Diann

I’ll redirect this blog address to the new one as of July 1. I’d prefer people bookmark everwild.net for future use, only because the whole basis for these changes has been to simplify. However, if you have the current address bookmarked and don’t change it, you should still get to where you need to go.

WordPress isn’t the greatest CMS, but I can’t seem to find any programs that fall between WordPress and the very complicated looking Joomla. There’s just too much monkeying under the hood, which is why there are simpler ways to accomplish things — such as etsy and blogger. Of course, I’m open to evolution and may very well spend some time tinkering in the background with Joomla or looking for that perfect application.

It’s also my intent that the new blog should have a more professional feel and be less personal in nature. I’m pretty sure most people don’t care much for my inner workings, and the handful that do usually call, write, or actually spend time with me. They’re the ones who can listen to me rail against The Man, because they’re the ones who lub me lots. Yes, it might be difficult to stay off my soap box here and avoid ranting at the Evil Empires; it’s in my nature to pluck heads from the sand and make folks look at the real world. After all, I’m one of those evil nasty critters that believes Fahrenheit 451 wasn’t so much a work of fiction as it was a prediction.

Before I run off to buy new #11 craft blades, I do want to mention that more than 60 people peeked in on me on June 18th. That’s record traffic for 1 day at Everwild (whoa!), the highest before that being (I think) 47. Blog stats still kinda creep me out. Well, not the stats themselves, more the knowing that people are out there — not just happening by — but, also seeking me out. There’s that cautious (okayokay, paranoid) voice in the back of my head that wonders if any former inmates out there still yearn to make good on those not-very-often-but-still-ever-present threats to kill, rape, or otherwise maim me. Hiding less and less behind an anonymous online presence intensifies that sense of vulnerability. Invisibility was a good, useful tool; it had its place, but it was also very singular in nature.

So, I’m happy for the extra visits, and I’ll strive to make this place less about me and more for you. I hope everyone is having a lovely day. If not, and you don’t feel like putting on a happy face, you know where to find me. You don’t have to pretend.

Sorry for the confusion. It’s a fine lesson for remembering to document everything clearly. It takes me back to the “Make a better peanut butter and jelly sandwich” exercise Jon had me do when I was learning how to program.

The temperature is slowly creeping up, but while it’s not horrifically hot in the house, I wanted to make a quick catch up post and show off the cabinet Jon bought me for my birthday.

I’ve been thrashing myself to death against photography the last month, caught somewhere between wanting to take simple pictures to post quickly and good photos that take a higher level of dedication. I’ve resisted Jon — not at every turn — but certainly more than I probably should. Each time I take pictures by his instruction, though, when they aren’t incredibly fuzzy because I can’t hold the camera still to save my life, they turn out much better than the point-and-click auto method.

I am resistant to the time involved in enhancing my photography abilities only because as I introduce yet another skill to the things I need to learn, I find myself stretching thin and becoming unable to perfect any one craft. Were I an endless fountain of energy, it wouldn’t seem like such a huge undertaking, but as I develop one skill, another falls short. I devote less time to writing, to art, or to maintaining the website (which in itself can feel more enveloping, like a lifestyle, than simply a set of skills).

Then comes that evil, perfectionist hag who lives deep within my psyche, rearing her ugly mug and wrapping her toothless maw around words that tell me I’m sub par. I wonder if she’d shut up if I buried her under 16 lbs. of mint chocolate chip ice cream. It’d definitely be high on my list of fun experiments to try. But, (sigh) I’ve had my quota of Cold Stone this week (a medium “The Pie Who Loved Me” shared with the super hubby).

Truth is, while I still battle perfectionist tendencies, I’ve learned the consequences of being that perfectionist and I refuse to do that to myself again. I’m the tortoise in this race and need to take all these skills in that TurtleZen stride I’ve been developing. I’ve seen the pictures I’ve taken that are flash-dependent. They’re not fuzzy, but they’re just not as good as the photos when I’m controlling the shutter speed and aperture manually. It’s not instant gratification, certainly, but I suppose it will be worth the effort in the long run.

Happy day!

