My posts have been very intermittent the past few months—just not feeling the inspiration, I think. Consulting and traveling have been occupying my time. I was watching last night’s Charlie Rose program and a few ideas arose in his discussions that caught my interest.

Harold Evans

Ross’ first interview was with Sir Harold Evans (former editor of “The Sunday Times” and the “Times of London,” former president/publisher of Random House, and Tina Brown’s husband). In these roles he has witnessed firsthand the evolution of 20th century journalism.

He has a new book out, My Paper Chase: True Stories of Vanished Times, that sounds as if it’s worth reading. What caught my ear (I was multi-tasking and only listening) was when Charlie asked Evans about people he admired. Bill Clinton politically, he responded. Charlie asked if it was because of his “gifts” and Evans replied,  “yes, though he’s squandered some of them.”

It’s a thought-provoking concept, squandering one’s gifts. To lose (as an advantage or opportunity) through negligence or inaction is the applicable definition of the word, squander. What are the gifts that you and I possess that we squander? Worth a ponder, perhaps.

Rebecca Miller

The second interview of the program was with Rebecca Miller (writer/director) and Robin Wright (actor) about the film, The Private Lives of Pippa Lee. Wright described it as a melodic, intense but happy movie. Miller said the book and subsequent screenplay were inspired by an acquaintance she met many years after she had known her originally and this woman’s transformation from wild

Robin Wright

youth to sedate mother. She was intrigued by the selves inside each of us, nestled within one another like a Matryoshka doll. I often hear people remark when they look back, “it’s like a different life, I was a different person.” Who are the selves nested within you and me and who will be the next “doll” that contains who we are now?

I just returned from spending one week with my daughter and her family. She has two sons (ages one and three) and a new daughter. Yes, I’m still sane but also suffering from cuteness withdrawal and sighing with relief that I, unlike my daughter, am able to sleep through the night. I have been reflecting on my own children as infants and toddlers now grown and so far, far away.  After returning from a visit, I often contemplate my relationship with my daughter and my mother throughout the years. Now I wonder how this new little female in our lives will evolve and experience her mother. Sometimes the pendulum swings!

PS. Looking at the previous post and this one, I think it must be the season for introspection for me.

I came across this intriguing article last spring and saved the link thinking that I would create my own list of Ten Things I’d Love to Tell My Younger Self. It’s still on my to do list and I’m thinking that it might be interesting to chunk it by decade and also include a list for me at my age today. Instead of waiting for me to get around to my list, I think it is worth sharing the original article with you. You can find the entire list of ten by clicking here.  Meanwhile, these were my favorites from the original article:

You are at least ten times prettier than you think you are.
That holds true no matter how pretty you already think you are! Don’t believe me? Ask your mother/auntie/grannie if she thought she was pretty when she was twenty. She’ll say no. Then find a photo of her at that age. See what I mean?

The only thing you should be faking is confidence.
If you don’t have it yet, pretend you do. In every new situation pretend you’re not nervous, pretend you’re not afraid. After a few times doing this, the pretend part disappears.

No matter how old you get, remember what it was like to be a nine-year old girl.
Remember the feeling of freedom. If you’ve already forgotten, do a cartwheel. You can so still do one. Savor that feeling. Wake up with it every day. You’ll stay young until the day you die.

Here are a few things I would put on my personal list:

Don’t discourage yourself or let others discourage you. Perseverance often beats talent.

Being nice and being fair doesn’t mean letting the other person win/sacrificing yourself.

WHAT ABOUT YOU? What would you tell your younger self?

My worries travel about my head on their well-worn path. Yes I understand, I thought when I came across this line in a book I’m reading. Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel. Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel…I sing to myself. The light goes out, my husband softly snores, and I lie there. Not worrying exactly. Thoughts pop into my mind and start leaping about, winding around, jutting here and spiraling there. I try unsuccessfully to contain them, erase them and chant over them. Sometimes I feel as if my mind is crackling with electricity. In the past few weeks, insomnia has returned and things can start to look bleak when you’re short on sleep.

