Dark 'n' Stormy

Two of my favourite things are made in Sweden: Edluar and staplers. One rather accurately melts me into sleep, as per their slogan. The other I discharge at an alarming frequency when I'm freaked out by the fucking state of events. I try not to aim at my eyes, although that may solve several problems.

I want to rant. Instead, I'm going back to my previous post to calm the fuck down. Yes, I'm swearing more and that's OK. It helps me with channeling "happy". As it were, I've been wanting to write a sequel to Happy. I'm calling it Dark 'n' Stormy, like the drink. I treat my drinking repertoire with the utmost respect and this involves a lot of research and patience. High-end rum, as it turns out, is much less expensive than other fermented, distilled and barrel-aged beverages, and finding the right ginger beer adds to the volume of controlled experiments. I'm up to the happy challenge.

Happy, happy. Lucky, lucky. It is with a heavy heart that I wake up every morning, yet I am determined to seek and find daily joy and, "happiness". In my experience, to proceed otherwise is unwise. Some days turn out to be hapless despite my best efforts, that's just how it is. As the trendy saying goes, I have "first-world" problems. Yes I do, but that doesn't make them any less valid or pertinent. To illustrate, let me lay out a less than stellar snapshot from a few months ago.

I was taking the day with a friend to walk around an affluent neighborhood and to enjoy a leisurely lunch. Upon exiting from one of many posh stores, we noticed a man, arms up, head down sideways with eyes closed, leaning upright against the store's highly-polished window. We both came to a startled stop, and my friend asked if I thought whether or not he was okay. I walked up to within inches of the man to look him over. He was deathly still in his unnatural pose, without perceptible breath or odour, and his skin had a waxy glow, like a sanitized "homeless" creation by Madame Tussaud. Suddenly I felt lightheaded, my perception shifted, and I let myself believe that I was witnessing a bizarre form of performance art, and more elaborately, that passersby were being filmed for their reactions. I confidently exclaimed that this was not a real person. Absolutely wretched. I dehumanized a fellow human being. My good friend had better sense and started talking to him, persistently, and after a few minutes, there was slight movement. Patiently, she waited until he responded, within only her earshot. In the distance, we could hear an ambulance approaching.

If I were still a practicing Catholic, this would make for an outstanding confession. As it goes, I delve deep into my psyche and search for understanding. The specter of this event continues to haunt me. An active imagination is one thing, but what can cause such an abrupt rupture with empathy? My anxiety had reached a tipping point, and my thought processes could no longer differentiate between nonsense and reality. Can I blame my new coping mechanism on living in a society struggling with its collective moral compass? Menopause? Too many questions and not enough answers. Forgiveness is for myself to give. My inner light is always on but I must take care and remember to always keep the curtains parted. Sometimes the storm is raging outside, other times it is within.

Please don't ask me if I'm happy or if I've found happiness. Of course I am and I have, every day. Happiness and feeling happy doesn't exist in a vacuum, nor is it a constant, and it is different every day. Dealing in so-called "positive" absolutes is both irrational and dangerous. Is there rhyme or reason for crappy to rhyme with happy? The malady of Great Expectations is only amplified by the booming Happiness Industry, which I dare say, is a detraction from, and formidably antithetical to its purported goal.

Happiness is the great expanse, the universe. It is a life-long exploration. How far you make it is all in your mind.

PS: Jean bought me a box of cereal for the days my mind needs a little help.

Happy

Here is the mesmerizing image of a painting by Aboriginal artist Marie Hayes. I fell in love with Aboriginal art during a month-long visit to Australia back in 2004. There is a unique cadence and energy about traditional and neo-traditional Aboriginal art that resonates with my sensibilities, and hopefully I have tickled your curiosity to explore Aboriginal cultural expression.

I have been contemplating this painting since the beginning of time...or perhaps it has only been a couple of months. Visual meditation gives me focus and helps calm my mind. This particular painting palpably pulsates and purrs, plunges and plays, precipitating my connection to the Universe. There are 8 Ps in happppppppiness. This is my happiness. 8 or ∞, a flowing continuum without a beginning nor an end, with surges and contractions, infinite and all-embracing in chaotic harmony.

"I look up at the night sky, and I know that, yes, we are part of this Universe, we are in this Universe, but perhaps more important than both of those facts is that the Universe is in us. When I reflect on that fact, I look up—many people feel small, because they’re small and the Universe is big, but I feel big, because my atoms came from those stars." - Neil deGrasse Tyson
Here is the short YouTube video.

I am an immigrant, a daughter of refugees

Who...me? Yes, the heterosexual (although some would argue bisexual) Caucasian female with a privileged and comfortable upbringing and life. I haven't given my immigration story much thought until some recent turn of events in the USA. It's not much of a story, but perhaps unusual in that I emigrated and immigrated twice...so far in my life.

