Inside My Art Studio

The studio is coming along nicely.
Granted, with the remodel,
it is crammed full of things
that don't belong in it.
But I can still create
to my heart's content...

See the Christmas stocking
hanging on the side
of my Idea Board?
Nolly Posh from the land of OZ
made it for me.
It's made out of felted wool.
I keep it up
all year long.
My studio is full
of things that stimulate
my creative flow
or simply make me
hApPy.

When I was a teenager

growing up in southern CA
I wanted to become a hippie
when I grew up...
And I did.
Along with the 289
other things I dreamed of doing.
Isn't it fun becoming anything
you want to become???

Peace, Love & Learning

Flying Dream--Part One

I had a liberating, vivid flying dream. Lord how I love my flying dreams.

Part One: The Flying Dream

I was in Ojai, CA with my son Jake & he had concerns about what his dad would think about his hair having a swath of lime green in it. We decided since his dad doesn't have a great sense of humor about body piercings, hawks, and tatts, that we would tone his hair down a bit before he met up with his Dad. I happened to whip a bottle of hair color out of nowhere, and proceeded to dab a "safe, neutral, mousy brown" on both of our heads. I didn't actually need to color my hair-- I'm just a Loreal junkie. One sniff of that peroxide, chemical blend and I gotta have it! What can I say? They can't arrest me for it!

So there we are, my son and I sitting in a bathroom in a Mexican restaurant on Ojai Ave we used to go to all the time when we lived there, waiting for his hair to change from chartreuse to blah brown. Tick tock tick tock... time flys when you're dreaming....

Exit Dream

Real Life Footnote: Jake's dad is battling cancer for the 3rd time. Throat cancer. He just completed a harsh round of chemo and radiation. Jake hasn't seen his dad for a few years, and his dad hasn't seen Emery, Jake's son, who is his only grandchild. His dad can't fly out here to visit--the flight would take a toll on his already compromised body. And no one could afford to pay airfare for Jake, Ashley & Emery to go to CA to see his dad. Until I received a letter from an old friend in CA. Do you all remember my friend, Pamela Barrett who wrote, 'Tales of the Titmouse'? One of the characters in this book, Penny, is the friend that sent me a Christmas letter.

I'm embarrassed to say the envelope sat in a pile of Christmas cards unopened for a couple of weeks. I was too sick, and too exhausted from the severe panic attacks due to PTSD I was having plus a bad sinus infection. It was difficult to focus on much of anything except trying to keep my mind above water. Finally I found a place of peace to focus properly, I began opening my cards. I never expected a check to fall out of the envelope written to Jake from my dear friend of 39 years. She had a small inheritance left to her, and set aside funds for Jake's secondary education. She said she thought a trip for the three of them to come to CA so his dad could see his grandson, and family was a perfect secondary education---one called Life.

Needless to say... We are all overwhelmed, and in awe of such love and generosity coming from such an unexpected source. The Universe does hear you, and does bring you what you need. Thank you my precious friend, Penny, for loving me all these years. Thank you Pam & John, for visiting Jake's daddy at Christmas. Thank you for the secondary education funds you provided for Jake, Penny. He's planning the trip now. I'll keep you all posted...

Part Two of the Flying Dream coming up soon.

The Story Behind This Time Tomorrow

I'm sure you've all noticed my new header. Superman encouraged me to use this piece of art I drew, and painted a few months ago as my header. I reluctantly agreed to tear it out of my art journal and scan it to see if I liked it. To my surprise, I did like it. I really, really liked it. The only thing missing was the cat, Opie Taylor, who sports the monkey pants on this blog. That sketch came about in under 15 minutes from start to finish. If all of life could be that easy...

Some of you noticed I put "This Time Tomorrow" back on as my blog title. What I'm not sure of is if I told you why I selected "This Time Tomorrow" as my blog title in the first place.

I've played a game with myself for as long as I can remember called this time tomorrow. It helps me get through upcoming things that are difficult, and keeps the ants in my pants from eating me alive when I'm anticipating something fun in my future that hasn't happened yet. Like the time I was asked to open for singer-song writer, Wayne Watson, in 1989 at a concert in Oxnard, CA, a Dove and Grammy award winner. I was so honored, and excited to be the opening singer for one of my favorite Christian singers, I could hardly breathe, eat, sleep or think. I played the game "This Time Tomorrow" with myself so I could survive the weeks waiting for the concert to arrive without popping into a kazillion peices.

