More veggie signs for the garden

Today I finally finished the remaining signs for the garden.  Again, nothing fantastic, but needed and fun!

The Hike (Memorial Day)

My husband and I are avid outdoors people and being such, we've been wanting to take in the ample vistas that surround us via hiking or camping.  We opted for a day hike.

We researched several destinations and decided on a trip to Cedar Creek Falls, tucked back in a tributary of the upper San Diego River, just outside of Julian. With backpacks, lots of water and two very eager Labradors, we set off for our day of adventure and scenic views.

The drive there was incredible.  Mountains, trees, and wildlife surrounded us.  Once we arrived at the main road leading to the falls (a dirt road with hair-pin turns) we became party to a caravan of about eight other vehicles.

"Ok," we said, "They can't all be going to the same place."

WRONG!!!  The parking lots (there were two) were packed.  The hike to the falls was a breeze.  Rated a three (which is moderate), it seemed more like a walk in the park to us  aside from the dogs practically pulled us down the trail.

A couple of hours late, we made it to the falls... SOOOOOO disappointing!!!  It would've been great, but there were hundreds of college kids boozing it up, cliff jumping, and engaging in the typical college kid rigamarole.  We couldn't even get through to the actual falls.  At that point we didn't really want to anyways.

So, we made the trek back up to our car (about 3 miles completely up hill).  Ok, so at this point we definitely began to reconsider our previous "Ho-hum" attitude about the "three" rating... More like a 10...

The 100 degree heat, relentless sun and the altitude began to take its toll.  Believe it or not, our lazy labs seemed to take it much worse than we were.  They were both trying to escape the sun by making a b-line to any scrub brush or bolder they could find.  My biggest problem was my ill-fitting boots.   I took them off about half way back.  Honestly, it was way more comfortable than wearing them.

So lesson learned...  Don't hike to a popular destination on a holiday weekend!!!  All in all, we had a great time getting out.  Plus, it's getting us geared up for the more strenuous hikes (hopefully with new boots).

The Book

Finished chapter 1 of the book and I am now onto chapter 2.  I was advised to keep from posting it online, so if you are interested (and I hope you are), let me know and I will send you an updated copy!!!   The plot is thickening...

Also, please, please offer any feedback possible!!!  My goal is to get this thing published!!!

The Zoo

Yesterday, my husband and I celebrated our 4 year wedding anniversary.  Given that we haven't truly visited much of San Diego since our move, we decided to venture off to the Zoo.  In keeping with my artistic endeavors, my camera was in tow.

It was a spectacular day!!!

Onions

Again, I jumped to a new project... My grandfather wanted signs made for the garden we just planted.  Onions, beets, leaks, carrots and peas.  I love it out here!  Everything grows!  I'm hoping I will too! Haha!

So... Today I made an "onion" sign!

Ok, not the prettiest work of art, I know, but it was fun!  Plus, Grandpa was quite impressed, given that he was expecting something a bit more simplistic.  What do you expect?  It was made from scrap wood and a limited amount of paint colors.

I did add 4 more pages to the book, but I've decided to post it after I finish a bit more.

Completed Hummingbird Feeder!

Apparently, I have an issue with follow through... I get started on one project and then leap ahead to the next!  Yesterday I decided to put the finishing touches (well, the most important part) on the hummingbird feeder.

They sell complete feeder tube kits for these types of feeders, but, being determined to make this piece as creative as possible (not to mention the fact that I'm a pretty frugal person), I decided to make my own feeder tube.

My husband drilled a hole in the center of the cork (after my last go-round with heavy duty tools I was a bit leary).  I then cut a piece of plastic tubing off a section my grandfather had saved (with his permission of course).

As a side note, I used to think that "white hairs" (what my grandfather calls people his age) held onto the weirdest things...  It's turning out that a lot of these items can come in handy.

