I'm a Loser!

No, no, no!  Not that kind of loser!  I mean the kind of loser that actually loses things, so many things.    Small things.  Large things.  Important things.  Totally inconsequential things.  Cheap things,  Expensive things.   And who knows how many things I’ve lost that I don’t even know are gone?    

                                                                                                                                                                        

There are several explanations for my loser designation, but no real reason.  One, of course, is my earlier blog about my “collections”. I have a lot of stuff; some of the unenlightened and/or unimaginative may call it junk, or even landfill.  With that amount  of accumulated future projects, and no attic or basement for storage, it’s inevitable that some items may find their way into a stash where it doesn’t belong and is, therefore, “unfindable.”

Another explanation is my age.  You probably know the one about us elderly people believing wholeheartedly in the hereafter.  After all, half the time when I walk into a room, I say to myself, “What am I here after?”  However, I have always had this affliction. As an infant, I’m sure I was constantly looking for my pacifier.

I also have a habit of multi-tasking, which I now know is detrimental to productivity, but which I used to consider one of my positive attributes.  I have often carried a number of objects which need to be deposited into various locations, only to find myself sifting through the trash to see if the seashells I meant to put into a storage bin are there, since my  popsicle wrapper is setting on my scallop shells.

Now this next explanation may seem incongruous.  Mindfulness.  “Being mindful” has been a buzz phrase for a couple of decades now, and I can honestly say I have tried to be aware of my surroundings, my feelings, my actions.  You know how when someone tells you not to think about an elephant, and elephants keep thrusting themselves smack dab into the middle of your thoughts?  Mindfulness, to me, is like that, but in reverse.  The more I try to be conscious of whatever it is I’m focusing upon, the more it slips into some secret closet in my brain.  I make  such an effort to be aware of what I am doing, but my mind goes on its own journey.  The worst  is when I really think I am concentrating on putting something in a safe place…and I’m sure I did; I just can’t recall the safe place.

An unfortunate side effect of being a loser is having to replace items that have gone missing. While my husband was cleaning the garage, he came across four drills.  (Did I mention that I am married to a loser?)  I buy tape measures in triplicate. Every Christmas stocking is stuffed with new flashlights. I think I am on my fifth set of jeweler’s pliers.  And I really think that earrings and socks should come in sets of three.

This disorder certainly causes stress. I have no idea how much of my life has been spent looking for things that I have misplaced.  Like almost everything in life though, there’s a silver lining… there is such satisfaction when  I actually find something I am seeking. Then there is the ecstasy when I come across some long-forgotten “treasure.”

However, if I had my “druthers”, I had rather not have the malady. I would rather be organized and be able to pinpoint the exact location of things.  I would rather not call myself such disparaging nicknames as I go through the same drawers and purses and closets repeatedly, while at the same time, inwardly cursing anyone who has walked into my house, since I know they must have either moved or removed my lost item. 

 I am not one of those fortunate individuals with the “everything has its  place and it will always be there” genes.  But that’s okay; I can live with the ailment because I’m so happy to be living!  

I asked my daughter for help with a concluding paragraph.  Her response was “maybe something about how artists and geniuses are messy and that it allows for more creativity”.  I am choosing to lose her exact words.  To paraphrase, she said, “Mom, you are an artistic, creative genius.”  I told you I’m a loser.

Don’t “Let It Go, Let It Go, Let It Go”

When I count my too-many-to-count blessings, my proximity to the beach is near the top of the list.  I treasure my sunrise walks beyond words. You know the verse, ‘For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required.”  Although it doesn’t begin to match the gift I have of seeing the sun begin its ascent over the Atlantic, I consider it my duty and my pleasure to pick up litter as I walk.  

My survival kit includes garbage bags, grocery bags, a pick-m-up stick, a tote for treasures, bug spray, and a hat.  In the winter I drop the bug spray and add a jacket and if it’s really cold, socks and gloves.

Most of the litter I pick up comes from, I believe, ocean-going vessels, but of course some is from people visiting the shore. The litter is diverse, and often interesting.  Most is plastic; one morning my husband and I counted as we picked up over 300 bottle caps.  I’ve rescued hundreds of beach toys from inevitable drowning in the sea or in the sand.  Shoes, sunglasses, toothbrushes, and other personal items are in my inventory.  

Now begins my rant.