Wayne Watson, me, and Scott Alan DJ at KDAR in Oxnard, CA
big smile, big shoulder pads & big hair... love the 80's

But enough about big hair, and stuff. Here's how the game goes....

If there was a test at school that I dreaded, I'd think about the day and time of the test, then I'd say to myself, "This time next Friday, I'll be taking the math test." This would give me the mental time--mental because I rarely, IF ever, cracked a book for a math test--to psych myself up for the test. It's like saying, "OK I have 6 more days to worry about that or not worry about it." But I'd always visualize myself in the situation whether it was 6 days away, or this time tomorrow. It gave me some time to feel it before I got there.

I once used the game to help me heal after having an abortion. I sank into a deep depression afterward because I felt I didn't have a choice in the matter. I wrote a story about my horrible ordeal with the "this time tomorrow" theme. In my short story I dread the upcoming scheduled event, and acknowledge my fear, and remorse, by counting down the days, hours, and minutes before the abortion by playing the game, "This time tomorrow".

I approach the trip to the clinic with a new inner strength because I realize I have an alternative choice. I begin to feel strong, and am willing to voice what "I want to do"--not what I felt someone else wanted me to do. At the last minute, I get up off the table, and walk away without having the abortion. My baby is safe, and so am I. I awaken later to discover I only dreamed I had walked away while I was under the anesthesia having the abortion. Somehow this comforts me because I know in my heart, and spirit, I would have done it differently had the choices been presented to me in another way. Writing about this with the theme of this time tomorrow as the story's base allowed me to heal, and in time, forgive myself. It's a mental game I use to get me through something I dread, or to remind me in 24 hours I can open the gifts under the Christmas tree.

"This time tomorrow I will be at the clinic sitting in the waiting room."

"This time tomorrow I'll be singing in front of thousands of people on the same stage with Wayne Watson."

"This time tomorrow I'll be boarding the plane to Italy."

"This time tomorrow I'll be getting a tooth pulled."

"This time tomorrow I'll be one day closer to being healed from PTSD."

When I decided to start blogging about having PTSD, I pondered a title. I knew writing had helped me in the past to heal from so many things, and suddenly "This Time Tomorrow" popped into my head. That theme had helped me heal before maybe it could now some 30 years later. I realized each day I work through this it brings me closer to this time tomorrow when I'll be totally healed, whole and helping others heal from PTSD, too.

Some of you will get this silly game I play, and some of you will shake your heads and mumble, "HUH?" Humor me--OK? I'm also the one who goes on AND on about monkey pants. Some of you get the concept of monkey pants, too, and some of you don't. Monkey pants are my unique way of reminding myself to keep an attitude of silliness, to keep laughing at myself, and remain childlike in the way I look at life. Silly is good. It helps my serious, fearful heart remember to lighten up. I need my monkey pants on so I will keep on keeping on. Simple as that.

Thank you, Dylan, for always being there with me, monkey pants on, and ready to face whatever this time tomorrow brings us. Thank you, Superman, for believing in me today or this time tomorrow or for as long as it takes for me to get well.

Thank you bloggy friends for putting up with all my monkey shines... Oh, and will you all please let Opie Taylor know the stripes and polka dots DO NOT make his butt look big. He wanted stars on his monkey pants.... I can fix that, too. This time tomorrow...

Tales of the Titmouse

Topa Topa Mountain in Ojai, CA.
The Pink Moment
The brief moment when the sunset turns the mountain face a radiant pink.

Yesterday a long awaited gift arrived. It's a gift that spent 20 years (probably more than twenty) traveling through the heart, and mind, of a talented soul searching for just the right words, and message to send to its readers. The gift is a newly published book by my dear, long time friend, Pamela Barrett. "Tales of the Titmouse", One Woman's Journey Out of Darkness, you can find it on Amazon by clicking HERE.