Indentured shoe cleaner with sister, Germany, 1973

The first move took me from Germany to Canada when I was just shy of 10 years old. As far as I know, my parents didn't break any laws, but you never know. My family likes to tell stories. In any case, I became a proud naturalized Canadian when I turned 18. At the age of 40, my Canadian husband and I moved to the USA. To this day, he feels rejected by his native country because he could not continue his career as a researcher. Always a hard worker, he obtained permanent residency in the USA for the both of us, based on his own merits.

My two emigrations were planned, legally recognized, and did not involve life-threatening situations. By the time, and in the place I was born, European wars were a near-distant past. My parents and their immediate families were well-settled refugees from Hungary, having fled their country on foot through the borders into Austria during the revolution of 1956, then accepted by Germany as citizens. Some of my other family members were welcomed by the USA, Canada and other European countries.

Suspicious travelers at Munich Airport, 1975

I've heard my parents' and grandparents' stories. I wouldn't be alive today if Germany and other countries hadn't accepted displaced, hungry and traumatized people form active war zones. Assimilation is never easy, even when you outwardly blend in, like me. It gives me great distress to think how much, much worse my experiences would have been if I had been non-Christian and brown.  In Germany, I was teased and bullied about my name and called a foreigner, even though I am a German national. Granted, I dressed funny (see photos above). In Canada, the taunting and insults continued, at least until I learned the languages fluently. But the feeling of being an outsider never really goes away. Now that I live in the USA, I feel I belong to no country. Yes, I am a Canadian citizen, but this too is only on paper. I have no legal political voice.

Immigration can be by choice or by constraint. I own my story, no matter how lighthearted it sounds compared to those of other immigrants, because I am painfully aware that most often it is the only choice. As a refugee, as an immigrant, you are filled with hope of the life that lies ahead. Every human being on this planet "has the right to life, liberty and the security of person" (UN Declaration of Human Rights). As citizens of the world, we are all connected, and have we not a moral obligation to help each other in need? Is that too much to ask for?

You had me at Grab

This is the last installment of my so-called Election Trilogy. I am exhausted. What can I possible add to the debate, the magnitude of information and opinions that are out there? What hasn’t been said? But that’s beside the point: the goal here is to maintain my chronic affliction of self-torture.

I catch myself distracted more than usual. My well-known ability to focus has been compromised, confusing my logic and sensory perception. Even something as simple as trying to prepare hard-boiled eggs requires a minimum of attention. My first mistake was going upstairs after turning the stove top element to HIGH under a pot containing 5 eggs fully immersed in water (please note that only 4 charred eggs are in the photo, no water). Whatever I was doing in my home office/studio must have been of vital importance, like writing a blog post for example. It was a Sunday afternoon and I remember thinking to myself that one of my neighbours must be barbecuing.  It wasn’t until I heard loud popping sounds that I sprang to my feet. Even in that instance, I had not yet made the connection, not until I was half-way down the stairs. Approaching the kitchen cautiously from around the corner, I could see that the popping sound was accompanied by flying bits of egg. Through stealth approach, the danger of making the 5 o'clock local news was fortunately averted, no one to witness my embarrassment and the hour it took to clean up.

I'm being told to not get "worked-up" about what's going on around me. After all, I am in no imminent danger of being killed by a U.S. drone. Thank you very much. How about scalding hot egg missiles? If death were all I feared...well, you see where I'm getting at: fearing the eventual end of my existence is quite different than facing my current existence in a fractured society of global proportions. That’s right, I am in the fortunate situation of having a lot of choices in life, choices not available to many people around the world, this country included. Simply put, in the future I envision, the choices will be different but available to a greater number of people. If I’m accused of idealism and over-exaggerating the perils of lack of accountability, ignorance, policies and laws shaped by religion, and geopolitical forces jeopardizing such a future, so be it. Look into the mirror of history. It doesn't take that much imagination. I hope I’m wrong.

Bummer, and here I was starting of on a light note.

Being a globally recognized powerful nation comes with responsibilities. Pardon me for getting "worked-up" about the words, ideas and actions of the person who is about to become the leader of this powerful nation. I am being asked to believe that past behavior is neither a predictor nor an indicator of a person's future actions and decisions. This cuts both ways and I get it, Hillary was not an irreproachable candidate. What I’m struggling with however are questions of morality and logic. Logic and logical thinking is supposedly therapeutic, the means to reason, but alas, as I’m belatedly discovering, not universal. As it turns out, I need additional therapy. Let me continue...

“Grab them by the pussy”.

