text:
tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66396765233790573642016-09-28T10:47:33.254-07:00Linda_HensleyLinda Hensleyhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-49021078970663742702016-09-23T09:11:00.000-07:002016-09-23T09:11:01.143-07:00"Nest"

I'm not going to make excuses, though I do give you my apologies. I just dropped off the web in August after faithfully posting every week since 2010. I didn't get a horrible disease or die or anything. Life just got stressful and I wasn't in a good head place. I actually wrote posts the last few weeks, but I didn't post them. Who wants to hear me whine? I don't. I'm sick of it.

Yet for all of that, I think people often post only the good stuff in their lives and I sometimes think that maybe we would all grow if we understood that other people have struggles to face even when their lives look perfect and wonderful to us from the outside?

Maybe some of those people actually do have perfect lives. Good for them. My life has been more of a challenge -- though the other day I was trying to have a good sulk and kept thinking of people I'm fortunate to have in my life. I was very cranky that I couldn't even work up a satisfactory pity party for myself. I decided to take out some of my frustrations by organizing my garage. It's not going very well organizationally, but I have been burning off some excess anger issues.

There's an irony here too because I recently cleared out a friend's attic, basement, and office/bedroom. There was a lot of stuff and I happily broke it down into categories and either stored it in better places or eliminated it. It was so easy and satisfying -- at her house. It's a lot harder when trying to clear out my own nest.

I'm a secret hoarder. If you come to my house, you won't see that I have every significant object of my life, countless treasures from ancestors or garage sales, and of course, every art supply that I may need for the next masterpiece. I'm just really good at stashing things. I think it comes from having very limited personal space when I was growing up and sharing a room with two sisters.

I think I can be exactly the same way with my mental inventory. I remember everything. I've got all those memories stored in compact places in my brain, stacking things on top of each other and hiding them in a pretty box. There's good things about that. I've written a lot of posts about happy memories. There's bad aspects to this kind of recall too. I remember every awful thing that people have said and done to me.

In my garage, I have a lot of lumber stacked up to maximize the space. It's mostly stored by size -- which is sort of useful, but not really if I have to unstack it to find wood for a project. Think about that in terms of memories. To address a past issue, I have to sort through ALL of my issues to find the thing that I can fix and move beyond. It's as overwhelming as my friend looking at her basement and not knowing where to start because that was her memories and stuff. Sometimes I think my brain could be fixed easier by someone else.

Back in May, I told you about a painting I started. I've worked on it, but not very much. That too is part of the reality that I don't see on the web very often. Procrastination, other priorities, laziness, whatever, are a real part of life too. I'm far from perfect, but I'm working on being better than I was. I think that's all any of us can do. I might even get a clean garage out of the process.Linda Hensleyhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-46805325746367661692016-08-13T07:52:00.000-07:002016-08-13T07:52:18.431-07:00"Origami"

Mom used to make a origami swans. Us little kids gathered around in rapt attention as she folded the paper. You know, that's when parents still had magic powers that we could only aspire to as we grew.

I should probably write something about Mom now but she hates that, and besides, I had a vivid dream of Dad this morning. He told me something that I can't remember now, and then he sang. It was like he hadn't sung in a long time; he was really rusty and his voice cracked. He was young in the dream, younger than I ever knew him. I noticed his crooked teeth and he acted self-conscious about my noticing.

I've been wondering things about Dad lately. What did he feel and think? What motivated him? I've only written the pleasant memories of him on this blog, but our relationship was complicated, and I've been trying to put old issues to rest.

I wonder if he really came back to me in this dream, showing me his insecurities, letting me see what I didn't, couldn't see when I was a child fascinated by paper swans. It didn't matter to me if Dad had crooked teeth. I loved listening to him sing, and I assumed he could always belt out tunes with operatic quality and volume.

He was 45 when he died in a sudden accident when I was a teenager. I never had the usual opportunities to know him more fully as I became an adult. Who would he have become if he had lived to a ripe old age? What would our relationship have turned out to be? Would I like, understand, respect him? Who would he vote for in the presidential election? (I suspect the Green Party.)

I saw him as a completed picture. I know he was skinny when he was young, but he was brawny and strong when I knew him. He could do pushups from a handstand, even with a kid or two hanging on him. He was charming and got along with everyone. I saw women batting their eyes at him and never thought there might've been a time when he felt awkward with girls.

All of us carry the skinny (or fat or whatever) kid within our adult selves -- even parents, grandparents, teachers, and whatever other authority figure we meet when we're children. All of us encounter a time when we look at our parents and think "that's cracked!" when they something that is clearly just plain wrong. There's a time when we realize Mom and Dad aren't just taking a nap in the next room, and Grandma and Grandpa aren't napping either.

Then, there's the time that we see the crooked teeth and feel some sympathy and understanding that our parents are flawed humans, just like we've got flaws and insecurities. We see the path they set us on when they controlled our lives is a path that we can choose to follow or not. Origami swans are just paper, and we can fold them too.

Next time I dream of Dad I'd like him to sing like he did when we took cross-country road trips and when he was working in the garden... but even so, I thank him for letting me hear his voice when it cracked.

The tomatoes were on the counter when I took the swan pic
and I thought I'd share my garden happiness.
Nothing like a fresh, home-grown tomato!

Linda Hensleyhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-70077360927206253962016-08-06T07:15:00.000-07:002016-08-06T07:15:58.349-07:00"Tiny"

It's easy to make a mountain from a mole hill.  Lately, I've been thinking about how we make mole hills from mountains.   They're so much of the landscape we can't see them anymore.<o:p></o:p>

A boyfriend was cooking dinner once. "Can I help?" I was given a pile of green beans to prepare. I did it the way I was trained, snapping each end and pulling the string. He grabbed a handful of beans, and whacked off the ends with a knife. I was shocked. My world changed in an instant. Really, why painstakingly string beans? I told Mom about this epiphany and she said, "But that's the way it's always been done!" A side discussion of sitting on porches with old ladies, but in the end we agreed grocery store beans aren't very stringy, and we won't die from cut ends, though Mom still prefers it the old way.<o:p></o:p>

It never occurred to me to question my green bean training. Now apply it to something that matters.<o:p></o:p>

I started wondering what other mountains I've made tiny.  It's hard to know because our perspective is so skewed. You can point at something like women's role in society through the millennia and wonder how many women actually stopped to wonder if it was a good idea to cripple their daughters by breaking their feet for foot binding or giving them genital mutilation.  It all seems so obviously abusive now, but I bet millions of mothers just thought that's the way things are.<o:p></o:p>

Are we still crippling ourselves? Even though the wounds are invisible compared to foot binding, aren't we still keeping people down in countless ways?<o:p></o:p>

America has about 3 more months of political craziness before the election. During that time we get a chance to see impassioned people spouting off their dearly-held beliefs. Some of their invisible mountains will be obvious to a lot of us. The white supremacist yelling about welfare mothers and immigrants had to be taught white is best and everyone of color has to be feared and kept out. But what of our own beliefs? How many of our own thoughts are flawed?<o:p></o:p>

And really, I'm not talking politics or racism. I'm trying to explain that I've been trying to figure out my own faulty thinking on a very personal level. What do I believe that hurts my own success and happiness? For instance, I've been taught that my value in the world is measured by what I do. Whether that's my creative output, giving of my time or money, whatever, whatever. I bought into this, but it's a skewed view. I bet I have a lot of them, and I bet you do too.<o:p></o:p>

Sometimes you just have to find someone who cuts the ends of beans with a knife to see things differently, to find people who haven't bought into your belief system, especially people who are positive and uplifting. It's like the old saying about what you water in your garden.  If you water weeds, you get weeds.  I prefer tomatoes. I prefer being around happy people.<o:p></o:p>

As for the mosquito, I doodled while watching a show about viruses and thought about how something so tiny can eliminate life as we know it. Maybe I should watch happier tv shows too?Linda Hensleyhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-60046621428465623432016-07-30T12:14:00.001-07:002016-07-31T03:51:42.130-07:00"Viking"

I used to live at a place we called "Valhalla*". I was part of a "we" at that time, and he was into Vikings. There's a whole lot of back story I could tell about how we ended up in this 100-acre patch of woods hugged by the Grand River (1 of 2 state-designated 'wild and scenic' rivers in Ohio -- the other being the Chagrin River of my childhood), but let's skip past some of my completely justified marital bitterness and get to Valhalla.

The very large house on this property hadn't been lived in for years because it was part of decade-long divorce battle. Hunters liked to break in and use the grand fireplace in the basement for warmth and the pool table for fun. The woman of the pending-divorce wanted someone in the house to keep the hunters out. Sure! I'd love to plunk on the grand piano in the cathedral-sized living room facing the woods!

In an odd loop of coincidence, I was in this house many years before, when it was decked out in splendor. A friend and I were riding horses and saw a bunch of older teenaged boys floating a Volkswagen in the river. We called and laughed at them, they invited us to the fun. The mom served us gourmet sandwiches off giant silver trays, and kids swam in the Olympic-sized indoor pool to clean off river and Volkswagen grit. There was so much laughter; I can still hear it.

The house was silent when "we" lived there -- unless you want to count Andrew, our ghost. I felt like I had to ask his permission each time I drove down the 1/4 mile overgrown, gravel driveway. Someone advised me to tell Andrew to "go to the light!" I did, and then all the lights around the house turned themselves on and off. Ever after, my dog would put her feet on the wall and bark at light switches. I laughed a lot at that too.

The house had a 2nd story art studio, which was a happiness I had always fantasized about. I moved my many art supplies up the stairs and stared over the half-wall which overlooked the cathedral living room and out the 3 stories of windows that faced the woods -- and stared -- and stared -- and created nothing.

