Dang, I’ve got a lot of stages. So it is a long playlist! I can’t complain (yes I can), after all, I wrote the stages. Hmm, to work, to work, to play, to PEACE.
Twisting words- The Grass is Blue – Dolly Parton
Confusion- Get it Worked On -Delbert McClinton
Denial- Old Number 7- The Devil Makes Three
Bargaining – Gallows Pole- Alvin Youngblood Hart
Anger- Joanne Little- Sweet Honey in the Rock
Bitterness -The Wound That Never Heals – Jim White
Revenge -Silver Dagger- Dolly Parton
Acting Out – Pills I Took- Hank Williams III
Oppositional Defiance- All Hail- The Devil Makes Three
Grief -Days Like These – Over the Rhine
Acceptance- In my time of dying – Alvin Youngblood Hart
Forgiveness -Jesus on the Mainline – Mississippi Fred McDowell
Healing- I be your water- Sweet Honey in the Rock
Hope – So Glad I’m Here- Sweet Honey in the Rock
Reconciliation – You are loved, Victoria Williams
Peace – Everybody Ought to Know (and) Redemption Song- Sweet Honey in the Rock
We have stages of grief. Now if we are going to make peace, we need to break it down into the stages that we need to go through. I think this incorporates and embodies the stages of grief. We need to plan peace. We need a map to get there, and it is not a simple road. We can’t just say I am peaceful. We must do the work. Here are the stages I can think of and I have certainly gotten stuck in some of these stages. What about you? No…or are you in denial? And if not you, I would bet money that you can name someone who you think or feel is stuck in one of these. Takes one to know one though, right? No, maybe that’s wrong. Stop confusing me!
And maybe we don’t all go through all of these stages. Or go through them in the same order. When I watch families grieve after a death, they often fight. They fight about how to grieve. The family members may be in very different stages, or the family may have stages or roles assigned to certain people, who may or may not accept the assigned role. My maternal family has anger assigned to me. I don’t really care any more. Since I am not angry, presumably they can’t handle anger and need to outsource it. I got tired of saying “I am not angry” and being told that yes, you are angry until I would get angry… you see the problem, right? It got ridiculous. My sense of the absurd kicked in and then I would try to really enjoy being angry. You are supposed to give things your best effort, right? Snort.
Message me if you think of some stages that I’ve missed! Then we can all get to work, on working through these. MAKE PEACE, PEACE OUT, PEACE ME, PEACE YOU, PEACE THE WORLD! Might take a while. Get on it, get to work.
Twisting words
Confusion
Denial
Bargaining
Anger
Bitterness
Revenge
Acting Out
Oppositional Defiance
Acceptance
Forgiveness
Healing
Hope
Reconciliation
Peace
_____________
What does the helmet have to do with this? Nothing… I just like the helmet. I keep thinking that it could be a breastplate instead of a helmet. And it is a clue to my May blogging… where am I? Where is this helmet?
Finish the quote: One of Arnold Schwarzeneggerβs most famous lines is, βIβll beβ¦β “I’ll be PEEEEACE!”
Finish the song title: One of Randy Newmanβs best known songs is βWhy Canβt Weβ¦β “Why Can’t We Peace Each Other!”
Twilight wasnβt about a teenage girl who falls in love with a vampire. What was it about? The Forks Vampire/Human/Werewolf Peace Consortium that healed the entire world.
What made Blade different from the vampires he hunted? He changed his name from Blade to Peace and his very touch brought peace to the hearts of the world of Vampires.
In what movie did Billy Crystal play a character named, Miracle Max? WORLD PEACE IS HERE
The Goonies wasnβt about a group of kids searching for a lost treasure. What was it about? Some silly kids who start a peace movement in their neighborhood and end up leading the UN.
What was name of the character than Alan Rickman played in the first movie that he starred in? PEACEMAN.
In The Professional, who does Natalie Portmanβs character shoot with a paint pellet? The Horseman of WAR. Peace ensues.
The Phantom of the Opera isnβt about a disfigured man who terrorizes a Paris opera house. What is it about? A Peace Phantom who keeps changing the tragedies into Joyous Hymns to Peace.
denise levertov writes making peace
that it is an active process
it is not the absence of war
but a process in itself: how do we make it?
Make Peace
how do we wage peace? wage is not the word we do not do it for money we must be more active than hoping engender peace? spread peace: like a pandemic a pandemic of peace
the comfort of peace the joy of peace the love of peace
the peace of the grave the peace of sleep the peace of heaven peace here now peace not distant nor below the earth peace conscious, aware and present peace alive, breathing, welling up in everyone peace here now
a pandemic of peace a river of peace peace flowing through and around, above and below us peace full, peace out, peaced let us verb it I am peaced today I peace you I peace Russia I peace the soldiers I peace the Ukraine I peace the entire world
I peace you please, will you peace me? peace me now, then there will be two and everyone else peace the world now a pandemic of peace make peace
___________________
I taped a conversation with a wren one morning in Wisconsin. I never saw my wren and clearly I have not got the language down, but she kept talking to me anyhow.