I hate balloons. Recently I picked up 15 in less than an hour, and two days later, another 13. All balloons are bad, very, very bad. Even so-called bio-degradable balloons are destructive.  Helium-filled mylar balloons are the worst.  Balloons look like jellyfish, a dietary staple to turtles and other sealife. Strings become entangled around necks and legs and fins.  In fact, balloons rank third as the most damaging litter to the ocean, behind fishing nets and plastic bags.  These flying pieces of garbage frequently travel long distances, ending up in the ocean from far inland. One scientific experiment recovered a released balloon 1350 miles away.       

 

Latex balloons may take up to 4 years to disintegrate, and mylar (developed by the space program) balloons are meant to last indefinitely. And helium….a completely different story.  Helium is a non-renewable resource; what is here is all we have, and we are wasting it on balloons! A “Happy Birthday” or “Congratulations on the Birth of your Baby” balloon is giving a gift of damage to the earth.

So…What to use instead?  Flags, banners, bubbles, pinwheels, kites, natural confetti, drums!  In a remembrance ceremony, plant a tree.   (Sky lanterns are another environmental no-no!)

Check out balloonsblow.org. In addition, there are dozens of websites with information on ways to make a difference.  Several states have outlawed balloon releases, but there is a balloon lobby fighting the restrictions.

You can help.  Don’t buy balloons.  Don’t patronize businesses that use balloons.  Join the fight to protect our planet.  You will feel better knowing that you made a conscious decision to make our world a better place and you may have saved a life.

And come join me any morning.  If I’m in town, I’m at the beach.

Will the Real Debbie Moser Please Stand Up?

Will the Real Debbie Moser Please Stand Up

https://www.facebook.com/dlbradley

My jewelry instructor and mentor is an onion, a sweet one, but an onion, nonetheless.  You’ll see.

Debbie is quite petite, She has a soft voice and a timid air about her.  Her long salt & pepper hair is pinned up under the ever-present visor.  Her glasses have a slight tint of color. 

But Debbie’s work is exquisite.  In many of her pieces of art, she uses numerous natural elements, frequently has multiple metals, does symmetrical and asymmetrical equally well, planning and re-planning designs until they are “right”, and uses her nimble fingers to caress her creation to her satisfaction. Now peel away layer one.  

After two life-threatening, debilitating accidents.  Debbie has limited vision.  Her visor and tinted glasses protect her eyes from the light.  Threading tiny pearls with thin wire is a task that most of us, particularly “of a certain age”, find challenging.  Because she has lost depth perception, it is even more difficult for this lady, but she manages to accomplish it, often more quickly than those without her disability.

Peeling away another layer,  I discovered that Debbie is an animal lover extraordinaire.  She has had her  yellow-nape parrot, Jo-Jo for 44 years.  This bird is its own story.  Because she got her at Christmas time, the bird knows Christmas carols, and when she covers her cage for the night, Jo-Jo hums “Silent Night” to herself.  And cats…this lady has such a passion and compassion for felines.  One of her kitties lived happily for  27 years with her care and the help of a holistic veterinarian.

In an earlier life, Debbie worked with developmentally disabled students.  I’m sure she was fabulous.  In her jewelry classes, she works patiently with every skill level; many times everyone will be working on a different project, and each gets her individual help. Almost diffidently, she apologizes for not getting to every student first, certainly an impossible undertaking.  I can picture her doing this in an academic setting, with each special needs child needing her “right now.”  

Off with layer three.  While discussing LGBQT issues, Debbie revealed that she had worked for the rights of LGBQT developmentally disabled people in Pennsylvania.  Further peeling of the layers uncovered extensive work for the marginalized and/or underrepresented, long before it was recognized as a critical need. She has worked on many committees in Pennsylvania and Canada concerning issues that dealt with mental health and sexuality issues.  She did staff training in Pennsylvania, New York and Canada concerning sexuality issues and persons with disabilities. She also did group and individual counseling.

Another layer off.  She is imminently qualified to fight for and with a wide range of individuals.  She has master’s degrees in special education, habilitative services, blindness and visual services, orientation and mobility services and a M.Ed in sexuality education and counseling services.  She is a certified rape crisis counselor and is certified to work with sexual predators.  She has worked in all of the above areas.  One of the above-mentioned accidents halted her Ph.D dissertation, or I would be calling her Dr. Moser!