Anyhoo, I ran the tubing through the hole in the cork and wrapped it in copper wire (adding a few beads here and there).  I then used the red casing from the wire to wrap around the tip... The red tip apparently attracts the hummingbirds.

Lastly, I bent the tubing in a "U" shape to prevent the nectar from spilling out, and secured it to the bottle with some more wire and, of course, another pretty pink embellishment. TA-DA!!!

Turtle, part III

Still working on my rendering of a sea turtle...  He's beginning to resemble ET with a fu-manchu...  Oh well.  I said I would share everything I attempt artistically, so here it is!  Hopefully I'll be done in the next few days.

In other news, Clint (my husband) is a member of an online forum and posted a link to my blog.  I received some really helpful feedback on the book!  It appears my ability to write is a bit better than my ability (or lack there of) to paint! Ha ha! Next time, I think I'll stick to the more abstract style.

The Book

My husband and I have been working on this book idea for quite awhile.  I added a little character building today in chapter one. I have written and re-written this thing countless times, have added and subtracted portions until I've come to this...   Hope you enjoy!!!

THE CHOSEN

Prologue:

Out of breath and, even worse, out of time, Beau began to think escape was unfeasible.  Even free, what would they return to?  It had been almost twenty-four hours since the homestead’s perimeter was breached by the Trenton clan and, by now, it was undoubtedly raped of its loot and burned to the ground.  The enormous reserve of grains, dried meats, munitions, and fuel were likely being consumed by this rebel brigade of marauders, who knew nothing of hard work and true survival in these dark times.  Plunder and obliteration of anything in their paths was their preferred course of action. 

Two years ago, at the genesis of the epidemic, the thought wouldn’t have even occurred to Beau that the “norms” would pose more of a threat than the infected.  Sure the infected were violent when provoked or cornered, and could spread an inexplicable blood born virus that destroyed most every human quality, but they mostly kept to their packs for their own survival purposes.  It was these pillaging bands of norms; these self-indulging, wasteful, soulless groups that posed the chief threat to the rapidly decreasing numbers of the human race.

Perhaps born from the desperation of these ominous times, human beings had changed drastically.  The business tycoons, who once ruled the world, with the money and the power that accompanied it, were now at the mercy of a market run by barter of necessary goods.  No amount of stock shares or Leer Jets could save them now.  These were the first to fall victim to the times.   Much of the middle class were the next most greatly impacted.  Becoming complacent in their lives was their tragic downfall.  As long as work, kids’ soccer practices, cable TV, Church on Sunday, and the occasional backyard barbeque remained intact, they were safe, or so they thought.   Normalcy, blending in, and keeping up with the Joneses was the modus operandi.  The problem lie in the fact that lack of preparation, and/or lack of struggle in their quaint suburban lives, left them susceptible to anything; particularly an epidemic of such apocalyptic proportions.   The ones who faired the best were once considered the lower echelon of the social stratum.   The farmers, the factory workers, the mechanics and the machinists, to name a few.  If you could build, grow, fix things and possess the luck to find barter for those items you didn’t have, your odds of survival suddenly increased exponentially.  Most importantly, one had to possess the testicular fortitude to trudge on.    

“Trudging on” was what Beau had early in life become habituated to.  It was when things were running smoothly that he began to experience intense anxiety; a tendency that his wife had tried relentlessly to break him of.  Beau wasn’t exceptional in any of these “now-a-days” necessary trades, but he had dabbled in them all at various points in his life.  He was a bit of a free-spirit, some would say, but mostly it was necessity that brought him either here or there, allowing him to learn these handinesses.  It was preparedness, his ownership of a pawn shop with many useful treasures, and his avocation for all things guns that allowed he and his wife to make it out before the worst of this disaster.  All in all, Beau was convinced it was luck, after a lifetime of having none (with the exception of finding and marrying his loving wife, Jessi).

