Día De Los Muertos Festival Video

The final installment from my day in Canoga Park with Juliana Martinez, Lori-Antoinette, Monica Foster and Juliana’s artist friends in celebration of the Day of the Dead, more beautifully stated in Spanish as ‘Día de los Muertos’. I’m pasting the description I entered under the YouTube upload because sometimes I write more poetically from my heart when I know I have limited space with which to convey my innermost feelings.

“Juliana Martinez graciously invited me to join her and her artist friends in creating chalk art in celebration of the Día de los Muertos Festival in Canoga Park this November 7, 2010. I got to pay tribute to my friend, Jonathan Appel, and meet some great people. We all enjoyed a perfect day for being outside as it was overcast and cool. I would like to think Jon helped temper the weather for us. I miss you, my friend. R.I.P.”

For gorgeous pictures of the completed festival art, please visit Michael Eivaz’ site at Michael Eivaz Photography!

Things I Have Learned In My Life

Of the many things I have learned in my thirty-six years on this earth, these are the most important, so far, and not necessarily in this order:

• Never knit while drunk. Talk yourself out of it (if you can).
• Always stick up for people, even if they throw you under the bus. You are feeding your integrity by doing “the right thing”. When that test comes along, satisfy your conscience, no matter what the price. You’ll have a greater sense of self by doing it.
• Sometimes it is appropriate to overreact.
• Sometimes it is appropriate to under react.
• When someone asks to borrow money and you can afford it, give it to them, and never expect it back.
• When you are really tired and don’t have the energy to pet your cat at 12am and beyond, do it anyway.
• Allow animals to choose you in life. We may think we ultimately decide to care for “pets”, but sometimes if we are open, they decide to care for us.
• Wish for things, but always with the intent that no one ever gets hurt for you to obtain your goals.
• Make book ears in your books if you want to. Don’t listen to the snobs. It’s your book, after all.
• Always keep engagements with your friends, even if you don’t feel great. They are expecting you and it is really inconsiderate to cancel–especially last minute–just because you’re not feeling it even though you are healthy and able to get together.
• When someone you care about pisses you off, wait until you are calm and then tell them. Try to be personable about it even if you are still steamed. More often than not, they already know what they did and will apologize. If not, stand your ground and wait until they do apologize… if they really need to.
• When a good friend won’t apologize for some hurt they’ve caused, apologize for something you shouldn’t have to apologize for and wait until they will apologize for the thing they should be apologizing for. Then rescind your apology, but only if it’s funny and they laugh with you. Maintaining healthy friendships is important.
• When you feel like a friend is taking back their friendship for something you’ve done; cutting emotional ties with some act of finality, yet they are acting like nothing is wrong, they may be planning suicide. Hug them hard and tell them how much you love them. Cry if you feel it, just make sure you let yourself feel it. Believe me, if you have that feeling, you are probably right.
• When you look in the mirror and think about how you are too old to be wearing something, you are; change your look.
• Growing old can be fun and graceful.
• Let people take your picture, no matter how unattractive you feel. It’s a memory, and we always look better then we think we do.
• Don’t believe everything everyone tells you. Be skeptical.
• If someone says your friend or lover did something against you, don’t give it a second thought until you talk to that person. People start rumors and overreact because they need the drama.
• When you don’t know what to do, don’t do anything.
• What else? … Don’t try so hard. It’s not that big a deal. Nothing ever is.

When Should I Write About Jonathan?

I was rosy from a few beers last night, basking in the glow of the Sierra Nevadas and two art projects: a watercolor of my cat and bunny, and a sweater I’m knitting for Doug. It feels good to be creative and happy, and then I thought about my other blog, Jaded and Other Gems (now defunct), and decided to write a redirect for this site since this is where I’m posting everything nowadays. In my happy daze I got sentimental about happiness and mentioned my friend Jonathan briefly to point out that a lot of money does not necessarily make one happy. Then I had a dream about him this morning.