My dog and I took daily walks in the woods. We sat at the waterfall, communed with the white pines, picked mushrooms, violets, ramps, and sassafras. We watched the deer come up to the windows every evening... and eventually I started to become myself again after years of cheating, neglect, and verbal abuse. I signed up for an art festival, shoved my drawing table up to one of those giant windows, and started to paint again -- and couldn't stop.

I only lived at Valhalla spring through fall of 1 year, but it was a life-changing time for me. I didn't want to pay heat bills for a mansion so I kicked out the people living in my house and moved back to where I was before the abuse. We were happily divorced within the year. Well, I was happy about it at any rate.

Sometimes I thought it was ironic to call the place "Valhalla" because I was so unhappy when we moved there, but maybe it was the best and only name for the place I refound my happiness within myself.

Valhalla (Merriam-Webster definition)

1. the great hall in Norse mythology where heroes slain in battle are received

2. a place of honor, glory, or happiness

I wish I could show you photos, but I didn't take any at the time. The painting is a bit of a larger work I did at that time. I drove down the long drive this past winter and found the large house has been replaced by a much smaller one. Maybe it's for the best? It was a house of divorce, even with the echoes of laughter.

P.S. My blog buddy Jane is having a giveaway. Click on the photo below to go to her site for a chance to win.

 Linda Hensleyhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-23642453086848501142016-07-24T12:06:00.001-07:002016-07-24T12:06:40.860-07:00"Trapped"

I will have the most perfect illustration for "Trapped" because I have an assignment for a magazine article on the topic, but the illustration doesn't exist yet and I couldn't show it until after it's published anyway. All I can show for now is that I'm building a cinder block wall as a part of it.

The Republican National Convention has left Cleveland and as far as I know there weren't any international incidents other than the inevitable Trump nomination. The people of Greater Cleveland may be divided in politics, but we're all heaving a collective sigh of relief that the event is over. I realize the national drama isn't over, but I'm glad Cleveland came out of the event okay.

As for "Trapped", I keep flip flopping between bad memories and thoughts of freedom: the misery of a bad marriage, the joy of divorce, bad jobs, great jobs... climbing tall, tall pine trees and looking out at the world with the view of a hawk, swaying with the wind as I clutched the trunk because the brittle branches won't hold even a skinny, little kid, especially if you go too high.

I think I knew at the time that the world was full of opportunities, even when I felt unhappy and limited. I didn't want to be president, but I fought with my father that I could become one if I changed my mind about it because I deeply felt that women could and should challenge traditional limitations. "Not in my lifetime!" Dad said. "It will happen in mine!" I pronounced. Maybe it will turn out that we were both right? It didn't happen in Dad's life, but it will in mine.

I don't know if Hillary Clinton will be the one to break this glass ceiling, but she's come farther than any women before her -- and good for all women as a result. I could say a whole lot about what I think of the American political system and how that has made a mess of things, and probably threatens the entire world, but I can't tackle everything important in one post.

I didn't vote for Hillary in the primaries, and even that feels like something of a victory because I chose my preferred candidate based on issues instead of gender. I'll admit that I still wish for a Bernie Sanders upset at the Democratic National Convention this week in Philadelphia, but I realize this is just my personal fantasy. I loved Bernie before most people even knew who he was.

Long before all this craziness, I was actually in the same room with Trump once. I went to New York City for work and my boss got us tickets to "The View". One of the guests was Donald. He was perfectly pleasant and charming... and that's the last good thing I'll say about him unless I get the opportunity to say that he accepted his defeat with grace.

Perhaps, perhaps my childhood vision of a woman president will come true in my lifetime?Linda Hensleyhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-9977563259782198062016-07-17T06:58:00.000-07:002016-07-17T06:58:37.747-07:00"Stomach"
I've continued watching psychiatrists' youtube videos about mental disorders and one of them called tv cooking shows "Food Porn". What?!! I looove cooking shows! Friendly people chop, mix, sizzle, and chat, and I like to play this in the background when I'm trying to relax. It's not like I'm going to actually follow any of their recipes. I just prefer cooking shows to seeing a video of who's gotten blown up in the streets last.

Nice people cooking is a normal, pleasant world, and I want life to be pleasant and normal. They remind me of the safety and love in Grandma's kitchen. A full stomach means there's enough to go around and share.

The perky youtube therapist said my Food Porn is an unhealthy preoccupation with food. Grrr. I suspect she's probably right, but that doesn't make me want to give it up either. Well, I'm very willing to give up vegetarian cooking shows, but I don't want to give up the fat old ladies making cookies. I'm not eating them, so it's a non-caloric food obsession.

The strawberries and yogurt is a memory of a shared breakfast. If you've followed my blog a while, you may have noticed I've painted other shared meals. Food and love go together no matter what Dr. Phil says. I had dinner last night with a couple of friends. Lunch was with more friends. Friends --> food. Okay, maybe my friends and I should spend more time in the park walking it off too?

Big meals at Grandma's house were always followed by a walk in the park with the men while the women cleaned the kitchen. I held Grandpa's hand and we journeyed across the street to Goodyear Park to poke around at the pond and hike through the woods in the summer, sled and warm up by the burn barrel in the winter.

I recently visited my friend's new condo in Akron, Ohio, not far from where my grandparents lived. I decided to go past their house. It's been years and years since I've been there, and I was happy to see that so much of the neighborhood looked the same as when I was a child -- until I got to Grandma and Grandpa's house. It looked horrible. The pretty porch windows with a fan design at the top were falling apart and paint was slopped on the glass. A sign hung on the door that said the police were watching the property, so I suppose it's been used as a drug house. The garage looks like it's going to fall down. Grandpa must be having a fit in the afterlife.

A young couple with a baby watched me from the steps of Mrs. Edward's house. A picnic was going on behind Aunt Sally's. The park looked green and inviting. Everything looked happy and wonderful for a new generation except our house.

I went home and thought about all the warm memories and cookies in the bright, turquoise kitchen and decided that the current state of things doesn't change anything. The house and my grandparents live within me. They're like rereading a beloved book, something I can pull off the bookshelf anytime and feel the warmth again with thanks.
Linda Hensleyhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-63218606529880297322016-07-10T06:48:00.000-07:002016-07-10T06:48:05.787-07:00"Teeth 2"

I found a complete bird skeleton this week which I decapitated, sanitized, and added to my natural history display in my office. I was pleased that the skull still had its lower jaw and noticed the way the lower jaw fits into the upper is the same knob and socket arrangement as mammals. Its pelvis was very different than a mammal, but I didn't keep that part. Cleaning the tiny, fragile skull bones was a delicate effort and I carefully placed it next to the last skull and stood back to admire my collection.

There's a lot of traffic in my office, but I'm almost certain that nobody notices this shelf on the bookcase. The other offices at work are filled with pictures of grandchildren, or world travel, or religious images (since I work for Religion). I got an ad with a nice reproduction of a Saint Luke painting and framed it. People noticed that, but didn't see the new skull.

 Paula Kuitenbrouwer sent me a postcard with Mandarin Ducksand Sharon Wagner sent me a pink flower. These are on the bulletin board and people pause and admire their art without looking slightly left to bird skulls, feathers, eggs, and nests. Maybe they are just polite and not pointing out the macabre? Flowers and living birds are clearly prettier than bones.

All of my natural history items came from the garden at work. I make a point of going to the garden for a few minutes (in every kind of weather) at least twice a day to clear my mind of numbers and people. It keeps me sane and centered.

As much as things change, some things stay the same. When I was a child romping alone in the woods, I spent a lot of time examining animal anatomy because the world is littered with bones if you stop to look. You'd think this would make me a good biology student, but I was completely icked out by formaldehyde and intestines -- which wasn't helped by flirtatious boys leaving dead things on my seat or down the back of my shirt. Boys can really learn a lot about better flirtations, and I didn't even understand this was flirtation. I was mad at stupid/mean boys. One of them explained his flirting to me many years after the fact. It's a wonder our species survives.

Okay, songbirds don't have teeth, but illustrationfriday.com didn't give me a new word for the week so we're even. I posted this bird skull art a couple years ago too, so I'll admit to taking shortcuts this week. Sis1 is visiting from out of state, and I've been trying to make the most of her visit.

The new guy started at work and as I expected, he seems perfectly fine and friendly despite my pre-arrival anxiety. Change may be good in the end, but the unknown of it stirs things up. I went to the river after work one day and felt more peaceful because as much as things change, some things are the same. I'm calmed by the river and the things that live in it. Minnows tickled my toes, I picked up stones, and I studied a bird skeleton. I could've been 5 again, especially with sisters around who remember me then.
Linda Hensleyhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-35161887113253218492016-07-02T17:15:00.000-07:002016-07-02T17:15:32.691-07:00"Teeth"

In 2nd grade, the teacher asked us the proper method for brushing our teeth. Hands shot into the air and she picked X, who proudly demonstrated little circles. Wrong! I knew the proper answer of brushing from the gum to the end of the tooth, but I didn't put my hand up. I almost never did. I got picked as default too often as it was.

X had perfect little teeth. The plaid pocket of his perfectly pressed shirt matched the shirt pattern exactly, his perfectly shined shoes complementing his pressed pants. His hair was cut professionally and always combed neatly. I hated him. This was made harder by the fact that he was smart, polite, eager to help, and just terribly nice. I kept my bad feelings to myself and we often played together pleasantly on the playground.

I was ashamed of myself. Even at 6 years old, I knew I was wrong and probably going to hell. I glared at my girl scout uniform with 100 buttons and ironed it hatefully, knowing boys didn't have as many buttons and X's mom did all of his ironing (with starch!). Life was unfair, and X symbolized every unfairness.

He's had a nice life. Of course he has. That's why I put so much energy into hating him. He started with everything to ensure that kind of success -- which I honestly don't begrudge him. Nice people should have nice lives.