Fifty-three percent (53%) of white women who voted in the 2016 U.S. elections, apparently don't mind unsolicited genital fondling, among other things. Please watch out for more sex offenders showing up at the voting lines for the next elections. Flippant remarks indeed, but sadly and in a nutshell, gender solidarity for white women is superseded by racial solidarity. Someone please tell me again the justification and logic behind voting for all-important "real change" that makes you "great again", when it comes with ideas and behavior that don't belong in a progressive and just society. Oh yeah, I know, many people, mostly white men and women, didn't vote for either candidate for moral reasons. Even morality has a hierarchy. If Sophie could make a choice, then so could you.

Pussy has been the conventional name for cat since the 16th century. It gradually evolved from a term of endearment for a woman, something that can be stroked, to becoming slang for a woman's vagina, and finally, by extension, used as a pejorative to label someone as weak and submissive. I am the proud owner of the first paperback edition of Womanwords by Jane Mills from 1989. It's a little dated and written from a white woman's perspective, but still highly informative if you're interested in that sort of thing. Other than referring to cute baby felines, the more socially acceptable reference to a pussy, as in the expression "You're such pussy", doesn't mean you have 9 lives, but rather that you lack courage and strength. You can "Grow some balls", and we're back to genitals. I have heard both these comments across gender lines, and the people who dislike being called a pussy are of course...everybody, so united we stand.

“Grab them by the pussy”.

I ask myself why I'm picking on this particular comment coming from a bottomless source of purposefully offensive material. After all, there are so many horrible things happening all over the world. Why write about this seemingly inconsequential comment in the greater scheme of things? First of all, I don't think it's inconsequential. Secondly, because I am free to do so, I have that choice. Thirdly, I have a pussy, unappreciative of uninvited groping. Lastly - if only to put an end to a potentially long list - because this comment was made by the man elected to assume the U.S. presidency in 2017.

Mea culpa. I would argue that every offensive and hateful sentence that has been uttered throughout the U.S. election campaign, through relentless and consistent repetition across all media, was a major contributor to the election outcome. Much like when you're sitting in a garbage dumpster (don't try this), you initially want to gag because of the stench, but after a while, you can't smell anything at all, not even the Brussels sprouts, and that discarded slice of pizza being dragged away by the rat looks mighty appealing. Hungry [for change] and senses numb: as a population, we have been exposed to systematic desensitization.

In conclusion, let me share that I just finished preparing 6 pounds (2.7 kg) of Brussels sprouts for Thanksgiving celebrations on November 24 and took it as an opportunity to focus my thoughts so as not cut any of my fingers off. Throughout the task I kept thinking about testicles...Happy Holidays!

Hard Facts, Soft Lies

I've just popped my second dose of anti-anxiety medication. I am compelled to continue writing, as I attempt to process the enormous quantity of events of 2016 thus far, let alone the prospects following the outcome of the U.S. elections.

Despite the conciliatory, almost Zen-like tone of my previous post, I continue to suffer from generalized nervousness, insomnia and worsening distraction. I believe to be exhibiting signs of post-traumatic stress. The last time this occurred was in September 2001. Loss and grief on an individual level is very different from when you are simultaneously the dead and the grieving - and today, that's my larger societal perspective. Continue reading, I will finish on a positive note, I promise! Then again, I could be lying. 

John Oliver must have read my post from November 11 because on his show yesterday, he admonished my statement, and rightly so, that continued sunrises and the earth spinning does not set a high bar for humanity. If I continue to remain short-sighted in thought (my optic myopia has been corrected with lenses), I can perhaps remain appeased by my shaky belief that the American powerhouse of a system will continue to run efficiently and steadily. The election outcome was supposedly decided by: (1) unhappy, non-college educated white people disillusioned by government; and (2), aging baby boomers living comfortably with Social Security, Medicare and pensions.  People wanted change...and an old rich white guy in power is so very different from the last 240 years. They've effectively gifted their grandchildren with the ravages of climate change, poor education, and encouraged a world view shaped by reality shows streaming on all 3 of their large-screen HDTVs, barefoot and pregnant.

I personally know people who support Trump. They are college-educated. They represent a sub-group and the sample size is small, but that’s all I have available to me, statistically speaking. We have exchanged words on several issues. Please note that I did not say it was an exchange of ideas because remarkably, I was the one with all the questions. Here’s what I’ve gleaned from our conversations:

Heading the list of ideas is the belief that because Trump is a political outsider, he alone can change the system. What needs changing I ask?  Lobbying for one, and I will easily agree with that. Give me more, please. I am told that the criminals who are here illegally (illegal being a euphemism for Mexican) should be weeded out and expelled, and this concern is directly linked to drug trafficking. Seriously, this is number 2 on the list? Can you name 5 cultural groups that speak Spanish? Could drugs be coming in from anywhere else? (Admittedly, I did not ask these last 3 questions) My goal is not to minimize drug-related crime and violence, it's definitely a concern, but statistics are tricky. First of all, the data has to be reliably sourced, and even then there is a margin of error. I took 3 university-level statistics courses, so I consider myself more knowledgeable than average. You just have to take my word for it because it would take you too long to fact-check, and more importantly, it doesn’t show up on Google. When people are shown numbers and statistics, they can tell which number is lower or higher, and occasionally, which leaning is favorable. Maybe they understand percentages; I barely do when they are once-removed. What’s 27% of 65%?  Right. When pushed on issues regarding race, gender and the environment, dismissal is the go-to reaction, which of course is not an answer. I am told that Trump just said those things to win the election. So you’re saying that in order to win the U.S. elections, you must cater to people who don’t care about human rights and the future of their progeny?  From an evolutionary standpoint, that’s a recipe for extinction, but then again, that’s just a theory. How about taking advice from a known white-supremacist?  Again, I am told he’s supposed to be a good guy. Yes, I understand, you mean like my rapist friend here?  End of conversation.

So yeah, the American people just got fucked (pick a hole) by a T-shaped dildo. Let’s hope it's in lowercase. Also, Trump better stay alive and well because his chosen successor is quite possibly even less palatable.

©Andrea Corwin

Where’s the positive in all this you ask? It’s in the cracks. This election was won through the Electoral College system, not the popular vote. What can I say to my American friends? The U.S. Presidency is not impervious to peaceful uprisings and demonstrations. Practice daily acts of defiance and kindness. Get involved. Donate time or money to a cause or organization you believe in. Slowly but surely, the cracks will widen and you won’t realize that your medications have kicked in. Just kidding. Don't close your eyes. Force the light through. Make America Sane Again!

Hopeful Pessimist, Naive Cynic

PLEASE REMAIN CALM AND ENJOY YOUR DAY. I'm here to tell you that unless this planet experiences a catastrophic cosmic event, there are many days to come - at least according to human definition and probably in your lifetime. Be the best person you can be and channel love, not anger (I can feel eyes wanting to roll).

The next President of the USA has been elected. Less than 60% of eligible voters participated. Trump supporters are celebrating and Clinton supporters are shocked and disappointed. Alas, everybody needs to move on, even though to some it feels like Earth has stopped rotating on its axis. The 24-hr news cycle is a giant global psychological and neurological experiment, which I affectionately like to call a mind-fuck. It's like taking your brain and running it through a blender. Smoothies are not always good for you. You have been drinking US election smoothies for the past 18 months. Granted, it may have tasted better than the anything on the world-wide menu. You shouldn't even be reading this blog.

©Norma Hoeppner 

I too am guilty, despite my lack of conventional TV access, of using my electronic devices to repeatedly and compulsively access news applications and social media. Granted, the human experience, whether it be deplorable or exceptional, has become more complex and I am not particularly well versed in economics or politics. For a variety of reasons, the list being long and omitted here for editorial considerations, I am one of many who are sad and discouraged that Clinton did not win the election. As a Canadian citizen, I am not eligible to vote in the USA, but I live here and contribute to its society and national economy. It is disheartening that 40-plus percent of eligible voters did not do so. Fortunately for me, living on an isolated island is again proving to be advantageous.

Emotions are running high and I'm working on sorting through mine. I don't want to hear people complaining. I also don't want to hear people gloating. Least of all, I don't want to hear people using labels. Not a single one. It is not productive and I'm sick of it. Stop tweeting or whatever. People who want change must think and act outside the box, and guess what...there is a new box outside the current one. It's a hard reality.

FORECAST: Cloudy with a chance of meteor showers, then clearing. Take a deep breath in (you won't develop a respiratory problem because there is no pollution or global warming)...and cough it up!

It's only for 4 years folks. A lot can happen...or nothing at all. Be creative. Be kind.

PS: visit my super-creative friend Norma's website, she always inspires me.

Much About Nothing

Apprehension and hesitation have been my steady companions these past couple of days when I started thinking about writing a bit of unfocused satire. I realized that to say one thing, I would have to leave out a thousand things or, without exaggeration, 100 billion things. This is the dollar amount required by Dr. Evil in his quest for world domination and estimated net worth of DT. The pull of the enormous vortex called absurdity is hard to resist.

DT, the abbreviation for the combined Diphtheria-Tetanus vaccine, happens to be the initials of a vacuous individual whom I refuse to reference by name. Alas, no vaccine exists against said individual. Vaccine against vacuity, while sounding deliciously alliterative, is an oxymoron, yet another apropos-sounding word on so many levels. DT also stands for Delirium tremens, a severe form of alcohol withdrawal that involves sudden and severe mental or nervous system changes. Condition also brought on by listening to DT the individual. Stay calm and hydrate.

Allow me to quote from a tediously long and now infamous speech given on June 16, 2015, with minor modifications (italics):

"When the US sends its people (to run for the Republican presidential candidature), they're not sending their best, they're not sending you, they're sending people with lots of problems, they're sending me."