Today though felt soothing like drinking a chocolate milkshake. It was a glorious November day, unusually warm and sunny. A cloudless sky as you can see from the photos I took on our trek across the city to Lake Michigan. The last of the leaves, sunlit and clinging to nearly bare branches, got their chance to dazzle. Watery, abstract reflections of tall buildings made me want to grab a brush and paint. And, the harbor full of abandoned boat slips looked a bit forlorn on such a warm day.

I’m contemplating our good fortune with the arrival of our granddaughter, Mia, born last Wednesday. She joins two older (barely—the oldest isn’t even three yet) brothers who have discovered that she arrived with some different equipment then they have.  If I lived near my daughter I would put my insomnia to good use and rock and sing to my sweet Mia in the middle of the night while everyone else sleeps. Like a circle in a spiral…

Boo! From Beau. My friend Florence carved this likeness of her dog.

Watching the TV series, Mad Men, can send me sauntering down memory lane. Sometimes, it’s downright spooky.  Last Sunday’s final scene of the Draper family trick-or-treating brought to mind my days of power trick-or-treating. I remember the excitement building as we waited for my Dad to get home from work so he could take us out. Pumpkins glowed on all the porches, little witches, Supermen, hobos, princesses and gypsies flooded the streets and neighbors solicited for the March of Dimes. All of us little boomers were oblivious to the outside world as we traipsed around brand new suburban blocks of brick ranch houses filling our pillowcases with goodies. The news of homes that were giving out homemade popcorn balls,  cookies or caramel apples spread like wildfire.

My Mom stayed home and handed out candy while  Dad took us on the trek that often lasted several hours as we ran from house to house, block after block after block. When we returned home, we spread newspapers on the living room floor and emptied our half-full pillowcases, eating and sorting and trading our goodies. The loot went into individual bowls that we were able to nibble from over the following days— a snack for lunch bags, after school and after dinner–until the only candy remaining in the bottom of our bowls was lollipops sans the tootsie roll centers.

Because we lived in a small town, my children experienced a similar Halloween experience to the one I had. My Dad and Mom came by to enjoy the fun. Dad got a kick out of taking the kids out, and my Mom and I oohed and ahhed over the costumes and dropped candy into outstretched bags. I didn’t fret about glass in the kids’ candy or razor blades in apples like parents in the city did.

Today in most places I think trick or treating is a very controlled event. Parents are worried and rightfully so unfortunately. At work today, there was a Halloween party for the children of employees. The office was creatively decorated, and little ones paraded by desks collecting candy as their proud parents enjoyed showing them off. One little boy, maybe about 2 years old, wore a little business suit and tie and his hair was slicked back, he was dressed as Mad Men’s Don Draper!

Without little ones around, Handsome Hunk and I have gotten sloppy about some of our holidays and Halloween is one of them. We bought a turban squash that is standing in for a pumpkin this year. Lame, I know.

But, my daughter’s due date is mid-November, maybe the little one will surprise us all by making a Halloween appearance!

What’s your favorite Halloween memory? What are you doing to celebrate this year?

My friend, Philamonjaro, is one of the most networked, likable people I know. We worked together when I first came to Chicago, and he is responsible for introducing Handsome Hunk and me to the Burning Man experience. He’s an entrepreneur, an artist and a great friend!

Philamonjaro, how many times have you been to Burning Man?

Eleven times, 1999 was the first year. I heard about Burning Man in the fall 1996 issue of Wired magazine and wanted to go from that point on. Up until then I had been going to Bumbershoot Arts & Music Festival in downtown Seattle. In 1998 my friends, Pat & Debbie, had just come back from Burning Man (it was their honeymoon) and said they were returning the next year. I asked to go along and the rest, as they say, is history. This was the beginning of many great friendships and more fun memories than I ever could have predicted.

Other than the increasing attendance, how has BM changed over the years?