A few years ago, a child confessed her jealousies to me. I was all adult and sympathetic and gave her my best advice to improve her situation with her peers and within her mind. Afterwards, I felt like laughing at my own childhood jealousy. It all seemed so important at the time, but it really wasn't. Whatever X had or has in his life has nothing to do with my path in life, and jealousy is such a waste of energy.

I wish I had better teeth, but wishing for that doesn't mean cavities in X's teeth would my life better. Another friend lost all her teeth. That doesn't make my life any better either.

We live in a world that keeps telling us to look at what other people have instead of looking within. The underlying message is that we should be envious enough to get whatever they've got. The overt message we get is that jealousy is an ugly emotion and we should all stuff that inside so we don't make anyone else uncomfortable. Either way, the message in our society is to focus on other people to achieve our own happiness. You know that's never going to work.

We've all felt jealousy, and once in a while I still get a hot stab of it about something. I'll never claim that I've mastered everything with a higher intent. I try to do the best with what I have and find my happiness within my abilities to gain it. I wish all of us that kind of cavity-free happiness, especially all the children who face feelings for the first time.

Sometimes I think the secret to happiness is simply choosing to be happy, or just finding contentment wherever you are.

Wishing a merry 4th to everyone!Linda Hensleyhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-41074480197354152782016-06-26T08:16:00.000-07:002016-06-26T08:16:48.764-07:00"Vintage"

I bet nobody outside Ohio knows that there are quite a few wineries in Ohio. For many of us in the state, we pucker at the memory of drinking native vintage, but our wine has gotten remarkably better and even wins some big awards. Some people enjoy winery tours around here, and you know, the more wine you sample, the less picky you get about it anyway.

We have the right climate for it -- to which I can personally attest since I was trying to tug grape vines out of my yard this week. I landed on my butt and gave up. I also gave up the battle with thorny raspberry vines. I've achieved the usual mid-summer defeat in the battle between landscaping and nature.

I lack motivation to do much this week. Sometimes I look at all the stuff everyone else is doing and feel like I've got to do more too. Mostly I think that I need a real vacation and excitement, but that would all take motivation which I've already said I lack right now. I want to curl up with a book and ignore the world.

I know a lot of this has to do with some major reorganizing they're doing at work right now. I'm in limbo, waiting for a new person to start in a couple of weeks. Everything may work out great, but the limbo of waiting to find out if it will be is wearing on me and sapping my energy.

I think we all go through phases like this? Sometimes I think it would be better for everybody if we talked more about the times when we aren't winning awards and going full-tilt because the down times are the fertilizer for the later successes. Or maybe I should say that these kinds of times are part of my life, and necessary to build up energy and ideas for later efforts.

Maybe I used up all my emotional energy earlier this week when the Cavaliers won the NBA championship? GO CAVS!!! Bzillions of people turned out for celebrations. I went out for margaritas with some older ladies and we watched the parade on tv. These grandmothers wanted our team to put on their shirts, quit getting tattoos, and "get a haircut!" LeBron James is everyone's son, neighbor, friend this week since he's a local boy who's done good.

Maybe I should put in the disclaimer that I usually don't watch sports and mostly don't care, but the energy of everyone was electric this week. I even watched the second half of the last basketball game. GO TEAM!!!

But the joys of early week have faded and I'm lazy today. I have some good wine that was made by an Italian with California grapes, but the wine was made in Ohio. I wonder if that still counts as local vintage? I'm thinking of putting my feet up and drinking some of it on this lazy summer day. Cheers!
Linda Hensleyhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-51465497264318677732016-06-18T04:40:00.000-07:002016-06-18T04:40:11.765-07:00"Yarn"

I poked around in Grandma's stuff once and found a bunch of bobbins. In the classic "what, why, how, show me!" way of children, I pestered her until she showed me how it all worked -- reluctantly, miserably, and demonstrating the definition of antipathy, she made some lace at my bequest on the special lap pillow with a project started and long discarded in the closet. Grandma moved the bobbins around and pinned threads back while twisting and knotting things until my outspoken sister stated the obvious, "This is SO boring!"

We gave it up and made a pie instead which made everyone happy.

Tatting shuttle & lace

I inherited Grandma's dislike for such hobbies and love of pie. Both of us preferred to crochet if we got out yarn. Yet, I have her tatting shuttles and my heart feels warm that she humored me that day. (Lace making by tatting is a bit more like crocheting.)

Not Grandma's hands, but this shows how lace is made

Lace was a way of showing status a long time ago. Anybody who had the leisure time to make it wasn't worried about how to pay the rent. Anyone who could buy it had extra money to spend. Lace collars were popular, lace on pillowcases, lace on the arms of chairs... they put lace on everything. And sadly, a lot of it ended up at the garage sale for a quarter, or "go ahead and fill a bag for a dollar!"

Tatted doily on my table

I've gotten a lot of doilies and lace from old ladies at garage sales. I have exactly one on display on a table under a glass. The others are boxed up and waiting for someone to love them in a different generation. Having seen Grandma demonstrate the hideously tedious process, I feel for the women who made these things. I'm supposing that some of these ladies might've enjoyed it, the same way some crazy women like to knit, but I just appreciate the amount of labor they put into making the beautiful lace designs.

The lynx on scratchboard took a year of my life to create. About 2/3 of the way through, I started really resenting it. I didn't feel like I could start a new project until I finished it, and the amount of work to finish it seemed insurmountable. I finally said "screw it!" and just completed it, but I wasn't so perfect anymore. I had it done within a week or two, and I don't think anyone can tell which parts I did fast and which I bled over. In fact, I think the less labored parts are better. That's a lesson I've carried with me.

The lynx hangs in my house. I described to a friend the pain of creating it, and he called it "wampum", which is highly valued beadwork Native Americans made from shell. The true value of it was in the labor it took to create. Indians had to find the shells, sand them into beads, drill holes (without metal drills, and having to make the drills they used), and then they stitched them together for the final product. It took many hands many hours.

Ever after that conversation with my friend, I see the wampum in certain things. Hand-made lace is one of those things. Painstaking art is another. I think the world would be better if more value was placed on the wampum ideal. In the meantime, I'll keep rescuing lace.
Linda Hensleyhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-56175951709010985292016-06-11T09:25:00.002-07:002016-06-11T09:25:53.315-07:00"Tornado"

I have a tornado story, but I don't really feel like talking about it. Is it relevant? The tornado that I spend quite a bit of time thinking about is the upcoming Republican convention which will be hosted in Cleveland next month.

Clevelanders are both hopeful for Republican convention chaos and fearful things will happen to embarrasses our reputation. We're still suffering from the Cuyahoga River catching fire in the 1970s when we became the butt of jokes for decades. Our dream come true would be for the Republicans to be the only idiots in play against the backdrop of our historic city, bucolic suburbs, thriving businesses, and beautiful parks.

Cleveland will vote Democrat in November. Greater Cleveland which is the surrounding suburban counties, will be hotly contested. That's why the Republicans are coming. There are people I know and love who enthusiastically support Trump. (?!) Can I remind them that Cleveland was called "The Mistake by the Lake" because unbridled greed killed our ecosystem? Cleveland is the reason the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) exists.

We have racial demonstrations and conflicts without conventions. Something unpleasant will probably happen in July despite the regular reassurances on the nightly news that the police have everything in hand. I don't think I'm the only one who's cringing at the coming storm.

I don't know anyone who will be in Cleveland during the convention. I'm almost certain no one I know will be interviewed for "man/woman on the street" interviews and that whatever tv shows you about my home will be skewed in significant ways. All I'm asking is that you blame the tornado on the visitors instead of the natives.

As for the real weather tornado, I was happily playing on my grandparents' living room floor when Grandpa came in and hurried my sisters and I to the basement while Grandma threw windows open in a rush so the glass wouldn't break in the tornado.<o:p></o:p>

We waited and waited in the basement… and then we started hearing a strange noise.  It got louder.  It really did sound like a train was going to run over Grandma's house. There was a wild few moments when things that didn't normally flutter fluttered around, and then the train moved off and the sun came back and we went back upstairs.<o:p></o:p>

The next day, Grandpa walked us around the neighborhood.  There were mangled trees and houses, and a street sign had flown sideways several inches into a large tree's trunk.  I started to understand Dorothy getting blown to Oz.<o:p></o:p>

I used to watch water spouts on Lake Erie, but water-bound tornados don't really do anything other than suck up fish.  The first one I saw got me all rattled and perturbed though.  I was driving along the lake with my little brothers and the water spout was enormous and close to land. I ran into the building with the boys and told the security guard about it. He just laughed at me.  No big deal to old-timers.<o:p></o:p>

Maybe the convention will just be a water spout?Linda Hensleyhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-8957988535335856212016-06-05T07:49:00.000-07:002016-06-05T13:36:11.203-07:00"Nose"

I buried my face in a magenta peony, inhaled, and exhaled disappointment. It had less scent than paper. I almost didn't bother with the white peonies, but I paused to dip my nose to a flower and sniffed. Heaven! I buried my whole face in the blossom, silky petals caressing my face. Time stopped as long as I was with the peonies. They take me back to childhood with one whiff and the sound of a bumblebee.

Sometimes I think it's impossible to explain why the Glen where I grew up was a different kind of place. There was a luxury of living by extremely wealthy people while Mom yelled about not having enough money to give Kool-Aid to the neighbors. I've written about being lonely in the woods, but maybe not much about walking alongside a billionaire's golf cart as we inspected his peonies?

Since I didn't have kids to play with, I hung out with old people. I drank tea and ate cookies with widows. I decided early on that extreme wealth is a lonely business and I didn't want that much money, or I'd never tell anyone if I got it. (The older I get, the more I'm leaning toward the latter.)

