Hello, Old Friend

It has been a long time since I last posted anything, or even written on my blog, paper or journal. Life threw me a curve ball. Or should I say, life threw me a baby. Thank goodness I am not the one pregnant but my 19 yr old son is going to be a father.

Wow!

It seems strange to see that in print. I feel like from that moment, my life has been slipping and sliding in places I have never wanted to go. I guess I have been on a self pity path for a couple of months and anything that went wrong in my life, only added to the bumpiness of the ride.

I have not been the easiest person to live with either. My mood swings have been "frankenstein-ish" and I am surprised nobody has kicked me out of the house or moved my bed in the garage. It just seems that when you have dug yourself so deep into a pit, it is so bloody hard to claw your way out.

I want out now.

I want to be the joyful person I know that is the real me.

I want that french little girl inside of me to show up again and stay. I want to be tres jolie! I want to sparkle, laugh, think french and dream of living in Paris again.

Just to dream those lovely things again...beautiful french fabrics, rosy creams & lotions, cafe au lait with a beignet for petit dejeuner....ooh la la...romantic scarves, shoes, blouses...tres chic!

I think the little french girl has pushed her pert little nose out, brown curls are bouncing in the cool September air and I am feeling Delicieux!!!

Surviving College Again

I just turned in my thick, bulging with creativity sketchbook to my teacher and it marks the end of the class. I am proud of my sketchbook and put many, long hours into its gestation. Along with it was the 3 part final assignment consisting of 3 compositions, two of them paintings. Also included was my portfolio with all class assignments for the semester. As I inserted each piece into the portfolio, it brought back a myriad of memories. 

The gray scale assignment was to construct 6 compositions using art theory of harmony and I must have deconstructed 20 compositions before I was satisfied with 6. Even those six were "I don't care anymore, just finish this freaking assignment yesterday".

The positive-negative space composition was fun and a blessed relief after the gray scale. Completing the first piece successfully, I held it up to my teacher like a 5 yr old preschooler and said,

"Okay. I am done. I got it. Do I have to do the other two as well?"

"Yes, Lisa, you GET to do the other two as well."

I still liked my first attempt best when I was finished and even submitted it into the Cuesta College Spring Art Contest. It was accepted for judging and has hung on the wall in the gallery for 3 weeks! I called it "Romantic Renaissance" and it looks like vintage baroque wall paper. Now I have to remember to get it back before school is out for the summer!

The next composition was pushing scale and proportion way out of wack. Cutting up magazine images and arranging them as a visual feast for the eyes. People were doing strange things in strange ways in very strange places. Women with big hair, bulldogs in clown outfits and cruise ships sailing in wine glasses.

Up next: red, yellow, blue, green, purple, orange...colors! I was ready to dive in a big vat of cobalt blue, paint my cheeks indigo purple and frost my hair cadmium yellow. Color wheels were spinning out of all of us. Monochromatic, tertiary and analogous color schemes came dripping off our paintbrushes. Everyone went home from class with flushed happy smiles and rainbows of paint sploshes all over their clothes.

As my paintbrushes dry, I learned that I need to take an art class every semester.  By taking this art class I learned about space, proportion, scale, line, form, harmony, balance and color. I submitted a piece of art work for the very first time in my life to be judged by peers. I need to push my comfort zone every opportunity I can because that is when I truly will learn, grow, change and burn new neurotransmitter pathways in my brain. If I am comfortable, I am not growing. I am looking forward to a lot of unpleasant and uncomfortable moments in my life...I am looking forward to meeting the new me along the way!

Spock's Girlfriend

For the premier of Star Trek being released this week, I am going to dress up as Spock's hot girlfriend. My friends had interesting comments.

"Can you do that eyebrow thingy?"

"No, but he loves my Elvis curl in my hair."

"Can you do the Vulcan hand sign?"

"I don't need to because we are always holding hands when we are together."

"Do you have pointy ears too?"

"My ears are little delicate pink shells attached to my head. He doesn't want anybody messing with perfection."

"Has he ever Spocked you?"

" I have spritzed, sparked and made him sputter many, many times."

"Why do you get to be his girlfriend?"

"I am the most illogical woman he has ever met and he can't pass a good challenge."

"Where did you meet?"

"Ahh, now that makes a good story....."

