Announcement & Change in October 2012 Retreat

Quote of the Day:

Happy are the painters, for they shall not be lonely. 

Light and colour, peace and hope, will keep them company to the end of the day.

 ~Winston Churchill~

Current Local Weather: 

Massive mountain-shaped clouds

patiently waiting for the words and water to arrive. 

Currently on my iPod: 

Teeth in the Grass

Iron and Wine

Dear Friends, Family and my Family of Friends, 

     Is anyone else out there tired of this hot weather? For Colorado, it's very unusual to have this much heat in a single season. I'm thankful for the rain and cooler nights, but the days have been difficult to handle. I think it's turned everything that's lovable about this state into an unrecognizable beast at times. Personally, I don't react well to heat. At all. Ask anyone who lives with me or near me or knows me well, heat is my enemy. I thrive in the cooler temps, mild temps with a cool breeze and I think I'm in heaven. 

This summer, I believe, everyone in Colorado would agree, has been particularly difficult to handle. As an artist, I find it almost impossible to create or bring to life any ideas when under intangible stress. Whether it be the weather, events beyond my control or general dark clouds of unhappiness above me, my ability to function is not just below capacity, it's absent. I know I'm not the only artist in the world that deals with this issue. In light of the darkness that's overcome a lot of Colorado in the past two months, I have made an executive decision in regards to the October Writing Away Retreat in Breckenridge. 

I have decided to change it into an artist's getaway. All of the proceeds from this retreat will go to directly to the Red Cross to benefit the families affected by the Aurora Shootings and the Waldo Canyon Fire

Here are the details: 

Due to economic decline & Mother Nature's recent rampages throughout Colorado, Writing Away Retreats is taking a break from its usual routine to offer five days of R&R & time to work on individual projects to literary artists (both nonfiction and fiction), poets, musicians and visual artists. The retreat will take place from October 4th-8th at the Little Mountain Lodge in Breckenridge, CO. For the first time in its six-year history, Writing Away Retreats will be a traditional retreat...For one price, this all-inclusive retreat is complete with 3 gourmet comfort foodie meals/day, snacks galore, open beer, wine, coffee and tea bars, amazing scenery and more. There will also be plenty of time to focus on your work-in-progress, escape to the beautiful outdoors, enjoy the company of other creative types, & simply relax.
If you’re interested contact Cicily Janus right away. Space is very limited.

Prices are as follows: • Private Room: 675.00 single occupancy, 775.00 double occupancy • Shared Room: 450.00• Bunk Room: 350.00 

You can sign up and see pictures of the lodge on www.writingawayretreats.info. Go to registration and register but ignore the request for a sample of your work and instead just write the type of artist you are in the sample box and then ignore the payment prompt or check any box. Please specify what type of room you would prefer to stay in.

You will be invoiced the above amounts for the specified room upon acceptance into the retreat.  If you need art supplies at the house, please let me know and we can order them ahead of time so you don't have to travel with them. I can easily add your supply bill to your invoice and you can pay it all at once. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to contact Cicily Janus at writingawayretreats@gmail.com or call her cell at 719.323.3469. Also, if you register to attend Author Fest of the Rockies at www.authorfest2012.org you will automatically receive 15% off of your tuition to attend this retreat. Mention your registration for Author Fest on your registration form and your invoice will reflect the discount. I also offer military, education and hardship discounts. Please don't hesitate to inquire about them.
DON'T LET FINANCIAL ISSUES DISCOURAGE YOU! Let's work it out so you can attend and get away this fall.

Payment plans can be arranged.

Please pass the word along about the retreats to any artist you know. If you would like to send somebody or sponsor someone's tuition so they may attend, please contact me and let's make it happen. I fully believe in the power of being able to get away, relax and refresh your soul and how it can affect your life for the better.

Let me help add fuel to the creative fire within you. Trust me, you won't regret this, at all. And if you bring a group with you or if you want to get away with a writing group or reading group etc...or visual arts co-op or class etc., I will surely give a group discount.
Help me, help you.

Yours in Retreats, Rethinking the Reasons and Restarting the Fire,

Cicily

PS: I'm partial to the retreats because they're my brainchild. Of course I think they work wonders! They always do for me...but don't take my word for it, instead, take these folks and their words:

"Words Fail...there aren't many venues out there that provide such a safe and comforting environment for creativity..." ~J. Gilstrap, 2012

"I can't tell you how much this experience has encouraged me and changed my perspective. I feel like I lost a part of who I was and here I found myself again. This is truly priceless to me." ~J. McQuade, 2009

"I have just spent the last week living (and working) in a Muir landscape. It has been fantastic, and one of the few experiences of adult life that lived up to the fairy-tale expectations of youth. Thank you!" ~E. Schneider, 2008

"Before the retreat, I had been through some challenges...please know that my experience at the retreat, at a deep level, helped me overcome these challenges and emerge ever more dedicated to writing." A. ~2009

"For the first time in a long time I have a dream for the future that's now mine for the taking!" ~B. Pedas, 2009

Expectations of the Unexpected

Quote of the Day:

Know that everything is in perfect order

whether you understand it or not.

