Sidetracked Charley

The Gardner and the Plumber "I weep for you,' the Walrus said:        I deeply sympathize.'  With sobs and tears he sorted out        Those of the largest size,  Holding his pocket-handkerchief        Before his streaming eyes.  "O Oysters,' said the Carpenter,        You've had a pleasant run!  Shall we be trotting home again?'        But answer came there none —  And this was scarcely odd, because        They'd eaten every one. " From the Walrus and Carpenter By Lewis Carroll I was always a strange child, or so my mother maintained. I totally understood Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. I memorized the Walrus and the Carpenter and The Jabberwocky when others were learning their ABC's. I always rather got the middle of the alphabet mixed up.  And if I had to find a letter in the latter half I had to begin in the middle. So as we approach the end of DT's first 100 days I want t

Stand up I went to a Carson National Forest Planning meeting yesterday. I confess it has been a long time since I participated in this sort of meeting. Twenty-Five years ago I was deeply involved in saving our forests from clear cutting by logging companies. I lived in Questa and the logging trucks roared down our rural road. One day the brakes failed on one and it tumbled over into my front yard. There is nothing like that to wake you up to where the trucks were coming from and if they even should be on our road. The election of Donald Trump is a bit like that logging truck. It had no brakes, it was suppose to be taking the logs out by another route which was not lined with houses, he was driving too fast. And as it turned out he was clear cutting an area of the forest when his contract said specifically he was suppose to be leaving old growth islands. It was all about making the most money with the minimum amount of effort. I joined an organization called Carson Watch and we w

Through the Tears In my midlife crisis, now long past, I contemplated a career change. Well, multiple career changes. The career change du jour at one time was going into counselling. Like many who contemplate this path I was in counselling. So much in my life had gone wrong all at one. I used to stand in the basement lobby of a neighborhood church which served as a location for multiple 12 step groups from AA to ACOA to Alanon to Over-Eaters Anonymous and try to decide which one on that particular day I needed the most. My extended silences at the beginning of any counselling session centered around having to pick what I needed to talk about most. I survived that period of my life by being overly busy. In addition to the 12 step meetings, and the counselling sessions, work, and classes in mental health toward the new career. I watched movies in dark theaters until I had them memorized. Star Wars was just out. I will not admit to how many times I watched it. Before the binging d

Have a Seat A Facebook friend of long standing asked me today where was my outrage for the people of St. Petersburg on Monday. Monday? This week? Yes. I was running to Raton, racing the approaching spring storm in an effort to reclaim some of the normalcy of my life as an artist. I had four photographs to enter in an annual show. I wanted to support a non-profit gallery in a country which wants to unfund all art programs. I also desperately needed some windshield time (i.e. down time).  I am suffering from compassion fatigue: indifference to charitable appeals on behalf of those who are suffering, experienced as a result of the frequency or number of such appeals. Also called vicarious traumatization by the American Institute of Stress.   Yes, I am not in the counseling field but I am living in the dark days of the USA, and maybe the world at large. I confess to pulling in my empathy antenna just so I can continue to cope. Cope with my business, my resistance to what is happ

Dark Skies It has been a while since I drove to Raton. And since I entered one of the Old Pass Gallery exhibits. Following the election I became a hermit. Well, not really a hermit because I seem to be more involved in my own community.  I have just not wanted to get out of my comfort zone until it became decidedly uncomfortable here. Since Angel Fire has made me the Black Listed artist of Black Lake I have sought other venues. Which is why I found myself yesterday racing a storm to Raton to drop off four framed photographs at the Ralph Solano Exhibit opening this week. They are all black and white which is another departure. And the titles are The Memory of Trees 1, 2, 3 and 4. So a dark subject. Last time I entered this annual show the pictures were brighter. The times were brighter. I was suppose to take my entries on Saturday but the weather was foul and forecast to get worst. I have been caught before in weather between here and Raton. Spring storms can be the worst especi