Zen Cat Art

Steampunk or You won't believe these keyboards..

Do you know what steampunk is?  I didn’t and I write it. 

Steampunk is a subgenre of fantasy fiction which is set in an era or world where steam power is still widely used—usually the 19th century, often set in Victorian era England—but with fictional technological inventions (like a computer) occurring at an earlier date or appearing through time travel.  Think HG Wells and Jules Verne. 

In November of 2006, I wrote a novel (50,000 words of one but it might grow up and be a proper novel someday) about a woman who time travels back to Victorian England to solve the disappearance of her aunt.  The aunt’s house just happens to have a computer and a butler—both of which seem to have beenaround for over a hundred years—both, albeit politely, run the place with the aid of some advanced technology.

It was grand fun to write. And although I wish NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) would move from November to March when there seems to be more need of diversion…I recommend it to anyone who thinks they might have a novel in them. 

Back to Steampunk.  Mixed media assemblage artist Michael deMeng, a favorite blog stop of mine, had the definition of steampunk and some pictures of steampunk computer keyboards on his site.  It blew me away!  So check these out and enjoy! 

Industrial keyboard from Richard R. Nagy better known as Datamancer.

My next laptop.  Love the key!  ~a better look here~ This guy is amazing!

The desk top model...

So there you go.  Check out his website and enjoy! 

I love red tulips...

I love red tulips.

 

I used to love red roses but I have seen the light.  Red roses come with powerful emotions; they say something, they might even demand something, they have potential, they extract promises and they live in the future.

If you have ever been given a bouquet of roses by someone you do not feel the same way about you will know how heavily they can weigh.  And the cost…no meager sum nowadays.

 

Tulips are within almost any budget and can be scooped up out of the supermarket containers as easily as bread and milk.  Available and inexpensive, they are perfect for the spontaneous expression of shared joy.

 

Red roses mark occasions.  Red tulips live right here in the now.  They are cheerful.  They make no demands and they say “I love you just as you are.”

And who couldn’t use a little unconditional love…

And by the way while we are on the topic of red and tulips, here's a lady that taught me how to appreciate both.  Take a bow Linda.

 

Linda is standing in Renaissance Cafe in Huntington, NY one of my favorite places to eat.  Renaissance is a restaurant, a deli, a gourmet food store and a trip to Italy (Long Island style).

You can hear the opera, Andrea Bucelli, and other Italian playing in the background.  The decor is Italian villa vs. jumble sale but it works for me.

 

Besides it may be the only place where you can order one egg over easy, with six perfect strawberries, two slices of smoked salmon, and home-made whole grain toast done cheerfully to your specifications.  They also have great coffee!

They also serve lunch and dinner and when I was single and working nearby I once had eleven of my 21 weekly meals there without a repeat - with the possible exception of the curried chicken salad which is very, very good.

AND they almost always have red tulips...

 

Spring...don't miss it!

It seems to me that Spring has been a long time coming.  Maybe it’s because I always feel like I’m waiting for something.  When you work freelance you spend a lot of time living in the future.  We are always waiting for jobs to start, checks to come, content from clients, deadlines loom – always in the future.

And it all runs around as chatter in my mind.  What if we don’t get that job?  What if the check doesn’t come?  What if they don’t like the job we did?  All the questions asked over and over again as if the answers will appear merely by repeating the question just one more time.

It’s sort of like opening the refrigerator every time you walk through the kitchen to see if the perfect food (champagne & caviar?) has magically shown up to solve your problems.  Unless someone from Vive Clicquot or Petrossain has been wandering through your kitchen unnoticed, it’s probably still leftovers from last night’s dinner. 

After listening to Oprah’s live web event with Eckhart Tolle (A New Earth) talk about how we need to get past the whining liturgy, constantly repeated, that takes up most of our mental energy and separates us from being able to experience peace—I was willing to give it a try.

Now let me say that I do meditate (not enough) and have read his previous book The Power of Now but it’s easy for me to forget to do things that will make me feel better because when I am worrying about the future I don’t seem to have time to enjoy the now.

So I sat…still…on my living room couch…with no agenda…with no expectations…listening to the purring cat on my lap.  I just sat there and breathed—in and out, aware without naming—of the warmth of my body, the rise and fall of my chest, the soft light of the room.  The “what if” questions slowed down, quieted, and stopped.  Pretty soon is was just me and peace sitting there together in the present moment.  It was bliss.

