Love, Luck, & Pennies

Robert Wechsler

"See a penny, pick it up... all the day you'll have good luck."

When it comes to finding pennies, I'm like two sides of a coin. The rational side believes "A penny saved is a penny earned" while the flip side, foolishly thinks...  "Oh goodie, today's the day I win the lottery!"

And while I've yet to win the 'Powerball' or 'Mega Millions', except for small change, I still consider myself fortunate... "Knock on Wood".

I touch wood often, on purpose, to avoid tempting fate and to keep any luck I do have from disappearing. I also cross my fingers, carry charms, and perform quirky rituals in order to win the favor of Lady Luck, also known as Fortuna, the goddess shown blindfolded, holding a wheel, or standing on or juggling a ball, to explain her unpredictable benevolence.

Some people are born lucky. Others create their own luck by cultivating opportunities and following their tuition, and then there are those with no luck at all... like Maureen Wilcox, who in 1980, had the winning numbers to both the Massachusetts and Rhode Island lotteries, but didn't win a penny. Her Massachusetts numbers won the Rhode Island lottery and her Rhode Island numbers won the Massachusetts lottery.

As Calvin said to Hobbes in the comic strip 'Calvin and Hobbes'... "You know, Hobbes, some days even my lucky rocketship underpants don't help."

You win, you lose, and in between there's superstition.

I suppose I inherited my superstitious ways from my dad, who inherited his from who knows where.

I grew up hearing idioms like... "Never walk under a ladder", "Beware of black cats crossing your path", "Step on a crack, break your mother's back", frightful thoughts.

And I was shown by example: when salt spills, some of it gets tossed over your left shoulder, when someone dies, mirrors are covered, and when moving into a new home, the male carries bread and salt into the house for prosperity while everyone else, my mother, two-year old brother and I, age five, lean against the car, a big black Buick, and wait.

Olimpia Cerda

I knew of these superstitions but understood little. They were mysteries... like the pennies in every drawer of our house sprinkled among the functional clutter of string, batteries, tape, pencils and more.

Dad liked pennies. Besides the ones he put in drawers for good luck, he also collected wheat pennies and hid them away, while the ordinary copper pieces, saved for a rainy day, were kept in one of those gigantic water-cooler bottles.

When bored, my dad would pour the contents of this less than half-full container onto the kitchen table and sort his pennies into stacks, ten pennies high. I'd sneak in, sit down beside him, and hear him say, "Who asked you?", which in 'dad talk' meant "Stay... I love you."

We'd sit silently stacking pennies, opening paper rolls from the bank, and with index fingers wedged inside the paper wrappers, load our coins, 50 pennies to a roll. Then we'd fold the open ends closed and begin the packing process again and again, until done.

Years later, while on a plane from San Francisco to New York, our flight attendant held up a bottle of Möet champagne, a prize to be awarded to the passenger with the most pennies. I looked at Michael, and he at me, knowing we had this contest in the bag... literally. For on board, in our carryon, among our other valuables, were several bank rolls filled with wheat pennies.

As fast as people began rummaging for coins in their pockets and purses, I held up the pennies saved for my dad. I suppose the contest looked rigged as we appeared to be unbeatable contestants, but things changed fast when everyone onboard started pooling their pennies. It became us versus an entire plane-load of people, with Michael and I finally declared the winners!

It wasn't long before the grumbles and dissension among 'losers' turned to cheer and good wishes when they learned we were flying home to be married.

Luck? Fate? Opportunity? Coincidence?

I like to think of the penny contest and the prized champagne as a sign, gifts from the gods, the 'Universe' approving of our union bestowing blessings upon us lasting beyond this lifetime.

"Knock on Wood!"

"A penny for your thoughts"

Pennies... Pick them up? Toss them in a fountain? Save them in a piggy bank? What do you do with your pennies?

Are you superstitious? Do you have a good luck charm?

What's your good luck story?

Here are a few links you might find interesting:

Robert Wechsler's short video on the making of his 'Penny Sculptures' here.

83 Things You Can Do With a Penny here.

Richard Wiseman's short video on 'The Luck Factor' here.

How Superstitions Work here.

Superstitions Under The Big Top / Circus here.

10 Bizarre Celebrity Superstitions here.

Well... that's my two cents worth.

Best of luck to you in whatever you do.

XOX... Dyan

Boredom & Grammar

Mel Bochner "Blah, Blah, Blah"

Q:  What has seven letters

      Is impossible to do

      And if you eat it, it will kill you?

A:  'Nothing'.

