Happy Birthday to me!

 Well I made it to 76. Truly, the beginning of my last quarter of my century. Yes. I could break 100 but that's of no concern. I was working this past Sunday so I wasn't able to write a blog post. I really want to write weekly but sometimes life gets in the way and says no. I have no regular day off. At any rate, enough of the excuses. I'll do the best I can and thank you all for your patience. 

There I was on my 21st  birthday. I had no idea what life held for me And I wouldn't even know what kind of advice to give to myself. 

I have been thinking thoughts of years gone by, of family and work and career and avocations and friends and homes and it's amazing how a simple life shows so much accomplishment when you take a real look back. I never had a clear idea of what I wanted to be when I grew up. I had lots of fantasies but nothing real. I never got to be a scientist or an anthropologist or an archeologist or self supporting artist or gallery owner or a college professor or gotten a PhD but I have had snippets. something I have realized over the years and brushed aside. I worked in the development department of the Museum of Natural History in NYC. Monday through Friday I walked through the galleries filled with exhibits from around the globe and time so I got a taste of archaeology and anthropology without the sweat or need to beg for funding. One of my duties at one of the libraries I worked for was to run our gallery; book artists; hang the show, hence gallery owner without the cost of rent. No commissions of course but no losses either. I studied to be a lab technician and managed to do that for a year before moving to Florida where I couldn't get a job because of licensing requirements to I headed off to the world of office work which sustained me for most of my adult life until I became a librarian. So that was my scientist phase. I didn't manage a Phd. I just got tired but I do have two Masters degrees. In my lifetime as an artist I have only sold a few items so no, I wasn't self sustaining. But I was an artist with a YouTube channel and an online store. I've closed the store and frankly, I never liked retail. I still have the channel. No I never really wanted to be a librarian, I don't think, but the universe wanted me to be one. I worked in the Junior High School library in 8th grade. Then we moved away. I never gave it another thought. I of course always used libraries. I got my first card at 7 or 8. I checked out the First Book of the Desert. My brother took me to the library the first time and many times after that. During my mid 30s I decided to go back to college and to study art. I earned two degrees and while trying to get a job since I wasn't at a place where my work would get me an agent or a gallery, I checked the want ads. I saw an ad for a reference librarian. When I saw it I thought "I can do that." I researched it. Research is my thing, always has been. I applied to the Rutgers Library School and within a year I had another masters. I won't go into the difficulties I had getting a job but I did get a job as an Public Services Librarian which meant I did everything except catalog books except with the Tech Services Librarian was sick and then I did that as well. 

While I long to retire for the third and hopefully final time from library work, the universe was right. Librarianship was my right choice and it never occurred to me until writing this post. Self examination can be very helpful. I thought being a Librarian was a way to make a living while learning new things. And it was and it is. But I'm tired. I like the people I work with and most of the patrons. It's like any business; there are always unhappy people overly willing to share their misery and I'm not getting into the criminal element. It's tiny (where I work) but it's there. And for me, it's enough to take my peace and raise my ire. 

I wrote in this blog A few posts ago that I was giving up visual art and, I had for several months after trying to get my artistic hand back. I gave away anything that would dry up on the shelf and put away everything else. But recently, while looking at the pastel I painted of my darling Renard and a few Tomtes I couldn't help wanting to use that medium again. It sat with me for a couple of months and finally, last week I pulled out the Pan Pastels and organized them and my paper and decided I would create just for myself. I have a gray toned pad of paper and I have selected my subject. I'm just going to keep all of my drawings on this pad and it's my intention not to share them. Except the first one. It's a portrait of a friend's latest rescue. I don't know how long it will take to meet my standards of really good, I love it, I don't want to give it up beauty but I will keep working on it until it gets there.

This is the year I rewrite myself. I'm switching up my wardrobe, thinking about using makeup again and maybe doing something else with my hair. This is the year I just don't worry. Okay. I'm going to worry a little. This is my next chapter.

My Sacred Contracts

..., some of them. I had, in my mind, reaffirmed this blog to be about mothers. I switched to Photos and Essays. When I first began this new blog incarnation, I had thought I would be creating abstract and new photos and writing stories inspired by them or about the subjects of  my photos. As it turns out, that was just a way of getting my toes wet. I'm not into up to my ankles yet. While working my on "My Pink Jeep Journey" I came to realize that I needed to write about women, mothers specifically, at least for now and so I wrote "Mothers" and "Milk and Lingonberries."  Now it seems, though I am not a mother, I need to write about myself. But that makes sense, doesn't it? We are our mother's and father's daughters and sons. We carry them inside of us and fight their influences just as we embrace them.  My story evolved from her story. 

