Rain is a Blessing

Hawai'i definitely left an impression on me, emotionally and spiritually. On the last day there, in Hilo,we were walking down the road when it started to rain. Rain in Hilo is as common as the sky is blue..it rains a lot on that side of the island. Just ahead of us was a young Hawai'ian family; a mother, father and a toddler. 

When the first drops of rain started, the little toddler said, with palpable fear , "oh no, it's raining." His mother held up an umbrella, and the father gently  told his child, echoing thousands of years of Kahuna wisdom ,"The rain is a blessing."

a big Banyan tree in Hilo, HI, in the rain!

That really touched me, seeing young native Hawai'ians embracing their birthright by remembering it to their children.

I suppose what also touched me was how it was said. It wasn't preachy, or "new agey", it was just said as a gentle fact. 

 The rain is a blessing.

Here's a tiny video I took of the park behind our hostel, in Hilo... it's raining!

"In Hawaii, a rainy day is a thing of poetry. The Hawaiian language has more than 100 words for "rain," which describe the location, volume and intensity of the shower. 'Awa refers to a fine rain or mist, and kawa is for when it's raining heavily. If a storm is unexpected, it's called ililani. If the rain is at a slant, it's called ua hikiki 'i. So much for "cloudy" and "sunny." gohawaii.com" (http://www.islands.com/article/Hawaii-Rain-by-Any-Other-Name)

All About Edward Gorey!

“A is for Amy who fell down the stairs," "B is for Basil, assaulted by bears," (from The gashlycrumb tinies, by Edward Gorey)

I love the art of Edward Gorey, and it seems that the man behind the art was just as impressive as his ink-sketch drawings were.

Here are some fun facts I’ve gleaned about Gorey.

1.     He was not British. This came as a total shock to me. “Because of the settings and style of Gorey's work, many people have assumed he was British; in fact, he only left the U.S. once, for a visit to the Scottish Hebrides.” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_Gorey)

2.     He loved cats! " (he) lived in Cape Code, Massachusetts, where he was surrounded by the cats that he so loved." (http://voices.yahoo.com/edward-gorey-biography-late-gothic-writer-615010.html)

3.     He loved TV, especially Batman. “He was an unabashed television junkie, watching everything from soap operas to dramas, with an especially big love of Batman: The Animated Series.” (http://www.squidoo.com/edward-gorey)

4.     He enjoyed publishing under pseudonyms  which were all anagrams: “Ogdred Weary was one of them as was Mrs. Regera Dowdy, Dogear Wryde, Wardore Edgy, E. G. Deadworry and D. Awdrey-Gore.”(http://voices.yahoo.com/edward-gorey-biography-late-gothic-writer-615010.html)

5.     He liked the ballet... a lot “One thing that Edward Gorey was decidedly fond of was ballet. He spent 30 years attending very nearly every performance by the New York City Ballet, and called the Russian choreographer Balanchine a god.” (http://voices.yahoo.com/edward-gorey-biography-late-gothic-writer-615010.html) this quote is gold!

6.     He studied French at Harvard! "By the age of 20, Edward Gorey was studying as a French Literature major at Harvard where he was befriended by future poet Frank O'Hara. A fellow student at Harvard remembers Gorey as "the oddest person I've ever seen. He was very tall, with his hair plastered down across the front like bangs, like a Roman emperor." (http://voices.yahoo.com/edward-gorey-biography-late-gothic-writer-615010.html)

Time Warp

 I wrote this last year, and never posted it, but I like it, so it's finally getting posted. ( written: Wed/thur april 13-14 2011)

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So, I've been tweeting, or is it twitting? Either way, it sounds weird and I have been taking part..sort of, mainly in order to get my petitions out to wider audiences. Almost overnight, I had 11 followers, and then, like a negative ion reaction, 4 have just as quickly vanished, but fort how long...?

Meh. It was weird and truly, who has that much to say..about usually nothing, but has the time to connect a link to each tweet.

What a weird world.

I just finished watching Trembling Before G-D. I know, I'm about 11 years too late for the conversation, but, seeing as this is more times than not a conversation of one, I shall proceed.

I get it; needing to belong to a larger group, community, what-have-you. I even can try to sort of understand the sycophantic neediness of the religious. Ok, they dig having ritual, customs, traditions ,and lest we forget, holy writ that bind them. However, those same traditions and writ also end up binding them to the point of suffocation.
Shit.