 All rules of engagement were now absent, Beau had known that, but to kidnap, enslave, rape, and even consume other human beings was far more brutal than he was prepared for.  Now his pregnant wife, lie imprisoned somewhere in the metal confines of Trenton’s fortress, and the rest of his tribe enslaved or worse.     

“Hey! Boss!” a familiar voice said from behind him.

Beau spun on his heels, tightening the grip on his K-bar, before loosening it again in relief.

“Shep!  How did you…?”

“Easy!  Found a weakness in the fence and pried one of them metal panels off.  They’re all too busy looking for you to worry about all us worker bees.” Shep said, clearly proud of his feat.

The metal panels that Tom Sheppard was referring to were sections of corrugated steel ripped from many of the old farm houses in the area, and repurposed to produce a twenty foot tall steel wall that was originally intended to keep the infected out, but now operated mainly to keep the enslaved in.   Only hours before, Beau had been a member of the unlucky horde.

“Why are they after you anyways?” Shep said, cocking his mountain of a melon.

“I killed Bobby Trenton.” The words tasted sugar sweet spilling from Beau’s busted lips. “Did everyone make it out?” he said, not completely willing to know the answer.

Shep hung his head and placed his big calloused paw on Beau’s shoulder.

“Well boss… I’m pretty sure everyone in the slave quarters got out.  You shoulda seen it boss!  I freed ‘em all!  Mary, Sam, Catherine and the baby are out for sure!  I made positive of that!”

That left Jack, Wes and Jessi unaccounted for.

“I’m so sorry boss… I looked for her, I promise.”

“Are the others meeting you at the rendezvous?” Beau said, trying not to let the fire within consume him.

“Yes boss.  There already headed up river I’m sure… Hey boss?  We may not see you again, right?  I mean… You’re going back for them… For her, aren’t you?”

Beau nodded his head and put his bloodied palm on the shoulder of the man who had saved his life, and that of his wife’s, more times than he could count.

“Thank you for everything Shep.  You’ve been a good friend…”

Chapter 1:

It was the searing pain in his leg that, at last, jolted Beau from his sleep. He did a quick check for blood, swiping a hand down the inside of his sweat pants. “Thank God.  Just a dream,” Beau said wiping the sweat from his furrowed brow. 

It was the third night in a row Beau’s dreams had awakened him abruptly and violently from sleep.  The doctor said it was RBD and parasomnia, but to Beau it was simply a hindrance to a good night’s snooze.  Night terrors and uncontrollable flailing about in his sleep had plagued him most of his life, eventually leading to his troubles with insomnia. A cocktail of Ambien and Klonopin were prescribed for the symptoms only weeks ago, but the side effects of the drugs, in Beau’s mind, seemed equally alarming as the disorder itself.  His dreams now seemed more vivid, more tangible, and even more difficult to wake from.

“That’s it babe.  I’m not taking that stuff anymore.”  

Beau shook his head groggily and stretched an arm out to his wife’s side of the bed, only to make contact with a dense coat of fur.  The sleep meds always left him feeling too slow and disoriented in the mornings for him to distinguish fact from fiction.  Yet, this particular morning, his dreams quickly gave way to reality.

“Delilah!!! Get down!!!” shouted Beau, embarrassed by the loving caress he had just given his Labrador; one that was rightfully intended for his wife.

Delilah let out a powerful yawn; tongue extended and curled.  Displeased, and still a bit groggy herself, she reluctantly leapt from the comfort of the bed.      

Beau vaguely remembered Jessi kissing him goodbye before she left for work, but he couldn’t be positive.  As he inched his way to the side of the bed, and slid his feet over its edge, he caught a glimpse of the digits on his bedside alarm clock.

“Ten forty five!” Beau said, stunned by his ineptitude to wake up on time.

Frustration building, he darted for the bathroom and started a hot shower.  Ten minutes later, Beau emerged, steam wisping from his body.  While hurriedly toweling off, he caught a brief glimpse of himself in the mirror, and preceded to pinch a fold of skin at his midsection.