Signe Mansson, Christmas 2006

Last week I managed to put in about 4 hours organizing family photos and my photos. They're not completely organized. But I have them grouped so that I can finish putting them in albums and at some point annotate them. When I'm gone people won't know who most of these people are. A few Christmases ago I gifted my three neices and my only nephew with family albums sharing the images of the grandparents and parents on the Mansson side of the family. I wanted them to have at least half of their history.  My brothers daughters are in a unique situation in that one of their great grandmothers was DAR and her son, one of their grandfathers, on their mothers side was SAR and if either or both choose to, they can track down that family history. Oh, but that wasn't my point. As I finished up with the pre-organizetion of photos I questioned why I was doing this. How did  this fall into my lap. Everyone has photos but somehow I end up with all of the oldest photos. I've copied them and included them in niece/nephew albums. And I remembered that I was the one  my parents told their stories to. My interest in genealogy began decades ago and while I wasn't actively doing the work, I began laying the groundwork for the research. From time to time my folks would just share stories with me.  I realized that my mother was a storyteller in her own right but with no real network of friends in the U.S. she had her children and her husband. There were friendships with neighbors that would change as they moved. My parents were wanderers as well, just like me. 

And around this same time a couple of weeks ago, I began thinking about archetypes. You know, the  personality characteristics made famous by Carl Jung. Then I remembered a book I'd read decades ago by Caroline Myss, "Sacred Contracts." I also remembered vaguely that I had difficulty accepting a lot of the archetypes so I never got to 12. I've tried over the years to assign myself some archetypes but not the 12 and sometimes they changed because I saw differences I hadn't seen before. Now, at almost 76, I'm doing this again and you would think I would know myself by now but maybe the truth is I know myself enought now to be honest in my assessment of who these other aspects of me are. So I bought the audio and listened. Then I checked the book out of the library and read and agreed upon 8 acrchetypes to go with the four we all have. Oh okay, those are the Child, the Prostitute, the Victim and the Sabateur. They all show themselves differently than you might think but this is work you'll have to do. 

Now here's the fun and frustrating  and enlightening part of the process. Assigning the archetype to it's appropriate astrological house. I'll tell you my process but I'm not expert so I refer you to the book and the internet. Caroline's instructions are to make 24 cards about 2 x 3 inches and write the names of your archetypes on 12 cardsand number the rest 1 through 12. At this point it's a matter of faith because you can only do this once and if you don't like the results screw it. Just ignore it and move on to the next thing or study it. You meditate, pray, focus, something. I gave Reiki to the slips of paper and focused my Reiki energy on making the correct matches. I'm not going into all of them here, just the 3 that deal with me and photos and writing and being the center of the universe,

After analizing the 12 archetypes and their places in the houses I saw the importance to my questions in the Storyteller in my 4th house and the Networker and my 5th house and many questions about the Queen in my 7th house.

The Storyteller is just that; someone who relates stories of people, places, things as a narrator; a great archetype for a writer of  fiction as well.  A Storyteller relays more than the facts. She shares the lessons, impact, the humor of the story (not to be confused with the Gossip).  

In the fourth house, the Storyteller wants to persue the past: geneaology, oral history, memoirs. That's me. I have traced my father's line back to the Visigoths. My mother only as far back as the 16th century, Yep. That's me.

The Networker is in my 5th house of creative art forms; natural connections. Networkers are jounalists and couriers. This can be handy for spies and reporters and fundraisers. Any position that benefits from making connections socially; finding things in common. I'm never going to be a fundraiser or a spy but I am a blogger and I've had for years a YouTube channel where I taught art. I have at this time, had over 19,000 visitors to this blog. I've tried my hand at writing books for children and adults but I was never able to get a foothold. But I love to share and social media is the best outlet. While I had hoped I could make some sort of living sharing my art on YT it never happened. The blog was meant to add to my YT channel. I never thought of  this blog as a way go generate income. I really need to take a look at my other archetypes to see where I can make some improvements. But I now understand why I have to blog. And it's great that people tell me their stories but there's no way I'll share them with anyone else. Keeping people's trust is a huge part of  Networking. 