And it's the desire to do 'something'

But with a lack of motivation to try 'anything'

That has us slowly dying of this 'nothing' called boredom.

Boredom, like the answer to the above riddle, also contains seven letters and two syllables, but sounds royal like the word kingdom, a place where we too could be the rulers of our own boring worlds. Only it's 'dumb', the homonym of the suffix 'dom', to believe any of us have control of our lives, or world, when bored.

One minute we're movin' and a-groovin' to the beat, and the next, we're a metaphor, a boat, afloat, without the velocity to propel forward.

Overnight, clear skies turn to fog, and the clarity of our thoughts, energy, desire, and all meaning are gone. All we can do is wait... wait for the clouds to lift.

Henrik Sorensen from his video 'Smoke, Dust, and Dancers'

"As if  everything I owned had left me, and as if it would scarcely be sufficient if all of it returned." ~Franz Kafka

Us, we... I use these personal pronouns loosely.

Grammar aside... I'm bored and hopefully you're not.

It's not a permanent condition, just feels that way... eternally lost in search of something interesting to do.

And it was in those moments of nothing happening that I'd stand inside our tiny ranch home on Long Island, as a kid, and sigh out loud, "I'm bored." Occasionally interjecting the word 'mom' into the mix, as in... "Mom I'm bored", "Mom I'm bored", "Mom I'm bored" like a broken record. Then I'd shuffle off to my room, lay on the bed, and listen to music... records on a record player with a skate key taped to the arm of the needle to keep it from skating across the grooves of the vinyl... a literal but creative solution.

I was full of ideas, as now, only then I was the one friends came to whenever they got bored. But like some professionals, the house painter whose own home looks shabby, or the auto mechanic who drives a clunker, I was, and still am, the motivator who sometimes, when alone, can't get moving.

At twenty-three, I moved from Pennsylvania to California with my boyfriend, now husband, where I put in twelve-hour days teaching nursery school and traveling between San Francisco and Berkeley while Michael got his Masters from the Art Institute. On weekends, with energy depleted, I'd stare into space and drag about the studio with the bottom of my lime green terry cloth robe flipped over my head.

I was a zombie in a hoodie.

It didn't matter that I had a camera, a darkroom, and a colorful city with near perfect weather to explore. I was bored.

Bored then and now... only now I have some energy, but the weather here in Philadelphia is far from perfect. January arrived but winter came early. November brought the snow and frigid temps that linger, and it's this constant effort to stay warm, too much time indoors, and fighting the clock before dark that has me feeling unsettled.

David Foster Wallace, just before his death, left a note with his incomplete manuscript, 'The Pale King', and these words:

"Pay close attention to the most tedious thing you can find (tax returns, televised golf) and, in waves, a boredom like you've never known will wash over you and just about kill you. Ride these out, and it's like stepping from black and white into color. Like water after days in the desert. Instant bliss in every atom." 

So I'm riding it out.

I bought flowers, hydrangeas dyed neon orange and yellow, to shock my senses and replicate the effects of an actual sun.

I'm paying attention to the ordinary in hopes of finding the extraordinary: condensation forming on a window, shadows flickering on a wall, paper fluttering on a cardboard roll. 

And I'm looking to others for motivation, those who manage to create rather than wait for inspiration to rise above boredom.

Artists like Nina Katchadourian and her project 'Seat Assignment', "born from an investment in thinking on your feet, from optimism about the artistic potential that lurks within the mundane, and from the curiosity about the productive tension between freedom and constraint."

Her 'Lavatory Self-Portraits in the Flemish Style', a series from 'Seat Assignment' 2010 and ongoing, was created while on a 14-hour flight from San Francisco to Auckland using only the lavatory's own lighting, materials close at hand, and a camera phone.

Anything but boring!... a reference to the artwork but a grammatical error, a fragment, lacking a subject and verb.

Good grammar is essential, keeps everyone on the same page. The abstract becomes concrete and the chaos becomes ordered. But writing correctly isn't easy; the rules are confusing. I hardly know when to use 'me or my', 'lay or lie' commas or no commas. I question my tenses, if my participles are dangling, and is punctuation placed inside or outside of quotations?

I rarely use semi-colons; (parentheses) or the em—dash. My favorite punctuation mark, as you can tell from my overuse of it, is the ellipsis... 3 dots. Besides being partial to things that come in 3's, like a beginning, middle, and an end, ellipses allow me to ramble a bit, interjecting and connecting thoughts without appearing to be the queen of the 'run on sentence'.

Speaking of sentences...

