# of divers

Friday, April 29, 2011

Happy Feet Fee-riday!

Made it through the workweek unscathed and delighted it's Friday. 
I realize it has been Friday for quite some time now and nearly Saturday now.
I do hope you can forgive my untimely manner. 

Celebrated the weekend roundabout with a bit o' barefoot hooping by the sea, followed by a scrumptilicious, bbq'ed burger adorned with drizzly, goat cheese with the darling neighbors.  

My sandy feet are smiling now. 
Hope your little piggies are smiling too.


Have a lovely weekend, lovelies!


Saturday, April 23, 2011

A Mouse Matrix

Something tells me that the first mousetrap wasn't designed to catch mice at all, but to protect little cheese "gems" from burglars. ~Jack Handey


Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Have you forgotten how to play?

Being mother to the A-mazing wonderboy has given me plenty of excuses to get some dirt beneath my fingernails and feel like a kid again. I hope these images by Tim Macpherson will remind you to do the same.

Don't forget to blow bubbles, skip stones, puddlesplash, climb a tree, make a daisy necklace, build a fort, watch the cloudshapes, and ride a bike with your eyes closed to discover how many seconds you can go before you really freak out.


Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Hunting for Street Performers

A fairly long time ago, I organized a busker hunting event for some cityfolks. 

What's a busker you ask? 

Merriam-Webster defines the term busker as the following:

: a person who entertains in a public place for donations

I prefer to call them Performance Artists

Some images for your photoreceptors to enjoy...

Buskquest day arrived and unfolded quite similarly to a day of hunting down character signatures at Disneyland, with no lines to wait in. We spent much of the day guided by a weathered-looking treasure map I created to find the entertainment heroes hidden in the nooks of The City. 

The time was pre-motherhood. 
The place... San Francisco. 

I continue to search for buskers on my own today, now with my son. Always a treat to find an unexpected street performer. This weekend San Diego's very own Busker's Festival was held by Seaport Village. It's been incredible to witness how this event has grown and made a well known mark since its inception back in 2007. 

I have a great admiration and respect for these performers. While most entertainers perform to a prepaid audience, these modern day talents are artists at their very core as they must work and continue to keep a crowd going.  I thought I'd share a few snappyshots of the talented and delightful eye-candied spectaclemakers.

The magical and enchanting voyage of the Umbrella Ship

Perhaps, you've stumbled into one or more of these famous 
buskers of notable fame:

 Bush Man 
Fisherman's Wharf, San Francisco, California

Be on the look out for men jumping from behind bushes round these parts!

Baton Bob
Alanta, Georgia

This baton twirler was honorably named 'The Ambassador of Mirth', and is guaranteed to bring a smile to your face.

Opera singer Litz Plummer wondertwin activates her musical powers with fellow songster and operatic tenor, Robert Close to form the singing sensation mainstays posted at the end of Maiden Lane in Union Square.
San Francisco, California

Larry Wright, Credited Bucket Drummer 
New York, New York

Johnny Hahn, Pianist Extraordinaire of Pike Place
Seattle, Washington

And quite likely the most ridiculously successful busker, Robert John Burck, better known as  
The Naked Cowboy (the nude dude) of Times Square. 
A fixture in New York, New York, New York, New York

He performs with his guitar wearing only a cowboy hat, boots and his unspeakables, and claims to average about $1000 per day.

The next time you are delightfully surprised as you round the street corner, make certain to support your local one man/woman bands, jugglers, fire breathers, sword swallowers, cariacature painters, troubadors, minstrels and flea circus acts. 

Show them your warm appreciation by placing some greenbacks, yen, euros, francs or banknotes into their buckets and hats. Better yet, bring these performance artists to your next event. 

These talented lads and lasses work hard for their money, and are doing their part to make the planet a far more beautiful place to call home.  I welcome you to adventure into the lives of those who are divinely passionate and truly love their professions.