The old people got me as I came, which was generally a bit muddy. Yet, they let me sit on their Louis the something chairs and draped dainty lace napkins on my lap. I never ate more than 2 cookies because I learned that more than 2 was gauche. Pretending to be wealthy-compatible demanded a lot of restraint.

I'd go home, catch dinner, clean fish, weed the garden, wash dishes, etc., etc., etc. and feel somewhat glad that I grew up more regular than the widows who probably never wiggled their toes in river mud. The old man with the golf cart talked about "his" peonies, and how he had planned his garden, but admitted that he'd never planted anything himself. He had a "man" who took care of the dirty work. That man rolled his eyes behind the millionaire's back.

This week I read Cleveland in the Gilded Age. I learned the Rockefellers had a summer estate at the end of my current street. From the mid 1800s through the mid 1900s, Cleveland had more millionaires than anywhere else. It shows in beautiful old buildings, a world-renowned orchestra, art museum, Cleveland Clinic, and thousands of other ways. Where I grew up was right by their summer estates.

I feel fortunate to enjoy the beauty the millionaires created -- and often feel more fortunate than them for being able to actually live in the world with regular people where people either like me or not based on who I am instead of what they might get out of me. A billionaire once sniffed about his best friend who always had his hand out. "But he's a millionaire!" I said. "Yeah, but not very many millions, and he always expects me to pay" he answered. This same billionaire was proud of his pre-nup that basically bought his young wife's commitment for his lifetime. That's a lonely life.

I smelled the peonies and felt happy. I read the book, and felt glad to be me instead of them. I think about current events and wonder about our m/billionaire politicians and can only hope for the best while remembering that those kinds of people can't even respect their friends so how can they respect the rest of us?
Linda Hensleyhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-17440459502825872162016-05-29T07:44:00.000-07:002016-05-29T07:44:21.709-07:00"Tribal"

I think I'll claim artists as my tribe. Good and bad, sane or not, whatever the medium, we're kin. We might be kissing cousins to some other types, but artists are my people. We may enjoy kissing even more types than that for that matter, but you know, we can be friendly people :) Or completely antisocial too. We are what we are, and the world should be glad that we're in it because I think we make things more interesting.

Except I don't feel all that interesting lately. I've been intent on cleaning, painting, rearranging my home. This is clearly important to me, but I doubt it's very interesting to anyone else. Let's just all rejoice that my computer is finally back in the computer room!

I'm feeling very pleased with the results. The room is lighter and simpler than it used to be. Things match, I've got a better chair, life is good. Now all I have to do is quit staring out the window and watching my new neighbor landscape her yard and clean up all the messes I made in the other rooms.

The living room is messed up because I've been matting, framing, and spreading out paintings to consider what I feel like hanging up. In the midst of all this clutter is a painting I started before tackling the computer room. It's big and red, so it draws my attention, but I think it would catch my attention anyway. I certainly think about it a lot when I collapse on the couch after all my nesting.

Behind the red painting you can see part of the green friends painting I made last year. On it, I journaled all of the friends I've had in my life and grateful things I think about them. It was a heart-opening experience for me to paint and I wanted to re-explore that idea, but to tackle the difficult people in my life. This is far less pleasant, and maybe there's a bit of avoidance in my decision to redo the computer room?

The goal is to wade through the unpleasantness and get to the happy part where I can look at the villains in my life with gratitude too. After all, they created "opportunities to grow" by making my life challenging. I'm not there yet. I want to erase them.

I find myself wanting to edit what I write because somebody will see this painting, perhaps someone I'm writing about? I don't want to deal with the backlash of a moment like that. It's not like when my friend Leanne came over and was pleased to see her name on my friends painting. But, I think facing that dread is something I need to do, and beyond that, helps me keep the door closed to people who hurt me.

I wonder if I really want to hang a painting of negativity, but the negativity happened. I carry it around with me all the time. I'm trying to offload it onto canvas instead. I'd like to see the finished painting as growth and success, which would be something I'd want to see on the wall, and would reinforce things I've learned.

Most of what you see here is the underpainting. I've got plans for what goes on top of this. If all goes well, I'll show you how it turns out. I'm hoping for beautiful.
Linda Hensleyhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-13225730296370658922016-05-21T06:32:00.001-07:002016-05-21T06:33:27.682-07:00"Wheels"

Last week I wrote, "I finished painting my computer room this weekend. It was a lot of work for such a small room, and my stuff is still scattered around the rest of the house. I'm tired and sore." This is all still true, except I'm still painting that room. <o:p></o:p>

I had painted three walls light gray and the fourth lavender. It looked pretty good, but I just couldn't bring myself to love the lavender wall. I bought fabric to make curtains, but couldn't love the idea of curtains either. I kept handling the fabric and decided I wanted pull down shades instead, but I don't know how to get my fabric to be a pull down shade (and washable). I noticed that lavender wall again and decided what I really wanted was to paint the pattern on the wall.<o:p></o:p>

Still painting leaves.
Planning to cover the whole wall.

Sometimes my ideas are a bother. I hate painting walls -- though for those of you who like doing it, there's always someone who wants a mural and will pay for it. I became a "professional" artist in high school painting walls and window signs.<o:p></o:p>

My dislike of wall painting hasn't stopped me. I'm using the gray paint to paint the leaf pattern on the lavender and loving the results. Hopefully at some point I'll stop fussing around in that room and actually put the computer back in the computer room.<o:p></o:p>

The jeep is another piece I did for the Mensa magazine. I only intended to do one illustration for them, but the art editor kept getting me to do "just one more". I was enjoying myself so I let her talk me into it. The article was about action in Vietnam and I conferred with a vet pal because the art editor made a point of saying I had to get the right model year.<o:p></o:p>

My pal and I talked on the phone and Googled photos together. Reference is so much easier now than when I started out In the olden days I might've had to go to the library, use the card catalog and everything. (Which I know only makes sense to people over 50.) <o:p></o:p>

I had to make a "morgue" for one of my teachers when I was in school, photos I painstakingly cut out of magazines and filed for future reference. It's in the pile of stuff that I'm debating about whether or not to return to my computer room. I also have folders of ideas and inspiration, folders of artists I like, "how to" instructions, etc., etc., etc. I almost never use any of this stuff and probably don't need it. The idea of throwing it away feels like ripping my security blanket away though. What if I need to make an origami alligator sometime?!<o:p></o:p>

The more I think about this, the more I'm thinking that it's time to let some of this go -- or revive it. Sometimes we come across a great picture online. Sure, we could come back to it -- if we remember where we saw it in the first place. We may not need that picture now, but some day we may want a face that's lit in just that way or a spotted toad or whatever.<o:p></o:p>

Let me say that "reference" is a tool to help us, but isn't something we should copy faithfully. We should do something new with the inspiration because the original already exists. I don't remember the exact copyright law, but it's something like changing 60% or more from the original. Copying can be a good tool when we're starting out and learning, but the result isn't something you can sell.<o:p></o:p>

I also keep things I call "art starts". These are painted backgrounds, textures, objects, whatever that I can use again. I still use these a lot. Why should I paint a graduated blue watercolor background again when I've already painted that once and can PhotoShop it into a new piece? I have lots of patterns that I can drop in when I need them and a deadline looms.<o:p></o:p>

These are things I learned from old guys when I started out. I miss being in a studio with them teaching me things and laughing. I wish newer artists got the benefit of their wisdom. I'm grateful I got to live the experience.<o:p></o:p>
Linda Hensleyhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-75701023897373830372016-05-15T06:15:00.001-07:002016-05-15T06:15:41.583-07:00"Nostalgia"

I finished painting my computer room this weekend. It was a lot of work for such a small room, and my stuff is still scattered around the rest of the house. I'm tired and sore.

This project has me both nostalgic and completely not. Cobwebs behind the bookcase had to go, and I've felt the same way about a lot of other things that I had stored in that room, like bitchy correspondence I had with certain people that I kept "in case", but those times are long gone and never to return. At some point I kept these things to remind myself never again. Now it just seems like reminders of crappy people to whom I don't want to give another second of my life.

My goal is to only return things to the room that have actual value to me. Maybe this room is even more important because it's the spirituality sector of my house according to feng shui. I know this because I used to do freelance for a feng shui instructor/counselor. I don't need that file either. The pile of recyclables keeps stacking up.

I went through a stack of old phone bills last night. Almost all of my long-distance calls involved my love life, and that makes me nostalgic and not too. There have been some kisses worth remembering, but the relationships went sour. Cleaning this room has made my thoughts swing back and forth, and I remind myself that the purpose of the room is work stuff, not kisses -- but art is love, so it all goes together.

The phone bills went into the discard pile too, but I wrote down the numbers and gave myself a time line. I was a little torn about the sign manual I created for Lake Metroparks. I was pretty pleased to come up with all these standards and procedures, but I know I'm never going to actually need this document. My hoarding/purging qualities are at war. Keeping the sign manual.

Ultimately, maybe all of this is telling me what I value most? I'll spend quite a bit of money for long distance phone calls and eventual kisses. I'm unwilling to let go of good work I did, and the things I learned while doing it. I enjoyed working at the parks. Loved the people I worked with. That's the nostalgia worth keeping.

This illustration is another I did for Mensa. I'll admit I gave more of myself to the colored illustrations I did for them, but I suppose this goes into the keeping pile too.
Linda Hensleyhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-78349936465578346382016-05-08T07:37:00.001-07:002016-05-08T07:37:47.235-07:00"Tattoo"

I suppose we should all be happy that so many people have tattoos. They're supporting art. Unfortunately a lot of it's bad art and can interfere with getting an x-ray, but the trend lets more people suffer for their art and since I sometimes suffer making art, I like feeling understood. If you've got a tattoo and you're happy, then I'm happy for you.