~Valery Satterwhite~

Current Local Weather:

Snowing through the sunlight with 

anticipation of another great night.

Currently on my iTunes: 

Livin on a Prayer

"This Left Feels Right"

Bon Jovi

Dear Family, Friends and my Family of Friends, 

I'm writing to you today from the living room of the retreat house in Breckenridge, Colorado. If you don't know what I'm referring to, go HERE. This has, by far, been one of the smallest retreats yet the very best of them. One of the reasons, actually, the number one reason I do these, is to connect fellow artists back with their muse, their passion, the very purpose that made them pick up a pen in the first place. As busy as this world expects us to be, being extremely busy at doing nothing...I shouldn't say nothing...being busy at getting back to who you once were and improving that self with your new, past and present experiences is a business all of us tend to neglect. And of course, that includes myself. Each retreat has had its own magic. Connections are made, AHA! moments are around every corner, a renewal of spirit and soul to be had by everyone involved. But I'm getting ahead of myself. 

So far...and we're two days into the main part of the retreat, the following has happened among the attendees and staff: 

Sarah Crisman and Becki Davis were paired, solely on the fact that they're both female, in the same room. After much gabbing and late night conversations, they found out that they are related...

Charisse, Weamn, Phyllis and Karen are all one of eleven kids in their family. 

Lisa Scontras and Becki Davis are both dealing with Alzheimer's disease in their elderly parents. 

John Gilstrap and I were both involved in the direct care of trauma patients. He was an EMT, me, a nurse. 

Karen DeGroot Carter and Sara Brentano used to have children in the same daycare. 

Phyllis Glazer has been an inspiration to all of the women in the house in regards to keeping ourselves in love with ourselves...despite those obstacles that seemingly define who the world thinks we should be. 

Richard Earls came down with one of the worst colds of his life and called me around the time he was supposed to show up at the house saying he was going to stay in a hotel instead...I hesitated to push him out of his comfort zone but ended up calling him back and basically saying, look, we're all adults here, this is not a house of just work and writing, this is a house of healing. 

Etc. Etc. Etc. 

The level of connectedness in this house, at this moment is uncanny, unexpected, and very much welcome. There isn't a clear "reason" why we are all together right now. But sometimes, we are brought to new people in our lives through an unseen vehicle. We are found by someone else's energy, through their third person dreams or by physical happenstance. I think the key to not screwing these connections up is to realize that we are not their answer but their motivation or drive to find the path their supposed to be on or at the very least, the outline of the map their supposed to follow.  

The amazing Signe Pike, who is here on staff, seems to have a very wise mother. She said that her mom used to say to her, why do we, especially as women, feel that we have to find someone in our lives that is supposed to be EVERYTHING we need? 

She's right, rather her mother is right. Damn right. Sometimes what we need is someone other than the outer shell of our over-the-top expectations of the people in our lives. Not everyone can be everything, but everyone can give of themselves in such a way that they're assisting someone, with love, to find a way to their bigger picture. 

You wouldn't go to Google Maps and expect them to give you driving directions to a ranch in the Alps from a small town in Texas....right? No, it would take a team of travel experts, a variety of vehicles and more importantly, the will and want to get there. 

Today, I hope you find yourself in the same position I'm in...sitting amongst great company, listening to the wind come off the mountains and hoping that the place I'm going is closer to where I'm at now than it's ever been because of those that have not only loved me, but those that have shown me that love is not a color, it is not a thought, that love is an expected binding of the souls you surround yourself with. And without love, you are nothing. Without love, you can be nothing to no one. 

Yours in Going the Extra Mile, Getting Where You Need to Be and Growing Within, 

Cicily

Come On Baby, Light My Fire

Quote of the Day: 

Knowledge of "what is," does not open

the door directly to "what should be." 

~Albert Einstein~

Current Local Weather: 

Gusts of wind causing extreme 

fire dangers within my soul. 

Currently on my iPod: 

"You Don't Know Me" 

That's What I Say

John Scofield & Aaron Neville

Dear Family, Friends and My Family of Friends,

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about choices. If you haven't realized this, then go here to read about my thoughts on choices…As I was finishing up all 3 seasons of the United States of Tara, there was a line in one of the last episodes that went something like this: Don't worry about knocking mom, this is your house. Doors are merely a suggestion. (Why they cancelled this show, beats me. I am thoroughly disappointed in not knowing what was going to happen after Tara gave in and decided to go back to the looney bin...Tara, Buck...Alice...don't worry, once I win the lottery, I will gladly put your show back on air)

As you may have guessed by the title, this post is about Doors. No, not those folks. 

Actual doors. Those plywood/hardwood/fiberglass fixtures sitting between you and the world...yep, these Doors. 

