Question For the Moon

   

   Why can't we have all night cafes with old books and a lazily plucking guitarist smelling of tobacco and Bukowski's poetry with a  hat like Tom Waits and callused fingers, maybe one who never quite stands up straight?
   He might, but effort's a costly thing when not for the purposes of pleasure, and the night, only lasts so long. (snap-quiet-snap)

   And it all lit by an intermittently buzzing neon sign that says, "Gladys" or something with the image of a leg-lifting can-can dancer with a dusty black velvet choker round her buttermilk and cigars songbird neck (click-quiet-click) and heavenly notes that spill over regrets.

   And a pool table where the overhead light reflects off of a tired dishwasher's misstruck 8-ball and the slap on the back with a, "You'll get 'em next time," followed by the crunch of a cockroach under the owner's fine faux leather loafer, and me leaving a few coins in a dented green metal ashtray, and the sound of these old shoes walking out the door? (Jingle-quiet...

tinajonesart
   

Oh My Darling Cliche: Madness With Peas

I don't recommend English or any other language, not as a first or second form of communication, but more as form of torture. I'm 50 years old. It's my first language, and still I stumble. Try tap dancing instead. You may stub a toe, but it's less painful than dislodging it from the mouth.

I once thought the forlorn sentence, "Never the twain shall meet," meant that I would never have the pleasure of Samuel Clemens over a light dinner with bland chicken and early June peas. I'd never be able to see if he'd chuckle when I told him his name reminded me of lemons and clementines. 

(Samuel Clemens is the name of an American Author of ordinary genius in the opinion of anyone I'd be of a mind to listen to. His pen name was, Mark Twain. I, being a fan of Albert Einstein, and Giorgio Tsoukalous,  struggle to know if it was his mind or his hair that so enchanted, but this is no time for romantic hair ideas.Besides, I loved this guy too.)

Sad as that seemed, and no doubt we'd have gotten along brilliantly, I thought surely there were more tragic events to reference.Turns out, I was only cliched. That alone is reason to cry, and I'd tell it was from Kipling's, "East Meets West," but that would deter and entirely siphon the humor out of this otherwise perfectly melancholy quip. I can't help but wonder what Mark Twain would say about that. I sigh at memories of curling dancers from a pipe, an overgrown mustache, and white tendrils be-smoked with wisdom, and a healthy dose of smart aleck -that will never occur. 

In some twist of heavenly wisdom, I arrived entirely too *later for the company of Mr. Clemens, in a world that's in an awful hurry to go nowhere of any benefit that I can tell. And I have a path too, dreaming of Old Masters and maybe card sharks, and while I'd like to have known you, times are moving on, this chair's beginning to creak or maybe it was my knees. It's getting *laterer, and never the Twain shall meet.

tina jones

Anita, the singing cashier: My Ongoing Understanding of Neurotypicals

I didn't want to bother her. She and two others were standing, waiting at the entrances to their checkout lanes, but I'd already turned in the direction of her aisle, before I noticed she looked a little labored to be standing, and she'd done caught me with the dreaded.....eye contact.. I was stuck. 

   She turned to go the short way to her register to meet me, but someone was blocking her with one of those riding carts. "I'll just go this way," she said, and Anita (so her tag said) went hobbling.

I felt like such a terrible person, until I heard it, "Do, do, doo, do, ...Do, dado-do..." I don't know the tune, but she was, "Do, da,doo-ing" possibly the most pleasant bit of Scat singing I've heard. I was putting my things on the counter when she made it to the register, and I, smiling, said, "It was worth the trip, just for the song." People filed in behind me, and she smiled at my comment, and raised the volume and her smile, whereupon I began, my subtlest of jigs, mostly the shoulders and head...a little arm and hand hula action - nothing overboard. 

 Ah, she sang along, and it was beautiful, and I happily paid for the lettuce and cheese. I took the bags from the carousel, and put them in my cart saying, "I think I got them all." She answered playfully, white hair sparkling and lilt in her voice, "Let's give it the traditional twirl and see!" and she spun the carousel while I spun a hand in the air to flourish with a wave, and bid good evening with a shared giggle and thanks for the song...