I remember Pam reading excerpts over the phone to me in the late 80's, and being mesmerized by every word. I stood there with the phone cupped to my ear, and knew Pam was on her way to becoming a published author. Pam and I go way back to the early 70's. I used to work for her Dad as a waitress in his restaurant/coffee shop (I worked for him years later at another restaurant in Ojai, CA, named the Sand Dollar, where many of my friends in the band, The Country Z Men, went on to play with Jimmy Messina, and Clint Black). Pam helped him manage the coffee shop and played hostess with the mostest.

It's in this very same restaurant I met another dear friend, Penny (she's featured in the book) who later became my maid of honor at my wedding. Penny was my ultimate roll model for becoming a hippy, a true hippy. Her husband was an artist, and hanging out at her house was sheer bliss for me--an aspiring artist, musician and hippy-wanna-be-flower-child. I spent many hours curled up at Penny's feet in her plant shop gleaning life skills, and ideas of what to do with my life.

Sweet, sweet Ojai, CA, "The Valley of the Moon" as it is called by the Chumash Indians. Locals also refer to it as the "nest". Although the three of us no longer live there, Ojai will forever live in us. The pictures taken of me with my band Silver Rose were taken in front of a house both Pam and I lived in. Our lives have criss-crossed, and paralleled in so many ways, you'd have thought we planned it that way. We didn't. Perhaps it's because all three of us have a genuine hunger for spiritual matters, and long for our Higher Powers to lead us on a path of understanding, love and serenity.

Pam's story will remind you of how we are all searching for answers, for truth, for love, for acceptance, but especially for hope. If you need a gift of encouragement for someone you love, or yourself, please add "Tales of the Titmouse" to your list of must haves. You can find Pam at her blog, Sister Gilby Says.

Congratulations, Pam. I'm so very, very proud of you for making it to the finish line. You give all of us with stories to tell, and write, hope. Thank you~ Behind Pam is the painting, John Barrett, her artist husband did for the cover of the book. You should see the Christmas card he made me!!! These two make each other shine, and I am in awe of how their gifts came together in a such a perfect union.
I'm not going to give any details of what is inside the book except once you start reading it--you will not be able to put it down....

Find Your Happy Place

~Opie's been rehearsing for the Grand Tour of the Tree House~

~Sneak Preview~

~~I found my happy place~~

Mine's inside me~~Where's yours?

~~Just in case I'm not around for a few days it's because I'm
taking a few things over to the bungalow on the hill~~