These doors...we all have them in our lives. Sometimes they take the form of people...unexpected humans that tear down our walls without knocking or the care of wanting us to know that they're about to enter our personal space. And are the doors that lead into our rooms, our personal spaces, just suggestions or are they coping mechanisms, shadows of real security, for what we don't want to face? 

We can open, close, leave ajar and hide behind them. But there's always our inner selves that know that closing, slamming or bolting them shut in the face of our future, present and past, is going to sting when heard and felt on the other side. As the quote says: They're just merely suggestions. Doors can keep us locked up in a place that no one can enter and no one can escape from. It's up to us as to whether or not to take the suggestion of openness. 

This is how we lose ourselves. Myself included. 

For those of you that don't know me, let me qualify the above statement by saying that I'm completely and utterly indecisive. Take me out to dinner, and it will take me at least 4 impatient waitress rounds to decide on food or even what kind of wine or soda. My ability to make decisions is usually a group effort, just like in Tara's mind. No, I don't have Dissociative Identity Disorder, but I do have parts of myself that are locked behind well closed/slammed shut and bolted doors in my mind. And just when I think I've lost my mind, the team of decision makers that live above my sinus cavities, comes out to help me. These decision execs consist of my past, my present and my future mistakes, victories, decisions, and loves. The doors that keep these traits or aspects of myself, are just merely suggestions. They can make or break you. But only if you let them. Can one decision really define who you are? can one missed opportunity bring you down into the ruins? At times, it sure as hell feels like it can. 

Some people, when faced with decisions, kick the door open as hard as they can. They kick it in until the door is off its hinges and laying at the feet of the life on the other side. For most though, it is a mere turn of the wrist that's good enough when it comes to opening a door. These folks know that a slight flick can bring us back to who we were and/or always should have been. It is truly our choice as to how we handle our personal situations, our lives. It always has been. Sometimes losing the ability to violently handle the opportunities that lie across our life paths, isn't a bad thing. These types of choices often involve teams of people, places, things, experiences…whatnot…etc. And even if we don't trust these pasts of ours, they have to be relied upon. This is the only world we truly know when it comes to knowing how we got into the messy business of being ourselves. 

These are people who could care less if anyone ever comes as they've been there, done that. They need no excuse to open their doors. They leave their doors, windows and hearts open to suggestion and opportunity, regardless of the implied danger. The wayfaring strangeness of it all is a rush, a thrill, a misguided adrenaline junky's nightmare. But it's ok. For all of these friends of mine are always home, always ok and always willing to let their journey be clouded with darkness, redemption and inventive forsaken yesterdays. I just hope that what we've all built as a team is strong enough to stand up against the reality we have to face. 

Even though we may be cut, scraped, bruised with our flesh lying around like discarded splinters of wood on a shop floor, we have to have faith that the indecisiveness of our personal process' lies in our ability to heal the damage from within and behind those doors. We have to cut into the healthy flesh in order to expose the unhealthy. And then we sit and wait. We wait and wait and wait and hope that the bloody mess left on our soles and the infarction upon our soul that was caused by kicking the door in, heals and that we have in fact, not made everything worse….but better. 

It is our choice to make. It was always our choice. Still is and when we're ready, still will be. 

I've made my choices and have regrets to some extent, but I never tread without the conscious footsteps of my past following me, instep, heel-to-toe, behind me. I hope you're in the same place I am. Looking toward the future, opening the door for a life anew to come in, isn't a bad place to be. 

Yours in Plywood, Pasts and Pushing the Doors Open, 

Cicily

Heel to Toe, Heel to Toe

Quote of the Day: 

Anxiety does not empty tomorrow of it's sorrows, 

it only empties today of it's strength.

~Charles Spurgeon~

Current Local Weather: 

60 MPH winds followed by

120 BPM pulse ripping my veins apart.

Currently on my iPod: 

"Human Nature"

Solo

Vijay Iyer

Dear Friends, Family and my Family of Friends, 

If you had a choice in the life you were granted, do you think you would have chosen the one you're currently living? What if there had been someone standing over you, like a detective or IRS agent, waiting for a flinch or extra out-of-character blink as you stood over bodies, surveying them for potential good or bad traits...would you have wanted them for who they look like instead of who they were or are or will be? Would you still have thought to pick yourself? 

hmmm..

Do you even know yourself well enough to know which body would have best represented you? Would your instincts, as a human, have kicked in? 

I don't think they would have. I don't even know if the saying, Trust Your Instincts, is enough to go off of in any situation. Sure, sure, I understand the fight or flight syndrome thingamajig, but it doesn't mean it's always right unless Steve Carell is coming after you with a trident in a backlot of a news station...

Seriously though, do you think you would have really wanted to be anyone other than yourself? I hear all the time...if only I were this person...or that person…honestly, I hear it all the time from my own mouth, subconscious and whatnot. Especially when I've been very sick, I think…if only I could be someone…anyone other than me, stuck in my body, dying on the inside to have someone on the outside listen. 