Onto other things. I'm going to paint my computer room, the room where I store the bulk of my art supplies, reams of paper, rocks, etc., etc. I've spent my weekend moving most of it into other rooms for the duration. Moving some of this stuff brought up emotions, memories, dust, and dog hair. I swear I'll move out of the house before painting this room again! Today, I'm moving onto spackling water damage from a previously faulty gutter. I watched a nice Australian man's video about how to do it. I wish he were here to do it for me.

What I really want to do is show another piece that got printed in Mensa's 50th anniversary magazine. The article is about word play, including "peppering Saracens". I showed the magazine to the ladies who work in my department. I got my atta girls and considered my bragging done. Another woman came in so I showed her too. She was excited and asked to show it around the building. I let her do my bragging for me.

Maybe you get lots of positive reinforcement. Betty showing off my work made me face that I've gotten a lot of negatives. Art can be a competitive, brutal business. You often get lots of criticism and revisions, and "good job!" is seldom in the vocabulary.

I spend my days with data at work. The ladies in my dept know I've worked as an illustrator, but the other people didn't. I liked it that way, maybe because I've spent so much of my life identifying myself first and foremost as an artist. It was/is so much of how I think of myself, it's nice to be known for other traits -- or maybe I just didn't want to deal with more criticism and suggestions?

I went home that day feeling mighty pleased with myself. People stopped me in the hall to say they were impressed. I've been waiting a long time to be able to show this magazine and it felt good to be praised for it. I felt a flicker of life and hope inside. They especially liked the parts that I spent stupid amounts of time doing. (They loved my forks!) Joy, joy, joy and I started to remember I really like getting this kind of feedback. It motivated me to go into art for a living.

I've often been told to be demure. Don't be so full of yourself. Fact is, I think most of us beat ourselves up instead of bragging, and abuse isn't a good motivator. If you want to get anywhere, sometimes you have to sing your own praises. People who have my best interests at heart will sing them with me and share in the happiness I feel in my accomplishments.

Lots of people want to break into the art field. Go for it. I wish you happiness and success. Don't let my artistic PTSD stop you. I'm enjoying having a paycheck doing other things and exploring art as a pleasure again. I'm happy for doing art I wanted to do for this magazine and pleased to cash the check!Linda Hensleyhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-64383610785344989422016-04-29T14:08:00.000-07:002016-04-29T14:08:55.034-07:00"Smoke"

I have a small bundle of sage that was given to me by an Indian shaman.  Sometimes I burn it and inhale the fragrant smoke. Mostly I leave it in the china cupboard to remind me of meeting him. I first posted this art in 2010. You can read about my first experience with a sweat lodge here. It's not the only time I've had shamanic experiences either. You can read about my childhood experience rescuing a deer here.

Everybody and their sister told me not to go to California.  I had struck up a conversation with the shaman online and found out he'd been in prison and liked musicals.  Okay, I knew more than that.  We talked a lot one year.  I came to care for him quite a bit and I valued the spiritual insights I gained from his different upbringing and experiences.<o:p></o:p>

He didn't invite me to California.  I informed him I was coming.  Maybe this is something other people do, but I don't.  I'm usually far more sensible and polite.  I combined the trip by meeting a close friend.<o:p></o:p>

My girlfriend and her bf drove me about 1 ½ hrs in insane traffic to meet the shaman. First impressions weren't good, which just goes to show people deceive each other online.  My friend clearly didn't want to leave me in his care and asked repeatedly if I was sure about it.  Yes, I was.  I can't even tell you why either.  All common sense told me I'd cart my friend out of there if the shoe was on the other foot.<o:p></o:p>

He took me to an affordable, clean hotel and left.  This was within walking distance to the ocean, and every day I walked miles along the water.  Every morning he called to find out where I was and picked me up.  We spent the days and evenings together, but not the nights – though one day he slept at the hotel while I babysat his nephew.  He was a gentleman throughout.<o:p></o:p>

I tagged after him as he did his usual things, most of which involved trying to scrounge up money and jobs.  I met friends and relatives.  I shared ceremonial smoke and meals. We threw food to seagulls and took long, scenic drives, and talked, talked, talked.<o:p></o:p>

I can't explain the ether of the whole experience.  I felt compelled to go.  I think I helped him?  He was worn from too many ministerial demands without compensation.  I reminded him his flock should feed him and make his life easier.  A dead shaman can't help anyone.  He couldn't keep a regular job and stay constantly available for his people.<o:p></o:p>

Every bit of common sense told me not to talk with him in the first place, and I'm not encouraging anyone to take risks as I did – but, it was a profound experience for me.  He is kind and self-sacrificing, sincere in his spirituality, and loved by those who know him.  We shared so much I can't touch it here.   I'm lucky for the experience and the things he taught me.<o:p></o:p>

In my day job I remind people that if you want clergy, please support them.  I'm not sure what my employers would think of my shamanic experiences, so maybe it's stupid to post this online, but I think the absolute rightness I felt about going to California meant it wasright. In the end, I guess what I'd suggest to everyone is to listen to that voice inside. It's wiser than we are.Linda Hensleyhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-83913450788553063932016-04-23T07:04:00.001-07:002016-04-23T07:07:24.541-07:00"Prince"

I watched a Prince retrospective on tv and dreamt his songs all night. I didn't even know I knew that many Prince songs. I never paid that much attention to him, or at least that's what I thought when I heard he died this week. I sent a condolence email to a friend of mine who looooved him and thought that's that, but the retrospective reminded me Prince was a changing factor in the world.

I'd forgotten about how he wrote "slave" on his cheek when he was mad at his record company. He took control of his music, dressed like he wanted, wrote what he wanted, didn't talk to the media very much, and overall, I respected him. He was role model to my friend, and I'm realizing he played that for me too in subtler ways. His was a life well lived. RIP and thank you.

I know, lots of people think they can't succeed for one reason or another. Prince was an abused 5' 2" epileptic, effeminate black man. That would be enough to stop most people from trying. There are lots of incredibly talented people who never make it. I suspect the biggest reason is because they don't believe they can so they never really try.

Many times I've been told to have "realistic" expectations. Dream lower. Don't be so full of myself to think I have what it takes to compete. The people who've told me these things didn't want me to succeed. People can be like a nest of hungry birds. If a sibling gets a coughed up worm, that's one more worm the others didn't get. They try to keep you weak so you can't lift your head. Fighting in the nest takes so much work you can't fight for yourself in the greater world.

I don't want to get on stage like Prince. I just want the best successes for the talents I have. I finally received the Mensa 50th Anniversary Bulletin magazine for which I did 5 illustrations. I love it when I see my work in print! This full-page piece is for an article a father wrote about his elevator-loving, autistic son. It was the first piece I've done like this in a long time, and I pushed myself and fought my inner critic to do it. (Pat, pat myself on the head.) Alright, I'm still fighting my inner critic because Isee things I'd like to fix, but enough. I did it! I feel a bit like the happy boy in the illustration.

The first step in doing it was deciding to try. I wrote the art editor, attached samples, and expressed desire. I got a response and had to maintain that desire. It didn't help that I hated the first article she sent me. When I rejected it, I felt like I'd shot myself in the foot, but she came back with this article and I was happy again. I then went about the illustration in all the wrong ways and had to keep myself motivated to succeed.

My fights were entirely within myself. The art editor gave me more articles. Each got easier to accomplish as I went along. I rejected a cover article because it just wasn't me, and that felt good too.

Prince set an example. The autistic boy is another. There are regurgitated worms for all of us if we dream, follow through, learn, and succeed.Linda Hensleyhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-52478319619221561342016-04-16T16:59:00.000-07:002016-04-16T16:59:15.211-07:00"Wood"

Last week I told you about fixing a door in my house. I was feeling pretty pleased with myself. I don't think anyone will notice that it was ever mutilated by Dalmatian toes. It took a lot of effort to prime and paint the door. I leaned back and admired my efforts... and noticed that the ceiling looked awfully dingy next to my stark white door.

I hemmed and hawed most of the week about not wanting to get into more projects because I have a new canvas I really want to paint... but that dingy ceiling interfered with my happiness. Plus, this is the room where I painted the floor last summer and I might have been a bit too enthusiastic and splashed colors on the walls. I'd just repaint the walls, but if I were to do that, I'd have to do the ceiling first...

My house is a currently a mess again. I had it clean for about a day, but now stuff is spread all over again. My goal is to get it all finished this weekend and have a normal house again by Monday, but the weather is finally wonderful and the grass needs cut, there's a concert in Cleveland...

And yet, the woodwork in my nearly 100 yr. old house has been dinged through the years, and fixing the woodwork feels connected to my internal being. It feels essential.

I've done a lot a lot a lot of thinking in the last year. That was my intention when I decided to paint the floor. I wanted a long, involved project that would encourage thoughts and meditation. I've done a lot of reading, studying, and reviewing my life and relationships. I came to understand that I put up with too much from some people and situations, and putting up with dinged woodwork has become symbolic. It's time my outer environment matches my enhanced inner world.

Very little of the damage to the woodwork was my fault. People moved in and out, and none were careful enough in the process. They didn't care about my house or feelings. When I see a chunk gouged out of a door frame I think "You selfish bastard! You didn't deserve my love, care, shelter _____ (fill in the blank). Or, "I deserve better!"

I could continue ignoring these things like I have for a long time, but every so often I'll notice damage and feel something between irritation, depression, and anger. It's a constant reminder of negatives. When the woodwork is repaired to the best of my ability it will be a reminder that I control my life, and the next phase will be better. I've learned things to make that happen.

I often write messages that we control our lives and can improve our lives. It takes effort. The effort is worth it.

