My American Dream

38 years ago yesterday, I entered the United States in the middle of the night never expecting to become a US citizen. I wore wide trousers my best buddy Joe had made for me from curtains and a wide comfy wool/cotton top and on my feet cheap chinese tai-chi canvas shoes. I carried only one shoulder bag Joe had created from old carpets that had 3 compartments. The middle held another set of clothing, the back side pocket held a pack of miso and chopsticks and toiletries and the front held my red Chinese-style diary and special fat coloring pencils. My valuables I wore in a belt around my waste underneath it all. Pay from a 1 1/2 year stint in a psychiatric institution as a nurses aid, I imagined then would be enough for half a year of exploring the US. 

I settled in the back on a bench at Kennedy airport and dozed off as I waited for public transportation to resume. A caring black worker noticed me and alerted me to the first overcrowded bus then guided me into Manhattan. The man insisted I show him an address and as I pulled out the only one I had on me for New York he got us on the A-train that bypassed 72nd Street. So he got us to turn around and he was not satisfied until he had brought me safely to the nearest subway station to my contact, despite my on-going protests. What an outstanding, kind and generous introduction to the people of New York!

With nothing better to do, I called my one contact, the actor, teacher and therapist Alec Rubin, the inspiration for my jump across the ocean, and as luck would have it he had just returned from Fire Island, invited me over and asked me to stay until I got my footing in what was once Billie Holliday's digs. I was so lucky, or blessed, or else had a watchful, protective eye over me. I was young, white (a revelation then) from a relatively protected upbringing in a Swiss working class environment. I was a Hippie, a drop-out, at a loss of how to fit in, but in search of my soul, my creativity, my bliss. Well, I had a taste of it all, and I wanted more, hence my adventure to the US. 

32 years ago yesterday, almost broke, we arrived in The City Different in The Land Of Enchantment, in a funky pick-up truck. He found work the very next day, I was at a loss. I had overstayed my visa, I had never learned to drive (no subways and at that time no bus service to speak of either in the City Different.) I was unfamiliar with American mainstays such as Wal-Markt, K-Mart or Walgreens, in short, everyday American culture.

Only 2 1/2 years later I owned my first and my only home, my tiny studio on the wrong side of the tracks in the Railyard, I have been inhabiting for almost 30 years, the last 10 years with my furry buddies. In 1992 I became an American citizen and promptly experienced what seemed psychosomatic symptoms of a painful split right through the middle of my body (a psoas contraction that kept me upright for that one whole night.)

I am still feeling like a mermaid out of my element here in the high arid desert, in a foreign and very strange land that speaks in very strange tongues. I am a first and only generation immigrant. I own my own home free and clear, but I live an existence below the poverty level. 

Am I living The American Dream? Better yet, am I living MY dream?

Valentino

Pretty Kitty was our Valentine's surprise in 2007. In search of a new home he had ended up with a neighbor allergic to cats. A sudden invasion of mice had made me rather amenable to offering temporary refuge to this pretty kitty, especially with a snow storm in the forecast. 

He earned his life long keep with us, having dispersed those mice in only 3 days, they all fled over to our neighbor (I was told so only later.) Relief, I never had to encounter evidence of any carnage! I am terrified of mice, this was our first and our only and our last time any were ever in our home. 

We did discover the proper owner or custodian and we agreed to us giving this pretty kitty a temporary home - until she was settled out of state in a new job later that year. When the time came our Pretty Kitty made it plenty clear that he was going nowhere. He had chosen, no doubt, our pups as his new companions and us as his new home! 

Happy Valentine's Day to all of you from all of us. 

May this day bring you many blessings, much love, some light and especially laughter.

Our Valentine - Our Pretty Kitty

7 years ago this Pretty Kitty was our Valentine's surprise. In search of a new home he ended up with a neighbor allergic to cats. A sudden invasion of mice had made me rather amenable to offering temporary refuge to such a pretty kitty, especially with a snow storm in the forecast (that never materialized.) He earned his life long keep with us having dispersed those mice in 3 days only. They all fled over to a neighbor I was told later. Thankfully I had to never encounter evidence of any carnage, relief as I am terrified of mice, dead or alive. This had been a first and an only time any were ever in my home. We did discover the owner and agreed for us to give the cat a temporary home. When the time came our Pretty Kitty made it plenty clear that he was going nowhere. He had chosen, no doubt, my pups a s his companions, as his pack!

Saemi the cat was lusting after Sumo the little dog.