Should you find yourself in the aisle of Anita, the singing cashier, I recommend dancing along. She knows her stuff! :)

tina jones

Response to, "Why Women Aren't Crazy" by Yashir Ali, with Admiration and in Cooperation Toward Solutions

The article link I'll post was most moving. Far from a list of how men are wrong, or how women are just nuts, this is extremely insightful! Man or woman, I'd encourage anyone to read it. 
Here's "Why Women Aren't Crazy." by Yashir Ali 
from, "The Good Men Project"
Click Here! (Like you mean it.)

   Refreshing! This man, Yashir Ali,  is being, "emotionally naked," and I find that to be one of the greatest, most admirable strengths in men. This isn't the time to list a man's errors. It's a cue to listen with compassion. Often I find that men in my own life will address what may have been bothering me when I give them a little time to talk. Listen without forming a response. Just hear him, as you'd hope he'd do for you... This is written by a man to other men, and it's compassionate. 

   I wont have the insight into men that another man might, but what I do know is that it usually hurts men deeply to think they've hurt a woman. Sometimes when things are pointed out (even if she is considerate, and asking for an easy change in behavior) so she wont be hurt, physically or emotionally, he can feel so emotionally naked that he can go on the defensive to avoid his own pain at being told he hurt her, that he can transfer that pain back to her by writing off her feelings as, "overreactions," or sometimes, he can simply run...
    
    Women, on the other end of this, learn that to say anything to a man of what they did that hurt us (and sometimes other females) can trigger them to insult us, or in more aware moments, we can learn the terrible error I once believed:  that we just have to be stronger than men, take the brunt of the pain silently, and never point it out to them, because they just can't handle it without shutting down (which hurts us more, and seeing them in pain isn't worth it to us, exactly like it is to men when they see our pain..It can be unbearable in the moment.) 

   This is the equivalent of when men joke about it always being their fault, and smoothing things over with admitting that whether it is or not..This is how women do it: in silence, and it's the same thing. We teach each other these things, and form these habits together, because they work for a short period of time, or they seem to while building very destructive walls between ourselves and the person we want to be closest to. At the writer says, "It's heartbreaking." .... 

   This is for women and men who care deeply about each other. Most of us have had serious conditioning since childhood to avoid being, "The bad guy," and sometimes we're simply wrong, we can admit it, and make amends, and the world wont end. It just might be a new beginning. 

   Me? I'm very often wrong, in fact, I may be now, but tears or saying, "That hurt," have never meant there was something fundamentally wrong with me, in fact they often mean something is very right. Pain is supposed to hurt. That's our cue to grow. By the same token when a man needs time to respond, it doesn't mean there is something fundamentally wrong with him. 

   The other may grow with us, but if they don't or can't yet, we'll still be o.k. I'm often at fault, but I'm not always, and often who is to blame isn't nearly as important as stepping up to mend each other, and finding that often the other will join us. 

Owning it daily, Me.

tina jones

I Believe in RED

“I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles.”

                                                                                               Audrey Hepburn

Probably one of the sweetest quotes I see fairly often, and read it always with a smile. There's an elegance and innocense to her in words and visage that becons the "girl" in most all of us. 

  I can't help, when seeing these words, reflecting on what "I believe," and if it might have any use to others in their own self searches.

  I figure I might as well give it a go! :)

Ahem..Is this thing on?  Testing, one, two...and

   I believe in RED, Pink was o.k. when I was two, but I want a color that, by God, will commit to being a color. Stand up and say, "I am Red! Deal with it!" I believe that if I've stopped laughing for any calculable length of time, someone needs to hit me with cardiac paddles or toss dirt on me. I believe in kissing. I believe in kissing here, here, here, and here and here too. I believe that the strongest people are those who fall apart on a regular basis. I believe that happiness is about being true to ourselves, and if that means lipstick or sweating in a garden, working at a factory, nursing a child, teaching the deeper meaning of haiku, or pole dancing, you are probably absolutely beautiful doing it!. 

  I believe in passion. I believe that potatoes, pasta and rice were invented by people to cunningly take up space on my plate where bacon is meant to be. I believe in one inch thick steaks without trimming the fat, and I believe in salad mostly so people don't yell at me. I believe I'd better plan for tomorrow, but live here and now, and now I'd like Sam Elliot to be here. I need a cook. 