DT is indeed a public health concern. Fortunately, hot air rises and then cools down. That's how science works. If it were not the case, DT would contribute significantly to climate change, which he would then list as a proud accomplishment.

As you may have guessed from my previous missives, music's contribution to my sanity and creative process is significant. This past year, my year of nostalgia, I have searched for and downloaded a few songs that remind me of my early childhood, songs that my parents listen to when they had their fingers on the pulse of pop culture, as opposed to just taking their pulse. "Mexico" by the Les Humphries Singers was one of a handful of tunes that left an indelible mark on my young and impressionable psyche (along with "Kung Fu Fighting", "Whiter Shade of Pale" and "Smoke on the Water").

The Les Humphries Singers were a large multiethnic group and you can watch them sing here about Mexico and the war of 1840, when both Texas and California were still part of Mexico. Never forget history.

Goodbye

Don't be alarmed, I'm not going anywhere except in my own mind. Or my mind is going. I thought perhaps that a simple title might be catchy. The fact is, at the end of this year, I will be saying goodbye...to my first 50 years. Here's the Good, the Bad and the Ugly, in reverse order, since I prefer to end on a positive note. The film whose title I'm referencing was released in 1966, although I suspect but cannot substantiate that it was conceived and filmed in 1965. I want this to be a good fit with my birth year! My subconscious must have been on hyper drive when I changed my ringtone to the movie's theme song earlier this year (you must endure 15 sec of advertising but it allows you to listen to its entirety for free).
The Ugly:

• 50 years represents half a century: need I say more?
• People start asking if you'd like the senior's discount: this happened to me the other day at the cinema, and I wouldn't be sharing this if I weren't supremely self-confident about my youthful looks. To be fair, I was going to a Sunday matinee screening of The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel and the teller didn't even look up at me until I said "sure, go ahead". At which point he charged me full price and issued a ticket for a different movie altogether. He had the decency to be flustered.
• In next 10 years, you will either develop a chronically treatable disease or a terminal one: yes, I'm generalizing but this is a blog, not a medical journal.

The Bad:

• You remember the name of the actor who played Wonder Woman's non-superhero partner in the original TV series (Lyle Waggoner - I kid you not, I even remembered the odd spelling) but cannot recall the name of the person who introduced her/himself for the third time.
• Aches that just won't go away.
• You can't read the fine print: you order books for the visually impaired from the library.

The Good (false truths):

• You can weed through the bullshit.
• You hear more bullshit about how great the 50's are, from people who are obviously no longer in that age group and sporting dentures: see previous bullet
• You care less or not at all about what others think: you hear this all the time but what it really means is that you've finally figured out what matters in your life and realize that your nerves just can't take it. So, what do you think about this blog post? Not that I care.

Janus

January is a curiously charged month, named after a two headed Roman deity, Janus: the god of transition. It is said that one head looked to the past while the other to the future. Now that we are well into February, at the cusp of Valentine's Day (incidentally named after a Roman, martyr no less), I thought it would be safe to look back with one of my heads. Most people have at least two - figuratively - without implications of divine powers. What we do have is memory and the ability to synthesize.

Following in the footsteps of December which is packed with various celebrations, January is a time to reflect and reboot, which is why people like to make resolutions. Until recently, my attitude towards this custom was one of cynicism and mild contempt: why do we need to assign a particular time of the year to introspection and action? I realize now that without this tradition, even less of us would try. We are after all a society of short-term memories. The Romans had it right.

Long-term memories require more work, physiologically speaking, in that they require synthesis of new proteins and the creation of new synaptic pathways. Short-term memory creation relies on existing materials. As we wander further and further away from January, the memory of why we made resolutions slowly fades. The few individuals who make the transition from short to long-term are the ones who will effect change. Society relies on this minority to evolve, which is why these changes take such a long time to occur.

I've hesitated about presenting the following example, but the memory of the unfortunate Saudi blogger being flogged for his posts is becoming a distant memory, even though he continues to receive his punishment as I write.

Children are gunned down at an elementary school in December. In January, strong cries in favor of gun control and better mental health services are heard. Politicians promise action. Two years later, mental health care continues to be underserviced although the Affordable Care Act has placed a stronger mandate on insurance companies. A dozen or so states have passed some form of gun control legislation but all the federal bills put forward have failed to pass. The gun lobby remains strong. Most people forget until the next massacre, and then they forget again. Whether you agree with this presentation of facts or not, memory manifests as a two-edged sword: our survival depends on our ability to forget while at the same time facilitating our slow demise.

Marsala necklace

Well that was cheerful. Sorry. Please forget this post. You will.

You can argue: "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." (Alice Roosevelt Longworth)

I will say something nice and frivolous. Pantone's color for 2015 is Marsala. Named after a type of fortified wine, right up my alley! January should have been named Dionysary (totally made up by me) after Dionysus, the ancient Greek god of wine whose celebratory feast happened to fall somewhere between December and March. What a fortunate coincidence. Perhaps next time I will write about the 50 shades of Marsala.