After retirement, Debbie received certification in jewelry repair, jewelry design, and metal-smithing.  She currently has a studio at The Hub on Canal in New Smyrna Beach, FL and teaches jewelry classes there (where I was lucky enough to meet her!). She has received awards in pottery, watercolor, sculpture, and jewelry.  

Still one more layer:  I didn’t know this until two days ago.  My sweet teacher and friend is working on a book entitled The Loves of My Life which will tell the stories of all the cats she has loved, starting with her first love, at age one.

Of course, every individual has layers that don’t appear on the surface.  It takes time and interest, and sometimes a bit of probing, to uncover people’s passions and their history.  I plan to spend a little more effort getting past the top layers of people I associate with, but don’t really know.  I’m just glad I have had the opportunity to spend many hours with, and to get to know, at least partially, Debbie Moser.

Still one more layer:  I didn’t know this until two days ago.  My sweet teacher and friend is working on a book entitled The Loves of My Life which will tell the stories of all the cats she has loved, starting with her first love, at age one.

Of course, every individual has layers that don’t appear on the surface.  It takes time and interest, and sometimes a bit of probing, to uncover people’s passions and their history.  I plan to spend a little more effort getting past the top layers of people I associate with, but don’t really know.  I’m just glad I have had the opportunity to spend many hours with, and to get to know, at least partially, Debbie Moser.

The Truth about My "Collections"

The Truth about My “Collections”

I am a hoarder.

My watercolor teacher and mentor, the fabulous Gail Bokor, told me (when she saw my piles of driftwood and shells and fishing line and scrap lumber and countless found objects)  that you can’t be an artist without being a hoarder.    Yay!!!!  Finally, an excuse.!  I must be an artist!  And truly, to me, almost everything has  potential as some  piece of art…perhaps mixed media, or a wall hanging, or a piece of jewelry. In particular, I find beauty in everything natural I find on the beach.   A shell doesn’t have to be perfect to be spectacular.  Shells that are broken and with barnacles are to be treasured because their imperfections tell the story of their journey in the sea.  One with holes has evidence of its interaction with mollusks that bored into it or with the salt water and  waves crashing into the sandy ocean floor.  Fragments have stories to tell of encounters with harsh elements or tougher opponents.   

The problem is, I will never be able to use all that I have hoarded.  The good news is, I have so much to choose from.  

Now, my husband is a hoarder, too.  Actually, that could be a good thing, because he shouldn’t  complain about my “collections.”    However, I must tell you that his choices of things to keep are not in the same league as mine.  Once I watched him spend two entire days taking  rusty nails out of boards (good) and then sorting and saving  them (what?). He has multiple copies of the same science textbook, moldy from being in the garage, that say, “Someday, man will land on the moon.”  I have no idea how many bicycles we have which “can be fixed.”  

True story.  One Christmas, one of my gifts was to be able to park  my car in our garage.  Finally, the day came!  He pulled my car into the garage.  Then came the words, “ I didn’t tell you that you could get out of the car,” and I couldn’t!   

The rest of the story:  I have to admit that some of his dumpster diving and insane hoarding has had incredible results.  His pumpkin plywood has become a wonderful Cinderella craft cabinet.  He “bits and pieces”d a bicycle storage lean-to.  He delights in finding creative and inexpensive ways to use his hoarded lumber.  He even built bookcases for the  crusty books and the albums he rescued from the trash while at FTU  (which became UCF in 1978).  

In reality, we are quite the pair of “hunters and gatherers.”  Or artists?  

I am SO very glad he’s not blogging about my hoarding habit, because I may have sugar-coated it a bit.  A lot. 

As I think about what I just wrote, I realize how lucky I am.  Another day of counting my blessings, being grateful to and for my husband.  Loving the fact that we have the time and the health to plan and execute those plans for our “objets d’art.”   And rejoicing that we haven’t gotten to the point of being featured on A & E’s “Hoarders.”  Yet.

       .

How Did I Live 64 Years Without Knowing I Love Sea Turtles! (Or…What the Heck Else Do I Not Know?)

When I first began beach-combing, I had no clue what incredible eye-opening wonders lay ahead.  The discovery of a sea turtle nest one daybreak left me in awe.  I, being a new beach town resident , stepped right into the ”look what I found” and “what do I do now?”  mode. I couldn’t understand why Fish and Wildlife wasn’t immediately sending out people to mark and protect this nest.  Soon I discovered, as wondrous as this was, it was not a singular event.  I also discovered that the nests are, indeed, well-documented and protected.  Every morning patrols set out to detect, mark, and meticulously record nest details.