Sumo would have none of it.

Much thicker skinned Isabella knew

a bit of tail has not yet hurt anyone.

Our 'Mucho-Macho-Lover-Boy' is very independent, comes and goes as he pleases, is responsive when he wants to be and leaves me free of guilt, knowing he has a good, largely self-directed life with plenty of stimulation and choices and without too much dependence on his human.

Happy Valentine's Day from all of us!

May this day bring you many blessings,

much love, light and especially laughter.

My Furry Friends

October has come and gone and somehow I missed the mention of Sumo's 7th birthday on October 4th, which would make him a dignified human male in his forties, not really deserving of being infantilized as happens so often simply due to his size and cuteness. Sumo keeps impressing me with his astounding self-confidence, and self-reliance, even self-containment. This guy does not need much attention from anyone. At home he is content to hang in one of his favorite spots, usually on top of a pillow of mine, while outside he just relishes his freedom to follow his nose, run ahead and explore, with no fear, but total abandon. When we approach our park I believe the mice run for cover and the birds with their excited chatter warn the ground squirrels of Sumo's imminent approach. Sumo will fly ahead, if allowed, to check on every single spot he ever suspected or encountered wild life, all the while keeping track of my whereabouts. He knows that park and our 'hood like we know our inside pockets. I do not believe either of my dogs would ever get lost downtown. Today Sumo happened to come upon that one long haired gray cat that loves to hunt in the park, supposedly not a feral cat, but belonging to a neighbor. Of course Sumo ran excitedly after the cat, but stopped just about mid-air to respond to my call (I had gotten worried about near by traffic.) Sumo is a very good boy. Because love goes through the stomach Sumo got extra helpings of roast chicken and a special  trip by bike up to the dog park for the two of us only.

October 23. we celebrated Isabella's anniversary, a day I will never forget, 6 years ago, when I brought home from the shelter my first dog ever. Oh, I was nervous, unsure, worried and very aware of the responsibility involved. I knew fully well that I hated to have to go out for walks, I was concerned about not just my emotional availability, but also my financial capability of caring for another. (Considering my client who  payed $12,000 to the vet only to lose his pure bred Australian Shepherd to some strange genetic disease within 10 days, my concerns were and are well justified!) I waited to pick her up for two days when I was unscheduled for several days and had full availability to dedicate myself to the acclimation of my new furry companion. In those first days I remember I would get up with the first light, something like 6 am. I would dress in a hurry in order to go out with my girl, terrified her bladder may be ready to burst. In those days I would walk the 'hood with Isabella for a good 5 hours and one day for 7 hours straight. As we got home Isabella, after 7 hours, Isabella finally crashed with all her 4 limbs splashed out across the floor. 6 years ago we still had laws that did not allow the presence of dogs in restaurant patios, so really we mostly meandered as I had heard that a tired dog was a good dog. My worries about her destroying my home, chewing on furniture or shoes and making a mess of my papers were totally unfounded, Isabella was and is a very good girl with a good sense of what is proper and what not.

She decided early on that people ought not to be sitting on the ground and would get rather agitated about the not so uncommon street folks, transients, in our 'hood, but she got also upset with me when I lowered myself to her level. Since, she has adjusted very nicely and has been sleeping communally with no problems, all of us in one big bed. She has retained though her sense of right and wrong. When the cat got up on the roll top desk she knew right away that was wrong, she did need nobody to explain it to her. When strangers approach at dusk or in the dark she will alert as well. But I also watched her tell Sumo off, literally nudge him to stop barking at a friend. 

We have been dealing with Isabella's physical challenges now for at least 2 years. Things are better if not good. Of late I give her a lot more leeway. Rather then drag her along, I try and let her set the pace and lead the way. She loves it and becomes very purposeful and adamant in which direction she wants to proceed. It is quiet a change from the Isabella-girl that followed Sumo everywhere, who had made Sumo the focal point of her world. She no longer can keep up with his pace and I believe she has given up and taken some of her power back. Their relationship is something to behold as they don't fight, don't hold grudges but rather accommodate it each very nicely. More often these days Isabella will pick up a scent, she has a very good nose, and Sumo will come back to her to check it out. Isabella easily picks up the scent of meat from hours ago, or the scent of other animals on someone's clothes, or the scent of wild life I spotted, but they missed visually. Isabella is smart, I can point and she will look in that direction. The other day inside the community garden, now barren, I called on them and while Sumo jumped up several feet to race to me on the shortest route, Isabella could not jump and looked to me. I pointed the other way and I watched literally the light of comprehension go on in her eyes as she turned away from me toward the exit to come toward me. I love that girl! I love them both, or rather all three of my furry companions. I am blessed, if sometimes challenged as well.