Now there’s a huge emphasis on the regional network (formed around 2003) and more year-around activities off the playa. There were barely any art cars in 1999. Much more national media coverage now, more independent DVD releases and books, more pop-culture references in TV comedy and a much broader base of attendees than just the San Francisco bay area/west coast. Burning Man is now in the pop-culture conscience. Back in 1999 it seemed like a creative incubation from the San Francisco bay area being held in the permissive wild west of Nevada.

What is it that attracts you to the event?

It’s the large-scale, collaborative outsider art that reminds me that I too can be creative even if I do not have a career as an artist. And of course the huge group of diverse friends from all over the globe, mad-science, steam-punks and fire art. It’s a festival that treats itself as a city. And the humor! Oh, and all that dust.

Has your experience evolved?

Yes, in a big way. It was very overwhelming at my first Burn. I wanted to see everything and party through the whole week. It rekindled my creative bone with a sledgehammer. The event helped me see more possibilities. Over time my participation really helped me not care about being an outsider—knowing that I have found my peeps, the crazy fringe that really isn’t as fringe as the mainstream would like us to believe. More recently it has been about community, using art as a way to share the best of what we have to offer to each other, and a certain reckless excitement about actively creating and sharing arts.

Can you remember one jaw-dropping moment that has stayed with you?

Well there are many so I’ll stick to just a few. In 2007 watching from a 1/4 mile away the Crude Awaking installation unleash god-knows how many pounds of liquid propane in a mushroom cloud of fire I conservatively estimate to have been 350-400 feet high. David Best’s Temple in 2004 was an estimated 1/4 mile long art installation. And the Temple of Gravity in 2003, plus the  story about how Burners Without Borders got started. On a subtler note, participants of all ages and walks of life come together to create a temporary community with everyone  getting along for the most part.

Any advice to someone who hasn’t gone yet but is interested?

Do it! I hear so many people say, ‘”someday I want to go,” but they don’t. There is a certain temporary quality about all the things that line up to make Burning Man happen. Just maybe it will all end—over, no more! And like a sand mandala, all the years of work will be blown away in the wind. Life is temporary, experiences are even more temporary. You may miss out one of the greatest experiments in art and community we will ever have a chance to participate in shaping. Before going, plug into your local/regional burning man community, meet people, ask questions, get involved, take a risk, start a project. It’s a year-round community and a great way to get your feet wet, er…dusty beforehand.

Anything else you want to share with us?

Burning Man is what you make it. The more you work on your projects(small or large)/gifts/preparations/costumes/camp, the more you will get out of it. Plug in to other burners in your local area, it’s generally great fun with like-minded creative people. Read the survival guide. Learn about the festival’s 10 principles. And remember, dust is a condiment.

Thanks Philamonjaro, regional co-contact for Chicago!  At the very least, I recommend that you checkout the Burning Man site for wonderful photos and information about the 2010 event.

Note: The Burning Man photos in this article are the property of Lia and are not the installations/projects referenced in this article. You may be able to find those photos on the Burning Man site.

“Were you taking pictures in the middle of the night?” Handsome Hunk asked me this morning. “Yes,” I confessed.  I started a good book a few days ago, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. Among other things, it’s about the German occupation of  Guernsey Island during WWII and is much more substantive than the title suggests. I highly recommend it. I also just finished Pat Conroy’s new book, South of Broad, and found it enjoyable too. Though, in my opinion,  it could have been better. He crammed so much into the book so rapidly, that situations that could have been more emotionally charged were just stepping-stones to the next event. But what fun to read his turn of phrase.

Anyway, back to the photos in the night. When I finished reading around 1am, I looked up and the windows in our bedroom were stunning. We have a city view and the backlit raindrops clustered on the screens looked like sparkly diamonds and made me smile. So, I took the picture above.

Rainy days have been the norm here, and it looks like they will continue through the weekend. I think I will put on some sparkly earrings, scrounge up the sparkly part of my personality that makes an appearance from time to time and try to spread some sparkle around this weekend. Bring on the bling!