It's a Fascinating Life

The plan or lack thereof, was to skip this month's post. The December air, besides being cooler and stormy, vibrates with joy and madness: a discordant crescendo of goodwill, obligations, shameful consumerism, overindulgence, stress and bad driving. Last week, we were possibly facing what seemed to be a heavy cream shortage on the islands, caused by a combination of delayed shipments from the West coast due to bad weather and the increase in eggnog intake. These are some of the unexpected challenges of living in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

Due to my marginal activity on Facebook, friends occasionally take pity and post on my timeline. The most recent addition was a great tongue-and-cheek quote "You have your own blog? Your life must be all kinds of fascinating", with a photo of Gene Wilder as Willy Wonka. Indeed, not counting my secret room where everything is edible and barring the use of hallucinogenics, my life is fascinating! Isn't everybody's? Let's look at what fascinating really means. I took the time to google the definition. Its Latin origin, "fascinum" means spell or witchcraft. Ironically, usage of the word as an adjective has risen significantly since the 16th century, peaking not around the centuries of witch hunting but strangely around 1925 and from the late 20th century onward. Are people becoming more self-absorbed, spellbound by their own greatness or is it that they have the means to put it out there for everyone to see? Let's go back to Willy Wonka and his world of imagination and creativity. Moments of life are not relentlessly and continuously captivating, that would be exhausting. There is a difference however between valuing extreme or thrilling experiences over the seemingly mundane, such as teeth brushing. Somewhere in between lies everyone's fascinating life, a life in which the individual is present, thoughtful and appreciating of how the natural world offers us its often inexplicable, marvelous beauty. If you are reading this and know me, you must also realize your good fortune of living in a part of the world that allows walking the path of self-indulgence instead of the one requiring sidestepping land mines.

As we bid farewell to 2014, let us remember and sort out what is important and what is not: this process is truly fascinating.

I leave you with a link to another writer/blogger, one of millions with fascinating lives:
http://thehumanist.com/commentary/left-behind-an-agnostics-christmas-carol

Hello 2015!

White Elephant

"Be running up that road, be running up that hill, be running up that building if I only could..."

-Kate Bush (Running up that Hill - Warning: tacky 80's video)

This song is playing on my iPod, and I'm am running on a stationary elliptical machine, getting nowhere naturally, and looking at the same white building, week after week, year after year. Like a Jedi knight, I see my goal, the lurking, gargantuan mechanical white elephant, manifest yet forever out of reach...To illustrate, please compare my view (from 24hr Fitness in Hawai'i Kai) to that of the Imperial Walker (The animators who brought the AT-AT Imperial Walkers to life in The Empire Strikes Back based their movements on elephants). What can I say, I'm kinda nerdy.

See? Naturally, its stomping legs are hidden by the trees. Stealth move.

I have for you yet another completely delightful piece of trivia: the white apartment building is featured during the last 3 minutes of the original Hawaii 5-0 Episode 21 "Nightmare in Blue", Season 6 (1973).

Focusing on the metaphorical white elephant facilitates the burrowing within the [my] continuously degrading network of neurons. Due to the vivid nature many dreams, taking the time to conjure up details in order to decipher any meaningful communication is often a futile and frustrating exercise. On the rare occasion when done so successfully, they reveal nonsense of comical proportions. I am here to tell you that further distillation may start the cascade required to kick start the creative process or a realization. This is indeed a thrilling moment to stumble upon effortlessly, to be yours alone to savour and without relevance to anyone else.

However, I am writing to share and this part is fun, at least to me. Awakening from a dream in which I have neatly arranged boxes of thousands of bamboo chopsticks on a sidewalk: a public protest of forced societal compliance or feeling secure about my place among many? Despite the philosophical premise, I am suddenly hungry, my appetite nudging towards devouring an assortment of sushi, with chopsticks of course. I love sushi. In Hawai'i, we have a local delicacy called Musubi, which consists of SPAM on rice held together by a strip of nori, or as I like to affectionately call it, heart disease tied up in seaweed. Regardless of the somber analogy, the colour combination is esthetically pleasing: black, white and pink. Classic.

In a moment of clarity, I knew I had found the perfect use for the vintage rice beads purchased many years ago. Voila the Musubi necklace, with Web Jasper filling in for nori and pink Rhodonite for...you know what. It's all about making connections.

May the Force be with you. Strong the Force is.

Design and content copyright by Andrea Corwin ©2014. All rights reserved.

Going Postal

This is a story: no links, no photos.

A trip to the post office is not usually eventful. I wouldn't even have made it to the post office had the online service not been able to complete my PO Box renewal payment. Spending the morning by myself, this was to be my first human interaction of the day and was least of all prepared for an assault.