The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time.
-Mary Oliver



Friday, April 15, 2011

A small handful of ponderables...

If happiness was the national currency, what kind of work would make you rich?

When was the last time you noticed the sound of your own breathing?

 Have you settled for mediocrity?

What are you doing when you are most comfortable?

 Do you remember that time five years ago when you were extremely upset?
Does it really matter now?

If I gave you $1000, what would you spend it on?

Do you know the difference between being alive and truly living?

When was the last time you stormed into the darkness with only a soft glow of an idea you strongly believed in?  
What thoughts swim in your head just before you fall asleep? 
Are they helping or hindering your sleep?  

What life lessons did you learn the hard way? 

What are you looking forward to?

Are you asking yourself enough questions?

Asking yourself some thought provoking questions is probably the best way to answer them...

Have a magnificent weekend, you beautiful things


Thursday, April 14, 2011

Little Wooden Boy: a tale of staggering heartache

"I wish I could be in your wooden arms
that swallowed me into a thousand dreams
and held me close while wooden eyes
that wept just like a willow tree"

I wish it could be in black and white
in a world where a bird and a fish can make a home
Would I sleep in your wooden arms
or trapped in the belly of love

I could brush those wooden hands
encased in wooden gloves
in sizes that only marionettes wear
with strings held tight to pull and tug their way
from anyone's grasp to make one stir, and move
and speak with the voice of a stranger

You'll dance the dance at someone's hands
and follow strings above
a perfect drowsy, guarded dance
of faithless-hearted love

A liar's nose masked thin from sprouting
and masked by fleshy lips
securely armed with words
that blow like invisible horsemen
to set the heart on fire

If only I had knocked
to hear the dull echo of timber sounding
trapped in the wooden recesses in an empty cavity
where a heart once resided
I could have heard the dull echo against
a lumber graveyard
instead it turned my soul to wood

but even wood begins to rot, and burns when lit
it meets a fiery kindle
one where knotty pine ignites
in veins that run through hollow wood
from an empty shell of a man

I'll bisect the ligatures
that held me captive
for I've grown weary from this loveless dance
I wish to go where there are no strings on me

My cast now loose from a fickle puppeteer
with a heavy weight in my shattered heart
I unravel my tangled strings
to step foot from the palm of your hand
and begin to dance to a tune that only I can hear

With strings now behind me in this delicate dance
a ballerina freed from long being anchored atop
her musicbox prison
where empty souls are left
to dance in circles for eternity

I leave behind the popcorn palace of yesteryear
as a slow melody is plucked from steel combed teeth
and I walk away knowing that the show will 
never go on again

I choose not to live in the world of marionettes
but rather to live in a land filled with unattached dancers
where I'll be free to promenade, sing and play
alone, but unrestrained in the dim light

I wish you well little wooden boy
may you forever be happy and loved
may your wood casing someday turn to flesh
may you find the strength to follow your heart
and the courage to one day speak with veracity

Knowing a love is so small
you aren't worth the truth 
is a pain greater 
than living in a fiery hell

and a love can burn, burn, burn
like a ring of fire, so I walk away now
with no end to my story
knowing the icy sting shall one day wane
and the tears speak words that the heart can't say

I was gifted a box filled with darkness
and forced to search for inconceivable light
how little I knew that it would someday 
burn so bright

I retreat to a shelter 
a sanctuary of safety
knowing someday
I will take shelter in the arms of a real boy

with hands and cheeks of flesh
with arms that love, heal, protect,
with eyes of truth that reveal a gateway 
to a noble soul
and a heart conceived from pure, unbroken gold

"to be a blanket for my bones,
to be a place to call my home"

in an extraordinary dreamland far and away 
where vows are valued more than egos
where promises are kept safe
and loyalty prevails

a land of love where radiant souls are born
and the sexiest thing to ever know
is trust

I surrender...

goodbye my precious thing
my little wooden boy

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