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Saturday, May 28, 2016

Oh My Darling Cliche: Madness With Peas

I don't recommend English or any other language, not as a first or second form of communication, but more as form of torture. I'm 50 years old. It's my first language, and still I stumble. Try tap dancing instead. You may stub a toe, but it's less painful than dislodging it from the mouth.
I once thought the forlorn sentence, "Never the twain shall meet," meant that I would never have the pleasure of Samuel Clemens over a light dinner with bland chicken and early June peas. I'd never be able to see if he'd chuckle when I told him his name reminded me of lemons and clementines. 
(Samuel Clemens is the name of an American Author of ordinary genius in the opinion of anyone I'd be of a mind to listen to. His pen name was, Mark TwainI, being a fan of Albert Einstein, and Giorgio Tsoukalous,  struggle to know if it was his mind or his hair that so enchanted, but this is no time for romantic hair ideas.Besides, I loved this guy too.)
Sad as that seemed, and no doubt we'd have gotten along brilliantly, I thought surely there were more tragic events to reference.Turns out, I was only cliched. That alone is reason to cry, and I'd tell it was from Kipling's, "East Meets West," but that would deter and entirely siphon the humor out of this otherwise perfectly melancholy quip. I can't help but wonder what Mark Twain would say about that. I sigh at memories of curling dancers from a pipe, an overgrown mustache, and white tendrils be-smoked with wisdom, and a healthy dose of smart aleck -that will never occur. 
In some twist of heavenly wisdom, I arrived entirely too *later for the company of Mr. Clemens, in a world that's in an awful hurry to go nowhere of any benefit that I can tell. And I have a path too, dreaming of Old Masters and maybe card sharks, and while I'd like to have known you, times are moving on, this chair's beginning to creak or maybe it was my knees. It's getting *laterer, and never the Twain shall meet.
tina jones

Friday, November 6, 2015

Anita, the singing cashier: My Ongoing Understanding of Neurotypicals

I didn't want to bother her. She and two others were standing, waiting at the entrances to their checkout lanes, but I'd already turned in the direction of her aisle, before I noticed she looked a little labored to be standing, and she'd done caught me with the dreaded.....eye contact.. I was stuck. 

   She turned to go the short way to her register to meet me, but someone was blocking her with one of those riding carts. "I'll just go this way," she said, and Anita (so her tag said) went hobbling.

I felt like such a terrible person, until I heard it, "Do, do, doo, do, ...Do, dado-do..." I don't know the tune, but she was, "Do, da,doo-ing" possibly the most pleasant bit of Scat singing I've heard. I was putting my things on the counter when she made it to the register, and I, smiling, said, "It was worth the trip, just for the song." People filed in behind me, and she smiled at my comment, and raised the volume and her smile, whereupon I began, my subtlest of jigs, mostly the shoulders and head...a little arm and hand hula action - nothing overboard. 

 Ah, she sang along, and it was beautiful, and I happily paid for the lettuce and cheese. I took the bags from the carousel, and put them in my cart saying, "I think I got them all." She answered playfully, white hair sparkling and lilt in her voice, "Let's give it the traditional twirl and see!" and she spun the carousel while I spun a hand in the air to flourish with a wave, and bid good evening with a shared giggle and thanks for the song...

Should you find yourself in the aisle of Anita, the singing cashier, I recommend dancing along. She knows her stuff! :)

tina jones

Thursday, October 29, 2015

What's It All For?

What's it all for?

   I haven't published a blog post in ages, and my apologies. I've written a lot, but it was mostly for my own growth, and far too self centered to torture another with. I've asked myself the same old questions that I come to time and again, and each time the answers seem to get a little simpler, and a little clearer. 

   I was scrolling through posts here on Facebook, and happened upon a picture of an older celebrity holding his grandbaby. Seems he got the job of sitter for the night. He was holding this baby asleep on his chest, and granddad was smiling.

Another celebrity has recently taken to taking in farm animals with his family, and each seem to be a little more out of the spotlight, and likely making fewer dollars.

 All of those weeks, and hours, pay periods and always saying just the right thing, or having just the right suit or hair cut...That wasn't the point...It never is.

It's, "The farm" and the grand babies, the grey hair and sleepy smiles. It's the moment when there isn't a crowd or a boss or a soul to please, except a few that a person might like to keep close. Even then, I'm not sure if pleasing loved ones is by accident or design, or maybe they love us despite us.