Well actually I'm taking everything except the small part of me
that wants to stay here,
in the Tree House...
~~~Forever~~~

Vlog Trailer

The Tree House has been invaded.
Opie & I are hanging on to the sides of the nest for dear life.
We are being pushed out of the nest by......

Oh dear, it's too soon to tell but our beloved island appears to be under siege
by carnies in a bad Fellini movie....
Opie & I may need to be smuggled out on a UPS truck.
I'm serious, Folks. Things are getting strange on the island.

Film at 11:00
~~Stayed Tuned~~

Jumping out of the Tree House onto a Trampoline of Dreams

I have always believed in the power of believing, visualizing, and that our thoughts do effect the condition of our lives. I also know it's hard sometimes for anyone, not just me, to keep energy moving in a positive direction. There have been times in this last 15 months since the auto accident that I've had limited vision or hope about my future, and wondered to the point of immense grief if I would ever be "normal" again or pain free, and, especially, emotionally free from the PTSD.

I've learned PTSD has affected me in more ways than "just getting into an automobile" again. It's nearly immobilized me at times from ever leaving the house again. Isolating myself felt more comfortable than taking a risk to go outside in the world where "something "bad" might happen to me. It all comes down to not feeling in control. And I hate not feeling in control. I fight it, and resist changes that I don't know what the outcome will be. That's why driving on the freeway can be so difficult at times. I can drive myself nuts worrying what those other drivers are going to do next to me.

But other areas I've become more protective about is my personal space, and I realized how important my privacy is to me. Many of you know I live on a beautiful lake, right on the water's edge. I have windows on 3 sides that overlook the water. Huge windows on an entire side that let the light in, and I can nearly see to China out those windows. Nearly... I can see an incredible amount of nature from here. It is like I'm on vacation every time I come home.








My life is about to undergo another change. At first, I felt this change was a cruel blow to my serenity, and my peaceful tree house abode. I share the building I live in with other people. It is a really unique, one of a kind maze of units, each one with their very own distinct layout and feel. I have the Queen's Castle, "The Tree House" [my name for it], the Penthouse. Everyone who walks in here wishes they were me. I mean that. Last month my very dear neighbors who had become like family to me, bought their first house, and moved away. I am still in shock they are gone. Happy for them but sick over them not being a few steps away like they'd always been.

My fabulous landlord [and I do mean he is the best I've ever had--EVER] was able to immediately rent their place which is directly below mine. The new people are smokers. Heavy smokers, and some other things I won't go into detail about but I will say their presence has tipped the nest right out of the tree house for Opie Taylor & I. We share the same venting system. They've been told not to smoke by my landlord [they are NOT complying] and even when they smoke on the deck, it all filters up [I should say balloons up, clouds up, fogs up] to my deck making it difficult to sit out there & enjoy the beauty of the lake.

I have worked so hard to stick to being a non-smoker having kicked the habit mid December 08. I'd quit right before the auto accident, too, but wienied out after a month. Then I was in the accident, and that made me smoke like a train going over the Grand Canyon with Thelma and Louise inside riding shotgun with me. I simply cannot risk breathing in someone's else smoke and being triggered every, single day. I've been heart sick about this. And for the first time since I moved in here, I do not feel like I am coming home. It's become an apartment, not my beloved tree house.

But this has led me to a new revelation. Change can be GOOD!

The real gift of being stopped "dead" in your tracks in life by an abrupt directional change you had no choice over, is that it can appear to be negative, when in actual fact it is the very thing you needed to wake you up to living your life. Really "Living" it. It is a sign I should not be trudging along in the same-old-same-old routine [ruts], and need to be "awake" to gifts the Universe is sending me. I am being called to new things, new places to accomplish my 101 Creative To-Do List, and move me out of the past.

I found a SWEET home in the country that sits on a hill. SWEET! SwEet! sWEEt!!! I'll post more on this after I find out if I've been approved to be the watcher of the sky on the hill over looking the lilies in the valley. Yes, there are lilies in the valley and lining the driveway leading up to my castle in the sky.

Who'da ever thunk it????

An unexpected shift from the Universe, that appeared to be the worst situation, may indeed be the trampoline, I get to jump on to kiss the baby blue sky.

I'll keep you posted!!!! Hmmmm, that reminds me..... I gotta get Opie Taylor a parachute so he can jump out of the nest onto the trampoline. And some goggles.

"Weeeeeeeee".............

Shhhh... the stars are singing....

We all have a song in our heart that is ours alone; our own unique harmonics and vibrations. Yes, everyone. Even babies sing. We call it cooing. I think we just forget how to let our songs flow as we "grow-up" or because we get bogged down in life, and by life. Some people's songs are sung out of tune, from their toes, from their bellies, loud and free. I love to hear songs that are sung like this from the heart. And I've always loved people who sing or whistle freely, like no one else is around or they don't care if anyone likes it or not. They sing because their hearts cannot contain their inner joy. If we could only bottle that pure rush of joy, or burst of happiness singing brings, our world would be a better place.

I have always loved to sing. But I, too, am guilty of burying my voice under the burdens of day to day struggles of trying to survive. I stopped singing professionally 11 years ago. It was not planned; it happened abruptly as my life took a necessary turn down a different road. I grieved its passing as a death. If you'd have asked me prior to my singing career coming to a halt how I'd feel about that happening, I would have told you I'd shrivel up and die without being able to sing, perform, or live my musical dreams. But I didn't. I'm still here. I still have a song in my heart. And I believe I have a new song rising up to meet me. I'm humming again.

My daddy played guitar, and sang, with Johnny Horton, Hank Williams SR, and Hank Snow. My mother sang back up. My family on both my mother and father's side were musical, and talented.
I guess you could say I was born with an orchestra playing in my heart, and a choir of angels pounding out a tune with each heartbeat. My son carries the musical torch now. And he does it brilliantly. I could not be prouder.
Jake writes, plays guitar, [lead, rhythm and bass] drums, some keyboard, and sings. I believe my greatest accomplishment in life was giving birth to him so his gift could be experienced by all who hear him or read what he's written.

Lately I've been hearing a chorus chirping in my soul, and have felt a longing to write the melody I hear floating to the top of my heart. This is good, people, because it means my spirit wants to clear the pipes, and let a rusty, scratchy but sWEEt note reverberate from its core.... even if it's only for me to hear~

I know some of you will say, "Oh, I can't sing a note." Or, "I wish I could sing." But you can, and it's not the ability as much as it is the availability to let your heart rock and roll as free as a bird. If you listen to birds many of them were not born with a voice of a canary. They were just born with a song larger than their tiny, feathered frames. I wonder if we all woke up singing like the birds do if there would be so much illness, and wars, and depression, and hatred, and intolerance, and abuse.....etc., etc., etc.... Music builds bridges, and heals hearts.

So, I say.... Sing while you're driving as Loud as possible. Put your sun glasses on, and don't look to see if anyone is watching you in the car next to you. If they are, they're probably enjoying seeing someone tap into something fun [rather than road rage] and probably wish they could do the same thing. Who knows you may be the nudge from the Universe they needed to let er' rip.

When I'm singing out loud it's a good indication that I'm feeling good,

and when I'm not feeling well, I probably need to sing louder.

When Jake was about two years old he said the most profound thing [as babes often do]... We'd been out for a walk one evening, and as we walked down the driveway he suddenly spoke up,

"Sssshhhhh. Listen!! The stars are singing!"

In the fields surrounding our house we heard the sounds of crickets, and frogs-- humming in tandem with each other--loudly, and sweetly at the same time. Yes, even the stars sing, and their song is the most beautiful song I've ever heard.

~~FYI~~ I'm feeling so much better.
AmaZingly better, my friends.