The Day I Met Spock

One moment I was sleeping sweetly in my home on planet Aslar and the next telesecond I remembered waking up in the dark. I was laying in a nest of decomposed vegetation and all around me was a forest of green, yellow and purple. I heard angry men's voices from far away and instinct took over my mind and body. I leaped up and started running. Fear and instinct drove me in the direction of light and the soothing noise of running water. I wiped away cobwebs clinging to my face and hair as I looked behind me to see the men following me. I scanned for leaves moving, a broken branch snapping or a bird squawking in protest of being awaken from its sleepy warm nest. I heard nothing but my own ragged breathing. I crouched down on a rough, moss encased rock to think through my next step. The coldness of the rock began to seep through my clothes and it brought to my attention that my feet were sodden wet from running thru streams and puddles in the forest. My brain kept screaming,

 "Why? Why were you taken?"

There was no welcoming reply. I pushed dirty hands through my hair and came away with broken twigs and leaves falling down into my lap.

Crack!

A branch was heard snapping a short miliget away. I immediately stood to my feet and stumbled in a forward motion to put distance between the men and myself. An exposed root makes me falter but I finally found my stride and head towards a stand of trees. My eyes were scanning for a tree that had pink orange fruit, yellow leaves and black blossoms. It is called a Dreamland tree. Legend has foretold that this tree can teleport you anywhere you want to go as long as you carry no weapons and are part French. Even in the waning moonlight, I could see the glimmer of the pink orange color and my pace picked up in speed. In the distance I heard the men's voices and their excited pitch tells me they were strong on my trail. I risked another glance behind me to see if I could see the men's huge thick bodies moving thru the dense undergrowth of the forest. My foot found a laepscer's hole and my body went crashing down into the tall yellow grass and purple blooms of lilies. My head found a rock embedded in red clay and the sharpness of the pain stunned me. Gasping in pain, my mind takes over my bodies natural instinct to curl up in a fetal position and forced me to crawl on hands and knees forward.

Push. Push. Forward. Forward. 

My brain begins the mantra as my body sluggishly picked itself up and starts again to run towards the tree. Behind me, the men were still shouting to each other with directions and I felt my safe vacuum was very tenuous. The yellow vegetation grew thicker, taller around the tree and I had to shorten my stride to accommodate it. My feet started to sink into spongy marsh ground and I slapped at bugs flying close to my face in emotional frustration. Out of the darkness a fierce whisper is heard,

"Here. Quickly now."

I froze down into a crouch. I could not see anyone in front of me or to the side. A new type of dread and fear slid over my skin and I bit down hard on my bottom lip to stop from screaming in anger. I was angry with myself for letting down my guard and allowing this strange presence to slip under my watch.

"Hurry. The men will know where you are headed soon. Hurry."

Again the deep whispered voice came out of seemingly nowhere and the sense of urgency was very powerful in his voice. Friend or foe? I had two breaths to decide. I decided to move towards the voice who wanted to help me.

"Hurry. It's logical to use the tree. Use it. And hurry."

I was almost under the canopy of the tree when two muscled arms reach down from the tree branches and grabbed my body from the ground. Adeptly the arms swung me up into the thick leaves of the tree branch. One of his hands balanced me on a branch and the other hand clasped over my mouth.

"Quiet. I am Spock. I am here to save you."

And the rest was...logical. We met, we liked, we argued and we are still together. Love is grand and can be logical some of the time...!!!

A Different Kind of Date

It might have gone something like this...

The retro black wall phone rings in our kitchen.

"Hello."

"Hey, Hi Babe. How would you like to go on a date?"

"I would love to go on a date with you sweetie."

Already visions of bruschetta, homemade ravioli with white sauce and sharing a sinful slice of flourless chocolate cake together are dancing in my head. I can almost smell the garlic and olive oil cooking...

"How about a really different type of date?"

Not even pausing in breath or does my brain take a slide to the left did I hesitate.

"Sounds great. I am always looking for different ways of doing life."

"Well, this is definitely about different ways of doing life and will require staying overnight. Are you still wanting to do it?"

"As long as we are together that is all that matters. Book it. When do I find out what the date is all about?"

"I will let you know on April 29th. Get Ready!"

Life went on, going to art class, laughing with brides and going on strike from all the dirty dishes in my own home. I pondered the mystery date. Temptation was strong to call hotels in the area and "accidentally" rifle through his papers laying right next to my husbands Bible. That black leather Bible pretty much put the brakes on any thoughts I had in the sneaky direction. Bright hot red and yellow flames licking and burning the soles of my feet always came to mind. Nope, better leave all papers alone to save my soul.

The day arrived and patience wore out.

"What should I wear to this date night?"

"Wear very warm comfortable clothes."