Inevitably, after I say it, I regret it. 

It's at this stage, that I feel we're all going wrong. There's this want of something that isn't real or true or even anywhere near half-true and I feel, more now than ever, that this is devouring our drive to be better people. If we're always focused on being someone we're not, we'll never be who the world needs us to be. 

Besides, there's no way to know what it's like to be anyone else. Walking a mile in someone else' shoes is quite literally, impossible. 

We all know how to walk. We all know what walking looks and feels like. Heel toe, heel, toe. We all know that there are some people who can't walk but know how to get around. But this doesn't mean that we all walk the same. This only means that we have a common denominator. It's like we're all versions of the same equation that eventually come to the same conclusion. Yet there's no easy way to figure out what that conclusion is or will be. It's just best if we keep our own shoes on and respect the fact that not everyone wears Nikes or Clarks or Jimmy Choo. Some of us are barefoot. Some of us don't mind the calluses and think they add character. Some of us wear the same shoes year after year regardless of what's in or out of style.  

So who is it that chooses dystopia when we're all taught that utopia is just a first kiss/new car and/or undergrad degree away…? Evil Dictators? Hardly. I think they start out the same way we all do. Wishing for a better world…however warped their world is, a better world, nonetheless. 

Dystopia isn't an advantage unless you look at it as something that can afford you considerable perspective. Same can be said for Utopia. If you were that other person living a life unlike the only one you know, what would be the thing that makes you happy? Would the life you live now seem despotic? Or would it be great? 

Would the happiness that stems off of your new life cause bloating of the ego? Would it simplify your life? Choices wouldn't have to be made. It would be so perfect that no other life would ever be good enough. However, when pressure begins within, the repercussions are often deadly. Egos get bruised, expectations are lost and the drive to be anyone at all, has landed you in a foreign land without a map, a friend or even vegetation to feed off of. 

I wish I had a different kind of different life. One in which the poor in spirit are treated just as well as those that are poor in the wallet. There's charities for those that are homeless. There's government institutions that will pay for you to get a better life if this is the situation you're in. But if all you want is to be someone you're not, you've got to find your own way either forward or back to where you started. 

Anne Lamott, during a reading in Denver at the LoDo Tattered Cover store this past week, said that the biggest fight she's ever been through was that of learning how to fall in love with herself. How everything she had done before this love affair had been accomplished through the pain of being everything but true to her soul. How hard is it to see the lesson in this? 

Learning these lessons aren't easy. I can't even say that I'm 100% there but I do know, in my heart, that I'm working on it day and night. It won't be long until this project is due and the next one begins. Being good to yourself is of the essence. Letting anyone down for any reason, just isn't ok by social standards. So why does letting yourself down seem like an acceptable practice of the human race. 

I hope you'll all fall back in love with your lives. Moving on and up and lending a hand to those that have yet to learn to walk, run or jump over to their purpose... 

Yours in Love, Lessons yet to be Learned and Listening to Reason, 

Cicily 

Chasing Pavements

Quote of the Day: 

The woods are lovely, dark and deep. 

But I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.

~Robert Frost~

Current Local Weather: 

Cold. Dark. Loud

Currently on my iTunes: 

"Cryin'"

Big Ones

~Aerosmith~

Dear Friends, Family and My Family of Friends, 

This morning finds me awake. VERY awake. Trouble is that it's only 330am MST. I wish it wasn't. There isn't anything more in this world that I want more than a night of sleep that lasts ALL NIGHT LONG. This whole affair my biological clock is having with the digital clock of the world that happens at 230-730am every single day is getting old. I have to ask my body, why in the hell do you think this is ok? When did I ever give you permission to cheat on me with this early morning mistress of insomnia characterized by bladder fullness, fits of discombobulated creativity and worry for the better half of mankind...

Blech. 

Double Blech. 

I am more tired than I have been in eons. This is rivaling the absurdity of the culture of nonsleeping infants...This cavity of sleep deprivation is about to cause death to my roots. I'm about to need a root canal of my mind. And I know it's going to hurt and I hope my subconscious numbs me up for it before hand. I'm reminded of the great Aerosmith tune, Love in an Elevator...living it up while I'm going down. 

 

I'm pretty sure that what I'm doing wasn't the point of Tyler's magical lyrics. I've had people say...well, at least you're getting work done...That's NOT my idea of living it up. So what am I doing? 

What I'm doing is trying to make the best of this situation. There's lots of situations in my life at this moment that need a positive spin. Sometimes, when life throws a mass amount of smashed lemons right at your retinas, it's hard to see that there is ever going to be a positive spin on anything you do, ever again! But lemon juice, especially rotten lemon juice with shards of your past, will only cause temporary blindness. Painful temporary blindness, but temporary nonetheless. 

Unless you add rock salt to the lemons. Then it can necessitate some doc or other digging out your eyeballs of the poison that pains you. Surgery is never the best option. Unless it's your appendix. 