“Ugh… What happened to you buddy?”

As the mirror began to fog with the escaping steam from the open shower door, Beau was snapped back into the present. 

“Late.  I’m so freakin’ late!”

He emerged from the bathroom feeling slightly refreshed, but not quite the cliché “new man.” 

Samson, Beau’s male Labrador (Delilah’s male counterpart), lie blocking the entry to the closet.  Beau gave him a quick nudge in the rump, which Samson responded to with a grunt before unobstructing the doorway.  After dressing into a pair of jeans, black t-shirt, and leather work boots, Beau made his way down the hall to the kitchen, with Samson and Delilah falling into formation behind him.

Beau plucked a travel mug from the cupboard and reached for the glass carafe full of lukewarm java. “Damnit,” he said aloud as he slammed the empty mug onto the old Formica countertop.  Beau stood, staring at the electroluminescent display of the automatic coffee maker that now displayed the word “off.”  His oversleeping had exceeded the two hour brew timer.  Unwilling to acquiesce to defeat so easily, he poured a cup and microwaved it for a minute and a half, until it was lava hot; just how he liked it.

Beau fed and watered Samson and Delilah, and let them out in the back yard to do their “morning business” before making his daily five-mile commute to work. 

            Beau pulled into the parking lot of Quinlan, Texas’ sole pawn shop at 11:20 a.m.  A rusty brown 1978 Ford Bronco was the lot’s only other occupant, and belonged to the shop’s only other employee, Tom Sheppard. 

EZ 4U Pawn, was originally owned by Paul Prideaux, and under its original proprietor was aptly named Paul Prideaux Pawn & Go.  The pawn shop was not the only business in the small East Texas town that was adorned with the Prideaux name.  Mr. Prideaux was considered by all who knew him a shrewd business man and, even more so, as a “mean son-of-a bitch.”  Not only did he own a great deal of the town’s commerce, but was said to also own many of its local officials.  As a result of his father’s questionable business and political dealings, Beau thought it best to remove his surname from the building’s sign once he had inherited it.

Beau’s mother had left his father when Beau was only four years old.  After a twelve month messy matrimonial court battle, it was Paul Prideaux that ended up with sole custody of their son.  Lacking the love and affection of a mother, Beau spent an inordinate amount of his youth attempting to please his father, in hopes of filling the void.  He was a straight A student, a top notch athlete (in both football and baseball), and a young entrepreneur; starting his own lawn mowing business at fourteen years old.  He would often tell his father his plans of following in his footsteps; graduating from Southern Methodist University with a major in business management, followed by a career in business acquisition.  In the end, Beau’s attempts at receiving his fathers’ praise, or even some sign of warmth and adoration, were alternatively met with utter indifference.  It wasn’t too far into his teen years that Beau had finally given up on ever experiencing a real life father son bond, and so began the rebellion against Paul Prideaux and everything he, and men like him, represented.   

Beau graduated high school and left the small town of Quinlan, Texas in hopes of blazing his own trail, without the help of his father’s pocket book.  Instead, he found work as an auto mechanic in Dallas, busting his knuckles against Detroit iron for eleven dollars and fifty cents an hour.  When he had saved enough money, he traveled west in search of adventure, only to end up working as a ranch hand in El Paso for a couple of years.  When the ranch was bought out by a west Texas beef producing tycoon, Beau found employment as a rough neck on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico.  At the age of twenty-three, Beau grew tired of his rambler lifestyle and decided to pursue a career in law enforcement; which, he would later claim, might have been a subconscious attempt to bring all of the Paul Prideauxs of the world to justice.

It was while attending the Eastfield community college Criminal Justice Academy in Mesquite, Texas that he met Jessi.  Beau and a handful of his male cohorts from class were congregated in the campus’s west parking lot, the petite brunette lugging a camera case and an oversized backpack shuffled past.   A form-fitting white tank and cut-off jean shorts showcased her firm, yet delicate body.  He wasn’t the first of the group to notice the attractive, yet seemingly clumsy, young woman.