 

Right there, right then, everything was perfect.

What I needed was more of this present moment living… 

I took off the next day—the first one is what seemed like weeks—and set off with my friend Richard to look at a building in Winsted.  It’s an old brick building, long ago abandoned, its use hidden in history.  We like unusual buildings, especially old factories, haunted by ghosts of a different time.  We talk about what we would do if we owned them, could renovate them, and could make them useful and proud again.  We walk around them and make up stories of what might have been and take pictures so that they will be remembered.

When we had our fill of climbing around the building we were long over due for lunch and headed for a little restaurant on the main drag that had great food and a very pleasant atmosphere.  Anticipation whetted our appetites and we were disappointed to find out the restaurant had closed and had been replaced by a coffee shop.  The coffee shop owner was lovely and suggested a diner and a pizza place they didn’t sound appealing.

I could feel the disappointment mounting and the voice in my head starting to whine.  The restaurant was closed, now lunch would be terrible, they wouldn’t have anything I liked, the ladies room would be dirty…we might as well go home… Oh what was I doing!  Stop whining… deep breath, deep breath.   

We were heading for the door when a customer called out asking us how far we were willing to travel for lunch.

“There is a good place about five miles down the road.” he said.  “It’s a tea shop (I love tea) and they have great food (right up my alley) and they have an herb store attached (how interesting).  It’s Passiflora.” 

“Passiflora!  I’ve always wanted to go there!”  I turned to Richard.

“I guess we’re going.”  He said.

It was easy to find, less than five miles, a beautiful drive, and the minute we walked into the shop, I felt at home.

 

We sat at the perfect table right near the window.  Sunlight streamed in, banishing the chill of the not-quite-spring day.  The waitress was cheerful and accommodating, the food was delicious and they brewed tea in a pot just like my British Aunt Dobbin used to do. There were also boxes of angel cards on each table. Angel cards are the new age tarot like decks that give you a spiritual message when you draw a card.

We placed our order and while we were waiting for our meal we opened the boxes of cards and looked at them.  Richard held out the deck for me to draw a card.  “Guardian Angels” it said were watching over me.  Well, I thought, maybe they are. 

The place was so pleasant, the window so sunny, I started to be glad that the restaurant had closed (no bad intensions directed toward the previous owner and best wishes for the new coffee shop). How lucky I stopped to take a breath instead of bolting for the door the gentleman could tell us about this place.

Richard ordered a smoothie, which we were told was made by “the smoothie queen”—it certainly seemed like it.  The staff was so pleasant and the shake so good, we had to agree.

I ordered peach tea and curried chicken salad. When they arrived the tea was herb tea and I had wanted black tea with peach flavor.  Seeing my disappointment waitress whisked it away and brought back a teapot with exactly what I wanted…cheerfully, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to want her customers to be happy.

“It’s a perfect day.” I said picking up the Guardian Angel card to make room for my carrot cake.  “We’re surrounded by angels.” 

Richard looked up as the waitress set down an amazing piece of apple pie and cup of fresh brewed coffee.

“Speaking of angels…“he said, nodding toward the door. 

“Huh?”

“The girl has wings.” 

I had to laugh; it seemed like the perfect comment on the day. 

So spring is here, at least by the calendar, we don’t have to wait for it anymore.  Now the trick will be to be present for it, to savor it, to breathe deep and enjoy it.

I'm Death to Products...

If I like a product, it’s guaranteed to be taken off the shelves.  If you have a favorite product – don’t show it to me.  If I like it – within weeks you won’t be able to find it.  It will be gone with the rest of the things I have obliterated from the marketplace. 

The first I noticed this special affliction was years ago with lipstick colors.  If you’re a woman you know how hard it is to find a color you like.  Once we find that color, we might try some others for variety but we never stray far.  There is always the favorite close at hand, in our purse, our pocket or bathroom counter.  The one you buy two of, that goes with pink and coral, doesn’t make your skin look yellow, and has the right about of creaminess and doesn’t come off on your teeth.  Mine was Revlon number 742.  It was the perfect lipstick. 

I was down to the metal rim of my third tube of the marvelous stuff and standing in my local drugstore looking for another, never suspecting Revlon was about to betray me.  There were all the tubes arranged by number in the little slots with the matching plastic color swatch, I reached my hand out and to my dismay there was no number 742—not even and empty slot.  Revlon color number 741 was nestled against number 743 as innocently as if 742 had never existed.  My favorite had been… the dreaded word…discontinued.