"A run on sentence walks into a bar it was thirsty."

Perhaps a difficult joke to get at first, but putting punctuation where it's needed between the words 'bar' & 'it', would just kill the punch line.

Here's a riddle that's bit more obvious...

Q: "Why did the comma break up with the exclamation point?"

A:  "It was always yelling!"

And this clever one...

Q: "What's a prisoner's favorite punctuation mark?"

A: "A period. It marks the end of his sentence."

And these for my Italian, Zen friend Joe...

Q: "What's spaghetti's favorite punctuation?"

A: "An Apastarophe!"

"The past, the present, and the future walk into a bar. It was tense!"

Grammar rules. Grammar rules!

See what I mean?

I can almost sense the boredom lifting.

Boredom... how do you handle it?

What's your take on grammar?

Do you have a favorite punctuation mark?

Here are some links you might find interesting:

7 Tips To Fight Boredom here.

Silly Things To Do When Bored here.

An Interesting History of Boredom here.

A Discovery About Boredom here.

What Your Favorite Punctuation Mark Says About You here.

Writer's Favorite Punctuation Marks here.

Henrik Sorensen: 'Smoke, Dust, and Dancers' here.

Nina Katchadourian: 'Seat Assignment' Photos here.

Sakir Gokcebag: Art With Toilet Paper here.

O- blah- di, O- blah- da, life goes on, 

La la la la life goes on.

 And if you want some fun... sing 

O BLAH-DI  BLAH-DA!

My take on the lyrics by The Beatles

Listen and watch The Beatles sing Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da here.

Denisee P...  Thanks for being my muse on this 'HERE and NEXT' post. 

XOX... Dyan

Travel: To & From Florida... Part 2

Greetings!... from Florida, the land of swaying palms and pink flamingoes.

Actually we're home... been back for a while.

Came home to two mailboxes jam-packed with letters, magazines, and circulars  meant to be collected upon our return. Obviously, someone missed the memo... the one mistakenly delivered with the rest of our mail.

And in the mail were official notices... two from the courts, federal and county, for jury duty, and another from the township, about a water main project beginning on our block the very next day!

Welcome Home!... to life and its many surprises.

Much like our trip to Florida, where our biggest surprise was winning the lottery!

That would be the TSA precheck airport lottery, traveling in both directions, when we were randomly selected to forgo the crazy rituals of removing our shoes, belts, metal objects and having our carry-ons and electronic devices overly scrutinized. Instead, we were given quick passes to our terminals without any delay... well maybe just one, when at the last minute, Michael was also chosen by security to have his hands swiped for explosives. Twice!

Random or deliberate? That would be Michael, my husband, the once suspected 'alarm'-ticking terrorist (for details see 'Travel: To & From Florida... Part 1).

And once on-board, there were more surprises... roses and fluted glasses filled with champagne served to those of us in Coach!... while someone in First Class knelt down on one knee, and with confidence proposed marriage! Talk about long distance relationships and commitment! This engaged couple had been taking turns flying USAIR, every weekend, between Philadelphia and Fort Lauderdale for the past year... just to be together!

Here's the 'bride to be' walking down the aisle collecting roses and congratulations from passengers and crew after saying yes to her in-flight proposal.

What entertainment!... Better than watching a movie! Do they still show movies on planes or did that disappear with free meals?

Speaking of meals, we had some good ones once we landed... upscale French, authentic Italian, classic American. Besides tasting good, the prices were crazy good too!... early bird specials (full-sized meals at reduced prices) and 2 for 1's (two meals for the price of one)!

Here's my down-home favorite... the Moonlite Diner.

I could eat there day and night, which obviously we did. Besides the super-friendly staff, really good food, milkshakes to die for, they had vending machines filled with plastic toys!

Here are some little Domos I got for 25 cents apiece. Cheap thrills... a quarter in the slot and turn... even the colorful capsules are cute. The xylophone caught my eye while shopping for bottled water at Publix, the local supermarket. For a teeny toy, the small sound is surprisingly good.

For big sound... we attended a four-hour musical event with two films and a lecture at the main branch of the Fort Lauderdale Library... a library with its own theater and a budget to produce a free six-week series focusing on great American musical genres. Our genre, the last in the series, was from Mambo to Hip Hop with performances by Miguelangel Estampa, 'Flamenca: Music of Cuba and Rumba Flamenca' and a Hip Hop performance by VerseWon.

At least once, I'd like to be in Florida during the annual International art exhibitions of Art Miami and Art Basel. Unfortunately, during this visit, all the museums were closed in preparation for these upcoming events, but to our surprise, the Wynwood Walls and nearby galleries in Miami were open.