“Hey gorgeous!  Need some help there?” hollered one of the shaven headed criminal justice students.

“No, I’m fine thanks,” she retorted, aware of, but paying no attention to, the high-fives and lude gestures taking place behind her.

Attempting to one-up the last guy, another called out, “Hey!  Do you work at Subway? Because you just gave me a footlong!”  Beau cringed, as the young woman spun on her heels and stomped towards them.  Her long dark pony-tail swung from side to side in rhythm to her swift stride and to Beau’s ever-increasing heart beat. 

            “Oh yes!  That’s such a turn on!  Please take me back to your place!” Jessi said, quickly approaching the bad-mannered young male, before stopping only inches from him.  “Common! Does that actually work for you?”

            The cat-caller’s smile gave way to a grimace, as he braced himself for the inevitable slap.  Instead, the fiery, slight, brunette pat him on the head and bitingly whispered in his ear, “Manners go a long way with members of the opposite sex, ok Casanova?”  She turned, flashing a breathtaking smile at Beau, and went on her way.

            Beau couldn’t escape the thought of her all through class.  He had dated many girls, but she was without doubt different.  She appeared sure of herself and confident of her place in the world.  She was beautiful, yet seemed blissfully unaware of the fact.

            After the three hour lecture on concepts of interviews and interrogations, Beau left the building and headed for the lot where he had parked his truck.  To his surprise, the bottom half of a petite, jean–shorts clad, brunette dangled out from underneath the hood of an old VW bug convertible.  Again, Beau’s heart began to palpitate.

            “Uh, you need some help with that?” Beau asked trying to mask his nervousness. “Wait, let me guess… No thanks, your fine?”

A chuckle came from beneath the hood, as her grease-smudged upper half emerged.

            “I should’ve known better than to wear white!” she said, wiping her hands on the cut-offs and flashing the same captivating smile as before.  “Actually, some help would be nice.”  Beau extended a hand, “I’m Beau Prideaux.”  She laughed again, this time tossing her head back.

            “That sounds like the name of a car dealership owner, or some heir to a Louisiana plantation!” she said playfully. “How did you end up with a name like that?”

            “Yeah, I get that a lot.  I was named after my great-grandfather, who, I’m embarrassed to admit, owned a plantation in Louisiana.”

            “You’re kidding!” she taunted, soon realizing that Beau was quite serious.  “Huh… Weird!”

She squinted into the light of the fading sun.  He hadn’t really seen her eyes until now, he had only known they were bright and lively.  Now he could see their brilliant emerald hue.   Beau smiled, “I didn’t catch your name.”

            “Oh! Sorry!  I’m Jessi… With an ‘I’.” 

“Nice to meet you, “Jessi with an ‘i’.”  They both laughed.

Beau repaired the blah blah blah on the 1975 saffron yellow Volks Wagon Beetle, as the two exchanged stories of their pasts, family, future plans, favorite movies, and so on.  Jessi pulled out a portfolio of various pictures she had taken, explaining the difference between the rule of thirds and the golden mean, and why she had chosen to pursue a career in photography.

            “It’s the most beautiful way of capturing little slices of life.  It’s my own way of interpreting everything around me; the order, the disorder, the happy, the sad, the idiosyncrasies in the world that make it such a beautiful place.”

She paused, “So what about you?  Why law enforcement?”

            “Couldn’t find anything better to do I guess.  Plus, it would feel pretty good locking up scumbags.”

The conversation turned into a date over burgers and fries, leading to a second and third date, until the pair were inseparable.  They married a year later.

