Random Acts of ART. Spreading the luvvvvvvv. One heart, one rock at a time.
Tokens to share with anyone who finds them.
First for friend and co-worker Christina. She’s on vacation and doesn’t know I, ahem… borrowed some rocks. Made them pretty. And put one back with the avocado tree. Where I got it in the first place.
First public drop…the gas station. Tucked away there next to the pump. Much harder than I thought. I stood there pumping gas, feeling the weight of all those rocks in my pocket and KNOWING everyone was looking at me. Which they weren’t, of course.
I felt like a criminal.
And really, it’s not like I was doing anything wrong. Just a little artistic littering. Spreading the luvvvvv with unexpected treasures found in unexpected places. I kept looking around in a most guilty manner. And when the coast was clear I made my move.
Whew…no sirens. Not a one.
Emboldened by my brazen actions I moved downtown. The PERFECT, I mean the most positively absolutely PERFECT drop spot manifested right there on the sidewalk.
A little hole..no,no, a nest… just begging to be prettied up. Which I did. Without a moment’s hesitation.
From there I went to the coffee shop. The table was too obvious.
But the window sill between the curtains was just right.
And the shelf with the Valentine cards…oh yeah, couldn’t pass that up now, could I?
I painted a total of twenty-something rocks. My original idea was to scatter them all at once. But what started out as a silly Valentine’s Day event became something…different.
It became a mission. Johnny Appleseed planted trees. I’m planting…well, I’m planting ROCKS. But they have hearts on them and good intentions. And maybe, just maybe, people will find them and smile. They can keep them or they can leave them for someone else to find later. Or they can find their own place to hide them. It doesn’t matter, I’m just passing them along.
And I’m going to keep on doing this. Because it FEELS SO GOOD. I’ll be hiding one or two of these heart rocks every day. Somewhere in the community. I’ll photograph them and post the photos here on a regular basis, say every Wednesday. Random Acts of Art Wednesday. Make it a regular thing until we get bored.
What do I mean, we?
‘We’ my sweetums, means YOU can do the same thing. Doesn’t have to be rocks. Could be little cards or bookmarks. A little piece of art in public places. Something that will make people smile and will do no harm. Something that will make you feel good. If you have a blog you can post the link here. And if you don’t have a blog you can send your photos to me and I’ll post them.
Changing the world one little piece of art at a time. Or at least having fun thinking we are.
Ah, my sweetums….my most loved readers and friends…happy LUVVVVVVVVV day to you!
Today. And EVERY day. Every single freakin’ BLESSED day. No partner? No problem. Because the kind of luvvvv I’m taking about is the kind that feeds you down to your soul. Curls your celestial toes with heavenly bliss.
I’m talkin’ the ZING!!! that wakes you up happy just because you’re here. And alive.
The magical mystery tour (can you tell I’m in a Beatles mood) that comes from the grand adventure of appreciating the wonder–the starburst BLINDING non-judgmental WONDER that is you.
With. No. Apologies.
The take yourself-out-on-a-date kind of love. Because you ENJOY your own company. With a special thanks to friend Emma for sharing this wonderful video.
But…but…THIS IS VALENTINE’S DAY. I want candy! Flowers! A Hallmark card! I want my significant other to make a fuss and tell me how wonderful I am.
I don’t want no stinkin’ New Age date with myself. I WANT TRADITION!
Tradition? Very well then. You can read all about that here.
And while you read about Valentines’s day tradition, I’m going to indulge in some self lovin’ that doesn’t involve dead goats and naked Romans.
Sunday night as I write this. You know what that means–CONSTRUCTION PHOTOS! YAY!!!
Mr. Spouse got all the plywood up on the roof this weekend. And the skylights cut.
I do not like seeing Mr. Spouse on the roof. It’s a long way down, you know. And I don’t like it when he gets cranky up there and gets further distracted swearing at inanimate objects. He swears loudly. But no matter how loud, no matter how choice his vocabulary, the objects can’t hear him. Which is a good thing. Because if they responded and began dancing around like things do in Disney movies, it would distract him even more.
Did I mention it’s a long way down….
When the plywood first went up, it was sad not seeing the trees through the roof.
But I can see them now. This is the north side.
This is the south. This is also the wall with lots of windows.
It’s raining now. Might snow tonight. Everything is buttoned up until next weekend.
To the left you can see one of two wood cribs (AKA Fuel Pavilions) Mr. Spouse built earlier. Notice the stone facing. Mr. Spouse is fond of rocks. That’s because we can trace his lineage back to Fred Flintstone. The two sides of the studio visible here will be rocked. But not until AFTER I’m in it and working.
Sophie and Bean are Malitpoos, a cross between Maltese and Poodle. They grow hair like Rapunsel. Grows and grows until someone cuts it off. Usually me. Because a groomer takes one look at them and puts the clippers on ‘scalp’. Just wack it off down to the skin. Poor babies look like rotisserie chickens for a couple of weeks, until a little growth comes in.
But the groomers don’t really have a choice. My best beloved puppies tend to get a wee bit matted. Think steel wool…and that’s Bean’s hair. Curly steel wool. Sophie’s coat is deceptively soft and wavy. But it’s just as rowdy as her brother’s.
Both of them are like velcro. And since we live in the forest and they’re low to the ground…ah, keeping them groomed would be a full time job. They attract every twig, every burr, every pine needle on the trail. The ones that don’t come off on the furniture are like pearls, working their way deep into the coat, twisting the hair around until another dreadlock is formed.
By this time of year the coats are pretty long. Not a bad thing if it was winter. But winter hasn’t happened this year. So Sophie got a hair cut. It was only logical. She was sitting on my lap, the scissors were handy. Fate. Whatever. Sophie has a new ‘doo, except for her face. And one or two of her legs. Face has to wait until I can find the blunt edge scissors. Legs have to wait until we’re both in the mood.
