloved smartphone to call for reinforcements. The trouble was, I only had two people I could call and only one was of any use. Neither one picked up and I ran through all of the alternatives in my mind. There weren’t many.
Had to go someplace warm…
En route to my corner store, the person who I needed called me back. They said the same thing: go someplace warm. But, they would be unavailable for another hour or so. Damn.
The corner store glowed like a beacon as I walked towards it.
“Yes, yes of course. I understand. I’ll wait.” But even as I said the words, my voice weakened.
The attendant, a robust Dominican man, sat behind the counter as has always has. He never knows how to address me as I often go there requesting some product he doesn’t carry, or order he can’t fill. As usual, I walked in complaining.
“What is it?” he asks in his jovial manner, in English although he doesn’t speak it fluently.
“I’m locked out, can you believe it? On the coldest night ever and half of my key is STUCK IN THE LOCK!”
I showed him the broken piece that hung on the end of my keychain.
“Well, why you no call the number there, sweetie?”
“What?”
“There is a number there. Why you no call?”
And right on the stupid key piece was a phone number. Plain as day…
So I went outside to get better reception on my phone and as I was negotiating the most exorbitant rate for getting access to my apartment, I saw my neighbor. We’ll call her, Juana.
I met Juana one particularly cold winter day in 2012. It seems that cold winter days are the only ones I see her. Juana is handicapped and needs to walk with a cane. On a good day, she can navigate the steep decline in the sidewalk rather nimbly, but on snowy days or days when there is a sheet of ice on the ground, she struggles. It seems like I hadn’t seen her in an age and she explained that she’d been away.
As I carefully walked Juana to her house, she filled me in on the highlights of her trip and how she was so grateful that I was outside when I was.
“On days like this, I ask God for help because it’s so hard walking in the snow,” she said, “and there you were!”
I left her off at her doorstep and returned to my residence to find the locksmith in the driveway. He made short order of the key and sprayed some WD40 in the lock.
Oddly enough, I also had my groceries delivered at the same time because I’m ridiculous like that.
“How long did your friend say they’d be? ”
I phoned my friend who said it’d be about 20 minutes.
“Oh good,” the locksmith said, “you can wait in the truck so you don’t freeze.”
The truck was warm and enveloping me like the belly of a giant whale. The locksmith after a few minutes became a captain about to tell me the tallest of tales…
It was a juicy tale filled with self-imposed villainous acts. It turns out he was a recovered addict, a man who had sunk down the murkiest depths of the cavernous belly of a bottle. His debauchery knew no limits as he searched the world for meaning. Lost at sea, when he’d lost all hope of being rescued, he landed into the annals of a church. The denomination didn’t matter, nor did the route. His course from then on would be straight as an arrow and led him to wonders and riches he’d never expected. The tale told, my friend arrived–not a moment too soon.

Past the threshold of my own front door and into the safety of my own home, I pondered the mysteries of my own journey here.
But there are oh so many shores left to sail…so many doors left to unlock and so so many many keys!

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