Don’t Call Me “Hon”! Does this strike a chord with anyone? People don’t know you. They may take your order at a restaurant, blow dry your hair or do your nails, weigh you in at the doctor’s or cash you out at the grocery store. Yet they call you “hon” or “sweetie.”

I imagine my hand rising to smack some sense into these people. Yet I say nothing. Maybe they mean well. Maybe they are being condescending. Maybe they are trying to feel superior. I thought it might be an age thing, someone thinks you are over 50 so  that gives them the right to use such familiar diminutives (now there’s a word I haven’t used in a while), but I just saw a Facebook post by a friend who is in her mid thirties surprised that a waiter half her age had the audacity to call her “hon.”

I work with a lot of people the ages of my children. And I sometimes am tempted to call someone I’ve developed affection for “hon.” I resist the impulse. They deserve my respect as professional co-workers. I am NOT their mother. They aren’t my little sweeties.

So what goes with this? Does it bother anyone else? Should we rise up and say something? Where are the etiquette police?

This afternoon Chicago was a city of hobblets. People who had just finished running the Chicago Marathon (32,000+ registered) were hobbling around town holding their foil blankets close against the wind.  It was a gorgeous day for running with the temperature in the mid 40s, sunshine and maybe a bit too much wind, but still better than the rain or horrid heat of previous marathons.

Handsome Hunk and I were taking books back to the library and decided to swing by the finish line where people were still pouring in at a 7-hour finish time. I watched them and welled up with tears. It’s just plain inspiring. I’ve run a 10-mile race and my husband has run two half-marathons, so we have an inkling of how gratifying it must feel to finish 26.2 miles after so many months of dedication and hard work. It’s also uplifting to see that the participants were all shapes, sizes and ages—people just like us.

I hope all the marathon runners are celebrating with their feet up, getting some well-deserved TLC and feeling very, very good about themselves.  At our house the homemade chili is simmering on our stove and my glass of wine is within arms reach. It’s a pretty terrific Sunday in the city. How did you spend your day?

Amazing. Amazing. Amazing. I would have loved to have been there to be part of this event!  Earlier this week, 1.5 million people filled the streets of Berlin, Germany to watch a  performance by France’s Royal de Luxe street theatre company titled “The Berlin Reunion” that took place over several days. Part of the celebrations of the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, the Reunion show featured two massive marionettes, the Big Giant, a deep-sea diver, and his niece, the Little Giantess.

MORE SPECTACULAR PHOTOS: The Berlin Reunion – The Big Picture – Boston.com

This week two of the blogs I follow feature junk. At Art Propelled, South African artist Robyn Gordon features the art of Leonardo Drew (shown in the two photos above) from Brooklyn, New York. It’s definitely worth a visit to his site to look at his work. He’s probably the king of the junk collectors, and it makes for fascinating creations.  And at artist Leslie Avon Miller’s blog, Textures, Shapes and Colors, she reminisces about her mom’s junk drawer. What’s in your junk drawer and what does it say about you?

Handsome Hunk and I are longtime junkies, picking up rusted metal shapes and other detritus that we find pleasing in some way as we walk the city or along the railroad tracks. I once flagged down the street cleaner and asked where I could get one of his big round street cleaning brushes made of thin metal strips. He said, “Just tell me where you want them and how many and I’ll bring them by.” So I did and he did. I don’t have enough room to be greedy, so I only asked for 2 of the 4 quarters that make up a big round brush. They’re lurking under other junk in a closet somewhere, I’m sure.

Several years ago, my husband erected little found object sculptures along the railroad track. One I especially liked was a triangular piece of wood he stuck in the ground topped with a pink high heel. I always wondered how a pink high heel ended up along the railroad track where we found it. A few weeks ago a neighbor remembered these little sculptures and it was fun to tell him it was my husband who created them.

Off and on I’ve used found objects in my encaustic art (a few examples below). I find it intriguing to see who’s attracted to “junk” art.  Are you a junkie?