Sea Turtle, Part II

OK, so I didn't post yesterday (got busy with errands and then spent some much needed quality time with my husband, after he got home from work), but, as promised, I did continue with my artistic endeavors.  Yesterday, I began painting the turtle's face.  Not an easy task...  Drawing the basic shape wasn't really that difficult, but creating dimension with the paint was!

I haven't quite finished the face yet (obviously it's missing some eyes), and I truly don't know how many days it'll take before its complete.  I'll keep you posted with any/all progression!

Sea Turtle

Today I found some of my Nana's old acrylic paints in a craft drawer in a closet.  I was obviously stoked!  However, I still run into the issue of having no canvases...

No worries though!  My grandpa keeps a bunch of scrap wood from various projects in the garage, so I decided to confiscate the stash.

Upon finding just the right piece, I now had to determine what to paint...  Because I am now living in California, I thought something ocean related would be the ideal way of paying homage to my new panorama.  Fish lack personality, so I quickly nixed the idea... Sea turtle it is!!!

I began by sketching a rough turtle design, going off of some pics I found on the net.  Next I painted the water around the little dude in various shades of blue.  Fins were painted after that in a brownish yellow.

Tomorrow I will work on the face and body!  This is the part that I'm most nervous about!

All in all, I'm having a great time with this!!!

Guitar (Epic Fail)

After applying online for jobs for a few hours, I began day 3 of my artistic endeavors... Guitar...

OK, I must say this has been my most difficult undertaking so far. You would think this would come naturally to me, given that the majority of my family can, at the very least, play a few chords...  Not I!  My brain says one thing, and my fingers say, "Nope. I don't think so."  Even when I finally get my fingers in the correct position, when I strum it falls, well, short of what it should sound like.

I looked up easy guitar tab to learn, and "House of the Rising Sun" came up as one of the top three.  I began with an E minor.  OK, done!  However, my progression was so slow that the song was unrecognizable, even to me.

I then decided to learn chords first. G, E, F... Done... However, again, my progression between chords was incredibly slow.  I'll continue until I finally nail a song and promise to post a video... Although, I'm not sure on the time frame as of yet, for obvious reasons!

STAY TUNED!!! ;)

North Park, Festival of Arts, San Diego, CA

How ironic!!!  I was needing a little inspiration for my next artistic undertaking, when last night my husband came home with a flier for the North Park Festival of Arts!  Perfect!!!

After working in the garden for a few hours this morning, I headed off to the Festival for some inspiration; supportive husband in tow (although I imagine he was at least slightly interested in the plethora of fried and candy coated food).

We made it to our destination in a short 20 minutes.  However, we spent an additional 25 searching for a place to park.

Ok... Now for the good stuff...  There were TONS of artists there to draw inspiration from!  Well, duh... It is an ART festival.  Anyhoo, paintings, photography, glass, sculptures, glass-sculptures (Ha Ha!), jewelry, and funnel cake.  I had reached my motivational Mecca!!!

From all of the paintings I saw, it seems I'm more drawn to the abstract variety.  To be honest, I'm not sure if this is the right term, but this is a brief description:

• No actual person, place or thing (hope that was the artists' intention, and I'm not offending).
• Shapes, lines, smears, and splotches of various color in no particular pattern.

Ok, so I know what your thinking, "You say you like this because its probably the least intimidating to try doing yourself!  All you're going to do is throw a bunch of paint on a canvas and call it art."  Well, nope!  That's not it at all!!!  The one original painting I own is the same type.  What draws me to it, I guess, is the fact that I like the chaos of it all!  The colors that run together, that overlap, that blend to create a, sort of, peaceful harmony on canvas.  Maybe this genre of painting (my phrasing for discussing art is most likely way off... Note to self: learn the language) reminds me of my life somehow; wonderfully, beautifully chaotic.

So, when I scrape up the extra dough (must find a job first) I will commence my first abstract painting (if that's what its called).