~~~Thank you all for your words of encouragement, and written hugs while I tuned up my spirit and body--all of which was like a concert from you to me. You all rock in my eyes!!!!~~

Life Rocks

I took these shots at one of our state parks.

I want to know what stories have unfolded in forests like these

Where every twist and turn takes you to another place and time.

I can hear voices whispering in the trees, the voices of the past.

A tree hangs stoically, silently on the edge of time.

Guardian soldiers of the past.

The rocks laugh.

For even the rocks have a story to tell.

"Some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity ... " ~ Gilda Radner

Sketching my yesterday's became this time tomorrow

I have always drawn, painted, and sketched pictures of women from as far back as I can remember. When I was about 10 years old, I discovered I could create lovely paper dolls--the kind that made my sisters, and the neighborhood girls, drool. I knew I was onto something when they began begging me to make them sets of their very own paper dolls. I'd ask my mother, and grandmother, to save the white cardboard that their nylons were wrapped around inside the packaging. Paper like this was a scarce commodity. White gold. One side was glossy; the other side matte.

On this precious sheet of cardboard I'd carefully draw a voluptuous, bathing suit clad, vixen. Granted I didn't know, or understand, the term "vixen"... I just drew curvy girls with perfect lips, and perfect hips--perfect clones of Marilyn Monroe, Sophia Loren and Jane Mansfield. Those were the role models women from my mother's generation wanted to look like. And I could draw them quite well. I wanted to become one of "those" beautiful ladies when I grew up.

After I finished drawing and coloring the cardboard beauty, I'd carefully cut her out. I'd put a piece of lined-notebook paper over the top of the cut out version or template to trace over. We didn't have access to plain, white typing paper at this time--no one did unless you were a secretary or a teacher. I'd draw 3-4 outfits on each sheet... followed by coloring each one as though I were a famous clothing designer. Soon business was booming, and I needed help manufacturing more. Plus, I got bored with the "finish" work of coloring and cutting--I much preferred to design and create. So I employed my sisters to help me.... or should I say bartered a completed set in exchange for their services. In no time at all I started an assembly line in our bedroom, and soon barked out orders to my sisters of which colors I wanted the outfits to be... and "Be careful cutting that gown out...."