I am blogging A to Z about artists, particularly women artists and mostly about my mother, Helen Burling Ottaway.
I find two copies of her resume. One is from 1991 and one from 1993. I will add the 1993 information, but it’s a LOT. My mother was prolific! She complained about getting ready for shows and I did not realize how very many she did! I am so proud of her. She died of ovarian cancer in 2000 and I do miss her still.
Helen Burling Ottaway
Β Del Ray Atelier
105 E. Monroe Ave
Alexandria, VA 22301
SELECTED SOLO SHOWS
1991 Nov Will have solo show at Bird-in-Hand Gallery, Washington, DC
1989 Sept βCascades: Watercolors of Washington Stateβ, Bird-in-Hand Gallery, Washington, DC
1988 Nov βFantasy Etchingsβ, National Orthopedic Hospital, Arlington, VA
1987 Oct βSpirits to Enforce, Art to Enchantβ, Fantasy Art, River Road Uniterian Church, Bethesda, MD
1986 Mar βPrints and Poemsβ, Poetry by Katy Ottaway, Martin Luther King Library, Washington, DC
1984 Nov βForests, Flower, and Fantasiesβ, Sola Gallery, Ithaca, NY
Apr βBirdland and other Lullabiesβ, Pastels, Gallery West, Alexandria, VA
1981 May βFantastical Bestiaryβ, Etchings and Drawings, Gallery West, Alexandria, VA
Mar βThe Way of the Brushβ, Watercolors, Gallery One, Alexandria, VA
TWO PERSON SHOWS
1986 Nov Two Person Show, βAn Occasional Pair of Clawsβ, Fantasy Art with Omar Dasent, Gallery West, Alexandria, VA
1985 Apr Two person Show, βFigures and Foliageβ, Pastels, Capital Centre Gallery, Landover, MD
1982 Nov Two Person Show, βThe Four Seasonsβ, Gallery West, Alexandria, VA
SELECTED GROUP SHOWS
1990 Feb βVisions 1990β Westbeth Gallery, New York, NY
1989 Feb βYear inβYear outβ, Studio Gallery, Washington, DC
1988 Mar βindependent Visions IIIβ, Metro Gallery, Arlington, VA
May Juried Show, Sculpture, The Art League, Alexandria, VA, Juror: Bertold Schmutzart
1987 Dec Juried Show: βThe Best of 1987β, Martin Luther King Library, Washington, DC, Jurors: Dr.
Jacqueline Serwer, Sandra Wested, Robert Stewart
1987 Apr βIndependent Visions, Fifteen Women Artistsβ, Metro Gallery, Arlington, VA
Feb βPortraits 1987β, The Art Barn, Washington, DC
1986 Oct βJuried Show, βPrintmakers VIIIβ, The New Art Center, Washington, DC
Jan βIndependent Visionsβ, Metro Gallery, Arlington, VA
1985 Dec Invitational, βHighlights of the Yearβ, Martin Luther King Library, Washington, DC. Jurors:
Linda Hartigan and Monroe Fabian
Nov Invitational, βThe Macadam Nueve-Splintergreen Conspiracy Showβ, Gallerie Inti,
Washington, DC. Curated by Omar Dasent and Ann Stein
Oct Juried show, βPrintmakers VIIβ, WWAC, Washington, DC. Juror: Jane Farmer
Mar Invitational, βMama, Donβt Let Your Babies Grow up to be Artistsβ, The Splintergreen
Conspiracy, Martin Luther King Library, Washington, DC. Curated by Omar Dasent
Mar βShakespearean Imagesβ, Hofstra University, Hempstead, NY
1984 Nov Juried Show, βPrintmakers VIβ, WWAC, Washington, DC. Juror: Carol Pulin
July Juried Show, βPrintmakers VIβ, WWAC, Washington, DC. Juror: Jo Anna Olshonsky
Oct Four Person Show, βJust Fourβ, Galerie Triangle, Washington, DC
βThe First Great American Camel Showβ, Gallery West, Alexandria, VA
1983 Mar Juried Show, βPrintmakers Vβ, WWAC, Washington, DC. Juror: Barbara Fiedler
Feb Juried Show, βArtists β Art Historians: A Retrospective 1972-1982β, National Conference, The Womenβs Caucus for Art,m Bryce Gallery, Moore College, Philadelphia, PA
1982 May Juried Show, βWoman as Myth and Archetypeβ, WWAC, Wshington, DC. Juror: Mary Beth Edelson
Feb Invitational, βArt is where the Heart isβ, Gallery 805, Fredricksberg, VA
Feb βThe Printmakers of the WWAC, The Torpedo Factory, Alexandria, VA
Jan Juried Show, βThe Eye of Eleanor Monroeβ, WWAC, Washington, DC Juror: Eleanor Monroe
1981 Oct. Juried Show, βCollage and Drawingβ, WWAC, Washington, DC Juror: Jan Root
Numerous juried shows, the Art League, Alexandria, VA
Numerous group shows, Gallery West, Alexandria, VA
EDUCATION
1967 B.F.A Cornell University, Ithaca, NW
WORK EXPERIENCE
1992-currently Teach Drawing and Watercolor, Capital Hill Arts Workshop, Washington, DC
Teach Art Class for Seniors, Recreation Department, Alexandria, VA
