A Fascination with Terrariums

As I've mentioned in an earlier post, I've been having trouble writing lately. Instead, I've been drawn to the delicate beauty of terrariums. A tiny plant; some sand and rocks; a bit of stone and glass; a surprise of feather or bone. I arrange the various items to decide which plant will go with which shell and the shape of the bowl, then start arranging. It's like creating living sculpture. My husband likes to call them, Terenaiums (a mix of my name and the word. since I'm the one making it, why not?

Here was my first attempt:

A tall, square, glass vase filled with rock, moss, soil, and then two cuttings from the plant that was tangled in my kitchen window (which I can't remember the name of now).








I also added shards of sea glass
I'd collected at the beach for more sparkle.




I made this one using the glass bowl my sister-in-law had given me and an abalone shell Rick and I found at the beach.

With the addition of sand and smooth glass beads, it reminds me of water lapping on shore.

This one I made for my husband.

If you look closely, you'll see the glow in the dark UFO surrounded by bits of reflective debris.

Soon the plants will grow around the crash-site until all traces are hidden (unless Moulder and Scully get there first).

I am obsessed with terrariums now; I see little bits of plant life, wood, shells, coins, figurines, chicken bones, rocks, old forks, antique buttons and left over party favors and instantly wonder what kind of terrarium I could make. Looking at plants, I try to decide if it could live surrounded by black sand in a glass jar. I've always been into plants, but now I am making artwork with plants and random bits of interesting things I find lying on the ground when I walk.

I bought a great book called Terrarium Craft, by Amy Bryant Aiello and Kate Bryant, and it is fabulous. An inspiring book with great ideas and gorgeous photography. Includes step by step instructions on creating terrariums in which your plants will thrive. 

I'm hooked, so my husband built me new shelving in the kitchen to display my creations. And don't be surprised if everyone I know gets a terrarium someday. They'er just so fun to build. And a soothing break from working with words all the time. I'm still using good creative energy, but not in a focused cerebral way. A perfect break for my overloaded brain.

New Video from Heavy Load

"They call me retard.... they call me mental.... they call me special.... THAT's NOT MY NAME"

Paul Richard of Heavy Load is a contributor to the punk anthology I edited and published, Punk Rock Saved My Ass. This song off his band's new album, Wham, shows perfectly how they feel about being called "special," or anything else that labels them. You've got to see this, and pass it on

Happy Halloween, from my muse, Medusa

Medusa pumpkin carved by Ray Villafane. See more of his carvings at http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/picturegalleries/howaboutthat/8087634/Bizarre-Halloween-Jack-OLantern-pumpkins-carved-by-Ray-Villafane.html?image=4

Keeping it Real

How much information is too much? After I wrote the post about my struggle with depression, I had to ask myself that question again. Am I sharing too much, especially now that I'm a teacher? What if my boss or co-workers read my blog, or the parents of one of my students? How will they feel learning that I need to take medication just to get out of bed in the morning?

But after thinking about it for a while I decided to go ahead and click "publish." This is who I am. I'm not trying to get sympathy votes and I certainly don't want to sound whiney (whiney people bug the hell out of me, so I hope that's not how I sound!). I simply want to keep it real. Depression is a very real part of my life, as it is for thousands of others, especially parents of special needs kids. Just the every day stress and fatigue can make even the toughest person start to crack. There is only so much a human brain can handle before it decides to go on strike and stop absorbing serotonin. If my honestly about depression can help others, then my blog is doing its work.

I've always been forthcoming. Too forthcoming! I know it, and I've tried over the years to keep things quiet and close to the vest, but it's so against my nature it makes me feel like I'm trying to wear a wool sweater against my bare skin (I'm allergic to wool). So I gave up. I'm more selective as to where and when I speak my mind, but I still suffer from severe oversharing. My friends understand and seem to put up with me. People who think I'm weird stay away.