My dad took a humanities class at a community college when I was a kid. He carved this sculpture for an assignment to represent his "inner self". I wish I'd asked what he was thinking when he did it. He smiled with satisfaction and an inner conversation when he looked at it. Maybe that is the ultimate goal for everything in our lives?

I thought you'd rather look at his artistry this week instead of wood mouldings and flat green walls :)
Linda Hensleyhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-27511086811271488242016-04-09T16:31:00.000-07:002016-04-09T16:31:28.520-07:00"Tool"

I tagged after Dad when he fixed things. I was great at handing over tools. Crescent wrench, Philips screwdriver... I precisely handed them over like a surgical nurse in a MASH unit... until muttering and swearing started. Then it suddenly seemed like a great idea to go to the river instead. Dad could do carpentry, but the car brought out the "Jee-ee-SUS Christ!!" That was the sign to flee.

I was a teenager when Dad died, and I became aware that he hadn't taught any of my siblings how to fix anything -- and yet stuff still needed fixed. I also came to realize that I didn't really know how to fix a lot of things. I knew my tools and had an idea of what they did, but my fixing lessons had often ended at the swearing, and I didn't see how things were completed.

Part of the Dad lessons had involved sitting in the shade with iced tea and contemplating our next project. He encouraged me to think innovatively and considered my ideas, so I understood the theory of fixing stuff, if not the real experience. When he was gone, I had to try on my own. I quickly came to understand that swearing is an actual part of the process. I got creative with that too, but left out the blasphemy.

I started feeling pretty good about myself for my home repair skills. I may not have known what I was doing, but found ways to make the plumbing work and repair things Bro1 broke. Just because I know how to replace a broken window doesn't mean I will.

When I bought an old house after college, Bros3&4 were old enough to get into trouble or help with projects when they came over for the weekends. I reinstituted shady iced tea contemplations, and me and 2 little boys managed electricity, construction, wallpaper, and moved large objects. I didn't actually need to do all this, but it was a good way for us to spend time together. We went to the hardware store and talked to old guys who knew how to do things the right ways. These are happy memories for all of us.

This week, I really looked at a door my Dalmatians scratched up about 20 or so yrs ago. It's a nice door, with lots of panes of windows and decorative mullions between. Looking at the deep scratches was depressing, and I was tempted to ignore it like I have for so long, but this time I decided to try fixing it with wood putty.

I did a pretty decent job of it. I spent the entire day today painting it -- even though Ohio weather has gone back to winter and the whole project was lousy to do on a day when the daffodils shiver. Not to mention I'm noticing all the other woodwork that could use wood putty and new paint. I wish Bros3&4 were coming over for their weekend project.

Not knowing how to do something isn't a good reason not to try. Nobody is born knowing how to fix anything, create something. Encouraging children to think instead of merely existing and obeying is a gift that stays with them throughout their lives. Thanks Dad!

I'm pooped from painting the door, so office tools are good enough for today.
Linda Hensleyhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-81598017824476412932016-04-02T06:50:00.001-07:002016-04-02T06:50:33.937-07:00"Sparkle"

I had a pajama party with a friend from high school. When I mentioned the word for the week is "Sparkle" she brought out sparkly markers and mandala coloring books. Coloring and talking was a pleasant way to spend the evening together.

She enjoys her coloring books, and I hear this has gotten pretty popular. It's a way for non-artists to get the right side of their brains into the same zen happiness that artists get into when they're working.

I started to write this when my guest is still sleeping on my couch, but she woke up and now we'll get breakfast, go antique shopping, or maybe get spring water, or whatever it is she'd like to do for the day. Maybe we'll go to the river and watch the sun sparkle on the water. It wasn't too hard for me to abandon my plans to clean house and do yard work this weekend when I heard she was in town for a funeral.

I hope everyone has a sparkling, fun weekend!Linda Hensleyhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-52337108046446160942016-03-26T08:08:00.000-07:002016-03-26T08:08:07.603-07:00"Wisdom"

I keep the Serenity Prayer on my office bulletin board. It keeps me from strangling certain people and helps me stay centered (or advises me to get centered). It reminds me wisdom is a goal, not something I've already achieved.

I was walking on a beach by the ocean once and suddenly everything made sense in a whole new way. I was overwhelmed by the understanding and by the beauty around me. Even the squawking of seagulls seemed to affirm my new truth. The receding tide pulled the old reality away. I was totally in awe and full of joy in that moment.

Having had that experience once, I wanted it again. I tried to make more epiphanies happen, but epiphanies are unhelpful that way. You've just got to make your new reality solid by working through all the pieces of your life that need remodeled -- which can be quite a drag to tell the truth, but the end result is a better life than the old one.

Last week I talked about narcissism. I've continued to think about it, and kismet intervened by a friend's facebook post about gaslighting. I know the word because my house was repeatedly broken into and things taken or moved, but nothing so serious to be anything other than crazy making. I changed locks repeatedly and filed police reports but it was a long time before it stopped.

The article about gaslighting talked about (guess what?) narcissism. Ahhh... the universe is telling me something. I spent days reading things online, and then switched to youtube. There's more narcissists than I imagined, and I'm realizing I've had a LOT of them in my life. I started my research with one person in mind, then two, several, and OMG him too? Epiphany! Actually, it was a series of epiphanies without the benefit of ocean and seagulls.

I recommend you look things up online too, but I don't want to make this post a narcissistic tutorial when there's so much better info already online. I put some key points about them below. Where I'm going with this is "wisdom". Gaining more information leads me to see certain people in a new light, most especially myself because I am still living in response to others' behaviors. New knowledge is giving me a new way to look at things that I couldn't see before because I didn't know what questions to ask.

Studying narcissism makes me look at the Serenity Prayer again. "Accept things I cannot change." Narcissists won't change. The professional advice is don't try and run like hell. "Courage to change the things I can" -- which is my own point of view and with whom I choose to have in my life. "Wisdom to know the difference."

I don't want to sound ungrateful for guidance and kismet, but next time I get an epiphany, I want seagulls and ocean, or maybe a forest. It would be nice to have an empathetic someone with me too.

Narcissists...

Don't care about your feelings. Really. They act interested to manipulate your feelings more effectively. They use your words to twist your reality and to make you question yourself. They cripple you in every way to make themselves feel more powerful. They won't change and won't get help. Any sign of change is manipulation.

Dealing with Narcissists...

Flee. You don't have to be nice to them, you can even be rude, because they don't have regular feelings. This doesn't hurt them because they honestly don't care about you. If you can't leave because it's your boss or someone like that, make it all about them. "I need a day off so I can work more effectively for you." (Something I actually said to my last boss.) End the conversation quickly to limit abuse.

Group Dynamics
Narcissists will manipulate others into criticizing and ostracizing you, even if the others aren't narcissists. The things narcissists do seem unbelievable to others outside the group, so you won't be believed when you talk about it. It's best to have no contact with the narcissist and also the rings of people involved in the abuse.Linda Hensleyhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-12133781359130609372016-03-19T05:59:00.000-07:002016-03-19T15:28:25.616-07:00Dragon 2

I got a beau into a creek once. He stood ankle-deep in the water with a charmingly miserable expression before I relented and let him put his shoes back on to walk on the path. Maybe we were both at our most elemental in that moment? We both wanted to please the other. I wanted him to enjoy the beauty of a waterfall accessible only by sloshing downstream. He went along, but after 20 years in the Army he'd had enough of wet feet. He'd rather get a pedicure and foot rub.

We are alike in doing things we may not enjoy for the benefit of someone else's pleasure or needs. I'm thinking about this a lot after reading The Drama of the Gifted Child. I'm not really recommending the book, but I learned some things.

Dragon wall pocket

Maybe all parents are narcissists, some more than others. Parents teach their children values of "good" and "bad" based on the parents' needs. Some parents teach their kids not to cry through neglect. Some carry children obsessively. Either way, the need of the parent is more important than the child's. The infant becomes good at recognizing what the parent wants and adapts.

Whoever the child might've been is lost because satisfying the parents' needs is more important than what the child wants. As kids get older, layers of beliefs and values are plastered all over them, especially the message to please their parents.

Who or what would I have been if I'd been raised by someone else somewhere else? It's an unanswerable question, but I've been wondering about it a lot. Maybe I'm more me than other kids could be because I spent so much time alone running loose in the woods?

There were times when I looked at my parents and thought "You people are crazy!" and consciously chose to continue thinking whatever I believed in the first place. I'm sure there were many more times that I absorbed what they wanted me to absorb. Childhood is a long time ago though, and how do I know what was the original me and I'm thinking and living because of them?

Dragon by G. T. Vaughn

Somewhere I read that we spend our adult years trying to get back to our original selves, who we were before the world made us into something else. I think of my beau's wet feet and see that both of us wanting to please the other so much is a sign that we both put others' needs ahead of our own. That's sweet and nice in a way, and totally wrong in another.

I laid awake in bed this week thinking about what other people want from me and trying to figure out how to get it all done. I know they don't waste much time thinking about me. I want to find a better balance. What do I really want, not what I'm "supposed to" want?

I intend to achieve maximum happiness in this life. It seems that knowing what makes us happy is the ultimate key to the mysteries of ourselves.

Illustration Friday didn't give a word this week, so more dragons. I seem to own a number of them. The clay dragon at the top is something I made from river clay.
Linda Hensleyhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-12250361417001381442016-03-11T15:10:00.000-08:002016-03-11T15:10:58.484-08:00"Dragon"

I have a temper. Most people don't see it because I try to keep it very firmly under control. Most of the time. Of the people who have seen my temper, most become more careful about waking that dragon. Some find it entertaining to find out just what it will take to bring it out again. I think they play with fire.