Teach etching workshops and watercolors at the Delray Atelier, Alexandria, VA
1987-1990 Graphic Artist, Al Porter Graphics, Washington, DC
1985 Fall Co-Director of Gallery West, Alexandria, VA
1982 Director of Exhibitions, WWAC, Washington, DC
1982 Director of Gallery West, Alexandria, VA
1981 Chair of Exhibitions Committee of Gallery West, Alexandia, VA
Taught watercolor classes at Washington Womenβs Art Center, Washington, DC
Taught childrenβs art classes for the Arlington Recreation Department
1967-1970 Assistant Curator at the Ithaca College Museum of Art, Ithaca, NY
we are talking about silence
yours deliberate
you don’t want people to know
how you make your money
you are angry, I notice
at how people treat you
you are a self made man
with a lot of money
I don’t much care
about your money
happy for you
& etc
I am more interested in silence
I go silent in Kindergarten
because I am too weird
have no tv
and want to sing
I do not bother to lie
because people don’t listen anyhow
and they don’t believe me
I listen, you say
I read everything you send me
That is not enough, I think
I don’t say it
I think about saying it
I don’t say it
I stopped sending you my poems
months ago
when you got angry
I asked if you would respond
something
a positive
a negative
even just “Read it.”
I don’t understand
why you got angry
and I am not scared
so much as surprised
I guess you brook no criticism
ever
I wonder why you must be perfect
seems tiring to me
at any rate
I am not sending you any poems
any more
since then
you could read my blog
I post some there
selected ones
unexceptional
less personal
though I suppose you could still
be angry
you say you know I am angry
when I go silent
I go silent, thinking about that
you are right that there is anger there
in the room with us
you sense it
it is yours, not mine
the bear chained in the dungeon
roaring
poor bear
I send it love
and it is crying
bitter tears
wet and cold
in a pool of tears
I can’t free it
only you can
for a moment you are aware
that I am silent about my poems
then you slam the dungeon door again
and talk about guns and science
and what you will do next
and what you will do next
with your bear
and without me
Ok, so the reason the bath mat is on the rack is because it is WET. And what does Sol Duc do? Climb right one and lie on it. Me: “The bath mat is wet AND the rack can fall down.”
Sol Duc: “I am totally loving wet bath mat plus it needs fur.”
Me: “All we need is for Elwha to join in.”
Siblings can be SOOOO annoying.
OOOOOoooo this fits the Ragtag Daily Prompt for Monday: PITCH. As in Sol Duc’s fur, pitch black.
you are angry you say
I don’t think those are the right words, I say
not angry? you say
bored, I say
BORED you say
Yeah, I say
Well, you say you don’t love me
You say you won’t change
You say you changed once, in the past
You say you won’t go in a church
You say you did that
You say you won’t go in a casino
You did that
I’m BORED
My first thought about the church
My first thought about the casino
Is that is clearly where I can go
If I want to avoid you
My second thought about the church
My second thought about the casino
is ICK. Why am I hanging around
someone who doesn’t love me
someone who doesn’t plan to change?
My sister and I talk about the people who don’t change about the people who remain the same about the stubborn who bury their heads
We notice them shrinking as the world changes around them the things they are willing to do the people they are willing to talk to the places they are willing to go get smaller and smaller and smaller
You dream of a small cabin in the wilderness
your brother shows up and an attacking bear
in another dream I am well and busy and happy
May all your dreams come true
my love
if you really want them to
I have been collecting eggshells for a while. I am not sure exactly what I am going to do with them, but this is my first piece of egg art. I keep thinking about the large sugar eggs with the window, with small figures inside, that we got as children. I am saving real eggshells and bits of feather and fluff and pine cones and shells. With Easter tomorrow, I may dye some eggshells.
