An Artful Journey, California

Heading back east

I’m sitting at Gate 4 in the San Jose Airport, where I have already purchased my required refrigerator magnets, one for San Jose, and one pack of art magnets which I had to purchase all four in order to get one that is titled “Guido Cat.”

This retreat was such a wonderful event. I like that it was much smaller and more intimate, the three-day format is much more suited to my needs, the setting was fabulous, and the organizer took incredible care of us with many friendly extras. I would definitely come back to this one, but the problem is that it happens during my busiest time at work. I didn’t get to explore the grounds because the weather didn’t clear up until Sunday, and by that time I was squeezing every drop of goodness I could get in the classroom. Monday morning gave me a few minutes to walk around and gaze up into some redwoods. Then I spent most of the day in my hotel room just decompressing and watching Showtime, which I don’t get at home. I did get out to a restaurant across the street for some Fat Tire drafts and seafood.

Part of the reason that I stopped blogging was that my camera batteries died and then would not recharge. I think that I have talked about my camera addiction before. I love to take many many photographs wherever I go and I use them a lot in my personal journaling or as jumping off places for other art ideas. It is when I am deprived of my camera, especially on a trip to a beautiful spot like this, that I realize that I don’t experience the present moment because of my addiction. I am always looking for images instead of really looking at what I’m looking at. I would like to find a good balance.

The blue sky that I spotted on Saturday morning was very temporary. It quickly turned back to heavy rain and then snow off and on all day. The snow didn’t stick but it was beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that looking out the window distracted me while I was cutting bookboard and I cut my finger. Luckily, Albie was ready with Liquid Skin, and then although the cut was not deep or that bad, I nearly fainted. She was ready for that, too, and took good care of me without getting anxious or overreacting. She told me that her daughter does the same thing and that it is called vasovagel response. I’m glad to have a name for it so that I can warn people before I get a shot – maybe I won’t get another nurse who treats me like a toddler if I make it sound like an official diagnosis.

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