That didn't strike me as strange or bizarre. We constantly went out on dates in warm, casual clothes much to the disgust of our daughters. Our daughters strongly believe that a woman should be all glammed up if stepping outside for a date of any type. I don't own any Jimmy Choo's or Steve Madden shoes. I own Keen and have had Birkenstock's for years. My idea of a dream date is jeans, flowery shirt, pearls and a warm Polartec jacket. Not 5th Avenue or the Champs Elysees!

"You will want to pack a sleeping bag, pillow and something to read too."

This made me pause in my step. We are not the big happy camper couple. We have tried it and beat a hasty retreat back home smelling of smoke, campers gritty dirt and raging headaches. My husband must be losing his mind in small little doses to even sign us up for camping. I look at him and he is smiling. Not wanting to be a wimp and hoping they have "cleaned" up campsites and provide heavenly beds (!!!), I packed up my stuff a little more slowly and a lot more reluctantly. Not the date night I and Victoria Secret were planning on!

"Okay, I am ready. Where are we going?"

"We are going right up the street and stopping by a church."

This was not unusual since we pause, pray and attend all sorts of churches locally and whenever we travel to other cities or countries. Everything is chucked into the back of the car and my gut is tightening up with anxiety for the camping portion of this date. 

Note to self: Have a heart to heart with dearly beloved about the big NO on camping unless the Ritz Carlton is opening up campsites.

Driving up to the parking lot of the church, my eyes cannot miss the big white van of EOC. A man is directing the van to park when he spies our car and lopes over to us. A huge smile and warm handshake greet me as I open my car door.

"Hi, I am David Small. Thanks for volunteering at the Overflow Homeless Shelter tonight. Your husband is my hero and it is nice to meet his wife."

"Thanks, its nice to meet you and this is a great way to have a date with my husband."

I really meant it too. 

We had each other, our faith in the Lord and our children to sustain us through life's meandering paths of tall willowing green grass; prickly thorn bushes, foul stagnant waters and symphonic cascading water falls. Thanks to my sweet husband, who knew how to take a woman on a date and make her feel appreciated, blessed and very tired doing something so simple...the gift of warm human connection.

The Fabulous Fifty Day

I began as a mermaid. I swam through warm chlorinated water to pick up the sunken treasure. Blue, green, yellow striped little plastic fish were "swimming" over the brightly colored signs shimmering in the water. Head bopping in the waves breaking on the surface, I am laughing and spitting out water as I dive down to retrieve more of the sunken treasure. I haul my booty onto land, dripping wet, smiling goofy and giggling happily as if I was slurping up my first hot fudge sundae! On deck were the co-conspirator pirates, Miranda and Jake, who had sunk the treasure in the first place. Lined up, the confetti colored signs read, "Happy Birthday Lisa Anne Pimentel Johnson!" Flipping my mermaid tail once more in the chill of the air, the pirates returned back to their ships (home) and I swam on looking for more forgotten treasure.

Arriving home I became a Princess. Draped over my birthday chair festooned with balloons, ribbon streamers and glitter was a silver crown intertwined with a Happy Birthday garland. Poking out from under it was a satin pink sash with fuzzy red letters attached spelling out: Party Princess. Going with the pink/rosy theme, I threw on a rosy shirt with ruffles and lovingly set the crown ontop of my freshly primped hair. Next came the pink sash and I was ready to go out and meet the world in my new beginning of life at 50.

As Princess I received a lot of funny looks, mass confusion, shy smiles and big rounded eyeballs from my subjects, the public. It seems they do not see many Princess's in their day to day living, much less knew there was one living in San Luis Obispo! My two sweet daughters joined me for a pedicure and then all the family were off to see a movie, Monsters vs Aliens. My mother joining us as we flew out the door. The movie was not what I would at first pick since I do lean heavily towards romance, historical love stories and more romance, but this was the best out there that was not kill 'em, dice'em, vaporize'em movie junk.

Stuffed with candy and stomach muscles sore from rambunctious laughing, I become Queen when we return home. On my chair throne is a flowery sign, "Queen's Throne", inscribed in pink crayon. Looking on my left on the wall is the best type of graffiti...my wonderful husband painted my children as shadows hugging me! I moved into the middle of the hug and felt the love. It felt real good.

The cacophony of dinner being prepared was glorious! I, the Queen, sat in my throne and watched all the drama. Singed finger tips, jostling of dishes, spilled sauces and the clang of cutlery being set on the table. My wonderful husband spinned all my favorite songs and I impetuously grabbed my mother's arms and danced with her to a Beatles tune. Sipping the sparking bubbles of champagne, I felt the sublime thrill of transcendence in the moment of time spent with my family and celebrating this birthday.