The Queen is still be be addressed and to be studied. I have Queens in my family. My mother was a Queen and while I may be wrong I see my sisters as Queens. In listening to Caroline Myss describe her encounters with her Shadow Queen, I realized I had had those moments in my life. I was a Queen and I had been suppressing her. What amazed me is that she shows up in a natural place the 7th House of my chart but it makes no sense. I've never married. I never wanted to be married or have children. I get a lot of the shadow side and I'll not bore you with that but this analysis will take some time to work out. 

I'm in the final quarter of my life give or take but I find this time of self reflection really allows me to understand the choices I've made. Dodo Kaka happens. Essentially my life has been a good one. I never had the good fortune of seeing the future I wanted as some people did. I've had many careers, many jobs, many friends and lots of financial ups and downs. I've even been homeless but thanks to family I've never had to live rough. I'm still dealing with some of the same issues I've been dealing with most of my adult life and I have never  lost site of that. I suspect that many of you are in the same boat. I remember with some envy what my mother told me about her life. "I wanted to be a wife and mother and I have been happy because that's what I am. I never had to work because Daddy took care of everything." I know she had rough times in the U.S. and that she came to America because it was my father's dream not her's. But she was a Queen, the center of her universe and she made the New World her kingdom and my father treated her accordingly. In on e neighborhood she was affectionately called the Queen of Towers street because she was always dressed to the 9s. I am the Queen and I want to be the center of my universe. Hmmn. Focus Joan, focus.

Here is my reference source: Sacred Contracts. Caroline Myss. Harmony Books, NY, 2001

Milk and Lingonberries Revisited

Now that i'm writing again. Essays that is. I'm concentrating on mothers. My mother in particular and archtypal mothers and I guess my role as a daughter and surrogate mother. I've been rereading posts from my long-sleeping blog, Milk and Lingonberries, and finding stories I want to revisit and others I want to write. And while I'm here, I'm going to redesign this blog. It needs a refresh. It's my hope and sort of plan to post weekly and I'm already a couple of days overdue but I'm going to count this as a post. 

M & L was last posted in 2014, about the time I relocated from Georgia to Florida. I'm still thinking about mom, especially since I have become my older sister's caregiver/roommate. There are lots of similarities and lots of differences; many lessons I've learned from life with Mom and new lessons with Rose Marie. Both women are very much alike but there are differences; differences I won't go into, at least now. In families, all families there have to be similarities. We spent way too much time together. As always I ask you ignore my punctuation odd approaches to sentence structure or lack there of. 

Just click here to connect to  Milk and Lingonberries.

 

Mothers

 I'm at this crossroads in my life. Looking for my next big thing which doesn't really have to be big to the world, just to me. I'm working on photo essays now since my ability to create visual art has been diminished by my health in the past couple of years. It's just not easy or delightful or meditative any more. I've mentioned before that I'm purging myself of art supplies. Still more to go but the urgency isn't with me any longer. It will go in it's time as I find new owners for the pastels and pencils; as I finally relinquish the notion that I will ever be a visual artist again. 

 I read a friend's post on Facebook this morning; about my dear friend, his mother, Rachel Shipley. She was remarkable and fearless and on some level shy and always stretching always moving on to the next big thing as life's currents changed. When I first met Rachel I was a librarian and she was looking for a bit of information on Brazil. She was an international consultant. She and her very supportive husband Jim, worked out of their home. There were no employees. No staff. There was Rachel and clients who adored her and trusted her. I continued to help her with reference and in time she decided she wanted to learn more of history and the world and people. I introduced her to biographies; biographies of queens and presidents and diplomats and captains of industry and artists. Her mind never stopped. She never stopped. We became friends. I became friends with her husband Jim. I met her children. Attended the ceremonies and family parties that marked not just their lives but hers as well. We met regularly for lunch and talked. We were friends.

She had already made her connections with Israel and with China and in Central Florida when we met. If you wanted to make a connection to do business in China you came to Rachel. Still no staff. Just the Public Library and her many connections. I don't think she ever forgot anyone she had worked with and everyone remembered her. She helped people get rich. She was everyone's Mother.

 Meanwhile back at home, Rachel was mom. She was loved and respected and worked on her relaltionships with her children including sons and daughers-in-laws. She wanted real relationships with all of her family. Everyone one supported everyone. Really, just like my family. We love each other, we help each other, we somethimes drive each other a little crazy but we are family and for Rachel, in time, everyone she did business with became family. Her marriage was strong. In fact, Jim wrote a book about their marriage. It's out of print now with Jim's passing but the cover tells the story. Those smiles are genuine. That respect is real.  