9/15 - Part 5

Mid-September marked another milestone that offered more opportunities for reflections. September 16th is when I first set foot on US ground at Kennedy airport, 24 years old, a cultural refugee from the banking capital of Europe, in search of my soul, my creative expression, my deeper, or as I like to call it Lower, rather then Higher Self.

Four years of living in Manhattan had made my prior dream of living in San Francisco, another big city, unappealing. My coat to coast trip across the US that started out in a Hippie Magic Bus had given me a taste for the immensity and awe inspiring beauty of this land. It had gotten me to wonder about a small American town, pleasing and diverse enough to be worth living in.

28 years ago we arrived in the City Different in his red Toyota pick up. At the Coop bulletin board we found a note for a rental of a studio on Cerro Gordo, a rather picturesque part of town as it turned out. Next day he had a job and I was stuck up on the hill. 30 years old I had not yet learned how to drive a car, although I had taken every opportunity to practice behind the wheels of his truck earlier that year. (Curvy highway 1 got on his nerves though and he would dampen my enthusiasm by taking the steering wheel back in to his own experienced hands.)


Anemic and suffering a staph infection I had a rather hard time adjusting to what must have been the altitude. I woke during the nights struggling to catch my breath while during the days I felt tired and limited not only by my energy, but also my budget, I was broke. It took me nine months to find a position in a spa in my profession as a massage therapist. The spa business was then not yet booming as it would be in only a few more years. It took less then two weeks to realize that I was not for all practical purposes in Mexico, even though we are only a six hours drive from the border. Was I surprised when the rooster woke me to a magical, white landscape. It had snowed in late September! These were the times before computers and learning anything and everything on the internet. Following my inner guides and promptings it had never occurred to me to consult outer guides such as maps much less tourist manuals. So our 7,000 feet and then some altitude was a big surprise to me. Having grown up with measurements of meters and centimeters, I still have trouble comprehending the meaning of anything measured in feet, my Germanic mind just can not grasp such an imprecise measurement.

I did learn to drive eventually. I still feel thankful that parallel parking was not part of my test. Downtown parking and traffic congestion had not yet become a  problem, there still were plenty of open spaces downtown and wherever the eye would wander off to, especially for one who had lived in one of the most densely populated cities of Europe, in Amsterdam.

So here I am having lived in the City Different now for 28 years. Some friends thought I had it made, that I was living the American Dream once I owned my own home and drove a brand new car. Of course living the American Dream was not, has never been and will never be my dream. Living a life of consumerism and materialism is not what brought me to the US. These days I wonder if in an attempt to escape the suffocating materialism of my place of origin, Zurich, Switzerland I fell from what we would say 'Regen in die Traufe'?

My American Dream?

33 years ago, September 16th, 1978 I set foot on American soil for the very first time, in the early morning hours, burdened only with one special, made for me shoulder bag packed with two changes of clothes, Miso (Japanese soy paste) chopsticks and a Chinese bound diary with pen and color pencils. 

It was on a quest for self-actualization that had brought me to the United States. I was determined to pursue the creative impulse full time. I hoped to immerse myself and to marinate in those juices. I sought a conducive environment, fertile grounds. I was up for adventure. Nah, I was desperate.  

Desperate to escape what seemed a deadening, stifling working class Swiss upbringing dominated by a post World War II cautious conservative stance to life. Today I would consider myself then a cultural refugee. Like so many of my generation, I had rejected the status quo, the concerns for security through insurance and the hoarding of money and keeping of a steady employ, no matter how deadening to the spirit. Instead I had turned anti-establishment.

Still in 9th grade, I had demonstrated for the rights of Palestinians, the underdogs, and for one exiting evening we protested by forced occupation the planned conversion of an old charming theater  in to a new capitalist shopping center until the police forcefully upheld the rules of the bourgeoisie and made us abandon our sit-in. I still can remember that dark cavernous hall we occupied for a few precious hours, which since turned in to something comparable to a Walmart in the US.

A drop out, I had had the good fortune to meet not one, but several outstanding, creative, artistic mentors, that lit a fire in me, a desire to burn and sparkle with life. With an unwillingness to settle for less, I wanted it all. I was young, dumb and very naive and that is how I had put down my foot on American soil for the first time, 33 years ago.