This is what I got off her. Oh? Just dog hair. What’s the big deal?
Got enough hair to make another dog! That’s the big deal.
Really, look at that! But it won’t play!
Next comes the face. Someday.
Bean knows he’s next. Not now, but soon. He’ll keep his distance for a little while.
I like this on-going bliss list thing. Makes me stop and notice the little moments, the ones that might get away otherwise. Makes me stop and go AHA! now this is something worth remembering.
Like the full moon in a rain so soft it’s not really rain, just moisture in the air. Watching it rise up through the woods. Through the pines. And then in the wee hours, when I wake up and look out the window and the ground looks like it’s covered in snow. But it’s not. It’s moonlight.
Like when I’m lovin’ on the ponies, saying goodnight. I make the kiss-kissy sounds and old horse cranes her neck forward so I can plant one on her nose, while the boy gives a soft, quick bump of his lips against my forehead.
Like Sophie. Always bliss. ALWAYS. Look at that face! And I can’t have a bliss list without a dog now, can I?
Like sitting on the sofa with DaughterDear, reminiscing about Mama, her Grandma. Telling stories. Laughing.
Like waking up the day AFTER the stomach flu and feeling NORMAL. Normal…Oh. My. God. NORMAL!!! Oh yes, now THAT’S what I call BLISS!
Your turn, my sweetums. Leave your lists in the comments below. And for more feel good blogs today, hop on over to Liv Lane and check out The Little Bliss List BLog Hop.
I started writing this post in a rant. A foaming at the mouth fingers burning up the keyboard RANT.
And I had good reason…I had been taunted–positively taunted–by my jeans.
Stupid jeans. Stupid size 8 skinny jeans. The ones I haven’t worn in over a year. Had the NERVE to jump out from wherever they were hiding and remind me neener neener neener…we are skinny. And YOU. Are. Not.
Effing jeans.
Then I pulled out the size NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS fat jeans. The ones that ride low enough on the hips to diffuse the muffin top. Maybe. A little. If I suck in my gut ALL the time. And throw back my shoulders like a Marine on parade. Which I don’t. But I pretend no one else can see it. And then I spend the day pulling up the jeans that are sagging on my butt while tugging down the shirt that’s riding up.
Last year at this time I was in the size 8s. And then I took care of Mama while she died and then–
Oh hell, who am I kidding. Yes, I was in the 8s last year. Maybe even the year before that. But honestly? The entire last DECADE has been up and down with the emotions, up and down on the scale. Because when stressed…I eat. No, no–I inhale anything remotely edible. And with a kid in Iraq three times, an aging mother and just life, you know, I did a lot of inhaling.
And then I’d exhale. Gain. Lose. Gain again. Lose a little. And on and on and on. I have EVERY diet book to prove it. And after reading them I have concluded the only safe food to eat is air. Because everything else packs on the pounds, is bad for the environment and KILLS YOU DEAD.
And calories? They good. They’re bad. They don’t mean a damn thing.
Awww geeze…. I just wanted to run in circles and scream because it shouldn’t be this crazy making difficult.
As it so often happens, the beginnings of the answer hit me when I was with the horses this evening. They are wise creatures indeed…because they keep their mouths shut and let me ramble on. And somewhere in the ramblings the AHA! glimmer began…I need to forget about the books and listen. to. my. body.
I was so excited I hurried back to the studio and began rewriting the post. Which was stressful. Which meant a diversion. No food in Studio Grande so I turned to the next best thing…FaceBook.
And that’s where the glimmer of AHA! became a full-on moment. It was a comment in a thread from Liv Lane’s Build a Better Blog e-class. A closed group where the students share all manner of information about growing our blogs. The comment was by fellow student AnaLisa Rutstein, MA CHHC. As I remember it, she mentioned the pleasure of savoring dark chocolate in the morning. My kind of woman. And then she mentioned being a health coach.
Well, that sounded interesting. A health coach who savors dark chocolate. Definitely my kind of woman. I decided to check out her site. The first thing that hit me was her tag line. “Helping women LOSE WEIGHT, MAXIMIZE their METABOLISM and REDUCE cravings, without deprivation, so they can gain the life they are truly hungry for.”
Hello? Wasn’t that what the ponies and I had just discussed??? Was this synchronicity in action or what?
I delved deeper into her site. Checked out her credentials. And I was impressed. Even more impressed with her philosophy of weight loss, so much so I asked for an interview.
We spoke on the phone tonight. She looks so young in the pictures but her voice sounds so wise. We spoke about life and stress. About the answer being within. About your body KNOWING what it needs. About allowing yourself to FEEL the feelings. About having compassion for yourself.
FEEL my feelings??? Might as well surf in a tsunami. My kid was in a war. My mother died. Job. Family. Money. And on and on and on… FEELINGS? I’ve been putting those suckers on hold for a long time. And compassion for myself…Whoosh. Now that’s a big exhale…. Huge.
This was an interview, not a therapy session. But as AnaLisa discussed her program I felt walls that I didn’t know I had begin to crack. And I knew the most compassionate thing I could do for myself was enlist her help.
So I did. I signed for her Jumpstart. Six 45 minute one on one coaching sessions. Handouts and experiential exercises. E-mail support.
Afterwards, as I was kicking myself for spending the money, because really, there are other things in this world to invest in…I stopped and thought, whoa…how could I NOT invest in myself. Because this is my life we’re talking about.
As I work with AnaLisa I’ll be sharing this journey with you. Not the gory parts, but the illuminations.