Anger isn't a socially acceptable emotion, but it's a real emotion with a lot of power. I vented to a friend after a contentious board meeting about children's education. Her mother-in-law said "Oh, don't get worked up about it. You can't change anything." I lost it and loudly told the very nice old lady "Yes, we can change things! The reason things don't change is because people like you won't do anything about it!"

I continued to serve on the board, doing my best to educate the educators about the value of arts inclusion. My anger fueled my fight for the kids who were getting ripped off in their educations. We have decades of data that clearly demonstrates that the arts improve children's performance in academics, yet the arts were erased from the curriculum.

Another woman told me we shouldn't provide free lunches to poor kids. She put her kids in religious school, and other people could do the same. If parents don't work hard enough, too bad if their children starved. I exploded. How callous can a person be to let children starve?!! It's not their fault if their parents are poor, but they'll pay the price in their mental and physical health for the rest of their lives if they grow up malnourished. That selfish woman will have to support those kids in their adult years too. (I'm pretty sure I shouted something about Jesus not approving her sanctimonious attitude too.)

I suppose the core of my anger isn't always sublime. I've been hungry. I've been angry about being hungry too. My anger is personal, but I can spread it out to encompass other hungry people. I've been victimized by selfish people, therefore selfishness opens a wound in me that never heals.

I don't want to be angry, that's why I try to keep my anger under control. I'll admit that sometimes I can be afraid of my own anger because once it's loose I'm not sure what's going to happen.

At my first job out of college I was called in front of a large panel of execs who told me to quit drawing black athletes. "We're a white area. Our readers won't relate to all these black people." I remember my first sentence. "There are a lot of black people in Painesville and Euclid." I have a dim out-of-body memory of saying a whole lot more, but I have no clue what. All I know is that the owner of the newspaper told my boss that I was never to be fired and that he personally wanted to be informed if I quit. (I guess I screwed up my chance at permanent employment by quitting not long after that.)

Anger is motivating. When things are bad enough, getting angry is the way towards change. In our personal lives, or changing the world, sometimes there's a reason to wake the dragon.

"Usually when people are sad, they don't do anything. They just cry over their condition. But when they get angry, they bring about a change." ~ Malcolm X<o:p></o:p>

"It is wise to direct your anger towards problems — not people; to focus your energies on answers — not excuses." ~ William Arthur Ward<o:p></o:p>

"Anger is just anger. It isn't good. It isn't bad. It just is. What you do with it is what matters. It's like anything else. You can use it to build or to destroy. You just have to make the choice." ~ Jim Butcher, White Night<o:p></o:p>
Linda Hensleyhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639676523379057364.post-91563549539325544032016-03-05T18:23:00.001-08:002016-03-05T18:47:37.815-08:00"Childhood"

My friend and I were somewhere in the flatlands of farm country when I told her childhood is the word for the week. "You've written often enough about childhood; you can write anything you want!" Which seems like great advice since that's what I wanted to hear. Be forewarned, this is a photo heavy post.

<o:p></o:p>

We stopped in Mount Gilead, Ohio and ate in a Masonic Temple. I gotta say, the creme brulee French toast was awesome and Korki loved her breakfast scramble. The diner was filled with locals and I watched as a waitress helped an elderly woman with a bunged up shoulder out of her coat and settled her comfortably in her seat. Korki and I agreed "You don't see that very often anymore" as we smiled at the vintage manners and decor.<o:p></o:p>

Korki demonstrating good natured tolerance
while getting sleeted upon

Korki was humoring me by accompanying me on my visit to the dead ancestors. My facebook cousin Michael Miller posted pics of our ancestors' graves in Morrow County, and I thought it would be a great day trip. Let me be start by being fair and saying Michael gave me clear enough instructions. It's not his fault Korki and I drove a couple miles one way, then several miles another, to backtrack and reattempt the first failed direction before going back to the last correct thing we'd done with Michael's instructions where we immediately found Rt. 156 next to the river just like he'd said we would.<o:p></o:p>

Barn we saw when we were on the wrong road

It was a sludgy day with a flat, gray #5 sky. The entrance to the graveyard is a long, narrow drive of mud and brambles. We parked the car because we worried about getting stuck and slogged our way through the muck while getting gently sleeted on. Then the hill of stones appeared in the woods. Duntadaduuuuh!<o:p></o:p>

I'm pretty sure I'm related to just about everyone on that hill in one way or another. A lot of the stones are down or broken, but my direct ancestors' stones were up and waiting for me. Someone put stars and flags on the vets' graves which pleased me. Some of you know I'm a life-long pacifist who really wants wars to stop -- and yet I can't help but be pleased that my ancestors repeatedly fought for freedom. From the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, the Mexican War, and the Civil War, my people were willing to bleed for the country's right to exist.<o:p></o:p>

Korki is a very good sport and let me tromp around taking pictures and reading illegible stones despite the inclement weather. She was an extra really good sport when I was unsuccessfully rocking my car in the mud. She got out and gave a push and we managed to get out of the muck.<o:p></o:p>

Christenia's stone is broken. It should match Jacob's.

We stopped at Grandpa'sCheese Barn on the way back home. I was the one who wanted to go there, but oh my was it busy! Between cheese, trail bologna, lime pickles, chocolate turtles, and fudge, well, I'm poorer than when we went into the place and that doesn't even give me credit for all the stuff I decided not to buy.<o:p></o:p>

It was a good day despite the muck and weather. The best part of it for me was getting time to just yackety yack in the car. Some of that actually included discussing the ancestors, and maybe here's where I'll tie this all in with "childhood". Korki pointed out that I may be interested in genealogy because I spent a lot of time on Grandma's porch while she talked about the people long gone. I sat on her lap while she rocked, and I loved listening to the cadence of her voice as she talked about the people who made me. It's a gift of childhood that I hope many people give to the children in their lives.<o:p></o:p>

No idea if this is a good idea or not, but I like limes and I like pickles?

For those of you who might be interested in how the graves are in my family tree...

Linda Hensleyhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com


text:
Latest News
- MTN dismisses Nigerian Senate allegations on illegal transfer of $14bn
- Ghana's GDP growth slows in second quarter to 2.5 per cent
- Fitch assigns 'B(EXP)' rating to Access Bank's $1 billion Eurobond
- Nigeria should incentivise its way out of recession – Akinwumi Adesina
- Zimbabwean artist wins FT, OppenheimerFunds Emerging Voices art award
Latest Photo and Video News
Latest Blogs
Jide Akintunde
Steve Hanke
Akachi Ngwu
Olajide Olutuyi
Martins Hile
Chibuike Oguh
Most Popular
Latest Features
Reform of the Nigerian mobile VAS industry: The good, the bad & ...
The NCC must remain mindful that its two main functions are first the facilitation of investments in the Nigerian ...
Ecobank partners MasterCard to launch mobile payment service in ...
The service will enable micro, small and medium enterprises (MSMEs) in Nigeria to accept fast and secure digital payments ...
Nigeria Insight: PMI suggests economy hasn't reached bottom yet
The drop in the PMI in August to a record-low 46.3 from 48.8 in July should further damp expectations for an improved GDP ...
The dangers of herd mentality
In response to reports of shots fired, police evacuated two terminals at Kennedy Airport on Aug. 14. The incident turned ...
Understanding America's Electoral College
This labyrinthine system for choosing the president reflects the ambivalence of America's founders about popular democracy.
A wall against clear thinking on immigration and policing
The wall Donald Trump wants to erect along the U.S.-Mexico border remains a fantasy both in execution and in purpose.
De-risking in Africa: Correspondent banking on the decline
SWIFT data shows that many countries in Africa have seen a reduction in their foreign counterparties – in other ...
The abdication of the left
The good news is that the intellectual vacuum on the left is being filled, and there is no longer any reason to believe in ...
Five lessons small business owners need to learn about e-commerce
People no longer want to talk to brands; they want to talk to people. Therefore, your business has to be social.
Soft drinks, hard questions
Mathematical modelling and simple logic suggest that these taxes (on sugary drinks) will improve health.
Currency devaluation: Where are the opportunities?
RisCura takes a look at investment opportunities that come with currency devaluation in African economies.
Egypt reaches staff-level agreement with IMF on $12 billion financing
With little known of the plans to fund infrastructure investment with deals with China, including a Panda bond which ...
Central banks must better manage tensions over their autonomy
Emerging market central banks need to strike a difficult balance between autonomy and legitimacy - but the government must ...
The death of OPEC
A shift from competition in crude to competition in petroleum products would have a profound effect on global oil markets ...
Prospects of solar power in diversifying Nigeria's energy mix
Detail Commercial Solicitors discusses the legal and regulatory framework for renewable energy in Nigeria.
Sustainable Development
BoI, UNDP sign $2 million agreement to provide solar power in Nigeria
The agreement is part of the second phase of the BoI/UNDP Access to Renewable Energy Project.
Foreign agriculture companies increase risk of conflicts in Africa – new study
The types of crops foreign investors decide to grow often require more water than the traditionally grown crops.
German institute relaunches directory on international bio-based economy
iBIB has proven to be an efficient tool for obtaining detailed information about suppliers of bio-based materials.
Upcoming Events
6 October - 7 October, 2016
Abuja, Nigeria
12 October - 14 October, 2016
Barcelona, Spain
24 October - 25 October, 2016
Abidjan, Cote D'Ivoire
2 November - 4 November, 2016
Djibouti, Djibouti
2 November - 3 November, 2016
Singapore, Singapore
7 November - 11 November, 2016
Tehran, Iran (Islamic Republic of)
7 November - 8 November, 2016
Abidjan, Cote D'Ivoire
17 November - 18 November, 2016
Lagos, Nigeria
21 November - 21 November, 2016
Featured Financial Product
Diaspora Home Scheme (Diahs)
This product would be aimed at Nigerians in the diaspora who want to actualize their desires to own a house in Nigeria. A safe and convenient solution for Nigerians resident abroad who want to build, buy, complete or renovate properties in Nigeria. Non- resident Nigerians living abroad and serving the nation's interest in various international assignments can benefit from this product. Applicants are to provide a verifiable evidence of regular source of income and 30% down payment. The loan is repayable before attaining the age of 60 years, and interest rate is 1% lower than the prevailing rate. This certainly is an opportunity to invest in real estate in Nigeria.
+234-9-6725-574 , +234-9-6725-582
Featured Growth SMEs
- Fiwa International Services Limited
Creates access to growth businesses in West Africa for Private Equity and Venture Capital