Because painting was not an option today, and because I was now bursting with inspiration, I decided to take some photos.  I had seen many photographers' work at the festival, and thought, "Jeez!  Some pictures I've taken are just as good as this!!!"  So when we got back to the house, I pulled out my camera and began taking some pics in  my grandfather's garden.

Ok, so these are a bit amateur, but I'm a little rusty!  It's been two years since my one semester in a photography class.  The point is, it was soooo fun!  It's amazing what unassuming, everyday things can be transformed into art!!!

After dinner, we decided to head to the beach for a sunset shoot!  Plus, I thought it might be a romantic way to end the day with my husband.

Well, the sunset was, as expected, beautiful!  What the pictures don't show was the million mile per hour wind gusts and 58 degree weather. So the romance was sucked out of the equation (it's hard to kiss when your lips are chattering), but the photos turned out pretty well, if I do say so!

It was a day full of destinations, inspirations, and creations, and I loved every moment of it!

Hummingbird Feeder

So I thought I would start today with something easy.  I saw online how to make hummingbird feeders using a wine bottle and some copper wire.  Easy enough, right?  Well, not exactly...

Apparently a soldering iron needed to be used to connect the wire to itself, so that the bottle didn't slip out of the wire.  OK, so I've never used one, but how difficult could it be?

My Grandpa had, what he said, was the correct tool...  It was old, VERY OLD; its cord was bound in unraveling cloth.  His response to my pointing out the fact that this thing looked like it was found in an archeological dig was, "Well, it's younger than me."  He's 92...

Anyhow, with archaic soldering iron in hand, I began.  After a few finger singes, some expletives and, yes, a little help from grandpa with the soldering, the hummingbird feeder was almost complete.

Now I'm a huge fan of all things shiny, so for some creative flare, I added some beads from my unused and severely outdated costume jewelry!  TA-DA!!!

All that's left now is the actual feeder portion (the drinking spout--- for lack of better words).

This was a great start in creating my creativity!  It was nothing too cumbersome or too time intensive, and it gave me the testicular fortitude I needed to keep on this journey of creative self-discovery!!!

Creating my Creativity

Where to begin?  I am a 30 year old woman, a Texan by birth, who has just begun a "new" life in San Diego, California.  I had been needing a change, an adventure, if you will.  I needed something to wake me up from this, sort of, hibernation I had been in for the past couple of years.  It seemed everything I had planned on doing, or being, in my life hadn't come to fruition.

It took me 10 years to graduate from college.  This is embarrassing, to say the least.  I'll just say this...  There was a boy (isn't there always?) that I fell in love with in high school. After graduating, we moved away from home (Dallas) to a small, flat, west Texas desert town.  We attended community college together.  I stuck with it and he didn't.  That pattern continued throughout our relationship.  Needless to say, we married and divorced.

I continued with college in the evenings, while working a full-time job and eventually got accepted to, and graduated from, Southern Methodist University (a bit of a culture shock, having come from a small community college).   It was 2008 (yup, a full 10 years since I graduated from high school), and now I had my Bachelor of Social Science.  My original plan was to apply to SMU's Law School, but the more thought I gave it, the less appealing that particular career path seemed.  In fact, it scared me.

I thought, "OK, so I've wanted to be an attorney since I started college.  Why am I having my doubts now?  Am I going through some sort of quarter-life crisis? What will I do for a career?"

I failed to mention that I married a second time (and, yes, this one happens to be a keeper).  My husband was completely supportive of my sudden indecision, telling me that there were many things which I was excellent at, and that  this would only provide me an opportunity to explore these talents more.  I thought back to my fifth grade teacher, Ms. Russo.  At my fifth grade graduation, she presented me with an award for excellence in writing, telling the entire fifth grade and the attending parents, “Remember this name… Jessica Wesley.  She is sure to be a famous writer one day!”  This was undoubtedly one of my most pride-filled moments.