  I think it's those moments of baby's breath and the stopping time when the stars come out when you just look and feel so small... I think that's what it's all for -the work, the struggle of all kinds. It's all for the sweetness of letting go...

with love, 

tina jones

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

I'm a Great Introvert

I'm a great introvert. You never hear an extrovert saying, "I'm a terrible extrovert," yet I all too often hear, "I'm a terrible introvert." Self judgement can be pretty cruel. I don't talk a lot, but I am a great listener, because I can be still and not have to fill the air with meaningless sound. Conversation isn't a performance, nor a competitive sport. It's a real opportunity to connect, and if no one is listening, it wont happen. If you don't know what to say, that's your cue that listening is your job in that moment. If they don't know what to say, I don't have to rescue them from silence either. Silence between people can be a very, very beautiful thing. For me, that awkward stage of not knowing what to say, is a natural place on the path to realizing nothing need be said. (and it didn't just happen in the beginning. It's just I stopped judging myself for it.) The way I am around people (or in any situation) is not what I thought it was or should be when I was drinking. It's all new. If others are uncomfortable with your stillness, they have steps too. Be good to you. If you're like I was, it's about time to do so. Until you're more comfortable with it, you can do what I and so many others have done. smiles. Be that member that brings their crochet to meetings. It worked for me. and I never even liked crocheting.   07/23/97 (But the only sobriety that counts is what I have right in this moment) An aside. I'm a very private person, and out of respect for that and A.A., I keep recovery to private groups, so I don't accept outside friend requests, any more than I'd invite all of you into my living room if we were at a face to face meeting. I'm off to listen some more...I'm still learning.

Saturday, September 20, 2014

JMW TURNER"S WORK: Unfinished?!

"Might not be finished." (Gratuitous, "I told you so!" ahead)

  Narrator, Alistaire Sook suggests in this Telegraph UK Video that JMW Turner's work, "Norham Castle, Sunrise," might not be a finished painting. I nearly fell out of my chair laughing. Why?   

                      Because I TOLD YOU SO! :D
                                 (Gloating is an unattractive habit of mine.)

   The sentiment is repeated in the article from the same page by 
Ju Zhang, " exhibition at Tate Britain, Late Turner - Painting Set Free looks at the way that Turner's health and his increasing infirmity may have affected the way he painted in his later years. It asks us to look hard at the paintings and question whether they are as the artist intended, or whether some that we most love are simply unfinished." JU Zhang
FULL ARTICLE:    Click Here

   Exactly, and that's why I get the urge to finish the works of the early impressionists. No, I wont touch them. Darnit! Yes, I do have that much of an ego, and it irks me, because they had more talent than they used. At least that's my perception, and it's apt to be wrong, but....why stop?

   Since I'm on a opinion roll.....Enjoy this image of
 "Norham Castle, Sunrise," by JMW Turnercourtesy Wikimedia Commons,while I rev it up. 
"Joseph Mallord William Turner 062" by J. M. W. Turner - The Yorck Project: 10.000 Meisterwerke der Malerei. DVD-ROM, 2002. ISBN 3936122202. Distributed by DIRECTMEDIA Publishing GmbH.. Licensed under Public domain via Wikimedia Commons -

   Nobody seems to like hearing that I think early impressionism was a matter of unfinished work (Wonder why? ;) ), and of course I wouldn't dare touch the pieces, but seriously. Blurry underpaintings are lovely all on their own, and I'm not the first to think so. 

   That little group of artists (The first Impressionists) who I think didn't want to finish their paintings got them in the Salon. I see what I see, and I think it was a con. Turner, however wasn't. His work was thorough. I look at the above work, and I can tell it's Turner by the beginnings of "his" light, but I'm left waiting for the finish. In fact, if it were a finished piece, I might have named it, "Cliff Hanger." I can't be sure what, if anything happened.This particular piece may have been the result of a sudden eye disorder, or he left the work before finishing for some reason. It's undoubtedly beautiful, but finished? No, I don't think so. 

    Caviat: If you are in an art class, and questions come up on a test regarding this work, insist that it *is finished, and he did this on purpose. (Roll your eyes in private.) Also the Impressionists were, "Geniuses" (at more than just telling others what they were supposed to like in art.) #KeepAntacidsHandy Throughout art history, new movements have made great breakthroughs and set the establishment on it's ear. It's my opinion that it needed to happen, and I'm glad the Impressionists came along for that reason. I think we may have gone too far though, throwing the proverbial, "Baby out with the bathwater." I'm of the feeling that all art is needed past, present and future. Even Impressionism has been set aside with the company of Realism by the likes of Post Modernism and Op Art. Change is certain and of it's own comfort. Like music, dance and any other art form painting must surely change as new materials and technologies as well as new minds develop with new social systems play into their artworks. I may romanticize the ARC (Art Renewal Center), and that's fine, but there is a richness to the totality of art through the ages. 

   Keep in mind, I love the Impressionists, and I do think they were geniuses of their craft. I also loved The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. What can I say? I think they pulled a, "Fast one," (Just like every other new art movement or new take on a mouse trap. And who's to say that isn't what I or any other artist is doing? Trying to invent ways to create our own, never done before, niche, or at least to do what was done before but better?) I have a soft spot for cons, magicians, alchemists and angels, and as and artist, I'm a little of all of these things even if only on a canvas.

  Turner, Constable and Church were some of favorite landscape artists. To say this one holds such significance is to spotlight one of his lesser works, and we all have them. Somewhere beyond the grave, I'm sure he wishes he'd finished this one.
There! I said it! :p

tina jones

  If you'd like to see a really cool site on Impressionism, check this out: Impressionism.Org

Sunday, August 24, 2014

Response to, "Why Women Aren't Crazy" by Yashir Ali, with Admiration and in Cooperation Toward Solutions

The article link I'll post was most moving. Far from a list of how men are wrong, or how women are just nuts, this is extremely insightful! Man or woman, I'd encourage anyone to read it. 
Here's "Why Women Aren't Crazy." by Yashir Ali 
from, "The Good Men Project"
Click Here! (Like you mean it.)