Before we sliced into juicy steak and the buttery lobster, we prayed over our food and blessings. Each of my loved ones said a prayer for me. It was humbling and heartwarming to be so loved, so wanted and so blessed. I thanked them all for making me who I was. They had all given me all their best parts and I was very thankful for their love, laughter and prayers over the years. We toasted to life. We toasted to our Creator. We toasted to love...

In the midst of sparkler powder wafting in the air; torn pink, green tissue paper;  glitter twinkling in eyelashes, hair and clothes; I thought about my new life. Life can be waiting for you in someones eyes, in a phrase of music, in a starry night. You can find it. Just keep looking up.

My Queen's advice is this: Start a conversation. Report for volunteer duty. Begin the novel. Move. Roll your eyeballs around. Believe in something larger than yourself. Go to a game. Grab somebody's hand. And, yes, if you do just one thing only....connect with someone. Life will be even greater than you can imagine.

Ode to My Bike

It was a crisp spring day when we went to look,

Filled with excitement on a day off from work.

We looked at red, silver, green and blue,

A nice comfy seat, streamers and basket too.

I got on and off dozens of bikes,

Even fell off a few as well...yikes!

Finally, the silver beauty did beckon me,

To claim it for only a small ransom fee.

I rode it home with bugs catching in my smile,

Over bridges, roads, meadows for a couple of miles.

My sweet little bike was ridden hard by my children,

Flat tires, scraped paint, broken basket was for me to mend.

Screeching brakes, twisted metal and crooked tires,

No longer could I hold my bike together with chicken wire.

Into the bike shop for some magic,

Out of the bike shop with a bill that was tragic.

I loved my purple streamers,

People laughed at them when they drove by in their Beemers.

I loved my banged up rusted basket,

It could go thru ice, snow, sleet or even get sloppy wet.

I loved my super deluxe extra padding seat

Riding so comfy just can't be beat.

It's all gone,

The streamers were left in the gutter,

No trace, no note or letter.

Fare thee well ole bike of mine,

A bike with attitude I will never find.

May the new owner ride you in the wind,

And over the handlebars into the cement do you send.

Four Weddings & A Surprise Concert

It was the tender moment in all weddings. The bride swooshed her way up to the altar, gossamer veil floating behind her with the twinkle of hand sewn crystals trailing after. The tall handsome groom in his pristine black wedding suit and shiny shoes delicately led his bride while being careful not to tread on the soft satin of her dress. The air was scented from the gardenia's in the brides bouquet and the beeswax candles lit around the altar. The priest was smiling while holding the holy water to bless their golden rings and holy union of marriage.

Across from the back of the pews a rumble was heard. The sound was building. Heads swivelled with perplexed frowns. Bodies swayed right and left seeking the sound. The rumble kept building and crashing over the top of the string quartet playing Bach. Bach could not stop it. Nobody could stop it.

I jumped up from my pew and started following the next rumble building to its source. The sound kept taking me further and further back into the church. My steps slow, falter, as I realize where I am headed. I pass the door to the gardens outside and the little goldfish darting under lily pads in the pond. I pass the door to the confessionals where sins are laid to rest and forgiveness eases pain. I pass the door to the music room where Ave Maria can be heard sung on some cloudless summer day. I reach the last pew in the church and behold a middle aged man laying on his back with his mouth open singing his own brand of song. The air is scented with Johnnie Walker and the hard life of living on the streets.

I cautiously walk over to him and whisper to him loudly, 

"Sir, you need to wake up."

One bleary bloodshot eye cranks open and tries to focus. The other eye struggles to come open. His dirt smudged hand raises to rub his eyes and run through his hair but gets entangled in the uncombed knots. The snoring has stopped with the reluctant opening of one eye. He moves to sit upright but gravity does not come easy.

"Sir, you need to move out of the church. There are some benches outside."

The man reaches down and finally grabs his bottle after four attempts. He tosses his travel weary backpack over his shoulder and stumbles out of the church into the sunlight, headed for the nearest bench. I watch him practically collapsing on the bench, his body sagging with relief from having to hold itself up too long. His head drops on the paint chipped wooden bench as his fingers release the half empty Johnnie Walker bottle onto the grass. His backpack never made it to the bench. It is forgotten on the cement walkway. I walk over and move the backpack by his bottle, hoping he will remember it when he reaches for the bottle on his next move to somewhere.

Unfortunately, this will be the "funny story" that happened at the wedding but for me, it is the sad story of our society. The Mission attracts transients like ice cream to chocolate sauce. We keep open our doors every day for everyone. I wonder how much longer we will be able to do this...