    I believe there are secrets in dandelion fluff. I believe that amazing paintings are waiting in paint tubes, but they are not going to squirt themselves out on to a canvas. I believe in cutting the elastic tops off of over-sized sweat socks, so they slouch properly. I believe the best part of the day is that thirty minute stretch thing to find the right spot that I have to do when I climb into bed at night. I believe that mustard and pickles should be a food group.  I believe that the sky shows off every evening in colors just to make me envious enough to dream of painting them. I believe in cheese. 

     I believe Robin Williams is probably the best lay on the planet. I believe in wearing big skirts and spinning around to watch them become aloft. I believe there is music in the stars, and that it's blasphemy not to dance to it. I believe in feeling the artist's being in a clay bowl that I can hold. I believe sometimes when I don't know what to do, my spirit leaps from my body to silently tell some gloriously wrinkled and tired woman or the man that pushes his back to feed his children, "You are beautiful!" I believe when I put my fingers in running water, it should always be with reverence, and the water enjoys touching me. i believe in never using hair spray, lest I miss the combing of a breeze.

     I believe in cruise control and loud music in the car, and singing poorly. I believe the sound of whale's song is beautiful but nothing compares the sounds of my children and grandchildren. I believe in acting sillier than my grandchildren. I believe that, because that's not too much of a challenge, it must mean I'm gifted!
 I believe sometimes cookies and pickles make a great breakfast. I believe it's simply better to love, and you don't have to wait for a person or circumstance to do it. You're already right there waiting to be loved by you. I believe, "Witch Hazel" is a funny thing to say. I believe cursing is necessary to maintain the dignity of a conversation at times. Knowing those times is a challenge. I believe that everything and everyone I see is mine and part of me, and loving you taught me how to love me. 

Finally, I believe in knowing when to stop. I just haven't learned it yet.

tina jones

Hero

If you get out of bed one more day, 

   if you try the first time or one more time,

 if you fail and discover one more way not to do it, 

   if your palms sweat and your heart races every time, yet you begin again,

if you fall apart on a regular basis and tremulously crawl to wash your face,

   if you've been defeated a hundred times and given up just as many,

if you have despaired of ever knowing peace,

   if you've found the flow or the right direction only in accidental moments,

if in your pain you've found solace somehow in helping another, and in the midst of watching the world you knew disintegrate, saw a bit of heaven in the eyes of those less fortunate,

   if somehow all was right with the world even when all evidence said you were wrong,  it was wrong, they were wrong,


if unreasonable hope ever bade you, "Breathe, and try again," 

   if while not believing in yourself, you believed in another, and
 if while helping right in the middle of your own helplessness you've found that you took even a single aim toward a single step without realizing,

   You are a hero to me.

 tina jones

If I Could

If I could, I'd tell you that all is well. There is no need for worry about cobwebs. It's ok if the spoons aren't stacked just so, and it's alright if you don't do the dishes. It's ok if you want to cry, and it's so beautiful when you dance. If I could I'd take away any self doubt you had, and show you not only that you're loved. I'd show you, you're love itself. I'd let you know that you're never alone, that alone is an impossibility. I'd show you that we're all one, and how very precious you are to all. I'd show you the best of your heart, and give you the beauty I see in you. I'd make the strands of light and love that connect us all glow for you. I'd show you a common purpose that is so simple. Love and be loved, and simply be Love. I'd take away the "if only," and "Yes, but," and I'd replace them with peace. I'd give you the stars that are already yours, I'd lay the ocean in your hands and show you your bothers, I'd give you mountain ranges and show you your mother, I'd point at the birds and show you that you fly.  I'd show the sun and show you how you outshine it. I'd give you music, your music, your song, and I'd let you hear it in the heart of God.
  But I have only this paintbrush, and eyes that don't always see. I get so involved in the illusion of what's real, and at times bills or a stray stroke of paint define my existence. Hangnails bode the end of time, and politics in my mind can all but steal my hope....when I forget that these tools are not my God. When I fight of my will against material ideas, I forget I am more than made of material. The physical me is no more me than the reflection I see in a mirror. I forget that like you, I am the stuff of stars.  Since we are one, though perhaps you'll see you, if I show you me. I who stumble, and forget I am Love, remember with me.
tina

"Tribute to My Fellow Angels"
8x10
Oil on Canvas