Negotiating your own sexual space is a challenge, period. Add any form of religious dogma to the mix, and things become pretty hate-based.

I'm queer. Years ago I came out to my family. It wasn’t easy for me. My mother was supportive. Though, when I brought my first girlfriend home, I felt very isolated and hurt. Actions and words don’t always match.

My grandmother who was( how strange and sad to write about her now in the past...) fairly liberal in many ways, was also a devout Catholic.. I did; however, bring my first girlfriend home to meet the-whole family.  Everyone at the table, presumably excluding my grandparents either knew what the deal was or quickly cottoned on, and were cool.

Some months later, on Valentine’s Day, I went over to my grandparent’s to bring my Nonna flowers, to celebrate the day. Without skipping a beat, my Nonna asked if I had called my girlfriend who had since gone back  to Italy. I froze momentarily, because I couldn’t believe what my very Catholic grandmother was asking. I quickly wondered why she hadn’t asked me if I had called any of my other friends. Then it dawned on me that perhaps my super- devout Nonna was hipper than I imagined, and so, I told her that, yes, I had called her.

Each time I reflect on that moment- my Nonna boldly, and yet , super casually asking, me if I had called my girlfriend, on Valentine’s, no less; the girlfriend who had been introduced to my Nonna as nothing more than a friend,always floors me completely!

It was at that moment when I realized that my Nonna sees me.

So, certainly I do get it that queer Hasidic people need and want to be seen and accepted by their families which seems to also include their rabbis, but what I don’t get is hiding who they are.

When my relationship with that girlfriend ended, about a year later, I was devastated, and my outlet was my art. I secretly thanked her for having hurt me so much, so that I could cathartically release on canvass, which also motivated me to organize my first art show. On the day of the show, my whole family and I were at my grandparent’s having lunch. The topic of my show came up. My Nonna heard, and was upset at having not been invited right away. I didn’t know what to do. If she hadn’t known I was queer then, she would for certain that night at the show.

Nothing was going to stop her, and proudly she showed up. I remember standing in front of my panting of a large nude, female in the style of Modigliani, which had been modeled after the now ex-girlfriend, and was called simply, Reclining Nude. A woman who was standing looking at it turned to me and asked the price. I hadn’t even considered putting price tags on anything. My Nonna, who was also standing near me, turned to me and the woman and gently chided me for not having any price tags on my work.

Once again, I was shown that not only did my grandmother see me, but she was also very proud of me, and my ability to be myself. It meant a lot.

These people who feel bound to the idea of being humbled and scared in the presence of their idea of whatever divine means, have lost the point. I think religion is idiotic to begin with, but to then choose to continue to ascribe to a set of rules that  not only has no place for you but actively hate you, why stay?

A Website of note:)

Here is my newly, revamped website. Here's a fun tip slash hint when viewing: first go to About, and scroll, read it after, why? Because then the music starts and if you then go to Portfolio, you can look at my portfolio to music, for almost all of the pictues, it doesn't quite sync up, but pretty close.

Of course, if you'd prefer, you can just watch the photos in silence.

Here's the link: http://www.wix.com/micol_kates/lanscape-photography

End The 40 years of solitary Confinement Now

 Here's a letter I wrote via Amnesty International's website, asking the governor of Louisiana to end the solitary confinement of two older, and does it need to be said, but Black, prisoners imprisoned at Louisiana State Pen. They have been in solitary for 40 years, 23 hours a day.
These men have political links to The Black Panthers.

Here is the  petition link on Amnesty's website: http://takeaction.amnestyusa.org/siteapps/advocacy/ActionItem.aspx?c=6oJCLQPAJiJUG&b=6645049&aid=517258&msource=W1204EAIAR1

Here's my letter:

Governor Bobby Jindal of Louisiana

Office of the Governor

Governor Jindal,

Why is solitary confinement a necessary practice, especially for two older people locked in your racist system?

For nearly 40 years, 65-year-old Albert Woodfox and 70-year-old Herman Wallace have been held in solitary confinement in Louisiana. 

If these two men were white, they would never have been locked away like chattel in the cargo hold of a slave ship.

The treatment towards Mr. Woodfox and Mr. Wallace is disgusting, and it violates their human rights. They are both suffering from physical and mental disorders as a direct result of being locked up in solitary confinement for years on end.