My next big thing is this. Like Rachel's last business, "Write your next chapter," I'm  writing. This article was fun. So many more memories came to mind as I typed away but this is an essay, not a novella. It's meant, I think, to give you a taste, a whiff, a snippet of life, of my life, my memories; my experience. Maybe to get you to remember someone from your life. 

Thank you for reading and if you wish to support my page you may Buy me a coffee

My Pink Jeep Journey

As I write this essay it occurs to me that I should let you know that, even though I took this journey over 20 years ago, you can still take a Pink Jeep Tour in Sedona, Arizona. So, don't be jealous. Except for changes in the plant life; nothing drastic but plants grow and die and grow again; the rock formations and mountains are the same to the naked eye. If you have issues with my punctuation please let it go. I do my best but the rules of grammar continue to change. I mean what's up with dropping the extra space after the period? 

Just in case you may wonder, I used a Sony Cyber-shot which I still have. Yes, your phone can take photos of the same or better quality but you can't really do telephoto shooting with a smart phone no matter what attachment you use. Next, I enhanced all of the photos with Adobe Photoshop and this is actually where the healing began. So lets get on to the tale of my Pink Jeep Journey. Click on the image above so see my PowerPoint presentation of this journay.

About 20 years ago, well maybe more, I took a vacation to Sedona, Arizona. I was burned out. Work and family had taken its toll on me and, having been to the Southwest before, I knew I would be able to relax and get out of my head. While walking around downtown Sedona I happened upon a shop sporting a bright sign with pink letters. You guessed it, Pink Jeep Tours. I stepped into the office and chatted with the clerk who sold me on a journey. I think it was the Broken Arrow Tour but I don't remember and they may have called it something else that back then. There was limited hiking so I was happy. The next morning I showed up, met my driver who's name I have forgotten and took my place by his side since I was the only single on the tour. Three couples came along. It was cool. He, I'll call him John,  like so many others in Sedona was a transplant from some faraway state who had come to visit Sedona and stayed. I met a few people with similar stories and I found it odd that they selected to tell me the story as if it was a message. Join us. Maybe they sensed my aimlessness; my need to just be. I don't know. Maybe they told everyone they met. 

I was very impressed with John's handling of the jeep and our bumpy trek up and over rock formations. During the journey he told us how much to deflate our tires if we drove over these surfaces alone. He was so good. It seemed as if he was speaking to just me. 

We landed on Submarine Rock. It sort of looks like a submarine. We all got out and looked around taking photos of the surrounding mountains. It was spectacular and the sky was so big. If you have never been to a big sky state, I recommend you visit one. It's like the 8th wonder of the natural world. The 7th wonder, because naming a number one was impossible for me, were the rock formations created by the great rivers and oceans that came before us. The world they created is truly a master piece of sculpting and painting. The brilliant blue of the sky, the red rock and layer upon layer of rock and sediment visible from these formations were striking in their singular beauty. 

I didn't take this trip to make friends and aside from general greetings I didn't try to make connections with people; just Nature with a capital N. I've been to Sedona at least twice that I can recall. My journeys to the Southwest all seem to run together in one expansive land voyage. I've always had difficulty with time. In history classes I would associate period clothing and art with the events. That's how I got As and Bs in the subject. That said, I rested there, in Sedona. I dreamed there. I was told stories there. I ate savory and spicy and sweet foods in restaurants made to cater to me, the tourist. I woke when I woke and slept when I slept. It was a vacation I couldn't afford to take or to forego.

But the real healing didn't  end there. It continued when I returned to Florida with the stories and visions of my Pink Jeep Journey; of the mountains surrounding Sedona; of the State Parks. I began to work on my photographs. But I knew then as I know now I was and am still in the wrong place but I pray I am finally doing the right thing.

Here is the link to my photos, both original and enhanced: Pink Jeep Journey  

If you wish to support my page you may  buymeacoffee.com/jmansson/buy-coffee-4733217 

Thank you for reading.

This is the link to "How the Earth Came To Be: a creation myth". I used photos from this journey in the creation of this story.  Creation Myth

Leaving the past behind

 It's been over a month since my last weekly post. I'm still studying essay writing. I'm still keeping the journal. I'm still working on altering my photographs in my mind; plotting the images. I still haven't used my brand new MS Surface Pro. It's daunting. I have no new images to share but I want to share Renard.