subset: commoncrawl


text:
Bollywood actress Karishma Kapoor who was enjoying a vacation with her children Samaira and Kiaan in London has cut short her trip upon hearing the news of her father-in-law Dr Surinder Kapur's demise. Karishma flew down to Delhi to attend the prayer meeting of her late father-in-law who p
Karishma Kapoor - the blue eyed girl
Karishma Kapoor was born in media glare. She had inherited the Kapoor fair skin and light eyes and made a pretty picture. Karishma nurtured filmi ambition was rare for a girl from the great Kapoor Khandaan. But it was during the nineties that things changed. Karishma had the full support of her mom Babita. Karisma Kapoor often informally referred to as Lolo made her film debut in 1991, and later on she went on to become one of the most popular actresses of her generation. During her career years, she has been part of many commercially and critically successful films, Raja Hindustani being the most notable of them, as it was her biggest commercial success, and won Kapoor her first Filmfare Best Actress Award. She won a Filmfare Best Supporting Actress Award and a National Film Award for Best Supporting Actress for Dil To Pagal Hai (1997). She surprised critics and audiences with her performances in art films such as Fiza (2000) and Zubeidaa (2001), for which she earned a Best Actress and Best Actress (Critics) awards at the Filmfare ceremony. In 2003, Karishma took a sabbatical from full time acting for three years. Karisma does not like to talk about her personal life but she has been romantically involved with Ajay Devgan and Abhishek Bachchan. But later she married to Sanjay Kapur, a Delhi businessman, in a glittering ceremony. She is the mother of Samaira, a baby girl born in 2005. After the birth of her daughter, there was considerable rift between her and her husband ...
sanjay kapur
The light-eyed diva of Bollywood Karishma Kapoor turns a year older today. Born to actors Randhir Kapoor and Babita on June 25, 1974, the gorgeous actress is all of 41!
Karisma Kapoor spotted with her estranged husband Sanjay Kapur at choreographer Shiamak Davar's show for daughter Samaira. Karisma and Sanjay's daughter Samaira performed for Shiamak Davar's dance show, 'Winter Funk' in Mumb
Latest Bollywood News
- Lisa Haydon in legal mess after walking out of film at last moment
- 'Koffee with Karan 5' shooting begins; KJo tweets pic
- Iulia disturbed after split with Salman? Shares cryptic posts on Instagram
- Kareena's Income Tax account hacked, files complaint
- 'Baahubali 2' team reveal exciting facts about the movie


text:
CFP: 'Information and its Communication in Wartime'
Call for Papers: 'Information and its Communication in Wartime'
School of Advanced Study, Senate House, University of London
Book Reviews are found under "Reviews." All other H-Diplo publications are located in "Resources."
How to Post or Comment on H-Diplo in 5 easy steps
Questions? Send a note to the editors at firstname.lastname@example.com
Follow us at @HDiplo
Call for Papers: 'Information and its Communication in Wartime'
School of Advanced Study, Senate House, University of London
9th European Spring School on History of Science and Popularization
Living in Emergency: humanitarianism and medicine
Mahon / Maó (Menorca), 18-20 May 2016
Coordinated by Jon Arrizabalaga (IMF-CSIC, Barcelona), J. Carlos García-Reyes
(ICIII, Madrid), Dolores Martín-Moruno (IEH2, Université de Genève) and
Àlvar Martínez-Vidal (IHMCLópez Piñero, Universitat de València)
Call for Editor - Journal of the Gilded Age and Progressive Era
Article Review
No. 644
27 September 2016
Article Review Editors: Thomas Maddux and Diane Labrosse
Web and Production Editor: George Fujii
Commissioned for H-Diplo by Thomas Maddux
PDF version of H-Diplo Article Review 644 on Anders Stephanson. "Senator John F. Kennedy: Anti-Imperialism and Utopian Deficit." Journal of American Studies 48:1 (February 2014): 1-24. DOI: 10.1017/S0021875813002594. http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/S0021875813002594
Your network editor has reposted this from H-Announce. The byline reflects the original authorship.
Roundtable Review
Volume XVIII, No. 4 (2016)
26 September 2016
Roundtable Editors: Thomas Maddux and Diane Labrosse
Roundtable and Web Production Editor: George Fujii
Introduction by Christopher Capozzola
PDF version of H-Diplo Roundtable XVIII, 4 on Katherine Unterman. Uncle Sam's Policemen: The Pursuit of Fugitives across Borders. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2015. ISBN: 9780674736924 (hardcover, $35.00/£25.95/€31.50).
'History of Diplomacy in the Holy Land'
From: Mario DEL PERO <firstname.lastname@example.com>
2017 SHAFR Summer Institute, Cambridge University, UK
(Cambridge University/SciencesPo, Paris)
"Security and the State: Cultures of National Security and Insecurity in American Foreign Relations"
Alex Mintz, Carly Wayne. The Polythink Syndrome: U.S. Foreign Policy Decisions on 9/11, Afghanistan, Iraq, Iran, Syria, and ISIS. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2016. viii + 190 pp. $22.95 (paper), ISBN 978-0-8047-9676-7; $70.00 (cloth), ISBN 978-0-8047-9515-9.
Reviewed by Paul R. Pillar (Georgetown University)
Published on H-Diplo (September, 2016)
Commissioned by Seth Offenbach
Ellen D. Tillman. Dollar Diplomacy by Force: Nation-Building and Resistance in the Dominican Republic. North Carolina: University of North Carolina Press, 2016. 288 pp. $29.95 (paper), ISBN 978-1-4696-2695-6.
Reviewed by Cyrus Veeser (Bentley University)
Published on H-Diplo (September, 2016)
Commissioned by Seth Offenbach
Erin K. Jenne. Nested Security: Lessons in Conflict Management from the League of Nations and the European Union. thaca: Cornell University Press, 2015. 264 pp. $45.00 (cloth), ISBN 978-0-8014-5390-8.
Reviewed by Jennifer De Maio (California State University, Northridge)
Published on H-Diplo (September, 2016)
Commissioned by Seth Offenbach
Conflict Management from the Outside In
John C. Mitcham. Race and Imperial Defence in the British World, 1870–1914. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016. 267 pp. $99.99 (cloth), ISBN 978-1-107-13899-5.
Reviewed by Stephen Jackson (University of Sioux Falls)
Published on H-Diplo (September, 2016)
Commissioned by Seth Offenbach
Toby C. Rider. Cold War Games: Propaganda, the Olympics, and U.S. Foreign Policy. Sport and Society Series. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2016. 288 pp. $95.00 (cloth), ISBN 978-0-252-04023-8; $24.95 (paper), ISBN 978-0-252-08169-9.
Reviewed by Jeffrey Montez de Oca (University of Colorado Colorado Springs)
Published on H-Diplo (September, 2016)
Commissioned by Seth Offenbach


text:
This profile was last updated on .
Is this you? Claim your profile.
+ Get 10 Free Contacts a Month
Please agree to the terms and conditions
I agree to the Terms of Service and Privacy Policy. I understand that I will receive a subscription to ZoomInfo Community Edition at no charge in exchange for downloading and installing the ZoomInfo Contact Contributor utility which, among other features, involves sharing my business contacts as well as headers and signature blocks from emails that I receive.
CUT and LEME Sponsored PhD Student
www.tonkincorporation.com [cached]
News & Events : NEWS: Worrall ASEG Nov07
www.crcleme.org.au [cached]
News & Events : NEWS: Worrall ASEG Nov07
crcleme.org.au [cached]
ASEG Contacts
aseg.org.au [cached]
ASEG Contacts
www.aseg.org.au [cached]
Chris Beckett
Jill Beckett
CT River Valley Chamber of Commerce
Karl BEckett
Allington Hughes
Brett Beckett
Trailer Equipment Inc
John Beckett
Ministry Centre


text:
The Spurs striker scored the north London side's equaliser at Selhurst Park after Jan Vertonghen's own goal inadvertently gave Palace a first-half lead.
England midfielder Dele Alli doubled Tottenham's advantage before second-half substitute Nacer Chadli sealed three points for Tottenham.
And Kane treated himself to a holiday in Barcelona ahead of Tottenham's next Premier League at Norwich City next Saturday.
Good afternoon 😊🇪🇸 pic.twitter.com/55IWWFagG4
— Harry Kane (@HKane) January 24, 2016
The Tottenham striker has scored 13 goals in 23 Premier League games for Mauricio Pochettino's side so far this season.
Spurs are five points behind surprise Premier League leaders Leicester City after the Foxes eased to a 3-0 win against Stoke City.
MORE: The latest Tottenham news and views
MORE: The latest Tottenham player tweets
The north London side make the trip to Norwich City in the Premier League next Saturday as the Canaries look to recover from a 5-4 loss to Liverpool on Saturday afternoon.
Get 3/1 enhanced odds on Man United to beat Zorya in the Europa League tonight. Click here to sign up now. T&Cs apply.
MORE: Get TREBLE the odds on any sports bet. T&Cs apply
MORE: The Sport Review homepage
MORE: Latest Man Utd news
MORE: Latest football transfer gossip
MORE: Latest Arsenal news
MORE: The latest football news