Capri sets, evening wear, glamorous night gowns (lingerie... but again I didn't know the correct terminology for said articles of clothing) delicious dresses, fur coats... The paper flew around the room like colored confetti as I created literally countless sheets of "fancy sh'mancy" outfits. Complete, "I must add", with strategically positioned tabs that folded over the doll's shoulders, and sides, so the clothing would stay on.

For many years I wanted to be a fashion designer. I sewed dresses by hand from patterns I cut out... and I do mean hand stitched each, and every, seam. I'd stay up all night putting a zipper on a dress by hand. I saved up babysitting money for my first sewing machine at age 15. I am still a "fabri-holic". Some of you know exactly what I mean by that... I didn't grow up to be a fashion designer. I pursued a different dream; to become a singer-songwriter, which I did for over 25 years. I made my own stage clothes and wore the vintage clothing I collected for many, many years.

I'm still drawing sketches of women, photographing pictures of women, and painting portraits of women. The painting above is my newest piece. I suppose I could say it's a self-portrait. I used an old photo of me from my early singing-modeling days. I'm wearing a vintage dress circa 1930 and a 1940's black cape. Below is the photograph I used. And below that is an old band shot. Yep.... I'm wearing vintage clothes in that pic, too.

I realized today I'm still that girl hunkered over a box of crayons, and notebook paper...
over a sewing machine and a box of buttons...
with a guitar and a sheet of music...
digging through a drawer full of paints,
reaching for the perfect paint brush...
and living my life from a sketchbook full of dreams...




Yes, I'm still sketching her, and still creating who she's yet to become.

My dream's interpretation from A Dreams-Teller for this time tomorrow

Hello all...

Here is the interpretation from my dream of the rainbow trout I posted a couple of days ago.

A Dreams-Teller said...

HELLO LILLE DIANE,

Nice to have you visit the dreamer's site and leave one of yours. Let's have a look to see what it means:

THE RAINBOW TROUT DREAM

You walk on the beach feeling in the pink. Everything for you is calm and serene at sunset. So night is approaching (in the dark). The cliff looms over you to your left (the heart side). May symbolize a decision you are struggling with which causes emotional issues and feelings. You may be thinking you need to strengthen your resolve, let go of sentimentality and become firm and solid like the rock.

The fish "trout" is out of water. Could suggest the way you are feeling in waking life in a current situaton. Or you may be looking closer at beliefs, attitudes of yours that lie beneath the surface that are being supressed yet arise anyway. They taunt you, you choke them back. The neck of the small animal (a very vulnerable part of the body in animals and humans) means exposure, taking a risk, trusting yourself or someone else and maybe more communication (vocalization) is needed before you proceed.

MY BEST INTERPRETATION...YOU MAY GET SOME INSIGHT FROM IT.

Lille Diane said...

Thank you, so much. I wondered why it impressed me I was walking south and noted the cliff was on my left.

I struggle (daily) with PTSD from an auto accident. Many times I feel childish or small for feeling so vulnerable on the highway driving or even riding in a car. I don't let on most of the time how scary driving is for me.

If you have time, please, read my post from a few days ago, I talk about an incident over the weekend that left me feeling completely choked and I'm in shock how the accident still affects me. I never screamed once during the accident. Maybe I just need to go somewhere and scream. I've choked it back too long.

Amazing to me as well is the fact that I had this dream last week before this recent event.

I'd like to post your response to share with my readers about your gift, and also to bring you more readers. I posted my dream on my blog and linked it to your blog. There are so many people out there who have PTSD like I do, and I feel I'm helping them---just like they are helping me. Blogging is such a powerful tool.

What you are doing is truly a blessing. I know the blessings will come back to you for all the generosity you've shown so many. Thank you again.

Thu Jun 11, 05:49:00 PM 2009

A Dreams-Teller said...

HELLO LILLE DIANE,

FEEDBACK ON TROUT DREAM

Thank you for your feedback. It helps immensely to hear back from dreamers. As a result, more people learn about this site and find help.

I do believe that understanding our dreams releases fears we often hold onto far too long. Dreams may seem nonsensical but that is the nature of dreams, as they do the job of refreshing the dreamer's mind clearing out all the cluttered thoughts and emotions.