I'm okay with leaving my artist self behind. Just in case I change my mind or need a little help plotting photo layouts I'm keeping graphite pencils, NeoColor and a tiny number of watercolor brushes and some paper. I gave away my paints and markers and inks and most of the brushes.  Okay. I kept some bamboo brushes for decorative purposes but I have no desire to use them. Really. Next up is getting rid of the canvases and pads of paper some one else can use. They'll all go to GoodWill but this will take some muscle. I have a lot of paper and it weighs alot. But this isn't just about giving up something I'm done with. It's about giving up Renard. Well, not giving up Renard.

We've ordered a mobility scotter for Rose and it should be here in a few days. She plans to ride around the neighborhood. It's not very big, the neighborhood, and to go to Winn Dixies which shares a parking lot with us. We'll see how all of that goes. But she said to me that once she gets the scooter she's getting a dog and she'll be able to walk the dog with the scooter. And that's feasible. She wants another Chihuahua like Brewster who passed in September. And I can get another dog as well. I'm not ready for another dog. There is no replacement dog for Renard. Renard was my first dog. Not the first family dog my personal dog. I was in my sixties when he wandered, emaciated, bedraggles and lonely onto my property. He passed away over 2 years ago and I still miss him. I can't imagine getting another dog even though I want one. Actually, I want Renard. Well, my sister will have to share her's with me and she will. In spite of what she says, I'll have to walk him and feed him and take him to the vet and bathe him and play with him. He'll sleep with her and follow her round and come to me for his needs the same way Brewster, her late dog, did. I won't try to talk her out of it. I'll take her to the shelter and maybe they'll have a Chihuahua or a mix. It has to be a small dog and my preference is a senior dog since we're seniors. I'm not sure if our ages will play against us but I hope not. Otherwise, we'll have to wait for a dog to come to us like Renard did. My this is a melancholy post! But I have a lot to shed.

Let me share some photos of Renard and Brewster. Renard is the gorgeous redhead.

So much cleaning up to do. Who knew?

 ...I should have but I guess I just forgot.  I just made my art tutorials and demos invisible on my YouTube channel and closed my second channel and closed my Threadless account and I'm about to close my Fine Art America account and it's so simple. I was never a good journaler.  I think I never got the point. I treated it more like a diary and there wasn't much of interst to tell myself. I was bored with each journal. Lots went in the trash or pages were torn out so I could reuse the notebooks. But since I started to "write" essays a couple of weeks ago I discovered a new form of therapy. Well, maybe it's not really therapy. But while writing my Pink Jeep Journey essay I found lots of side roads and wandered down all of them. The things I just menitioned were on one or two of them. 

I really do need to work on my closet and on the art and art supplies in my studio that is now considered an office/digital dark room by me. But I'm so tired and so bored by the notion I wish I had a personal assistant to take care of all of this for me like Wayne Dyer. When he decided to walk away from his possessions he had his assistant do all of the heavy lifting; tossing out the books and memorabilia he didn't need any more. I always thought it was sort of cheating; not having to take a second look before tossing everything; not deciding to hold on to this one little thing.  But I don't have a personal assistant and I have to do all of that and it's exhausting to just think about. I'm a part time librarian and a full time caregiver fitting in my expressive nature whereever I can. Baby steps. 

Oh yes. The point of this entry. I love the digressions I'm doing in my essay. The evolution is insane and freeing and I am realizing new things all of the time and some real crap is coming up. My mood is not the best. I wake up at 2:30 and can't get back to sleep. Maybe that's why I'm so on edge but I think it's the "stuff" coming up. I'm sort of trying to do a Swedish Death Cleaning. Well, I am Swedish and I am cleaning but I'm really just trying to free myself. I already feel so much lighter. That's what I've wanted for the past few years. To lighten my load; limit my footprint; focus on one thing; me. I'm always focused on family and work and my ever dimishing artistic abilities but not me.

And while I'm on about art I always knew I wasn't a great talent but I was a decent artist. I just couldn't really find my medium. And with each illness I fought harder and harder to regain what I called my hand and I came to realize that it was never going to happen. I was going from decent to mediocre and while I may never be anything but a mediocre essayist or photographer it doesn't matter. Focusing on me; writing stories (since I have always considered myself a storyteller even though others haven't), and learning about myself is freeing. The other great thing about personal essay writing is that punctuation doesn't matter, at least not to me. 

I don't know if any of this makes any sense to anyone but me but my Pink Jeep Journey photo essay is still a work in progress as am I. I'm 75 plus years old and I'm still the  wet clay being molded into an impossible masterpiece. Is that too preachy? What the hey.