My mother loved dying eggs. We did not go to church but both my parents sang masses and the record player was just as likely to play Bach or Brahms or Carl Orff as the Loving Spoonful or Bob Dylan or The Beatles. We did elaborate egg dying, with wax and multiple layers of color. The complicated planned ones were often not pretty. It was the ones that we weren’t particularly trying that were often gorgeous. We always had both blown and hardboiled eggs. We would have “egg wars” when we wanted to eat one. We would each hold an egg and tap them together hard. The winner was the one with an intact egg. We ate the less pretty hardboiled ones first and the prettiest last. Mmmmm, egg salad and deviled eggs, yum.
I am blogging A to Z about artists, particularly women artists and mostly about my mother, Helen Burling Ottaway.
My family was not Normal. No, no, not normal. I don’t think anyone is normal, really. In clinic one year I think, wow, all of my people are SO interesting. Why am I so lucky to have all of these wonderful people? And then I think: OH. Everyone is interesting. No one is “normal”. They may try really hard to pass for normal. I certainly had MY work cut out. And why is that, you say. I am so glad you asked that question!
My parents were both obsessed. My mother was obsessed with art. With music, a secondary joy. My father was all about music. Mathematics and language was his secondary joy. By age nine I discover poetry and that is it for me. That is the be all end all. I am so obsessed that I am amazed at age 40 when I make a discovery: poetry is not it for everyone.
I am fired by the hospital for fighting a clinic quota of patients. I might have kept the job if I had shut my mouth and been diplomatic, but I was not diplomatic. I write a protest song and sing it at the open mike and sing it into the CFO’s voicemail. I think I could be the poster girl for the opposite of diplomatic, right?I thought about quitting and then thought, no, I stay and fight this for my patients. I am fired the next day.
A group of people try to intervene and get me rehired. At some point I suggest sending one of my poems to the hospital commissioners. Six people email: NO!
I am confused: What do you mean, no? Why not?
YOU DO NOT COMMUNICATE WITH HOSPITAL COMMISSIONERS VIA POETRY.
I am still confused: I communicate by poetry. Poetry is the highest form of communication.
HOSPITAL COMMISSIONS DO NOT LIKE OR UNDERSTAND POETRY.
Ok, THAT is mind blowing for me. I call my father. What is this about?
My father says People are afraid of poetry.
I say You are kidding me.
My father says Poetry is magic. People are afraid of magic.
I say I’m not afraid of poetry.
That is because you are a poet, says my father.
And I really look at my thoughts on writing and poetry. I realize that writing and poetry are SO IMPORTANT to me that I assume that EVERYONE WANTS TO WRITE AND BE A POET. I ask my group of people trying to get me reinstated. None of them want to be poets. I ask my father. He does not want to be a poet. I am completely floored. I realize that I thought my mother loves art but wants to be a poet. My father loves music but wants to be a poet. Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
It must have been rather weird for my sister Chris, three years younger. She has three people who are all obsessed with their form of art. My sister Chris was a brilliant writer, an excellent musician and an artist. But I don’t think she was obsessed with any of them the way the rest of the family was. That must have been a little lonely.
The photograph is me and my sister in 1965. I am four and she is one year.
I say to a counselor once that in spite of alcohol problems in the family, the music was amazing and my sister and I learned it. The counselor replies, “Children connect with adults where they can.” I think OH. That is amazing. My sister and I see my father praise my mother for knowing all the words to the songs. She is always be the last one singing because she knows verse 8, 9 and 10. My sister and I assume that this is a woman’s job: memorize the words. We did. We photocopy the back of Beatles albums and on long car trips we memorize ALL THE WORDS. I think I can still sing Yellow Submarine start to finish.
I start school. I know there will be singing. No one knows my songs. The songs they know are the songs to television shows and we do not have one. I quickly go silent. I play flute and I sing all the songs in my head when I am bored, but I do not sing out loud. And I choose medicine because I want to understand people, for the writing. I still think people are very very weird. But I have written the whole time, every single day. And that is how my mother did art and how my father did music. Every single day.
Discover and re-discover Mexicoβs cuisine, culture and history through the recipes, backyard stories and other interesting findings of an expatriate in Canada
Engaging in some lyrical athletics whilst painting pictures with words and pounding the pavement. I run; blog; write poetry; chase after my kids & drink coffee.
Refugees welcome - FlΓΌchtlinge willkommen I am teaching German to refugees. Ich unterrichte geflΓΌchtete Menschen in der deutschen Sprache. I am writing this blog in English and German because my friends speak English and German. Ich schreibe auf Deutsch und Englisch, weil meine Freunde Deutsch und Englisch sprechen.
KO Rural Mad As Hell Blog 
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