But thinking that just the elimination of something that is less than ideal, like this insomnia, isn't going to cure the root cause. Eliminating this time of the morning for me, as in sleeping through it, would mean that most of the latest blogs would be silent and some of the better book ideas I've had would be amiss in the universe. 

So, there's the bright side. 

Uh. huh. 

Sure. 

The downside is that I'm beginning to look like this chic: 

I'm sure she's very pretty when she gets a full night sleep. Inside and out. But living a dream or living through a dream isn't always the best option nor is it a given that your conscious thoughts will allow you to recall whatever dreams you've previously laid out for yourself.

Some small talk with your inner being while you're suffering through anything can also help cure your issues. The best way to get someone to open up to you is to make them feel comfortable within a few seconds, yes, not minutes, SECONDS, of meeting you or speaking with you. I learned this the hard way during the interview process for The New Face of Jazz. I tried to get it right, especially at first when I was literally winging it, but then I realized that I had to forget the notion of greatness right out of the gate and listen to what the subject was telling me and saying without words. Body language. Radio silence on the other end of the phone...could I engage a complete stranger in a conversation that would eventually translate to mean something on the page? Can I now do this with myself? Despite my excuses of insomnia, circumstantial depression or situational weirdness? I don't know. 

But I have to, and I know this to be true of everyone I know that has gone through this or something similar, pick up my arse and get my head out of the crack running down the middle of it. No excuses. I'm not the only one with more issues than National Geographic. (Thanks Suellen!)

I know it's true. Sometimes words and walls are there just to be run into at the least opportune moment. Such as this one...at 3am. Oh well. Chasing pavements won't afford you opportunity, it will, instead, give you skinned knee and eat your elbows.

I hope all of you reading this, right at this moment, went to bed earlier than I did. Or passed out from too much beer at a Super Bowl Party. Seize the opportunity to make the most of your day, regardless of the weight sitting on your shoulders. It can ALWAYS be worse. Mostly. 

Yours in Skinned Knees, Skirting through the Middle of the Night and Sailing through Today to Get to Tomorrow, 

Cicily

Another Day...Another...Uh...Dollar? Hell no. It's ANOTHER DAY!

Quote of the Day:

*apologies ahead of time for the length of this*

The future used to be such an abstract idea...but then it has the nerve to show up

and it's like it's expecting us to do something without 
the slightest intention of giving us a lending hand.

~Kurt...Glee~ 

Current Local Weather: 

Shit. Followed by a well-intentioned feeling of 

reluctance and sunshine...for now.

Currently on my iPod: 
*Most beautiful version available. Promise. Buy it.*

"Moonlight in Vermont"  
State of Art
Ben Williams

Dear Friends, Family and My Family of Friends, and one particular friend...

Last year, right around that horrid day known as Valentines Day, I wrote a letter more to myself and my daughters about the love I didn't need and the one I did need and one year, almost to the date...kinda, I'm finding myself writing a love note to someone who's been in my life for a while. And no, it isn't THAT kind of love note. I'm not getting hitched, or even asking for a hitched ride to nowhere'sville of love villas. This is something that is coming from the heart. And it is for one of my dearest friends. And yes, the latest episode of Glee was about that four letter word...you know...starts with an L and often ends with heartbreak...the big one..."Love"...was killer. It took care to show that love is messy, sucks ass sometimes and is often not what you thought it was or what other people had you believe it should be or could be and often, if you get it right before you die, you realize that the love you had, was often what you always wanted it to be. 

Ok, for those that know me, I will quit with the teenagey TV melocomedrama talk...enough Gleeage.


Yes this is public. But this is for all dozen or so readers to take in but not to digest in the way I am writing it. This is being written as a public declaration to someone who's name will be never-ever be mentioned...but I need to push a little. He's been down on his "A-game" and he needs a boost. I feel he's thinking he may be or very well is probably losing his coveted monopoly piece in this game of messy, often costly life and is trying desperately to win it back on Ebay...A friend. It seems like an eternity of a life has passed since I met this friend, But it's not a life I know or one I don't think I've had the privilege to live in the flesh...or at the very least, it's one I've lost the source codes for.

So, This is for you. And yes, it really is. 


Tomorrrow is always a new day. How frolickin'' cliche' of me. But just because you're roaming without or at-best, sketchy coverage, doesn't mean a thing in this modern day and age. I'm pretty sure that your smart-phone and brain is wired to change GPS coordinates with the turn of the breeze that says all the things you don't need to hear and even better those sayings come from one of those satellites that everyone knows exist but will never see.  Or maybe you will. I have the feeling that neither of us will know what that satellite looks like until we've found the flip-side. But we both know that the B-side, the flip-side as they say in the industry, is always the better one. It's the one that the musicians and artists let their true lights shine on and on and on.

And I felt a dire need to make this public, because I too, need to hear it, even after it came out of my own brain. 