Now I’m not saying my writing is quite what she hoped it would be (this blog may be case in point), but I still enjoy it.  My point in mentioning the story of my treasured award is this; I was always AFRAID my writing wouldn't be good enough.  I would read books and think, "I could never write like this!" So, I stopped writing. 

Instead, of becoming a high powered attorney or the world renowned author that dear, sweet Ms. Rousseau believed I would become, I took a mid-level job in marketing, which was tolerable at best.  Slowly, my indecision about my life’s path began to metamorphosize into depression.  Not knowing what I wanted to do with my life meant I had no direction... Not having any direction meant I was LOST, and this terrified me. 

In December of 2010, my Nana got very sick.  Her kidneys were failing and Doctors were saying it was only a matter of time.  The whole family flew out to San Diego to be with her on her last Christmas.  I made a second trip (my work allowed me to telecommute during this time) to help my grandfather with my Nana's ever worsening condition.  Before my Nana died, I promised her that I would take care of my grandfather.  I wasn't exactly sure how I would make this work, given that I was married and living in Texas, but I knew I had to do it.  My grandparents had always done so much for me, emotionally, spiritually, financially; truly, every way one can imagine.  

My husband and I had often talked about moving somewhere new (kind of starting over fresh) and this, in a strange way, served as that opportunity.  So here we were taking this leap of faith, and believe me, it was an ENORMOUS leap.

By April we had sold our house and moved to San Diego to live with my very spry, but lonely, 92 year-old grandfather.  My husband received a transfer with his work, but I would have to find a job.  It's been exactly three weeks and 2 days, since we've lived here, and though I take great pleasure in helping my grandfather through this difficult time, and though Southern California weather is stellar, it hasn't tempered my feeling of being LOST in life.

So rather than succumb to the depression caused by being unemployed and my uncertainty of  direction, today I asked myself, "What can you do?"   The answer that came surprised me... "I can learn to play the guitar!"

OK... That's a little weird, right?  Not really.  I then asked myself, "Why learn to play the guitar now?  You've had it for over 2 years and have only picked it up a handful of times!  You don't even remember the three chords you were taught by your little brother!"  Again, the answer that came surprised me...   "You want to learn to play because you tell yourself 'YOU CAN'T,' 'YOU'RE AWFUL,' 'IT'S TOO HARD,' and now you want to prove that you can!"

It then occurred to me that my feeling of being lost was simply due to the fact that I never really allowed myself to discover what I was capable of doing... In essence, I wasn't lost, just undiscovered. My whole life I've been plagued by the "I can'ts."  I would acquiesce to defeat before I even began.  I never tried because I was afraid of failing.   Could this be why I didn’t continue writing?  Could it be that I kept myself from realizing my fullest potential?  Was I a writer?  Was I at all creative? 

SO, HERE IS THE PURPOSE OF THIS BLOG...   

1.)  I want to discover what I'm capable of!  I want to discover my hidden creative talents! 

2.)  I want this blog to serve as a diary of my fresh start in sunny San Diego.

 3.)  I want to inspire my fellow "I CAN'TERS" to give into their artistic aspirations (or any aspirations they may have, but are too fearful of pursuing).  I want them to take this journey with me; to share their own experiences in "creating their creativity." 

3.)  I want to be held accountable for breaking the "I can't" cycle.  That is, I want YOU (the readers) to call me out if it appears I'm not following through with what I am about to promise.  

MY PROMISE:

I am making this promise to, well, whoever follows this blog that I, Jessi Davis/new resident of San Diego, California, will attempt, EACH DAY, a different art form.  These will include (but are not limited to) music, painting, photography, sculpting, cooking and, of course, writing.   I promise to blog on a daily basis about these experiences, and will do so in the most forthright manner possible.  Mistakes and successes... I will hold nothing back!

My hope is that, through discovering my hidden talents and breaking the "I can't" cycle, I will discover more about who I am, what I am capable of, and attain a greater sense inner peace and self-assurance.  

Again, I urge YOU to take this journey with me!