Here's a bit of what we saw...

Here's some street art from the surrounding Wynwood area. For more about the Wynwood Walls go here and for their website go here.

Here's work from a couple of Wynwood galleries. The first two pieces are by Fedrico Uribe from his installation at the Now Contemporary Art Gallery. For a video by Uribe go here.

These two works are by Carlito Dalceggio shown at the Ricart Gallery Miami. Mickey was in the gallery while Pinocchio was on the building's rooftop. The making of an installation by Dalceggio here and an article about him in the Miami New Times here.

What we didn't get to see was the ocean... never walked the beach, never collected seashells or colored, polished glass. We ran out of time. Besides, we weren't on vacation. We were here to spend time with my mother, who resides in Florida.

So when we weren't all running around eating and doing a few cultural events, we were busy with mom and her new iPad, a gift we gave her. For someone with no computer skills, my mom is sharp!... both smart and youthful beyond her years. She can now download apps, email, use the internet, take photos, read newspapers online, play Scrabble and win, and decipher an iPad manual!

Here's a photo of mom's condo pool taken with her iPad.

Here's a photo of our pool at the Westin Hotel, Cypress Creek, taken with my camera moments before heading to the airport on our way home.

Goodbye palm trees... hello home... and time for poetry!

Welcome Home

Welcome home

to all things familiar

of walls and doors,

tables and chairs, beds and drawers

easily navigated

with eyes closed.

Welcome home

to the absence

of heartbeats

and the presence

of objects

still standing

where you left them.

Welcome home

to the place

that knows

your name,

supports, comforts and sustains you,

and beams, creaks and brightens

with your every return.

Welcome Home!

Safe travels and may all your returns be welcomed.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

XOX... Dyan

Travel: To & From Florida... Part 1

My mind is full of swaying palm trees

landscapes cloaked in pink and aquamarine

of glistening pools

and sun-kissed people

wading 

as thunderous clouds

clamor over Miami

No time for poetry. I need to pack.

Soon, we'll be on a plane to Florida. Until then, there are clothes and sundries to buy, plane and train tickets to purchase, reservations to be made, bills to be paid, mail to be held, security arranged, laundry to sort, and before Thanksgiving, luggage to stuff.

Have I told you how much I hate packing?... or should I say 'over packing'!

Luggage should come with a manual or at least tags with warnings like... 'Filling this suitcase with everything you imagine may create emotional distress when trying to lift and transport it to an airport'.

Experienced during the 'Meltdown of 1990', just hours before departing on a month-long trip to Europe when I couldn't pry my packed suitcase from the bed.

Or this one... 'Failure to remove batteries from appliances before closing luggage and boarding a plane may result in arrest and imprisonment'.

Terrified, I once watched my husband escorted from a plane ready for takeoff and made to open his suitcase that had been extracted from cargo and placed on the runway. Note: Ticking travel clocks will be identified as bombs waiting to detonate.

Whoever said "Success is a journey, not a destination - half the fun is getting there" hasn't traveled with me, been frisked by guards with guns, had the contents of her backback emptied, scrutinized, and cameras disassembled because she fit the daily profile of a terrorist.... that would be me.

And the boredom of hours spent killing time in terminals and other security regulations: the removal of belts, shoes or metal objects from pockets, the search and seizure of necessary items like nail clippers, scissors, tweezers, liquids more than a few ounces, and those scanners rendering you naked as if you haven't already been stripped of your privacy before purchasing your tickets.

And fear... fear of flying 30,000 feet above solid ground, of confinement and tight spaces elbow to elbow with strangers, people sneezing behind you, the lack of fresh air, turbulence, and what to do with those inflatable lifejackets stored under your seat.

It's the price we pay to be with family.

Until the world is safe again or teleportation is perfected, we do what we can...

Safe Travels

and to all of America

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

'Here and Next'... Travel: To & From Florida, Part 2... coming soon!

XOX...Dyan

Knock, Knock & Stuff We Own

Knock, Knock.

Someone's knocking at my door.

"Who is it?" I question... but say nothing.

UPS never knocks, just throws packages on the porch with a thud. It's too early for political canvassing, too late for soliciting to change electric companies, Jehovah Witnesses don't come calling on weekdays, and friends always phone first.

Whoever it is and whatever they want, I pretend no one is home.

Before I can say, "Good, they're gone", another single knock... soft, hesitant, as if made by a child, only someone smaller, more skittish and with a bushy tail.