Why my color, I thought?  Why not that offensive bright pink that no one in their right mind would ware?  Or the dark red that was almost black that not even Goths could think of as a good color?  How had my perfect color offended the lipstick gods and gotten itself removed from the shelves? 

I was soon to realize that fault didn’t lie with poor Revlon #742 but with me!  

Then it was perfume.  Aliage, a wonderful fragrance that I wore every day, got a remix and smelled like cat pee on my wrist.  Nylon stockings that wore like iron were replaced with ones that ran if you looked at them.

 

I can do it with television shows, too.  Studio 60 and Journeyman – both excellent shows, in my opinion—lasted only a single season.

 

And food!  Ruby Red Grapefruit from Crystal Light—a delightful flavor—gone from the shelves.  Bubble gum flavored Fruit Punch is still there.  And Boston Market Chicken Pot Pies have disappeared from the frozen food section.  The one frozen food item I could count on to please when even the idea of cooking was beyond me.

 

And those little chocolate cakes that Weight Watchers makes…vanished! They still make the insipid carrot cake, the un-lemony lemon, and too-sweet artificial flavor caramel.  Chocolate, I ask you, how could they discontinue chocolate?  Gone from Stop & Shop, Price Chopper and the Big Y.

Oh yes, I looked.  But alas…  My personal preferences have again guaranteed the demise of a perfectly good product!

 

Twinings Black Current tea is already off most supermarket shelves but I can still order it on line.   The TV series Bones is due back in April but I only discovered it last fall, so you have to give me some time.    

 

I’m eating ruby red grapefruits.  Real ones.  Could this mean a bad year for Florida grapefruit growers?

 

So my advice to you is stock up on Burt’s Bees Raisin lip gloss, Starbuck’s decaf Verona, and Olympus compact digital cameras.  I think they are great.  And you know what that means! 

Don't go out there...

"Mom, don't go out there!  There is white wet stuff piled all over the place.  It's coming out of the sky and I don't think it's ever going to stop. Meow, meow!"  Said Maggie Mae.  "I'm going to tell Shayna and Kattie!"

"Meow!" Shayna said.  "Humans are really crazy but they could be out hunting for cat treats, so don't stop them."  Shayna is older and wiser and really loves those cat treats that come in the purple package.  She knows the cat treats must be hard to catch, even faster than mice, because mom doesn't always bring them home.   "Meow!  I wonder where they are going?" 

We headed out for one of our favorite breakfast places.

It's the most beautiful thirty minute ride in the gentle rolling hills of Northwest CT.

The Wandering Moose Cafe in West Cornwall, CT.  A charming place with great blueberry pancakes, cheese omelets, and coffee.

It also has the advantage of being across the street  from one of Connecticut's last two scenic covered bridges.

I love this sculpture in one of the front yards next door to Shaker Furniture maker I.M. Ingersoll.

The air was crisp and the water a bit choppy but we had a quick walk along the river after our breakfast.

Unfortunately our favorite used bookshop, Barbara Farnsworth Bookseller, was closed.  Barbara worked as a writer in France for many years.  The building itself has a history.  The bookstore is housed in a former Masonic Hall.  It was also home to James Thurber, and also Mark and Carl Van Doren.  I'm hoping she'll be open on our next visit.

On the way home we satisfied an odd compulsion to stop for cat treats.  When we got home all the kitties were waiting by the door.  We distributed some of the delicacies and soon all the cats were curled up in their favorite spots sound asleep. 

All in all, an excellent morning!   

 

Journey...

Several Saturdays ago some friends and I went to a retreat center in my town called Wisdom House.  It belongs to the Daughters of Wisdom and was once a thriving community of Catholic sisters. Now it is an interfaith retreat and conference center which offers courses in a variety of spiritual paths. 

They have a labyrinth on their beautiful fifty-plus acres and I go up and walk it fairly often—it somehow quiets the mind and opens the heart.

 

Now the labyrinth is covered with snow but we were there to open our hearts in another way.  We were taking a course on an Introduction to Islam taught by Sohaib N. Sultan, a Muslim Chaplain and a contributing writer for the www.onedialog.com website. 

Living most of my life on Long Island I was raised in the “Catholic, Protestant, Jewish” melting pot of east coast middle America. I was considered radical when I took up Theravadan Buddhism in the 70's.  When I traveled in India (a trip of a lifetime in May 2006), I visited my first Mosque but I really only knew a smattering about the religion.