I did not know much about the United States, did not know what to expect. Big boned, blue eyed, rosy cheeked Peter Smith from Whitewater, Wisconsin had lived with us in Zurich and  had taught us how to bake Tassajara whole wheat bread and how to make granola (I would be the one to supply us with the  needed raw, whole milk, brought home inside a traditional aluminum container.) I probably expected most Americans to be a variation of Peter's wholesome, generous, cheerful spirit.

33 years ago I had no interest in politics. Having had to endure gruesome images of the Vietnam war as regular fare on Swiss TV, I detested and ignored main stream media and culture.  I had not the slightest idea how the political and social climate in the US would change shortly after my arrival, certainly with the surprise election of President Ronald Reagan. 

6 years later, or 27 years ago in mid-September, done with New York, never ever wanting to go back, done with an impossible relationship, almost broke, we had made it in a red Toyota pick up truck in to  The City Different. 2 1/2 years later, married, a legal resident, I owned my first (and only) home. As a first (and only) generation immigrant, I was living The American Dream!

But hey, is this really my dream? Did I find what I came here for? Did I actually actualize myself?

Am I living the American Dream, 
or the American Nightmare?   

To be continued ...

1 Year Anniversary!

Pancho and Lizzie

 Today, September 7th, the Schnauzer pups are 1 year old.

Yesterday, up on the mountain, a coyote was in hot pursuit

probably of Lizzie, the smallest and slowest of the pack.

Eric managed to return his Schnauzers safe inside his car.

The coyote had followed them,

while the Schnauzers stayed blissfully unaware 

of the danger they had just survived.

Pancho and Lizzie

4 Year Anniversary - Sumo

4 years ago today Sumo came over for a play date with Isabella for the very first time. One week later he was handed over to me with "you can have him." My neighbor was tired of chasing after this escape artist who got bored alone in the yard with the company of an old dog and cat only. For Isabella it was love at first sight, she was overjoyed, would not leave his side, never fought about food, toys or bones and eventually would squeeze herself into a corner of her bed to make space for him. But our Pretty Kitty insists  too on getting close to this Pretty Boy, wanting to snuggle, to this dog's horror.

Here I had stuck him into my favorite funky carpet shoulder bag in preparation for taking him along on my scooter. He never minded hanging out inside the bag and loved sitting on my lap riding along, snapping at the air and never making a fuss, never even calling out to other doggies or endangering us in any way. He is such a good boy and we are so glad to have him.

Two weeks after his first visit, Sumo is a very happy boy waiting out a storm inside with good company and a rawhide to chew on.

Our Valentine

Our Pretty Kitty, Much-Macho Lover-Boy, Saemi, our Valentine, will celebrate his 3 Year Anniversary as he joined our pack on Valentine's Day of 2008.

I had seen a flier of a found black cat and had hoped it might be a neighbor's long lost very cute kitty. Well, he was not the one. To boot his rescuer was allergic to cats, while we had mice in our home and  I had wondered about borrowing a cat. Naturally, I was all too eager to bring him home, although I had no idea how that would work with my pups. This cat has no real fear of dogs. He grew up with a Retriever and he clearly can hold his own with any dog.  He chose to stay with us, that is with my two pups, even when his rightful custodian was ready to take him back, 10 months later. Yes, the shelter connected me with a woman that had moved up to Denver and had left him with a friend  of hers in my neighborhood. He was unhappy and on the prowl, seemingly looking for another home. When she came to visit, he took off in to hiding! The first few months he would not leave our home. Every time I opened the door his body would state: 'No, I am not leaving.' 

Within days of his arrival the mice were gone and thankfully he never offered a mouse, alive or dead, at my feet or on top of my bed! This feat alone deserves my unwavering care and affection for the remainder of his natural life. I confess, I am terrified of mice. I had been banging pots and pans throughout the nights to discourage their appearance. Of course I had set up live traps, but only one tiny baby mouse was dumb enough to get caught. I had told my neighbor for a while that I seen mice coming and going from his side of the yard. He denied it all out flat, but his renters confirmed what I always had suspected; a huge, gross mouse nest, close to my entry, but in their yard. One might think dogs would discourage such creatures, but truth be told, my Isabella-girl showed no interest in mice, much less hunting any. On the other hand Sumo did go sniff all along the baseboards and corners responding to my suggestion to go find mice. He looked at me and off he did go hunting. How he knew what I meant from the first moment on is one of the many mysteries I can not explain.