I wish all my dreamers...

SWEET DREAMS!

Fri Jun 12, 10:40:00 AM 2009

Thank you so much, A Dreams-Teller!

Dreams can take you places and show you where you could be this time tomorrow

I had a dream last week.
A dream I was awake in.
A vivid dream I'll never forget.

I know it has a meaning, and want to find out what it meant. I'm sending it to a woman who interprets dreams, A Dreams Teller. I found her on the blog, "Fool Stop" by Jase. I'll post the link to her, and her interpretation of my dream after she analyzes it. I have a few ideas what it means but I am curious to hear what she will find hidden in my dream. This is her gift, her calling. I hope you are as curious as I am to hear what she finds.

Here is the dream;

I was walking on a beach with cliffs above me to my left, and large boulders at the base jutting up out of the sand. The sand, the waves, the rocks, my skin, and the air was washed in an iridescent, warm, pink glow from the sunset. The atmosphere had a mystical quality to it and I felt at peace. Suddenly out of the corner of my eye I saw a huge rainbow trout flopping on the sand, trying to hide from me behind the boulders. It was larger, fatter than normal and it was the most beautiful rainbow trout I'd ever seen.
I could read its thoughts and it was taunting me. It told me I could never catch it. I instantly knew I must catch it. I began chasing it, and caught it with my hands.

It was larger than I expected once I caught it. As if by instinct, I knew I had to choke it; choke the life, the air out of it. I was perfectly calm reasoning with myself that I had to do it. I am not by nature a killer in any sense. I am a huge animal lover so it was not killing it for the sport or challenge. With each

second that passed I knew I had the power to let it go. I could stop the process of taking it's life, taking its energy away from it--the choice was literally in my hands to decide. But I knew I must not stop. I held on. Never once did I look at this great fish eye to eye while I choked it. I suppose I knew it would try to reason with me if I looked it in the eyes.

I was poised, strong, and never wavered. After what seemed like a long battle, the fish changed in my hands. I was now holding what felt like a small mammal with a tiny neck, so fragile in my hands.

It was here the dream ended. I did not feel remorse or like I had murdered anything.

This time tomorrow--my favorite time to do things. A blog from a procrastinator...

Blogging.... didn't we used to call it journaling, keeping a diary? Writing secret stuff about ourselves in a secret place that we buried like cats bury poo so no one would find it, read it or see it?

I am a procrastinator. A perfectionist. Well there. I said it. Out loud. This is my blog about procrastination and perfectionism, and the life long battle I have had putting off until tomorrow what I should have, could have and needed to do today. This blog site will be a stretch. If anyone actually starts following me, I'll be held accountable and responsible. Shudder....

I'm just a girl (yes, I am still a girl, a 56 year old girl to be exact) seeking to figure out why I procrastinate and how in the hell can I fix it???? Now, it hasn't all been lost lists and never accomplishing anything--far from it. I've acquired some rather fetching accomplishments in my life. I just don't want to wake up tomorrow, out of time, or heaven forbid not wake up at all, and see all the wasted energy, brilliant ideas I had rotting on top of my grave. I know today will suddenly turn into this time tomorrow. I want to arrive there saying, "Wow! I did it! I actually finished this project that has been locked up inside my head! I lived my life in the fullest."

Now here is the kicker--the proverbial kick in the ass.

I'm recovering from PTSD from an auto accident. May 4, 2009 will be my one year anniversary. This is my journey of a near death experience, and a moment in time I saw every dream on my to-do list, hang in that moment forever--undone. I am going to live those dreams, give them flight, and maybe along the way as I blog my progress a few of you will be encouraged to do the same by the words (and deeds) I etch in time and space in a place called the internet.

I will list my 101 Things I Want To Do with my wonderful life, and will document the glorious joy of checking them off one by one. My goal is to keep adding another item to the list after I check something off. You will be my eyes and virtual cattle prod to keep me moving forward. Hey, no pushing and shoving--OK? Cheer me on! To the finish line!

I will post my list and post my projects in pictorial form from beginning to marvelous end.