An older man was the sole customer in line as I walked in, readying his envelope on the counter. As a gesture of politeness I waited for him to complete this task and go ahead of me. He responded equally and signaled for me to go ahead, adding that he had more time than money. Feeling the need for a witty response in uttering my first sentence of the day I countered by saying "so do I". He quickly moved a few steps closer, gave me the once over and asked if I would be interested in earning a little extra money. Clearly, I appear to need more money, and here I thought that I was relatively well dressed for a simple errand. Whoa! Was I being solicited standing in line at the post office? I declined politely yet he continued by offering two CDs for me to watch. I quickly glanced at the tellers hoping that I would be called to the next available booth, but no such luck...yet. I was kicking myself for engaging in a conversation with this man. Since I told him that I was not interested in making money (ha, right) he changed his approach, and I quote "What would you do if you needed a lawyer, let's say the shirt you're wearing today came back from the dry cleaner with a spot on it?". Really, this is your hook? Any reasonable person would ask the dry cleaning service to try removing the spot and if they were unable to do so, to offer amends. I'm not sure what disclaimers these businesses have, but I'm sure to look into it now! In any event, I would hope that there would be less drastic solutions to resolving this matter than involving a lawyer. Instead of articulating this response, I simply counter with "Nothing", believing that brevity was the solution to shutting him down. (Perhaps I should consult a lawyer and sue this guy for unwanted solicitation? As always, these thoughts come long after the event.) With a look of incredulity, he continued to hypothesize, "if you were given a ticket for some traffic violation, would you pay?". "Well, yes (hesitantly)" say I. Again, he appeared flabbergasted but unwilling to give up. Unfortunately, with my adrenalin on the rise, I snapped and started on a tirade about how accidents happen and everything that was wrong with this country was due to people's unwillingness to accept some personal responsibility and litigation being a chief evil, clogging the system, wasting time, energy and money that could otherwise be used more productively. Mercifully, I was interrupted by the post office teller: "Next"!

Do I need to go out more often so I don't appear like a deer in headlights, an easy target? As irritating and surreal as this entire episode felt at the time, I look back on it now and appreciate the unpredictability and random drollness of societal exchanges. How is this helping with my creative energy? Next time, I must find a solution to paying my PO Box fees online...

Content copyright by Andrea Corwin ©2014. All rights reserved.

Blogger's Block

Blogger's Block, sounds like some urban Lego kit don't you think? It is with this premise that I plan to approach the topic. Upon seeing the title, what was your first thought or interpretation, if any? Will she be writing about a street housing bloggers exclusively? Is it like Writer's Block, a commonly recognized term for staring at a blank piece of paper/screen? In this case, "block" implies something negative, preventing you from moving forward. Indeed, we all experience "blocks" in all facets of our lives. What if we thought of "block" as a piece of Lego, which would allow us to build or piece together ideas, just as I am doing right now?

I am painfully aware that the introductory paragraph is littered with question marks, but also note that each question is followed by a statement, if not necessarily an answer. What I am trying to say in a less than erudite way is the following: when faced with an obstacle, your body/mind identifies a stressor, and with that comes the fight or flight response. Ah...is it possible to choose? Not always in the physical sense, but certainly intellectually. I will be the first to admit that I gravitate towards flight, such a lovely word, implying levitation and movement. Fighting sounds aggressive and not altogether pleasant, unless that's your thing. In an ideal world, I would like flight to meet fight.

Enough with the battle of words (i.e. fight) and allow me to present my simple solution. Choose your flight behavior in such a way that it allows you to clear your mind but not stop thinking about what is personally meaningful. I can't tell you what that looks like for you. Maybe it means trolling or posting something on social media or the internet, a shameless plug for what I'm doing. Seriously though, my top two flights which invariably lead me to fight are exercise or a glass of wine, sometimes both but not at the same time. Then I do something silly with my bead inventory as Halloween is just around the corner. So that's how it went for me yesterday and why I decided to write on the subject. The exercise was the catalyst, not the wine, in case you're wondering...

Design and content copyright by Andrea Corwin ©2014. All rights reserved.

Egyptian Goddess

It all started quite innocently. I have always been interested in Egyptology and as a teenager; I used to devour books on Archeology, Art and Mythology. So it should come as no surprise that as a jeweler I would be interested in creating designs inspired by ancient Egyptian jewelry. I already have a piece in my collection named Cleopatra. Gold and the highly prized Lapis Lazuli are a distinctive combination that was favored by the ancient Egyptians. The idea led me to contemplate the very long era of Ra's worship (the Sun God). Within this polytheistic culture, one of his offspring, the Goddess Isis, represented the virtues of motherhood and childbirth. It is thought that the image of her holding her infant Horus gave rise to the iconography of Mary holding the infant Jesus.