But really, I have to ask, what was this "L" word invented for if not for our own edification? It's time for you to get with that program. I hear they meet 24/7, it's on every radio, every bandwidth of existence that's ever existed and is now visible on every inch of this planet. Believe it or not. But yes, Hallmark has actually found a new CEO and is busy covering the  world as we know it with an invisible cloak disguised as that taste, texture, sight and sound of love. Is it red velvet? I suppose it would be if you weren't blind or color-disabled.  

But this isn't romantic love. This is truly easy to be a part of. There's no fee to join. There's no commercial with the gorgeous Jennifer Hudson telling you how even though she looks "thinner" on the outside, she's fuller on the inside and the light she shines has always been there...This is a simple find at your local hardware store of life. They sell goggles of reality there in every size, shape and color. 

Just say the word and it changes. Life does. Love does. The greens turn to fields and the blues turn to endless sky and that azure dream you had while on the last plane you drifted to sleep on, is suddenly the color you see when you stare in the mirror and try to find the person behind the retinas that beg you, daily, for a clearer vision. 

You're a whole...beautiful soul. You have given your life to making sure that what was in front of you, that block known as your world is ok and where you are, whatever shape that takes on whatever day and time you're in, will be surefooted, heart wrenchingly meaningful, even if that meaning doesn't come to you while you're on this side of the vinyl tracks. 

And I say all of this with every single bit of life, love, blood, sweat and tears left inside me. And this doesn't just mean that I want that square foot you're standing on to smile...it is quite the opposite...I dream of a day, that you, one of my dearest friends, one who knows my head sometimes better than I, will take a look at the place that was rented out on your behalf on the very moment you entered the world...you were there...it was the day your mother and father rented you your first apartment, the one you've resided in since, that spacious, high ceiling loft with the view that goes beyond that vast footage in your heart, will be repaired beyond repair, beyond your wildest dreams and the repairman won't be the one with a grayed out mullet and a crack deeper than the river of Jordan, but by that one that has your number on speed dial and a magnet on your fridge...he's the only ONE that you need. He's got an eternal resume with a reference list that goes beyond every name ever invented. You're in need of repair, minor by comparison to some, major by comparison to those watching over you. Your heart, the love it shows to everyone else watching you, will return, maybe now, maybe ten years from now, but it WILL get there...to that most beautiful, original, made just for you...your size, shape and color (and that goes for your hair too)


Yours in Love, Lightening the Load and Listening when Words Aren't Present, 

C

 

 

A Manifesto of Sorts

Quote of the Day:
The greatest weapon against stress is our ability
to choose one thought over another.
~William James~

Current Local Weather:
Overcast but finally,
albeit after too long of a time,
hopeful for health.

Currently on my iPod:
"Takin It To the Streets"
Taylor Hicks
Do I Make You Proud

Dear Friends, Family and my Family of Friends,

I sat down at about 4am yesterday morning and wrote a letter to a friend, but really it was more for myself (yeah, yeah. narcissism...whatever) . I woke up and was extremely bothered by where I was, and not in reality (well, that would be a lie and you'll see why in the following post), but in my soul. I just HAD to get it out of me and I wasn't going to even attempt to give in to the sleep fairies hovering around my foggy glasses until it was on paper, or at the very least, electronic paper.

So, here it goes. FYI: As compared to my older posts, this post is decidedly sans kitschy photos and references to anything but the real, too-sick-to-care (both mentally and physically, and for good measure let's just add in emotionally, too) what others think of me, me.

Dear ____ (name has been changed to absolutely nothing to protect the innocent)

I guess this is going to be one of those nights where sleep teases me with fits of thought, restless writing streaks and the casual anxiety that has become commonplace in my life these days...

So, what happens when C doesn't sleep?
Someone ends up with a long letter in their inbox. Therapeutic for me, amusement for you, win-win all around.

The last month or so has lent me considerable perspective as a human being on what life means, at least in my opinion. I've been half-assed delving from time to time in the writing of my medically dramatic, not too serious memoir. But as I was laying in the bed at memorial that last afternoon, after the custody mediation, I thought to myself...why would anyone want to read shit about me?

Sure, I have a following of jazz fans, but in writing this, that's neither here nor there. I almost have to start over in my "Non-fiction book writing career" if I want to make anything of myself and in promotion of this hopeful-to-sell-before-the-second-coming kinda deal.

So I wondered and thought and thunk and kerplunked while staring at the beautiful rain, albeit cold rain, outside my window on floor 7-5 at Memorial Hospital and came up with this instead: (One of the very kind nursing assistants, a little numb in white/gray matter asked, why don't you watch TV, get your mind off things...to which I replied with a nice as I could be tone while feeling like I'm dying, I'm a writer sans pen, to get my mind off things, I decidedly place my mind on other things and write in my head for a later date...) A book about searching for life among the almost dead.