The trauma the little bay horse in this video suffers is absolutely heart-wrenching. It should NOT have happened. In my entire history with horses, horsemen, and cowboys alike (yes, I do count them as different beasts), I’ve never seen such a despicable, unadulterated lack of compassion. If this is representative of the rodeo industry as a whole, DEFINITELY count me out.

And call me enemy.

If you’re interested in learning more, please visit SHowing Animals Respect and Kindness and help save a pony.

Please.

It would have been a fantastic day for riding and I’m sooo glad we spent the time outside.

I spent the morning working on journals. Most of my materials for this last batch have been recycled bits. I recently found an assortment of stationary at the thrift shop and wanted to use it up. I have a lot of fun working with wall paper, too, and I need to figure out more creative ways to utilize all the cereal boxes I keep, because — yanno — Jon is like the champion cereal eater of all time. We could build a house out of his empties. Hmmm, this idea has possibilities.

I can’t figure out what to do about my upcoming 40th birthday, except possibly pine for that super coolie-wazoo new TV to go with that super coolie-wazoo Playstation 3 which my super huggable, snuggable hubby is going to magically procure for me because HEY, we’ve got nothing better to do with that $2500 hanging around, right? Right. Why? Because the developers of Shadow of the Colossus are currently working on a new game for the PS3 and I just know there will [MUST] be ponies involved. Naturally, if there are ponies, we must have them. (My husband is somewhere in the background thinking, yanno, by now, a REAL horse might be a heck of a lot cheaper.)

If only. But … well, 40 seems significant. I’m hoping it means I’m middle-aged, because at the moment, 80 seems like a fine time to check out. Another 40 years? Sure, why not? Maybe with enough Omega 3 fatty acids I’ll even remember most of it. I look forward to the challenge of embracing what is to come while not dwelling too much on what used to be. If there is a heaven, though, I think I will be seventeen — barefoot, horseback, and carefree.

1:15 a.m. >> Heh. I’m going to have to rename my computer to “Zoomie” now. I think we may have actually fixed my computer for real this time.

On Tuesday, I got to spend the day in Roanoke with Susan. Wow, I had so much fun and — for it being her birthday lunch from me — I made out like a bandit, making off with several treasures: one of Susan’s pillow babies (she’s PURPLE!), the second volume of Inu-yasha (manga? graphic novel?) from her hubby, 3 painted wooden fish, a handmade bracelet of Tech colored beads, a little etched/painted gourd, and an armload of mint-condition journals.

Susan and her hubby are lush, colorful characters full of stories just begging to be chronicled, but there are boundaries that I feel shouldn’t be crossed because they’re private individuals. I think I can get away with an observation or two, though, and say never have I met two beautifully matched people, both with a youthful effervescence and that boundless energy one associates with those pre-teen years just before the onslaught of teenage angst. They are both yin and yang, both kids-at-heart, and I was blown away by the suffusion of creativity throughout the whole of their home. And the collections those two have? HOO-EE! They’re just to die for. :)

The visit gave me the opportunity to discover even more layers to Susan, which I enjoyed immensely, so much so, that more than once I lost track of the time. In her, I found something kindred. Not only can I share an enthusiasm for art, but also someone here — on the east coast — can relate when I speak of struggle or what it’s like for my life to have suddenly turned “normal” (I mean, really, what is normal?).

OK, OK, I could easily go on for another hour, but I’m losing my ability to complete thoughts and use the right words. It’s definitely bedtime!

Anyone who knows me well knows my aversion to cameras. They thieve the soul piece by piece, add extra pounds or third eyes and extra chins. In the presence of cameras my face slowly begins to melt, twisting and distorting into alien expressions of angst. By some magic in the blink of a shutter or the flash of a bulb, cameras NEVER fail to capture and freeze these expressions of horror for all time. It’s even worse when the person in possession of said camera sticks it in my face and screams, “SMILE!” insistently five or six times as I’m reeling backwards in an effort to escape. The result of such a traumatic episode is often a fabulous portrait of Jabba the Hutt, complete with strings of drool coursing along the folds of his chins.

I told Jon six months prior to the wedding that he needed to take pictures of me — many and often, and WAIT — tell me before you begin so I can eat 20 or 30 mg of generic Xanax in order to keep breathing once we start.