Mr. Jindal, Ubuntu is a term from the Swahili meaning, as Archbishop Desmond Tutu defines it, My humanity is wrapped up in your humanity.

 Where is your humanity? We are all connected. By  continuing to allow Mr. Woodfox and Mr. Wallace to be locked away in tiny cells,  and not having any positive interactions, you are refusing to acknowledge their humanity, and treating them as things, and not as beings.

How can this type of system benefit anyone? It damages the inmates, and the community at large. The statistics show us that most people die in prison, and those who do manage to make it out, come out broken, terrified and suffering from numerous mental health issues.

This is not "reform", this is abuse. How can locking anyone, any being in a room alone for 40 years amount to anything good at all?

How would you feel, Mr. Jindal if  you had a neighbour, or a relative who had just been released after having spent years in isolation? Would you feel that that person would be mentally, and emotionally fit to re-join society?

Probably not, right? So why continue this method of racist, human rights abuse?

End the solitary confinement of Mr. Albert Woodfox and Mr. Herman Wallace, now ! Provide  them with counselling  to deal with the trauma of having been locked up for so long. Finally,  allow them to see their families.

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This link  below is an interview with one of the men who was being held with Mr. Woodfox and Mr. Wallace. He was also in solitary, but was released 10 years ago.

http://blog.amnestyusa.org/iar/louisianas-angola-3-100-years-of-solitude/

Earth Hour's Tonight

Earth Hour...

Tonight between 8:30 pm and 9:30 pm we shall descend into darkness, or, at least less brightness, and use candles for the hour of less power.

In almost 4 hours we will take the plunge.

A Happy Ending

Five days ago,  a little, adorable kitty with id tag and collar showed up at my house. It’s not normal or usual for a kitty to just leave their home, unless something is up.

For five days, my Mom and I have been trying to find out where the kitty lives, tirelessly. I spent hours on the phone yesterday calling the number on his city issued id tag. A few days earlier, when I first saw the kitty, curled up in a little circle in a pile of leaves at the back, I called the city from the number on his tag, to get told that cats wandering away “is just what cats do.” !!! I was livid. I know cats very well. I have lived with them my whole life. The idiot woman I spoke with at  Toronto Animal Services(TAS) refused to acknowledge that anything was wrong, hence the cat having run away.

I’ve left messages, not one person called me back. I’ve called the Humane Society, who only referred me back to Toronto Animal Services, as did the OSPCA.

Dead ends and frustration!

I had already dubbed kitty “Muffin”, if the need to keep him were to arise.

He’s been sleeping in the backyard. Two nights ago, as the weather turned ferocious, I could hear him screaming outside my window, breaking my heart, but I hoped he would know to go into the garage.

In the morning, when I went to feed our two outside garage girls: a mom and baby- both fixed ,by us btw, Muffin the Mewler was not there.

I figured he had returned home which I was told by the wholly unhelpful people at TAS, was one street away. Well, later in the day, who should appear, but Muffin the Mewler which is not his real name, but, it’s cuter.

Yes, the kitty had returned to our backyard for love and snacks. I tried to keep him out of the garage, but he was having none of it. He warded off the two girls with hisses, and then quickly turned to me for praises.

I tried to let him in to the warm Dogloo, but he had other plans, the garage.

Well, today, my mother decided to pick up where I had left off with trying to find his home.

After another series of calls, she finally made a breakthrough!

As I suspected, he was wearing dog id, because the family dog must have recently passed, which turned out to be a sad truth.

My mother had someone at TAS persist until she realized that the number they had listed for Muffin the Mewler’s mom was not current, so she looked up the address in the online 411 directory, and BINGO!

The mom was called, and within a few minutes called my mom back. Muffin's mom had been so frantic looking for her kitty, she was going to start postering today. We were going to poster the other day, but hadn’t got a photo of the all black kitty yet.

Muffin ran away Thursday, and their dog died Saturday. Muffin and the dog were best friends, so obviously Muffin’s grief was too much, and he left because he didn’t want to see his friend die.

When Muffin’s mom was told about his aggression towards the other cats, she was shocked!

Anyway, to end this saga, of grand proportions, Muffin’s mom was told she could come and get him and that he’s probably be in or around the garage.

He’s been gotten.

How do I know? He’s not here, but in his sweet, little ,loving place, a beautiful card and a pot of flowers, to say thank you for our finally  finding , and being able to contact the mother of Muffin and getting Muffin home.

I love happy cat tales:)