Of course my medical catastrophes will be enriched with literary license, and my critical and unfiltered potty mouth and sense of humor will also be present. But, this will largely be about my travels writing the jazz book, finding joy in cooking for dozens of people and seeing their careers blossom right in front of my eyes at the retreats and how writing and immersing myself feet first in the literary community and living through hell, has taught me to seek life among the living dead (I.e. the 9-5 cubicle, taco bell eating, pale skinned, illiterate, placated by mass media, plagued with papparazzi envy, celebrity lovin, if-it's-at-Michaels-it-MUST-be art society we're forced to live in.).

I'm so tired of professionals that live with their professionalism written on pseudo wood plaques on their little professional office desks, looking down on people like me, you and pretty much everyone in my little but loving circle of friends. As artists, we're not stupid, no matter how big or small our lives turn out to be. All art, even the bad shit, has a purpose, in turn, allowing purpose and a meaningful life to enrich the lives of those who create it.

Office professionals, salesmen, lawyers, truck drivers (a lot of them write...I could do that...drive around all day and think of things to write...) wait staff, nurses, doctors, HR administrators...they've all got potential to reach and find their purpose in life through their jobs too. However, when one allows their job to sequester them to a life where shopping at Wally World is the only activity they do and art means posters of rock bands and Debbie Gibson on their ceiling and American Idol is the only time music invades their brain, then they become, by no fault other than their own, the true outcasts of what our society should be.

Alas, this isn't the case. People like me, you...the ones that end up living under a bridge after poor sales of their first novel or book on jazz, are the outcasts in our own ways. After being told that the career that I've busted my ass on since 2006 is not a real career by a decidedly (at least in her own mind) important person in our little community known as the Springs, I felt defeated. Downtrodden. Cast among the homeless and almost-dead, invisible crowd with too much socially unacceptable hair and drool in ALL the wrong places. But I realize that this "professional" is right. I don't have a "job." Instead I took a long and winding road that is less traveled than it should be. I followed a dream and instead of it being a job (a word so deftly shared by that poor sap of a man in the bible...your friend and mine, Job) I have passion and life within me despite my situation...and this is something that shares a lion's share of hope that resides deep among my too often situational/circumstantial depression....I must...REPEAT...MUST allow this feeling to remain omnipresent in my life instead of that ho-hum complacency so many others have allowed their lives to embody.

Does this thought and subsequent thoughts that will reign upon my consciousness in the near days mean that I've fully realized my goal of becoming an arts snob? Hmmm...not so sure. But I worry. Hell, if I got paid to worry I could build adjoining cabins for all of my friends (so we never have to be too far or too close in our nonrelationships) in Telluride. These would be so grand that they'd make those celebrity dwellings look like a wanna-be architect/toddler with legos and blue prints, built them. Also, as a mother, I've learned that worrying often leads to nothing other than gray hair. (Good reminder to have my sharpie out so I can touch them up) Worry is my current major in the university of life. As a matter of fact, I'm a bonafide doctoral candidate in the subject waiting to present my dissertation any day now.

Hopefully my anxiety will allow me to graduate from worry to okay-ness with not just any life, but my life. (insert any Billy Joel song at this point in the blog and you'll have a great soundtrack)

Hopefully my imaginary paycheck forged by my worrying mind will turn into a real one. Ahhhh...one can dream, right?

So...I'm meeting with a web designer on Monday, for lunch. I've been talking with him for quite a while. Jim Lewis. (This makes the fourth, yeppers...FOURTH Jim Lewis I know.) Weird. But I spoke with him eons ago about my sites and he's never let me forget. A true salesman. He even called to check on me in the hospital. Hmmm...I hope he's not stalking me. But then again, if he is, does that make me a celebrity?

Time to put my money where my mouth is or whatever that saying is. I have friends on standby that are willing to advertise on their sites, my editorial services (1000.00/manuscript isn't unheard of, right? ...I suppose it's standard fare for someone of my stature...lol...in the literary community) and query writing services.

I'm going to fight for what I believe to be a real dream, not what anyone could quite call...a hobby. And also, fight to move up the ladder, more aggressively so, than the past. I had been quite aggressive (believe it or not) until my ass found a new home at Memorial during my preggo days w/ Miss Natty Poo. I'm going to break this ridiculous cycle of dependence/neediness/circumstantial everything that is so fucking far from my actual character that I don't even recognize who I am most days.

I suppose writing this book will help.

Writing letters like this certainly does and is more to my chagrin than yours, I'm sure.

On that note, Natty Poo is awake and in need of a bottle and changing. Ta-Ta my dearest reader...or two.

Yours in Manifestos, Magic Cups and Mostly Memorable Mommy Moments,

Cicily

The Infamous Kissing Cousins: Regret and Guilt

Quote of the Day:

One's real life is often the life
that one does not lead.
~Oscar Wilde~

Current Local Weather:
Latent heat followed by gusto amounts of electrical activity
near the intersections of regret, shame and guilt.