He was alive by some twist of fate, and it didn’t seem at all improbable as I looked at him and we talked. We were in an airport and he was flying to some remote destination and I asked him what his plans were. I got the feeling that even though he’d faked his death he was still planning on taking his life, so I pushed to hang out with him. Doug was out of town on business, so I suggested taking a trip with Jon. “We can hang out and talk…” He said okay and we got on a plane, not knowing where we’d land. It felt nice to have a chance to pull some conversation out of him, and though he wouldn’t say much, what he did say was very revealing. By the time we arrived at our destination and checked into a room, he was still very distant, and I realized my pressing him to expose himself was for nothing. But I took the time, anyway, to make eye contact and hug him, trying not to seem overbearing and motherly. It was nice to know he was still around and that there might be a chance he’d stay.

I guess the watercolor I painted is a farewell, and saying anything at all is really a way to bookmark this chapter, for now. A friend of Jon’s told me that one of his favorite books was Viktor E. Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning. Viktor spent time in the Auschwitz concentration camp, among others. He was a doctor before being imprisoned, so naturally he observed human behavior, and having survived, had a lot of perspective on human suffering, but also of the triumph of the human spirit. A meaning for life… It is what we are all looking for. Love. Art. Truth. The sorts of things that quench our soul and make us whole. Important things that don’t come easy to people who are deprived, cut off from “mother”; the womb; the place of solace within. It is not readily available sometimes. Sometimes, you have to search for it. In the direst of circumstances, how many can muster the will to go on?

Murder of any kind is jolting. There is a darkness about it that can’t be absolved, even in suicide, and yet when we really care about someone we have to find a way to make sense of it. Maybe he was physically sick; maybe love sick; maybe both. I do know that money was not the answer, though he enriched many people’s lives through his heartfelt and financial generosities.

I’ve had the opportunity in the past to be generous, like Jonathan, though not on as grand a scale. I had a neighbor who was on the verge of eviction for being late on two months rent. I had enough at the time, so I gave him two grand and told him not to worry about paying me back. He cried. His own brother lived in a mansion in the hills, and would never lift a finger to help him, but a woman who barely knew him — a whore — paid his rent for two months and didn’t think twice about it. It felt good and I’d do it over again just because that is the kind of kindness we all need sometimes. But I don’t think it’s unreasonable to be cognizant of people whose only aim is to suck ones resources dry. Self-preservation for the purpose of giving to people who really need it is useful. There’s nothing wrong with being a little selfish when you know some people haven’t a clue about selflessness. I hope, at the very least, the people who took the most from my dear friend will see the beauty in giving and make the most of all that he relinquished for their sake. I tried to explain to him once that giving too much to ungrateful people can be harmful. A spoiled person gets used to being given so much that they feel they deserve more. In the end, I think he just needed someone he loved to love him back. Jonathan saved Doug and I from a dark period in our life, after sickness and a lot of financial loss. He was an absolute angel, but Doug’s love saved me from a darker period before that. I wish Jon had had that kind of love. Love like this is the light and foundation that gives meaning to life.

I’m a writer, so I will have to write more some day, but for now, I wish my old friend farewell. Or better yet, “See you later.” Although I may have to redo that watercolor painting…

The Watercolour I’ll Frame… and Jonny for Joanne and DK

I got it right this time. This is the “Shadow and Jonny Awesome” watercolor I’ll frame. It looks like a watercolor and it captures them both. Fun!!!

And for Joanne and DK because I know they’ll love it!!! Jonny has a pen mark on her itteh bitteh nose. She’s was working too hard, as usual.

Watercolour: Shadow and Jonny Awesome

Still at it! I don’t like this one as much as I thought I would, so I’m going to redo it, but it’s not bad and it actually looks like Shadow and Jonny. Not bad for a freeform drawing, eh?

I got some colors wrong on Shadow, and I didn’t want it to look so much like a painting. And yes, I know “watercolour” is the English version of the word, but I like it better than “watercolor”; the way I like to say herbs the way the English say it, because, as Mr. Izzard points out, “There’s a fucking ‘H’ in it.”

Super Jonny Awesome

Thank you, Alex. This is so funny!!