Why would a squirrel with a green apple shoved in her mouth be knocking on my door? I have no clue, but she's sitting near my feet with her pointy face looking up at me as if to say... "Trick or Treat!"

Perhaps she's paying me a visit as a kind of peace offering for chewing the telephone wires leaving us without service for days. Yes, we still have a landline. Or maybe she's here to apologize for knocking over the bird feeders and spewing sunflower seeds all over the yard.

"All of nature talks to me. If I could just figure out what it was trying to tell me."... lyrics to 'Sharkey's Day' by Laurie Anderson.

No matter, one look at me, and my furry friend is off, no message, just a small green semi-rotten apple left on my doorstep.

Make that 'apples'... plural. I now have a collection of her fruit all over the porch. Thank you very much, but I have my own collection of stuff inside the house.

People are a lot like squirrels... always on the move, always in a hurry, always accumulating stuff we think we need or want. And we bury our possessions, maybe not in the ground, but in boxes, bins, closets, drawers and sometimes storage units. Then, when we've forgotten where we've put our things, in desperation, or because we can or want, we search for new stuff.

Whoever said, "You are what you eat" missed the plate.

"We are what we own" and what we own, sometimes owns us!

I own mostly inexpensive things preferring paper and plastic to diamonds and gold.

Plastic jewelry, toys, even oddities like tags off of bread bags and little hangers from packaged socks.  Boxes and boxes that hold paper: books, written material, photocopied articles, personal journals, letters / cards, and scratchy handwritten notes that become cryptic over time... paper and plastic with unlimited potential.

Paul Rand in his book, 'Paul Rand: A Designer's Art', when discussing 'Ideas about Ideas' says, "The artist is a collection of things imaginary or real. He accumulates things with the same enthusiasm that a little boy stuffs his pockets. The scrap heap and the museum are embraced with equal curiosity. He takes snapshots, makes notes, records impressions on tablecloths or newspapers and the backs of envelopes or matchbooks. Why one thing and not another is part of the mystery, but he is omnivorous... Without the harvest of visual experience, he would be unable to cope with the plethora of problems, mundane or otherwise, that confront him in his daily work."

Artist or not, we all long to thrive, not just survive, and the things we own are the substances that define us.

Michael Johansson

If objects could talk, I guess mine might say that I'm practical yet quirky, a pursuant of ideas with a strong desire to transform them.

Which doesn't excuse the pile of clutter surrounding me now.

Anais Nin once said, "When I cannot bear outer pressures anymore, I begin to put order in my belongings... As if unable to organize and control my life, I seek to exert this on the world of objects"... my sentiments exactly.

Thankfully, I am not a hoarder. As much as I love collecting things that may or may not have significance, I also get great pleasure and comfort from creating order from chaos, paring down, and sifting through things I've acquired.

Like this horoscope written by Rob Brezsny, which reads..."Right now your life may seem like a loose tangle of disparate threads. But this is merely an illusion designed by God to rouse your passion to create harmony and unity. The proper response to the scattered vibes, then, is not to mourn but to organize... Don't be a slave to the things you control... Greater personal power will flow to you as a result of the thoughtful surrender... A surprise gift will arrive after you give up a supposed asset you don't really need or use."

Having gained knowledge from this horoscope while in full declutter mode, I shred the paper it's written on and take a break. I decide to get some fresh air and capture my squirrel friend with my camera. 

Instead, I find this on the ground at the end of the driveway.

Who loses a bra and doesn't notice it missing?... especially one that's hot pink!

It is a surprise, but hopefully not 'my' surprise for getting rid of a few possessions.

I leave the bra as I find it and a few hours later it's gone.

Perhaps back on some small-breasted woman or lining a sexy squirrel's nest.

Sugar Bush Squirrel

One man's trash is another man's / squirrel's treasure, if we can just figure out where to put it all.

Do you wrestle with clutter or do you have a place for everything and everything in its place?

What sorts of objects do you gravitate towards and what do they say about You?

Here are a few links you might find interesting:

'Recycling in Style', a short video on Michael Johansson here and some of his exterior installations here.

Laurie Anderson's music video  'Sharkey's Day' here.

Sugar Bush: The World's Most Photographed Squirrel here.

'Things Organized Neatly' here.

A written piece on Philadelphia's Dumpster Divers here and a short video here.

How Clutter affects you and what you can do about it here.

Squirrel to 'Here and Next'

Knock, Knock

Who's there?

Leaf

Leaf who?

Leaf me alone I'm too busy collecting rotten apples.

 XOX... Dyan