Here was a chance to learn.  The course covered a lot in a short six hours—including history, theology, ethics, and spirituality of the world’s second largest religion.  Sohaib was a wonderful teacher.  He took the twenty of us on a spiritual journey into a strange yet familiar land.  (Islam is one of the Abrahamic religions; it shares similarities with Judaism and Christianity.)

What touched me most about  

Sohaib’s story about making his Hajj—the pilgrimage to Mecca required of all Muslim's once in their lifetime.  I do not pretend to know any more about it than Sohaib's personal story and admit my interpretation of that story comes through my own filters.

 

He said that while making the pilgrimage there is a prohibition against anger, even against annoyance, when you walk between the mountains as Muhammad did on his journey nearly 1400 years ago.  If someone steps on your foot and you feel angry and want to step on his—you have lost your pilgrimage.  If you kill a mosquito in anger, you have lost your pilgrimage.  So here you have to walk most of the day with millions of other pilgrims (approximately 2 million people made the trek in 2007—which has caused its own problems) in the hot sun and keep your focus on turning your will over to Allah.  No easy task.

 

I could only think of my days at the Insight Meditation Center in Barre, Massachusetts in the seventies when I spent two weeks in total silence learning the Theravadan Buddhist practice of Vipassana meditation.  The center was in an old monastery that previously housed Benedictine brothers.

 

At the beginning of the course we were asked to embrace the five precepts (codes of conduct) which included “To refrain from harming any living, sentient beings — not to kill or intentionally hurt any person or creature, even an insect.”  And I had arrived at the mosquito capital of the world “in season.”

I lost my meditataion retreat at least twice a day.  I blamed it on the mosquito.  I blamed it on being there in June.  Others blamed it on the food, or their meditation cushions and some even blamed it on the stained glass window of Jesus and Mary in the anteroom to the meditation hall.  They pointed out the offending window and the staff covered it with a black cloth closing off the cheerful colored light that filtered through the window in the early morning.  When others complained about the offending black cloth, it was taken down and another cloth was hung down the center of the anteroom so that you could choose to enter the hall on one side or another—seeing the window or not.  How easy it was to divide people—even people who had come seeking peace.

 

My good friend, Tai Chi Teacher and Zen master (although he would deny the honorific title, I present it to him anyway), Roger Sencer, once told me—when I was struggling with focus in my meditation practice—that it didn’t matter what I thought the problem was, in the end it was me struggling against myself.

All in all, it seems to me we are more alike than we are different.  Maybe it doesn’t matter whether we are walking to Mecca, sitting on meditation cushions, or kneeling in church.  Maybe is it in the reaching out for something larger than ourselves, something that holds a greater meaning, something that will bring us peace—maybe that will bring us together and let us keep our pilgrimage.

“Man need only divert his attention from searching for the solution to external questions and pose the one, true inner question of how he should lead his life, and all the external questions will be resolved in the best possible way.”
~Leo Tolstoy

Shoveling Snow with Buddha...

Shoveling Snow with Buddha ~ by Billy Collins

In the usual iconography of the temple or the local Wok
you would never see him doing such a thing,
tossing the dry snow over a mountain
of his bare, round shoulder,
his hair tied in a know,
a model of concentration.

Sitting is more his speed, if that is the word
for what he does, or does not do.

Even the season is wrong for him.
In all his manifestations, is it not warm or slightly humid?
Is this not implied by his serene expression,
that smile so wide it wraps itself around the waist of the universe?

But here we are, working our way down the driveway,
one shovelful at a time.
We toss the light powder into the clean air.
We feel the cold mist on our faces.
And with every heave we disappear
and become lost to each other
in these sudden clouds of our own making
these fountain-bursts of snow.

This is so much better than a sermon in church,
I say out loud, but Buddha keeps on shoveling.
This is the true religion, the religion of snow,
and sunlight and winter geese barking in the sky,
I say, but he is too busy to hear me.

He has thrown himself into shoveling snow
as if it were on purpose of exhistence,
as if the sign of a perfect life were a clear driveway
you could back the car down easily
and drive off into the vanities of the world
with a broken heater fan and a song on the radio.

All morning long we work side by side,
me with my commentary
and he inside his generous pocket of silence,
until the hour is nearly noon
and the snow is piled high all around us;
then I hear him speak.