Jonny Awesome, Part 2

Jonny Awesome has grown a lot, and Doug has employed her as a member of his office staff (sorting papers, dialing the phone, etc…). They grow up so fast, don’t they?

Taking a break from the grind.

Cuddle time.

For some perspective, this is how small she was when Doug bought her off the guy selling stolen watches.

This is how big she is just three and a half weeks later… She’s still a teeny tiny bunneh.

Waiting for a phone call.

Her “flying pose” just kills me! Now if only I can get video of her rolling over on the bed. Cute little bunneh!!

Jonathan, A Watercolour

I spent the last two days getting watercolour supplies and… creating a watercolour. It’s hard enough to draw a portrait, but then to paint it? I’ve never painted anything, and I am told that watercolour paint is more difficult o use than acrylic paint. It’s harder to manage, but that’s why I like it. It certainly took more work just to get started than anything creative I’ve ever done before — minus shooting video and editing it. I have to go through a process of stretching the paper, first, and waiting for it to dry… Tedious.

This is a picture of the late and great Jonathan Appel. He is holding a lotus flower. The flower represents rebirth. He was a friend.

R.I.P.

But Do You Love The Bunny? (The Story of Jonny Awesome)

My husband and I fight sometimes when our compiled stresses cause us to rupture at the same time. We spend almost every waking day together, so explosions are inevitable, as they are usually inevitable in an individual’s life, anyway. Again, they just don’t usually happen at the same time, but when they do, it can be positively volcanic.

Our combined stresses have involved travel and a funeral, my car breaking down; finding out the car was actually fine and then showing up and seeing the front right side crushed — it was not like that when the tow truck driver picked it up. And then there are the little things. The “little things” are the real fuse igniters and they’re not worth going into because they are so little. So little, in fact, that neither Doug nor I can ever remember what the tipping point was for our major outbursts. All I remember was my friend Mandy calling, thinking for a moment that I would not answer the phone, and then choosing to answer the phone because I missed the last three of his phone calls. He was happy about his puppy, and that made me very sad for Doug and I, that we had all these stresses. The floodgates opened.

One thing I will never do is vent about mine and Doug’s situation to someone who doesn’t love us both. Mandy loves us both, but my upset was about me, and my inability to do anything for myself anymore because I have no job and no car, as of yet. These things are trivial because Doug does work, and he makes enough to support us. Doug has a vehicle, and that’s enough for us to get around. But for someone as independent as I, it’s abnormal to be so completely dependent on another person. I’m not used to it. I rarely take a “female stance” in any situation. I feel the way a man would feel in my situation. At thirty-six years of age I should have more to show for my life. Is it practical to dwell on such thoughts? No, not when when I’m not fighting to survive like so many others my age and older who are really struggling. I have no real complaints, but the stresses get to me nonetheless — whether times are good or bad, stress happens, but thankfully, mine and Doug’s fights are not as explosive as they once were. We love each other and never want to do anything irreparable to our relationship. Having said that, after listening to me vent and getting his own pride hurt by the things I was saying, Doug left the apartment and downed a fifth of Patron within ten minutes time. Doug doesn’t drink, by the way.

A friend of ours, Anthony, along with his girlfriend, showed up and spent some time with Doug by the pool before driving down Sunset and parking at the Viper Room, where Doug got hung up talking to a rag-tag-looking man selling stolen watches. Doug says the man, Bernard, showed him some watches and then, almost as an afterthought, pulled a dwarf bunny out of his pocket. “What is that??” In Doug’s drunken state he asked if the bunny was a sales gimmick or something. Now, Doug loves animals. He’s a real sweetie pie, so I understood why he asked the question he did, but I can see how a stranger would be confused. Instead of just asking if the bunny was for sale, he asks this African-American man selling stolen watches off the boulevard if he loves the bunny. Bernard turned his head away, embarrassed, and Doug again, in his sweet, drunk and bewildered state, didn’t understand what was going on. “Do you love the bunny?” Bernard mumbles something about not being broke and Doug said, “I’m not saying you’re broke. I just want to know if you love the bunny?” Then the guy says, “I’m not gay!” Doug says, “I’m not saying your gay… but do you love the bunny?” So, finally, getting to the point after forty-five minutes of talking to this guy about watches and bunnies, telling Bernard he’s drunk to explain any miscommunication, Doug says, “I’ll give you everything in my wallet for the bunny.” Bernard, “That’s more like it!”