My bosom buddy literally rested on me, while I experimented with close-ups from my new camera. I feel fortunate when I cuddle with my two guys Saemi and Sumo first thing in the morning, each nestled under an arm of mine, as I did early today, while Isabella was still groggy with sleep. I hope you all have a warm body, if you are fortunate maybe two or more, to cuddle up with on this Valentine's Day.

4 Years of cohabitation.

4 years of practice of my role as pack leader.

4 years of placing Isabella's needs above my wants.

9/15 - Part One

Today, September 15th, 32 years ago, I left Europe for good, not knowing then that I would become a US citizen and would make my home in the United States. I was a reluctant adventurer, nervous about not knowing where, what and how. I had no family or friends in the US only friends that had been to California and had experiences I too longed to have.

In the seventies, in Switzerland, most of us in our teens and twenties, we considered ourselves the alternative, the cutting edge, of what, we did not really know. We had our own tiny tea room (The Stuebli) where despite rumors, no drugs were to be had. We all sat on the floor, on carpeted pillows crafted to perfection by my dear friend Joe. We sipped herbal teas, welcomed strangers and fed them brown rice with sauteed onion rings, for free. We were anti-establishment and anti-commercialism in general and on principle. And this in the heart of Europe, Zuerich, the center of banking and commerce, and high standard of style and living.

Likely because of it, we sought community and altered states, some with and some without the help of drugs. We took delight in spontaneous humming and chanting or silences. Some of us took part in Dwuno's "Under-intellectual Gatherings." Fritze had his own essential oil line even then. I remember how this big man, with his big heart, and his big nose, which afforded him an exquisite sense of smell, introduced me to the scent of Vetivier. This happened decades before essential oils would go main stream.

Dear Fritze, then 24 years old, was also the guy that introduced us to solar power as he showed us a simple water container painted black. From him I learned, in the very early seventies, of glaciers about to melt and communities, such as San Francisco, about to drown (timing may not have been his forte.) Global Warming is not a new concept. It has been on the horizon for many decades already. Al Gore has shown us how coastal communities will likely be threatened by the warming atmosphere that melts our glaciers and gives rise to higher sea levels. (One of the saddest and most shocking things I heard was recently from a light (not exactly white) pigmented South African photographer who considers Global Warming a myth perpetuated to keep the up and coming nations down so as not to permit them the same opportunities the western world already exploited!)

Fritze played an important role in Speak Out, an organization by youth for youth in trouble, with the law or drugs. Speak Out had it's outreach center in old town among the whores that then still were able to work the streets day and night. Some of those at risk youths got a chance at intervention in a therapeutic community setting in the country. It was the early seventies, a time for experimentation, for shedding social roles and 'jumping the system' (as we would say in Hakomi Therapy terminology.) 

Every New Year, for some unknown reason, we watched Easy Rider (of course I never ever dreamed that I would make my home near Taos where good parts of this movie were shot.) We read Carlos Castaneda's first book in it's boot legged print in German. Books on Massage and Bioenergetics followed. Carlos from South America showed up and with him we had our own  Bioenergetics Thearpist (young and sexy) that helped us breath right through our own personal blockades. We even took a workshop with an Esalen Massage Therapist given at our 5 bedroom apartment. Paulo Knill, Director then of the Theater Department at the liberal arts Lesley College in Boston would inspire us with his weekly Thursday morning classes, where I first learned the basics of Contact Improvisation, of trusting the ground we stood and rolled on. We learned to engage our core muscles and go with the flow while we were free to feel our feelings. Paulo had embraced the principles of Primal Therapy. Primal scream boxes popped up in attics and cellars all over. We were intent on liberating the inner hurt child by feeling our feelings and working through our primal pains. By embodiment of our  injuries we hoped to transform ourselves from victims in to empowered, creative, artistic, fully alive human beings.  Those were powerful and transformative and today I would say also strangely addictive processes.

We listened to Leonhard Cohen, Cat Stevens, The Moody Blues, Pink Floyd and later John and Yoko, to name only a few, but most often engaged with spontaneous acoustic music wherever it erupted, often played on a guitar, with a sitar thrown in for good measure, sometimes accompanied by a flute that would soar up high and not to forget Bongos of all sizes to be pounded upon. Yeah, even I would wander those ancient streets of old town after midnight. I would softly play my little wooden recorder and felt an alienation that strangely suited me, that seemed to set me apart from main stream. 