After this, he asks,
can we go inside and play cards?

Certainly, I reply, and I will heat some milk
and bring cups of hot chocolate to the table
while you shuffle the deck.
And our boots stand dripping by the door.

Aaah, says the Buddha, lifting his eyes
and leaning for a moment on his shovel
before he drives the thin blade again
deep into the glittering white snow.

Play...

We don't play enough.  And sometimes when we do we feel guilty about it.  At least that's the way it works for me. 

Working freelance I can arrange my days to go for a walk when I want to or run down to the optometrist when I've broken my glasses (today).  I can sit and read after lunch without a boss looking over my shoulder but if it's 10:30 at night and something has to be done for a client, then I'm sitting at the computer working. 

Saturdays fill up with errands and maintenance and although it can be a really satisfying day for accomplishments it can't hold a candle to a fun-filled, guilt-free, I don't-care-how-it-turns-out, I'm-going-to-enjoy-myself-kind-of-play-day!  AND if you can find a friend to join you - that can be the recipe for a double whammy good time. 

My recent play day involved driving down to the CT shore to see my girlfriend, Robin.   

Robin and I have been friends for a long time. We can finish each other's sentences, wave our arms in the air and be understood without words, enjoy doing lots of the same things, rarely take offense and generally think the best of each other.  As the kindergarten teachers say - we play well together. 

And also, although not necessary for everyones play days, as an extra bonus for us, our husbands get along really well.  Politico and history buffs they can talk about Harry Truman for hours.

There are many ingredients involved in a perfect play day and here are a few of ours. 

Anticipation is key.  Conversations will include phrases like "ooh, yeah, lets do that" and "I'll bring my..." and "I got some new... I'll bring it with me."  All this adds up to arriving with 6 bags, only one of them filled with clothes for our overnight stay. 

Some of those bags will be filled with show and tell of your latest creations.

My charmed watch.

   

And Robins wonderful cat cameo that I received as a gift!  Lucky me!

There should be ingredients that inspire.  Paper and paint, books and magazines, yarn and ribbon, bits and pieces, scraps and treasures.  You know what they are.  They are the things that you can't wait to share. 

There are some extras that add to the enjoyment.  Some good food should be involved.  Wine can be a nice touch, especially if it makes you silly... 

For us chocolate and coffee are essential--tea and cookies a lovely adder. 

Mix in good conversation, the willingness to share, an appreciation for the absurd and it's a formula for success.

Sprinkle in a liberal dash of friendship and Enjoy!

What did we make?  Ah, that's for a future blog entry... 

Happy Valentine's Day Everyone!

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
                                    i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

~ee commings

I carry each one of you in my heart!  I am so glad each one of you is in my life.  Thank you for being my friends!

Love,  Cat

My New Car...

I wasn't sure how to title this blog: My Terrific Kids, How Cool is This?, OMG, You won't believe it!, Jumping for joy!

In the end I decided to tell the story just as it happened.  My son Jimmy and his wife Tracy (the daughter of my heart) and my two grandchildren were visiting North Carolina.  I offered to feed their sweet new kitty, Jodie.  Jodie is incredibly affectionate and wanted to be rubbed even before being fed. 

After we put down her food and fresh water I opened the envelope that was left on the counter for me. 

I thought it was going to be new drawings from Michael and Hannah for my refrigerator - which we affectionately call "gallery de la grandkid."  Among items in the envelope, which didn't make sense, was a card which I quickly opened.   

After reading the first line, I immediately burst into tears.  Poor Phil thought something bad might have happened and Jodie jumped up on the counter to rub against me to show her concern.  When I could talk, I could only say "Oh my God, They gave me a car, they gave me a car." 

I turned the envelop onto the counter and there lay the title, a gift declaration for the DMV and two car keys.  What incredible kids!  What an incredible surprise!   And so needed.  My old Volvo is belching fumes and needs so much work we weren't sure if it would be worth fixing.

The phone call to the kids was mostly joyful tears.  Tracy said they didn't want to make a big deal out of it but it was a big deal for me.  And I couldn't be more grateful! 

Jodie was so glad when I stopped crying and got back to the business of showering affection on her. 

We stopped at a local coffee shop on the way home and I admired my car from the window. 

I ask you.  Just how great is that?

I think her name is Sue.  Her middle name is Beatrix.  And her last name is Rhu. 

Sue B. Rhu...