I'm just as eager to know about you, too. What do you think? Hope for? Need? What makes you mad, and what makes you so happy you almost piss your pants? What were you like in the 3rd grade and what do you think you'll be like when you're 80? I love hearing people tell their stories, which is one of the reasons I love blogs so much. Don't just post a recipe or a photo of a cute kid, and please don't try to sell me something by reviewing it. Tell me a story.

This is also why I love publishing memoir. Even though it is extremely hard work helping a writer tell her story in a way other people will want to read (no one wants to read about why you bought green pants at K-mart on Jan. 3rd), after three years of being a publisher I still love editing memoir. Human beings and the epic nature of their lives make fascinating reading.

So I'll keep writing what I think and how I feel, and I'll hold fast to keeping it real.

(cool, I made a rhyme)

Does keeping a list of blog topics mean I'm still blogging?

Here it is December and I still have two pumpkins on my front porch. November flew by so fast I barely remember what happened. I think there was a party of some type in there that involved lots of food. Or was that last year?

I've been jotting down topics for blog posts on a scrap of paper I leave by my bed in the futile hope I'll actually be able to write them. So far I have :

• bras
• skin care
• "we could use some boys around here"
• when fish try to commit suicide
• more classic movie reviews
• absinth
• "I can't sleep and rest at the same time"
• the bathtub opera
• I think my hair is falling out
• Why did I go to grad school?

When I actually have the time to sit and write some of these while I still remember them (why did I want to write about bras, though?), I'll be flooding my blog with enough posts to bore entertain you all. But today, I'll get back to studying for my certification exam, surviving my internship, ignoring spending time with my daughter, and now preparing for the holidays.

The holidays... there are a few more blog topics in there for sure.

It's Haiku My Heart Friday

What's Haiku my Heart Friday? Head over to my writing/publishing blog Medusa's Muse to see the poem I wrote this morning, then click on the Haiku My Heart link for more info. Some of my favorite Bloggers have also joined in the fun, including Ms. Moon and Elizabeth.

Going to Burning Man with my dad!

(image from matt.peterson.org  )

How many people get to say that?

My father is 62 years old and loves Burning Man. He's been going for several years, and to him, it is Mecca. He's wanted me to come with him for just as long, but there has always been too much on my plate: school, work, motherhood, lack of money, lack of time...  until now. I realized that when I get my Master's degree I might work for a school district, which means it will be impossible to get time off at the beginning of the school year. And, even if I work for an agency not dependent on a school calendar, it might be tricky spending some of my valuable vacation time on "the burn." Then my dad had a heart attack on New Year's Eve and I knew now was the time. I had to go to Burning Man with my father at least once or I would regret it for the rest of my life.

My husband Rick agreed. "You have to go. It doesn't matter how much a ticket costs, you're going."

Isn't my husband the greatest?

Since my ticket arrived in February, I've been planning and organizing and saving and preparing, physically and mentally. The "playa," which is the bed of an ancient extinct lake, is a challenging and even dangerous environment. The alkaline dust will suck the moisture right out of your skin. Dust storms and 30 mph winds are common. The temperature can exceed 115 F during the day and 45 at night. Dehydration and sun stroke are a serious threat.

But there are also artists from all over the world creating incredible art and giant sculptures of steel and glass. There are fascinating and talented people sharing their music and crafts.  There is a night sky so black you can see the crisp edges of every star. There is debauchery, yes, sex and raves. And there is beauty everywhere you turn. People come and create a brilliant city in an inhospitable place that only lasts two weeks. Then it's gone, like a far away echo of music in the wind.

My car is loaded and tomorrow I leave for northern Nevada to meet my father in Black Rock City. I hope to explore the art and meet interesting people, dance under the moon and take long siestas during the hot afternoons. Mostly though, I want to spend time with my father. His heart is strong now and he'll more than likely live another 20 years, but when he is gone, I want this memory to last forever.

So if you're wondering where I am for the next week, you'll find me at 7:45 and Hanoi in Black Rock City, Nevada.