We shopped, when we could afford it, at Mister Natural, our first alternative health food store. Dwuno would severely reprimand us when we brought conventional commercial brown rice to our tea room. In the early mornings I would walk down the hill with an aluminum (I am afraid those were the kinds used then) kettle of fresh whole milk in hand for our Chai of the day or rather night. I have fond memories of those very early and very late peaceful times on ancient, cobble stoned, narrow, rivulet-like streets.  I had been liberated only recently from an ordinary, somewhat stultifying Swiss childhood. Times seemed sweet and and full of promise. 

In search of further altered, exalted states I departed from Zuerich and later Amsterdam to eventually arrive in New York, the United States exactly 32 years ago to this day.

Continued with Part Two 

3 Years with Sumo

Sumo a Yorkie/Poodle/Maltese when he still sported a professionally groomed look, 3 years ago today, on his first visit with us and one week before he joined our pack for good. He felt uncertain as it was time to go to sleep in a new place, but on his bed - not mine!

Schnuegge (cute guy) on his first afternoon hanging out in our yard with bones he tackled with vigor, perseverance and single-minded focus. He was then still our neighbor's dog and Schnuegge was my term of endearment before I settled on his most appropriate name, Sumo. A name, I recently discovered to my great surprise, shared with former french president Chirac's 'vicious' Maltese. (After biting the president 3 times that Sumo was abandoned to a farm.) My Sumo is not vicious, but vigorous, be it in tackling bones or wrestling with Isabella almost 3 times his size.

Sumo at the dog park, rebuffed, unable to comprehend why I would not want his muddy paws on me.

Sumo not so long ago at the dog park after an extensive trim by me that brings out his contours nicely in the light of the setting sun.

2 Year Anniversary

2 years ago exactly our Pretty Kitty, Mucho-Macho-Lover-Boy, Saemi, formerly San, joined our pack, I thought temporarily, but we were able to keep this charmer, luck bringer and mice-dispeller.

His responsiveness impressed and endeared me to him right away. One shush, and he would stop nibbling on a plant, or get off where he wasn't welcome.

Here I am in search of catness, this mysterious quality of cat, that is so different from dogs. This kitty is street smart and seemingly unafraid. He will approach any dog when he deems the time right.

Our Lover-Boy has now finagled for 2 years, trying to get up close to cuddle with Sumo. His desire is so intense and his approach so devious, as he inches his way closer.

These are my pups on their first encounter with a cat in our home. Isabella's quizzical look is priceless and so very familiar. She never been close to a cat before while Sumo had lived with one prior. His tendency is to start licking and cleaning himself just like a cat.

Thankfully we never had a fight. In the beginning I was concerned about the sudden swipes coming from the Pretty Kitty, just as they were getting more comfortable with him. Now I understand this was his way of demanding respect and attention which he gets now from both. My Isabella-girl I think is really impressed with his ability to scale the fence. This must have contributed in great parts to his current good looks and loss of weight.

I never imagined sharing my tiny home, with three furry ones, much less sleeping with them on a narrow single bed, which now I really enjoy! I can feel the benefits of snuggling up to other mammals. I bet my heart opens, my blood pressure lowers and I can attest to the improvement of my mood in general. I even fidget less.

We are very lucky to count our black cat as part of our pack!

25 Years

Today, 25 years ago we arrived in Santa Fe,
in a red beat up Toyota pick up truck, down to a few bucks.
we would spend the night aside on the road, not far from this site.

The magic of Santa Fe had lured us, little did we know,
we thought we were close to Mexico,
but soon enough snow surprised us then, as it still does now.
First snow sprinkled Mount Baldy today
and offered foreboding of what is yet to come.
Who knew that a frosty season might last 8 months out of 1 year?

Brown, thick, round walls of dirt and straw against blue, sunny skies seemed like a perfect antidote for way too much time spent in New York. Soon we were settled along a charming narrow dirt road, in someone's library turned to guesthouse for welcome additional income, as most working Santa Feans had then, and certainly need to use ingenuity now, to make ends meet.

Roosters would wake us before dawn. He found work that very first day in construction. I stayed home alone. I had not yet learned how to drive, had overstayed my visa, - and was at a loss. Still reeling from life's harsh lessons and yes, losses of love, money and things, but most importantly loss of naiveté and a simpleton's trust.