Doug rejoins our friend Anthony and his girlfriend at Red Rock for drinks, he’s got the bunny in the bar (??), he gives the bunny to the girlfriend so he can sit on the curb in front of the tattoo parlor next door and babble incoherent mumbo jumbo into my ear. “Honey, just come home. I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings, but I needed to vent and had nowhere to go.” I think he says, “Okay.” Then he hangs up and stumbles back into the bar. Anthony calls me and says Doug disappeared. Doug begins making his drunken way home.

I meet Doug on the street in front of our place and he is stumbling, then he tries to punch a box spring that’s propped up against a tree. It doesn’t give. He runs his hand over the box spring looking for weak spots then gives up. We get into the apartment, he is falling all over the place; flip-flopping in the bathroom, then the bedroom, and then he starts yelling for the bunny. I don’t know anything, yet, except he bought a “bunny” from “a homeless guy.” That’s all that I am told, at this point. I’m assuming it’s a doll; a button-faced plush toy of some kind. I’m rolling my eyes telling him, “Anthony will bring the bunny!” and then, finally, Doug lays on the bathroom floor awaiting the moment when he hurls his stomach upon the tile. Anthony calls, “I’m on the street. I’m bringing you the bunny.” I say okay and go to retrieve the bunny doll.

I get to the street, apologize to Anthony and his girlfriend about everything and he says, “Here’s the bunny,” and extends his hand. It’s not a doll. A real live white and grey bunny rabbit is grinding it’s teeth and fixing me with its fish-eye stare. “What?? That’s a real bunny!” They’re laughing, of course, and I’m half laughing, half wondering what the %&#@! I’m going to do because I don’t know anything about real live bunnies. I say goodnight and thank you and run back to the apartment, holding the bunny, racing through options in my head, decide I have to find the cat carrier, then proceed to empty out an entire closet with one hand and the bunny in the other because I don’t have anything to put the bunny in and I can’t just set the bunny down because either Shadow will eat him, or he’ll run right to an electrical cord and chew through it and electrocute himself because rabbits chew on everything (I know that much from a friend who does own a bunny rabbit). A mere box is no good because Shadow can open a box, or at the very least, bat it around and give the poor creature a heart attack. I pry the cat carrier out of the closet, set the bunny in it, safe from harm and am struck by the certainty that if it doesn’t have a proper place to sleep for the night and food to eat and water to drink, it won’t survive to morning. I’ve been told the bunny was in a homeless man’s jacket pocket, so I don’t know when the little fellow ate last, etc… So I call Petco to find out they close in fifteen minutes. ‘Great! I’ve got fifteen minutes to fly to Petco and get bunny supplies and I have to pull Doug’s truck out of a tiny parking space that he can barely maneuver, and not scuff the truck as I’m doing it or he’ll kill me. Fun!’

It takes me five minutes just to wiggle my way out of the space in what must have been fifty incremental shimmying movements getting his Ford F-150 out of this really cramped underground parking spot. I made it but traffic was heavy so I was cursing the whole way.

I get there and fly into the store, telling the first person I see that I don’t know anything about bunnies and what they need and, “my husband just bought a bunny from a homeless man and I don’t want it to die…!” He grabs a starter kit for me, complete with grass and bedding, a water bottle, chew stick and a bag of food — I’m set!

I race back, stop at the liquor store for a bottle of wine (because I really f**king deserve it, at this point), am forced to pull back into the parking spot because there’s no place on the street to park, and so go through this stressful reverse parking experience — only mildly less stressful than the first one — run inside and start putting everything together.