Currently on my iPod:
Innocent Bones
"The Shepherd's Dog"
Bryan Sutton

Dear Friends, Family and My Family of Friends,

They say, whoever they are, that regret is the worst enemy any one person can have in their lives. Worse than Hitler, worse than that Hussein dude and worse than its counterpart, guilt. I think some people truly think regret and guilt are kissing cousins, but they're not.


Wikipedia (if it's on there it must be true, right?) defines Guilt as:
...the fact of being responsible for the commission of an offense.^[1] It is also a cognitive or an emotional experience that occurs when a person realizes or believes—accurately or not—that he or she has violated a moral standard, and bears significant responsibility for that violation.^[2] It is closely related to the concept of remorse.

Nowhere in this definition of GUILT, does it talk about regret.

However...REGRET is defined as:

...a negative conscious and emotional reaction to personal past acts and behaviors. Regret is often expressed by the term "sorry." Regret is often felt when someone feels sadness, shame, embarrassment, depression, annoyance or guilt after committing an action or actions that the person later wishes that s/he had not done or having not committed an action or actions that the person later wishes that s/he had done. Regret is distinct from guilt, which is a deeply emotional form of regret — one which may be difficult to comprehend in an objective or conceptual way. In this regard, the concept of regret is subordinate to guilt in terms of its emotional intensity.

Yet in the definition of REGRET, GUILT is mentioned. And not only is guilt mentioned, it's mentioned as a deeper form of regret than regret itself. Hmmm....

Question is: do you have to feel regret for the things you're guilty of?

Answer? I don't think so. For those of you who personally know me, you know I've been through an admitted amount of hell and back over the last few years. But I have survived it all. At least thus far, right? Tomorrow always has potential for failure and success in either mild or extreme circumstances. But they are only that...circumstances.

I was speaking with a friend this week who happens to be going through her own hell. She was lamenting on how she knew this would change her, and probably for the worst, but she was going to take it all in stride. That she had her REGRETS in everything, including her children...and felt, on top of it all, GUILTY for the issues that were solely hers but bleeding over into everyone else' lives.

I am not one to talk about having past issues or cheap knock offs of Louis Vuitton luggage sitting in my trunk...yeah, you heard me, I've got junk in my trunk...

(Tom, Meg...thanks for this lesson...)

But sometimes, even when the junk in our trunk is causing us to have to not only find, but accept, bigger britches than we're used to wearing, we must press forward knowing that a wider load isn't the end all be all of our lives. Take heed of what Tom and Meg did in that cinematic masterpiece JOE Vs. the VOLCANO...they didn't let their baggage sink them. Instead, they used it to stayed afloat and ultimately learned that sometimes staying afloat was more than a blessing, it was the key to their survival.

In my humble opinion, guilt is for those that have committed crimes and religious fanatics.


Regret, I'm afraid, is something that seems to be a part of everyone's baggage with guilt as its carryon at some point or another. But it doesn't have to own us. Coping techniques and various types of therapy can sometimes ward off these feelings when we're at our worst, but they generally aren't a long term cure. At least not an immediate one. You just can't let it own you and shape your life from here, I'm talking RIGHT NOW, on out. It has to be a "thing" in the past. Unless you've maimed another human being and/or have some brunette politicians daughter/rocker chick from the 80's in a deep well in your basement, forcing it to but lotion on its skin, let it go!



I've always thought that living with regret is something no one should have to do. Living with the feelings of guilt AND regret seem to be a self-inflicted punishment that harbors misery as its greatest asset and drug. Whatever you have done, it was meant to be done or done to you, for better or worse. I certainly have made my lion's share of mistakes over my so far short 34 years, but every one of them has made me stronger in some way or another. And that strength wasn't obvious, in any one of those lessons, at first or even at the five or ten year mark. It only became clear over time.

Am I saying this because I think I'm better than any of you? Absolutely not.

It's just too bad that as humans we take these things and let it go around in our minds, or our friend's minds, until we're practically paralyzed with the thought of whatever we did as our former selves. It's poison. This is when we need to be honeybadgers. Ya know, the crazy nastyass kind that don't give a f*** if poison is coming from their food. They just get back up and go on with their crazy ass, fearless ways. (although I highly recommend you keep your love and careful regard for your fellow man, unlike the honeybadger. But these days, it's harder to keep our perspective than it used to be. I just have a strange feeling that we're all going to be honeybadgers before we know it. We're already eating poison, intellectually speaking, on a regular basis and having to get up and move on regardless...more on that in a later blog...Thanks Walt!)



So, when you're at your worst and think that this feeling will be your closest enemy for the rest of your life, think again. Let it, instead, keep you and everyone else afloat as a lesson learned instead of a weighted participle of grief on your shoulder. Remember, it, whatever it is, could have been worse.

You are worth the world. Always.

Yours in Honeybadgers, Honing in on the Future, and Housing Feelings in their Proper Place,

Cicily