Every new beginning is a bit like a new birth. I do not do well with birth. I prolong, resist, hesitate, and moan and groan. No, I say, I am not ready! My mom was 2 weeks overdue with me and still I did not make it easy on her. Neither did they make it easy on me with their forceps.

25 years ago, bewildered, at a loss, resistant, I wondered; who am I now?

Today, more then 30 years ago, I arrived in New York after midnight and after all buses suspended service until morning. Not one to spend when not necessary, I settled in to a seat in one of the waiting areas to snooze until service would resume. And so began my US adventure,
when I yet had no inkling of ever becoming a US citizen and never even had heard of what must be considered my home town now, Santa Fe, the City Dipherent.

flickr final part 4

My 'Goddess with an Attitude' was my very first upload, here post-processed with tools I then had not yet discovered. The first of more then 3,800 images that total almost 133,300 views.

I realize that an image alone no matter how beautiful is never as relevant to me as an image that holds meaning, has something to say, maybe tells a story, or somehow gives new insight.

In this light I invite you to check out some of my favorite photostreams on flickr starting with BuckarooBob from the Oregon Coast, a master story teller, prior photo journalist and human being of the very first order:

"I'm a seeker and a believer, a pilgrim and a pirate, a dreamer and a schemer"

Prabhakaran from Chenai, India will charm you too, I bet, with his delightful presentation of his world seen through his beloved Canon. I particularly love the insights he provides in to the culture of South India, along with his sweet poetic spirit coupled with a great sense of humor.

Vol-au-Vent or Kiki, from France, but always a Swiss at heart, is my queen of soulfulness, one can not help be enchanted by her presentations. She has a knack for finding the perfect quote, followed by personal and intimate expression, set to her image to express charmingly what is in her heart and thereby touch another's soul.

Keith from Australia is a closet film maker to my mind, a thinking photographer, highly attuned to the interplay of light, dark and shadows. His images are not the cute, warm and fuzzy kind, but the stunning, capture of poignant moments in time, like this one here:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/xpatscot/3793590223/sizes/l/

Finally the cutest pet images ever got to be of Earny the Terrier and Toby the calico cat:
ttp://www.flickr.com/photos/jobee59/sets/72157603571959871/
from the Australian bush via Jobee59

flickr anniversary part 3

Here comes the tricky part, expressing my complex, sometimes difficult feelings in relating on-line and through mine and others creative efforts. I decided early on that flickr is one of my modes of self expression rather then my advertisement! Meaning I never intend to cater to an audience. My hope is that you might be moved by some of my posts and might even respond, but I will not hold my breath for that to happen. If I sound defensive, I am afraid I am. The truth is that I did hold my breath despite my best of intentions. Going public means seeking interaction, who am I kidding. There is a reason I do not keep my images to myself. I can't get my friends to look at them, what do I expect? Nothing and everything, but anything other then generic, polite responses, pleaze! And spare me the devastating critical kind or the dubious silences. Whoever said silence is gold is a liar. Silence is a killer, fosters uncertainty and doubt. Benign neglect can be lethal. But who takes the time for constructive criticism? Who knows how to give such? And anyhow I keep reading how flickr is about "fun" - really?

I never been big on gratitude and yes, I ought to be grateful for all the attention my images do get while I am so blissfully ignorant of the true art of photography The truth is that I have hurt many a time over many an overlooked dear image of mine. I guess it is unavoidable considering everything, but it hurts nevertheless. What is dear to me does not (yet?) translate in to dear to others and that is what distinguishes the successful artist, right?

Flickr does embrace that which is cute, no doubt. I like cute too, up to a point. At first I kept my activity to pet imagery, how odd for me, but hey I got one, then two, then three furry ones and pets seemed saver to explore, god forbid I should come upon explicit sex images, which I am happy to report I really have managed to avoid. So how come there rarely is a dog baring it's teeth? Dogs piss and hump plenty, but rarely do I find an image of such realities of life, why? Might it be offensive to a young family member?

This playful image of my Sumo-boy gave nightmares to a few but started a lively discussion. I adore this ferocious image of Sumo because it counters the assumption that little Sumo-boy, because of his size is a cute puppy rather then the adult alpha, independent, unafraid male that he is in reality.

Of course Sumo is cute, but his spirit is large and he does not need to be looked at as a baby or toy. He is a guy for real.