I have no desire to delve into politics with my blog post, but it is part of life and a reflection of the moment. It has the ability to fuel creative inspiration or stunt it (under an oppressive regime). For now it remains unclear how this particular incident will affect my process. All I know is that I feel ornery. You can take a guess why I cannot name my new necklace after the Goddess Isis. Most people would immediately recognize it as an acronym (even though all the letters would be capitalized) for Islamic State of Iraq and Syria. Not a strong selling point. I wish that more thought were given when politically charged acronyms are coined by Judeo-Christians in power. It shows a lack of respect for history which includes ancient belief systems.

Some time ago, my wonderful husband surprised me with a bag of tiny glazed ceramic beads. I know that doesn’t sound too exciting, but these happen to originate from Egypt, circa 716 – 30 BCE (see photo right). I am still mesmerized that such delicate items survived for so long, and I continue to ponder how best to use them. Isis has re-awakened my interest, and that at the very least is positive!

In the meantime, I've made peace with Queen Nefertiti. I too can appreciate irony, as under her rule, the Egyptian's were forced into monotheism, which incidentally didn't last long. Ra returned and continues to shine in this necklace.





Design and content copyright by Andrea Corwin ©2014. All rights reserved.

Color me Crazy

Sometimes I have too many ideas and that’s not a good thing. To quote Theodore Roethke, “A mind too active is no mind at all”. It leads to frustration and the inability to focus. It’s the reason I haven’t written anything in the past couple of weeks. I’m certain that all of you are affected by this as it relates to your interests, abilities and aspirations.

I love color. We are surrounded by color, or to put it in more scientific terms - stop reading this paragraph if you do not wish to revisit your basic science class - when light shines on an object some colors bounce off the object and others are absorbed by it; our eyes only see the colors that are bounced off or reflected. Therefore, to see color, you have to have light. White light is all the colors of the rainbow mixed together, so it appears white to us because it absorbs no color and reflects all color equally. When you see black, it means that the object absorbs all colors equally and reflects none, so it looks black to us. While artists consider black a color, scientists do not because black is the absence of all color. I take the artist’s view of course. If you care to read further, here’s an interesting link to the world of color.

We all have varying needs, sensibilities and comfort levels for and with color whether it may be for attire or our surroundings. Color has the ability to elicit and evoke feelings, memories and sensations which can range from the negative to the highly pleasing. One can argue that some colors have intrinsic qualities (such as stimulating, calming, etc.), but most of our reactions to color come from our associations with life experiences and symbolic/cultural references. While it can be visually interesting to combine discordant colors, prolonged exposure can result in madness. I’m kidding. However, most people do look for balance and harmony when it comes to color combinations. The more colors used, the trickier this gets.

For these reasons, color is a powerful tool for the fashion industry. Grey (not orange) is the new black. Every year we are presented with “it” colors, playing with our emotions, our sense of frivolity, our need to stay “current”, which implies vigor and youth.  Take 2014’s color of the year: Radiant Orchid. This color symbolizes joy, love and health, and it is thought to encourage creative thinking (Pantone’s description, not mine). Who wouldn’t want all that? I need to repaint all my walls! I need to make jewelry in this color! Oops.

The good news, 2014 is almost over: stay tuned for 2015’s color of the year. Preview here.

PS: Here’s how the Butterfly turned out.

Papillon Necklace

 

Design and content copyright by Andrea Corwin ©2014. All rights reserved.

Butterfly

The past couple of weeks have been relatively uneventful except for an emergency room visit, a process I’m well familiar with so I wrote a small story titled “Emergency Room tips for the novice”. This was censored by my husband as inappropriate for this blog, so if you wish to read it (424 words), you will need to let me know and I will email the PDF to you.

As someone who works predominantly with Sterling Silver, I am always concerned about tarnish and oxidation of the jewelry pieces I create. In Hawai’i, this is even more so predominant thanks to our sulfur-spewing volcano. Shortly before hurricane Iselle hit the Big Island earlier this month, I visited the Volcanoes National Park wearing lovely silver earrings, which by the end of the day had turned completely black!

Minimizing the effects of oxidation of your silver-containing jewelry (unless it is a deliberate part of the design) means limiting exposure to air. I keep all my pieces in plastic zippered bags, along with anti-tarnish-tabs, but any enclosure is helpful. I want to share with you an informative video on how to clean your silver jewelry.

That’s all for now, I mean to take this Labor Day weekend serious and take a break to clear my thoughts, a need to which this blog attests to. Here are a couple of photos from my studio, a design focusing on a beautiful silver butterfly clasp. Since it will only lay flat when hanging sideways, it will end up as an asymmetrical necklace, which is so much more fun and challenging! I’m still not set on the overall color scheme, so next time, I will write about one of my favorite subjects: color.

Papillon…you will be released soon.

Design and content copyright by Andrea Corwin ©2014. All rights reserved.