Here, in Volusia County, FL, an average of more than 500 nests are dug each season,  which lasts from April to November. This year has been an amazing record-setting one…over 1000 nests, each one with 80-150 eggs.  Because sea turtles primarily lay eggs in the dark of night, it’s a rarity to observe this miracle.

However, the Canaveral National Seashore in New Smyrna Beach offers a wonderful program available during a limited time each summer. Participants report to the visitor center and are treated to a delightful educational film followed by a question and answer session, led by a park ranger. In the meantime, there are park rangers patrolling the shore looking for loggerhead turtles that are building a nest or laying eggs.  When one is discovered, the visitor center is notified and everyone caravans to the parking area nearest the turtle.  Then, quietly, with no flashlights, the group is witness to this hulk toiling in the sand, perhaps using her flippers to dig a nest at least the size of her body and 2-5 feet deep, or maybe dropping her ping-pong sized eggs one by one, or using her flippers to camouflage the eggs.

When I was fortunate enough to be in such a group, I cannot adequately explain the feeling that I had been privileged and honored to be present at this event.  It was spiritual.

That said, you cannot imagine my giddiness when, while looking for trash and treasures, I came upon a 200-400 pound mama turtle building her nest at dawn.  I was the only person on the beach, and I felt I both needed a witness and someone to share my exuberance.  Grateful for my iPhone, I hesitantly approached her…again being respectful of the task she was accomplishing.  Almost 2 hours later, I shut off the phone as I lost sight of her in the surf, breathing a sigh of joy that I was treated to such an event and relief that she made it back out to her home , with her newly laid eggs buried out of sight.  

I have had so many gasp-producing moments…an incredible sunrise, the smile of a tiny baby, the Canadian Rockies, the tickle of a kitten’s tongue, an airplane lifting from the ground…I could name hundreds.  Think about the moments that took your breath.  I would love for you to share them with me…perhaps we even have some in common! And let’s vow to be mindful of each instance, fleeting or momentous, and to be grateful that we are alive to treasure it!

Stepping into My Dis-Comfort Zone

     10/05/2019
STEPPING INTO MY DIS-COMFORT ZONE

I miss my comfort zone, but not much, usually.

For many years I avoided getting out of my comfort zone, but since retirement, I’m finding that stepping out into fear has brought new pleasures into my life, as well as some experiences that I have no desire to re-create.

Now, I’m about to cross the threshold into what is terror for me, although to you it may seem as insignificant as walking into the kitchen. Actually, I’m crossing two thresholds, but they are related.

Some of you know that I have been working with a website developer for a few months to open an online store for my handcrafted jewelry. After many a sleepless night and countless frustrating hours, onlyology.com is about to launch. A few revisions, corrections, and the lessons to learn to manage it myself must be wrapped up and then we’re up and running. The thought makes my heart pound. What if all this effort was for nothing? What if I have no sales after I have spent all this energy? What if the website breaks? What if people think that jewelry from oyster shells is too unique (or bizarre)? What if someone is heartbroken if they don’t see a fairie when looking through my fairie stone pendants?

The second “out of my comfort zone” doesn’t make my heart pound. It makes my heart stop. My website developer advised me to write a ..... BLOG. (Picture a scary font.) So of course, I immediately attack the internet, frantically seeking advice. Therein lies the problem. The internet offers literally zillions....ok, I know, it’s definitely not literally and there is no such number as a zillion...of nuggets of advice! Many of them conflicting. And the only thing that I can come up with is to write what I know. And I know that my hands are shaking on this keyboard.  So many scenarios in my mind are ending badly. Strangers tweeting about my inane comments, friends avoiding me because they don’t know what to say, family shaking their heads and trying to soothe my wounded ego...or denying our relationship.

And then, 67 years of experience takes me and shakes me into reality, at least temporarily.
So what? So what if there are no sales? So what if people read my blog and don’t like it, or noone reads it? So what? And I barge ahead, stomping down negative thoughts and imitating the Little Engine.

And this is the emotion I want to relish, to take and expand and weave it around me. I am doing it...I am conquering a fear and I will make that accomplishment something to cheer about.

I want to hear your success stories...What hurdles have you been able to “gutsy” through? Have you mastered an obstacle that held you back? Please share, but more importantly, celebrate you! Take a moment to congratulate yourself and recognize joy in your triumph!’’