But this is not about Sumo or canine companions, but about my experiences with flickr. Just now I took a break to check a mail from one of my dear flickr friends. Turns out a stranger  by mistake somehow managed managed to upload an image to his stream. Now get this, none of his many viewers, many regulars questioned this odd image that so did not relate to his body of work. Rather the comments were complimentary on his choice of colors and design and so on! This is what gets me with flickr, these non-sensical, superficial responses, please! Who needs them?

It is time to honor the friends that I did find on flickr and that make flickr special. I love connecting over our creative efforts with folks from all over the world, from all kinds of backgrounds, cultures, religions, beliefs, tongues and nationalities.

to be continued ...

flickr anniversary part 2

Here I continue my reflections on flickr by considering my personal favorites of the thousands of images I captured and posted in these last 3 years.

This one is one of the very first images I took with my new Nikon D40. My camera sat there for a while before I dared approach it. I was walking my pups as I so often do and was passing by this very old, funky cemetery and almost missed this toy up on the fence. By pure chance the colors and sharpness of the image keep delighting me and so does the symbology of sitting on the fence, something I have been accused too often. Here I demonstrate that sitting on the fence can be o.k. and almost look comfortable!



This one is a bit similar in that I was focused on architecture and almost missed these cute tigers, really I am not a fan of cutesy toys, but I love this image and think the frame perfect.



Tractors and heavy equipment have very little appeal to me usually, but this one early morning the light shone upon this tractor and I love what became of it, an abstract of sorts. I really love it because it is so unlike me to be attracted to such. My world opens up looking through a lens and I come to love all kinds a things.

I love my pups and treasure capturing them in action, which is not easy. Here I was quick to reach for my camera when I spotted Howdy, a gorgeous Labradoodle pup. It was late in the morning the sun already washing out a lot of color and my aim was not perfect. I did a lot of finnegaling to achieve this so far my favorite version of the image.



If you care to check out more of my images you might like to view one of my favorite sets.
to be continued ...

flickr

My 3 year flickr anniversary is coming up September 6th. I joined flickr in the idea of enriching our on-line group of "phenomenal women" with an image sharing site. Word and image always made sense to me and make a larger whole, like the left and right brain that function together. In my profession as a bodyworker I was one of the first to my knowledge to employ a portfolio that showed beautiful photos of me at work along with a painful, to me, description of what my intentions in massage therapy really are. Massage can go so way far beyond relaxation, but few knew and know.

I am not one that had a long standing passion about photography. I bought my first digital point and shoot with the expectation of traveling to Ghana to volunteer for a month in an orphanage and kinda get a first whiff of Africa and a sense if I might want to spend more time there. The little Olympus Stylus with it's odd shape, that fit perfectly in to my hand seemed ideal for the purpose of capturing the likeness of some cute African kids unobtrusively.

As fate would have it, my Dad got sick the day after I had made my travel arrangements to Ghana and what I captured first was his hand in mine as I sat on his bedside and suddenly remembered my brand new camera still unused in my purse.

My Dad perked up when I mentioned Olympus as he had owned several, but of course none digital. It was sweet to see this old, frail man, mostly incoherent, on his death bed come alive.

Since then, 1995, I gave myself a Nikon D40, a beginners DSLR, as capturing my fast moving pups was simply too fast for my point and shoot, as they have a considerable length of lag time. But I am back to another Olympus Stylus, this time purple, to replace my first as they are just so convenient and surprising in what they can accomplish considering their size.

Flickr is a phenomenon and may well be the internet at it's very best.

To date I uploaded exactly 3800 images that garnered 24,550 views to my photo stream alone, a lot more in total, and certainly a whole lot more exposure I would have ever had of photos placed in to albums as I used to.



This entry, taken on one of my many walks with my dogs, is what flickr considers my most interesting and what the community made in to my most popular, most often viewed image. This photo made Explore twice in different versions.

It got posted 'illegally' somewhere by someone where it garnered overnight 1100 views. Personally I am not crazy about entries. What I do truly love though is discovering my world with new eyes.

This image of a young working girl in braces looking sexy, kinda, I am afraid circulates among an adoring anorexic crowd, I took it away from public viewing after a comment confirmed my suspiscions, but recently made it available once again and it is gaining exposure steadily.

Finally I remember vividly becoming what seemed like an integral part of a painting during maybe the most spectacular sunset I ever witnessed. It took me a while to consider even an attempt to photograph the spectacle and it was an unforgettable event. Until then I rarely ever attempted capturing a landscape. This image became by far the most often favored of mine.



To be continued ...