   Refreshing! This man, Yashir Ali,  is being, "emotionally naked," and I find that to be one of the greatest, most admirable strengths in men. This isn't the time to list a man's errors. It's a cue to listen with compassion. Often I find that men in my own life will address what may have been bothering me when I give them a little time to talk. Listen without forming a response. Just hear him, as you'd hope he'd do for you... This is written by a man to other men, and it's compassionate. 

   I wont have the insight into men that another man might, but what I do know is that it usually hurts men deeply to think they've hurt a woman. Sometimes when things are pointed out (even if she is considerate, and asking for an easy change in behavior) so she wont be hurt, physically or emotionally, he can feel so emotionally naked that he can go on the defensive to avoid his own pain at being told he hurt her, that he can transfer that pain back to her by writing off her feelings as, "overreactions," or sometimes, he can simply run...
    Women, on the other end of this, learn that to say anything to a man of what they did that hurt us (and sometimes other females) can trigger them to insult us, or in more aware moments, we can learn the terrible error I once believed:  that we just have to be stronger than men, take the brunt of the pain silently, and never point it out to them, because they just can't handle it without shutting down (which hurts us more, and seeing them in pain isn't worth it to us, exactly like it is to men when they see our pain..It can be unbearable in the moment.) 

   This is the equivalent of when men joke about it always being their fault, and smoothing things over with admitting that whether it is or not..This is how women do it: in silence, and it's the same thing. We teach each other these things, and form these habits together, because they work for a short period of time, or they seem to while building very destructive walls between ourselves and the person we want to be closest to. At the writer says, "It's heartbreaking." .... 

   This is for women and men who care deeply about each other. Most of us have had serious conditioning since childhood to avoid being, "The bad guy," and sometimes we're simply wrong, we can admit it, and make amends, and the world wont end. It just might be a new beginning. 

   Me? I'm very often wrong, in fact, I may be now, but tears or saying, "That hurt," have never meant there was something fundamentally wrong with me, in fact they often mean something is very right. Pain is supposed to hurt. That's our cue to grow. By the same token when a man needs time to respond, it doesn't mean there is something fundamentally wrong with him. 

   The other may grow with us, but if they don't or can't yet, we'll still be o.k. I'm often at fault, but I'm not always, and often who is to blame isn't nearly as important as stepping up to mend each other, and finding that often the other will join us. 

Owning it daily, Me.

tina jones

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Humor: Light Summer Snack (Creepy Alert! Nasty! Not Recommended for Sane People)

Last night I went outside to enjoy the night air which was a lot like being slapped with a hefty slice of bologna that had laid in the floor after a bloated dog licked it and walked away.

     I saw the familiar site of a small green blinking light. A few blinks, and it hesitated then a few more, and I smiled at childhood memories of catching fireflies. They are all too few now. I scurried off to get my camera wondering if I could catch that little green light against the darkness. It was still there when I returned...almost exactly there. I recorded video for a few seconds. It went up slightly, dropped slightly and blinked off and on.

 I sank heavily when it occurred to me it was trapped in a web, and the quote "What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly," circa Morticia Addams came to mind. I sighed and wondered if some spider's tummy would be blinking after consuming it's catch. There are times when the words, "Courageous" and "Foolhardy" are interchangeable, and this seemed as good a time as any. 

    I raised the flash, aimed into the blackness, waited for the tiny green light to blink, I clicked, and the flash went off. For a fraction of a second I saw what I can only describe as the ugliest arachnid I've ever had the chance to view. I'm not talking horrifying. The guy was just hard to love. 

   Not even if he were ingenuitive enough to turn the firefly around and use it as a flashlight....You couldn't even have dunked this guy in Aramis and made him pretty. No. It was that bad. Obviously, the poor bastard had been working out. He looked like a plucked Autumn Turkey but with no legs, rather 8 short, bony wing-like appendages. It labored furiously wrapping it's prey while the little light went off and on. I hoped he wasn't scared.

  I headed inside, and looked at my camera screen in confusion. What does the spider do when blinded, because the light suddenly goes off? Feel it's way around in the dark! That's what! Tormented by this firefly that keeps flicking the switch. Rude, I tell you! And you know that firefly was laughing it's glow-in-the-dark butt off! Off all the thoughtless.....That Turkey spider was  NOT going to feed himself out of thin air. I wondered if he freaked when the lighting bug wiggled. I felt so bad for him that I thought about shooting them both with bug spray just to end it all, but he was so freaking huge, one fall and he'd have taken that corner of my porch off. 

   No, I just let them be, as disappointing as it was, and I wont be posting a photo. It's still ages, before turkey season, and I don't want to get the stuffing vs.dressing people all worked up. 
mmmm Sage... :)

tina jones