I mistake the grass for bedding, and when I realize what I did, I have to pull it all out and start over, making a huge mess on the floor, which freaks me out because I don’t know if it’s going to be toxic for the cat. Doug is yelling at me about not caring about him, yelling at me about the bunny; I’m yelling back that I’m trying to, “accommodate the %&@#! bunny!” I’m picking pieces of grass off the floor and trying to find a place to perch the cage away from the cat. Doug’s yelling and flopping around on our bed, covered in his own vomit, with a huge puddle next to the floor and more in the bathroom. Then I’m cleaning the floors; he’s still yelling; as soon as I clean he makes another mess. He upends all over his pillowcase. I contemplate telling him I’m going to suffocate him in his sleep, which I decide would be bad, then I’m laughing because I know I’m just amusing myself so I don’t cry. Then I cry. The whole time, deep down inside, I’m laughing at the whole scenario, as long as Doug and the bunny survive. It was hysterical at the time, and it’s hysterical now, because now we have this cute little female bunny named Jonny Awesome, because Doug named her “Jon” after our deceased friend, and a friend of Jon’s, on Jon’s FaceBook Memorial Page, created a cartoon character of Jon and named him “Jonny Awesome,” and as soon as I saw that, I started calling the bunny “Jonny Awesome.” We didn’t know he was a she, but then Doug remembered his interaction with Bernard.

Doug, “He’s so cute!”

Bernard, “It’s a girl!”

Well, I think it’s safe to say that the man selling stolen watches on the boulevard, who was too embarrassed to answer Doug’s simple question about loving the bunny, really did love the bunny. And now we do, too. BWAHAHAHA!!!

Help, I’m Alive

I was thinking, as I lied in bed this morning, ‘I don’t have to blog for awhile. I don’t have to do anything with the website if I don’t feel like it.’ Then I dreamt about my friend who passed away, then I dreamt about drawing a picture of him. I woke up thinking maybe I’d draw a really big picture of him because I have drawing pads of different sizes. I laid on the couch and Doug told me I got really emotional and woke him up last night. I drank beer because I wanted the distraction. Evidently I blacked out and devolved into the usual crying mess. It’s been a rough week. Not even a whole week. It’s been a rough four days. Anyway, it was nice to know that nothing could make me do anything right now.

And then I noticed a PayPal email. It’s a donation to my blogging. I’d make a smiley face emoticon right now, but it’s too smiley. They don’t have one that smiles sadly. Thank you, “G”.

I can say that I have been reading some Buddhist books on death, and every time I start reading and actually pay attention to what I’m reading, it helps. Thich Nhat Hanh is a very good writer. One of my favorite writers on Buddhist teachings. My favorite excerpt, so far, is his description of an ocean wave. One is small, one is large, one is more beautiful than the other, but a wave doesn’t get self-conscious about whether or not it’s too small or not beautiful enough, because it’s not a wave. The wave is an illusion. It’s part of the water. It was never separate from the water, and after only a little time has passed, it is no longer a wave, and when conditions are right again, it will become a wave, or mist, or vapor, and then a cloud and rain… I like Buddhism. It has very simple and compassionate philosophies. It is helping me.

I still can’t talk about my friend. It’s too soon, but I can say that he was very special. He had this way of finding the relationship between this and that, mysteriously. In fact, an example is something that happened to Doug and I on Sunday. We were walking into Borders book store so I could find the books on death, and the very first display as we walked in the door had my friend’s name in bold letters across the top, and the name of the book was something to the effect, This Is Where I Left You. Doug and I just stood there. It was exactly how he spelled his name and it was just the kind of thing that happened around him because he was always looking for messages like that. I swear he was otherworldly. He reminded me of a fairy creature, because I’m very much into fantasy novels and dragons and such. He was magical to me. Anyway, thank you “G” for guilting me into writing today. Okay, I had to laugh at that. I’m kidding, of course. Thank you for pushing me to write and share this part of myself. When someone really important disappears from your life you realize just how trivial most things are. <— And yes, Michael, that includes ending a sentence with a preposition. Trivial.

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