Yes, I’m that bad. But, I’m getting better. We live in a society where perfection equals beauty, and I am far from perfect. The difference between now and say, five years ago, though, is that I find myself surrounded more and more by people — like Jon — who are more interested in experiencing me for who I am, rather than in tearing me down. It’s rather new territory for me and I’ve discovered just how much trust is inherent to it. When Jon looks into my eyes and tells me I’m beautiful, I know he’s genuine, that there’s no ulterior motive, that he’s not just saying it because it’s part of the script.

Jennifer Farris convinced me of this, too. When she came into the room and introduced herself and Dawn (her stealthy sidekick) I detailed my shyness for her, explaining that she’d get better pictures if I didn’t have to pose or smile, or any number of awful things people-with-cameras make us do for that ultimate shot. She laughed and in a warm, sincere way said, “you know, the ladies who tell me they’re camera shy are ultimately the ones who end up giving me the best shots.”

Well, we won’t tell Jennifer it’s because of her amazing talent for making us look SO UN-like Jabba the Hutt and just keep that tidbit of info to ourselves. Seriously, though, she and Dawn did a fantastic job. Both of them had that in-the-thick-of-it sense of adventure of which Jennifer and I came out looking somewhat disheveled but Dawn managed to trek cross-country (okay, she DID get to drive the SUV down the road a ways) and still looked as regal and polished as the moment they’d first walked in.

Jennifer’s enthusiastic response to Jon and me made such a huge difference in how I responded to the camera. The process never felt invasive and was actually FUN (that has NOTHING to do with all the kissing!), and I suppose that’s the difference between the professional and the average Joe. More so, Jennifer’s enthusiasm — not only for us — but in her art (and ultimately, her job) never felt scripted.

In ALL the planning, seeking, hunting, etc. I did for this wedding, I discovered we got better results from the people who outwardly LOVE what they do. Melanie and Miranda from Tivon Salon (here in Blacksburg) are another example of this. So is Susan Vaught of Neighborhood Flower and Gift in Pembroke. I would esteem each of these people — not only as professionals, but as artists, too.

I’m moving a wee bit slow this week. Getting Yana back to the airport in Charlotte, NC on Monday nearly did me in. Warren was up most of the previous night because we gave him Bill Bryson’s book, A Walk in the Woods, to read and he couldn’t put it down. So, I did most of the driving. I thought for sure Jon would be taking me to the ER before sun up, but managed to get myself through the worst of the pain. The new hubby hovered protectively and made sure I went to bed at a decent hour. I forbade any lectures, though; I knew what I was getting myself into and Yana is worth a little pain and suffering.

Jon and I took the recurve bow out yesterday for a test run. I’m happy to report that I can hit the broad side of a barn! Being left-handed and right-eye dominant means I have to shoot the bow right-handed. This will take some getting used to, but it doesn’t feel completely alien; I guess having to adapt to a right-handed world has its advantages after all. I did try to shoot with my dominant hand only to discover there’s just no way … I can’t sight with any accuracy at all.

Remember I said the bow is a significant gift to me? Well, here’s why: in our vows to each other, Jon and I repeated this line, “your dreams are now my dreams,” and he rarely misses an opportunity to show me he means what he said. A while ago, I think well before last Christmas now, I wondered aloud to him if my affinity for bows in computer video games would translate to reality. I loved my night elf hunter in WoW, I love using Wander’s bow in Shadow of the Colossus, and in Guild Wars, Asheron’s Call, or just about any other game I’ve played involving bows — it’s my weapon of choice.

If yesterday is any indication, then that affinity does indeed translate to reality. I wouldn’t have known this if Jon hadn’t taken a musing of my thoughts aloud and turned it into such a wonderful, thoughtful wedding gift. I can’t wait to get out there again. I thrill each time the arrow strikes the target, and delight in each little improvement that gets me a better shot. I went from slamming my eyes shut each time I released the arrow to being able to see the arrow fly. I neverneverEVER felt the same way with any firearm. I don’t like them at all, except — of course — for the purpose they serve. They’re big, clunky, loud and obnoxious (and I hope Drew is not watching this!).